[sagamemes]

ballroom dialogue prompts.     below, you can find dialogue taken from ballroom scenes or scenes revolving around the topic from period dramas, for all your fancy dress and intimacy needs. as not all of these are specifically about dancing, i would recommend adding to the end a note that this is the sentence meme you’re sending it for!

❝  is this what you [origin/nationality/family] call dancing?  ❞

❝  then i will introduce you to some pretty young noblemen instead.  ❞

❝  allow him his fancy.  ❞

❝  but no warfare tonight, i trust.  ❞

❝  oh, dear me, i’m no dancer, let me find a better partner for you.  ❞

❝  i can think of nothing less appealing than an evening of watching other people dance.  ❞

❝  will you please come and set an example for your companions?  ❞

❝  would you take a drink with me?  ❞

❝  i may not be [name], but may i dance with you?  ❞

❝  may i have a waltz?  ❞

❝  have some more wine, my wine.  ❞

❝  take a dance in the garden, my garden.  ❞

❝  the pretty young noblewomen of [place/family] would delight to have you paw at them.  ❞

❝  but if i were to become a woman with half your grace and beauty, [name]… i would be proud and happy.  ❞

❝  you look… as lovely as ever, [name].  ❞

❝  it’s a relaxation to dance with you, [name].  ❞

❝  i’ll save you the third dance just because it’s your first ball.  ❞

❝  he has the strength of an ox. and sadly the grace of an ox as well.  ❞

❝  the whole party is here to help my father prepare for the party.  ❞

❝  you and your idiot matchmaking.  ❞

❝  you have shown yourself to be a fine dancer, despite all your protests.  ❞

❝  do you not dance, mr. [name]?  ❞

❝  though i am an old married man, i would enjoy dancing with [you/name].  ❞

❝  will you stay for the [name/celebration] ball, [name]?  ❞

❝  oh, isn’t this room just like a fairyland?  ❞

❝  tonight is for celebrations.  ❞

❝  how do you like my hair?  i did it myself.  ❞

❝  oh, i had the most wonderful time!  it was out of a dream—  ❞

❝  where do you want to be taken?  ❞

❝  if i may have the pleasure, will you join me in a [dance]?  ❞

❝  she hates us both. hardly a reason for courtship, surely.  ❞

❝  you fear for the constancy of your lover’s affections?  ❞

❝  put on your best finery, [name]. your most beautiful dress. you’re coming with me.  ❞

❝  it’s the last dance.  ❞

❝  there is a response to such an insult. but it would not be appropriate here.  ❞

❝  if i may be so bold, i would ask for your advice.  ❞

❝  i would dance with you, if you will ask me.  ❞

❝  sprezzatura. i have heard it means ‘ the effortless display of grace ’.  ❞

❝  i see no evidence of sprezzatura.  ❞

❝  i care nothing for your pretty young noblewomen.  ❞

❝  if you will be my partner, [name].  ❞

❝  it would not be improper for us to dance.  ❞

❝  [name] told me she does not mean to dance this evening, but i do see a young lady whom i should like to see dancing.  ❞

❝  i dare say, but if i’m not to dance with you, i’m getting out of this operetta and going home.  ❞

❝  i come with some admirable qualities.  ❞

❝  [name] looks quite entrancing, does she not?  ❞

[jatpwomen]

✨ got your glamour, got your gold ✨

[phantomtwirl]

whattoaster·:

@phantomtwirl said: " i made a choice. this is my family. “

You know how when you know something really, really bad is coming and you think that since you know it’s coming it won’t be as bad as it would have been if you hadn’t expected it at all, but then it turns out that thing was more of a bummer than you ever could have prepared yourself for, so it wouldn’t have mattered whether you were waiting for it your whole life or it had come out of nowhere? Reggie’s existence had been peppered with quite a few of those obviously inevitable yet unexpectedly devastating disappointments. Kinda like how he knew his folks would never show up to one of his gigs, or how he knew he was supposed to be staying away from the HGC.

Every night spent there, dancing with her under the lights and splendor – was just him pretending to push back the deadline of never being able to see her again.

He felt his cheeks light up in that embarrassing, juvenile way that they did when he felt anything too strongly. He blinked away the sting of tears, and held her hands a little tighter as they stood in the threshold of where the Hollywood Ghost Club met the lifer-ridden outside world. “I know, Stella,” he said with a voice that was damped into a whisper by the sadness that overwhelmed him, and more surprisingly: a smile. “These are your people. This is your home.” He leaned in so their foreheads were almost touching, shook his head, “This is where your horse is,” and laughed as best he could.

“You bring so much good stuff to this place. It’s beautiful and bright and happy when you’re here – it’d probably be pretty sad and shitty if you weren’t. And I don’t have the right to ask you to leave any of that … And I’ve got my own family to brighten up, so … Just – before, you know, I go. I want you to know that I don’t think you’re not my family. Family isn’t something that goes away just because you don’t see someone anymore.”

IN  THE  THRESHOLD  BETWEEN  LIFE  AND  DEATH,   stella  found  herself  again  at  a crossroads.   behind  her,  caleb  called  upon  the  audience,  his  voice  smoother  than  velvet. the  crowd,  raucous  from  drink  and  adrenaline,  roared  to  life  like  an  ocean  swell.   the  music  picked  up  again,  and  stella  felt  the  pulse  of  the  beat  rattle  down  to  her  core.   it’s  not  her  number.   she  wouldn’t  be  on  again  until  the  next  set.   but  for  more  reasons  than  one,  she  was  grateful  for  reggie’s  hands  holding  her  in  place.

the  choice  had  been  easy  when  it  was  just  her,  a  lost  soul  offered  a  job,  a  home.   who  could  ever  resist  this  place,  with  not  just  all  of  the  splendor  that  she  ever  could  have  imagined,  but  the  promise  of  an  eternity  of  worth?   she  hadn’t  lied  ;  the  folks  inside,  dancers  and  waiters  and  chefs,  they  were  her  family.   more,  she  figured,  than  the  people  who  had  actually  raised  her,  who  abandoned  her  and  used  her.   she  was  a  star  here,  as  she  had  been  in  life,  but  she  was  also  stella.

muscles  in  her  jaw  went  tense  at  the  sound  of  her  name.   in  his  mouth,  it  sounded  like  a  song.   like  a  promise.   like  a  goodbye.   and  she  couldn’t  bring  herself  to  look  him  in  the  eye  as  he  spoke.   if  anything,  the  veneer  of  calm  was  held  tighter  as  he  joked.   this  would  be  easier  if  she  could  hold  it  all  off :  anger,  sadness,  humor.   to  feel  one  would  open  the  gates  wider  than  she  knew  how  to  shut  again.

“   my  obligation  is  here.   ”   a  clarification  made  out  of  compassion,  but  stella’s  voice  was  solid  ice.   the  two  were  nearly  the  same,  weren’t  they?   family  and  obligation?   she  wondered  how  that  alliance  could  shift.   “   my  obligation  is  to  keep  my  family  in  work.   ”   with  characteristic  grace,  she  toed  the  line  around  the  truth.   there  was  a  long  moment  before  she  continued.   “   if  you  stay,  i  can’t  promise  their  safety.   you  know  how  much  caleb  wants  you  here.   he’d  replace  them  in  a  heartbeat.  ”

[kathryndaily]

KATHRYN NEWTON via germanlarkin on instagram stories

[phantomtwirl]

not  stella  being  so  excited  on  valentine’s  day  for  people  to  come  into  the  ghost  club  either  with  their  spouses / partners  or  by  themselves  and  helping  them  all  have  a  nice  time!!!  not  stella  spending  every  valentine’s  day  being  a  stand - in  dance  partner  for  people  who  are  lonely  and  sad!!!

[phantomtwirl]

kindofvertigo​:

          He raised a curious brow at the wordiness of her compliment, and his chest shook with a breath of amusement. There was something different about her. Something that set her apart from the people he usually ran into at shows. Something that made her seem just out of place enough to be interesting. She sounded … what? Smart? Fancy? Whatever it was, Reggie was as charmed by it as he was the way she bit her lip, hiding the grin that confirmed his presumption.

          He swung around her to the watercooler, stepping close for a moment with the excuse of the flow of patrons behind him. He filled a plastic cup and handed it to her before pouring himself one, chugging it, and pouring another. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone put it so … classy.” He pulled his shirt collar up to his forehead and wiped the sweat there, a few disobedient strands of hair falling back in his face as he did so.

          He smiled at her, perplexed by the way she seemed to be containing herself. She had no reason to be modest, he thought. Especially around this crowd. Especially here, at a show on a Saturday night in Hollywood. His expression softened once he realized he’d been silent for a beat too long.

          After a quick sip to wet his lips, he spoke, “That’s us – tell your friends.” He shot her a finger-gun and a wink, echoing his words from when he was on stage just a moment ago. “Speaking of names … mine’s Reggie.” He wiped his free hand off on his ripped jeans before holding it out for her. His brows knit with theatrical curiosity, his smirk letting her in on his incoming attempt at a joke. “D’you, uh – do you have one of those?”

even  huddled  around  the  watercooler,  it  was  difficult  for  stella  to  keep  her  footing.  figures  bobbed  against  her,  steadied  hands  against  her  shoulder  and  back  to  shift  her  this  way  and  that  in  ways  that  were  not  impolite,  but  ever  more  disorienting  as  she  held  a  steady  gaze  on  the  boy  in  front  of  her.  in  her  concentration,  she  nearly  missed  the  offering  in  front  of  her.  she  was  sweltering,  and  thirsty,  and  grateful.  “  OH!  thanks.  ”

classy.  hands  curled  meekly  around  her  cup.  he  was  smiling,  which  was  good,  and  handsome,  but  stella  struggled  to  parse  whether  the  word  was  laced  with  sarcasm.  definitely  not  the  word  she’d  use  to  describe  this  place.  maybe  that  was  the  joke.  maybe  she  was  the  joke  ;  a  vision  of  blonde  curls  and  pastel  shrouded  in  smoke  in  some  seedy  hollywood  venue.  she  hoped  it  looked  funny  from  the  outside.  stella  punctuated  his  word  with  a  playful  tilt  of  her  cup  towards  him,  a  cheers  to  being  classy  before  she  drank.

she  had  to  admit  they  marketed  themselves  well.  at  least  well  enough  that  the  repeated  slogan  is  enough  to  bring  a  short  huff  of  laughter  to  the  surface.  the  finger  gun  was  a  nice  touch.

“  i  do  have  a  name.  ”  lips  quirked  at  his  introduction.  REGGIE.  sweet.  a  little  awkward.  different  than  the  boys  daddy  talked  about,  who  were  bound  for  stanford  or  berkley  after  graduation.  in  the  irony  of  all  ironies,  somehow  that  made  her  feel  safer  in  this  foreign  territory.   the  careful  pair  of  syllables  sat  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  (  would  stella  be  enough  to  blow  her  cover?  how  many  stellas  were  there  in  los  angeles?  how  many  looked  exactly  like  christopher  whitlock?  )  her  discretion  foiled  her  introduction  ;  she  tied  it  in  a  careful  ribbon  instead.   “   i  was  able  to  snag  one  before  they  sold  out  --  i’m  pretty  attached  to  it.  ”

[dianaagron]

kathryn newton by paola kudacki (2018)

[dogyi]

Visit Original Link

[phantomtwirl]

blueras·:

《 @phantomtwirl 〈 stella 〉 liked 》

          A drop of sweat glided from her brow into her eye and stung like crazy just as she was landing a grand jeté. Tears pooled at her waterline, but in that half-second before her foot touched the ground, she kept her gaze fixed on the other end of the studio and determinedly stuck her landing. She allowed herself a beat – a simultaneous inhale, a shake of her head, and a flutter of her eyelashes – before she continued to the next phase of her routine.

          She’d been working on this step sequence all week; Cily had sent her a video of one of their idols performing it, and ever since they were little they would try to emulate their favorite moves of their favorite dancers together. Together wasn’t really an option at the moment, but the two of them would make do. It was a race to see which sister would send the other a recording of herself performing the completed routine first, and whoever was quickest to perfection would hold bragging rights until the next challenge arose.

          Ro sprung into her next set of steps for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. Her feet were sore and swollen, and with the amount of times she’d already tried and failed this next move, it wasn’t likely that she’d hit it with the level of precision she needed. But if she did land it, she could show off to Cily, and Cily would be so impressed that maybe she’d drop whatever she was doing to pick up her phone for once. Maybe she’d show the video to all her new friends and brag about how skilled her little sister was.

          But that wasn’t going to happen. Ro knew she was gonna screw it up just as she was going for her final landing. Her spin wasn’t tight enough, her form wasn’t clean enough – she braced herself for impact, but just as she squeezed her eyes shut, she felt something in her balance shift … There was no way to describe it, but whatever that force was, it helped her stick her landing.

          There was a pause before her eyes flickered open and the tension left her muscles. She had no idea how she did it … but she did it. She ran over to where her phone was set up to record herself and scrambled to play the video back. She played it once through and didn’t believe what she saw. Or – what she didn’t see. By the end of the second playthrough, she was shaking.

          The video was all blurry at the end. So much so that you couldn’t tell she’d nailed the routine. It took one more playback for her to be sure it wasn’t just the tears she was looking through that made the recording unwatchable. “No –” she whispered to no one. Somehow she’d ended up on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and doing everything to hold herself together. “No no no –”

IT  WAS  AN  OLD  STUDIO.  if  stella  cared  more  about  that  kind  of  thing,  she’d  have  kept  better  track  of  how  long  it  had  been  there.  not  as  long  as  the  club,  but  old  enough  to  be  familiar,  a  little  haven  tucked  within  the  bustle  of  los  angeles.  she  figured  it  was  something  of  a  miracle  that  it  had  maintained  its  original  intention  ;  how  quickly  could  things  be  erased.  homes  with  businesses,  businesses  with  restaurants,  restaurants  with  homes.  the  only  constant  was  change.

some  things  could  remain  untouched,  though.

call  her  a  stereotype,  but  it  had  become  a  bit  of  a  passtime  whenever  they  had  long  stretches  at  the  los  angeles  club  that  she  would  spend  the  day  at  the  studio.  planted  quietly  in  the  corner  or  among  the  dancers,  she’d  found  a  home  in  young  and  old  alike.  the  mornings  were  for  the  little  ones,  hair  like  ducklings’  down  pulled  into  pigtails,  too  fine  yet  to  be  pinned  into  something  neater.  in  the  evenings,  if  she  got  lucky,  adults  spun  across  the  floor  in  pairs,  and  she  could  nestle  herself  among  the  crowd  of  couples  with  her  own  phantom  partner,  mimicking  steps  that  she’d  learned  for  decades.

she  usually  left  people  to  practice  in  solo.  she  understood  it  --  the  intimacy  of  movement,  the  freedom  from  watchful  eyes.  there  was  a  sort  of  betrayal  she  felt  using  her  anonymity  to  tresspass.  but  this  girl  brought  her  pause,  the  flare  of  --  anger?  sadness?  --  that  set  her  movements  alight.  again  and  again  until  stella  could  see  it  flickering,  like  a  champion  boxer  taking  punch  after  punch  without  stopping.  it  fascinated  her  as  much  as  it  did  frighten  her.

she  would  have  sworn  she  was  about  to  leave.  regardless  of  its  truthfulness,  stella  had  lingered  long  enough  to  capture  her  final  turn,  messy  enough  to  send  her  spinning  out  with  dangerous  force.  “  WAIT!  ”  with  ephemeral  shout,  stella  launched  forward,  hands  connecting  with  shoulders  and  elbows,  anything  to  hold  the  girl  upright.  and  she  did.  and  stella  smiled,  pride  clear  upon  invisible  features.  until  --  no,  maybe  that  hadn’t  been  a  good  thing.  

joy  melted  as  quickly  as  it  had  arrived,  leaving  the  dancer  girl  to  watch  her  corporeal  counterpart  dissolve  before  her.  the  sight  tugged  at  her  heartstrings  like  a  marionette  towards  her,  until  she  was  sat  on  her  knees  across  from  the  redhead.  delicate  hand  reached  to  comfort,  a  hand  upon  her  knee,  or  perhaps  in  hers,  and  it  passed  through,  whatever  burst  of  energy  she’d  been  blessed  with  now  gone.  stella  cursed,  planting  hands  against  the  floor.  what  else  could  she  do  to  keep  her  from  falling?

“  i  am  so  sorry.  ”

[thatrandobatgirl]

Visit Original Link

[phantomtwirl]

WHICH  PLANET  MATCHES  YOUR  MUSE’S  PERSONALITY ?

VENUS.      ——      you  are  nurturing  and  attentive,  thoughtful  and  affectionate  —  relationships  in  all  of  their  forms  are  the  center  of  your  universe.  even - keeled  as  you  might  come  across,  for  someone  to  challenge  you  on  the  things  you  care  about  would  be  deeply,  deeply  foolish.  what  an  honor  it  is  to  be  swept  into  your  orbit..

tagged  by  :  no  one  i  just  wanted  stella  to  be  represented  :’)

[phantomtwirl]

kindofvertigo​:

《 @phantomtwirl 〈 stella 〉 plotted 》

          “Dude.” Reggie mouthed at Luke from the small venue’s stage once they finished thanking the audience for a killer show. They were about two feet off the floor, just the right height for showgoers in the front row to bruise their knees if the crowd pushed forward enough. The space between the two boys was wide enough to just barely fit Alex and his drums with Bobby crammed almost-but-not-quite behind Luke, but even with the short distance, the music that the house played in between acts was too loud for Luke to hear Reg if he shouted. Fortunately, it only took the single-syllable silent exclamation and an instant of eye contact for Luke to know exactly what Reggie was freaking out about.

          With a smirk and a pointed thumb, Luke signaled for Reggie to scram. They both knew that Reggie would be making up for skipping out on striking the stage later, which most likely meant that Reggie’s tip money would be paying for dinner within the next night or two – and that was fine by him. Getting off stage in time to catch up with the pretty blonde who he could have sworn had been smiling at him through half the show was well worth a quadruple order of double doubles.

          He pushed through the thinning mass of bodies, accumulating a layer of strangers’ sweat above his own, until he reached the watercooler at the end of the venue’s bar. By the time he emerged, his already ratty black tee had been nearly soaked through, and any clue that his hair had once been meticulously combed into place had vanished. And yet, as he leaned against the bar and formed the world’s goofiest grin, he ran his fingers back through the matted mess atop his head as if that action alone would be enough for him to come off as presentable.

          With the confidence of a boy who wasn’t thinking ahead more than three seconds into the future, Reggie forwent a proper greeting and began with an observation – not a question – that couldn’t have possibly been more saturated with certainty,

          “You liked our set.”

stella  didn’t  have  a  typical  haunt  ;  moments  when  she  could  slip  away  from  the  family’s  mechinations  were  so  few  and  far - between  that  she  couldn’t  afford  to  be  so  picky.  she’d  heard  in  passing  what  places  her  peers  had  found  :  skate  parks  and  abandoned  warehouses  and  the  basements  of  friends  whose  parents  didn’t  lock  their  liquor  cabinets.  they  traded  stories  of  prank  calls  and  illicit  kisses  and  running  from  the  police,  shared  glances  beneath  batted  eyelashes,  spoke  in  a  foreign  language  of  freedom.

the  music  was  loud,  so  loud  that  it  vibrated  her  spine,  electrifying  her  right  down  to  her  core.  bodies  wrestled  against  her,  skin  against  skin,  scathing  hot  and  ever - moving.  if  she  closed  her  eyes,  she  could  imagine  herself  as  a  little  boat,  battered  by  waves  across  the  sea,  floating  freely.  with  music  so  loud,  she  could  slip  beneath  its  surf  and  no  one  would  even  know.

it  was  perfect.

the  tide  carried  her  closer  to  the  stage  than  she’d  expected.  (  wrongly  expected,  considering  how  her  stature  compared  to  those  of  the  people  around  her.  it  was  a  miracle  she  hadn’t  been  trampled  yet.  )  close  enough  to  see  the  faces  of  the  current  band.  they  were  younger  than  she’d  expected,  probably  not  much  older  than  her,  but  they  had  talent.  doe - wide  eyes  captured  deftly - moving  fingers,  and  in  spite  of  herself,  she  grinned,  unbridled  and  graceless,  all  the  way  through  their  set.

she’d  kept  careful  watch  on  the  hands  of  the  clockface  on  her  wrist.  she  was  safe  from  her  parents  beneath  the  cover  of  “ rehearsal. ”  she  had  time.  she  had  all  the  time  in  the  world.  drifting  to  the  stage  was  effortless,  but  it  was  a  battle  against  the  surf  to  the  only  corner  of  the  joint  not  saturated  with  bodies.  still,  a  few  lingered,  including  a  freshly - familiar  face.

“  it  was  a  set  worthy  of  liking.  ”  her  teeth  caught  her  bottom  lip,  desperate  to  contain  boundless  joy,  to  maintain  any  semblance  of  composure.  estelle  whitlock  was  composed,  an  image  of  grace  and  obedience.  here  --  stella?  maybe  she  didn’t  have  to  be.  “  sunset  curve,  right?  what  a  name.  ”

[phantomtwirl]

writing  stella  is  just  *lorde  lyrics*  *star  imagery*  *1920s  ostentation*  *family  trauma*  *disney  princess  eyes*  *misguided  good  intentions*  * “beautiful  little  fool” *  *falls  in  love  with  everyone  she  dances  with*  and  i  just  think  it’s  swell

[useraljoscha-archived]

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ – ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍꜱ

[kindofvertigo-m]

@phantomtwirl @noterase

[phantomtwirl]

for  fans  of  socialites  with  hearts  of  gold,  crude  understandings  of  dance  terminology,  and  1920s  aesthetics,  please  fill  out  stella’s  interest  tracker!

[phantomtwirl]

@kindofvertigo  :  ‘  there’ll be happiness after me.  ‘

· ﾟ ☆ ・ NEVER .  if  she’d  still  been  alive,  surely  her  heart  would  pulse  with  the  word.   never ,  never ,  never.  but  she  can’t  bear  to  speak  it,  not  with  time  so  fleeting.  her  own  desires  are  pushed  so  far  down  in  these  frantic  moments  that  she’s  worried  she’ll  choke  on  them.  

she  reaches  towards  him  and  yanks,  hands  once  shy  now  ripping  at  the  seams  of  caleb’s  magic,  undoing  tie  and  suit  and  hair  with  such  ferocity,  as  if  that  alone  could  save  him.  as  if  the  spell  could  be  broken  just  by  making  it  look  different.  illusion  is  his  specialty,  but  its  roots  are  much  deeper.  but  at  least  he  looks  like  reginald  again,  reggie,  not  some  funhouse  version  of  the  boy  that  she’d  watched  onstage.  she  touches  his  hands,  his  arms,  cradles  his  face,  searches  for  some  lucid  spark  in  his  eyes  to  confirm  that  her  words  will  be  heeded.  

“ go  find  julie.  ”  the  girl  who’d  brought  him  back,  saved  his  second  life.  in  speaking  her  name  aloud,  stella  conveys  boundless  gratitude.  “  i’ll  --  ”  what?  hold  caleb  off  single - handedly?  abandon  the  place  she’d  called  home  for  the  last  century?  her  eyes  fall  to  their  wrists,  identical  seals  burned  into  pale  flesh. there’ll  be  a  heavy  price  to  pay.  “  i’ll  find  you.  wherever  it  is,  whatever  happens,  i  -- ”  

the  band  strikes  up,  a  playful  swing  tune.  one  of  her  favorites.  it’s  beautiful,  intoxicating,  irresistable,  and  it  makes  her  breath  catch  in  her  throat.  with  a  final  surge  of  strength,  she  careens  forward,  pressing  a  kiss  clumsily  to  his  lips  and  holding  onto  him  like  he’s  all  she  has  left  in  this  world.  

when  she  finally  releases,  her  eyes  are  full  of  tears.  a  smile,  known  halfway  ‘round  los  angeles  for  its  million  watts,  breaks  though  her  veil  of  heartbreak.  by  stars,  she  loves  him.

                                                                                       “  REGGIE,  GO.  ”