36. She/Her. México. ENG/ESP. Year of the 🐍. I'm a goth at heart. Mostly reblogs. 70% Naruto shit, 30% other stuff I fancy: aesthetics, art, music... other fandoms: Sailor Moon, RGU, VHD, PSOH, Castlevania, Furuba... P.S. I love Orochimaru and the sannin, probably more than I should.
After a couple of weeks, Neji will finally approach Gaara and ask him to go to Hinata's coffee shop with him. He got along well with Neji's cousin, helped her while they were in the country, so he couldn't refuse.
This will be the first time Neji buys a drink for two. Previously, they had been in a cafe together only when Neji was preparing Gaara for the test. But everyone there took their own taste, without exchanging impressions.
Here Hyuga asked for his opinion. Gaara recognized the drink as the one they had talked about at one of the dinners: Hina wanted to introduce a novelty to the menu.
While the student was trying the drink, Neji took a selfie together and sent the photo to his cousin: "she wouldn't take my word for it that I took you here."
And so it seems that Neji did, apparently, what Hinata promised, but still, it was nice for Gaara to get out together. All the negative thoughts haven't gone away yet, but it didn't stop him from demanding to send a photo. The first photo together, though.
just saw a 'comments' tab on someones blog you know where the following and likes tabs would be if enabled and it was just showing all the replies theyve made on peoples posts. this is fascinating when did this feature come out
if you've made replies on posts there is now a tab on your blog showing every post youve replied to and your reply.
if this is not what you want, either go to your blog and click comments and disable it from there or just go to your individual blogs setting pages. just change it from blue to grey if you dont want everyone to see your replies AND the post you're replying to
PLEASE BE ADVISED that it is set to disabled for blogs that have not made any replies but it will turn ON if you reply with that blog in the future.! i just tested it with my main, which was greyed out but it turned on the moment i left a test reply
figured i'd get the word out bc i have not seen a single mention of this and i'm sure there are plenty of people who maybe comment on things they don't want on display for everyone to see on their blog lol. you can still look at your replies with it toggled off just no one else can, like locking the following and likes list
so for some reason this feature was actually announced on the tumblr engineering blog. interesting choice not to reblog it to the staff or tumblr blog, esp considering they asked for user input on how to implement it, but i suppose considering the response to the last update maybe the replies would be too overwhelming...
so couple of clarifications. comments are disabled as default for primary blogs that have their likes disabled. they are seemingly enabled for all other blogs that have replied to posts
posts you comment on may show on your followers 'for you' page if you leave your replies publically available. they may, in the future, show in on your followers dashboard if your follower goes to their dash settings and enables this. apparently, if your likes are enabled, your followers can already see those on the dash if they've gone into preferences and selected to do so, which I was unaware of, and that seems to be disabled at default, but it's possible i disabled it previously and forgot about it ig
As gross and unacceptable as this is, here's another PSA: if you're attacking someone because of something they liked or whining about a reply they made elsewhere because you're nosy and can't mind your own business, they deserve to slap you with clown shoes because you are a clown.
Just recently saw an asker whining over someone else's likes because it put the like on their dashboard and they couldn't handle it. That's a you problem, dear asker, that's not a problem with the person who liked something. Get over it or fix your dash yourself. You're responsible for what you see, not the person who liked something.
Summary: As the rising star of a prestigious dance company, ballet is all that Chrissy Cunningham knows. A bad breakup with her fiancé and fellow dancer Jason Carver leaves her shaken, and with a big production of Swan Lake coming up, Chrissy turns, in desperation, to Eddie Munson, the company's newly hired pianist, for help. Is Eddie going to be Rothbart casting a spell over her, Prince Siegfried trying and failing to break her curse, or someone else altogether, someone who helps Chrissy become more confident and learn to love again?
Chapter warning: mentions of body shaming/eating disorder
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 18 (last chapter)
The next day, Chrissy skipped company class—the first time she'd done so in all twenty years of doing ballet—to see Eddie off at the airport. Their morning goodbye had taken longer than expected, and now it felt like they were reenacting Home Alone as they ran through O'Hare hand in hand, Eddie's guitar case bumping against his back. They were in such a rush that Chrissy almost forgot to hand him his other bag, which she was holding. She managed to remember at the last moment and gave it to him along with a quick peck on his lips.
"Call me when you get there, OK?" she said. Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were already at the gate, waving at Eddie to join them.
"I'll call you every day."
"Have a great trip. And break a leg at the showcase."
Eddie grinned. "I thought dancers weren't supposed to say break a leg," he said teasingly.
Chrissy rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't help grinning back. "Stop being a smartass. Go!" With one last, lingering kiss, she pushed him toward the gate.
As she turned away, trying not to think about the train ride home or the long week ahead, she heard Eddie's voice behind her.
"Chrissy!"
She whirled around, thinking he'd forgotten something else. But no. Eddie was walking backward, his eyes seeking her amongst the crowd. Seeing her, he crossed his hands over his heart in the unmistakable mime for "love".
Chrissy's mouth fell open. Before she could recover enough to reply, a crowd of retirees, back from some winter cruise, blocked her view, and Eddie was swept up in the rush to board his flight and was gone before she could utter a word.
As she went to work that afternoon, Chrissy's mind and heart were still reeling back and forth between two states, ecstasy—Eddie loves me! He loves me!—and regret. He'd said he loved her. Yet when it mattered the most, she hadn't been able to say it back. She supposed she could call him once he landed and tell him then, but it wouldn't be the same. She would have to wait until he came back. A week had never felt so long.
As usual, she turned to dancing to distract herself. They were already rehearsing a new ballet for the spring season—Coppelia, something cheerful for once. Although she wasn't the lead, Chrissy had a pretty big solo, so she worked hard through the afternoon. But dancing seemed to have lost its magic. All she could think of was Eddie. Her strategy of attaching his memory to every place in the studio was working, but not in the way she'd intended. Instead of making her miss him less, it only made her miss him more. Robin was back behind the piano, and Chrissy couldn't wait until the break so she could come over and talk to Robin about Eddie. When she went to get some water, it reminded her of all the secret conversations they'd had around the water fountain. And her dressing room... well, it was safe to say she could never look at the moth-eaten couch in the corner the same way again.
After rehearsal, she was on the couch with her head back and her legs on the wall to drain her feet when the door slammed open, and Katie, who shared the dressing room with her and was dancing the lead of Swanhilda in Coppelia, came bursting in. Katie's eyes and nose were red, and her chest was heaving with sobs.
"What's wrong?" Chrissy exclaimed, sitting up. "Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Katie answered, though her quivering lips said otherwise.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Henry just yelled at me, that's all."
"Why?"
Katie slumped down on the floor next to Chrissy. "Because he claims that I've gained weight over Christmas break." Katie pinched her own stomach, though there was hardly anything there to be pinched. "It's not fair. I couldn't not eat Christmas dinner, you know? Not when my mom's spent so long cooking it. But I made sure to get only the white meat, and I didn't touch any of the stuffing or desserts. And I've been making up for it ever since..."
"Stop." Chrissy put a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with your body. You know Henry. He's probably just angry at something else and took it out on you."
"Yeah." Katie sighed. She started rifling through her bag. "Do you ever think this is all there is?" she asked after a while.
"All there is to what?"
"To life." Katie gestured vaguely at the drab little room. "We cry and bleed and starve and work ourselves to the bone, literally, and for what?"
Chrissy stared at her friend. "For our art, of course," she said. "For perfection. For—"
"That's just Henry talking," Katie interrupted with a wry smile. "Tell me you've never once thought about quitting and leaving all this behind."
"Never!" Chrissy said, appalled. "I'd miss it too much."
But even as she said it, she didn't feel much conviction. After all, wasn't her list an attempt to get away from ballet, at least for a while, and to convince herself that there was more to life than dance?
"Well, maybe not leave it altogether," Katie said. "But there are other ways. Remember Jane Hopper? She never got promoted from corps, but she became a choreographer, and now she has her own company."
"Not everyone has it in them to be a choreographer," Chrissy pointed out.
"No." Katie dug some snacks out of her bag and sat looking at them dispiritedly, as if trying to decide if she could power her way through the rest of rehearsal with just half a rice cake and some vitamin water. "I guess I'll just dance until my legs or my heart gives out, whichever happens first."
Katie's grim prediction for the future kept echoing in Chrissy's ears as she went home to the lonely apartment. Katie was right, of course. They could try to dance for as long as they could, but they might have to stop even before their legs gave out. They couldn't all be Margot Fonteyn, still dancing Juliet at forty years old with twenty-year-old Rudolf Nureyev as her Romeo. What would they do then, when they could no longer dance?
And then Chrissy's mind turned to the question of her own future—hers and Eddie's. Even if Eddie didn't have to move away from Chicago, the inescapable truth was that his music career would take him away from her a lot. What would she do then? Wander around like a sailor's wife waiting for her husband to return from the sea, feeling sorry for herself? Or would she do the unthinkable and give up her career to follow him?
She thought of Jason, and her conscience pricked slightly—not quite from guilt, rather something more like self-reproach—as she wondered why she'd never felt tempted to do the same when Jason was preparing to leave. The answer came, quickly and easily—because she hadn't wanted to. And because she loved Eddie. She knew that now. She loved him, as she had never loved Jason. She loved Eddie's quick smile, how it lit up his face like the sun coming out from the clouds. She loved his eyes, how they turned a warm amber color when the light hit them just right. She loved his guffawing laugh. And most of all, she loved how he made her feel secure and wanted and loved, as Jason never had. She hadn't realized it at the time, but even on that first day on the roof, when Eddie pulled her back from the brink and held her in his arms, she had never felt safer.
As if on cue, her phone rang. It was Eddie. He'd texted her earlier to tell her they had landed, but he must have been waiting until she got home to call her.
"Hi sweetheart," he said when she picked up, and Chrissy could have wept at the familiar sound of his voice. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"
"No, I'm just getting ready for bed. How's LA?"
"It's actually raining, can you believe it?" he said with a laugh. "We were supposed to go to some networking thing in the Hills, but it was cancelled because of flash floods, so we're stuck in our hotel room with nothing to do. Should've brought our dice, we could've played some D&D. We're going to the main office tomorrow though, so hopefully I can see more of the city then and tell you all about it. What about you? How was your day?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her tangled thoughts, hoping that he could help her unravel them. Please, tell me that you want me there with you, a plaintive voice said in the back of her mind. Give me an excuse to leave. At the same time, another voice spoke up, more sternly, Stop whining, girl. You belong here, he said so himself. Stay and do your job. He's going to come back. Damn her indecisive heart! Why was it so fucking hard figuring out what she wanted?
But she couldn't bother Eddie with this, not when he had other things to worry about. "It was fine," she said. "We started rehearsing Coppelia today. I'm dancing the Dawn variation."
"That's great." Eddie was quiet for a moment, and then he began slowly, "Listen, this morning, at the airport..."
"What about the airport?" Chrissy was surprised at how calm she sounded, never once giving away that she'd replayed that moment over and over again in her head.
Another moment of silence. "Nothing," eventually Eddie said. "I'll call you tomorrow, OK?"
"OK. Good night."
As she got into the bed that felt too big for her, Chrissy's eyes caught the photo on the night table—the tintype that she and Eddie had taken at the Winter Wonderland. She looked at their blurry smiles, and suddenly everything became clear to her, as if a spotlight had been shone on it. Her whole life, she had done what others told her to. Her mother, Henry, Jason. And even Eddie, too, in a way. But no more. Her mother and Jason were out of her life. She could not work under Henry forever. And Eddie, as much as she loved him, shouldn't have to think for her. She had to learn to make her own decisions. It was her own heart that was confused. She had to figure it out for herself.
***
Standing in the wings, Eddie watched the singer of some band from San Francisco called The Moth Men take a swan dive off the stage. Stage dive at an industry showcase? Fuck, that was brave. Compared to this, Corroded Coffin's performance would be positively sedated. Eddie had to remind himself that Metal Blade was looking for a variety of styles. They didn't need to all have Ozzy's level of showiness.
But that didn't stop the heavy thudding of his heart or dry the clammy, sticky sweat on his palms. The Hollywood Palladium was not a big venue, but it was still bigger than anything they had ever played at, and Eddie found himself transported back to his first piano recital at age nine, feeling ridiculously small and lost as he looked out over the crowd. He wished Chrissy were there with him. She would understand his nervousness, having been on stage herself. But she was two thousand miles away, and he wouldn't see her for another three days.
At the thought of Chrissy, something other than nervousness tugged at his heart. He'd been calling her every day since he arrived, taking care to call in the evening to not interfere with her class and rehearsal during the day, but she'd been strangely—well, not quite distant, more like distracted. There was none of the passion that he'd grown to know very well from her. Earlier that day, she had sent him a text wishing him luck at the showcase, and that, too, had seemed matter-of-fact, not unlike the ones Wayne and the rest of Hellfire had sent him.
And then there was the matter of his love declaration at the airport. He didn't know what had come over him at that moment. He only knew that he had missed his chance to tell her the previous night, and he had to do something, to let her know somehow. She hadn't replied. And when he tried bringing up over the phone later, she'd seemed to have no clue what he was talking about, so he'd chickened out. At the time, he'd thought perhaps she hadn't seen him, or he'd messed up the mime gesture. Now, a more hideous possibility arose—what if Chrissy didn't feel the same about him at all? What if she was unsure about the two of them, because he was going away? Was it because he hadn't asked her to accompany him to LA? He'd considered it, but after seeing her on stage, and especially after seeing her in the loft, seeing the way her face lit up as she watched the performance below, he couldn't do it. He'd meant it when he'd said she belonged to ballet. He knew he could never give her the same joy, the same satisfaction, and he vowed to never do anything so selfish as to make her choose between him and her art.
But oh, how he missed her! He missed her so much it hurt, like an empty void in the pit of his stomach, and it'd never felt more acute than in this moment. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. It was almost 10 PM in Chicago. Her show should be over by now, so he could call her. But his call went straight to voicemail. He tried again, same thing. Eddie told himself not to feel disheartened by it. Perhaps her show went later than usual, or she'd forgotten to turn her phone back on, like he had.
With a sigh, he turned away, intending to go back to the dressing room—they had a dressing room!—but Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were just as nervous as he was, if not more, and spending time with them would only worsen his nerves. So, after a brief stop at the dressing room to tell them he was going out for a smoke, Eddie kept going down the hallway, toward the exit, where he knew there was a smoking area just outside the door.
The evening breeze was blessedly cool after the stale, closed air of the venue. Eddie reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, then thought better of it—he was trying to quit anyway, since Chrissy hated smoking—and took out a joint instead. That would help to calm his nerves.
He sparked up and took a deep, grateful drag. Behind him, the door opened, but he didn't look around. It might be one of his bandmates deciding to join him, or some stagehand on a smoke break. He didn't mind the company.
"You know it's also illegal to smoke weed outside in California, right?" said an all-too-familiar voice behind him.
Eddie spun around. Chrissy was standing by the stage door, her hair loose about her shoulders, a teasing smile on her lips and in her eyes.
The joint fell from his fingers. Was she truly here, or was she a mere figment of his imagination, conjured up by his intense longing for her?
"Chrissy?" he breathed, reaching for her. "Is it really you?"
She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Does this feel real to you?"
There was her skin, warm and smooth under his fingers, there was her hair brushing against the back of his hand, and there were her eyes, gazing at him with that familiar look, like Virginie in the painting. Everything else around him vanished. Pulling her to him, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, such a deep, hard kiss that their teeth were knocked together and Chrissy's shoulders were slammed against the wall.
"Ow," she mumbled against his lips.
"Sorry, sorry," Eddie said, rubbing her back. "You OK?"
"I'm fine." She laughed and kissed him again.
It was a while before Eddie felt he'd kissed her enough to fill the void within him. "I can't believe this," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"What, I can't surprise my boyfriend at his big showcase?" Chrissy asked in mock offense, but Eddie only heard the way she'd called him my boyfriend.
"No, I mean—how are you here? What about your show?"
"I asked Heather, my alternate, to cover for me," she said.
"You skipped your show for me?"
"Not just for you. Heather deserves a chance in the spotlight too." Eddie didn't care what Heather did or did not deserve. He kissed Chrissy once more, more gently this time, but no less deeply. "This is not just a pleasure trip, you know," Chrissy continued, when they eased away from each other. "I have some business in LA."
"Yeah?" He twirled his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face so he could kiss her yet again.
Chrissy's lips quirked with some secret. "You remember Jane Hopper, the choreographer I told you about? The one who did Salome?" He nodded. "Well, she has a company here in LA, and she just happens to be looking for a principal dancer."
She was saying it in the exact same way he'd told her about his meeting with Metal Blade, and Eddie now replied with the same word as well. "And...?"
"And I just met with her earlier today, to throw my hat in the ring," Chrissy said, excitement flushing her face. "It's not a done deal yet, but she said she'd love to have me."
"That's great!" He pulled her into his arms. "But—you're leaving Hawkins?"
"Who says anything about leaving Hawkins? I just want to keep my options open, in case you do move out here. Besides, I think it's time I branch out, try a different kind of ballet. Maybe even look into choreographing as well."
Could it be that she had found the answer to their future? And that it would be so simple, so certain? Looking into Chrissy's sparkling eyes, Eddie found that all his doubts had disappeared.
"Something for the list, then?" he said.
"Yes." She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers. "And here's something else for the list."
"What is it?"
"I love you too."
Eddie thought he'd misheard her. Had she just said—and "too"? "I love you too"? What did that mean?
Chrissy looked at him uncertainly, his own confusion reflected on her face. "You did tell me you love me, right?" she said. "At the airport? With the mime?" She placed her hands upon her heart, in a far more graceful version of his gesture.
Relief flooded Eddie's body. "Oh, thank God you got it!" he said. "I was afraid I'd messed it up!"
She laughed. "No, you did it just right. I was only waiting until I could tell you in person."
Her laugh was like magic, sending joy and hope coursing through Eddie. "Tell me again," he said.
"I love you," she whispered. He would have to record it, so when they were apart, he could listen to her sweet voice and gain strength from it, like it was a magical artefact from one of his D&D campaigns.
"I have something else for the list too," he said, suddenly feeling shy. "Would you mind—would you mind if I dedicate a song to you during our set? I wouldn't mention you by name or anything, but you'll know it when you hear it." Eddie had written it after he'd first seen Chrissy dance the Black Swan coda and had practiced it with the guys, but he hadn't put it on the demo they sent to Metal Blade, thinking it was something he kept for himself, never dreaming that one day he would get to shout his love for her to the world.
"You don't have to keep asking that again," Chrissy said. "I always love it when you play for me."
Behind them, the door opened again, and Jeff poked his head out. "Eddie, we're on in five," he said. "Oh, hi, Chrissy," he added, as if there was nothing strange at all about her presence. "Glad you made it."
Eddie reluctantly set Chrissy back down.
"What did Jeff mean by 'you made it'?" he asked, suspicious. "Did he know you were coming? And how did you get backstage anyway?"
"I might have called Jeff and asked him to rustle up a pass for me," Chrissy explained, holding up the backstage pass worn on a lanyard around her neck.
Eddie stared at her. "You mean the son of a bitch knew all this time and didn't say anything to me?!"
Chrissy looked sheepish. "I told him to keep it a secret."
"I'm going to have to punish his character in the campaign somehow."
"You really are incorrigible," Chrissy said, rolling her eyes.
"But you love me anyway."
"I do."
"And I love you."
"You've already told me."
"But I haven't said it. And I want to add this to my list too. The first time I say 'I love you' to Chrissy Cunningham."
Chrissy's smile widened, and Eddie thought he would never get tired of seeing that crooked tooth behind her lips.
The frontman of Corroded Coffin was a bit late on stage that night, but he led the band in such a performance that the bigwigs of Metal Blade couldn't help but be impressed. And when the band launched the next-to-last song in their set, a ballad called "Swan Song", they realized that they had something quite special on their hands, though they didn't quite know where that special feeling was coming from. If they had noticed how the frontman would often glance at the wings, where a young woman stood watching, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing to the music, and how he would return to the mic with renewed energy and passion, they would've understood. But they didn't, and so the secret was shared only by those two, like a dance that only they knew the steps.
THE END
And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed coming along on this journey. See you again for more Hellcheer and other JQ characters!
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
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