#I liked the workshops and I liked the other people in my ensemble and I liked the jams and the concerts

[obstinatecondolement]

Hmmm.... I want to go to a week long event in July, but I would have to know if I could get the time off work before I booked a place and a) the early bird rate ends on Monday, after which time the fees will increase steeply and b) and my manager is not in tomorrow, so I can't ask her to provisionally block it off, and then the shop is closed until Tuesday. Fuck.

#also though the last time I went to this course the person who mentored my ensemble was like... extremely mean to specifically me #he gave me nothing but (unconstructive) criticism and no advice about how to improve #and yet found something positive to say about everyone else #but ugh #instrumentalists sometimes just hate vocalists I guess? #he also saw me crying at one point (unrelated to him) and was like 'you need to shut that shit down now' #so like... overall it was a very positive experience? #I liked the workshops and I liked the other people in my ensemble and I liked the jams and the concerts #but... I never ever want to be in that guy's ensemble again #I am debating if it would be impolitic to request not to be if I did apply? #I could do the old 'Since I was mentored by him before and would like to work more closely with more of the faculty' #as opposed to outright saying that he was horrible to me and I dreaded seeing him every day

[bettsfic]

I have a fear of including things I like in my stories. For example: Female rage, romance, etc… because I feel that makes me inflexible and a less talented writer. I’ve always felt like “real” writers can write in any genre and don’t have the same elements in every one of their novels. The idea of writing what you love is a beautiful thing but for me I worry that in writing what I love, I may not get to the level that I want to be at as a writer. I guess I equate enjoying writing and being free with it to = not being worthy. And being complex in ways that I may not necessarily love and is challenging = good work from me.

is it possible that some of your apprehension toward writing what you love has to do with fear of vulnerability? writing what you love exposes you. it feels like walking around naked. it allows people to perceive you, and conversely, it allows people to misperceive you. both of those things are terrifying. it's much more comfortable to catch a wide, distant net of an aesthetic. that way, it doesn't matter what a reader thinks of it; you don't care that much about it anyway, right?

it's interesting that you say "real" writers can write in any genre. i'm looking at my bookshelf right now and there's not a single author on it that goes beyond their established genre, or even writes particularly varying stories with an ensemble of complex characters. go to the bibliography of any prolific author and see how wide their variation is. sometimes you'll see writers write in short form and long form. occasionally a writer will write children's literature and adult literature. there are writers who live in the venn diagram overlap of genres but don't tend to stray in either direction. sometimes screenwriters become novelists and vice versa. but otherwise, it's impractical to write so widely, so consistently. your agent and editors will all have their niche and it will be difficult for them to represent you and support your work if you have three sci fi bestsellers and all of a sudden you want to write some subsubsubgenre of true crime.

every artist has two things: their medium and their subject. instead of thinking of "things you love" think of them as your subjects, in the way a painter's subject can be nature, or a poet's subject can be grief. unless you're only writing for money, you have no choice but to write your subjects. even if you try not to, they'll bleed into your work. here's an example: one time in workshop my good buddy Chris said to me, "you write a lot about class." to which i thought, i love you Chris but this is porn. but he was right. all my characters have a conflict with money. often they're blue collar workers or don't have a job at all. most of my characters don't even go to college. after he said that, i started to lean into it and become more aware of it. the more aware of it i became, the more strongly i felt about it. you can go through my AO3 and scroll through my fics and see how important money is in them. and if it's not money, it's the military. and if it's not the military, it's some other loss of bodily autonomy at the hands of a greater institution.

think outside of writing. chefs have types of food they prefer to cook. scholars have their fields. athletes have their sport. musicians have their instrument. the more you zero in on something, the better you become at it. as a writer, the more you write your subject, the better you'll become at depicting it.

your subjects may grow and change over time. they may not. you may have some subjects you wear out, and you may have others that you sew into everything you write. you may have repetitions of images, characters, resolutions, and conflicts. it's good to experiment and move beyond your comfort zone sometimes, but you have to find comfort in your comfort zone first. and you do that by embracing your subjects.

#writing advice #subjects #aesthetic

[honeyhotteoks]

into the aurora - chapter thirteen (ot8)

chapter twelve: a little more in the morning

summary: your morning starts with yeosang, so much yeosang.

warnings: lots and lots of smut, nothing super specific to flag though~

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, smut

word count: 5.9K

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              Your life is now a mix of late nights and early mornings, constantly moving and catching up to all eight of your boys who seem used to and comfortable with this kind of schedule. Your days are hectic, but full.

              You start every day like you always do; yoga, quiet time, and coffee with Yeosang before work. Your days at the office are incredibly varied depending on what the focus is for the week, but on average you’re in meetings with the production team, learning as much as possible, and spending your afternoons in the studio alongside Edenary. The evenings stretch long too, partnering up with Hongjoong and Mingi while they workshop their tracks and rap verses, or visiting all of them at dance practice. Your social life is starting to blossom outside of the boys too, new friends at work becoming people text or grab coffee with mid-day. It’s the fullest schedule you’ve ever had, and you keep being told that this is nothing compared to the thick of comeback preparation or tour. 

              You wake to a warm hand stroking your hair and the weight of someone settled on the side of your bed. The night before you were at the studio late, well past midnight, unable to leave Hongjoong when he was so deeply plugged in. Watching him work is exhilarating, it makes you feel like you know nothing about music, thousands of things to learn and you don’t want to waste a second of it, regardless of what it’s doing to your sleep or your schedule. Easing into consciousness and the touch against your hair, you stretch long, struggling to open your eyes, a yawn on your lips.

              “y/n,” comes Yeosang’s deep tone, “y/n…” he soothes.

              You groan and roll towards his voice, his hand running down your back as you do, “What time is it?”

              “After nine, you missed our date,” he murmurs.

              The time startles you; you jerk up with a gasp and reach for your phone – your alarm had gone off, and you clearly slept straight through it. “Oh, God, I’m so late,”

              “y/n,” Yeosang catches your hands, pulling your phone away and placing it back on the side table, “it’s Saturday.”

              “What?” Sleep clings to you as you try to understand his words.

              “There’s no work,” he murmurs, “it’s Saturday, relax.”

              “Oh,” you rake your hands through your messy locks and collapse back into the pillows with a sigh.

              “You never sleep late,” he murmurs, “I just wanted to check on you, but you started to wake up the minute I opened your door.”

              “I’m a light sleeper,” you tell him.

              “Mm,” he nods, looking down at your warmly, “your body must have needed the rest though, I’m sorry I interrupted.”

              “Oh no,” you catch his hand in yours, “I don’t like sleeping late usually or missing my routine,”

              “I know,” he nods.

              You let yourself wake up a little, listening to the house around you, only hearing Yeosang’s steady breathing. “Is everyone still asleep?”

              “Mostly,”

              “Hmm,” you stretch under his palm that rests warmly on your side.

              “Do you want to try and sleep more? Or should I get you a cup of coffee?” He shifts, his leg hitching higher on the bed so he can turn towards you.

              It’s been weeks of flirting with him; hot kisses in the kitchen and nothing more. It seems to you like now is the perfect moment, but something is preventing him from making the move. He hasn’t taken you out formally like some of the others, and hasn’t jumped your bones either, he’s simply paced and steady and not shifting gears. There’s no way he doesn’t notice what you’re wearing though, a silky sleep tank top that you’re sure keeps very little from his imagination. His fingers toy with the fabric lightly and the thoughts of him swimming around in your brain combined with the innocent brushes of his fingers is enough to make you want him.

              “Yeosang,” you shake your head, tugging softly at the fabric of his sweats, “would you hold me for a minute?”

              His eyes widen a little, “Hold you?”

              “Yeah,” you pull at the fabric again, “come here,”

              He shifts into the bed with you, letting you pull the covers over him and snuggle close into the firm plane of his chest. He’s tense, and it takes him a moment to settle his hands on you, but eventually he breathes a sigh and rests one hand on your back and the other over your hand on his chest.

              “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep more?” He murmurs, “You seem tired, and I know you’ve been working so hard lately,”

              “I’m okay,” you take a moment to just soak up his warmth and the feeling of his arms around you, “I just thought this might be nice for a second, we don’t get a lot of time alone.”

              “Oh,” he says, and you can hear the brightness in his tone, “well then I’ll stay as long as you want,”

              You rest your cheek on his chest, relaxing into the soft fabric of his black shirt on your cheek, the tips of your fingers stroking a subtle pattern on his abdomen. You’re not sure if he will make the first move, or even if he’s picked up on what you want yet, but you try with subtle movements to let him know. You stretch against him, pressing your body tighter to his as you do, and let your hand drop down lower, settled just an inch or two away from the waistband of his sweats.

              He clears his throat softly and shifts his hips. You’re sure he’s already getting hard and trying to hide it when he draws one leg up, effectively lifting the material of his sweats away from his hips and giving him a little room. “Do you,” he shifts again, and you catch the twitch of something in his pants before he finds a better position, “have any plans for today?”

              “Um,” you shift to look up at him, dragging your leg up over his as you do, “nothing special,”

              “Ah,” you watch as he swallows hard.

              “You?”

              “Some of us are going to the studio later,” he says, “you should come if you’re free,”

              You nod, holding his gaze, and then make another forward move. The tips of your fingers edge under the waistband of his sweatpants, sliding now just on skin, and you watch as his eyes flick over to watch the movement of your hand.

              “y/n,” he breathes slowly.

              “Is this okay?” You check, feeling how frozen he is under you.

              He nods and you push your hand further, now moving past the edge of his boxers and lower still. You watch his eyes stay locked on where your hand disappears into his pants, and he inhales sharply as your fingers finally brush the base of his hardening cock.

              “I’ve been thinking,” you brush your fingers just a little higher, feeling him twitch under your touch, “we’ve waited too long to do this.” Your mind flicks back to the first moment in the kitchen.

              He opens his mouth to say something, but you slide your hand fully upwards, wrapping your fingers around his hard length and pumping it once. Yeosang groans in response, his eyes fluttering shut, and he exhales hard through his nose, “So when you said hold you,” he smiles, “you had other plans?”

              “If you want,” you stroke him again, and this time you pull up to the tip, rolling your wrist just right before dragging your hand back down and resting at the base. Now with him heavy in your hand you can’t hide your surprise, he’s much larger than you would have guessed, and he knows it.

              “Don’t stop,” he says, pressing up with his hips a little, “I like where this is going.”

              You smile, and work your hand on him again, looking down to watch the way your hand bobs up and down under the fabric of his sweats, the way his abdominal muscles twitch in response, how his fingers tighten on your hip to hold you tight against his body. He shudders a sigh, and finally pushes your hand away, up and out of his pants.

              “Why’d you stop me?” You twist to look up at him.

              “I just don’t want this to be over too quickly, come here,” he pulls you up to meet his mouth, kissing you hungrily and groaning against your lips. He rocks forwards and dips you backwards so that you’re now laying underneath him, and he pushes up the edge of your shirt while you kiss, shoving it higher until it exposes your breasts to the cool air.

              “Yeosang,” you murmur, holding him tight.

              “Hmm?” He murmurs but continues kissing you until he’s working his way down your chest. You can’t respond, you can’t really think of anything coherent to say already. He makes his way lower, shifting down the mattress, and cups both of your breasts in his hands, kneading them softly and swiping his thumbs over your hardening nipples.

              At a soft sound from the back of your throat he looks up, “These,” he squeezes again softly, and your mouth drops open, “are even prettier than I imagined.” He flicks the pad of his thumb over your nipple once more and you pant, an echo of the noise you made a moment ago. He smiles, “You’re so reactive,”

              “Oh,” you breathe, biting your lip when he teases your nipple again.

              “I wonder what other noises you make,” he presses down on your sides, a tickle against your ribs and your body jerks under his hands.

              “You’re teasing me,” you finally say.

              He shakes his head, “I’m just learning what you like,” he says, and the low timbre of his voice has you trembling.

              You reach for him, brushing his hair away from his face and tucking it behind his ear, holding his jaw in your hand as you look at him, “I’d like it if you touched me,”

              “Hmm,” he sighs, “already?”

              You nod, “Please,”

              He rolls away from you, quickly hopping back out of bed and pulling his shirt off as he does. He tosses it to the side and moves to check that your door is fully pulled shut, pausing to listen to see if he can hear anyone else awake. You sit up, your shirt falling back down to cover yourself, and wait for him again, knees drawn up and you recline back on the heels of your hands. With his shirt off now you can see just how broad he is, muscular and toned, sweats fully hanging off his lean hips and tented at the front where his cock stands ready.

              When he turns back to you, he smiles, raking his hands through his slightly curled hair and kneeling on the edge of the bed to come back towards you.

              “So?” You ask.

              “It’s still pretty quiet,” he nods.

              “Then will you come back over here?” You let your knees part, falling open a little and hold his gaze.

              Yeosang moves back to the bed, kneeling between your widening legs and his eyes flick over you. You watch him swallow tightly and he reaches out, running a hand up and down your leg from ankle to knee, drinking you in.

              “Yeo,” you murmur, “please?” You widen your legs more and he shifts forwards.

              “Mm,” he sighs, finally sliding his hand from your lower leg up and brushing it along your inner thing, “I like it when you say my name like that,”

              “You do?” You watch him, the way he studies your body and makes little changes in the pressure of his fingers on your skin with every little noise you make.

              “Mhm,” he nods, “it sounds like you want me.”

              “I do want you,” you breathe.

              His hand drags further, and instead of stopping at the topmost part of your thigh, he finally moves closer and slides the pad of his thumb up and down over your clit, the silky fabric of your sleep shorts now the only barrier between you. You hum pushing your hips a little further into his touch and he increases the pressure, circling his thumb again and again, his eyes flicking up to watch your face.

              “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for ages…” he bites his lip as he bares down more with his finger, watching intently as your body twitches under him.

              “Why haven’t you?” Your hands tighten against the sheets as you fully relax and lie back, letting him take the lead.

              He shrugs, “It’s just timing, I guess,” he runs his finger down, pressing at your entrance and feeling your wetness seep into the satin fabric, “and you’re worth the wait,”

              Pleasure flutters through you, and you’re about to beg him for more when he shifts his hand to pull your sleep shorts fully to one side, exposing you bare. Yeosang hums pleasantly when he sees you, returning his thumb to your swollen clit only this time the rough pad of his skin as you flushed and moaning, the sensation so much better and more intense than the earlier promise of his touch.

              “How’s that?” He checks in.

              “Really, really nice,” you sigh as the heat builds in your belly.

              He smiles, and then pushes his middle finger inside you, slowly dragging it in and out. It’s torturously slow, and you jerk your hips, “More,” you prompt him. His eyes glance up to yours and he nods, sliding his ring finger in too, pressing into you deeply and pausing, letting you adjust to the feeling.

              His free hand rests on your bare thigh, squeezing softly. His hands are so warm, almost hot skin to skin, and his fingers are perfectly thick and filling. As he starts to pump them, just a little at a time to warm you up, you drop your head back with a groan.

              “You’re so wet,” he observes, thrusting just a little bit more firmly to earn a moan from your lips.

              “Yeosang,”

              “Here,” he slips his fingers out of you and moves to grip your hips, pulling you another few inches down the bed. He pushes his sweatpants down his thighs and the sight of his hard, perfect length has your muscles clenching.

              He pulls your sleep shorts to the side again, not bothering to try and take anything off you, and pushes your legs back and open, your hips rocking into the perfect position to take him inside you.

              “Oh,” your voice comes out weak, a little hoarse. He’s moving forwards quickly, but the second he teasingly presses the head of his cock inside you before slipping it out and dragging the length of his cock up and down your slit, catching on your sensitive bud, you really don’t seem to care anymore.

              “You’re beautiful,” his voice is low.

              You blush, your body trembling, and then he pushes his hips forwards and presses his cock inside you. He fills you perfectly with every inch, and your walls stretch around him deliciously until he’s sheathed almost fully inside you and touching every little pleasurable spot inside.

              You moan softly, rocking your hips just a bit, and he slides his hands into the perfect spot on your legs to hold you open for him. He thrusts slowly at first, like he did with his fingers, a teasing massage that isn’t quite enough to make you breathless but makes you wetter and starts to build a knot inside you.

              He watches you, and starts to push more, rock faster and thrust himself inside you at a steadier pace. You bite your lip, swallowing back a moan and nod, “Like that,”

              He holds your legs firmly, the veins in his hand jumping as his fingers flex, and he keeps his pace steady, panting slightly. He reaches down, tugging your sleep shorts further to the side and leans over you just a little more, giving him a better angle and bending your legs further.

              “Come here,” he murmurs, drawing your legs together tightly and leaning over you more, tightening your walls around his thick cock and drawing your hips into a deeper dip that lights pleasure up your stomach. You do moan now, unable to stop the sudden wave and you pant out his name.

              “You feel so amazing,” he sighs, “so tight,”

              ”Fuck,” you stammer, “Yeosang, please,”

              “What do you want?” He moves hips faster, his expression knotting up in pleasure.

              “You can,” you start to say, groaning when he thrusts just a little harder, and you reach up for the headboard to brace yourself, “oh my god,”

              “Tell me,” He prompts, slowing down again and stroking your skin.

              “I can take more,” you meet his gaze, and you watch his eyes widen, “if you want.”

              He stops his thrusts entirely and lets your legs fall back open, “More how?”

              “I don’t,” you trip over your words, and he smiles when you blush, “you know what I mean,”

              He shifts his hips back, pulling himself free and smiles again when you moan at the sudden movement and loss of him inside you. He shifts over you, cupping your cheek, “Are you asking me to fuck you harder?”

              You can’t find words, but you nod.

              “Do you like that?” his hand closes over your wrist where you’re still holding onto the rung of your headboard.

              He’s shifting now from soft and gentle into something more at the mere indication that you might want it, and wet heat rushes to your core. You nod again, “Please,”

              “I just want to take care of you,” he slides his hand up, closing his hand over yours, “and if that’s what you want,” he drops down over you, kissing you harder this time, “I can give that to you.”

              The huskiness of his low morning voice combined with his words and his hand over yours, possessive, and firm, has you letting out a strained whine and you nod again.

              “Turn over,” he pushes back off you and with sure hands on your hips starts to roll your body over.

              “Like this?” You settle on your stomach, and he pulls your hips up.

              “Stay there,” he directs you, and then he folds one of your pillows and pushes it beneath you, propping your hips up perfectly without you having to hold yourself up. He pushes you down to the mattress, a little firmer than before, forcing you down so that you’re lying flat and flush against the bed. He yanks your sleep shorts off and tosses them behind him before he pushes your legs open wide and moves over you, his cock nudging your folds open so he can sink back inside you.

              “Perfect,” he says with a sigh, “I want you like this, and then I want you on top,”

              “Oh,” you shiver as he pushes in again more fully, kissing your back.

              He shoves your sleep shirt up further, and then anchors his hands on your hips, thrusting into your tight walls faster and faster, setting a steady hard pace and giving you exactly what you need.

              “Fuck,” your hand shoots out and you grip the headboard again, holding still as he fucks into you.

              “Shh,” he hushes you, “unless you want everyone to hear you,”

              Your muscles clench around him, and you push your face into the pillow, muffling your pants and whines. He’s so quiet, only the occasional groan from his lips, so focused on finding the pace that has your hips bouncing back into his and your hand fisting the bed sheets.

              “Is this what you wanted?” He thrusts hard, knocking you forwards, and you whine, “Is this how you like to come?”

              “Fuck, Yeosang,” your head falls to the side, and you look back at him, reaching for him blinding with your one hand.

              He snags your wrist, twisting your arm behind you and pressing it into your lower back, holding it firmly in his grip without hurting you and leaning his weight a little more steadily down. You moan, the way he’s controlling you fully has you spinning, and you press your face back into the mattress to stifle the sound.

              “Just like that,” he pants, and the feeling of his hands on you and his cock pounding inside you strikes heat through your abdomen, a ray of pleasure lancing up your chest.

              “Yeo,” you cry, pushing your hips back into his frantically.

              “Say it again,”

              “Yeosang,” you look back towards him, catching his eyes, “Yeo please, baby, make me come,”

              His hand on your wrist loosens and he falters over you, “Oh fuck,”

              “Baby, please,” you beg, and you push your hips down to try and catch some kind of friction on your clit.

              He moves quickly, sliding out of you and pulling you up to your knees, and he takes your place, flat on his back, “Get over here,” he pulls you forwards, and you brace a hand on his chest, moving to straddle him.

              Your thighs are shaking as you sink down on him, the position putting him deeper inside you than ever, and you stammer out a curse.

              “Fuck,” Yeosang’s eyes fall shut, his head rocking back against the pillows and his hands grip your thighs.

              The sound of him groaning beneath you is almost too much, but you want to hear it again. Anchoring yourself with your hands on his chest you start to bounce your hips, drawing him in and out of you at the fastest pace you can manage with any semblance of control.

              “God,” he grabs your hips, opening his eyes to watch you and supporting your weight in his hands, “you’ve got to slow down I can’t,” he stammers out.

              You roll down and hold steady, letting him collect himself and giving your thighs a break, but he doesn’t take long. He reaches forwards and secures his thumb against your clit again, circling it quickly and jutting up with his hips to get you moving again. “Come on, beautiful,”

              The sensation is hot and tight, you’re coming up fast finally after being on the edge of your orgasm for too long and you lose yourself, needing it so desperately that you can barely think straight. You knock his hand away and drop your hips low, taking every inch of him inside you and pressing your clit down against his pubic bone.

              His mouth falls open as he watches, and you collapse forwards onto his chest as you rut your hips and grind yourself against him. He yanks you down further, kissing you soundly and breathing hot against your lips, his free hand cupping your ass and squeezing, dragging you forwards and back with a steady pace to get you there.

              “God, Yeo,” you whine against his mouth, “I’m so close,”

              “Don’t stop,” he urges you on.

              Your eyes shut tight, and your legs lock around him, he swallows your keening moan with his lips and holds you steady as you shake against him, releasing hard around him. He jerks his hips, thrusting in and out of you and at the sound of your choked moan he takes back control.

              He pins you down to his chest, anchoring his feet flat on the mattress, and picks up the pace, fucking you fast and using his hand on your hip to force your body down with each thrust up.

              “Oh my god,” your body is still shaking, your release just extended with the sudden feeling of him working inside you, and you grip down, your cheek against his chest where he holds you still.

              “Oh fuck,” he pants, “you feel so fucking amazing,”

              He’s breathless, slick and desperate, and pulls out of you suddenly, reaching around stroke his cock fast and firm, releasing into his hand a moment later with a groan, his face buried in your shoulder. Yeosang relaxes back against the bedding, his hand on you releasing so he can stoke your back.

              It takes you a little time, but eventually you can move your limbs, and you stretch, rolling off him to the side. His eyes are closed, and he breaths softly. For a moment you think he’s asleep, but he murmurs, “So perfect,”

              “Mhm,” you sigh, feeling warm and sated. You pull yourself out of bed and Yeosang’s eyes snap open, watching as you move through the room, but he relaxes immediately when he sees that you’re only grabbing him a towel that he can use to clean himself up.

              “Thanks,” he sighs, and you crawl back into bed with him slumping back down on his chest and sighing into him.

              You float, falling in and out of sleep again as he runs his hand steadily up and down your back, sinking into the steady warm thump of his heartbeat under your cheek.

When you surface from the warm dizzying feeling, you realize Yeosang is already up and pulling his sweats back on. His chest is still flushed red and his brow sticky with sweat, and as he puts his shirt back on he smiles, “Coffee?”

              “Mm,” you nod, “but wait, I’ll come with you,”

              “I can bring you some?” He offers.

              You shake your head, stretching long and rolling out of bed, searching the floor for your sleep shorts and adjusting your top, “No, it’s okay, I’m a little hungry too, I was going to check the fridge.”

              He smiles again, “Okay,”

              When you finally find your shorts again and pull them on, you shake out your hair and tie it back to keep it out of your face. Yeosang steps close to you, resting a hand on your hip so he can lean in and kiss you again.

              The kitchen is still quiet, and you can hear some of the boys upstairs or in their respective rooms, but so far for the morning no one has ventured out into the common areas. Hongjoong is absent from his spot on the couch, and so you and Yeosang have a little more time together.

              “What are you in the mood for?” He asks you, poking his head into the fridge and sifting through things.

              “Hmm,” you sigh, thinking as you turn on the espresso machine, “something light and easy, I think?”

              He nods and reaches in, “We have some fruit, cut melon and pineapple?”

              “Perfect,”

              You flick on the kettle for his tea and glance over to see him arranging a small bowl for you, popping a section of honeydew in his mouth as he does. A noise clicks on the espresso machine to indicate it’s ready for use, and you go through the motions of queueing up your shots for an americano. From behind, Yeosang wraps his arms around you and kisses your bare shoulder.

              He kisses the column of your neck, your ear, your cheek, “This morning was nice,”

              You rest your hands over his, watching the espresso cups fill and relaxing into him, “It really was,”

              “I think we might have to add that to our morning routine,” he jokes.

              “I’m not complaining,” you sigh, pouring the espresso over ice in your glass.

              Yeosang watches you make the coffee, still holding you close, but as soon as you finish and set the glass to the side, he’s maneuvering you in his arms again. He spins you around easily, pushing you back into the countertop and kisses you fast, his tongue against yours in a second.

              “Mm,” you mumble against his mouth, “Yeosang,”

              “Yes, love?” He kisses down your neck again, his hands tight on your sides and you loop your arms around his shoulders, sinking one hand into his hair.

              “Kiss me again,”

              He shifts up immediately, capturing your lips again and holds you tight against the firm plane of his muscular chest. You hold onto his shoulders as he dips you backwards, and when your footing slips just a bit at the angle he shifts a hand down to hold your hips steady, fingertips tightening on the fabric of your shorts.

              He kisses you hard again, leaving you breathless just like before, and you stammer a moan against his mouth. You break from his lips to catch your breath and laugh, “Yeo, you’re going to make me want to take you back to bed if you keep kissing me like that,”

              He kisses you again, “That doesn’t really seem like a problem,” his words are mumbled against your mouth.

              Your hand slides back on the countertop where you’re bracing yourself and you hear a clatter when the sugar bowl tips over, the spoon clinking loudly and your hand skidding through the mess. He pulls you back up, holding you better against him as he stands up straight, and slips a hand down to cup your ass and lift you up just the perfect amount to comfortably keep your lips on his.

              “What is it with you and making out in the kitchen?” Wooyoung’s voice cuts through and you immediately pull away from Yeosang’s mouth, his hands loosen and let you drop back to your feet, and he clears his throat and takes a step away from you.

              “Morning,” you manage.

              Yeosang steps away fully now, a blush on his cheeks as he avoids his best friend’s eyes, but he glances back to you with a warm smile. When you look back to Wooyoung, immediately you realize how little you’re wearing. His eyes flick over your body now that Yeosang isn’t blocking his view, and he smirks at the sight of your bare legs and the way your hardened nipples show through the thin fabric of your sleep top.

              Pink blush blooms on your cheeks and chest, and Wooyoung looks between you and Yeosang. His eyebrow quirks, and it’s clear to you that he knows you’ve just slept together, but he doesn’t say anything about it, merely gives Yeosang a look before dropping it entirely.

              “Morning,” he moves into the kitchen alongside you, snagging the iced americano off the counter, “this for me?”

              “Uh,” you’re still a little flustered by the whole encounter and he takes your silence as a yes.

              “Thanks,” he shakes the glass, ice cubes clinking.

              “Woo,” Yeosang says, his voice flat, “you can’t just steal her coffee,”

              “That’s true,” Wooyoung hands the glass back to you and smiles, a little wolfish and you know he’s about to say something more. He does, “I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep, you probably need this more than I do.”

              “Oh my god,” you take the glass, smacking his arm, “and here I thought you were going to be nice for once.”

              “I’m always nice,” he fires back.

              “Sure,”

              At the sound of more of the boys moving into the common areas you blush harder, and Wooyoung’s eyes flick down again to your breasts.

              “Oh, stop that,” you cross your arms over your chest, and he laughs.

              “What? You look hot,” Wooyoung grins.

              Yeosang pushes his friend aside and hands you the creamer for your coffee, and without a word he drops one of his zip up sweatshirts over your shoulders. You push your arms through the sleeves and pull it on, zipping it up and feeling immediately more comfortable.

              “Thank you,” you murmur to Yeosang, and he shrugs.

              “You looked cold,” You know he sensed your discomfort, the idea of being so exposed in front of all of them at once a little too much at this stage. Wooyoung smiles at Yeosang and goes to make himself an americano of his own.

              “Well,” you take a sip of your coffee, “I’m going to go shower,”

              “Don’t forget to eat,” Yeosang catches your hand as you start to walk past the island.

              “Oh,” you remember the fruit and smile at him, “I will as soon as I’m done,”

              He nods and you share a warm smile, the lingering feeling of his hand on your arm different now that you’ve spent the morning together. As you make a beeline for the bathroom to get cleaned up, you hear a smack, and Wooyoung makes an annoyed whine. You stifle your laughter, and you can picture Yeosang clapping the back of his head firmly. As you slip into the bathroom you hear his voice, “You don’t have to try and embarrass her,”

              Wooyoung makes a huffed noise, but you shut the bathroom door and miss the rest, just grateful for Yeosang and the way he seems to always notice exactly what you need without asking. You shower quickly and move through the motions of getting ready, the warm water reminding you just how exhausted you still are. By the time you’re done, the house is up and bustling.

              Seonghwa lounges on the couch, feet up on the coffee table with his legs crossed at the ankle and when he catches your eye he smiles warmly, “Morning!”

              “Hi,” you look past him into the kitchen, but you don’t see Yeosang anymore.

              “Yeosang said I should make you eat this,” Seonghwa gestures to the bowl of fruit on the table and waves you over, “so come here,”

              You collapse on the couch, leaning into Seonghwa’s chest and snagging the bowl of fruit. “Want any?” You ask him.

              He wraps an arm around you and shakes his head, “No, no, you have it.”

              He’s reading something on his phone, flicking through social media, and as you start to eat, he smooths a hand up and down your arm, warming you up and keeping you close. You yawn, wide, and sigh.

              “Tired?” He glances over to you.

              “Mhm,” you finish off another piece of fruit.

              “Can I get you anything?” He asks.

              You shake your head, “When are you going to the studio?”

              He checks the time on his phone, “A little over an hour,”

              “Yeosang said I should come if I was free,” you yawn again.

              “Are you sure you don’t just want to stay here and actually have a day off?” He offers.

              “No,” you lean your head on his shoulder, “I want to come.”

              He pauses, looking you over, and then takes the nearly empty bowl from your hands, leaning forwards and setting it back on the table. “Then how about you get a little rest and I’ll wake you when we need to leave?”

              You’re about to say no, but when you sigh another half yawn he gives you a look, there’s no use fighting him, he’s going to make you rest. You ease down to lay flat, and he smooths your hair back as you snuggle into his thigh. He drops a blanket over you from the back of the couch, and softly strokes your hair to ease you into sleep.

              You’re hazy and dropping off when you hear Yeosang again. “Did she eat?” he asks.

              “Mhm,” Seonghwa’s quiet, the warmth of his voice above you, “I’m just getting her to rest a bit before practice,”

              “That’s good,” Yeosang’s voice moves from behind the couch to the side, “she really needs it,”

              A warm kiss is pressed to your temple, and you recognize the lips. Yeosang kisses you tenderly, and then backs up, moving to sit where your legs are curled up on the next cushion. With Seonghwa’s fingers in your hair and Yeosang’s hand lovingly stroking your leg, you rest for just a little while longer.

💌 - taglist:  @butterfliesinthenightsky @stitch3s @flowerboykun @theartofhotchinthesnow @spookydanielle @mangislovur @inarinabina @justanotherkpopstanlol @parkurhope @bikou0327 @teti-menchon0604 @becauseiloveyunho @stardustmoonlightteaandbooks @yeosangsbiceps @auhhrii @multifandomizer @softsugababes @amazingly-amazing-loser @bangtanxberm @nyxmoon @xosim @arkive78 @elk-1998 @tenebrisirae @mysticfire0435 @jo-hwaberry @ddeonghwva @meginthebuilding27 @sookacc @noonaishere @lucenchan @asjkdk @yunhosprettyhand @realliquanzhe @simplyaghostsworld @blueevelvt @8tinytings

reminder -- chapter fourteen is also posted today for the special double chapter update!! go check it out~

#into the aurora fic #into the aurora series #ateez fic #ateez series #ateez ff #ateez #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff

[lastontheboat]

Fandom creators self rec game! Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Thank you @tackytigerfic for providing me an opportunity for navel-gazing! I enjoyed reading about your own favourites; I find it super interesting to see what other creators value about their works.

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it)

This is my favourite completed fic for a number of reasons:

1. I had always wanted to try writing an epistolary

2. I had always wanted to try collaborating on a fic with a friend

3. The writing process was an absolute joy

It feels like a distillation of many of my favourite things, but unlike many fics the creation process didn't involve tearing my hair out trying to make it do what I wanted. Whenever I'd get stuck, I'd just close the document and go to bed, then when I woke up the next morning @fluxweeed would have added several new scenes that set my brain on fire. It was an absolutely magical experience for me, and I'm extremely fond of the end result. This is probably the fic of mine that I've re-read the most, and it delights me every time!

Podfic of Stop All The Clocks, by firethesound

I've got a lot of podfics to choose from, but this is one that I'm particularly proud of. The original fic is imprinted on my soul, but the thing that sticks with me more than the actual plot is the sensation of reading it and feeling my heart break over and over.

Making podfics is a very personal craft for me. It's an investment of my time, and I generally choose ones to record that I strongly associate with a particular first-time reading experience. This was my sixth large podfic project, and I really wanted my reading to amplify the heartbreak that's already present in the text. It was a much more emotional recording and editing process than most of my podfics, but it's also the only one I've listened to entirely after releasing it.

I'm extremely fond of every listener who has taken the plunge and commented about their experience of it, and completely understand everyone who has been like "I don't fuck with that fic. You couldn't pay me to listen it."

body electric

This is the first fic I can recall writing that was entirely driven by a feeling. I remember being consumed by the idea of that spark between Harry and Draco, of them needing to feed it and hold it but being unable to act upon it. I was between jobs and had a lot of time to myself, and I wrote this fic in a fugue state over the space of two days. I had never experienced a writing process so feverish before, and I don't know if I will again.

I also need to shout out the beta feedback I got from @zaharya on this one, whose very insightful comments about the passage of time in the second chapter led to me adding a bunch of my favourite lines to it:

“I want to bend you over this table,” he says, panting now. “I want you under me, here in my workshop. You’ll leave here and every time you smell wood shavings you’ll think of me.” “I already do,” Malfoy says, his voice cracking.

Podfic of If The Fates Allow, by saras_girl

I spend a lot of time listening to audiobooks these days, and I really appreciate being able to consume so many stories while driving or cooking. For me, recording a podfic is about giving others the opportunity to experience some of my favourite fics, and trying to capture some of what they mean to me in my voicing.

saras_girls fics hold a very special place in my heart, and this one is my absolute favourite of hers. As a podfic, the biggest challenge here was dealing with the ensemble cast—it stretched the limits of unique voices I could do without them sounding forced, but it was also exciting trying to keep the voices consistent across 25 chapters.

the spirit is willing (the flesh is weak)

This is the newest fic that I finished (the only one so far in 2023), but I haven't made too much noise about it on here because it's attached to my alt account. This one started out as a concept that wouldn't leave me alone (Bill/Ginny fuck or die), but it's also another data point in my exploration of what it's like to write smut.

I still don't think it comes naturally to me, whatever that means—I'm much more comfortable keeping my writing to Teen, but I'm very satisfied with how this fic achieves what I set out to do with it. It was a stretch, but a good stretch!

#my works #navel-gazing #i've always wanted to put together some behind the scenes posts about my creations #thank you helping that process along!

[notesoncrocs]

i should be doing work

i'm supposed to be doing work but i logged on here and tried to catch up with everyone's posts (ana's slides are so cute ahhh).

i miss this summer and yall a lot. i know missing it won't change anything but i still do. i've been saying this year is my era of peace and quiet -- i guess that's true. here's what i've been up to:

been going to the gym every morning with ana, making my room look nice, watching succession, having disappointing frat party experiences, trying to stay on top of work. there's a harvard class i'm taking that i really like, a creative writing workshop on the art of the short story. i like that this class is taught a lot better than that one time i took a fiction workshop at mit. we read adela's house by mariana enriquez, a story about a haunted house, and the prompt for that week was to use physical space and the interaction with that space to write a story. this week, we're reading bloodchild by octavia butler (which is literally an alien mpreg story) and the prompt is to write a story about the physical body. i'm writing some crazy stuff.

i like getting back into writing. it used to be a source of stress for me for a lot of very dramatic reasons, and i pretty much gave up on it after that mit fiction workshop. but i was reading this is how you lose the time war this summer (lesbian time travel story where they send each other really poetic letters, bought it with ana at trident in may) and i started thinking about writing more as sending letters to someone across space and time, which i thought was a nice way to think about it. summer was good but there was always an undercurrent of anxiety -- this happiness is temporary, my memory is imperfect and will forget these moments, i will leave these countries and these people and it won't ever be the same. thoughts like that. but there was a line in that book, something about how poetry ossifies, like wood from a tree, how it uses the words in a language (which are like a grimy deck of cards, really) to preserve this beating, writhing tissue, this ephemeral moment, into something strong, solid, and a little bit lifeless. but solid enough to package up and send to you, or to me in the future, or someone. so it's a good thing to write, to work against time, even if it's just to say things to myself that i can't say to anyone else.

anyway. all this to say that i like taking a class that teaches me how to make things up. i'm also taking paloma's class, which is just me being delusional about my spanish level (mexico did help a lot though). i'm also taking jazz composing (my next hobby mayhaps, watch out mit festival jazz ensemble!), 9.66 (computational cog sci), and computer graphics with ana (i'm supposed to be doing pset 0 rn but it looks so atrocious). when i'm not thinking about classes, i'm thinking about how i need to apply for internships next summer and need to relearn 6.006. when i'm not doing either, i guess i'm doing things like writing this, which is really just me procrastinating by feeling melancholic (tm).

like, maybe i should meet more people, or something? but the thought makes me so exhausted and disappointed already. but yeah, these are the things i've been thinking about. hope yall are doing good!

#actual ihouse

[asbestieos]

since iv already talked meltys computer screen off abt seisoukan fire i might as well let you all peep the (pre-) horror . basically seisoukan fire is a fic ive had in drafts for.. three months now? four? ive lost track of time but its been in the workshop for a while now and i cannot bring myself to finish it at the moment . maybe one day ill revisit it or maybe someone will take my idea and make it even poggier ^_^ either way heres tasty snippet

It scared her how calm she still was, even so many days after tragedy struck.

There was paperwork to do and business to go about, of course, all too important to set aside for grief. There was no chance Anzu would rest so long as there was more she could do to ease her idols’ pain. Yet even she knew there must be some boundary at which her strength ended. Maybe when she next slept. Or when she next had a moment to herself. Her own anxieties were abated for a week now, but through the caffeine and sleeplessness, the tell-tale adrenaline brought about by unnecessary thoughts began to emerge from the fog of responsibilities in her brain. She didn’t have long until she, like every other member of Ensemble Square, fell victim to feelings of despair.

… But she couldn’t let that happen just yet. She saw the national outrage over what was seemingly the fault of Ensemble Square’s Producer Association. Angry mobs, online and in real life, demanded justice. Punitive justice. Rightful execution of those who failed to protect their charges. Despite the official investigation spearheaded by founder Eichi Tenshouin ruling innocent in the producers’ favor, all evidence of the fire’s origins were hidden from public view. The unsatisfactory explanation defaulted to a simple accident of unexplainable origins — and it was left at that, for any and all to speculate.

Perhaps hiding the truth spared the Association the worst of the abuse. Perhaps hiding the truth protected the idols most severely affected. Perhaps hiding the truth was simply a ploy to prolong their audiences’ patience, a precursor to another plan in development. Perhaps Eichi intended to use this chance to upheave the Association’s power after all.

Anzu could care less.

People — No, her dearest, closest, most precious friends had died.

Non-confrontational as she was, there was no chance she could let the truth of the matter be hidden from her. From the victims still suffering even now. Even if her position as Producer was at-risk, even if there was a chance the swords of hate could point at her throat — for the sake of her friends still living, she wanted to find the answers to their questions. If it would soothe their guilt and pain, wouldn’t it be worth it after all?

Over the course of the week, between public media announcements and funeral tributes, Anzu tried to carefully craft the truth of what had happened together. To learn how an unexpected fire took the lives of ten of Ensemble Square’s very best, and injured a further thirteen more. An endeavor taken not without aid: when Ibara, equally as exasperated with his own losses, came across her notes splayed across the Square office’s tables, the loadbearers’ count stepped up to two, and they carried the burden of truth-seeking together, examining the finer details the official investigation could not consider under the close scrutiny of the public.

Now, she presents herself before a small group of fellow students and a few graduates. All in varying degrees of injury and non-such. The handful who agreed to discuss the incident, strong enough to assist in their investigation, trustworthy enough to not immediately rat their asses out to higher-ups.

They expected less to come than originally planned. Accounting for cold feet, weighted trust, limited invitations, and the sheer impossibility of their task, Ibara guessed only a quarter of their requested audience would arrive, barely five people. But as they waited in that isolated warehouse, deep into the mundane urban structures of Ensemble Square’s yet-to-be-constructed areas, their witnesses slowly trickled in, one after another.

They totaled twelve thus far.

Leo, carefully carrying himself in with a singular crutch, a brace constricted about his neck.

Madara, in similar shape, though where Leo had a brace about his neck, Madara instead had one of his arms in a sling.

Sora, now healed; and Natsume, unharmed.

Nazuna. Unharmed.

Mika. Healed.

Kuro, unharmed; Hiiro, unharmed; both assisting a wheelchair-bound Tetora, wrapped still in protective dressing and a tiger-patterned blanket.

Hokuto and Subaru. Unharmed.

Finally, Kaoru. Unharmed.

Tell-tale exhaustion hung on each of their faces. Anzu knew, at least on the stage, they had no choice but to maintain composure, so to see their weary faces now only hurt her heart. While she had the chance to share her grievances with ES’s fanbase, they had no choice but to keep their chins held high, even amidst terrible rumors and conspiracy regarding the incident. All this, they had to endure in silence without a chance to even defend themselves.

Anzu inhaled deep, organizing clipped papers in her hands. This was all for them. She long since resolved to use her own experience to support them. For her, this feeling of helplessness and hopelessness was familiar, and she was well aware of how insidiously persistent that pain was. Their grief may never end, so they are well-deserving of whatever explanation she and Ibara could find.

“Nervous, Producer-dono?” Ibara chided, pen clicked away. He eyed Kaoru as he slumped into one of the empty folding chairs.

She lowered her head. Then, she mumbled to him, “Saegusa-san, I’m sorry for the trouble. I can do this by myself, so you don’t have to be here.“

“Hmm? Aren’t we both investigating? It’d be unfair to do solo work when the truth is something we both aim for, isn’t it?”

“Still... you’re a very busy man.”

“Busy as I am, allow me to lead. You’ve been practically tearing yourself apart these past few days,” Ibara teased as he set his papers down on his seat. A hop to his feet and the attention of the whole group came upon him.

Even Ibara himself did not escape the tragedy unscathed — at least, not emotionally. Were Anzu not a fellow Producer, she might never have noticed his own suffering, but since that terrible day, his enthusiasm mellowed and his sight clouded. Where before, Ibara always stepped his best foot forward, he now stumbled in stride and in work. Making mistakes he’d never make in a million years, mistakes that might have cost him his position and agency were it not for her quiet assistance.

She was grateful for his help and more than willing to cover for him, especially since he had lost someone dear to him as well.

“Thank you all for coming,” Ibara began. Anzu noted how he neglected to inject his usual energy into his tone. “You already know why Producer-san and I have called you here. We intend to find the truth behind what happened at Seisoukan. Not the official declaration released by His Eminence Tenshouin Eichi, mind you, but every detail left untold by the faulty investigation supposedly conducted.”

Ibara continued, his hands clasped palm-in-palm, “In Producer-san’s hands are documents detailing the building’s architecture. Beside me upon this easel, I have constructed a simple chart of–”

“Will you skip all the bullshit?”

Anzu’s attention snapped to the familiar cold tone, her eyes widening at Hokuto. She knew him to be coarse, but such vicious words?

“Hokuto...”

Her friend cleared his throat, his stare shifting away from Ibara to her. His face was terrible. Stone-faced as usual, but a weariness tore at his cheeks. The slightest hint of bags outlined his under-eyes. “Producer. Anzu. I understand you do all you do out of the kindness, so I’m holding back my anger. But this meeting... this is just pointless. Do you intend to make us recount the events of that day?”

Hokuto seemed to chew on her words. She knew he held her in high regard, knew that if there were anyone in the room he would listen to, it was her.

Silence fell again. Uncertainty filled her now. This would be painful. Extremely painful. But surely everyone who had gathered knew this already. Where she once thought silence was comfort, she couldn’t stand that quiet now, so she chose to break it again:

“Please, Hokuto-kun. You’re all my friends. Everyone who perished, they were our friends. I know... this will be painful for everyone, but if we don’t know why and how this happened, no one will be able to forgive each other.” She continued in a voice even softer than usual, “Or ourselves.”

Silence fell again. Uncertainty filled her now. This was going to be painful. Extremely painful. But surely everyone who had gathered knew this already. Where she once thought silence was comfort, she couldn’t stand that quiet now, so she chose to break it again:

“I don’t want this to be a purely business-like meeting,” she admitted. “The tragedy that happened… It’s personal to every single person here. So for now, let’s forget the investigation. It’s okay if this takes another meeting to get done.

“… Right now, I want to know how everyone feels. What are your thoughts? You must be hurting, right?”

#ophanem art #seisoukan fire #one day.. seisoukan fire will be finished #piper ens posting

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Big data astronomy: Using statistics in a new way to decipher the universe The digital age has been a tremendous boon to the fields of both statistics and astronomy. However, according to Dr. Max Bonamente, a professor of physics and astronomy at The University of Alabama in Huntsville (UAH), most astronomers are not sufficiently trained to realize the substantial benefits to be gained by putting these disciplines together. He and his colleagues are working to change all that through pioneering research in the burgeoning field of astrostatistics. Dr. Bonamente published a paper in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society showcasing an innovative new twist in probability distributions that promises to revolutionize the ways cosmological data can be interpreted. "Traditionally, astronomers have been poor statisticians—we like to 'make up the statistics as we go,'" the researcher explains. "My latest paper is a new method to account for systematic errors. It describes a new probability distribution method I developed that hadn't been thought of before. It's nerdy stuff, but has real-life implications in terms of making conclusions from observations. Many astronomers don't have the necessary math background to do statistics carefully. It's hard, because statistics is hard math at its core. Few people want to take the extra time to do it. Of course, not everyone feels that way." This is evidenced by the success of a workshop called iid2022: Statistical Methods for Event Data and subtitled, Illuminating the Dynamic Universe, recently hosted by UAH, a part of The University of Alabama System. Dr. Bonamente and his colleague, Dr. Lingling Zhao, an assistant professor of space science, organized the workshop. The gathering was designed to train young scientists in proper statistical methods for the analysis and interpretation of data and included hands-on collaborative analysis of sample problems employing advanced software. The gathering also provided a forum for astronomers and researchers in related fields to exchange recent advances in the analysis of event data. "Event data" are the collection of individual events—in astronomy, typically light photons, but also neutrinos or other particles. These events can be studied through statistical applications as a function of location (images), time (such as light curves) or energy or wavelength (spectra). Events can also be defined as ensembles of quantities, such as gravitational wave events or galaxy clusters detected through measurements of the Cosmic Microwave Background, which is the cooled remnant of the first light that could ever travel freely throughout the universe. A native of Italy, Dr. Bonamente moved to the U.S. in 1997, and is a UAH alumnus, earning both an M.S. and Ph.D. in physics at UAH, where he has developed the use of a statistical method called Markov chain Monte Carlo (MCMC) for analysis of cosmological events. MCMCs comprise a class of special algorithms used in probability distributions, a mathematical function that gives the probabilities of the occurrence of different possible outcomes for an experiment. "These methods have made it possible to analyze data faster and with greater accuracy," the researcher notes. "Nowadays, machine learning is everywhere in astronomy. We used MCMCs to measure the Hubble constant, for example, which was a big deal at the time." The Hubble constant is one of the most important numbers in cosmology, because it tells us how fast the universe is expanding. Astrostatistics represents the future of big data management and analysis in astronomy, as the latest technologies are producing staggering amounts of data of truly mindboggling complexity. The challenge to analyze this data is only growing exponentially as new data-gathering mechanisms evolve in radio, microwave, infrared, X-ray, gamma ray, interferometer and optical instruments that will require new statistical algorithms and techniques to make sense of it all. "Most astronomers or physicists don't know much of probability theory, let alone statistics," Dr. Bonamente points out. "A scientist's job ought to be that of being careful, and not to give in to the desire to find a great new result when it's not there. So, marrying math and astronomy is the natural direction for me."

#space #science #Astronomy #physics #news

[lgcjisoo]

jisoo’s quite happy that he got to attend a year end show. after all these years of watching from streaming services or hearing about it, or even reading about it afterwards... now he gets to attend! and as apart of the newsies ensemble, so he’s not standing alone or feeling like a fish out of water: oh who is he kidding? he’s absolutely a fish out of water, but the poker face is something well learned and embedded in his code now. and there’s always excitement with any event where he ought to dress for the occasion, with purpose. although he didn’t have the safety blanket of being around sanghyun or jinseo necessarily for this, he knew he had many friends in the ensemble and jinyoung was always by his side through all of the workshops and rehearsals. 

what he did not expect was for him to actually have to go on stage for the actual acceptance of any award, but ensemble meant all members. it had been thrilling to see who had won all the other awards, but when newsies got announced for ensemble, he felt someone tugging at his arm to also head up along with the rest of the group- and here jisoo had thought that it would be only the faces of the play, or the people who ran the play itself. nope, here they were, and each were given snippets of time to give a small speech. oh no. he was definitely unprepared, and his mind already reels at who to mention. soon he’s the one who is in front of the microphone, and jisoo probably looks like a wild deer in the middle of the road, calming down his senses as best he can. “i’d like to thank everyone who has helped me in my first foray into acting and musicals, as this was my first role ever in one of lgc’s productions. thank you eternally to the staff and crew! and i would also like to thank my family, and to my best friend, keeho, may we share the stage together one day!” 

#lgc:yearend2022 #( that last line is so dumb LMAO ) #( but young boys be young ) #wc: 350

[aasthakumariyer]

Practical Coursework Journal (Reflection Journal) - Year 3 Semester 1

Week 2:

During our initial session, Sara explained to me the requirements of the upcoming recital, prompting me to share the list of songs I had curated for the event. Following this, we delved into a series of vocal warm-ups, during which I noticed a marked improvement in my ability to implement the techniques compared to my progress in the previous year. Despite this positive development, I recognized the need for further refinement in my mid-range, as I occasionally in the process of practice lose confidence which comes from not hitting the correct notes and perfecting the technique.

Gradually, as I became better at applying the vocal techniques, I began to perceive a noticeable transformation in my voice. I found myself feeling more at ease and relaxed, a significant contrast to my earlier experiences. While I remain conscientious about maintaining proper breathing techniques, I have observed considerable progress in this aspect, which has contributed to a more fluid and controlled vocal delivery.

Towards the end of the session, we dedicated time to working on songs that would help enhance my mid-range capabilities. Specifically, I focused on practicing two Hindi songs, allowing me to further refine my vocal prowess in preparation for the recital.

Week 3 and 4:

I missed these sessions as I was a part of the Lasalle Summer School Project - Underwater Cables Project which was held in room C101.

The Underwater Cable summer school was all about a cool thing called Telematic performance. Students from all over the world who were into different arts came together for this 10-day program. We did workshops where we learned stuff like submergence worlding, soundpainting, and non-linear scripting, along with some other fancy media techniques.

Our Singapore group was a mix of students from London, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and Taipei. And get this, we were actually connecting live with students from The Academy of Fine Arts in Trondheim, Norway, and The Zurich University of the Arts in Switzerland. It felt like we were all in the same room even though we were miles apart!

Dr. Tim, who's the head of the School of Contemporary Music at Lasalle College of the Arts in Singapore, led the whole summer program. It was a pretty mind-blowing experience, learning and creating art with people from all over the world, all at the same time.

Week 5:

During our fifth session, Sara and I dedicated our efforts to refining my original songs for the upcoming recital. After narrowing down the selection for the final performance, Sara encouraged me to solidify the participation of all the band members and to establish the rehearsal schedule. With her guidance, I initiated the planning process, aiming to commence rehearsals during the first week of October, allotting a total of four crucial practice sessions.

While discussing the set list for the recital, I expressed my uncertainty about including my Hindi song. I explained to Sara that this particular composition is deeply rooted in Indian Classical music, and I had concerns about achieving the desired outcome with my band's interpretation.

Week 6:

For the 6th session, I worked on my original song as I had done my vocal practice at home.

Week 7:

Participating in the Soundpainting workshop at Lasalle with Walter Thompson this week was a truly eye-opening experience for me. While I was somewhat familiar with the concept of Soundpainting from Dr. Tim's Creative Ensemble class, being immersed in it alongside dancers, musicians, and actors was a whole new adventure.

Witnessing Mr. Walter craft a composition weaving together various art forms with the help of simple hand signs was nothing short of amazing. However, I found myself struggling to contribute during the session. The fear of making mistakes held me back, leaving me uncertain about how to improvise and hesitant to put myself out there.

It was a conversation with a senior student from the master's program at Lasalle that truly shifted my perspective. They emphasized that in improvisation, there's no right or wrong��just the freedom to express oneself in any way one sees fit. This realization was profound for me, as I've always been conditioned to avoid mistakes and stick to the familiar.

Through this workshop, I came to understand that even mistakes or unconventional sounds have a place in music. Embracing this concept has opened up new avenues of creativity and expression for me, allowing me to break free from self-imposed limitations and explore the vast possibilities of improvisation.

Some of the videos and pictures from the workshop:

The whole group, one side were dancers the other side were the actors and at the back were the musicians.

A video of Mr. Walter giving hand signs to the group.

Week 8:

This week, Sara couldn't hold her class due to her work commitments. On top of that, I had my panel presentation, which I believe went decently overall. However, certain aspects weren't as clear to the panel members, and I'll need to revisit them further to bring about clarity in my research proposal.

Despite the stress I felt after the panel presentation, I'm determined to stay calm and methodically work through any areas that need improvement. Clarity is key, and I'm committed to ensuring that my work reflects that.

Week 9:

In our 9th session, my focus was on fine-tuning my Hindi song with Sara, as in certain segments the chords were not flowing properly. Initially, I had reservations about performing the Hindi rendition, but my father's suggestion was to explore a modified version and a bit of pop Hindi kind of feel could be brought about in the song. So I looked up references and showed them to the band and with Sara's help I got some extra chords added. After sharing it with my band members and incorporating their feedback during our second rehearsal, it became apparent, through Carlos's (our guitarist) feedback.

To rectify this, I took Sara's help and together, we had an in-depth discussion on the song's structure. Ultimately, we concluded that transposing the key from B to C would help achieve the desired chord flow. I refined the chord progressions, culminating in a comprehensive half-song draft. Subsequently, I continued working on the song independently and also took some help from Regina. She helped with (from Pop Level 1) suggestions on arrangement.

Regina emphasized the importance of maintaining an ambient musical backdrop, offering important pointers for each individual instrument. Her notes provided a fresh perspective, contributing significantly to the overall refinement of the composition.

Week 10:

During our 10th session, I dedicated time to refining my song for the upcoming half-recital with Sara. Sensing certain areas where my voice wasn't quite finding its place, Sara guided me through a series of vocal warm-ups to ensure my voice was in optimal condition. We then delved into each of the four songs, and Sara provided invaluable feedback for the accompanying band.

Her insights encompassed a range of aspects, from innovative arrangement ideas that could enhance the overall sound to specific suggestions for improving the performance of each instrument. Moreover, she offered valuable guidance on the timing of my breaths and the execution of particular vocal lines, ensuring that each note flowed effortlessly.

Sara's meticulous attention to detail and her expert advice not only improved the musicality of the songs.

Week 11: This week was very busy for me as there were many assignments to complete. Alongside my vocal practice, I dedicated significant time to working on my dissertation research proposal and putting together my portfolio for the Industry and Communication class. It was a busy period, especially considering I had taken part in both the Underwater Cables workshop and the Soundpainting workshop during the first half of the week.

With so much on my plate, it was essential to stay organized and manage my time effectively to ensure everything was completed on schedule. Additionally, I made sure to address all the feedback and comments I received on my research proposal, incorporating insights from both James and the panel's presentation.

Despite the busyness, I found satisfaction in tackling each task with focus and determination. Reflecting on the week's accomplishments, I'm pleased with the progress made across the past few weeks and have been able to balance out my college submission work and the workshops that I have attended.

Week 12 and Week 13:

In both these weeks, my main focus was on practicing vocals for my upcoming half-recital. I spent time refining all four songs, making sure every note and lyric was just right. We also had a rehearsal each week to polish up the songs and ensure the band sounded tight.

During rehearsals, I made it a point to keep track of how long it took to perform each song. This helped us gauge the timing for the final performance and plan accordingly. Overall, I felt really good about how the rehearsals went. I have a lot of trust in my band members—they're all super talented on their respective instruments, which makes working together a breeze. Reflecting on our progress, I feel confident and we're ready for my performance.

[elliott-fyp]

ideation - pieces, not songs

i'm interested in making pieces as opposed to songs. in the past i relied heavily on lyrics to shape the form of the song, and i think it would be a good challenge to eschew my pop production process to explore other approaches, arrive at different results.

without vocals and the conventional verse-prechorus-chorus format, i have to think of other ways to engage the listener. in electronic music ensemble workshops and at external shows, i have performed as well as watched lengthy pieces, but i feel like witnessing a person work with sound sources in real time helps to retain attention in a way that listening to acousmatic music cannot.

as much as i take pleasure in creating, it is more important to me that my work attracts and retains an audience. perhaps by making the work site-specific and manufacturing an aura of exclusivity around it, i can get people to stick around long enough to listen to my pieces from start to end.

[sh4m]

For those wondering, I live on the East Coast of Australia, this might help make things make sense later.

~

Watching the clips circulating from the Oscar's has lead me to look back on some things and have to come to terms with others.

Like how when I was younger I wanted to he an actor, not the big, well known silver screen kind, but the stage kind, the kind that only certain people knew about, but still cared enough to give a shit about.

No, this wasn't because of Hamilton, it was because of things like Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake piece, the one everyone knows, and Shakespeare, and this one scene from some kind of Cirque du Soleil-esq show where these two men are trying to give this woman on a balcony a rose, so they stack these chairs and tables and other things too, they stacked them up so high!

Just to give her a rose.. it was a while ago like maybe when I was 7 years old that I watched it at like midnight with my parents when i definitely should have been sleeping..

I did plays in high school and the drama teachers would always tell me about workshops and different shows that were on, and the shows would be amazing! And because it was usually a matinee with other schools, the actors and crew would let us ask questions and give advice and tips at the end of the performance!

My mother, however, wasn't too supportive. She would tell me that it was a waste of time and that the other people were better than i was, so I didn't go to the workshops and after a while I stopped asking if I could.

So I stopped trying to be on stage, and tried to do different things. I did art, music, sport, writing, I read more books, I played video games, and I started playing dungeons and dragons to try and make me feel better.

She didn't take me wanting to be a singer and a musician kindly either.

But working in around that kind of entertainment is addictive in a way, the lights, the stage, the thrill of getting it all perfect.. it's not something that can be forgotten either.

So I changed my craft! I started working doing tech and backstage stuff, I would haul around props and and set up stages, rig lights and sound, run cables all around the school hall, and sit in the wings during every performance and watch as it all came together.

And I was happy with that! Hell, I'm even doing a certificate course so I can do it professionally, any thing from live entertainment and music festivals to awards shows!

And then I saw all the speeches from the awards that Everything Everywhere All at Once won, and it made me remember something that I blocked out from one of the shows I acted in.

At the end, when everyone was leaving and people were saying the whole 'oh, you were so good!' to the cast, only a few non POC audience member that wasn't a teacher that I knew personally or a friend of mine said that I did a good job, nor to my Middle Eastern friend that was on stage the entire show. All the congratulations and 'good jobs!' that we got were majority from people of colour, people that looked like us.

I remember talking to the one of the leads after with their parents.. their parents didn't know I was in the play until the lead, a friend of mine, introduced me to them.. we had meet like 3 times before then.

After helping pack some things up and grabbing my stuff to leave with my dad, the music teachers stopped us to say that I did a good job and to chat too. One was a white, young, gay man, who everyone at the school loved and the other was a small, old, Asian woman, she was my first music teacher and the vocal ensemble teacher, I remember her asking what I wanted to do after school and when I said acting she asked if I wanted to do the film kind.

When I said I wanted to do stage acting I remember her eyes light up with excitement, and looking back what looked like hope.

I never had the heart to tell her that I gave up before moving to a new high school.

The Oscar's made me realised that I lost my chance to be under stage lights and that now I'll only ever be behind them. It made me grieve something I never had for the past 4 hours. I sarted crying about this at around 4am, it's 7am right now.

Now I've slowly come to terms with it, and have to leave for school in an hour, and funnily enough I have my entertainment course today as well.

We're doing our stage lighting module this term.

#something that makes this hurt a bit more is that the new school i go to has a even heavier performing arts presence #a few of my firends are also part time actors #vent #i'll probably delete this later #i'll post this fuck it we ballin'

[matchdinghy36]

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[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER 

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it. 

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor. 

     - What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare. 

     - Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history. 

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door. 

     - Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID? 

     - Just sign in front of your name. 

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring. 

     - You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast. 

     - Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

    - I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now. 

    - Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

    - The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

    - Oh, okay. 

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous. 

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd. 

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider. 

     - Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N. 

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach. 

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

    - Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

    - I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

    - Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers. 

    - I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it. 

    - Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

    - I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

    - They’re down the hall. -  she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

    - Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again. 

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it. 

    - Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well. 

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

    - Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

    - Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day. 

    - Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup. 

    - Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins. 

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves. 

    - I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

    - Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas. 

    - A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

    - The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing. 

    - I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type. 

    - Lyric soprano, m’am.

    - A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

    - Julliard, m’am.

    - Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

    - Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

    - Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting. 

    - That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

    - Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained. 

    - It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

    - It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

    - Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status. 

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark. 

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[swanlake1998]

Article: For transgender dancers, progress can't come fast enough

Date: March 8, 2020

By: Avichai Scher

Sean Dorsey was tired of being the only transgender dancer in the room. So he took the bold step of starting his own company, the San Francisco-based Sean Dorsey Dance, and become the first openly trans director of a full-time dance company. It was a milestone for transgender and gender-nonconforming dancers and choreographers, and Dorsey hoped it would lead to a more inclusive dance world.

The company is celebrating its 15th anniversary this year, yet Dorsey remains the only openly trans artistic director of a full-time dance company in the country.

“We’ve definitely made progress since I started, when there was really no context for institutional or social support of trans dancers,” Dorsey said. “But there’s still a major lack of representation across the dance world.”

Dance, especially older forms such as ballet and modern dance, is mostly structured around strict gender lines. While the growing acceptance of transgender people in the United States has extended somewhat into the art form, trans dancers are often forced to choose between being their authentic selves and career opportunities.

Issues start in training

Dorsey’s choreography often deals with trans issues, and he is committed to being an advocate in the dance world for transgender people. But even in his own company, Dorsey is the only trans performer.

“In San Francisco, at least, I don’t have the luxury of holding an audition for trans dancers,” he said. “There just aren’t very many at the professional level.”

Dorsey said this is largely because barriers for trans and gender-nonconforming dancers start at a young age — as most training programs are gender-specific.

Jayna Ledford, 19, made headlines when she came out as transgender in an Instagram post in 2018. She was studying at the Kirov Ballet Academy at the time, a traditional ballet program in Washington, D.C. It was the first time a dancer at an acclaimed ballet school had publicly come out as trans.

Classes at Kirov, like most ballet conservatories, are generally separated by sex assigned at birth, and when students are combined, teachers offer different steps for men and women. Ledford, however, found ways to get the training that matched her gender identity, including dancing on her toes in special pointe shoes, which is done almost exclusively by women and requires unique training.

“I wanted to do what the females were doing,” she said. “I’d do it on the side and not pay attention to what the guys were doing. I’d also stay after class and practice pointe technique with my female friends.”

She hadn’t had the training other females at the school had, but she was hoping to transfer from the men’s program to the women’s.

“I knew I had a lot of catching up to do in terms of pointe work,” she said. “But just being in the room with the females, that’s what I wanted.”

The Kirov Academy told Ledford she could not join the women’s program unless she physically transitioned. Ledford was not ready for that, so she left the school. She was disappointed but now says she understands the academy’s position. The school confirmed Ledford’s account but declined to comment.

Maxfield Haynes, 22, who is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, said the large, prestigious ballet school where they trained was not supportive of someone presenting as male wearing pointe shoes.

It wasn’t until Haynes enrolled at Tisch School of the Arts at New York University that they were able to explore the more feminine aspects of ballet technique. Ledford also found higher education to be more supportive than a conservatory. She now studies at Montclair State University and practices pointe technique daily.

Lack of professional opportunities

After NYU, Haynes chose to dance with Complexions Contemporary Ballet partially because the company is explicitly supportive of gender fluidity, and even had a specific role for Haynes that is gender-nonconforming. In the David Bowie tribute piece, “Stardust,” Haynes dons pointe shoes and was partnered with male dancers.

“It was everything I could have dreamed of,” Haynes said of the role. “As nonbinary, I like to get to show all aspects of gender. I don’t think about dancing like a man or a woman, just myself.”

Opportunities to dance roles that are gender-nonconforming are rare in the concert dance world, even if dancers are becoming more open about being gender-nonconforming in their offstage lives. And those who want to physically transition face a stark choice, as none of the major dance companies in the U.S. currently have openly transgender dancers on their rosters.

Alby Sabrina Pretto recently made the difficult choice to begin physically transitioning with hormone replacement therapy at the expense of her performing career. She was a dancer with Les Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo, an all-male comedy troupe, for eight years. While she got to dance in pointe shoes, the style of the company is rooted in the comedy of men portraying women, which ultimately wasn’t how Pretto identified.

“There were moments I wanted to do things like a ballerina would and be ethereal and pretty,” Pretto said. “To dance like a woman.”

She knew that physically transitioning would mean she could not continue with the company.

“I wanted to have a career, and that slowed down my decision to transition,” Pretto said. “I waited until I felt like I had done what I wanted to do there.”

Liz Harler, general manager of Les Ballet Trockadero, said in a statement that transitioning does not disqualify dancers from the company.

“Dancers who expressed interest in transitioning to female have been told that their job would not be in jeopardy, though none have chosen to do so while continuing with the Trocks’ rigorous dancing and touring schedule,” Harler said.

Both Ledford and Pretto hope for the day when they can attend an audition and be hired without having to explain their gender identity.

Ledford said. “I’ll audition as any other woman. If I get in, then I’ll sit down and talk with them.”

Ledford is “optimistic” that this can happen in the next few years, but Pretto isn’t so sure.

“I am not naive, I know I cannot just audition for a major ballet company and join the female corps de ballet,” Pretto said. “But I would love for that to happen for me. It’s the ultimate dream.”

Her skepticism is partly based on the experience of her former Trockadero colleague, Chase Johnsey, who is gender fluid. He made headlines in 2018 when he was cast in a female ensemble role in the English National Ballet’s production of “Sleeping Beauty,” though it was not on pointe, and the heavy costume concealed his body. No additional female roles came his way afterward.

The question of who gets opportunities as a dancer often comes down to the taste of directors and producers and what they imagine their audiences want to see, not just ability.

Pretto danced a couple of character roles recently with Eglevsky Ballet, a growing ballet ensemble on Long Island, New York. The director, Maurice Brandon Curry, said he would consider Pretto for a female ensemble role next year, because her pointe work is “excellent,” though he wonders how some in the audience will react.

“Casting Alby in a female role would not be about passing as female, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge my concern about an audience member who was offended,” Curry said. “But art is not prejudice; it’s about inclusivity and open minds. If someone is not willing to have that experience, they don’t have a legitimate place in our audiences.”

Signs of change

Dorsey said that even having discussions about gender identity in dance is progress from when he started, and he’s encouraged by changes he’s seen: Most theaters either already have gender-neutral restrooms or create them for his company’s visit; trans and gender-nonconforming students attend his workshops in various cities and share with him their efforts to be accepted in their dance communities; the San Francisco Ballet persuaded him to lead a training session on gender identity in dance; and he was on the cover of Dance Magazine.

Ledford was recently a “Gaynor Girl,” a spokesperson for the popular pointe shoe brand Gaynor Minded. Pretto said she worked up the courage to use the ladies' locker room at one of New York’s busiest studios, Steps on Broadway, and no one seemed to mind.

Still, the art form has not yet caught up to reflect the audience, Dorsey said. His company has worked in over 30 cities in the U.S. and abroad, and he is usually the first trans choreographer a theater has presented. But he said the response from audiences is almost always positive.

“Dance audiences are ready and hungry for trans voices,” he said. “It's our dance institutions that are still catching up.”

#article #ballet #an article from last year but still important #sean dorsey #jayna ledford #maxfield haynes #alby sabrina pretto

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift - Part 2

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: Little inklings of sexual themes. Otherwise we’re still in PG territory. Oh and mutual pining from two idiots. My favourite kind.

Authors Note: One shot? I don’t know her. Honestly, I don’t have any excuse. I just felt the urge to continue on with this dumb fluffy story because it makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside and I needed that. Will we drive this car straight into smut town afterwards? Ah you’ll just have to see. 

Catch up with Part 1 here

*

Paul always considered himself a smart guy. Perceptive, knowledgeable, with years of grueling education behind him to be where he is today.

His schooling, work, almost every minute of his waking moments was spent in the realm of artificial illustrations of correspondence. He could happily spend hours sifting through the words and numbers that made up all types of message transmission, might even admit he had a talent for decoding their significance and origin. Exchanges born from machinery were easy to analyse – they had set rules and gave little room for differing interpretation. He was comfortable in that world. Knew how things worked, what paths data and carefully devised information would take.

Human communication was infinitely harder to navigate. It was a skill he knew he was lacking in, compared to others at least. His words never came out the way he wanted, he struggled to say exactly what was wished to convey and agonised over the fact expression and tone could morph any remark into something with a whole different meaning.

Every day, he encountered people who used this as a tool - a weapon to obscure the truth and conceal hidden agendas. It was hard not to, working for the US government. In time, he’d become cynical. Wary of what people spoke aloud, assuming it was all said without much sincerity or reliability unless proven otherwise.

And then after another arduous day, there you were. Out of nowhere. Kind. Honest. Genuine. Within such an excruciatingly short interaction, you’d exuded all these traits so effortlessly. A breath of fresh air after being smothered by the smog the rest of his life contained.

Paul would easily admit his attraction to you was surprisingly swift. The rapturing smile you wore when you’d looked up from your notepad had him snared from the moment it appeared, an aura of natural vibrance and radiant energy shimmering out from your animated expression. What he’d expected to be a dry, tedious endeavour turned into a spark-filled scene, where an excited stranger made him feel both horrendously nervous and unusually at-ease. It had been a long time since someone made him feel like that.

It had also been a long time since he’d asked someone out on a date, for more than a few reasons. The more prolific Paul became in his job, the more unpredictable and unstable his life outside of it was. It took him across the country at a moments’ notice and consumed most hours of his day, meaning forging even short relationships was fairly difficult.

Plus… he just wasn’t good at it. Putting himself out there. He was shy, paralyzingly so. It’s not exactly something he could refute. His confidence was always born from experience and understanding, in knowing the reasons behind why things worked the way they did, along with being able to calculate what would happen next. No textbook could ever cover the entire spectrum of human personality, and there was no way to truly predict what a person might do or say. 

So, without the security of knowledge behind him, uneasiness and apprehension took over in most of his social interactions, particularly with those he felt a magnetism to. It’s exactly how he thought he seemed during his time with you. Awkward and floundering. Not exactly the most charming attributes for a man to have. And yet, the longer he was in your presence, the more he sensed those foibles fade into the back of his mind.

Talking to you was easy. Easier than it had been with anyone during a first meeting. What hadn’t been easy was enduring the seconds your touch grazed over him in your delicate workings while taking each different measurement - his heart beating a little faster, his muscles becoming a little more tense. When you’d eventually let your stare reach his, he’d seen how your eyes moved to trace the lines of his mouth, and it set his insides on fire. He’d been frozen by the unique type of burn, his body locked in place while a rare impulse begged him to sink his lips onto yours. In the past, he struggled to kiss a woman even after several dates, unable to push past the fear and doubt to turn his desire into action. However, in that moment, he’d been all too eager. His hand had moved on its own accord, fingers slinking up your waist, about to pull you closer when interruption instantly shattered his resolve.

The urge was still there in the dialogue that followed, although the promise of seeing you tomorrow made it easier to walk away, safe in the knowledge he had another opportunity to ask you out when his confidence was properly steeled. For once, he could be smart about this. Use his natural intellect to plan and act accordingly, giving him the best odds of securing more time with you.

Oh, but that all went to shit when your text message popped up on his phone screen. Seeing those words, even if they were meant for someone else, made his excitement reach an unfathomable peak, and in turn made him recklessly send a response without taking a second to think about the consequences.

And now, Paul had never felt so stupid in his entire life.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, the phone in his palm lit up with your conversation on display, he felt his stomach spasm with anxiety. Were you going to reply? What would you say? What if his bluntness freaked you out? What if you weren’t even talking about him? Was this all something his mind conjured up?

As the minutes passed without any sign of a response, the initially minor sense of panic began to compound, weighing heavy on his chest, the chaos of his mind soon melting into one certainty - he’d totally fucked this up.

About to slump his forehead into the steering wheel in a display of despondency, Paul suddenly felt a flash of courage at remembering the view of your face peering up at him. He knew the image of it would haunt him if he didn’t do something. He had to fix this. Explain himself. But it needed to be in person. He wouldn’t let technology mess this up for him again.

With a purposeful breath, Paul exited his car and began to retrace his steps past the other shopfronts, silently rehearsing what he wanted to say to you. He hoped to surrender himself to a collectively embarrassing situation, laugh off the turn of events, having it all culminate in an offer of dinner once your shift had finished. He already had a place in mind, only a street away, a little dumpling house that was always open late. Perfect for a cosy, quiet date after a chance meeting.

When his eyes latched onto your figure through the glass window, he stopped his hand from reaching for the door handle. You were crouching down in front of a small boy, his mother behind him cradling a newborn baby, your hand gesturing towards an array of child size suits. Paul couldn’t help but watch as your warming smile beamed, guiding the boys hands to touch and feel over the material, your words evidently making him feel more at ease as his expression slowly relaxed out of its worried frown.

Creeping backwards to make sure you didn’t catch him in your periphery, Paul felt a wave of relief wash over his skin, having evidence that your lack of reply wasn’t due to any of the worst case scenarios he’d been fretting over. You were just busy, concentrated on your work, giving your time and expertise to others in the same way you’d given to him.

The realisation was enough for him slink away, still impatient for your next encounter but assured in it being set within the next day cycle. He just had to wait.

Although, waiting wasn’t exactly a talent of his either.

 *

You were dying inside.

A friendly grin was plastered on your face as you conversed sweetly with the woman in front of you, making idle chit-chat while her son changed out of the suit you’d picked together, but the smile had never felt so insincere. Usually you loved when children came in to pick out ensembles for weddings and similarly formal events, but at the moment your mind was stuck on a small battery-powered rectangle sitting at your desk with a half-written message remaining under your lock-screen.

In the time before Paul’s response came through, you’d never felt more humiliated in your whole existence. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcomed miracle. But when the returning text slid into focus, your whole mindset shifted.

He felt the same. He wanted you too.

You’d been in the middle of typing out a hasty invitation to come back and make true on his intentions when this overwhelmed mother with a fussy baby caught your attention. Her eldest son had done his best to iron out his only formal suit for the role of ring bearer in an aunt’s wedding this coming weekend, unfortunately resulting an a house full of smoke and a clump of burnt wool.

Personal matters withered into the background at the comprehension of her drained, exhausted demeanour, all your focus pointed back towards the job you’d been distracted from. Well, mostly.

You couldn’t avoid the thoughts and questions glinting in the back of your mind. Of what might have happened if this woman never appeared. What might be happening in an alternate timeline where you’d been able to send that waiting reply. Without intention, your wonderings turned into moving pictures – leading Paul into the back workshop, being roughly picked up onto the cutting table, his lips and yours finally connected in a heated clash, shedding all of his clothing until that heinous mustard shirt was crumpled on the floor-

The high pitched beep of the receipt machine snapped you back into reality, noting the relieved smile the mother wore while her son excitedly grabbed at the bags containing his dashing new suit.

“Thank you!” he hollered without needing to be prompted, waving his hand vigorously before skittering away to the door.

“You’re an absolute lifesaver,” the woman echoed, taking the receipt from your outstretched hand. “I’m really sorry for keeping you so late.”

“Oh don’t worry about it.” The time on the monitor screen just ticked over to 8:17pm, long after you would usually shut up shop and head home to your empty apartment. “I've got nowhere special to be.”

You each said your goodbyes, waiting until the precise moment her silhouette was out of sight before jumping to your phone. The same half written message was there, but now it felt impossible to finish. All traces of adrenaline had long since worn off, and the bravery that made you type out the risqué proposition was reduced to almost nothing. Your timid nature rushed back in full force, a thumb pressing hard on the little x button to erase all evidence of your out of character impulses.

Who were you kidding. You weren’t this person. Unashamed and brazen enough to dive into a fiery entanglement with a handsome stranger in the same evening you’d met. You wished you could be. There was never a time the concept was so enticing. But… it was a fantasy not meant for you to live out. They were destined for the outgoing, the cool and composed, the bold and sure-footed. You rarely felt like any of those things. And Paul, like most men, probably reserved their interest and attraction for those types of women. It was so silly of you to think any different. Getting your hopes up was foolish, and would only end in-

The tingle of the shopkeepers bell sounded, internally groaning as you slid your phone back onto the desk. “We’re closed,” you hawked, a coldness in your tone you couldn’t hide. Eyes snapping up to the intruder, a bolt of lightening shot through, barely able to stop the delight mixing into your blood.

“I just, uh, figured out something more that I needed,” Paul said softly, scratching the back of his neck, clearly nervous.

“You did?” you breathed. “W-what was it?”

His chest rose and fell with a calming exhale, making sure your stares were secured before giving his answer. “…You.”

*

Tagging some lovelies who might want to read. Feel free to let me know if you don’t want to tagged in future works!

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @blowthatpieceofjunk @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza​ @millenialcatlady​ 

#paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier x female reader #adcu #adcu fanfiction

[writinglyra]

Hi internet. I need your help. I'm workshopping a new WIP that features a nonbinary main character (part of an ensemble) and I dont want to screw anything up unintentionally. I figured the best way to avoid that is to just go out and ask actual nonbinary people, so this is an open letter with a couple of questions. Feel free to chime in with any other advice too.

Do you think mentioning a characters agab would ever be relevant? And if it does come up, say in a flashback, how can I mention it gracefully? I know better than to say something like "They used to be a boy", but I'm not really sure of more accurate ways to phrase that kind of thing, if at all.

In regards to pronouns, how did you realize which ones you wanted to use? Was it similar to the sense of gender euphoria, or is it closer to just a matter of preference?

For those who use multiple sets of pronouns, what would be the best way to go about that in a story? Could I have it so one character always uses they/them and another uses she/her or would it be better to have all the characters use the preferred pronouns interchangeably?

Sorry if any of these questions are in anyway inappropriate. And if you think I shouldn't attempt to write this character at all, let me know. I'm always interested in including more diversity in my work, but I'll be the first to admit I don't know a lot about this subject. Messages, replies, asks, and reblogs would all be useful. Thank you in advance.

#discussion #nonbinary #enby #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writinglyra