something tells me he isn't singing and dancing his way through them

anonymous asked:

Hey! This isn't really a prompt,,, but anyways. My thought was that the other Sanders Sides (one of them or all three) would find the other one (which ever you want) doing something that is really super out of character for them (the character might be embarrassed that they like/do this thing?) and the others either [angst option] react really badly, making the one doing the thing even more sad/embarrassed, or [fluff option] they react by helping the one doing the action feel like it isn't (1)

A big deal, and that they shouldn’t be ashamed of it. (Maybe the others admit to doing activities that are out of character for them?) I hope this makes any sense at all lol. 💗 ~Rose Anon


So I decided to do both options because I couldn’t decide. Also in case you can’t tell by the end of this, yes, I’m an Irish dancer. I love to dance whenever I’m feeling anxious or stressed, it just calms me straight down. Anyway, I hope you like the way I answered this.


Thomas had decided to do another Q and A video with the sides. Anxiety had been enjoying himself. He actually liked the Q and A’s and it helped that no one was asking about kissing this time. Then Thomas had asked a question directed towards all of them, asking if the sides had any hobbies the viewers didn’t already know about.

Logic had talked about how in addition to his poetry and love of mystery novels, he also enjoyed star gazing. Morality had enthusiastically talked about his love of all things DIY. And Prince had admitted he loved designing and making clothes. Then they had turned to Anxiety.

“So what about you, Sneering Beauty?” Prince asked. “Any hobbies besides brooding in the shadows.”

“Why should I do anything else,” Anxiety shot back, ready to just move on to the next question.

“Awww, come on Anxiety.” Morality interjected. “There has to be something. Everyone needs a hobby.”

Anxiety hesitated. Should he tell them?

“This is a waste of time,” Prince said dismissively. “He clearly doesn’t, Morality.”

Anxiety’s eyes narrowed. That was it.

“Actually,” he snapped. “I dance. Irish dance, to be specific.”

There was a pause. Then Prince burst out laughing.

“You? Dance?” he wheezed. “Oh, that’s a image. Nice one, Anxiety. I didn’t know you had an imagination.”

Anxiety’s stomach clenched. Fuck. He should have just kept his stupid mouth shut. There was a reason he’d never told the others. But he’d let Prince bait him, and now look what had happened.

“I’m sorry, but what is Irish Dance exactly?” Morality said in, trying to speak over the sound of Prince’s laughter.

“It’s a form of traditional dance from Ireland,” Logic explained. As Morality still looked confused, he continued, “Think Riverdance, for example.”

“Oh,” Morality blinked. “Well that’s … different.”

Anxiety was done. He wasn’t going to stay here and hear another incredulous reaction. He didn’t need this. Better to get out now and hope that they’d all have forgotten about this the next time he saw them.

He popped back into his room. He could feel himself shaking a little, so he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself down. But it wasn’t working. He was too upset. Angry at himself for saying anything. Angry at Prince for laughing. Humiliated that the others now knew.

Fuck it, he was going to dance. This was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with the sport. Whenever he danced he could pour out all of his feelings, let it all go. That’s why he loved hard shoes best. As he slammed his feet into the floor, being as loud as he could, it felt like he was on top of the world, and none of his fears could touch him. He loved soft shoe as well, but there was something special about hard shoe.

He slipped his on now, tying the laces, and pulling the buckles tight. He’d managed to fix up a small dance studio off from his room a while back. It had taken a little bit of time to adjust the mindscape before he had it just right, but he’d gotten it eventually. He’d also managed to make it soundproofed, not that he’d really needed to. His room was far enough away from the others that they wouldn’t hear him anyway.

His hard shoes on, he went to turn on the music. Most of the time, he practiced to the traditional music, going over his routines. But sometimes, especially when he was upset, he’d throw on his angrier, more modern music and just dance. No choreography, just whatever came to mind.

Today he went for a mix of the two, turning on The Devil’s Dance Floor by the Dropkick Murphys. It was an Celtic punk band, which meant it had an Irish sound, but it was angry enough to fit his mood.

As the opening notes sound,d he prepared himself point his right toe and counting off the beats. As the singing began, Anxiety danced.

A bang and treble, step back and step click down. Treble, treble and treble hop back. Bang and bang again, he had to pound out the anger. Forget what had happened

He danced harder and faster, his heart racing as the song went on. Before the song had reached its halfway point, he was already panting. But he kept going, his eyes now closed focused only on his feet and the beat of the song.

When it had finally finished, the last of the music fading out, he collapsed, sinking to his knees, gasping for air. But before he could drag himself over to the corner where he kept water bottles, there was already one there being stretched out in front of him.

Blinking in confusion, he followed the arm holding it up to see Morality, who was smiling down gently at him.

“That was really good, kiddo,” he said. “I can’t say I know anything about dance, but it was really fun to watch.”

Unsure of what was happening, Anxiety didn’t reach for the water. “How-how long were you watching?” he croaked.

“Take the water,” Morality coaxed him, pushing the bottle into Anxiety’s hand. “You looked like you were working hard.”

Once Anxiety had taken a few sips, Morality continued. “I think I came in about halfway through. Sorry for coming in without permission. I did knock first, but you didn’t respond, and well, I was worried so I came in anyway. Although I can guess why you didn’t hear me.”

Anxiety’s brow furrowed. “You were… worried about me? Why?”

Morality lowered himself down to sit beside Anxiety. “Well you did run out of there pretty quickly. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You mean after I humiliated myself,” Anxiety muttered bitterly, unable to help himself. “Yeah, I’m just fine.”

“Hey,” Morality’s arm settled on his shoulder. “You didn’t humiliate yourself at all.”

“Tell that the Prince” Anxiety replied, taking another sip of water.

Morality frowned. “Don’t worry I plan to have a talk with Prince later,” he said. “That wasn’t very nice of him earlier.”

Anxiety looked down at the water bottle. “You know, Prince may have laughed” he said carefully, “but you, um, you seemed pretty surprised too.”

He then felt arms wrap around him, as Morality pulled him close. “Oh, no, kiddo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was surprised, but it was a good surprised. I’d never heard of Irish dance before, so I was just surprised that it was your hobby. But I think it’s great I really do. And now that I’ve seen it, I can say it fits you.”

“Really?” Anxiety asked skeptically, “you don’t think it’s weird? Ot that I don’t seem like the kind of person who would dance at all?”

“It is unusual,” Morality said honestly, “but that’s why it fits you. An unique sport for a unique person. And the sound fits you too, loud and emotional.”

Anxiety smiled slightly. “It’s not always loud,” he said. “These are hard shoes. But in soft shoe, it’s quiet, more focused on grace.”

“I’d love to see that some day,” Morality said. “You’re a great dancer, and for the record, I don’t there’s people who do or don’t seem like dancers. All I know is that I loved watching you dance, and you seem like you really love to dance and that’s all that matters.”

Anxiety ducked his head down. “Thanks,” he said. “And maybe I can dance again for you sometime.”

“I’d love that, kiddo, I really would”

“I’m not dancing for Prince though”

“Yeah, that’s fair.“

anonymous asked:

i feel stupid asking this, but could you explain the difference between sexism as a part of the setting that isn't endorse (like in ASOIF) and sexism as a part of the setting that ends up becoming part of the narrative (like in sjm's stuff). it seems like an extremely fine line to toe and i'm interested for my own writing works in the future. like, i don't think it's inherently bad to write sexism as a part of the setting like GRRM as long as it isn't endorsed?

Uhh so this might be long.


I was debating how best to exemplify this dichotomy between sexist narratives and sexist settings, and ended up deciding on comparing ASOIAF and ACOTAR (although ASOIAF vs Game of Thrones is also a good showcase of the problem). 

The settings of both ACOTAR and ASOIAF are explicitly patriarchal, where women are more or less viewed as objects for churning out babies. However, while the settings are similar (solely with regards to gender roles), the narratives’ treatment of gender is very different. Let’s take a looky-loo.

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si vis amari, ama

hey youse guys……. look at what i have here, some completely irrelevant piece of fiction that i needed.

please play final fantasy xv

special thanks as always to @baegerbombtastic, who dramatiqueally encourages my bullshit, suffers through ten drafts, and says “what the fuck” every time prompto says “ooh, love the lighting.” 

in addition to this, i’d also like to laugh at: @ereriere who falls where we do, and @burningfairytales for also diving in to ffxv headfirst. 

my weaknesses are as follows: prompto lifting noctis, because he can definitely bench the prince; deep and meaningful love confessions; kissing

-

Pairing: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Verse: Canon divergent (fuck you, square enix)
Rating: T
Summary: Noctis’ cheek is smooth against his knuckles, his hair soft against the pads of his fingers when Noctis tilts his head. “I know that it’s, like, a bad omen to say this, but—“

“You’re going to say it anyway,” is a murmur against his skin.

And he does. Say it anyway, that is. “But who’s around to tell us that we don’t have as much time as we want?” It doesn’t feel like a curse when it comes out of his mouth. There’s no slime left behind on his teeth, or dirt caught against his gums, or anything like that. So—so, maybe it’s not as bad an omen as it could be. Maybe this time, they really do have all the time in the world. 

Noctis laughs against his palm. Prompto feels it there like scattered sand. 

Or you can [Read on AO3]!

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Dancing isn't my thing. \\ Kim Yugyeom

Originally posted by umma-jr

Characters: Yugyeom x Reader (Y/N) 

Genre: Fluffy clouds & Angst 

Summary: Dancing is something you believe you really need to work on. Your hard work has really come with great rewards. 

Enjoy this cute little story I thought out of my head! 


You’ve been a trainee at JYP for the past year and a half and you were randomly told that your team was planned to debut in less than 6 months. Shocked but excited, all the feels were out and you felt ready to face this challenge…..

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  • Radio Host: Iggy could you give us a little freestyle?
  • Iggy: aight, here we go
  • Iggy:
  • Iggy: When the winds are blowing, that's the time to smile. Learn how to laugh, learn how to love, learn how to live, that's my style. When the rent is owing, what's the use of tears? I'd rather laugh, I'd rather love, I'd rather live, in arrears. Some fellows sweat to get to be millionaires, some have a sport they're devotees of. Some like to be the champs at saving postage stamps, me, I like to live, me, I like to laugh, me, I like to love. Some like to sink and think in their easy chairs of all the things they've risen above. Some like to be profound by reading Proust and Pound. Me, I like to live, me, I like to laugh, me, I like to love. Success is swell and success is sweet, but every height has a drop. The less achievement, the less defeat. What's the point of shovin' your way to the top? Live 'n' laugh 'n' love 'n' you're never a flop. So when the walls are crumbling, don't give up the ship. Learn how to laugh, learn how to love, learn how to live, that's my tip. When I hear the rumbling, do I lose my grip? I have to laugh, I have to love, I have to live. That's my trip. Some get a boot from shooting off cablegrams or buzzing bells to summon the staff. Some climbers get their kicks from social politics me, I like to love, me, I like to... (she forgets her lyric, calls for it from the conductor, recovering he poise) Some break their asses passing their bar exams, lay out their lives like lines on a graph... One day they're diplomats– Well, bully and congrats! Me, I like to love, me, I... (Iggy suddenly goes blank. She can't remember what comes next. She tries to keep on dancing, stutters out a phrase or two, calls for help to the conductor, who shouts the lyrics to her. It's no good. Her desperation grows. Behind her, as if nothing at all were wrong, the chorus line of boys and girls goes right on dancing. Making one final effort, Iggy half-sings) Me, I like–me, I love–me. (With which she lunges forward out of the dance and shouts) I don't love me! (The chorus line goes on dancing, as if she didn't exist. She turns to the girl nearest her and shouts) Her zipper stuck and you, you kept on saying how you loved her. (To the next girl) He was lying! (And the next) I just wanted her, that's all. I only wanted her until I had her. After that– (Ranging up and down the line of Chorus Boys and Chorus Girls, hurling it at them) The job was there: I took it. I took it. I'm too clever. They don't catch me. They don't– (From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a fragment of the party, high up on a downstage platform. Shouting at them) You can't catch me. I'm too smart. (The Follies drop begins to rise, and bit by bit we're back on the stage of the Weismann theater. Not literally, however. We're inside Iggy's mind, and through her eyes we see a kind of madness. Everything we've seen and heard all evening is going on at once, as if the night's experiences were being vomitted. Ghosts, memories and party guests–all there. They stand on platforms which are moving insanely back and forth, they mill about the stage, and all of them are doing bits and pieces of their scenes and songs. And through it all, downstage, Iggy's chorus line continues dancing. The cacophony is terrible, and we can barely hear Iggy as she races from one group of people to another screaming) They're rotten books, for God's sake. Don't you know it? ...It's a trick. It's nothing and I let her do it ...She said she'd kill herself. I didn't think she meant it... Jesus–Iggy!... (There is a sudden beat of utter silence into which she cries out) Phyllis! (She races off stage as the chaos resumes. It reaches a peak of madness and then, as the lights dim down, it starts receding. Softer, softer. Then, for a moment, the stage is dark and there is no sound. In the silence, softly, we hear Iggy say) Phyllis... (Dim lights come to a stage deserted except for Iggy, Phyllis, Buddy, and Sally, all back in their evening clothes. Sally, as if cut from stone, sits staring out at nothing. Far, far upstage, the back wall of the theater has gone and in the gray light of predawn, we see buildings across the street. In the darkness at the sides, a figure stirs. Another. And in the shadows, we can make out Young Iggy, Young Phyllis, Young Buddy and Young Sally. They stand watching)
  • Phyllis: I'm here, Iggy; I'm right here.
  • Buddy: Sally? Are you all right? (No response at all, not a flicker. Crouching beside her) Come on, kid. Hey, it's me.
  • Sally: (Voice dead, eyes straight ahead) I left the dishes in the sink, I left them there, I was in such a hurry and there is no Iggy for me, not ever, any place.
  • Buddy: There never was, and that's the truth. Come on. I'll take you home.
  • Sally: I can't stand up.
  • Buddy: I'll help you.
  • Sally: I should of died the first time.
  • Buddy: Cut that out.
  • Sally: I should have been dead all these years.
  • Buddy: Don't talk that way. You've got a lot to live for: friends, a home, some money–Go on say it after me, out loud. You say it. Friends...
  • Sally: Friends...
  • Buddy: Home...
  • Sally: Home...
  • Buddy: We're gonna go and get some rest ... And then we're gonna make plans for tomorrow.
  • Sally: For tomorrow... (She pauses, looks up at the morning light that seeps into the ruined theater. There is no hope at all.) Oh dear God, it is tomorrow. (Buddy holds her tightly in his arms)
  • Iggy: I've lost my jacket. (Phyllis picks it up) There has to be a way... I won't face one more morning feeling–(Impatiently) Despair: I'm sick to goddamn death of it.
  • Phyllis: (With a flash of white-hot anger) Amen. It's easy; life is empty, there is no hope. Hope doesn't grow on trees; we make our own and I am here to tell you it's the hardest thing we'll ever do.
  • Iggy: I've always been afraid of you. You see straight through me and I've always thought, "It isn't possible; it can't be me she loves."
  • Phyllis: (Still with the intensity of what she feels) Well, think again. Come on, we're going home.
  • Iggy: You're really something, aren't you?
  • Phyllis: Bet your ass.
  • (Buddy helps Sally to her feet. She can barely stand, and he supports her as they turn and slowly start upstage. As they turn, Iggy holds out his hand to Phyllis. She looks at him, then takes it. As the two couples move away from us toward the morning light, their young selves drift down silently, then turn. They all stand silhouetted, motionless. Then, soft and faint, as if it all were spoken years ago, we hear)
  • Young Buddy: (Singing) Hey, up there!
  • Young Iggy: Way up there!
  • Young Iggy and Young Buddy: Whaddya say, up there!
  • Young Sally: Hi...
  • Young Iggy: Girls...
  • Young Phyllis: Iggy...
  • Young Buddy: Sally...
  • Curtain.
Flattery Will Get You Everywhere (Ziall)

Hello everyone! Here’s a little something for zavnhoran because she wanted Niall doting over Zayn and Zayn being flustered about it, I actually don’t know if it’s that good and I kinda wanted to go on, but if I did it just would’ve been a list of all the times Zayn and Niall doted on each other and that would get boring soooo… I think I ended it the best way I could hope you like it!

Summary: Niall just compliments Zayn a lot.

Zayn wondered how long it had been going on before he actually caught on to it and when he decided to think back on it, he realized that it had been happening pretty much since the beginning. And he felt really horrible for never noticing it until now.

Zayn knew that it was in Niall’s nature to think everything about the world was pretty great. Like when they had all been put together for the first time in X-Factor and here were five boys he’d never met in his entire life and there could be so many conflicting personalities and opinions and his entire dream was riding on these four pairs of unfamiliar shoulders and Niall was already planning outfit ideas for them, based solely on the shoes of a boy he knew nothing about. 

But at some point, Zayn noticed that there was something different about him. Niall treated him not differently, per se, but in a special way. He knew Niall loved each and every one of the boys unconditionally and in a way that was specifically tailored to that boy, but there was something that separated Niall’s love for the other boys with Niall’s love for Zayn. 

And it took Zayn a long time to figure it out and even longer to put a name to it.

~ ~ ~

“What were you going to say back there?” Niall asked, sidling up to him as they walked down the hallway towards where their car was waiting outside. He fell into step with Zayn, hands shoved in the pockets of his slightly-too-big jeans and eyeing Zayn curiously. It was the first time Zayn ever really realized that Niall did it.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Niall quizzically and the blonde’s lip quirked.

“You know, back in the interview, when she asked about how you felt about our dolls,” Niall said, nodding towards a little ways ahead of them, where Harry and Louis were having a fake lightsaber match with their little doll versions of themselves (though Harry’s doll’s pants were nowhere to be found) and Zayn’s eyebrows arched even higher. “And Louis interrupted you and you never ended up finishing the thought. What were you going to say?”

Zayn was surprised, to say the least. He hadn’t thought anyone had really noticed that that had happened. Hell, he had barely noticed it had happened. He was sort of used to it, not being ignored, but his voice being more or less stifled by the more enthusiastic ones in the group. He didn’t mind it, really, never thought what he had been planning on saying was anything monumental enough to make a fuss over. And besides, he got his two cents in, most of the time,  either by the boys not interrupting him or the interviewer prompting an answer from him.

“Oh, nothing, really,” he replied, shrugging. “Surprised you even noticed.”

“Of course I noticed,” Niall said, as if he wasn’t the one person who had out of all of them, including Zayn. “And obviously it wasn’t nothing if you were planning on saying something. Tell me.”

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