#how to perform onstage

[actingmasterclassseries]

Summer Stand-Up Comedy Workshop

Let's talk about stand-up! Lately, this has been our most requested class. If you have questions about building your set, touring, comedy etiquette, or connecting and working with bookers, you may find this workshop informative and worthwhile.

[slingbats]

some headcanon stuff a little bit, I'm pretty sure her natural hair is either shaved or veryyyy short but I couldn't imagine she'd do anything without wearing some kind of head covering so I didn't actually depict this at all you'll just have to trust me teehee

[secretlyafiveheadeddragon]

see the thing about Hadestown is that Orpheus did everything right way down in Hadestown. He changed the heart of Hades, ever so slightly. Enough for a chance. Enough for spring to come again. But on the road back, the doubt of being the leader came in. He was leading his love out of hell but he was also leading an idea, an idea so big that it became a weight on his shoulders. He was holding the life that he and Eurydice could have on his shoulders. And the last time he was on the Earthside he did everything wrong. So how could he know if he could do it right now that he had all these responsibilities and insecurities. Why would Eurydice follow him back into that? What if he had failed? Hades had made them walk like this anyway, maybe he wouldn’t let Spring come again. Maybe hearts are cold in the Electric City. Eurydice sees what the world could be, but now Orpheus only sees how it is. And that is why he looked back. And it’s a warning, I think. Don’t look back once you have accomplished something, no matter how uncertain the future may be.

[asexualasshat]

I forgive Spencer for pronouncing ASMR As-mer in S14E12. I doubt he’d been to a lecture on ASMR, and we know he wouldn’t have read about it online where he could have heard the pronunciation. So he read it in a book without hearing it and kinda guessed. That’s reasonable. But Garcia?!?!? Chronically online queen?!?!? Girl get up

[slettlune]

for our classical choir concert yesterday i opted to wear dress shoes, slacks, dress shirt, and a lavender tie. it fit the dress code and it's the kind of formalwear i feel comfortable in, but i was still just a little nervous because it'd be the first time the choir (which mostly consists of middle-aged and elderly gender-conforming people) would see me in that kind of masculine outfit, and i didn't know if there'd be any reactions.

but when i walked in all the old ladies immediately started fawning over me and telling me what a wonderful outfit i had and how the tie had the loveliest colour they'd ever seen etc and it was so over the top (you can bet they wouldn't coo over the male singers' outfits that way even though we were dressed the same) but clearly done to show their acceptance and support and oh my god it was so sweet. people are so wonderful

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Full Tech Day One pic today from kiko laureano (denizen of skid row / ensemble) & video (that's four seconds of "ya never know" playing over the static image) from & ft. marcia milgrom dodge (director / choreographer) double captioning "there might be puppets in this musical ;)" & "Well Shake my hand! Come see LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS @guthrietheater featuring @actually_will_roland's hand!"

[cruesuffix]

ok ignore this one

i was watching the black swan performance on yt again and it’s making me think about my mc kpop au… like my fav kpop boy suffering through that performance because of his shoulder injury and having to modify his dance cause he literally couldn’t move his arm properly. now imagine that it’s mick in the au and he has to suffer through a performance with his injury, but still manages to do it through a modified version of the dance. (yes i hc that mick has same shoulder injury my fav boy does… only because it makes sense in that context.)

i also just like to compare those two so much cause to me they’re the same person like honestly and truly in my heart they’re the same. the both fandoms refer to him as a cat, they’re both seen as mysterious and quiet but they’re both just shy and weird. also he plays guitar too!! like they’re so alike in my heart!!

ok i might yap about this more tbh

like this is the shit that gets posted in this fandom and cut to us over here talking about a cat!mick au… they are literally the same person!!!

[al-mayriti]

I just went to see this production of mean girls from this amateur theatre group my cousin is part of (she was backstage for this one) and !!! it was so freaking good I forgot these weren't professionals. ESPECIALLY the girl playing cady was phenomenal and the regina and janis and her friend were also fantastic !!

anyways, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARTISTS !!! ALWAYS !!!!

[ghostcradle]

oh to be boygenius

[thespianinthebackcorner]

Hey hey hey writers!!! Especially y'alls who are struggling to develop character or have white room/still character syndrome!!!

Look into Uta Hagen's acting techniques, specifically her 9 questions. I'm not kidding. She built off Stanislavski's techniques to help actors develop their characters and roles & bring that to the stage- specifically, and this is why I'm pushing Hagen specifically and not anyone else, their relationship with the set, props, other characters, setting (yes that's different from set), history and the play's plot, and how that changes how they act and speak. I have my textbook open I'll take some pictures.

If you need a transcript/image description I'll put it under the cut, they're a little blurry cause I'm bad at holding my phone... I know alt text is a thing but I don't want y'alls to have to scroll through a tiny box lmao.

[Image 1 alt text]

The lower part of a textbook page. The text reads:

Uta Hagen's acting exercises

[Out-of-transcript note: Most of these, with the exception of Three Entrances, are less useful in terms of writers, but you could make it work, especially for roleplay.]

Basic Object Exercise: Sometimes called "two minutes of daily life," this exercise requires the actor to replicate activities from their own daily routine in specific detail (think making breakfast or getting ready to go out). The goal of this exercise is to increase the actor's awareness of their un-observed behaviour.

Three Entrances: Starting offstage, the actor enters the environment of the scene. The actor's performance should answer three questions: What did I just do? What am I going to do? What is the first thing I want?

Immediacy: Hagen asked actors to search for a small object that they need. You can perform the exercise on a set or in your home. As you search, you should observe the behaviour and thoughts that arise as you authentically try to find something. The objective is to identify the thoughts, behaviours, and sensations you experience when you genuinely don't know the outcome, so you can use them on stage.

Fourth Side: This exercise starts with a phone call to a person you know. You should call them with a specific objective in mind. During the convention, Hagen wants you to focus on your surroundings and the specific objects that your eyes rest on. The purpose is to help actors observe how they interact with all dimensions of an enclosed physical space so they can recreate privacy on stage.

Endowment: this exercise is designed to help actors apply their observed behaviours to endow props with qualities that they cannot safely have on stage. Hot irons and sharp knives are typical examples. The Endowment excercise asks actors to believably treat objects on stage as though they have the qualities the actor needs in a scene.

Uta Hagen's exercises are her greatest gift to actors working today. She developed them between Broadway jobs to solve some acting problems she had never seen anyone tackle to her satisfaction. The result is that Hagen's exercises give actors a way to observe human behaviours and catalogue it so they can recall it onstage when useful in a role.

[Image 1 alt text end]

[Image 2 alt text]

Most of a textbook page. The image cuts off about 3 quarters of the way down the page. The text reads:

Uta Hagen's 9 Questions

Who am I? This question's answer includes all relevant details from name and age to physical traits, education, and beliefs.

What time is it? Depending on the scene, the most relevant measure of time can be the era, the season, the day, or even the specific minute.

Where am I? This answer covers the country, town, neighbourhood, room, or even the specific part of the room.

What surrounds me? Characters can be surrounded by anything from weather to furnishings, landscape or people.

What are the given circumstances? Given circumstances include what has happened, what is happening and what will happen to a character.

What are my relationships? Relationships can be with the other characters in the play, inanimate objects, or even recent events.

What do I want? Wants can be what the character desires in the moment, or in the overall course of the play. [Out-of-transcript note: I recommend figuring out both for writing, the former multiple times for whenever it changes! Outside of Hagen's technique, we call it objective and superobjective.]

What is in my way? This is the actor's chance to understand the obstacles the character must react to and overcome.

What do I do to get what I want? In Hagen's teaching, "do" means physical action.

Uta Hagen's nine questions help actors develop the granular details of their character's backstory. The questions come from Hagen's first book, "Respect for Acting," though in her later book, "A Challenge for the Actor," she condensed her original nine questions into six steps.

Uta Hagen's revised six steps to building a character are:

Who am I?

What are the circumstances?

What are my relationships?

What do I want?

What is my obstacle?

What do I do to get what I want?

Later in her life, Hagen distances herself from her first book and encouraged her students to rely on her second book, which she felt was clearer about her concepts. Both books are popular with acting teachers and students today, however. Hagen's questions and steps are the foundation for all of her acting exercises. Whether you rely on the nine questions or the six steps depends on personal preference.

[Image 2 alt text end]

Personally I like the 9 questions more, but like the book says, personal preference! So yeah, if you're a writer, try some of these out for your characters. :]

[3rdbogwitch2theleft]

A less experienced actor nearly ripped my arm out of the socket during the lover's quarrel in Midsummer today. Bestie, I promise, you don't have to do all that.

[gojosconsort]

emo boy gets his girl (and gets it on)

𓂃୨ৎ you’re the top model who broke choso’s heart years ago, and he’s the rockstar whose career skyrocketed after. when he performs at your fashion show, the tension explodes until he ends up in your hotel room.

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x singer!choso kamo

𓂃୨ৎ warnings. mdni. sobbing during sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), creampie, praise kink, possessive behavior, little angst

singer!choso was your boyfriend three years ago, a quiet musician with dark hair and songs written just for you. you, a model starting to book big gigs, ended things when your career pulled you away. “it’s too hard,” you said, leaving him crushed, begging, “we can make it work.” you walked away. he channeled the pain into music, and his heartbreak anthems turned him into a global star.

singer!choso who is now a rockstar. his songs about you top the charts, and fans chant your name at shows, knowing you inspired the lyrics. you’re a supermodel, walking for chanel and dior, but hearing his voice everywhere stings. the media loves your breakup, calling it “the split that fueled his fame.”

singer!choso is booked to perform at your biggest runway yet—victoria’s secret, with flashing lights and a massive crowd. you’re the star, closing the show in lingerie and wings. when you hear he’s singing, your heart races—you haven’t seen him since the breakup. backstage, you’re adjusting your outfit, nervous, while he’s checking his guitar, already looking for you.

singer!choso steps onstage, his voice carrying a new song about love and loss. you hit the runway, and his eyes find you immediately, intense and unblinking. the crowd senses the connection—cameras catch you hesitating for a moment, his voice faltering on, “thought you were gone.” and social media eats it up.

singer!choso tracks you down backstage, still sweaty from the stage. you’re in heels and diamonds, catching your breath. “y/n,” he says, voice low, “you’re still stunning.”

singer!choso follows you to your hotel, paparazzi snapping grainy photos. you say it’s “just to talk,” but he’s kissing you at the door, desperate, “i missed you so much.” you tug his shirt off, “need you now.” clothes fall fast, and you’re tangled in bed, bodies pressed close.

singer!choso drops to his knees, eyes glistening, “let me make you feel good.” his tongue moves deep, moaning, “you taste so good.” you grab his hair, gasping, and he’s crying, “thought i’d never have you.” he keeps going until you cum, trembling, his tears mixing with your release as he kisses your thighs.

singer!choso is aching, breathing hard, “your turn, baby.” he guides you to suck him, “fuck, just like that.” tears fall as you take him deep, his voice shaky, “you’re so pretty—wanted this for years.” he praises you, “love you, always,” and cums hard, sobbing, gripping your hair gently.

singer!choso pulls you close, tears still wet, “everything’s been hollow since you left. fame doesn’t mean shit without you.” you stroke his hair, “i missed you too—didn’t realize how much.” he holds you tight, “you’re my everything.”

singer!choso who lays you back, “i need you—need to feel you.” slides in slow, tears in his eyes, “fuck, you’re perfect.” he fucks you deep, voice breaking, “you’re mine, right? say it.” you moan, “yours, choso.” he’s sobbing, “love you—always will,” moving with desperate need, holding you like you’ll vanish.

singer!choso who picks up speed, hands gripping your hips, “can’t stop—need you too much.” he’s possessive, “nobody else gets you—only me.” you nod, “only you,” and he’s wrecked, “gonna fuck you ‘til you’re mine forever.” tears stream down his face, “thought i lost you—never again.”

singer!choso who is close, voice trembling, “gonna cum—can i stay inside?” you nod, and he’s sobbing, “fuck, you’re mine.” thrusts hard until you both cum, him spilling deep, “take it—love you.” he collapses, tears soaking your skin, whispering, “don’t leave me again.”

singer!choso who holds you close, still emotional, “every song was about you—couldn’t let go.” you murmur, “i’m here now.” he kisses you softly, “just don’t go.” you fall asleep in his arms, his warmth wrapping around you, both of you finally at peace, even if just for now.

singer!choso who wakes to chaos—twitter’s buzzing: “choso and y/n reunion at vs show?!” paparazzi photos of you leaving the hotel are everywhere. headlines speculate, “exes back together?” fans scream, “the songs were her!” your team pushes you to deny it, but choso posts a lyric, “found my heart.” it’s clearly you <3

[hughes-your-daddy]

Juno

pairing: luke hughes x singer!reader

warning: slightly suggestive, fluff, swearing

summary: you’re performing in new jersey with luke, his family and team in attendance

luke shuffles through the crowd, everyone following in tow since he knows his way around these events with your security. some of them occasionally stop for pictures with some of the fans, exchanging friendship bracelets some for him and some for you which he happily accepts, before they make it to the vip tent in the middle of the arena.

everyone shuffles into it, like finding the front middle seat, nervously awaiting for you to come onstage.

“you excited?” quinn asks bumping his shoulder, decked out in your merch.

“i think he’s more nervous than y/n.” jack chirps, swinging his arm around the other side of luke.

“she’s never performed here before, and considering we’re usually playing her it’s kinda nerve wracking.” he says looking around the prudential centre.

“crazy how it turns into a concert venue.” nico awes, a smile across his face as he looks about. they’re mid convo before they get interrupted by the lights going down, the intro video playing on big screens.

you stand nervously side of stage ready to run on to do your entrances, towel wrapped tight around you ready for the surprise. you run on your cue hearing fans erupt in cheers before coming to a halt centre standing, covering the lights with your hand to look out into the crowd.

hearing the beginning of taste play you let the first few bars go, locking eyes with luke in the vip tent smiling slightly before revealing your body suit for the night, a red, white and black striped body suit with the number 43 on your nude tights, hearing the crowd go crazy.

you giggle to yourself at the reaction before beginning the show. it’s goes amazingly, feeling the insane vibes from the crowd you get to one of your favourite part of the show where you get to arrest someone before juno.

you walk out with your two backup dancers, coming down to the front of the stage “thank you guys so much for coming out tonight, you’ve been incredible, but all night i’ve been seeing this guy,” you smile staring at luke, as the crowd turns to the tent.

“girls come here, come here.” you say hurrying over to the middle, “hey there, what’s your name?” you ask acting clueless, seeing luke blush, as the others around him shout luke, as he appears on the screen with “arrest” written around him, sirens going off.

“luke? oh my god wow,” you giggle, “how are you?” you ask, seeing him beam back at you, giving a thumbs up.

“i’m overwhelmed, like i knew you were beautiful, but i didn’t know you were that gorgeous.” you smile, seeing the others chirping him.

“guys somethings happening to my body, and, oh my god you’re making me so hot, my clothes are falling off,” you say, your skirt falling down to reveal a shorter one, “and oh my gosh guys i don’t know what to do with myself?” you ask the dancers as the you hand you the pink fluffy handcuffs.

“i’m just gonna have to arrest you for being too hot.” you smile, a hint of sarcasm in your voice, handing the pink fluffy hand cuffs to the security guard who takes them up to luke.

you see him go bright red, his parents watching as the beginning kicks in. dancing round the stage you perform the song having the time of your life before getting to your favourite part.

“wanna try out some freaky positions?” you sing, running up onto the hydraulic, sending a smirk luke’s direction before kneeling down into the famous hockey player stretch.

“have you ever tried this one?” you sing, bouncing a few times before spinning around onto your knees to keep singing.

the crowd goes wild and you can see luke’s friends and brothers riling him up in the vip tent.

you finish the song and a few more before heading off stage to get ready for your final number.

you quickly change into your final outfit a little surprise for luke.

the small platform on the stage rises, coffee cup in hand and the crowd goes wild seeing you wear a number 43 new jersey devils hockey jersey.

you sing and dance your way through the final number before hitting your final pose, seeing the vip tent empty meaning they’re probably waiting backstage.

“thank you new jersey, you’ve been wonderful as always.” you smile, waving and blowing a few kisses before heading off stage, handing your mic to the technicians pulling out your in ears and letting them hand down over your shoulders, heading backstage, seeing a large crowd of friends and family waiting, luke at the front.

they spot you walking down and begin to cheer, causing you to duck your head before doing an exaggerated curtsy and heading straight over to luke.

he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground slightly as everyone goes back to their own conversations.

“you were incredible baby,” luke whispers in your ear before setting you down.

“you like the outfit?” you ask, as he takes your hand and spins you, before pulling you back in by the waist, one hand remaining there, the other on your cheek.

“mmh, you drive me insane.” he whispers, his lips against yours before pulling you in for a kiss. you hear some of the boys chirping him, as he pulls one hand away shooting them the middle finger, before unexpectedly he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

“luke!” you squeal, as he walks towards your dressing room. the two of you giggle until he makes it to your room, setting you down before he sits on the small couch.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you smirk, seeing his eyes take your body.

“honestly, i’d do so much more, but we’re heading out to celebrate with the others.” he smiles, pulling you in between his legs by the back of your thighs.

“nothing to say we can’t have a little fun at home, i have a day off tomorrow.” you smile, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“y/n my mom and dad are staying with us, i love you but i can’t when they’re in the house.” he says, a small blush creeping on his cheeks as he lets out a small laugh, “but seriously, you were amazing, i have no words to describe it. i just, i seriously love you.” you smiles, looking up to meet your eyes, his hands resting on your waist.

“i love you more,” you smile before he stands back up.

“ok, gimme your in ears ill take them for you.” he smiles, already turning you to help you unhook it from your bra.

he gently takes them off before heading out, giving you one last kiss before you get changed.

you quickly change into some low-rise baggy jeans and a small white cropped top, before quickly brushing out your hair and topping up your makeup, slapping a cap on, grabbing your bag and heading out.

you say hi to everyone else, standing to wait with the hughes family.

“thanks for having us y/n, was a really fun night.” quinn smiles, giving you a big hug followed by jack.

“honestly, never seen like so happy in his life.” jack chirps causing yous to laugh.

“speaking of luke, where is he?” ellen asks, and just in time he returns, standing beside you, hand in his.

“all set.” he smiles down at you before everyone piled out to head to the bar.

“oh and fyi,” luke says, stopping you a little behind everyone else.

“yeh?” you ask, confused.

“we could try that position if your down.” he smirks, causing yous to slap his chest moving to walk away, “hey, you asked me.” he calls out after you before catching up.

“maybe, if your good.”

[whambamsami]

private show

summary: your shitty boyfriend wants to go to a strip club for his birthday. one of the dancers is desperate to give you the attention you deserve. stripper!bucky pt.1

pt.2 pt.3

warnings: 18+, adult themes, eventual smut, language, alcohol, let me know if i miss anything!

note: not proofread, so sorry if there's any errors/plot holes! let me know if there's anything i should fix <3

You didn’t want to be here.

Not in the dimly lit, velvet-drenched VIP lounge of a high-end strip club your boyfriend had insisted on for his birthday. Not in the too-tight dress he told you to wear. Not beside him while he ogled other women like you weren’t even there.

“Loosen up,” Nick said, draping his arm around you, with that smile that had won you over months ago, but now just rubbed you the wrong way. “It’s my birthday party.” 

You’d smiled too. Barely. Enough to keep the peace.

He’d begged for this, told you only an insecure woman wouldn’t let him go on his birthday. Hell, he’d even wanted you to tag along.

You thought he wanted you to come with him and his belligerent friends to see that it wasn’t all that bad, to make you more comfortable.

But you were starting to think he got off on making you watch. 

He was generous enough to at least take you to a club that let both genders dance alike, and it was almost overwhelming, seeing men and women’s bodies, some fully exposed, some adorning tiny leather getups, gyrating on stage.

Your boyfriend, the perfect gentleman. 

And he wonders why you won’t take him home to meet your parents.

His friends are all practically howling at a woman onstage, pushing your boyfriend up to get closer to her. She’s wearing nipple pasties, crotchless panties, a pair of stilettos that have you fearing for her ankles, and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

Not that Nick would notice. He never noticed that kind of thing when it came to women. That, or he didn’t care.

“You won’t mind if I get a private dance, will you, babe?”

You wanted to feel angry at him. For him to see just how fucked this entire situation was. You should be feeling more.

But you just felt disgust. He made your skin crawl. You couldn’t give a shit about what he did here. He’d lost you the second he suggested this. 

So you nod tightly. An apology flashes in the woman’s eyes as she slinks off the stage next to him. 

You can’t be mad at her. It’s just business. 

And honestly, the fact that someone else would be filling in for you tonight, pretending to derive any pleasure from whatever Nick planned on doing, was a relief. You weren’t sure you would have it in you.

Not wanting to hear what his pitiful friends had to say about the situation you now found yourself in, you made a break for the bar, flagging down a topless bartender and politely asking for one of the craft cocktails. 

Hey, at least you could get something out of tonight. 

The bartender returned with your cocktail in hand. On the house, he’d said. You wished he was just being friendly, but the look in his eyes told you what this really was.

Pity. 

Whatever. The drink was good. Strong. Exactly what you needed to dull your senses a little, to get your mind off how you even ended up in this club in the first place. 

As you sipped, admittedly a bit faster than you should, the music shifted- bass-heavy and seductive.

The next performer was about to take the stage. 

You turned to face the velvet curtains that hid whoever was up next. Maybe you could pick up a few things, some tips that you could bring to your next relationship.

Your next boyfriend would be more appreciative, you promised yourself.

Better in bed, too. 

The second you saw him, though, everything else blurred.

Huh. A male performer.

All’s fair, right?

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark stubble shadowing a wicked mouth. Ice-blue eyes that swept the room with slow, calculated confidence. His body was lethal, dressed in nothing but black dress pants and a white button-down-half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, like sin in motion.

Your breath caught.

The performer didn’t smile. Not at first. 

But you swear he made eye contact with you.

And when he did, he flashed his canines. Just for a second. Like he knew every dirty thought that was flashing in your head. Like he knew something you didn’t.

The lights dim. The music gets louder. Or maybe everything else gets quieter, you’re not sure.

And suddenly, he’s all you could see.

He walks onto the stage like he’s stalking prey-calm, confident, dangerous. Not a trace of performance in his stride. He doesn’t play it for laughs or gimmicks. He doesn’t wink. He hunts.

The music pulses dark and slow. He unbuttons his shirt one button at a time, each flick of fabric revealing warm, taut muscle, tattoos, scars, shadows that make your mouth dry.

He glances down-just once-and finds your eyes again in the dark.

You squeeze your thighs together, shift again, try to look anywhere else-but it’s no use. He knows what he’s doing. He knows he’s got you.

He unzips his pants. Just an inch. Just enough to make your exhale stutter.

And the second you breathe out, his tongue drags across his bottom lip.

You’re going to combust.

“There you are!” 

You’re snapped out of whatever spell he had you under.

Your boyfriend returned from his little dance, wearing a smile that was a little too wide. Nick and his friends surrounded you at the bar, cutting off what you could see of the performance, much to your disappointment. You didn’t even care when you saw him whispering excitedly to his buddies, when you watched them pat him on the back like he’d won some kind of game, when their eyes would dart over to you like you didn’t know any better. 

Like you were stupid.

You steal a glance at the stage to try and catch the end of the man’s performance, but all you see is the swish of curtains closing as he disappears backstage.

Could this night get any worse?

As if the bartender could read your mind, he appeared again, placing what appeared to be a very expensive bottle of chilled champagne in front of you. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t order-”

“On the house.” he stated simply, as if you should have known. The little gold name tag that rested low on his waistband told you his name was Sam. 

God, at least the service here was great. 

Nick and his friends hooted and hollered, reaching for the bottle, excited to grab a glass, but Sam stopped them, pulling the bottle just far enough out of reach. 

“Sorry, boys, but I’m under strict instructions that this is for the lady only. No sharing.”

Your boyfriend’s lips pursed. 

“What, did somebody roofie that or something? Babe, you’re not drinking that. I don’t trust it.” and to solidify his point, he wrapped his arm around you. His sweaty, gross arm. 

You hated that he still felt like he could touch you like this. 

“Actually, sir, that bottle is for her to take to one of the private rooms. This doesn’t happen often, but she’s been asked to join one of our dancers.”

Your stomach dipped.

The champagne sparkled in the light, a little ribbon of condensation sliding down the glass like it knew how flustered you felt.

“She’s been… what?” Nick scoffed, voice rising with laughter he clearly didn’t feel. “Asked to join a dancer?”

Sam nodded, unbothered. You could have sworn you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face, like he was secretly enjoying this. 

“That’s right. Bucky requested her personally.” You could have sworn you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face, like he was secretly enjoying this. “Very rare, especially for him. I’d take it as a compliment.”

Nick scoffed again, turning to you like it was some kind of joke. 

“You’re not seriously considering that, are you?”

You blinked. Slowly. 

Then you looked down at his arm around your waist-the one that had gotten too heavy, too tight, too possessive over time-and peeled it off like it burned.

“You got a dance too, right?” you said evenly, reaching for the neck of the bottle, “At least mine is free.”

Nick’s friends laughed awkwardly. He didn’t.

“He’s probably just trying to upsell you some bullshit champagne fantasy. It’s a trick.”

Sam snorted as he grabbed two champagne flutes.

“Yeah, well. If it is, it’s working.”

Nick reached for your waist, and for once, you were thankful that he was so fucking sweaty all the time, because it let you slip out of his grip. 

“You don’t know what kind of guy he is.”

That made you laugh. It sounded more bitter than you’d ever heard it.

“He’s a stripper, Nick. Not exactly looking for Prince Charming right now. But whatever kind of guy he is, it looks like he’s interested in treating me a bit better than you are.”

Then you turned, grabbed the bottle, and followed Sam toward the back, heart hammering, adrenaline singing through your veins.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you behind the curtain.

But whatever it was?

It had to be better than this.

[le-velo-pour-dru]

This video makes me so happy 😊❤️ It's just so fun!! 🫶

[sixeyesonathiel]

soldier satoru & nurse reader <3

it starts with a cough. not yours, not his, but the guy in the cot beside him—loud, hacking, dramatic. satoru barely notices it anymore. he's grown used to the chorus of war: the whine of distant mortars, the metallic clink of stretchers being wheeled past, the low moans of feverish men tangled in thin sheets. sometimes the wind pushes in through cracked windows, carrying with it the bitter scent of gunpowder and wet soil. sometimes, it’s just the stale, heavy air of waiting.

but then you walk in.

and suddenly, everything stills. not in silence, not quite, but in focus. it’s like the background noise takes a polite step back, just for a moment, to let the sight of you settle into his brain.

he's supposed to be asleep. or pretending to be. he has a routine for it: eyes half-lidded, an arm thrown dramatically over his forehead like he belongs onstage, a faint groan timed just right. it worked like a charm with every nurse before you. earned him extra blankets. sometimes dessert. once, even a pity letter home signed with a heart.

but then you happened.

you didn’t even blink at his performance. just came to a stop at the end of his cot, jotting something on your clipboard with the smooth, steady ease of someone too tired to be impressed. “private gojo,” you said flatly, “if you’re dying, at least wait until after i finish this shift. i don’t have time to clean up a dramatic corpse.”

he blinked.

and then he was gone.

he didn’t know it then, not really. just that your voice cut through the clamor in a way nothing else did. that your hands, when they pressed against the back of his neck to check for fever, didn’t flinch. they were cool. precise. careful in a way that made his pulse jump. like he might shatter if handled wrong. like he was something real, not just another body taking up a cot.

no one's ever treated him like that before.

he starts getting progressively worse. intentionally.

not in any life-threatening way—just enough. a button undone here, so you’ll fix it. a limp there, just to see you crouch, frowning, hands warm against his shin. once, he even faked a nosebleed with beet juice from the mess hall, just to see if you’d touch his face.

“you’re limping on the wrong leg, dumbass,” you murmur one afternoon, barely glancing up from your chart. your brows don’t even lift, but the corner of your mouth twitches.

“no i’m not,” he counters, switching legs mid-step with zero shame. “i’m ambidextrous.”

“that’s not what that means.”

“sure it is. look it up.”

“i’m going to hit you with this clipboard.”

he grins, soft and lopsided, a lock of silvery-white hair falling over one eye as he leans back on his cot, utterly pleased with himself. she’s so mean, he thinks, nearly giddy. he might be in love.

“you are the worst patient here,” you mutter another morning, tugging his blanket up far too tight, knuckles brushing against his chest in a way that makes his breath catch. the corners of your mouth twitch like you're trying not to smile.

“and yet,” he drawls, his voice low, playful, teasing, “you keep coming back. makes a man wonder.”

your sigh is exaggerated, practiced, but your fingers brush his wrist as you check his pulse—a beat too long. he doesn’t move. just watches your profile, the way your lashes flutter when you read, the way a strand of hair slips loose from your bun and clings to your cheek. he wants to tuck it behind your ear but knows better.

he notices everything.

the soft whistle in your nose when you’re concentrating. the way your lips part when you’re thinking. the little nicks on your knuckles from a day too long, a blade too dull. how, by the end of each shift, you smell faintly of antiseptic and mint and something warm he can't name. how your shoulders sag just a little more with each hour that passes, but your voice never wavers.

her kindness is blinding, he thinks one night, lying on his side and watching you from across the ward. you kneel beside a boy no older than fifteen, whispering something low as you bandage a wound that’s far too wide for his body. your hands don’t shake. but when the kid vomits beside the cot, you gag. audibly. eyes watering, face turning green.

“you okay there, florence nightingale?” he calls, lips twitching, voice slurred with sleep and stifled laughter.

“do not talk to me right now unless you want puke on your boots,” you bite back, a hand clamped dramatically over your mouth. your other hand is still stroking the boy’s hair.

you’re all thorns and sunshine. it’s disorienting. it’s you.

he's not used to kindness that doesn't want something. not used to someone who sees him, really sees him, and still rolls their eyes instead of looking away. you treat him like he’s not special. it makes him want to be.

“you ever think about running away?” he asks late one evening. the air smells of iodine and gunpowder. there’s a new hole in the ceiling and a bird nest in the rafters. your shadow is cast long over him as you tape gauze across his ribs. his breath hitches when your fingers graze his skin.

“every day,” you reply, your tone flat. then you glance up, eyes catching his—steadily, quietly. “but someone has to keep you from dying of man-flu.”

he winces theatrically, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. “it was a real fever. you said so yourself.”

“you microwaved the thermometer.”

“resourcefulness is a survival skill.”

“idiocy is not.”

your eyes crinkle. just barely.

he thinks he’s in love.

no—he knows it.

and maybe, if the sky doesn’t fall, if this godforsaken war ends, if the world lets them both live—he’ll tell you.

maybe.

if you haven’t already figured it out from the way he only fakes injuries when you are on shift.