#ballet of repertoire

[sunmoonandstarss]

three sissones do NOT belong in Kitri act I and you definitely can’t change my mind 😊

#ballet #don quixote #kitri #kitri act I #unpopular ballet opinion #unpopular opinion #tumblr ballet #ballet of repertoire #kitri variation #two ONLY #two sissones it’s the epitome of cleanliness and perfection

[enchanted-keys]

I’m pretty sure Akane has been dealing with fairly persist injuries and been out for a while.

Her first shows back are in Swan Lake in June when The Dream is also happening so maybe they don’t want to risk overworking her and the injuring not healing right?

I have no actual knowledge so this is a very uneducated guess 🫣

Yes, i know she's been off stage for a year, and again the season before, but she was cast in everything and then replaced, this season. They just didn't cast he in this one.

#asks #if they didn't want to overwork her they wouldn't have given her SL at all #it's literally the hardest ballet in the repertoire

[kenobihater]

seeing art of an archer who canonically uses mediterranian draw using a pinch draw

#SORRY IT'S WRONG AND I HATE IT!!! #that's like. a canonical salsa dancer suddenly throwing ballet moves into their repertoire. like yeah it could happen but it isn't likely!! #len speaks #i have a post abt how to draw archers lemme find it

[thekinslayed]

Étoile

summary | Aemond Targaryen has found himself a new star.

pairing | ballet master!aemond targaryen x ballerina!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (m), semi-public, slight dubcon, mirror sex, power imbalance, coercion, aemond’s kinda manipulative, slight age difference (reader is in her early 20s, Aemond is in his mid-30s)

wordcount | 4.6k

note | ah finally, some use for a decade and a half worth of ballet training 🙂‍↕️ i may or may not have written this after watching challengers, so aemond is very mildly inspired by tashi.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

(divider by @aqualogia)

The air in the studio was humid with sweat as dancers glided through the floor accompanied by the soft tunes of the piano. Your limbs ached with exertion, your toes cramped in your pointe shoes, yet you continued, turning and leaping with the others as you performed the routine. Your ballet master kept a close eye on everyone, throwing out corrections to every dancer while he stood tall. Everyone was putting in the extra effort, dancing as though they were performing in front of the largest audience. There was a clear tension in the air, brought about by the Paris Opera Ballet’s newest ballet master, Aemond Targaryen.

He was tough, highly critical, and was known to send dancers out the door in tears, but he was one of the best. It was known among your peers he was looking to cast dancers for his repertoire, hence the reason why everyone was on edge during his class. 

You couldn’t help the way goosebumps rose on your skin wheneve his eye fell on you, silently willing yourself not to mess up in front of the silver-haired man. You paid extra attention to the finer details of your movements, your mind running an extra mile to keep yourself in check.

Shoulders down. Shift that weight forward. Deep plié. Eyes on your spot, and turn.

Aemond gave you an approving nod as you successfully landed your quadruple pirouette, two extra than what you normally do. You kept your face neutral and composed, despite the glee bursting through your chest. A nod was a high praise in the ballet world, even more so from the stoic Targaryen, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for not falling on your face. Perhaps he would consider you for a role, one where you wouldn’t be lost in the mass of tutus and other dancers in the background. You were a coryphée, second to last in the company's hierarchy, and you had been desperate to rise through the ranks and prove yourself to your superiors. With the arrival of the young ballet master, whose good eye kept shifting towards you as you continued to dance, you had a good feeling your golden opportunity would soon fall into your lap.

Two claps echoed through the studio, cutting through the soft music of the piano. You halted your movements, turning to your ballet master who had paused your rehearsal.

“Not quite, try that again,” he ordered. You and your dance partner, Tomás, returned to your previous position, moving through the choreography to Aemond’s direction as the piano started once more. You were both slick with sweat, breaths equally panting as you continued your rehearsal for Le Parc.

It was a classic piece of the Paris Opera Ballet, a crowd favorite, and you had been bestowed the honor of performing the piece after being cast by the Targaryen himself. It was safe to say the rehearsal wasn’t going well, after only having danced the first two minutes of the nine minute piece in the three hours you had been in the rehearsal studio. Both you and Tomás were under immense pressure, one that only grew with every dissatisfied look and a shake of the head from your ballet master. The danseur beside you was rumored to be up for a nomination to be the company’s next étoile– the star, top of the ballet food chain. One cannot simply climb the ranks through time and effort to be an étoile, they had to be chosen by one of the ballet masters, and what better chance would one have than getting chosen by the Aemond Targaryen himself? Hence the agitation Tomás emanated, its sticky heat rubbing off on you.

“Ah, come on,” your dance partner grunted, sighing when you had failed to grab his arms to be lifted from the air. The pianist stopped playing with another raise of a hand from Aemond, who stayed seated in his seat in front of the mirror. You mumbled an apology, anxiously looking to the silver-haired man who had stood up from his seat. He approached the pair of you, his stance intimidating as was his gaze when he regarded both of you.

“The preparation for the lift is all wrong, Tomás,” he reprimanded. Aemond gestured for the young danseur to step aside, taking his place. The ballet master gestured for you to repeat the movement, and obeyed. You took a step before jumping, turning mid-air before being caught into Aemond’s arms. His grip was tighter than Tomás, more sure. You felt safe while being lifted, your whole body pressed against his taut chest.

“You have to hold her tight. Keep her stable, yes?” Aemond emphasized. He continued to hold you flush to his chest with ease, showing Tomás the exact position he wanted you to to end in.

“How’d that feel?” The silver-haired man asked you, his hot breath fanning the side of your face. He carefully placed you back on your feet, keeping his hand on your waist until you were able to stand. Slightly flustered from thay singular touch, you timidly pushed back the loose strands of hair on your face to look at him.

“Uh, good! Pretty stable,” you squeaked. His touch left a warm imprint on your flesh, lingering even after Aemond walked back to his seat.

“Alright, now try it on your own,” the Targaryen urged. The music started back up, and you tried the lift again with Tomás. You earned a low ‘good’ from Aemond when you had done the lift a little more successfully with his guidance, though the difference in the men’s grip was evident.

You continued on with the rehearsal, flowing through the choreography with Tomás under Aemond’s watchful eye. He caressed his chin as he kept a close eye on your movements, signalling to the pianist to pause when either of you did a step not to his liking. With every partnering trick that came up, Aemond made sure to show Tomás, standing from his chair to turn, hold, and lift you before urging the younger danseur to try. About halfway through the piece, his grip on your body had grown familiar, with the way his large palm covered the expanse of your waist, his touch firm on your thigh, and the featherlight caresses on your arm.

After the endless corrections and directions from Aemond, he made you start from the top once more. You took slow breaths as you presumed your initial position, pacing yourself as you started off the dance with a few counts where danced alone. It was going smoothly, miraculously enough, but you must have jinxed yourself because as you shifted to turn, you felt it. A sharp pain shot up your ankle, making you stop and drop to the floor in an instant. You clutched your ankle, hissing in pain. In a blink of an eye, Aemond was by your side, kneeling beside you.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Let me see,” he urged, his tone now softer as he looked at you in concern. It was an old injury, a sprain from the start of your career that continued to haunt you now and then. You shook your head at the silver-haired man, before pushing yourself off the floor.

“It’s fine, Mister Targaryen. This always happens,” you reassured him, waving him off. Aemond stood back to his full height, gripping your elbow to steady.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup, I’m sure. Let’s continue,” you said, keeping the tone of your bright to reassure the silver-haired man before you. However, you could barely take a step forward without hissing in pain, your right ankle unable to bear the weight of your body. Aemond was quick to catch you before you stumbled, and you held onto both of his biceps. They were ridiculously firm under your touch, and if you weren’t in an immense amount of pain you would have ogled at the way they flexed underneath your palms.

“This won’t do, darling. I think this is enough for the day for the two of you,” Aemond sternly ordered, wrapping your arm around his shoulder to keep you stable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tomás grumbled, frustrated with the interruption. Aemond’s eye shot up to the young man, his gaze sharp after hearing his complaint.

“Don’t give me that attitude when you can barely do a decent menáge. Now get the fuck out of my studio.”

You jolted at the sudden rise in Aemond’s voice, watching as Tomás practically shrunk in his skin, hurriedly turning around to grab his bags and leave the studio while the man beside you glared at the young dancer sharply. The moment the door shut behind Tomás, Aemond turned back to you, his gaze now rid of the harshness it had carried.

“Let’s get you to the therapy room, yeah?” He softly urged. When it had still been too mich for you to walk with his support, Aemond swiftly lifted you with his arms underneath your body, carrying you bridal style. Your face burned with embarrassment with having to be carried off by your strict, ridiculously hot ballet master this way, but he had been gentle with you.

Aemond stayed by your side as the physical therapist massaged the joint. His good eye watched you when your face contorted into one of discomfort when your ankle was rotated. You had thanked him profusely for his aid, and had tried to reassure him you were good to be left alone, but the silver-haired man stayed by your side silently, keeping a close eye on you.

You had been out of commission for three days, which you spent anxiously anticipating to be dropped from the role by your ballet master. You were done for, you decided. You had blown your chance, pathetically so in front of Paris Opera’s most influential ballet master. 

As soon as you were cleared to return to rehearsals, you immediately jumped to your feet and practicing on your own. You went through the choreography over and over, finetuning your movements as you watched yourself in the mirror. It was late at night and you were the only one left in the building, or at least, you thought you were.

The door to the studio you occupied flew open, making you jump when the silver-haired man casually walked into the room. You stopped in your tracks, heart racing as he regarded you, seemingly unsurprised after finding you.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Aemond said, his smooth voice cutting through the music you plugged into the speakers. 

“The doctor cleared me for rehearsals, Mister Targaryen,” you explained, to which he only responded with a hum. His good eye ran over your form, which was only clad in a leotard and athletic shorts. Your hair was down, as it was supposed to be in Le Parc, and your face was flushed from exertion, damp with sweat. Aemond took slow steps towards you with his hands clasped behind his back, meeting you in the middle of the room. 

“You need to take better care of yourself, you know. A tear in your ligament is a tear forever,” he spoke, coming to tower in front of you. It was then you became insecure of your appearance, with your messy hair and sweaty face compared to his well-kept appearance. Your eyes stared into his good one, the other a cloudy white. He was incredibly handsome up close, this you realized, the sight of his sculptured jaw and aquiline nose making you visibly gulp. Your gaze dropped to his thin lips, which pursed before opening to speak once more. 

“Yes, I know, Mister Targaryen, I’m sorry,” you muttered, tearing your gaze away to the floor. Two fingers placed themselves on the bottom of your chin, moving your head to look at him once more.

“Why are you apologizing?” Aemond asked. Your cheeks warmed as you stammered, unable to form a response. Truthfully, you were unsure why, perhaps it was for his disappointment for having hurt yourself, or for not having lived up to his expectations. The words you scrambled to find died on your lips when Aemond brushed a stray hair away from your face, before cupping you chin between his fingertips.

“I am only looking out for you. The Paris Opera may have some of the best rehab therapists under our roof, but some injuries just cannot be healed,” he said. Your eyes flickered to his cloudy eye, the rumors of his injury running through your mind. 

You had heard in the past of the child protégé that was Aemond Targaryen, a young star destined for greatness. His family was descended from royalty and had been dancing in the King’s courts during the early formation of ballet. It was safe to say the young Targaryen was on his way to becoming one of the biggest stars in the ballet world, winning competitions left and right, receiving offers from the most prestigious ballet schools– Vaganova, Bolshoi, Joffrey, they all wanted him. The young danseur knew this was his legacy, to forge his name with the brightest stars in the ballet world. However, ballet was a deathly competitive sport, and dancers would do anything to climb the ranks, this Aemond had learned the hard way.

At 16, he had landed himself a spot as a finalist for the Prix de Lausanne, the most prestigious competition in the world, just a month before he was to fly off to Russia for training. It was the night before finals, he had been resting in his hotel room when a group of rowdy, inebriated dancers had knocked upon his door, wanting a glimpse of the famous silver-haired danseur. The details of the night remained unclear to the public to this day, but it was said that they had cornered the young Targaryen in his room, engaging in a scrapple that ended with Aemond rushed to the hospital, clutching his bleeding eye. That night, Aemond Targaryen’s dancing career met its tragic end. The ballet companies that once begged for him no longer wanted a scarred dancer who was blind in one eye, and his legacy had been reduced to nothing but a sad story.

And now, the silver-haired man stood before you, clutching your face as he studied your features. You were surely too close to each other to be considered appropriate, even more so when his free hand found its way to the dip in your waist, his warmth exuding through the fabric of your leotard. 

“I don’t want to have to see you take your final bow before you reach the top,” he said lowly, his face subtly dipping an inch closer to yours. Your eyes slightly widened at his words, staring into his good eye for any sign of insincerity; you found none.

“You think I can reach the top?” you asked in disbelief, heart hammering in your ears. The corner of Aemond’s lips quirked upwards, his hand squeezing the flesh on your hip.

“Of course, you are one of the company’s most promising dancers,” he said, nodding lightly. You preened at his words, biting your lip as a big smile threatened to break out on your features. Your eyes fell to your fingers, fiddling with them as you turned shy at the ballet master’s high praise. The silver-haired man breathed out a chuckle at your reaction, his hand on your chin caressing the back of your head before settling on the nape of your neck. 

“However,” he voiced, making you look back up at him. His face turned serious, making your own smile drop at his change of tone. “You have to go above and beyond to be nominated by your superiors. We have many talented dancers, many of whom are trying to climb the ranks, just like you. You have to make yourself stand out from the rest, do you understand?”

You nodded your head eagerly at him, your eyes displaying your sheer determination. “Yes, I understand, Mister Targaryen. I’m willing to do anything,” you said. There was a shift in Aemond’s eye when you uttered those words, the blues of his good eye brewing something darker. The grip on your waist turned tighter, shifting to rest on the small of your back as he pulled you in close.

“Anything?” he whispered.

“Y-yes, anything,” you replied. It was then you had begun to doubt your words, even more so when Aemond merely stared at you, his gaze analytic. A shudder ran up your spine when his eye dropped to your lips. A hum vibrates from his chest, and then he was pulling away from you, the warmth that engulfed you dissipating into a chill.

“Good. Now, why don’t we start from the top?” Aemond suddenly said, taking you by surprise. He raised his eyebrows at you, urging you to restart the music. You scrambled to where your phone was plugged into the speakers, restarting the music, before taking your starting position. Aemond positioned himself where the male dancer started, right in the center facing you. Your eyebrows furrowed while you did your first movements, clearly not expecting him to dance with you.

“You’re dancing with me?” you asked, confused. He merely smirked at you, watching you slowly move to the music towards him.

“Of course, you need to have a partner for this one, don’t you?”

The moment you touched him, Aemond started to move along with you. You flowed around him, soft and gentle. His moves were fluid, with textbook perfect technique and beautiful artistry. It was clear Aemond knew the choreography by heart, dancing along with you with ease. You subtly watched him through the mirror, amazement clear in your eyes. You were dancing with the Aemond Targaryen, being held and lifted by his strong hands. He danced like he had never left, flowing through the soft music while still clad in his boots and trousers. 

“Don’t overthink it, little star, just move,” he encouraged, noticing how you were too focused on getting the movements right. With his advice, you willed yourself to let the tension in your shoulders go, gliding along the floor with Aemond’s guidance.

“There you go, well done.” Your face visibly brightened at his praise, meeting his eye in the mirror. A flush ran down from your cheeks down to your chest as he winked at you, a roguish smirk on his handsome features.

An incredulous smile broke out on your face as Aemond lifted you high up into the air with ease, still in disbelief with having found yourself in such a position. The dance was passionate, requiring great trust with your partner which you found with the silver-haired man with no trouble. You hadn’t felt this way when dancing with Tomás, nor with anyone really, with the way your muscles took a mind of its own and your body moved automatically with Aemond’s. To dance with the silver-haired man was something electric, filling you with an invigorating sensation as you sailed through the tunes of Mozart. You were lost in the music, you were lost in him, with the way his hands lingered a second too long after lifting you, his breath fanning over your face from your close proximity.

“Beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, snaking his arm around your waist when you leaned against him. Your heart raced as your chest heaved, from the exertion or from the adrenaline of dancing with the Targaryen man, you knew not. You missed the way Aemond’s eye raked down your form through the mirror, his gaze stuck on the sight of your nipples pebbled against the fabric of your leotard.

You stepped away from Aemond as you neared the climax of the piece, and it was then you faltered. You knew what was coming – the kiss. It was the highlight of Le Parc, with the dancers engaging in a long, passionate kiss as the man turned them around continuously. Your eyes were filled with uncertainty as you stood before Aemond, who was still watching your every move. Your fingers slightly trembled as you ran a hand down his body, and your breath shuddered when he did the same. You continued your movements around him, mind racing whether or not you should go through with the kiss. It was inappropriate, with him being your superior… but it was part of the choreography, was it not?

You faltered when you face to face before him, and for a second, you figured he wouldn’t want you to do it, but then you see it. A subtle dip of his head, and a flicker of his good eye towards your lips, waiting. You rose to the balls of your feet, planting your lips against his. 

Aemond’s lips stayed on yours while your arms crossed at the back of his neck. His torso leaned back as you lifted your feet up the air, your whole weight leaned against his. You felt his lips move against yours as he spun you around, faster and faster around the room. You felt breathless and dizzy when he placed you back to the ground, but before you could continue with the choreography, Aemond’s hand grabbed the back of your neck to pull you back into his lips.

A gasp left your lips in shock, parting on instinct. Aemond’s tongue forced its way into the cavern of your mouth, the hot, wet muscle caressing your own. You pushed him away by the chest, but his stronger grip on you rendered you unable to pull away.

“Aem– Mister Targaryen, please,” you panted, trying to tear away the forceful hold on your waist. His other hand grabbed the hair on the back of your head, pulling on your damp tresses to make you look at him.

“You said you would do anything, wouldn’t you? Don’t you want to shine, my little star?” Aemond growled, before latching his lips on your sweaty neck. He groaned at the taste of your salty flesh, biting and sucking on the soft skin. You whimpered, your pulse thrumming dangerously against Aemond’s lips as you continued to push him off. 

“I can make you shine. You’ll be first cast in any role you desire. You know I can make that happen for you,” he continued, pulling away to meet your teary gaze. The corners of your lips quivered downward when he caressed the side of your face, the touch giving you little comfort. Your whole body tensed when he pressed you flush into him, a stiffness poking into your thigh. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, swaying both of your bodies to the music that still continued to play through the speakers. 

“You will be a star, my shining star. You want that, don’t you?” Aemond asked, his tone sticky sweet. As you met his sharp gaze, you weighed your options. He was right, he held the power to place you on top of one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world, but you didn’t want to do it this way. You had the talent, and you wanted to prove your worth for the role, but he also had the power to take everything away from you. He can demote you, fire you, crush your entire career to nothing but dust. You couldn’t let that happen.

With a gulp and a soft nod, you shuddered when Aemond smirked down at you. His hand pushed your shoulder down, urging you to your knees. Shame coursed through you as you watched him unbuckle his dress pants to pull out his cock. A gasp left your lips when you were met with the sight of his impressive length. A throbbing vein ran the underside of his shaft, its cockhead flushed a deep red as it weeped a clear liquid. His hand guided the tip to your lips, but you kept them closed, turning your head away in refusal. With a frustrated grunt, Aemond’s free hand cupped your face, roughly turning it back to his cock. With your cheeks squeezed and your lips slightly parted, he slipped his length in. A delighted hum reverberated from your ballet master’s chest as he thrusted languidly into your mouth, adding inch by inch until he bottomed out. Your eyes squeezed shut when his tip hit the back of your throat, unable to resist the gag that squeezed his cockhead when it touched your uvula. Gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, Aemond barely gave you a chance to take a breath before setting a steady pace of his hips. Your hands gripped his muscular thighs to balance yourself, hot tears dripping down your cheeks. 

“Use your tongue,” the Targaryen ordered. You complied obediently, even going so far as hollowing your cheeks to please him further. You were starting to resign to your faith, if this is what it took to make you an étoile, fuck it. Aemond threw his head back, groaning in delight at the added pleasure. 

“Fuck, that’s it. My obedient little star,” he praised. His hips picked up their pace, pushing in and out of your mouth fast. The sound of your mouth taking his cock filled the studio, coupled with the music that continued to play from the speakers. His grunts continued to fall from his lips, his thrusts growing desperate as he neared his release. All of a sudden, Aemond pulled you off his cock. You coughed as you struggled to catch your breath, wiping off the pre-cum left on the side of your cheek. The flesh of your arm was gripped tight when the Targaryen pulled you to your feet, guiding you towards the mirror.

He turned you to face the reflection, your eyes meeting the sight of your flushed, teary face, lips swollen and cheeks stained with tears. Aemond caressed the exposed flesh of your arms softly, dipping his neck into the crook of your neck to suck a mark into the soft skin. You couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled back at the sensation, cursing your own body for its traitorous ways. His fingertips came up to hook into the straps of your leotard, pulling them down in one motion along with your bottoms. You crossed your arms instinctively to cover your parts, but Aemond was quick to stop you, grabbing your wrists to keep them by your sides.

“Don’t hide yourself from me now,” he scolded, tutting in mocking disapproval. You watched in the mirror as his eye took in your bare form hungrily, your body growing warm at his lingering gaze on your exposed breasts. His fingertips held a featherlike touch while they glided up the length of your arm, before grabbing hold of your plump tits firmly. A breath is hitched in your throat when he squeezed the soft flesh, a whine falling from your lips when he squeezed your perky nipples between his fingertips. You felt his cock jump behind you, hitting your rear. His touch traveled downwards, to your waist, your hips, and then cupping your sex with his large palm. A satisfied smirk spread on Aemond’s features when he pulled away his hand, the tips of his long fingers visibly wet and stick with your arousal when he spread them.

“Well, well, it seems like you’re enjoying yourself, little star,” he bragged, chuckling darkly when you meekly shook your head. “Deny yourself all you want, but your body will be thanking me by the end of this.”

“Please,” you pleaded. What you pleaded for, you didn’t know at this point, but you knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere good at that point. You let him bend you over, pressing your hands to the cool mirror to steady yourself. You waited with bated breath as you felt Aemond line himself with your slit, gasping when he began to breach. The slick from your saliva on his cock helped lubricate his length, coupled with the slick that dripped from your core against your will. Your jaw fell slack at the almost painful stretch of your walls, a small whimper falling from your lips when he finally bottomed out. Aemond let out a groan when his hips met your ass, his hand leaving your waist to deliver a smack to the plump flesh. His aquiline nose pressed into your cheek, breathing in the sweet scent of your warm, damp flesh. His pace was unforgiving from the start, forceful and aggressive. The silver-haired man’s gripped your breasts in his large hands to ground himself, reaching deeper and deeper into your walls. 

“Ah, ‘s so good, baby,” Aemond praised, biting the shell of your ear as he groaned. Despite how much you fought your own urges, you barely registered when your lips started to emit soft sounds that echoed through the room. The music had already ended, the only sound left being the smacking of skin against skin, and the sounds coming from you and Aemond. You both watched the way his length disappeared into your cunt, your chest starting to grow speckled with a red flush the more your body grew heated. His cock drove into the rough spot that made your skin tingle, sending sparks up your spine despite your wishes. Your hips moved on their own accord, subtly meeting his thrusts. Aemond let out a breathy chuckle in your ear, planting a kiss to the side of your head.

“Yeah, you like it, don’t you? Like my cock, pretty girl?” You bit your lip as you nodded your head, squeezing your eyes shut in humiliation. The Targaryen tutted in your ear, grabbing your face to make you meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Look at me,” he ordered. You opened your hesitantly to meet his, though they threatened to close once more when his fingertips dipped down to circle your clit. Soft moans fell from your lips as he played with the bundle of nerves, the heat in your belly disgracefully growing the more he rubbed on your nub. “It’s okay, baby, no need to be ashamed. I’m making you feel good, aren’t I? Hm? Taking good care of my little star.”

Aemond was mindlessly rambling in your ear, his words making your stomach flip at the lewdness. His hips never faltered, snapping harshly into your ass continuously. The air in the room was hot and humid, droplets of sweat beading off of yours and Aemond’s skin. You whined as the heat in your belly rapidly grew upwards, rising to your chest. Your walls began to clamp down on Aemond’s cock, squeezing his length deliciously. He groaned into your ear, his fingertips still circling your clit hard. 

“F-fucking hell, you gonna come?” The danseur asked. You grabbed his taut bicep in one hand, leaning your head back against his shoulder as a series of whiny ‘yesses’ fell from your lips. He continued to spurn you further, keeping his good eye on you when a particularly harsh thrust had you falling apart on his arms. The sight of your teary face scrunched up in pleasure, coupled with the sound of the sweet moan echoing through the quiet studio was what drove Aemond to his own release. He came with a loud grunt, spilling his hot seed into your walls. His strong grip around your waist held you up when your knees grew weak from the weight of your climax. Regaining your senses, you held onto Aemond for support, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. The imprint of your hands stained the glass, the gravity of the situation dawning on you as you stood in the aftermath. Shame washed over you for having debased yourself for leverage, and for finding pleasure in Aemond’s corrupted wickedness. The silver-haired man behind you held a smug look on his face, releasing a satisfied sigh before leaning his head against yours.

“Perfect.”

The cheers and applause of the crowd threatened to deafen your senses, yet it was a welcome sensation. You had taken your bow after a successful performance, standing with the numerous dancers on stage. Everyone waited with bated breath for the upcoming announcement, the air buzzing with equal excitement and nerves.

“Ladies and gentlemen, join us in congratulating the Paris Opera Ballet’s newest étoile,” the voice boomed through the theater. You turned to look at a nervous Tomás, giving him an encouraging squeeze of the hand. However, it wasn’t his name that was called, but yours.

The shock was visible on everyone’s features, as it was in yours. You felt their heated stares behind you while you stayed rooted to your spot, frozen in disbelief.

A tall figure walked onto the stage, holding a bouquet of flowers. The applause only thundered louder as the crowd is blessed with the sight of Aemond Targaryen, who was walking towards you with a smile on his face. Having been responsible for your promotion, he was the first to congratulate you, handing you the extravagant arrangement of flowers. He kissed both your cheeks respectfully, before whispering, “Congratulations, my little star. I trust I shall be seeing more of your graceful talents soon enough, yes?”

You looked up to meet his gaze, taking in the suggestive tone in his voice. It was then you realized what you had gotten to, what you had paid for greatness. Your lips widened to a sweet smile, giving Aemond a small nod, much to his satisfaction.

#bella writes ✍️ #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #hotd x reader

[missclarasoufflegirl]

Steve who so badly wants his little girl to play sports, but she's completely uninterested in it. But one day he and Eddie pick her up from grandpa Wayne's and she's wearing a droopy pink tutu, but has never looked happier, so they sign her up for classes.

It starts with ballet ("It's the foundation of all dance Steve, it's necessary for her development as a dancer" Dustin tells them), but their little girl heard the noisy ringing of tap shoes one day, and quickly added that to her repertoire.

Saturday mornings were now spent at the studio with the other dance moms. Steve was the star of the waiting room ("She's so lucky to have a dad that's interested in her dancing", "He's perfected the ballet bun, her hair is always perfect", "his wife is so lucky"), so it shocked all the moms when Eddie waltzed in one day with a screwdriver to tighten a loose tap screw, kissed Steve on the cheek, then stopped to watch the class. The moms were hesitant at first, but Eddie became part of their group soon enough.

Eddie, ever the crafty one, was a master with fabric glue. He became the go-to for costume needs, stoning leotards, sewing ribbons, painting shoes. Their little girl was a natural, and if didn't take them long to step into a routine to support their little dancer.

The boys could drop their little girl off backstage, but dads weren't allowed in the dressing rooms at the theater, so Steve and Eddie enlisted the help of Nancy to make sure she was in costume for her call time. (Nancy helped fix her makeup too because unfortunately, her dads had quite the heavy hand).

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), Eddie was the more competitive of the two. He gripped Steve's hand as soon as her number was called, lips pursed as he nodded along with all her cues. He whispered a small "yes!" as she landed her pirouette, and a "that's my girl" when all the sounds of her four-count pickup came out clearly. Steve, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. She could have gone out there and done the chicken dance and Steve would have thought it was the greatest thing in the world. When the routine was done, both of them stood and cheered, clapping Wayne on the back knowing they wouldn't be there without him.

Their little girl found them after the show, holding a bouquet of roses nearly as big as she was. Eddie picked her up and Steve took the flowers from her, and she smiled at both of them with a big toothy grin, glitter dusting Eddie's leather jacket. "Hey Daddy, I was wonderful!"

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie dads #dad!steve harrington #dad!eddie munson #this is so stupid #i just have a lot od feelings about dance moms steddie

[makingqueerhistory]

Russia’s Bolshoi Theater has removed a ballet dedicated to dancer Rudolf Nureyev from its repertoire, citing a new Russian law that expands restrictions on activities seen as promoting LGBT rights, its director said [last month]. Bolshoi director Vladimir Urin said the ballet “Nureyev” had been dropped “in connection with the newly signed law, which unambiguously deals with issues related to propaganda of non-traditional values,” the Interfax news agency reported.

#queer history

[allthecastlesonclouds]

bulleted headcannons of fh dance studio 🫴

oh my GOSH okay yes!!

aguefort owns the studio. nobody knows how bc he does one (1) type of dance and it's fucking BALLROOM. he somehow keeps the studio running though so nobody stops him

ayda works the main office mostly. she danced at a studio that did the yearly nutcracker and then got tired of it and wanted to learn some other versions.

(she does a lot of contemporary now, especially to hip-hop music. it's cool as hell.)

kristen does modern and takes ballet. she tries so hard and she is so strong but she is. absolute shit at anything harder than a piqué. she likes modern bc cass lets her work in her ribbon dancer. she's also Really Good with choreo and technique!! she can spot the issue in Seconds

she helps out around the studio a lot too!! definitely not to see more of the girl with the pretty side cut who dances in the later hours :)

gorgug does hip hop bc he loves the community aspect of it! and ballet- he does a lot of the background/supporting work.

he's never had a solo. all the bad kids want him to ask for one because he's really fucking good how dare he. he tells them that aguefort doesn't like him.

(arthur doesn't like him. ayda would fight the world for him.)

fig is a jazz+tap girlie but she was Raised on ballet+tap so she's signed up for ballet too! she's been doing tap since she was So Little and it's genuinely just. her favorite thing ever.

she crashes the hip hop classes often. nobody stops her because she has the Energy Ever.

adaine, like fig, was put into ballet as a kid (along with aelwyn)

she met riz and he dragged her to a hip hop class and she simply. has not gone back. added contemporary onto her repertoire and a technique class and pointe. definitely the busiest out of everyone.

riz tried it for like. school. and fucking loved it. he thought it would be good networking, good resume filling, good exercise- and also he loved it. that comes last in the list of importance tho

that guy choreographs and performs the most complex ballet pieces known to man. kristen has tried one during an after-recital party and that video is used as blackmail to this day

he does ballet and jazz. he's tried every class at the studio and settled into those two. he's perfectly fine in his comfort zone thank you!

fabian started as a solely Jazz dancer. his dad died and he underwent a whole buncha self evaluation and then signed up for so many classes- he's taking no joke like 10.

jazz. ballet. tap. technique. modern. contemporary. hip hop. pointe. he's doing it all and having the Time Of His Life.

and now we get into the actual *studio*! whoaa it only took 17 bullet points!

their studio doesn't do a show performance, like the nutcracker, or competitions, but they do work a lot on choreography and do multiple performances throughout the year

you can request to do a solo/double/group piece that's multi-track! ayda Somehow fits it in the schedule. you get a teacher advisor (for the bad kids maybe jawbone?) who gives advice but the dance is mostly choreographed by you

these dances are the highlights of the recitals. fig wants to do one but is already doing a solo so she wants to work on a group piece! she and adaine have traumabonded in multiple classes so she asks her first

adaine goes. you're not gonna believe what i'm about to do. and snags riz. fig grabs gorgug. they're the initial four.

they spy fabian after a late-night rehearsal having a mental breakdown through dance and go huh. he was already becoming less stuck up. let's speed up the process.

kristen swings by later, sweeping and restocking toilet paper and shit and offhandedly offers some solutions to things they're struggling with

and lo and behold the bad kids are created! they have No Concept of time ever. but they're gonna choreograph a dance and by god it's going to look good!!

#i could continue on but this post is really long so we're stopping ourselves here. #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fhau #fantasy high au #the bad kids #cassandra fh #kristen applebees #gorgug thistlespring #fig faeth #adaine abernant #riz gukgak #fabian seacaster #and i'm talking i guess #guys dance means. so much to me. this isn't how my studio works but god it could be how A Studio works #and i think the aguefort academy of dance could do this #anyways trackerbees canon i really want to see tracker teach a class of little luckstones #castles dance au

[amalthea-fictions]

Hi!

Can I request something fluffy for Aaravos with an elf reader, who really likes to sing and dance and just wery artsy? Maybe they are trapped togedher or something.

If you don't want to write this, that okay too. Have a nice day!

I LOVE THIS! I'm sorry I took a while to do it, but I wanted to do Aaravos justice ✨ (He's so ELOQUENT it makes him hard to write). I hope you like how it came out!!

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

Curious.  

That’s how it begins: he finds you a curious creature. When the silence of the library is disturbed by humming, he glances up from his book. His eyes find you tip toeing across the room, hands brushing the shelves as if they were your ballet bar, entranced in some secret dance that stole you far away from the world.

He would quirk his eyebrow at the curiosity, but return back to his reading, undisturbed. 

Amusing.

The more he observes your idiosyncrasies, the more they begin to worm their way into his heart. He begins to expect the way you dance around the kitchen as you make breakfast, your toes just slightly touching the soft ground and prancing onto the next counter where you have your ingredients for baking. He comes to recognize the songs you hum, and the times you would invent new ones to your repertoire. And the days you pull out your paints and canvas and sit for hours by the skylight window, he would allow himself to simply observe your process: the way your hand guides the brush as if gliding across ice is, perhaps, its own sort of magic. And maybe, just maybe, his lips curl upward fondly at the thought.

Endearing.

As the days pass by, you find new creative and artistic ways to keep yourself occupied. Aaravos helped you pull all of his books on music and theory from his collection, which you’ve used to teach yourself how to play the lyre sitting otherwise alone on the shelf.

He again allows himself to watch your process as you learn– but, more and more, he begins noticing the softness of your fingers. The tenderness with which you treat the instrument, the gentle ministrations of your hands. 

One day, as you sit hunched over the instrument, your hair falls in front of your face. With a small chuckle, Aaravos magicks it back behind your ear for you. Surprised, you glance to him across the room, and find him smiling back, eyes soft. 

Enchanting. 

One dusk, he finds you backlit against the light of the setting sun, staring at your canvas. Paints line the floor, but your brush does not move. Rather, your chin rests in your hand.

“Painting, are we?” He asks.

You don’t look up from the canvas, biting your lip. “More like trying,” you sigh. “I can’t seem to get this one right…”

Aaravos circles around you, glancing at your work over your shoulder. “What are you attempting to capture?”

You shake your head. “It’s… a little embarrassing. But, instead of a traditional painting, I wanted to try and make an abstract. I’m trying to capture the feeling of dreaming on canvas. I just… it’s still missing something, but I can’t figure out what.”

Aaravos tilts his head thoughtfully at the assortment of deep blues and purples that line your page. Then, he motions to the empty half of your painting bench, the silk fabrics of his robe glossing against your shoulder as he does so. 

“May I?”

You nod, and he sits down with you. He’s close– his shoulder is pressed against yours, and you feel warmth from his entire body. 

He contemplates the composition for a moment, then smiles. “I believe I may help. If I may?” 

He reaches for your brush, and you move to hand it to him. But rather than take it, he gently clasps his hands around yours. You feel your cheeks grow hot.

He whispers the words of a spell, and guides your hand across the canvas. As the brush moves, it brings with it a swath of light and color to the page– as if the aurora borealis itself has illuminated the essence of your painting.

Your eyes grow wide at the sight, the dancing colors reflecting across your irises.

Aaravos smiles, admiring the beauty of not simply the painting. 

Captivating.

He comes to enjoy your company more than his studies alone. Craves the sound of your laugh, resonating from deep within your throat. Adores the slight curve at the edge of your lips that reveals when you are about to break into a full smile. He helps you in your kitchen dance now, sometimes holding his hands gently above your waist to steady you in your spins or curtseys. His hands are soft and warm, and he always meets your gaze with soft and gentle eyes.

Except– your perceptions of time differ. This imprisonment is but a blip in the totality of his existence; for you, it is growing more and more arduous. And as his heart grows fonder and fonder of you, so is it more and more pained to watch a beautiful bird remain caged.

One night, he awakens and realizes you are not in the sleeping quarters. He finds you in the middle of the floor of the library, your hands wrapped around your knees, your chin tucked to your chest.

“Little star?” He calls to you. “Are you alright?”

You do not answer, for when you try to breathe, your lungs betray you and you hiccup for air.

He frowns and sinks to your eye level, watching as you frustratedly swipe at the tears on your face. 

“Tell me,” he says softly, reaching forward to catch the tears with the pad of his thumb. His hand is warm on your clammy skin. “What is wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, using your hand to wipe at the tears on your opposite cheek. “I… I know you’re trying your best to get us out of here. But… I suppose I’ve had too much time to myself to think.”

“Ah,” he says, and begins brushing your hair from your eyes. “I understand all too well the dangers of being let alone to the machinations of one’s own mind.” 

You nod, and he allows a comfortable silence to fall between you before probing more. “Please, little star. Would you share your burdens with me?”

You inhale a shaky breath and nod, bringing one hand up to his, still on your face. He is tall, and his hand engulfs your own small ones. The presence is warm and comforting. 

“I began to wonder…” you begin, steadying your breath through tears. “I started to think about what I would do, once we are out of here. And I realized– I don’t think I truly have a place in this world. What value can I contribute outside of these walls?”

Aaravos frowns as you keep going, the words spilling out now.

“No one ever supported my hobbies the way you do. The world has no place for an artist, or a dancer, or a musician. What good is an artist to a world of practicians? Where do I even belong?”

You hiccup again, and his thumb strokes your face. His touch is tender. 

“Is that truly what you think of yourself?” 

You cast your eyes down and nod. 

For a moment, the silence of the library is suffocating. But then Aaravos clucks his tongue and chuckles. You look up, shocked. He’s– he’s laughing at you?

No. His eyes are sparkling at you. 

“Perhaps,” he says with a gentle smile, “I can put it into perspective for you.” 

Then, with a swish of his hand, the library radiates to life.

He’s projected the stars of the night sky –no, the entire galaxy– into the air. You gasp as solar systems twinkling planets spin around you. You hold your hand up to one of the stars, and feel your expression lighten in spite of the tears on your cheeks when you brush a dancing star off its path, sending it twirling in another direction.

“Now,” Aaravos asks. “Which of these is the most important?” 

You furrow your brow. In the time you’ve been here, you’ve come to know how Aaravos loves his riddles and trick questions. So the answer comes easily to you.

“None? They are all equally important?”

He smiles a sly grin, the expression that reveals he knows something you don’t, that the riddle answer is not what it seems.

“Not quite,” he says. “Consider: what would all the stars in the galaxy be, without the spaces between them?”

You are silent as you contemplate the thought. 

He watches the gears in your mind turn, satisfied. He leans close to you, his nose practically brushing yours. You can see the stars dance in the reflection of his eyes.

“If all the people in this world are stars, you are as vast and pure as the spaces between them. Without people like you, the galaxy would be meaningless.”

You swallow, and feel his breath hot on your face. 

“It is your creativity, your personality– the radiance of your very soul that allows the other stars to simply exist. Although not traditionally acknowledged as important, or beautiful… it is the spaces between the stars that I find most wondrous. Most–

Enrapturing.”

#Did they kiss at the end? It's up to you to decide 😏 #aaravos x reader #tdp aaravos #tdp x reader #aaravos

[television-overload]

Ship Music Monday!

Because these songs have been on my mind, here's my headcanons for them for MSR

True by Spandau Ballet

Mulder sings this obnoxiously in the car on road trips every time it comes on the radio. He might even have it on cassette. He knows every word, and puts on a show even though he's driving and Scully warns him that he's gonna wreck the car and kill them both. If she looks out the window a little more when this happens, it's definitely not because she's trying to hide a smile, no, that couldn't be it.

Hopelessly Devoted To You by Olivia Newton-John

This one started as another one Mulder would obnoxiously sing, but he caught Scully mouthing the lyrics once and eventually got her to join in. Turns out, this was one she and Melissa loved to sing. Now they blast the radio at top volume if it comes on, and it may not sound pretty, but they sing their hearts out to this song.

I'll Make Love To You by Boyz II Men

When this song first hits the radios in 1994, there's just an awkward silence in the car. Mulder awkwardly clears his throat and adjusts his hands on the steering wheel and stares determinedly ahead. But a few years down the road, he adds it to his teasing/flirting repertoire, and Scully knows to expect cheeseball ridiculousness any time the song comes on. After they get together, he hears her humming it in the morning while she makes coffee, and he smiles and leaves her be.

#ship music monday #idk what this is but if i have further song related headcanons #i guess i will do this from now on #msr #txf #x files #xf headcanon #fox mulder #dana scully #Spotify

[science-lover33]

Pharmacology Unveiled: How Medications Work on a Molecular Level"

Explore the science of pharmacology and delve into the mechanisms of action of commonly prescribed medications, shedding light on how they interact with the body's systems.

In the multifaceted domain of pharmacology, an intricate symphony of molecular interactions orchestrates the therapeutic effects of medications. A profound comprehension of the molecular underpinnings of pharmacological actions is indispensable for healthcare professionals, pharmaceutical scientists, and researchers. In this discourse, we embark on a comprehensive exploration of pharmacodynamics, elucidating the profound intricacies of how medications function at the molecular level.

Pharmacodynamics: A Multilayered Discipline

Pharmacodynamics constitutes the extensive scrutiny of the manner in which drugs interlace with specific molecular targets, often referred to as receptors or enzymes, within the human organism. Medications are meticulously designed to effectuate alterations in biochemical pathways, receptor kinetics, or enzymatic processes, aiming to modulate physiological phenomena to alleviate symptoms or remediate pathological states.

Receptor-Mediated Pharmacological Actions

A pivotal facet of pharmacodynamics lies in the receptor-mediated actions of medications. Receptors are intricate protein entities, frequently situated on the extracellular or intracellular domains of cells, that play a pivotal role in cellular communication and homeostasis. When a medication interfaces with a receptor, it initiates a cascade of molecular events, which, contingent upon the context, may potentiate or impede the cellular response.

Agonists and Antagonists: Puppets of Molecular Dance

In the intricate theater of pharmacodynamics, medications assume roles as either agonists or antagonists. Agonists aptly mimic the endogenous ligands or signaling molecules, seamlessly integrating into the receptor's binding pocket. This engagement sets forth a conformational alteration in the receptor, instigating cellular events replicating or augmenting the physiological response. Conversely, antagonists function as molecular antagonists, obstructing the receptor and forestalling the binding of endogenous signaling molecules. Consequently, the physiological response is negated or attenuated.

Enzymatic Interference: Orchestrating Biochemical Concertos

Certain medications orchestrate their therapeutic influence through the intricate domain of enzyme inhibition. Enzymes are the catalytic workhorses governing biochemical transformations in biological systems. Medications that selectively inhibit or modulate these enzymes effectively regulate the pace or character of these metabolic reactions, rendering them invaluable in conditions characterized by aberrant enzyme function.

Ion Channel Choreography: Modulating Electrophysiological Ballets

A notable mechanism of pharmacological action entails the modulation of ion channels. These proteinaceous conduits, reposing within cellular membranes, govern the flux of ions across these barriers. Medications designed to engage with ion channels effectively influence the electrochemical signaling within cells. The modulation of ion channels is instrumental in conditions such as arrhythmias, epilepsy, and neuropathic pain.

Pharmacogenetics: Personalizing Medication Regimens

The burgeoning realm of pharmacogenetics delves into the impact of an individual's genetic repertoire on their medication response. Genetic polymorphisms can significantly influence drug metabolism, receptor sensitivities, and pharmacological efficacy. Tailoring medication regimens to align with an individual's genetic makeup represents a burgeoning paradigm in personalized medicine.

Pharmacology unfolds as an intricate tapestry of molecular engagements and multifarious mechanisms. Medications, hewn with precision, are intended to engage with specific molecular entities, be it receptors, enzymes, or ion channels, aiming to modulate intricate biochemical processes to achieve therapeutic ends.

References

Rang, H. P., Dale, M. M., Ritter, J. M., & Flower, R. J. (2015). Rang & Dale's Pharmacology. Elsevier.

Katzung, B. G., & Trevor, A. J. (2021). Basic & Clinical Pharmacology. McGraw-Hill Education

Brunton, L. L., Knollmann, B. C., & Hilal-Dandan, R. (2020). Goodman & Gilman's: The Pharmacological Basis of Therapeutics. McGraw-Hill Education.

#science #biology #college #education #school #student #medicine #doctors #health #healthcare #pharmacology #pharmacy #medication #med student #med school #medical stuff #drugdiscovery #pharma industry #molecular biology #drugsandresearch #clinicalpharmacology #pharmaceuticalindustry

[cantikdaae]

A Finland revival is happening again from this August, including some familiar and new faces.

#phantom of the opera #poto #phantom #phantom finland #phantom helsinki

[enchanted-keys]

James Hay, my beloved.

#most underused first soloist ever #florimund is the only principal role he has in the repertoire and it's a crime #world ballet day RB

[gorbigorbi]

Renata Shakirova became the prima ballerina of the Mariinsky Theatre

Among her roles are the main parts of the classical ballet repertoire: Odette-Odile, Princess Aurora, Nikiya, Giselle. Recently, Renata made her debut with great success in new productions of the Mariinsky Theater — "Anyuta", "Wonderful Mandarin", "12" and "Fairy Kiss".

Photo: Ballet "Shurale" (Syuimbike), choreography by Leonid Yakobson

[starlene]

An imaginary repertoire for my imaginary theatre that specializes in musicals about and based on various accidents, catastrophes and other terrifying events

Pre-existing works:

Titanic

M/S Estonia (the Finnish play with songs)

Zeppelin (the German musical)

Floyd Collins (the 1996 Off-Broadway musical)

Everest (the 2015 opera about the 1996 incident)

Ride the Cyclone

Come From Away

Disaster!

Cannibal! The Musical

Tailor-made new works:

Titanic (by Frank Wildhorn)

Nutty Putty Cave! A New Musical (I first thought this would also be by Frank Wildhorn, but on second thought, I think literally anyone else would be better equipped to handle this. so, by Dave Malloy)

The Great Molasses Flood (an opera)

Vasa 1628 (maybe this should be a ballet?)

#nonsense. #musicals

[enhypoems]

POV: You and Enhypen's hyung line go on a romantic trip to Spain.🗒!♡

⍝ ˘ ᵜ ˘ ⍝ 

.

.

.

Pair: Fem! reader×hyung line

TW: slightly suggestive content (nothing graphic, it's like for one line)

Warnings: none

Word count: 462 !

Genre: Mainly fluff 

ଘ( ິ•ᆺ• )ິଓ Jay…

-  Would take you to all possible boutiques.

- Real Madrid couple's shirt.

- Would study the language with you.

- Would visit every existing tourist spot.

- Quality time is the key.

- He is always hungry !  24/7 restaurants.

- Without a doubt, I would propose to you in Alhambra.

- Jong would play the guitar for you.

- Would go on a wine tasting tour or visit a local winery.

- Explore picturesque destinations and scenic spots together.

- He would definitely marry you the sec you speak spanish w him (we all know bro has a sweet spot to languages)

(꜆˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)꜆ Sunghoon…

-He would post at least 100 stories per day.

- Spain = You guys fashion runway, always smiling and pretending you are in a fashion show.

- Lots of public hugs.

- He would take you to ice skating.

- Would watch many repertoire ballets.

- Dad jokes all the time everywhere.

- Lots of kisses. He's the best kisser ever istg

- IG feed with matching photos.

- Pamper yourselves with couples' spa treatments and massages.

- Watch a breathtaking sunset or sunrise together.

₍ᐢ _‥ᐢ₎ Heeseung…

- Taking bath together in a bathtub.

- Romantic dinner every day.

- He would prefer staying in the apartment, saying "I have a comfortable place and a perfect girl, why go out?"

- Almost like a honeymoon, he wouldn't keep his hands off you, whether you're cooking, doing something, or just existing, his hand would stay on your waist.

- He would sing for you in front of everyone, idk.

- Lots of physical touch. (as you already knew)

- Watch a live performance, such as a theater show or live music concert.

- Take a romantic stroll on the beach or along a charming city street.

υ´• ᴥ •`υ Jake…

- Flirting 24/7.

- He would say "my girl" with every step you take.

- He would compliment you all the time.

- He would whisper "The place is beautiful, but the company is even more" in your ear all the time.

- Watch a live performance, such as a theater show or live music concert.

- Go on a romantic bike ride through picturesque landscapes.

- Taking a bath together with wine and lots of cuddling.

- He would pout if someone called you pretty on the street.

- Take a day trip to a nearby romantic getaway spot.

- Relax and unwind in a hot tub or private jacuzzi

i hope yall enjoy it, ik it's pretty short, but i really put my heart on it. I love enha, bye 👋

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #engene #enhypen imagines #fluff #kpop #travel #Spotify #heeseung #enhypen jay #sunghoon #jake #fanfic

[uselessdancedata]

Can you explain how PDL is formatted, and what Crystal’s results mean? 

okay sure! i'll try my best

so first of all there's the qualification. you send in a video of you doing classwork, so a short video of you doing basic class exercises at barre and at centre. this is pretty standard content for ballet video auditions.

from here, they accept 80 people - 40 girls and 40 boys. these dancers are split into two age groups and are divided by gender, so you have Girls A (15-16yo) and Girls B (17-18yo), and Boys A (15-16yo) and Boys B (17-18yo).

if you are accepted, you are expected to prepare one classical variation and one contemporary variation, both from a standard repertoire list. the classical repertoire is very limited as compared to yagp, adc ibc, ubc, and most other ballet competitions you might be thinking of. it also changes year by year, so you likely won't be able to prepare for it before being selected. (the repertoire list is released in november, and the competition happens in february). but generally, all classical variations are drawn from the standard repertoire. la esmeralda, grand pas classique, coppelia, etc - all names you would know. the repertoire is also divided by age, so the Girls A don't have the same difficulty as Girls B.

unlike yagp, adc ibc, etc - the contemporary variations at prix de lausanne are also drawn from a repertoire. I believe it also changes by year. they have different choreographers they work with who contribute to the list every year. these choreographers upload videos of their variations and competitors will choose one and learn from those videos in preparation for the competition.

so, at the competition, you will perform your classical variation and your contemporary variation, after taking some classes and coaching sessions from some great teachers who work with prix de lausanne. I don't believe they're being assessed at this point, but first impressions count I guess and apparently the feedback is invaluable.

after this first competition round, they go to the final round, where the numbers go from 80 to 20. these 20 finalists will perform the same variations they did in the first round.

from here, they will pick prize winners. I think the number of prize winners changes year to year, but I'm not sure if it depends on the competitors' abilities or just the number of sponsors they can find. I'm pretty sure they only had 7 winners last year and this year there are 9. not sure why, but it seems to vary!

the prize winners get to choose any ballet school of their choice from the list of schools that partner prix de lausanne, and they will receive a full scholarship to that school. prix de lausanne's school list is pretty extensive. john cranko, royal ballet school, paris opera ballet school, etc etc. vaganova used to be on there until the war. on top of a full scholarship, they get 20,000 CHF to cover living expenses.

prize winners who are 17 and above can also opt to choose not a school but a company, because pdl also has a list of partner companies that is very impressive. so they effectively get free acceptance to that company. they also get the 20,000 CHF!

finalists also have a networking forum/audition class/I forgot what it's called but they get to audition for a lot of company directors while they're at prix de lausanne. i believe finalists also get any free summer intensive of their choice (from pdl's school list of course).

so what this means for crystal:

- she has effectively ranked in the top few ballet students in the world, in both classical and contemporary!

- she will likely be leaving the competition circuit as of this year. anything she's won will be for the 24-25 school year. from what I've seen in previous years it is very unlikely she will come back even after the year is up. even though pdl's scholarship only lasts a year, you'll hardly ever see anyone who genuinely only goes for a year. they will almost always stay on, or just transfer to another full time ballet school if they can't for whatever reason.

- effectively she's made it. she might still do nationals to finish out this year but that's about it.

- her choice of school will likely be announced (if not by her, then just by pdl) in upcoming weeks.

all in all it's bittersweet but it's so rewarding to see her chasing her dreams and accomplishing all she wants!

#lmk if i forgot anything