kicked up heel

ebonyheartnet  asked:

Muder dad, I have a not so little brother who likes murder strut (and run after small jet-powered children) in 6" heels, but he will not teach me his secrets. 😢 I am a sad bean, because I fall flat on my face if I try anything that's over 3" that isn't a wedge. How did you learn not to face plant?

practice and nazi science, my friend. i don’t recommend the nazi science route though. bad call. 

when you walk in heels, it’s tempting to put your whole foot down at once like you do with flats–or like you would with wedges. there’s a bit of a gentle roll to it, and if you have a single continuous sole, that’s okay.  but actually with heels you want to hit heel first, then toe–you should hear that two-stage click sound as the front and back of your foot impact separately. also, you want to keep your weight really poised; your spine straight but not stiff, and your weight more on your toe than your heel; your heel is going to be wobblier. think of something pulling upwards from the top of your head and between your shoulderblades.  if you can, do heeled boots–weakness in the ankle is what gets people a lot of the time, and even short boots will be more stable. 

if you want that hip sway, walk on a line like you’re on a balance beam. lions do this–they place their paws all along the same axis. stepping into the same centerline will push your hips side to side as you walk. it is indeed very murder-strut-y. 

when you run in heels, you run on tiptoe–your actual heel pretty much never contacts the ground. same with walking on grass–it’s exhausting, but you literally balance on just the balls of your feet so your stiletto doesn’t puncture the ground.  when you kick in heels, you kick stiletto first–otherwise whats even the point of wearing knife shoes. 

beauty is pain. and pain is heels. 

source: drunken shenanigans. so many drunken shenanigans. tony got science involved, and pepper provided expertise. steve is weirdly good at the can-can in heels, just for the record. 

you can’t know this many badass ladies who fight in heels and not have drunken conversations on how exactly they pull it off. they are a source of wonder and mystery, and the drunkvengers are determined to someday discover the secrets of heelfighting.

When Two Hearts Beat As One

In A Heartbeat AU

Originally posted by yavileto

Stiles stumbled out of his Jeep and shoved he door shut, his grip fumbling with the straps of his backpack as he shrugged it up onto his shoulders and shuffled over to the path. He kept his eyes on his feet, trying not to trip as his shoes scuffed against the concrete. He made his way out of the carpark and along the side of the school where large blue double doors led into the hallways full of lockers. He turned down the path that led up to the blue doors and froze, his eyes falling upon the figure who slouched back against the brick wall beside the stairs.

The older boy’s leather jacket hung heavy on his broad shoulders, the worn black leather melting into the shadows. His stern features and cold composure made him look a good few years older than he was; the sleepless shadows under his eyes didn’t help either. His raven-black hair was short and tousled, and the soft whiskers of an unshaved pubescent stubble cast a shadow across his jaw, highlighting and framing his sharp cheekbones.

Derek Hale.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Obi-Wan who never became a Jedi as Dooku's Jedi apprentice in the clone war? Perhaps QuiObi with Obi-Wan slowly being pulled into the order?

“You’re outnumbered Dooku.” Anakin growled deeply as their troopers raised blasters at the Sith in question, the 501st and 212th ready to blast him down should the older man move.

“Indeed, so it would seem.” The man in question drawled and Qui-Gon felt his guard raise at the tone, recognizing it from his own padawan days as his old master having an ace up his sleeve for a diplomat he was going to beat into the ground.

He raised his saber in response to it and Yan gave a small smirk that barely curled his lips.

“Obi-Wan.” He called out simply.

Simple was not what arrived with the words.

There was a shift in the Force and then fast almost silent running steps before someone landed in front of Dooku with ease in a half couch and feet spread for balance after their jump.

A human male, red hair shaven short on the side and the top pulled into a bun in the back of his neck, a groomed beard, pale skin and deep green eyes. He wore black pants with a red belt, a black tank top and matching knee high boots in a rich red leather.

“Hmm, you’ve misplaced your outer robe again I see.” Yan hummed a bit before shrugging. “No matter, I require the holocron Skywalker currently has in his possession, I wish to study it. I will let you have a look at it after I’m done of course.”

Green eyes flashed to the holocron then around the clearing, taking in everyone’s position from troopers to Jedi.

And then Obi-Wan was on the move, barely seen as he threw himself forward and dodged beneath blasters. Anakin barely had a moment to step back before Obi-Wan threw himself down on his knees and slid forward, the redhead sliding beneath the blonds arm before pushing his hands to the grass and kicking up a foot, the heel hitting Anakin’s palm and throwing the holocron up into the air.

Then Obi-Wan threw himself forward and up, curling his body into a backflip as he kicked the holocron midair with a Force enhanced kick.

By the time Obi-Wan landed so did the holocron safely in Yan’s hand.

“Why thank you Obi-Wan.” Yan chuckled even as the buzz of lightsabers sounded before Obi-Wan’s clashed with Ahsoka’s and Qui-Gon’s, the redhead’s focus on them and not his master as he held two white sabers against the two of them.

Yan took the moment to slowly retreat, eyes on the fight. “Obi-Wan I know you want to play but this is not the time.”

“You sure? I found a rather fetching playmate.” High Coruscantian filled the air as Obi-Wan leered at Qui-Gon who turned a bit wide eyed.

“Quite, stop flirting with my former padawan.”

Obi-Wan snorted before smirking and firmly kicking Qui-Gon in the belly and throwing Ahsoka with the Force, the young Togruta hitting her master and the older human hitting troopers which provided Obi-Wan ample distraction to race to Dooku’s side and disappear with him.

“Karking Sith hells!” Anakin wheezed before turning wide eyes on Qui-Gon who was getting up on the other side. “That was not a Sith.”

“No…it seems Yan has trained another outside the Order…and trained them as a Jedi.”

“Lose morals then sirs.” Rex grunted from where he was getting up.

“Or perhaps he just doesn’t care for the Republic if Yan has raised him…we have to inform the council.”

“Oh great.” Anakin grumbled. “We have to tell the old farts we lost the holocron and that Dooku has another apprentice, one who likes to flirt…great.”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon sighed before blinking. “Wait what?”

“Fetching playmate.” Ahsoka gave a dazed little giggle.

Qui-Gon colored.

The Morning Of

by: mldrgrl
Rating: R
Summary:  Hank wakes up after The Fall.  Was it a dream, or not?

Hank felt groggy and a bit disoriented when he opened his eyes.  His mouth was dry and tasted like an old sock.  The ceiling fan above him turned at high speed, clicking and shaking from the effort.  His skin felt taut and rough with dried sweat.

With a groan, Hank pushed himself off the couch.  He stretched his tight muscles and then scratched at his itching ribs.  He yawned and clucked his tongue from the awful taste in his mouth.  He remembered Stella telling him to brush his teeth before he found her.

“Stella?” he said, so quietly that he barely even heard his own voice.  He was still afraid she wasn’t there.  Though he was pretty sure last night wasn’t a dream, he couldn’t be certain.

Hank trudged towards the bedroom.  He was too old to get so hammered.  He used to be able to shrug off a night of heavy drinking so easily, the hangover just a mild inconvenience, but now he got achy and lethargic like an arthritic old man.  At least he didn’t have a headache or nausea.

Keep reading

Flats (Lafayette x Reader)

Heels (Yes you have to read this for Flats to make any sense whatsoever)


Word Count: 3584

Requests: (All of these were a lot nicer than this, I just got rid of all the extra fluff)

  • “pleaseeeee make a heels part two” - Anonymous
  • “Now you need a sequel please.” - @zoemonster200
  • “Oh my frickity frack PLEASE do a part two to Heels” -Anonymous
  • “Add me to the list of people requesting a part 2!” - @secretschuylersister
  • -“HEELS PART 2 PLEASEEEE” - Anonymous
  • “YOU SHOULD WRITE A OART TWO” - @doilyloily

Warnings: Cussing, angst, terrible metaphors, awful writing (I tried. This is probably going to be a contender for rewrite week…)

A/N- At long last, Heels Part 2! Let me know what you think and enjoy the fic!

You watched your breath create a plume of frost in the air in front of you. It was times like these, times when there was nothing to do but think, when your mind jumped back to that moment. The moment you’d left. You tipped your head back lazily and let your eyes drift closed. You shivered, not because of the frigid air surrounding you, but because of the all too familiar memory beginning to play like a movie in your head. You wondered again what it was that had stopped you from replying. You thought about what he’d said. You contemplated how he’d acted that entire night, and for weeks before it. And you remembered the way his lips had felt on yours, so natural, and so perfect. Why couldn’t you say anything?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

"Just stay with me" w/ bruce and dick platonic? Thanks!!!!!

no problemo my man! thanks for the prompt, and an extra-special thanks for letting me write about my boys. i’m kinda nervous about this one. also remember that scene in BvS where the batmobile goes through a fucking brick wall i don’t care if that’s possible or not it’s badass and i’ve established i know shit about how fuck works

Dick dropped to the ground, letting his kneepads take the impact, and slid beneath a shuddering beam - it collapsed seconds after he shot under it, flinging up a plume of gray dust.

“Batman!” Dick jumped over a clump of rubble - he felt his ankle turn and wrench, but he ignored it.

Over there, he thought, giddily - he could see Bruce, a solid wall of black beneath washed-out shades of gray.

He hit the ground beside Bruce hard. The shaft of an arrow stuck out of his side, and Bruce’s hands were wrapped around it, pressing against the wound, but his grip was weak. 

“I leave for an hour and you take all the action, eh?”

“Poisoned,” Bruce choked. “Poisoned - poisoned dart - “

“Shit,” Dick hissed. That explained why Bruce hadn’t already pulled it out. It didn’t give when he tugged on it - barbed, then. “I’m gonna have to cut it out, can you hold it?”

He didn’t wait for Bruce’s reply - he skipped to the third pouch on the left of Bruce’s utility belt, hit the button twice to deactivate the security, and pulled out the gleaming tactical knife. He snapped the arrow in half to get it out of the way. “You ready?”

“Just do it,” Bruce snapped.

“Don’t bite my head off when I’ve got a knife over your gut,” Dick said, pushing the tip of the knife in - it was deeper than he’d thought. He made as short work of it as he could.

“Hands,” Dick barked, and Bruce’s gauntlets covered the wound. Dick dropped the arrow head - four barbed points, almost like a grapple - into an evidence bag. Custom arrowhead, they could trace the make: it was something.

He tapped his comm. “This is Nightwing, I’m gonna need emergency assistance. There’s poison involved, we need to book it - you have my location?”

Barbara’s voice cut into the static. “I’ve got it, don’t worry. ETA ten minutes.”

“That’s pushing it,” Dick ground out. “Make someone kick up their heels.”

“Don’t be - ridiculous,” Bruce wheezed. “I’m fine.”

“You always say that, and I have never once believed it in my life. Oracle. I’m keeping you on the line to stay, uh - “

“Ah - apprised.”

“I just cut an arrowhead out of you, you’re seriously gonna make points about my vocabulary now?”

“Got it, Nightwing. I can cross reference symptoms from here so we can do this as fast as possible.”

Dick leaned over Bruce. “Hey, hey, hey - eyes on me, capiche? Take the lenses down. I need to see.”

Wordlessly, Bruce tugged the catch, and the milky lenses slid away. “Dilated pupils,” Dick said. “He’s breathing too fast. Can you take off a glove so I can check your pulse?”

Bruce’s eyes were closing - a thrill of fear curled up his spine. Dick slapped the ground by Bruce’s ear. “Wake up! Just stay with me - don’t you dare close your eyes, understand? A poison arrow is not gonna kill the Batman, you hear?”


Bruce’s eyes were still closed, but he murmured: “S’not a… not a bullet.”

“A bullet won’t get the chance, either, because I’m here. Stay with me. Talk to me, I’ll take a story - any story, anything at all.”

“Jason,” Bruce gasped. Dick’s heart pounded against his sternum. “When I had - when I had Jason, I… took him to a baseball game.”

“You did? Who won? Tell me, Bruce, who won the game?” Dick furiously packed a crude field bandage over the wound, held it there.

“… Knights, it was - the Knights.”

Dick forced a grin. Bruce’s eyes - gray, in the darkness - tried and failed to focus on him. “That’s our team, old man, remember? Gotham pride, all day, every day.”

“We used to…”

“Yeah,” Dick said. “We used to watch the baseball games together, remember? Just stay with me, and I’ll take you to one, it’ll be my treat. You might not know this, but I’m a trust fund baby.”

Bruce’s eyes were watching him, now, unnaturally bright, but still duller than they usually were. “P-promise?”

“Promise, big guy. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“That’s - not funny. Don’t… don’t say that.”

Don’t say that. They’d been talking about Jason, even. 

Dick leaned his forehead against Bruce’s chest, letting the rough kevlar ground him. It was hard to be someone else’s anchor, when he’d been born to fly. “I won’t. That’s another promise. Oracle. How much longer?”

The fastest the auto can get there is four minutes, not unless I - 

“Whatever it is, do it.” Dick blew out a breath. “Okay, okay. B. What did you guys do, at the baseball game?”

“Jay… ate five chili dogs. And. Shouted - everything that - that - “

The words didn’t come. Dick felt Bruce shudder beneath him, and for a second fear was in his throat, fear had become his blood, but Bruce spoke again, this time in a whisper: “I miss him.”

“I know you do, I know. He was…”

“My - my world. So… so are you…”

Bruce would only tell him him that if - 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dick snarled. “Don’t you dare, don’t you - just stay with me, right? Eyes on me. Please.”

“There! It’s there, it’s there,” Barbara shouted. “I can’t drive it through the warehouse without structural damage, you’ll have to carry him.”

“How on Earth did you - “

“Drone controls, ran it through a few parking garages. Figured your trust fund could cover construction. You’re not far from the Manor if I run behind the Adkins building.”

“You’re fucking incredible,” Dick said. He slung Bruce’s arm over his shoulder, and pulled him up - Bruce seemed to gain about twenty pounds of deadweight when he was poisoned. Dick folded him into the passenger seat, and slid over the hood.

“Babs, I’m gonna ask you to work your drone control magic,” Dick said, leaning over Bruce. He tugged the cowl off - in the scarlet light of the Batmobile’s dashboard, he looked like a corpse already. Dick elbowed his shoulder. “Sleep is for the weak, remember?”

“Sleep… for - week,” Bruce grunted. The Batmobile shot forward with a jerk, and Bruce listed to the side. Dick reached over and pulled the lever beneath the seat, letting it flatten. 

“That’s the spirit,” Dick said. He lifted Bruce’s legs up and laid them on the dashboard. “Babs - “

“The best I can do is five, I can’t push it harder.”

“Five minutes,” Dick said, covering Bruce’s hands - where they pressed against the bandages - with his own. “You always make it, Bruce, you always do.”

“‘Cause… you’re there.”

Chasing Satisfaction

By: mldrgrl
Rating: R
Summary: Hank and Stella announce the change in their relationship.

It was dark and rainy outside, so they’d overslept. Both their internal alarms were off. Hank’s from being in twelve cities in two weeks and Stella’s from jet lag. The grey skies didn’t help.

Hank was just about a minute slower than Stella to get out of bed. He groaned and flung an arm over his head when she turned the light on, but knew he had to get moving if he didn’t want to be late to brunch with Becca. He finally rolled out of bed and stepped into the black pair of jockey shorts crumbled on the floor from the night before. Scratching his chest and yawning, he stumbled towards the bathroom.

Stella was at the sink, washing her face. Her hair was clipped up off her neck. Her silk robe was tied at her waist. Hank paused inside the doorway to watch. The small diamond ring on her finger winked at him when she put her left hand down to search for the towel she’d set on the counter.

He’d wanted to take her to Tiffany’s, but she preferred a vintage jewelry shop in Providence she’d found online. She’d chosen something she referred to as ‘practical.’ It wouldn’t have been Hank’s choice, but she was the one who was going to wear it, so he didn’t really care. He didn’t know what a ‘European cut’ was, or what ‘diamond-set shoulders’ were. He did like the sound of ‘sleek, knife-edge ring shank,’ though. The salesman seemed reluctant to admit it was ‘only .78 carats,’ but it hadn’t seemed to deter Stella, so it hadn’t deterred Hank either.

Hank raised his arms and leaned his elbows against the doorjamb as he watched Stella pat her face dry. He rubbed his thumb against the silver band on his own finger, twisting it around and around, not yet used to its weight.

“I’d like to tell Becca today,” he said.

Keep reading

Kick your Heels up,

You are only as Strong as your Level of Commitment to Self Care

Woman in Bloom
Carrizo Plain, CA

Copyright © 2017 Flash The Abyss

Reaction #26: Kings

Wishes Note: All kings have been giving a date and descriptions of a location sort of thing, but I’ve left it more of an AU setting than actual historical Kings….kyungsoo might be inspired by firefly.



21st Century

Baekhyun looked around the art on display as he tried to avoid going into the ballroom.  His fellow royals, cousins and such had already pushed him to enter but he just couldn’t work up the courage.  He wasn’t the prince of the hour, but he certainly wasn’t one that girls would miss either.  Turning to noise he heard you as your heels clicked against the marble floor.   

“Yes, sir.  I know sir.”  You whispered into a phone as you walked right past him, not even taking a moment to glance at him.  “I will sir.  Don’t worry.  I just met with the king, he wants the painting.”  You paused glancing up at a painting of the late queen.  Her black hair matching perfectly as Baekhyun watched you in amazement.  “I will call you back sir.”  You whispered.  Baekhyun walked over standing just behind you.  

“I see you took a liking to my mother’s portrait.”  Turning you looked into the eyes of the second in line for the throne.

“She was beautiful.  My father’s painting.”  You whispered looking at his signature in the corner.  Baekhyun looked as well, his eyes flying open as he remembered running around the gardens.  

“___.”  He whispered as he looked at how you had grown.  

 “I apologize your highness, I must be going.”  You bowed as you pulled out your phone, your brain not registering that he had said your name.  Jongdae emerged from the room as he just noticed you turning around the hall.  Baekhyun smiling as he had finally found you after all of these years.  

“Is something the matter?”

“I found ___.  My bride.”  His eyes bright as he remembered his first and truly only ever love.  

Originally posted by baekhyuntella



19th century

War was looming over their heads, and everyone was throwing a party.  Chanyeol stood in the back of the room as he tried to ignore the world that was celebrating.  His mind replaying strategies over and over about how to defeat the enemy when they attack.  His younger brother making the rounds as his older brother was the one people really wanted to see.  As the middle prince, he had the luxury to stand in the back and not pander to the wealthy elites.  That’s probably how he saw you.  You were slowly inching your away from your escort, who he assumed was your father and mother, and heading towards the gardens.  Your parents didn’t even see you go, and once you noticed the all clear, you ran out of the room.  Chanyeol couldn’t help it, he followed to see who or what you were going to do.  Your exit was less than noticeable to anyone in the room, but you had left in such a comical way, he was wondering why people didn’t see it before.  He saw you run into the maze a smile on your face as he followed.  Something dragged him to follow.  

Once he found you in the center at the pound, he smiled but stood back.  He took in your features as you turned, hearing the crunching noise of the gravel.  

“Who is there?”  You called as he stepped out.  You curtsied as he walked over, bowing slightly.  

“Who are you?”  He asked, Chanyeol indicated by the beauty.  

“___.  Sister to General Leeteuk.”   

“Enemy Leeteuk.”   He took a step back as you nodded.  

“Soon-to-be ally.  He’s speaking with the King as we speak about seeking asylum in your kingdom.”  Chanyeol walked over, his hand reaching slightly for the sword that wasn’t there.  

“Why is?”

“The King wants me as his fifth wife.  Leeteuk doesn’t want anything to do with the royal family, because he knows how cruel our king actually is.”  Chanyeol nodded, as he sat down at the fountains edge.  

“I have heard stories.”  

“I’d rather die by my own hands than marry a would be king.”  You sat down.  Chanyeol smiled as he looked at you.  

“You’re strong.” He stated as a fact.  

“You have only just met me your grace.”  

“No.  I can tell, your strong.”  You smiled, a blush coming to your cheeks as you turned away.  Chanyeol smiling, his heart beginning to flutter.    

Originally posted by sehunoh




Jongdae bowed once more to another duke, of so and so, introducing one of the many eligible daughters that his father was pushing him to marry.  He said he didn’t care if she was royalty, just as long as she was eligible to marry.  Jongdae bowed once more, but looked over her shoulder when you caught his eye.  You were crossed arm, looking at your father and brother with disdain at the back of the line.  They were whispering to you harshly as Jongdae could clearly see you did not wish to be there.  He smiled as you clearly rolled your eyes, very unladylike and very un-queen like compared to the picture perfect girl currently bowing to him.  Jongdae kept glancing over as you kept getting close.  Jongdae’s father noticing that his son’s eyes kept drifting to the girl walking closer.

When they were five people away, you turned dropped your arms in and pretended to smile as you had done what you were told.  Your father took in a great sigh of relief as you appeared to be lady-like at least in front of the King and heir.  

“Your Majesty, your highness.”  You greet with a sickening sweet voice.  Jongdae bowed trying to keep his laughter choked down.  As you stood up, you noticed his smile and look of gleam in his eyes, as if he was laughing at you.  Your smile dropped slightly as you wanted to raise your fist and punch him like you did your brother to get him to take you seriously.  “Is something humorous your grace?”  You asked as the King eyed his son.  

“Your clear lack of disdain being here was seen from the back of the line.”  Your smile dropped as your father sighed bowing in apologies.  Your brother tapped your back as he too bowed in apologies, you kept your back straight.

 “___, apologize.”  Your brother hissed at you.  

“Why?  The prince finds my lack of interest amusing.  Nothing to apologize.  Even new money can make a prince smile.”  The king tried to hid his own amusement in the strong laced girl you were, as the Prince let out a small laugh. 

“True, you are from a wealthy family, such as your attire suggests.  But your attitude, a princess you sure are not.”  His smile grew as he finally found what he wanted.  A girl that was not a princess.  

“What gave it away?”  

“Would you care for a walk?”  He held out his elbow as you looked at it, and than a devilish smile that matched his came across your lips.  

“If it means getting out of this ballroom, I would be happy to.  Your grace.”  You curtsied as he escorted away from the line and out to the balcony leading to the gardens.  The kings smile grew as he realized how much you reminded him of his late wife.  

Originally posted by drawien


Keep reading

Spirited Away.

Can we talk about this movie for a second?

I was eight. And when I was eight, horses were pretty a'ight. They were cool. I liked them and I liked being around them. That was it.

And the day after my eighth birthday, this movie happened, and I haven’t been the same.

Corny, yes, but hear me out.

I entered the theater liking horses. I left it needing one.

It must’ve been scary for my parents to realize that this “phase” I’d been in since I could walk wasn’t actually going away.

It was only beginning.

I used to watch this film on repeat. I had the songs memorized, even to the point where I could still hear the hoofbeats at all the right parts, and it quickly became this huge piece of my childhood.

I swore up and down that I wanted a horse just like that. Tall and gold, gentle enough to be friends but spirited enough to carry me and my dreams for miles over green fields.

I used to wonder what it might be like to bond with an animal like that, to realize each time I hopped onto his back that it was a privilege and not a right, something I’d earned and not forced.

Six years later, my dream came full circle in the form of a pasture ornament called Lakota.

He was tall and gold, gentle as could be, and strong enough for the both of us. He’s cool as a cucumber, and yet there’s something wild and ancient about him.

His ancestors came from the rugged rocks and hills of the west, a band of Spanish-bred stragglers that made their way in the wild.

There’s a bit of that in him still. It’s in the way he tosses his head or kicks up his heels or the way he unwinds into a full-blown gallop under me when asked. My little wild man made tame.

He’s no movie star, and perhaps in some ways he’s not exactly what I wanted at eight, but he’s exactly what I needed at 14, and even now at 21.

My dreams have changed a lot since that hot May night in that movie theater, and I’m all the more thankful for it.

I was given a precious gift in exchange for my enthusiasm. He was equal parts everything I asked for, and everything I didn’t know I needed or wanted.

My Spirit soars now, even at the ripe old age of 18, and heaven forbid I ever forget just how much I love him.

anonymous asked:

I saw that you received an ask about your dream final lair and was wondering, what about your dream PONR? How would that be?

Well, something like this:

  • No table dancing. Nope, nada, zip. Get off the table and onto the bench; it’s more hygienic.
  • There were a few London Christines, like Leila Benn Harris and Gina Beck, who would sing the “no thoughts within her head” part while leaning against the wall, instead of hopping out and just singing to the audience. I prefer that. See a gif of it here.
  • Italian accent for the Phantom. Obviously. Let’s try and make it a little more believable that nobody would recognize the Phantom. Lots of Phantoms do this, even back to the original, Michael Crawford.
  • Christine would, nevertheless, look briefly confused, the way Jennifer Hope Wills did, but then appear to dismiss it.
  • Some nice apple rubbing - think Celia Graham or Elizabeth Loyacano.
  • I really liked Marni Raab’s teasing the Phantom with her apple while backing away and lying on the bench and kicking her heels up. Elizabeth Welch did the same in Oberhausen.
  • Samantha Hill did really well at looking as if Don Juan’s (or the Phantom’s) touch alone was turning her on. And I would like to see her little stumble as she drinks from the cup and wipes off her mouth - a little hint of drunkenness, basically.
  • I really liked Mary Michael Patterson’s little… backwards lean, I guess, immediately after she sits on the bench, like she’s inviting the Phantom closer. Have another gif.
  • More of Jennifer Hope Will’s reactions, and her little bench slide. See a gif of it here.
  • I also liked how Sarah Lawrence arched her back when leaning against the Phantom. See a gif here.
  • It’s been taken out, but in London they used to have the Phantom stroke Christine’s boobs, which shakes her out of the scene briefly - Gina Beck did it, for one. I kind of like that.
  • On Broadway, Sierra Boggess would also do this thing where she would stare at the Phantom in bewilderment, then suddenly face the audience and visibly shake herself, like she was going, “Oh right, I’m on stage! Stay in-character!” It was a nice detail and I’d like to see it more, as it gives a somewhat compelling reason why Christine would continue on despite her suspicions.
  • I liked Sandra Danyella’s hip stroking; gif here.
  • Hugh Panaro and other US Phantoms would do this thing while Christine was singing where they would desperately clutch their robe around their legs. Really increases the sexual tension.
  • No crotch grabbing, though. (Ahem, Eiji Akutagawa.) I mean, it’s creative and all, but uh… too much.
  • Skirt swish! Like Trista Moldovan did it. Then have her put her leg up and pull her skirt up, taunting the Phantom with her ankle (gif) - or alternatively, do as Elizabeth Welch did and try to poke him (gif).
  • The Phantom really should react to this. I liked how Tim Martin Gleason actually reached out for Christine’s leg, only for her to snatch it back.
  • I’m torn on the next bit - I really love it when Christine gives a little kick and slams her foot down on the bench, a la Teresia Bokor (gif) and several other international Christines. But I’ve also seen Christines come up and kind of shove their knee against the Phantom’s, ahem, backside. That’s cool.
  • I actually have no preference on the, er, chest rubbing part - some Christines slide their hands down to the Phantom’s crotch, others just rub around his chest and head. Whichever works.
  • I really like how Christines like Tabitha Webb or Robyn North sing “when will the sleeping bud burst into bloom” - singing it slightly louder and more forcefully.
  • Loved Earl Carpenter’s reaction during this time, as if he’s genuinely surprised and confused at Christine taking control of the song.
  • All right, I admit it - I like how Emmy Rossum sings “when will the flames at last consume us.”
  • But I doubt many Christines will get to sing that, because I much prefer it when a Christine feels the mask and actually stops, pauses, feels around and confirms it with her hand, and maybe screams and takes off. Like, I’ve seen some give no reaction and just walk off like it’s nothing, and… eeeehh.
  • Brad Little’s reaction to this is great as well - you can see him realize that Christine has figured out who he is, which ups the stakes - he might actually keep Christine there or something.
  • Really struggle when the Phantom grabs them back, like Juan Carlos Barona and Julia Moller did.
  • I really like when Christines physically hurl the Phantom’s hands off of them. And I also liked how Rachel Barrell would rub her wrists as if the Phantom had hurt them dragging her out.
  • After unhooding the Phantom, it’d be nice if Christine would try to run offstage, just to be stopped by the managers.
  • It’s also nice if I can see the Phantom actually, I dunno, sigh and resign himself to not running off - or steel himself to propose to Christine. Just, give me body language and acting that shows me the Phantom’s turmoil.
  • I like the way Kaley Ann Voorhees faces the Phantom when he begins singing, as if his voice still has a compellingly hypnotic quality - or she’s just sad for him. It’s a nice callback to ‘The Mirror’ and ‘Wandering Child’. Gif here.
  • Hugh Panaro actually knelt down when proposing.
  • Joke de Kruijf looking utterly torn as the Phantom proposes her is good. Not that big of fan of Marni Raab’s “pretend to kiss him and unmask him” thing.
  • It’s nice when Christines look shocked at taking off both the mask and the wig. Makes it more believable that they would just freeze up and make it easy for the Phantom to grab them.
  • Oh, and Raoul… having Raoul stop the policeman from shooting and then tearing off the Phantom is awesome (think Tomas Ambt Kofod).

Aaannndd that’s all I can think of for now!


Originally posted by bonniebird

This is my first fic, and I know that it needs a lot of work, so please bear with me. I just hope someone out there might enjoy it. Any and all feedback is welcome. This is a multipart fic in which the reader meets Michael at the Eden Club. Although they get off to a rough start, a friendship and romance kindle. I’m not sure how long this should be or if I should pursue this story further. 

Michael x Reader

Bawdy horns blared over fast-paced ragtime, the ivory keys ringing in a sense of feverous joy. As the tempo quickened, the brass became sporadic and needy. In the collection of well-dressed and gyrating bodies, libations and inhibitions flew freely.

Keep reading