#+ the bonus tango but he wasn’t there when they said it :>

[fence-time]

“We’re like that Spider-Man meme!!”

[galaxycunt]

My Dinner With Buggy

Author warning: this is dialogue only. Why? Because I wondered if I could do it and so here it is I’m lucky I had power the whole time in my house during this ice storm bc I’m so bored 😭

Summary: You are waiting on a man, you haven’t seen each other in quite some time. Not since you were a bright eyed recruit and he was a young captain with more ego than sense.

“Welcome in! How many?”

“Two, please,” as you sat you said, “a bottle of house red, thank you.”

A hand tapped you on the shoulder some time later, “I never tire of that joke. You’re looking good.”

“Buggy, wow. It’s really good to see you.”

“Yeah, not every day a marine wine and dines me.”

“I can think of a few officers who’d like that, now.”

Buggy frowns, “you told them, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, “Buggy, I didn’t even know you were with the Roger pirates. I found that out from the snails like everyone else.”

“Huh. Swore I told you. I guess…I never tell anyone that shit.”

“Hey, doesn’t matter. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Buggy laughs, “god, it’s been forever. Remember when we climbed up the mast of the first Big Top?”

“Hm. Yeah. Tiny Top. That ship sucked. I remember beating you up there.”

“Oh fuck off, I let you!”

“I beat you by a whole 30 seconds!”

“I’m not letting a fucking marine talk shit while I’m trying to enjoy my damn dinner.”

You laugh heartily as the waiter arrived, “I’ll have the pasta special.”

“You paying or what?” You nod, “prime rib. Gimme a steak bigger than my head.”

“You sure ain’t a cheap date, Bug.”

“Oh! So this is a date? Okay, you sure you don’t wanna thrown in with the guy who tangoed with the best and came out on top?”

“I…I think I am quitting. I saw your little movie debut. He…he was just a kid. Both of them.”

“Y-yeah. He really was.”

“I guess that’s the life we choose.”

Buggy sighs, “let’s not think about that. I’m here, you’re here. This is a date.”

“Is this a date? Okay, what lines does Captain Buggy pull on these things?”

“What’s your sign?”

“Libra.”

“I’m a Libra moon, they say a sun and moon sign being the same means they’re meant to be.”

You shake your head, “you’re so full of shit. Is that even your sign?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Take me on more dates like this and I’ll tell you the truth.”

You can’t hide your smile, “shut the fuck up.”

“Join me, I’ll treat you so good.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’ll be fun. I won’t even make you wake up at dawn.”

“And what do you get out of this?”

“A beauty at my side every day, that’s all.”

“You just want trade secrets, don’t you?”

He looks offended, “I ain’t that bad a guy. But my lips are sealed, if you wanna give anything up.”

“If you want secrets out of me, you gotta give me something to work with.”

“Work with?”

“What’s your big secret, tough guy?”

He chews the free bread thoughtfully, “the rumors are true. I washed Gol D. Roger’s underwear. Though I tricked Shanks into doing laundry duty more.”

“How?”

“Packing gunpowder is way cooler. Only chumps think laundry is better. Just cause you do it once a month.”

“Sounds about right for pirates. Marines make you clean the toilets with a toothbrush every day.”

“See what I mean? I wouldn’t let you lift a finger.”

“I might hold you to that.”

“I’d be so good to you.”

In between bites you say, “I joined only because I needed the money. My dad was a marine, the pension don’t pay much if you’re just one of the grunts. He wasn’t happy I did it. They had a nice sign on bonus.”

“Is that really a secret?”

“Well, maybe. People on base like to act like they’re doing it for the greater good. Justice and all that shit.”

“Snooty fucks.”

“Oh yeah.”

He smiles, “see? Gotta join me now.”

You blush as he watches you eat, “what?”

“Nothing. Just nice. You write and call less and less these days.”

“Hey, man. You do have a bounty. Though I guess I don’t have to be as careful.”

“Heh, yeah. Maybe we can see each other more….especially if you join.”

“Let’s not talk work, tell me anything else.”

“Like how lovely you’re looking?”

“Look at you, wearing something clean.”

“So this is a date. Let’s go for another drink after this, my treat.”

“Twisting my arm over here.”

“I’m a pirate, baby. I have my ways.”

You can’t stop smiling, in spite of yourself, “last time I saw you, you threw your head at me.”

“I remember.”

“Did you mean it? What you said?”

“Yeah, I really didn’t want those fucks taking me in. Even if they were your buddies.”

“No, no. Not that.”

He hums, “I think I remember.”

“Don’t be a dick, Buggy.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense then.”

“If you don’t remember, then I won’t say it.”

He stares for a beat, studying you, “I’m sorry for teasing. I do, I always will.”

“You were so drunk I-“

“-I wasn’t. I lied.”

“Check please,” you flag a waiter down, feeling his eyes boring into you, “thank you.”

“Oh shit. No, I didn’t lie about that. I was sober.”

Relief floods you, “you’re so stupid.”

“I love you.”

“Do you, or just the young hot marine you met?”

“Baby, don’t be like that.”

“What if I’m tired of the sea, want something quiet?”

“I’ll visit. All the time.”

“Really?”

He nods, “I’ll treat you good. So, so good.”

“I love you too. Against my better judgement.”

“Let’s get outta here. When are you expected back?”

“I got three weeks off.”

“Just enough time to lay low with me.”

“Heard you got a new crew, all those prisoners. They won’t like me on board.”

“They think I’m their god or some shit, I dunno. We can rent a room somewhere. I don’t care.”

“You are something else.”

“I can be all yours, just say the word.”

“Let’s see how tonight goes then.”

“I’m gonna dazzle your pants off.”

“Won’t go for nothing less.”

[mysteriousmoss]

Hmmmm how about rancher angst? Maybe some side effects and stuff for after Double Life.

Aside from Amnesia Jimmy is confused as to where he has these burn marks that have become scars. He knew for the first week or so until his memory just faded. He’s tried to bring it up to the old sheriff during the journey they go on as to what they could be from. There’s a huge chunk of his memory from around the holidays that’s just gone. He still doesn’t know how the new buildings and train came to be.

He doesn’t know why the scars don’t hurt or why he feels like he’s being choked to death some days and as if someone’s gently rubbing a injury that’ll never heal and not cause pain. He doesn’t understand it. Nothing makes sense to him.

His scars are very much burn scars and maybe the big one on his back is from a explosion. But he feels like not all these scars are supposed to be Jimmys and belong to someone else. Belong to him

Who is him? And why is he sad thinking about this him? Jimmy once again asks the old sheriff this and is met with “Sometimes we meet someone we love or grow close to. And sometimes they’re taken from us. Memory fades the more you want to forget the pain of the lost. Believe me, I know how it feels. I’ve been through the same thing kid.” And the conversation just stops there.

Eventually Jimmy just lives with it and the days where he’s unable to speak anything at all and only from writing become a semi normal. He’s grown fond of his scars and who they must truly belong to.

——————————————

Tango goes back into throwing himself into his work when Jimmys gone.

He ignores how where scars are supposed to be there’s nothing and how those places a scar should be hurt some days. He’s gotten used to the bruise that will never leave or hurt him. He wonders if Jimmy feels the pain and feels bad for touching the bruise around his neck.

Tango can’t help but look fondly at the wardens remembering the one that his rancher and him grew fond of in its short life(Jimmys heartbeat rings through his ears some days mixed with his sobs of grief. Ranchers Revenge wasn’t even a adult warden, they truly didn’t plan to use it against the others. It was a child. Their child, their candle, their hatchling, their pyre, their flock.) and if anyone hears his sobs for a pyre long gone? They say nothing. All he needs is his smog, his friends.

—————(BONUS)—————

The start of Limited Life Tango wanted to sob.

His rancher, his partner, his smog turned pyre was alive and as beautiful as the day he lost him.

But he knows the avian will never remember what they had.

Some hope sparks when he hears Jimmy apologize and say “Sorry Rancher!” After punching him. He ignores how it sounded like it was said out of habit.

He’s happy. His ranchers subconscious still remembers them and what they had. Even if it will never happen again.

[memryse]

Third Life Duos Edition Three: C(r)astle But No Monarchy?

I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO THIS i have been very busy with uni and i want to give them the justice they deserve. so here we are!! i’d also like to preface this by saying i have only watched cleo’s pov from this duo, not bdubs’ yet, so i can’t comment on him in quite as much detail and i also haven’t seen the crastle’s session five since cleo’s footage got messed up for it (i think bdubs is next on my list? i’ve been more preoccupied with empires lately though so i haven’t gotten around to it)

the first thing that always stands out to me about the crastle people is that they get lumped in as a red/green life duo, but they really never were that, because bdubs turned red right at the end of session five and then wasn’t in session six, which is when cleo turned yellow. they’re a very iconic duo, but i would consider them much more equals than the red/green life duos.

and they always were equals, together right from the very beginning. it wasn’t an alliance of convenience or mutual benefit or anything of the sort - just two friends, who spawned with each other and stuck with each other. while it might seem like they’re opposites - tired babysitter cleo and excitable red life bdubs, the same kind of formula that grian and scar are often slotted into - cleo and bdubs are more like two idiots who possess one (1) braincell between them, which is used exclusively for plotting various dastardly acts. 

they’re actually a hilarious duo to me because they had great ideas with the building of the crastle. fortified with a moat + magma blocks, only one point of entry, the archer slits in the walls? but then with literally... anything else their brains just go out of the windows. and i love that.

but back to talking about their relationship and development, what stuck out to me the most about them was bdubs’ attitude towards losing his lives. green life? everything’s great, they’re friends having a great time and building their tiny castle. yellow life? suddenly, the paranoia sets in. bdubs is instantly suspicious of cleo trying to get bdubs to turn red - he says he’s scared that she wants him to die so that she can “use [him] as a tool” and order him to kill people. and that is incredibly interesting to me, because red lives do not have to be bound by alliances if they don’t want to be. if bdubs were to turn red, he doesn’t have to listen to her orders. if anything it’s the exact reverse, the red life would be able to order around a green life, as we saw with both the desert duo and renchanting duo. which suggests to me that even in the midst of the paranoia of suddenly being a fresh yellow life, bdubs never even considered the possibility of betraying cleo. their alliance to one another was that strong.

this loyalty holds strong for the entire rest of the series. but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t develop! firstly, we see bdubs lose that paranoia towards cleo - in fact he grows to relish the idea of becoming cleo’s weapon. he’s happy about it! which i think stems from two places: first, he’s practically frothing at the mouth for revenge against the sand people, and he absolutely needs cleo’s direction on what to do with all of this anger he suddenly has. secondly, there’s a server-wide perception that the crastle is one of the weaker factions on the server (or at least bdubs wasn’t being taken seriously, everyone was definitely rightfully scared of cleo). the crastle needed a red life to pose a proper threat - what good are harming arrow crossbows if they have to wait for someone to attack them first? so bdubs is happy to make the sacrifice and turn red.

cleo, on the other hand, remains fairly static in terms of her regard for life (hers and others’). she’s impulsive. she starts off her series stealing a llama and hiding it just because she can, the middle of her series she’s doing arson, she ends her series attempting to take ren out in an ambush. losing her life was more of an “if it happens, it happens” deal. what changes is her attitude to other people. she’s friendly to everyone at first. then becomes more closed-off, more distrustful - presumably stemming from things like etho just showing up and attacking their castle. she doesn’t trust impulse (...does anyone?). but eventually, she develops a real fondness for tango, for scott, and she’ll put her life on the line for more than just bdubs eventually. but not quite as willingly.

like i said, the crastle people’s dynamic doesn’t change all that much throughout the series - it’s their individual actions that are fun to analyse; just look at how cleo acts during the session where bdubs isn’t there, for example, and how they bicker about it the next session. if anything, these solo actions complement their dynamic as a duo, and really highlight how it was the two of them against the world, from the very beginning. nobody else was afforded this loyalty. look how easily bdubs betrayed impulse. bdubs and cleo’s loyalty to one another was unmatched.

“bdubs is my ride or die. that’s it. if he kills me, then i will go out as an honest person.”

and i will leave you with that.

----

bonus fun fact: everyone knows about the zombie siege of dogwarts the night cleo died but i want to talk about it anyway because it is like. definitely a top 5 3rd life moment. potentially even top 3

bonus fun fact 2: in bdubs’ first episode, he talks about everyone being on good terms and not being against each other yet whilst stood directly on the hill above the lake where scar took his final life. somebody on twitter pointed this out but i did go and check this specific moment myself

bonus fun fact 3 cause i gotta add one every time i guess: that lake? yeah that one where scar also asked grian to kill him? it is directly next to grian’s original base, the one he abandoned to join scar. it is also on the other side of a hill from the day one alliance base, you know, the one involving scar and bdubs. oh 3rd life. you make me so very sad.

[nikethestatue]

So heres the thing that i found really confusing is why the hell some people call Az bonus chapter “uncomfortable and “ toxic”. The first time i read it i mean..that Elriel scene was hot 🥵🥵but toxic?? Thats the last thing i’d think of because u know why?? It is a freaking NA book.

For me the chapter compare to any other NA books i’ve read ( lj shen, rina kent, pen. douglas) is sooo vanilla like only the cherry on top. The antis do know right that now acotar being market into NA instead of YA so darker content is expected and there will be A LOT OF SEX, THINKING ABT SEX AND AT ONE POINT WILL DO SEX!!!

We’ve seen Elriel soft moment in the four books ( truth teller, “do u want me to show u the garden”, “i’’m getting her back atc..) like their feelings towards each other does not come from nowhere. Everything Azriel’s said or think abt is the same as what Nessian did in acosf.

For me in a NA book if two characters feel lust towards each other then that is a good thing like that what makes the book NA in the first place. Sjm wants to write abt Azriel kinky fuck thats why the crumbs that he’s a freak and Elain is aroused/ not a virgin were mentioned like if they would bang right away then its not surprising for the readers *cough*offer and permission *cough*. So the argument abt Az is toxic and etc makes me assume 3 things

1. They still in the YA zone

2. Their fantasy abt Az is diff from whats written in his chapter

3. Because it is Elriel

Your thoughts??

Hi,

I think I agree with all 3 points, but I also feel that the author herself has changed--she is older now, she is writing things that are different, and despite how people feel about ACOSF, she basically devoted an entire book to someone dealing with PTSD and self-hate. That's very different from TOG or even ACOTAR. Hence her writing would be different as well, and probably not as appropriate for the YA crowd. I don't like generalizing, but the majority of what *I* have seen out there, when it comes to Gwyn adoration, are younger women--teens, early 20s. Gwyn is a typical YA character--spunky, very young, determined and 'unburdened' by female characteristics, such as a family, children, running a household, cooking, taking care of life, taking care of others. What's the most common complaint about Feyre now? She is boring. All she does is stays home and is pregnant, and why did she have a baby at 21? and now she is a MILF. Perhaps, perhaps not, but she certainly isn't the spunky, adventurous 19 year old of ACOTAR. The YA crowd loves Gwyn, and it's understandable.

Elain is a more cerebral character. You already know that she is probably not going to swing a sword, which is great. Because there is a place for characters like that. But I think that's one of the reasons for the hate -- she is 'boring'. However, I think SJM wants to write characters like these now, because with them, she can explore a variety of different ideas, even what femininity is, how a non-fighting woman can make a difference--she already began that journey with Elain in previous books. Ultimately she writes books about her version of female-empowerment and the difference all women can make. She's written like 10 books with fighting females. Yet, some of her more interesting characters are people like Yarne and Elide and even like Amarantha and Maeve, because they don't rely on the swords, but mostly their knowledge, cunning, abilities.

I think sexually, SJM is also ready to explore other avenues. I don't see her writing the same as she did 7-10 years ago. I don't see her writing scenes like earthquakes and tumbling mountains and snapping palm trees when a male character orgasms. It's a little (a lot) ridiculous, but I feel like we'll see a lot more of Cassian-like sex, than Rhys.

I feel like what disturbed some readers, especially the younger ones in the POV, is the 'realness' of the thoughts. It wasn't 'prettified' with some fanciful language (btw, like the REST OF THE BOOK). Nothing at all different between Cassian and Azriel, both think of and ponder and want sex. But I feel like people, for some reason, aren't as emotionally invested in Cassian, or maybe he was always viewed as 'lusty'. Azriel is mysterious and less obvious, but suddenly reading purely sexual thoughts from him was a wakeup call. And thoughts about the 'boring' Elain and not the girl-boss Gwyn.

I think SJM wants to explore some more unconventional, 'weirder' sexual things with Az, and I simply don't think that he'll be doing that with a character like Gwyn. Not because of Gwyn, but of who identifies with her--teens, young adults.

Listen, for all I know, it might not even be Elriel--it might not be Elain and Az (though I highly doubt it), but it wont be Az and Gwyn either. Like, Az is NOT spanking or tying up Gwyn, and again, not because of Gwyn, but because of Az. Just yesterday I read some comment about someone arguing that maybe 'Gwyn is ready sexually' and all that. And I don't argue that, though I didn't see any indication of it in the books. But the question is, is Az ready? Because it takes two to tango. And it seems like everything revolves around Gwyn and her readiness in those canons. He is never mentioned--like he is just a stud put there to penetrate. But I don't see that interest or willingness in his character for her at all.

Let's remember that 'offer and permission' came from Elain. Elain willingly slept with Graysen before marriage. Elain has been putting gentle moves on Az. SHE is ready. He is ready.

I think it's definitely an amalgamation of things, but these will not be YA books going forward. And if the POV was so controversial, then yikes, I don't think that the actual book would be palatable for some readers.

[dysfunctional-amateur-writer]

@foggypizzapandadream​

Okay but expanding on this:

Percy was a bad dancer back in Titan’s Curse, but I’d like to pretend that it was because 1) he was dancing with Annabeth, 2) he was 14, 3) he was on a quest. Anyways, I’d like to think that our poor boy has improved since then. He secretly practiced A LOT, mostly with Sally, dancing in their living room, wanting to improve so he can take Annabeth to prom and dance properly. Sometimes Paul would join in (this man took Shakespearean sword fighting, I refuse to believe he didn’t take folk/other types of dancing at some point in his life)

Annabeth would be one of those people who can sort of dance, but only if she’s seen the dance move, or have been taught the dance move. This changes later when she relaxes and looses up (possibly on the Argo II with the Seven, or after the Second Giant War with Percy when they couldn’t sleep)

Jason cannot dance. Like, this boy has two left feet. Like, Thalia can dance, and Beryl was a decent dancer, but Jason? He cannot dance.

(Jason: ”I was raised by Lupa. You’re lucky I know how to walk.”)

Piper is the best dancer out of the seven, there’s no doubt about it. However, like OP said, Leo is better than her when it comes to twerking. But this is the Seven we’re talking about, we are not including Nico, Reyna, or coach Hedge. It surprises the hell out of Piper when Reyna busts a move.

Leo is a surprisingly good dancer. His brother Beckendorf wasn’t, Jake was always quite stiff, and Nyssa never liked dancing. So when he and Piper just jammed to some tunes and danced, it surprised the both of them how good the other was. Jason and Frank, who were watching on the side, thought they choreographed it before hand. (And like OP said, Leo is a helluva twerker. Like, that speed! the ass!)

Frank is an okay dancer. He was always too shy to dance before the events of HoO due to his body image issues. After Ares’/Mars’ blessing, it took his a while to adjust to his new body. He’s currently learning how to swing dance with Hazel

Hazel isn’t the best dancer with the Seven’s standards, but in the 40s, she was a really good dancer. She and Sammy used to dance sometimes, and they did all the swings and flips. Her footwork is immaculate.

Bonus:

Reyna is, how do you describe it, pretty much a professional dancer. Growing up, her family loved dancing, and they danced all sorts of dances. Samba, salsa, swing, etc. Later on, on Circe’s island, she and Hylla learn some of the older dances that were pretty much the same as the ones they danced in Ancient Greece. Beautiful dances that made them look like nymphs.

It nearly decimates Jason when Reyna and Piper fucking tangos when they returned to Camp Jupiter (with the rose, of course there’s a rose). Reyna literally said the words: “I like this one. I’m stealing your gal, Grace.” And Jason was frozen in the same position for 15 minutes, jaw wide open.

Nico, like Hazel, is the best at swing dancing. He and Bianca used to dance in the Lotus Hotel when they were bored (because Nico keeps on defeating the games too easily). Later when he dated Will, he was pleased to learn that Naomi taught him country-swing. They played jazz music, and danced in the Hades cabin; sometimes all night long when Nico couldn’t sleep.

Coach Hedge... he actually knows pretty much all the dances that were popular after the 1920s, he just prefers disco. You do not want to see him twerk.

[courtlyharlequin]

"The moon looks beautiful tonight, huh. It takes two to tango. Shall we, Jade?" 🌙🌹🍃

Apogee

Warning(s): gender neutral reader but they are wearing a dress, established relationship between Jade and the reader albeit they’re in the early stages, brief mention of death (only used as figurative language; no character death is featured in this scenario), mention of choking (on sobs)

A/N: Thank you for requesting, Taku! It honestly means a lot. I appreciate your support~ I wrote you a little something that highlighted Jade's indifference, a trait of his that I find often overlooked in favor of his shrewdness. I hope you like it! I had a lot of fun writing it ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

A/N²: This piece was inspired by the word "apogee" (hence the title). For reference, apogee has two meanings. The first meaning of apogee is the point in the moon's orbit where it is furthest from the earth. The second meaning is "the highest point in development". The first meaning correlates with distance yet the second one is associated with progress, moving towards something e.g. the development of a relationship. Ironic, don't you think?

You pursed your lips as you plucked dainty white petals from the daisy’s pistil. It shook violently in your fist, swaying back and forth as you continued to tug on the flower. One by one, its petals littered the hem of your dress with its suffocating fragrance. The more you stared at your feet, the more the petals began to resemble discarded tissues. The night was alive. People danced. People dined. They had a grand old time. Their laughter echoed throughout the ballroom, audible from even the lonely rose garden– occupied by you and only you. Your eyes were blurry with tears albeit they have not fallen from your eyes just yet.

He loves me.

He loves me not.

He loves me. 

Your eyes shouldered the weight of the world as you dropped the weed onto the lawn. Its petals flounced into the air, dancing their last dance before falling onto their deaths. You glared at the daisy. Jade didn’t love you.

Perhaps love was a strong word. You liked him. You liked him an awful lot– so much that you actually worked up the courage to ask him to the dance. To your surprise, he said yes. You were already a couple, but you figured school dances weren’t his forte. Nevertheless, you were excited. It was a first for the both of you, the first time you attended a dance together as Jade and (y/n), the first dance as a couple.

It would have been a first if he had actually shown up. The night was young, but he was nowhere to be found. You had grown tired of hosting yourself a pity party, tired of tagging along with your friends and their own dates. Three was a charm, but it was also a crowd. You were the seventh wheel– worse than a third wheel. You tagged along multiple couples. They didn’t mind. They were your friends, but it was their night not yours. Your night was meant to be with Jade.

Eventually, you had given up. There was no use waiting for him. You excused yourself from the crowds, the whispers, and retreated to a vacant rose garden. A daisy, a feeble weed, had become your victim of the night.

You sighed as you glanced up at the moon. It was bright and round, smiling upon the rose garden, upon you. It was beautiful, perfect for a clandestine waltz. Its silvery glow embraced you. You basked in the moonlight.

“The moon is beautiful isn’t it?”

A twig snapped.

You turned your head, coming face to face with the last person you wanted to see tonight. Jade smiled at you. You scooted over as he made himself comfortable on the wooden bench. You eyed the bouquet of soft pink roses in his hands.

“These are for you,” he said.

“You’re late.”

“I know.”

“Are you not sorry?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re late, Jade,” you repeated.

He tucked his hair behind his hair. It was as if that single strand was impeding his hearing. He brought the flowers closer to his lips.

Jade sighed, “My apologies, dearest. Thank you for waiting for me.”

You huffed.

“I am here now. The night is still young. The ball ends at midnight,” Jade mused as he rose from his seat.

He held his hand out: “Shall we?”

You stared at him, unable to contain your tears for any longer. His eyes widened. They returned back to their original shape in a matter of seconds.

“‘The night is still young,’ he says. Jade, the ball started at six in the evening. It’s eight thirty now. Where were you for the past two hours? I thought you stood me up.”

The warmth of his hands ghosted your shoulder. They fell to his sides. No answer.

“Jade. Please,” you pleaded.

You were dying to know. What took him so long? 

Jade had a knack for schemes. While he had never played with your feelings, you hadn’t ruled out the possibility. He once told you that he initially accepted your confessions a few months ago due to his own amusement. You were so... reactive, full of emotions. You were a spitfire. He adored you for that. In other words, he liked to tease you for a reaction. You were aware that your love for each other, despite dating for a few months, ran deeper than that, but there were occasions where Jade took things a little too far. Today was one of those instances. 

“...It is customary to gift one’s date with a bouquet of flowers. I wanted to get fresh flowers for you,” he said, gesturing to the bouquet, “Unfortunately,  flower shops also closed around this time so I spent most of my time finding a shop that was still open. I arrived around seven fifty yet you were nowhere to be found. I spent the remaining time looking for you.”

“You’re joking.”

“I would never lie to you, would I?,” he beamed, placing a hand on his chin, pondering.

Regrettably, he was right. You sniffled, shaking, scolding yourself for overacting and assuming the worst.

“The moon is beautiful tonight,” Jade commented once more, turning his gaze to the celestial body.

You wiped your tears, choking on your own sobs. It was hard to get a hold of yourself. He was so… calm. It angered you. He wasn’t upset that you were cursing him for being late nor was he fazed when you burst into tears. He just stood there, watching you miserably recollect yourself. You wanted that sort of composure, you wanted to hide your feelings a little better than whatever you were doing now. His hands loomed over your shoulder yet they were far from touching you.

The eel sighed as he draped his coat jacket over you. You perked your head up and he placed a hand on your head, stroking it softly. While he was touching you this time around, it was gentle. It was as if he was holding himself back. He kissed your forehead. You yelped, earning a chuckle from the vice prefect. He peppered your face with soft butterfly kisses, following the trails of your tears.

You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back. He smirked at you, knowing you felt better already. He was genuine with this particular gesture. You would like to think he was genuine. He got you flowers after all. He went through all that trouble for you. He was doing his best to console you even now. Physical affection and comforting others was still foreign to him as much as it was to you. You supposed… you could forgive him for being late. He raised an eyebrow as you giggled in his chest.  As he said, the night was young. You had till midnight. He was here now. That was all that mattered. 

“May I have this dance?” you asked.

He took your hand without hesitation, whisking you away beneath the moonlight. 

He loves me.

Bonus:

“Sorry about all of that,” you cooed, hugging him close as you two swayed in the serene rose garden.

“All of what?” he asked, spinning you around.

You stepped on his toes. He smiled, trying not to grimace.

“You know what.”

[viennasneverland]

"Azriel slept better after talking to Gwyn"

Hum....no (???) he didn't, he slept "as well as expected"....not to mention: bad

"Azriel's shadows danced for Gwyn"

Have you readed? Readed It well? Cause it's written it dances when she sings, there's a whole ass training scene and there's no mention of Azriel's shadows dancing again. There's also all acosf scenes where Azriel and Gwyn are in the same scene and there's not any mention of the tango shadows by anyone. If it was important because of Gwyn it would be mentioned because of her, but they just response when she's singing, and it would be a romantic thing, sure,..... if Nesta's Power haven't also answered to her voice

Cmon guys, think about it

You have WaA, a nessian bonus scene, and you saw the result being Cassian's moody behavior in ACOMAF cause he was rejected by Nesta.

In Azriel's bonus chapter there's just one thing reflected after: Azriel's "stone face who wouldn't give not even one smile to Nesta" and he throwing rocks mixed with snow to Rhys. If Gwyn made him so relaxed and light why was him like this? I have the answer for you: CAUSE HE WASN'T RELAXED AND LIGHTED. He was, as he said, distracted (and grateful for that), but after all, the situation (being ordered to be away from Elain), pissed him off.

Please, read what is written. Please, don't change to fit your crack ship.... CAUSE IT PISSES ME OFF AND IN THE END I WILL BE THE ONE THROWING ROCKS AT MY CELLPHONE EVERYTIME I READ YOUR NONSENSE

[haworthiaace]

I’ve recently discovered that writing may be a little bit fun so. Here’s something for @shadeswift99 ‘s ghostbusters au (this post right here) :]

Tango didn’t believe in ghosts.

Why would he? There had never been any reputable, scientific evidence, and despite what his friends have told him countless times, ‘feeling a presence’ didn’t count as scientific evidence. However, his conviction didn’t seem to deter Zed and Impulse at all, who regularly barged into Tango’s apartment with their latest ‘discovery’. 

“Tango, guess what?” The sound of his poor, battered door slamming open once again and Zed’s excited voice disrupted the peaceful silence that had dominated the room for the past few hours.

“Hi Zed, Impulse, good to see you guys too.” Tango didn’t have to look up from his laptop to know that Impulse was standing right behind Zed, too polite to barge in without some sort of invitation. Not polite enough to stop Zed, unfortunately.

Zedaph didn’t even acknowledge the greeting, continuing his thought the second he flopped down into a worn armchair. “Impulse and I were talking, and then we got on the topic of those guys who visit haunted places and hunt ghosts, and then I said ‘Well why can’t we do that?’” He sat up, eagerly looking at Tango, who could not for the life of him figure out what the man wanted from him.

Impulse, in his infinite kindness, noticed his friend’s confusion and filled in the gaps Zed had left in his excitement. “Zed and I want to start a ghost hunting business, and we need you to join us because you have a car.” He sat down much more gracefully than his companion, holding a small bowl of chips stolen from Tango’s kitchen.

The room was silent for a moment. “Hold on, what?”

“We-“

“No, I heard you, I’m just not exactly sure why you would think to ask me.” Tango never went on their other adventures no matter how many times they asked. After all, he had better things to do than chase wind and broken air conditioning, and it was dangerous to set a precedent. “You’re the ones who believe in all that fancy mystical stuff, not me.”

Zed stopped bouncing, and Impulse quickly brought forward the second, more practical half of their pitch. “We know you don’t believe in any of this, but even if ghosts aren’t real-”

“Which they are!”

“Right. A lot of people believe they are real, and will pay good money for some help handling them.” 

Tango pondered this for a moment, making A Face for effect that made Zed giggle. Impulse had a good point, as was often the case unfortunately. Tango didn’t have a stable source of income at the moment, and an actual business could help quite a bit with groceries, especially if Impulse was going to keep stealing his snacks every time he came over. And working with friends would certainly be a bonus.

“What the hell, I’m in. Worst case scenario nothing happens and I laugh at you two.” Zedaph lit up like an over ambitious Christmas tree, resuming his bouncing with even more enthusiasm than before. 

Impulse just grinned, “And best case scenario you finally figure out the truth.”

“In your dreams, Impy.”

-

Tango opened his eyes, and found himself lying prone on the floor. What was I doing? The dark, musty room plus Impulse and Zed looming over him struck a bell in his head.

They were on a job, as was the case most nights. Why Zed and Impulse insisted they do this at night was beyond him, but that was an argument for another time. A nonsensical ventilation system and a questionable foundation caused strange happenings in the home, and the trio had been called in. But even Tango had to admit this house was strange, and different from the others. The moment he entered, the hairs on the back of his neck raised, and he felt a chill. Their whole visit had been shadowed by a sense of wrongness. 

“...Tango? Is that you?” Impulse’s voice broke the silence, with a hint of uncertainty that shouldn’t have been there.

“Yeah dude, of course it’s me. What happened?” Tango groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head spun, but he forced himself to stand.

Zed raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, I know this is going to sound really strange, but we think you got possessed?” 

Tango stared blankly at his two friends, and finally through the fog in his head realized they were dead serious. “Really guys? Come on, I know you believe in ghosts and all but isn’t possession a little bit much?”

Impulse started wringing his hands, and Zed spoke up, quieter than before. Neither one would make eye contact. “You… you weren’t yourself Tango. You looked angry, and kept throwing things.” Huh. Well that explained the broken furniture scattered around the room, and why Tango was so sore. “You knocked over a salt shaker, then suddenly passed out when the salt touched you.”

Tango was fairly certain he had never done that before. He was unnerved by the gap in his memory, but he tucked that into a corner of his mind to unpack later. Right now he had to convince these two knuckleheads that he wasn’t possessed.

“I haven’t eaten today, it was probably that.” They gaped at him, but whether it was because of his adamant skepticism or his poor eating habits Tango couldn’t tell. “It might be like… a low blood sugar thing.” Tango tried his best to be nonchalant, but his friends didn’t look relieved.

Zed stood up, the worry in his face replaced with anger as he crossed the room in long strides towards the door. “I really can’t believe you. Here we are, worried for your life and soul, and you call it low blood sugar.”

That wasn’t meant to happen. Tango rushed to fix his mistake. “I- I’m sorry man. I know you guys are worried, but I’m fine now! Whatever it was, it seems to be gone.” A small smile crossed his friend’s face, and Impulse moved to stand behind Tango, clapping a hand on his back.

“All that matters is you’re alright. Anyway, I think the salt scared the ghost off, so how about we head home, get some post mission pizza for that low blood sugar of yours?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Tango grimaced at the disaster that he had apparently made. “How about we tell the homeowners that the ghost did this?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ironic thing is that he wasn’t even on a mission at the time.

Tango was on his way home, cradling a bandaged hand that he would surely have to explain the second he walked into the apartment he shared with his business partners. His mind repeated the events of the past hour as he made his way down the sidewalk.

He had been browsing a thrift store, searching for a new pair of boots after his old pair wore out. He loved them dearly, but when the sole ripped off for the third time, Impulse drew the line and sent him off to find a new pair. His wandering/ moping brought him to One Man’s Trash: a rickety, rundown looking thrift store that was absolutely perfect. In Tango’s experience, all the good stuff got snatched up too fast at more popular stores, and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with this place other than its appearance. 

He delicately pushed the door open, greeted by a dusty smell mixed with cleaning supplies, and  a loud, clear bell that was hung above the doorway. The interior walls were plastered with peeling, faded orange wallpaper that Tango guessed was at least 50 years old. They were decorated with dozens of picture frames containing vintage photos and postcards, each with its own price tag. The grey, carpeted floor complained where he stepped, and it was covered in tables with items for sale. It seemed people donated plenty, but never shopped here. Nobody was attending the front counter, which wasn’t a surprise for a place that probably only saw one customer a month, so Tango began his quest for the perfect pair.

After spending a good hour searching every nook and cranny of the disorganized sales floor, he found a sturdy pair of black leather boots hidden underneath a table, almost knee high with a one inch heel. They were covered in buckles and looked like they would be featured in a suburban parent’s nightmares. In the entire time he was there nobody had come out of the doorway in the back of the room, which Tango admitted was a tad strange. He even checked the sign in the front window to be sure, but the word ‘open’ was still lit up in neon just as it had been when he entered. He tapped the bell next to the cash register, but after a minute still nobody had arrived. He rang it again, and once more after that, still with no answer.

“Hello?” He tried, walking towards the only other doorway in the room, searching for a break room or something where the cashier might be. Maybe they fell asleep. “Is anyone here? I’ve got this pair of boots I want to buy.” 

Still no answer.

He felt awful about invading the back room like this, but he was growing concerned. What if something had happened to the cashier? What if someone was in trouble? So, he pushed open the door, and found himself staring up at someone; a man with frazzled black hair and a brown suit that looked about as old as the wallpaper. 

Except he could also see the break room. Through the man’s chest.

He blinked rapidly, trying to process what was certainly just a trick of the light. It was obviously just a shadow on the fabric that looked like a couch behind him. A very detailed couch, covered in a floral pattern with two overstuffed pillows on either end. The strange man didn’t say a word, simply staring at Tango with an increasingly malicious grin, watching his mind try to wrap itself around what he was seeing. 

Then, without warning, he snatched Tango by the wrist, spinning him around and leaving bleeding scratches where the man’s claw-like nails had torn into Tango’s skin. Before he could even register the pain, the man charged at him and Tango braced for impact, but felt a deep chill instead. It was the coldest he had ever felt, as if every winter from the next hundred years had come to take out their wrath on one man. 

It passed half a second later, leaving Tango shivering and clutching his bleeding hand. The man was gone. “How did he- oh shit.”

Sometimes, there comes a time when a person must accept defeat. When they’ve lost the battle, and are left with nothing but their pride. As Tango kneeled on the carpet, frozen to his core and holding his bleeding hand, the boots long forgotten, he could only see one logical explanation for… all of this. 

“...Ghosts are actually real.”

So it turned out that the shopkeeper had to step out for a few hours due to an emergency, and also that ghosts exist and haunt thrift stores.

The cashier was really quite nice about the whole ordeal, offering Tango some first aid and the boots he found for free as an apology for their otherworldly roommate’s “antisocial habits.” As Tango walked home, boots in his uninjured hand, he had another revelation, albeit not as earth shattering as the first. He didn’t actually have to tell Zed and Impulse what happened while he was out. It would keep them humble to have someone constantly denying the validity of their work, and Tango may or may not have found it a little, tiny bit funny. He was doing them a service, really! Tango grinned to himself, delighted by how much his friends would appreciate* his help**.

*they did not appreciate this, and were in fact greatly annoyed

**this was not remotely helpful to anyone

-

Tango woke up, finding himself on the floor as he now did more often than most people would consider normal. Then again, most people weren’t an optimal vessel for otherworldly entities. This time though… something was wrong. More wrong than usual.

He was cold, despite the thick summer air, and he felt like his lungs had shrunk to a quarter of their size, his breath coming in short puffs. He noticed that he was in the same room from before he lost consciousness, and that it was in the same condition he had left it in, which didn’t happen often. Usually ghosts took advantage of corporeal hands to do some property damage, but this time the modern, expensive looking couches were thankfully unbroken, same with the family pictures on the walls. 

... What was on his face? Tango felt a liquid slowly running down his cheek. Had the ghost been crying? That was a first. He reached a hand up to wipe away the tears and saw a flash of red. There was a smudge of blood on his left hand, but no injury.

He felt dread settle in his stomach, and slowly reached up with his clean right hand to touch what he had assumed was tears.

Sure enough, his fingertips came away red. “What the hell?” He asked, to nobody in particular.

“Tango! Oh my god, are you alright? Of course not, why am I asking that?” Zedaph burst into the living room, seemingly invited by Tango’s outburst. He grimaced at the floor and Tango followed his gaze to see a concerningly large pool of blood surrounding Tango. This would certainly explain why he felt so much worse than usual. “It threatened you and forced us to leave but then I didn’t leave and I snuck some sage into the room and then I heard a thud and-”

“Zed, slow down.” Tango groaned, holding his spinning head in his hands. “I can’t process a word you’re saying right now.” 

Zed seemed to remember his friend’s recent blood loss, looking sheepish. “Right, my bad. It’s a long story, but we need to get you to a hospital or something. Not to be rude, but you look awful.” 

“It’s alright, I feel awful so at least I match on the outside.” Zed started to walk across the room, trying not to step in the puddle whilst also trying to help Tango up.

Eventually he managed to pull Tango up by the hand, holding him steady when he started to sway.

Impulse greeted them with relief when they made it out to the car, Tango leaning on Zed’s shoulder, but he looked horrified once Tango’s face came into view. “Oh my god!” He covered his mouth with both hands, then immediately dropped them as though he had been rude. “Oh man, sorry about that, it’s just- your eyes…”

Tango shrugged, “Yeah, they seem to have sprung a leak.” 

“Well I knew about that, but…” His eyebrows furrowed as even he, a believer in almost anything supernatural, was confused about whatever disturbing thing this ghost had done. “They changed colour? They’re red now. Like, the whole eye, even the white bit.”

“Cool.”

Zed piped up from his position under Tango’s arm. “‘Cool’? What do you mean ‘cool’?” He did his best to make air quotes without dropping his friend, who had clearly gone mad. “You literally got possessed and started bleeding from your eyes, and now they’ve changed colour, how is any of that cool?”

Tango, in his noble quest to annoy his friends, just shrugged again. “Probably burst a blood vessel or something, and it got in my eyes. Man, why is it always ghosts with you two?”

A Look came across Impulse’s face. Probably Zed’s too, but Tango couldn’t exactly see him. It was a Look that meant Tango had completely baffled them with his supposed obliviousness, which had only happened a few glorious times.

“Ok he’s clearly delirious, we should take him to the hospital.” Impulse pushed himself off the hood of the car and opened the back door, placing a towel on the seat. After all, this was Tango’s car and Impulse figured he probably wouldn’t appreciate blood all over the back seat.

“I mean, regardless of his bullshit he definitely needs to see a doctor, there was a lot of blood on that floor.” Zed quickly followed, helping Tango into the backseat then sliding in next to him. Tango supposed it was to keep an eye on him, which was great because he felt ready to pass out again.

On the bright side, he caught a glimpse of his eyes in the rear view mirror and they did in fact look cool as hell. Of course, Zed and Impulse later disagreed because it could have been a ‘serious medical issue,’ but that was their problem.

-

At the end of a very long and very strange day, the trio sat around on a variety of couches and chairs in their living room, four half eaten pizzas scattered about the room. Although, they weren’t exactly a trio anymore - a new member had decided to join them regardless of what Tango, Zed, and Impulse had to say about it. An entity (for he surely wasn’t human) known only as the Beetlejhost sat cross legged in an armchair, looking completely at home despite only having been there for about two hours.

If asked, none of the ghost hunters could precisely recall how the Beetlejhost had joined them. One moment they were on a job like any other, the next they were being insulted up and down by a ghost in a black and white striped suit. After that first encounter he hadn’t left them alone, despite their efforts including but not limited to: every ghost busting method they had ever heard of, and others that they hadn’t. 

Impulse sat up straight for no discernable reason, smacking the arms of his chair and startling everyone except for, of course, the Beetlejhost. He turned to Tango with a shit eating grin, which was absolutely a cause for concern.

“Hey Tango?” Uh oh. If the grin wasn’t bad enough, the singing tone in his voice solidified that whatever thought just entered his mind was truly devious. That or incredibly embarrassing. Maybe both. “It seems like our new roommate has a few… strange qualities. Supernatural, one could say.” He looked expectantly at Tango, that awful grin never leaving his face.

Uh oh.

Tango supposed that the jig was up. It had been a good run, he supposed. “Yeah, whatever. Ghosts are real, you happy?”

Just because he was busted didn’t mean he couldn’t sulk, so he crossed his arms and sank into his chair, completing the look by sticking out his bottom lip like a child who was just told ‘no.’

Zed piped up from where the others had assumed he was napping, not bothering to remove his face from where it was planted on the couch. “Absolutely.” The word was muffled, but it got his point across. Meanwhile, Impulse was smugly eating another slice of room temperature pepperoni pizza. Vindicated at last, after over a year of exasperated arguments and comical obliviousness. 

“I hope you know I’m only admitting it because I’m afraid of what the Beetlejhost would do to convince me.” Tango gave up on his sulking and walked across the room to the box of cheese pizza precariously balanced on the edge of the coffee table. The man (or ghost? I suppose one can be both.) in question was looking off into the distance, lost in assuredly horrible thoughts. “And for the record, I figured the whole ghost thing out months ago, I just really liked annoying you guys.”

“Months ago?” Impulse held his pizza inches away from his mouth, the grin wiped off his face. “Are you telling me that when a ghost literally put you in the hospital and you still denied it, that was all just to annoy us?”

Now it was Tango’s turn to be smug. “It worked, didn’t it?”

-

So no, Tango didn’t believe in ghosts. But after everything he’d seen, he sure as hell believed in them now.

[sapphirecobalt-1]

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” destiel, for the prompts! <3

The paint’s supposed to go where?” + Destiel, courtesy of @contemplativepancakes. Thank you so much for your patience <3

Rated M(ish). 2.5k

"The paint's supposed to go where?" Dean asks, shooting Cas a look that's half confused, half incredulous, and half horrified, which is one too many halves but Dean's never been good enough at math to care, especially not when his roommate of several years is staring at him like he’s stupid but doesn’t want to say anything out of misplaced politeness (it’s okay, Cas, Dean knows he’s an idiot, no need to sugar coat it).

Cas scrunches up his brows and it’s clear as day he’s confused about Dean’s confusion. "On...your...body?" He asks more than says, speaking slowly and it's a testament to how well Dean knows his best friend that he understands the meaning behind Cas' words. Is this okay? Are you sure you want to do this?

Dean glances back and forth between Cas and the paintbrush in his hand. “I thought you wanted to paint me?” he asks, uncertainty coloring his tone.

“No, I asked if I could paint on you.” Cas clarifies.

Dean doesn’t know jack shit about art, it’s why he’s a STEM major, but now he’s starting to wonder if he shouldn’t do that either, because really, who in their right mind would trust a person who can’t tell the difference between painting someone and painting on someone with an electrical system? Not Dean, that’s for damn sure.

“You want to...paint on me?” Dean repeats back to him, slowly, and as an added bonus even points to himself as if Cas could possibly be referring to anyone else in the empty studio.

Cas blinks. Then, he nods, patience and exasperation fighting for dominance on his features. In the end, understanding tinged with disappointment wins as he says, “if you’re not comfortable with this, I understand...”

“No,” Dean’s mouth blurts out before his brain has time to process Cas’ comment. “I said I’d help you with your project and I will.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks hopefully, fidgeting with the paintbrush in his hands.

No. “’Course I am.”

Cas’ face lights up in appreciation and the butterflies in Dean’s stomach flutter up a storm cause they clearly have nothing better to do. Still, the look on Cas’ face when Dean accepts his challenge is enough to put the misunderstanding behind them and let go of his uncertainty.

Until it’s time for Cas to paint on Dean.

When Cas originally asked Dean to help him with his assignment, Dean thought he’d pose for a couple hours and Cas would paint him like a 16th century monarch (never mind that Dean wanted Cas to paint him like one of his French girls). And he was cool with that, hell, he even looked forward to it (spending time with Cas, that is, not holding the same position for who knows how long). Dean even did some stretches and practiced holding various positions for several minutes.

Nothing could have prepared him for Cas scooping up some brown (”it’s not brown, Dean, it’s called ‘Burnt Umber’”, whatever the hell that means) paint on his brush, walking into Dean’s personal space like he owned it (he did, good God he did), and painting broad strokes onto Dean’s pale, freckled chest. Dean shivers the second the cold paint touches his skin and Cas barely gives him time to adjust to the temperature and weird sensation of bristles on his skin before he goes to town painting...whatever the hell he’s painting.

Cas furrows his brows and Dean watches him stick his tongue out in concentration and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“So, uh, this paint safe for people?” Dean asks fighting a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature of the paint and everything to do with the way Cas gently places his hand on Dean’s waist as he paints jagged lines across Dean’s chest.

Cas pauses to look up at Dean. “Of course.” he answers. “I would never ask this of you if I knew it wasn’t safe.”

Dean distractedly nods his understanding, his attention split between the sparkle in Cas’ clear blue eyes and the unfamiliar yet warm feeling ballooning in his chest. He looks away and forces himself to pay attention to his surroundings, afraid he might say something stupid if he continues staring into Cas’ eyes like that.

As far as college level art classes go, this one’s no different than most. It’s got several easels, canvases, paint brushes, and tubes of paint scattered all over the floor, tables, and open drawers. The sunlight streaming from the three floor-to-ceiling windows light up the room more than the dollar store bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The dark grey walls are littered with murals in various stages of completion: sketched out, drawn, half painted and painted. Dean briefly wonders where the artists are and why they never finished before his eyes land on the creepy skeleton in the far right corner. It doesn’t have eyes, but Dean swears Michaelangel-Bones (as the art students named it for reasons Dean will never understand) stares at him.

Having had his fill of the offending decoration in the corner, Dean turns to face Cas only to frown when he doesn’t immediately spot his friend. Motion captures his attention and he looks down to see Cas, on his knees, in front of Dean, getting some green paint before carefully painting small strokes across Dean’s stomach, one hand on his waist.

Dean’s brain stops working and his heart, doing the exact opposite, pounds so fast he’s surprised it doesn’t beat out of his chest like they do in cartoons. But why would it, when it’s too busy pumping blood down south?

Dean tears his eyes away from the incredibly attractive sight of Cas on his knees and faces Michaelangel-Bones as if the skeleton’s gonna help him keep it in his pants. Although, weirdly enough, thinking about the disturbing skeleton whose not-eyes follow him around the studio actually does help Dean squash down his inappropriate thoughts about his roommate. Just to be on the safe side, he conjures a few very unsexy images (the time he accidentally walked in on his parents doing the horizontal tango, him and Charlie pigging out at the local buffet, stuffing their mouths and making gross faces at one another) all in an effort to get Little Dean under control.

Once his thoughts, feelings, heart, and Little Dean are all under control, he risks glancing down at Cas.

Cas who’s carrying on, painting God-knows-what on Dean’s stomach, casual as can be, completely oblivious to Dean’s internal monologue, seemingly unaffected by being practically face-to-face with Little Dean. He’s staring at Dean’s pudgy stomach with the same intensity as earlier when he was painting Dean’s chest.

All of Dean’s hard (heh) work making sure Little Dean behaves himself almost goes out the window when he notices Cas is sticking his tongue out a little in concentration and Dean wishes he was using his tongue for something else.

Dean berates himself for going down that road before thinking unsexy thoughts again, Don’t think about that, think about the time we didn’t realize Miracle was a girl until she had puppies. He better get his thoughts about Cas under control before he runs out of unsexy thoughts and Cas ends up coming face-to-face with Dean’s feelings for him. The last thing Dean wants is to make things awkward between them by being forced to admit he’s been in love with his best friend for years because said friend notices his boner.

"Done with the front," Cas chimes in. Thank God, Dean thinks, the torture is over. Dean's heart rate begins to slow down a bit and his thoughts settle. He relaxes.

That is, until Cas says, "Now it's time for the back," his voice a bit deeper than usual, giving Dean a nervous yet appreciative smile and Dean's heartbeat spikes all over again.

He returns Cas' smile, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as his friend did while trying not to let his mind run wild with possible explanations for Cas' nervousness.

Instead, Dean focuses on Cas and his friend walks around him, deliberately not facing Dean, squeezes out some light blue and some yellow paint onto his clear, paint-covered pallet, cleans his current brush and gets a new one.

Dean clears his throat. "So, uh, whatcha workin' on?" He asks in an effort to distract himself, fidgeting with the hem of his jeans. It's not that he's not interested in what Cas is doing, whatever it is he's doing, it's just that he really needs a distraction from the heat of Cas' hand on his waist.

"I'm painting a tree on your chest and the rest of the garden on your back." Cas responds just as his brush begins to paint long, broad strokes across his tailbone.

Dean shivers from the touch which only makes Cas squeeze his waist and now Dean's shuddering for a completely different reason.

"Dean, I need you to stay still, please." Cas reminds him, stern but not unkindly, pausing his process while Dean gets himself under control.

"Sorry." Dean replies. Once Dean is still, Cas continues painting across his back. It tickles a little as the bristles leave trails of cold, wet, and slightly slimy paint over his muscles.

Dean feels more than sees Cas’ precise brushing motions, feels Cas’ hot breath heat up the goosebumps adorning his skin and his breath hitches.

Cas stops painting.

Dean looks over his shoulder to find Cas already staring at him. He meets Cas’ gaze and swallows. “Everything alright, Cas?” Dean speaks softly into the space between them, which, Dean notices, isn’t much.

“Dean, I...” Cas trails off.

This close, Dean can see his friend’s dilated pupils and he’s certain his are, too. “Yeah, Cas?” Dean asks softly and tentatively, worried that if he speaks too loudly it’ll ruin the moment between them, pop it like a bubble. He swallows again, somewhere in the back of his mind wondering when his mouth got so dry.

Cas responds by leaning into Dean’s space and all his thoughts about his feelings for his roommate ruining their friendship fly out the window as Cas lightly rakes his nails up Dean’s side, over his shoulder blade, and down his arm.

Dean shudders in response, loving the feel of Cas’ hand on his body, although he wishes the guy would put both hands on him.

Cas’ hand slides down his Dean’s arm slowly, as if afraid going any faster might scare Dean off. 

Once Dean feels Cas’ hand in his own, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand as if to say I’m not going anywhere.

The soft look in Cas’s eyes becomes so intense, Dean’s surprised his pupils aren’t heart-shaped like in cartoons. Nevertheless, he returns Cas’ heart eyes and he swears he stops breathing and his heart stops beating in his chest as the world around them disappears.

No more sunlight streaming through the windows, no more Michael Angel-bones staring creepily at Dean, no more cold, wet paint drying slowly on his skin; only him and Cas and the small space between them that keeps getting smaller and smaller until their lips brush.

He distantly hears Cas’ paintbrush clatter as it falls on the floor but Cas runs his now empty hand through Dean’s hair and nothing else matters except closing the all but nonexistent space between them.

He’s not sure who moves first, only that one second there is a space between them and the next second Cas’ chapped, pillow-y lips are on his.

The angle is awkward and hurts Dean’s neck but it’s worth it because the kiss is sweet and gentle and everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

They part only when they run out of breath and Dean rests his forehead on Cas’. They keep their eyes closed a little while longer, still a bit dazed from their kiss.

After a few moments, Dean slowly turns around. He opens his eyes and takes in the sight of Cas' unruly hair, heart eyes, the tiny blush coloring his cheeks, and his spit-slicked lips. Gazing into Cas' eyes, Dean finally understands what that funny yet warm feeling ballooning in his chest is.

Love.

"I love you," Dean blurts out, his mouth moving faster than his brain can keep up. He looks down at Cas' shirt collar, unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what he might see.

"I love you, too," Dean looks up at Cas' wavering tone. Cas' eyes are watery and Dean wipes the single tear streaming down his face.

"You - you do?" Dean whispers in disbelief. Somebody pinch him because he must be dreaming if his hot best friend actually reciprocates. "L-love me? Like, love me, love me?" Dean clarifies. It's stupid and he's well aware it is but he has to know, he has to make sure Cas doesn't mean it in the friend way.

"Yes, Dean," Cas answers in a steadier voice with a chuckle and Dean's heart soars. "I love you, love you."

Dean wraps his arms around Cas' neck and pulls him in for a desperate kiss.

Cas must have been expecting it because he wastes no time wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and giving as good as he’s getting.

They make out for several minutes, only pausing to breathe, letting their lips do all the talking, their kisses saying everything they've never dared speak out loud.

Eventually, Cas breaks the kiss and Dean whimpers at the loss of contact. As they separate, Cas’ shirt peels off of Dean’s chest, which feels really tacky. Dean and Cas wear matching grimaces as they take in the paint on Cas’ shirt. It’s the mirror image of the tree and grass painted on Dean’s chest except the edges are smeared making it look like a blurry photograph. 

Dean stares at Cas’ shirt a little longer before the realization that he ruined Cas’ painting hits him. The color drains from his face as he looks at Cas with wide eyes. “Your painting, Cas, man, I am so sorry —”

Cas meets his look and his grimace gives way to a small smile and he lifts one shoulder in a shrug, as if to say what can you do? “Dean,” he interrupts, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I ruined your —” Dean tries.

“Dean, it’s alright.” He reassures. “You didn’t ruin anything.” A pause. “And if I recall correctly —” he smirks as his cheeks fill with a rosy pink color, “— I am equally to blame for ruining my project.”

Dean glances at Cas’ discarded paintbrush on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck at the memory of them making out moments ago. “Still…” Unconvinced and a bit guilty despite Cas’ reassurance, Dean prompts.

“Besides,” Cas grabs his hands. “I have more important things to do.” Cas gives him a very heated and suggestive look. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean swallows, hard, and nods a response, speechless at Cas’ words. He’s never really seen this side of his roommate and best friend but he is not complaining and plans on taking full advantage of this newfound discovery. 

And in the middle of the day, in the middle of the art classroom, he does just that, Cas’ painting long forgotten in favor of doing another kind of project.

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Ridiculous Optimization: The Art of Finding the Right Tool for the Wrong Situation

Chapter Five: THE INFINITY WARDROBE

Three dances.

He could do this.

He hated that he  had  to do this, but he could. The taste of alcohol on his tongue, its burn at the back of his throat... they were tempting, but he knew better than to rely on them. He never tasted any that he hadn't seen served himself, and in a function such as this one, it meant he had only ever carried a single glass throughout.

His lips pinched together, remember the last time he'd forgotten to keep a close eye on his drinks.

A cold grip closed over his guts. Nope. He shouldn't go there. Not the right time. Every notable noble in the kingdom was watching his every move.

Warriors had busied himself teaching his brothers how to best deal with the nobility at his Queen's gala for the past two days. He could say he was proud of Hyrule's and Wind's progress in particular. Neither had had much manners or interest in them before and not one lady had fainted from their crude or frank behaviors. He also had to admire Four's control in accepting the few pinches on the cheeks he got for being so fun-sized.

  I'll give him a bigger part in our next plans of attack. That's a ton of resentment to vent. Whatever monster we face next will be very dead.

“And I was just telling our dear Hero Link here how-” Lady Farosi bragged to Lord this and Lady that and Warriors carefully agreed at all the right places.

He used to like these things. Used to be proud of his role.

'It's you! All this time, the deaths, the battles, it was all because  she  wanted  you !'

Three dances. He had given the first one to Zelda, of course. No one could ever protest that choice of partner. The Queen and her knight. The most important figures in the War of Eras. A splendid couple, though he could not tell if Zelda felt any attraction towards him, the way he...

Warriors shook his head, made an excuse and stauntered to the buffet table, under which he thought he'd seen Legend hide. Two more dances. Then I'm free to leave. Hide in the stables. Play a game with the guards or maybe pay back Twilight for our last match.

He offered Sky a smile when his brother offered him a plate with some meat skewers and a piece of cheese. His stomach protested the very idea of food at the moment, but he appreciated the thoughtfulness. He forced himself to nibble on some of the cheese. It gave him an excuse not to talk to Lady Lanayrou. To dodge her attempt at linking their arms.

  Second dance will be soon.

He scanned the crowd for a proper candidate that wouldn't be draping themselves all over him.

General Impa met his gaze over the crowd of mingling nobles, and his desperation must have shown on his face for she scowled something fierce at him. Right. Sheika. Security detail. Not the kind of person that should be on the dance floor.

With a sigh, Warriors resigned himself to letting whichever lady found him first have first right at a dance with him. Hopefully they'd listened if he said-

“Hey,” said a slightly  off  woman's voice, “do you think you could show me the steps?”

Warriors froze.

A slim, pale Hylian in a turquoise gerudo outfit stared patiently at him. Scars peeked out from under a tasteful veil that hid their chin, mouth and nose, leaving only startling blue eyes. He knew both the veil and the eyes.

Oh.

His gaze flickered down to the extensive network of spider web scars on the sides of the Hylian's torso. The outfit left little to the imagination. It was on full display.

For a second, he struggled to breath, realizing the extent of his brother's action. Warriors needed to apologize so damn much!

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and he hurried to blink them away, taking the offer with as much gratitude as he could show his brother. Together, they reached the dance floor, and Warriors barely noticed the few times his feet were stepped on. At this point, Wild could stab him and he'd be thankful. Just swaying to the rhythm of the music and making jokes at the expense of the obnoxious people around them was one of the best dances he ever went through.

And then, someone reminded him just where he was.

“Who's this pasty ruin?” Lady Dynral loudly whispered behind her hand fan.

Twilight, who had just previously been attempting to convince a fair maiden that he was mute, tragically incapable of dancing and awaited in a backwater hut where he'd forgotten to turn off the stove, froze.

(It was no secret that Twilight couldn't  quite pull off the neutral look of disappointment patented by the old man. It was a decent attempt, but they all had earned the original too often for the off-brand version to work.)

(What he  could  however pull off was the deadly stillness of a predator stalking a prey that had been just too loud. Eyes that promised death. Eventually.)

The chill alone made hair rise on the back of Warriors' neck and he was barely in the general vicinity of the lady. Now that was some killer instinct. The blatant bloodlust made his chest pang with nostalgia.

Goddesses he'd take another war over this...

However, seeing Lady Dynral's face drain of blood like this filled him with a singular vindictive happiness.

“Never seen Lady Dynral flee a function this fast before,” Warriors chuckled, twirling Wild at the tip of his arm for another round. “Our farmer's got your honor' back, huh?”

The veil hid Wild's face, but not the curious look in his eyes, nor the faint tilt of his head. “He cares about you too,” he said, softly. “We all do, Warriors.”

Warriors couldn't speak with such a soft feeling warming his chest. Wild's fingers squeezed his hands, then let him go. The others all gave him subtle thumbs up throughout the crowd, encouraging him to stay strong in the face of this battle. Dozens of skirmishes flashed behind his eyes, memories where he stood back to back with them, brothers-in-arms before the forces of evil.

(Sky found him another plate, which he did eat this time. Twilight patted him in the back strong enough to make him stumble into a lord, and wasn't that a shame. 'Ah, my mightily sorries, your lordness!' and Hylia alone knew how he hadn't burst out laughing at that one. Wind subtly hinted at the possibility of skedaddling mid dance if things were needed. 'I can fake illness like you wouldn't believe, War'.')

Third dance.  And he had to admit, it looked like it wouldn't be so bad. Wild's assurance and the others' support made it feel smaller than before. He only needed to dance one more time, and he had had fun at a function for once...

Warriors almost felt serene when the bards on stage began plucking at their instruments' strings.

“Announcing... ” one of the guards near the door suddenly shouted, grinding the activities to a halt, “Princess Lore-al of Koholint!”

“What the f-?!” Wind's attempted swearing mercifully was stopped short by Sky's hand covering his mouth. No one even looked their way.

But Warriors deeply understood the sentiment.

The dress was impressive. Cut from the finest fabric, maybe enchanted silk, white with golden accents, and a gentle pink layer in the style of old royalty. Twenty or so rings, gold, silver and platinum, adorned the newcomers' fingers. Some inserted with gemstones, other carved with hylian runes.

Warriors really wanted to know where he'd gotten the tiara. He could have sworn...

Unlike Wild, Legend hadn't bothered with hiding his face. Or transforming it with make-up. He seemingly relied entirely on his natural twinkitude. And the lack of his ever present scowl that softened his looks considerably.

Amazingly, the haughty, confident expression on Legend's face wouldn't have been out of place amongst royalty. His absolute lack of shame as the rest of the ballroom stared did more for his credibility than an actual magic spell would have.

Warriors felt he ought to laugh, but he was too shell-shocked to do so.

Legend strutted, on high heels, right up to him, finally deigning to meet his eyes as if they were meeting for the first time.

“May I have the honor of this dance, Brave Hero?” Legend offered his hand, which Warriors contemplated like he would the head of a particularly vicious and hungry dodongo.

A long series of excuses came to mind, ranging from needing to go iron his wolf and thinking he heard Ganon call his name somewhere. Wild was one thing.  Legend though? The veteran gambling addict would extract so many favors out of this...

Of course, Legend had to raise an eyebrow like he was challenging him to a game of cuccos and Warriors' entire being tossed caution to the wind in a resounding, mental  fuck it .

With all the assurance of a chosen hero of Courage, he snatched a tulip from some of the nearby decoration, bit down on the stem and winked. “The honor shall be mine, Princess Lore-al.”

The musicians noticeable hesitated before starting to play again, and Warriors would have bet that his Queen had subtly instructed them to go on as normal.

The lascivious beat of a tango resonated around them. Legend's smirk widened, his eyelashes batting. “A red rupee you can't lift me one-handed over your head, Brave Hero.”

Despite himself, Warriors grinned. “You're on, Princess.”

 BONUS

“So... where was the old man tonight?” Wind asked as they made their way back to their suite in the guest wing of the castle. “Couldn't find him.”

Hyrule frowned. “Wait, seriously? You didn't notice him? He was really obvious.”

Wind exchanged a glance with Sky and both came to the same conclusion. “What?”

“He was standing next to some of the really snobbish nobles all night. Just looming. Like when he's really pissed at our collective stupidity. They kept glancing around like they were wondering.”

The Links exchanged glances, mulling their recollections of the evening and arrived to a collective conclusion.

“Bullshit.”

Hyrule gave them an uncertain look.

“Was it the mask?” he mumbled, suddenly unsure. “You guys noticed the freaky grayish purple mask, at least? Like, it hid his entire face, but that was still clearly him, body type and stance and all.”

They turned toward Twilight, who shrugged. “Magic?”

They agreed, Hyrule especially. “Magic.”

A few steps later, Wind broke the silence again.

“... So the old man spent the evening just putting the fear of evil spirits in the nobility?”

Warriors snickered.

“Sounds like him, alright,” Twilight drawled.

 DOUBLE BONUS

“You know...” Sky mused, his hands stilling over the piece of wood he was carving. “Maybe I should just ask Zelda to make it Hylian law to never hold balls.”

Four frowned and looked at Time. “Wouldn't that unraveled, you know, the fabric of time and space?”

Time shrugged, looking quite relaxed sitting by an old tree.

“Oh, right,” Sky mumbled, now hesitant.

Warriors fell on his knees. “I'd give you my firstborn, Sky! Please!”

Legend huffed. “Well, now he's gonna have to make those officials.”

Four put a hand on his forehead. “Does  that  count as a paradox? How many of those have we caused actually?”

“I meant Sky being straddled with Warriors' spawn, but sure. Tons of 'em.”

“HEY!”

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Parkson Mystery

Kate Denson x Jake Park

word count: 1,457

summary: none of Kate’s fans know how she met him. she was single one day, and had him all over her feed the next. they tried digging into his past and discovered he was working on Wall Street, until his digital footprint all but vanished, only again popping up on the internet’s radar when the songbird he spent so much time around made their relationship public. this is the true story of how america’s sweetheart and the mystery mogul first met... and then some.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this! this story was originally posted on the DBD Amino. imma be completely honest w u, I have NOT been a fan of Kate. I like using Boil Over when in swf and I enjoy the Horse Gorl™️ vibes but like. idk. ANYWAYS. as I wrote this story I actually made a bunch of personal headcanons and can now say, Parkson is an official ship for me! I can totally vibe w the dynamic they have in my head <3

masterlist

Jake Park wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d picked up a taste for country music after having an existential crisis; in fact, he wasn’t even ashamed to admit he’d become an avid fan of Kate Denson - not a stan, though. Sure, he followed her on his private Instagram, but that wasn’t to lurk on her sexy photoshoot pictures, it was just to keep track of release dates for her albums. Granted, it never is hard to admit things when you don’t have friends to admit them to in the first place.

Every now and then he’d wonder if he should stop being such a stiff and just call one of his old work buddies for a steak dinner, but a quick scroll through their text history would remind him why he left the world of Wall Street behind to begin with. Materialism pales in comparison to the simple things in life, he’d tell himself. His baser instincts had always told him life wasn’t meant to be complicated, which is why he shoved those instincts down for years.

But Kate’s music - the songs of America’s sweetheart - reminded him of what an uncomplicated life was. Hard, rewarding work all day, and well-deserved rest at night. So much more peaceful than the never-ending rat race of the big city. Her music spoke to his soul in ways nothing ever had before, calmed his spirit. It made him realize how lost he was. So, he ditched the concrete jungle in favor of the real deal. Now all he ever dreamed of was thanking the young star who set him on fire again, giving him a new lease on life.

When he heard she was touring in his city, he felt excitement seeping into his very essence. Finally, the chance he’d been hoping for. He supposed she would be bashful, tell him he did more to turn his life around than she did. She gave off that vibe, at least. But Jake knew the truth, and he hoped he might find a kindred spirit in her. He pulled out an old business suit, perfect for a rare night on the town, brought his expensive car out of the garage acting as its tomb, and purchased a VIP ticket.

He was the last person in line. When he got to the front, he was almost speechless at the sight of her - almost. He managed to get out, “Miss Denson, your music saved my life.” The star laughed shyly, like she was used to a different kind of person saying those words to her. Probably fourteen, wearing braces, just having gone through their emo phase before getting back in touch with their roots. All the kids go through them these days, after all. Even a little cousin of Jake’s did a few years back. While he pondered this, he couldn’t help but also ponder how her laugh sounded like wind chimes. How is it that musicians always sound so magical?

As Jake mused, Kate said something he couldn’t quite hear and began to walk away with her security detail, agent in tow. “Wait!” He called out, and she turned back to face him. He could tell her agent was thinking he was just a crazed country boy super fan. “What if I told you that your music is the reason why I walked away from Wall Street?”

Kate smiled, a little confused. “I’d say that explains the accent. What’s your name, mister...?”

“Park. Jake Park, to be exact, but you can call me Jake, if you’d like.”

She laughed again, this time with confidence unlike before, demeanor changing from wary to businesslike. Or... something else. Jake couldn’t quite place it. “Well, Jake, I have a burning question for you: Why would my music make you give up a career like that?” She broke away from her entourage to come closer.

“We could discuss it over dinner, if you’d like?” Jake offered, the old swagger from his uptown days making a guest appearance. Sure, he wasn’t working numbers under uppity snobs to get a bigger Christmas bonus anymore, but he still knew how to play poker. If Kate’s eyes were of any indication, his gut told him he may have just been dealt a winning hand.

Kate accepted before her agent could intervene or protest, his eyes turning into slits. Probably worried Jake’s background with money and marketing could put him out of a job. Maybe he was right. “I’d love to get to know my most interesting fan. Might as well put that Wall Street money to use, huh?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

Since that day, their relationship as business partners, friends, and eventually more, blossomed. Kate dropped her greedy agent and management team for the generous man who became her best friend. Jake used his book smarts and savvy money skills to help lower Kate’s touring costs, made her performances more accessible to *all* of her fans, and helped her rake in extra profits from her music releases *and* with cheaper marketing. She spent less time in the studio and more time with him on their back porch as he sat and listened to her beautiful creations.

Truth be told, meeting Jake helped save Kate. Her old team had been stripping the life from her creativity, pushing for numbers rather than quality content. Having Jake work with her personally made everything so... simple. Working from home when making music, waking up to the sun dappling her skin through the the leaves of the trees, feeling the breeze on her face and his kisses on her fingers - it put the inspiration back into her music.

Her fans seemed to notice too, and they seemed to get a kick out of her sharing more about her life online, making theories about their relationship. Jake and Kate would scroll through the subreddit comments and laugh at the crazy ideas everyone had. Jake hadn’t laughed like that with someone in a long time. He hadn’t had a sense of humor in a long time, either.

When his family came calling, lecturing him about dropping his old career and this and that, he invited them over for dinner... and showed them that his and Kate’s retirement funds were already completed when she wasn’t looking. Their qualms ended after seeing the financial security they had, and seeing how calm Jake’s home life was. Sure, it was a strange change, but for once, Jake was happy, and seemed fulfilled. They didn’t always understand everything, but they understood enough.

Eventually, they visited Jake’s family in Korea, had their quiet wedding, nothing crazy, just something for family and close friends and nice rings, and did some remodeling with their own bare hands to create a cute nursery, complete with musical instruments and stuffed animals. When the delivery date came, Jake was a mess. He knew his wife would handle it like a champ, but his nerves were still through the roof. The labor came and went easily, and they came home with a beautiful baby girl.

“What are you going to call her?” Kate’s mother cooed as she obsessed over the newborn.

“Jake was thinking Yu-Hwa, and I was thinking Grace. He said I could have the first name if he had the middle name.” Kate mused. Jake was outside working on building a playground for their daughter. He’d insisted on getting an early start, arguing that his mother said time flies when raising a baby, no matter that their child was only a week old.

“Grace sounds beautiful. It matches your names, too. Oh, I’m going to have *so* much fun spoiling this little girl!” The new grandmother whisper-squealed, not wanting to wake the baby. “When are you going to have more?”

Kate laughed. “I told you mom, we just want the one.”

“For now.”

“For *forever,* mom.”

“What’s this about another child?” Jake asked, announcing his presence.

“Just Grama Denson getting a bit too ahead of herself.” Kate rolled her eyes.

Jake casually wrapped his arms around Kate, planting a kiss on her forehead before heading to the fridge to steal some lemonade. “I mean, between you and me, eomma, I wouldn’t mind making another baby, long as they keep turning out this cute.”

Kate gave him a quick flick to the forehead before he could dodge it. “Stop conspiring against me with my mother, sir. It takes two to tango.”

When the playground was finished, Kate did, in fact, gain another baby bump, watching happily as her husband helped their first waddler play outside. Grace Yu-Hwa Park and Dae-Hwan Lee Park, DaeDae for short, were lucky enough to have the best dad, Kate thought. Jake looked up at her, glowing in spite of the autumn cold, and thought the same thing.

separator images found here

[georgia-jereau]

Endings & Beginnings

TW: mentions of drinking, drugs, violence and theft

TLDR: Georgia remembers meeting Mal again and marrying him after 5 weeks, leaving her old life behind to make something new with him

Georgia drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she drove home from a meeting in New Orleans. She’d dropped Mal at the airport a few days ago, so hopefully he’d be back soon. It was a long ride, and a little bit of her wished she could have gone with him, but she couldn’t be in that house again with him. Still, maybe in a few months, they could take a trip like they’d used to. It would be nice to go and get lost with him again. Georgia had always liked herself better when she was with him, and recreating herself for the past seven years into a woman who could survive being alone hadn’t been easy, not when she knew the truth.

The song on the radio switches to something older and familiar that makes her think of crowded bars and Mal’s smile. God, they had been so young. Twenty years ago, she’d just flirted with a guy she liked... thrown herself at him a bit, really. Now here she was, waiting for him to come home to her, his initials tattooed into her skin, and his ring on her finger. A part of wonders, as she sometimes did, if she had known everything that was going to happen if she might have made different choices. A small smile pulls at her mouth. No. The answer was always no. If she was going to hell, she’d go with the comfort of knowing Mal would be right beside her.

Dallas, TX - August 4th, 2000 

Georgia checked her reflection in the motel bathroom’s mirror, fluffing her hair and turning slightly to see how she looked. Her hair was getting long again, nearly reaching the middle of her back even when it was all wavy from the Texas heat. She’d turned an oversized red bandana into a top, which was something she was pretty sure she’d stolen from a music video but she couldn’t remember which one. Paired with daisy dukes and red lipstick, she thought she looked pretty good, good enough that the bouncers wouldn’t give her fake id too thorough of an inspection anyway. Reaching into her backpack, she moves aside her dirty laundry to get at the stacks of cash beneath. Fifteen thousand in cash. God, her last ‘boyfriend’ had been a special kind of idiot, always talkin’ about conspiracy theories and how he’d been prepped for Y2K even though nothing had actually happened. It had taken practically nothing to starting convincing him that banks couldn’t be trusted. She’d hoped to wait around for twenty thousand, but she’d lost her patience with him. This would last her for a good long while. Peeling a few twenties away, she tucks them into her pockets and then stuffs the whole backpack into a hole she’d made in the boxspring.

The bar was just a few blocks down from the motel and Georgia didn’t mind the walk after days spent driving all the way from Kentucky. There were a few shouts, a few catcalls, but she ignored them. She was definitely not looking for a new mark tonight. Tonight, she was happy just to drink and listen to music and not have some man hanging all over her. Some people would probably think she was awfully cynical of men for being just 19 years old, after all she’d only been dealing with them for five years. Still, those were years she’d spent dating morons who she only entertained because of their money. That didn’t even cover all the other jobs she’d begun taking up on the side. If she became good enough at being a thief, maybe she could even drop the whole ‘boyfriends’ thing. She was very good at it though. Most men were very stupid, hell they didn’t even ask her how old she was half the time. For a brief moment, Georgia’s mind flickers to a moment a few years back, where a boyfriend had mentioned her ‘twentieth’ birthday was coming up soon and one of his, for lack of a better term, ‘friends’ had snorted quietly to himself, clearly laughing at the number.

“Somethin’ funny?” she’d asked, pulling herself up from where she’d been draped all over Tim, her latest, unwitting victim. The man just looked over at her and shook his head once.

“Not a thing, darlin’.” he’d said, at least that’s what he’d said out loud. His eyes had said ‘bullshit you are turning twenty’. That man had made her uneasy. Handsome, but he saw too much. Dark eyes, sweet smile. Trouble. 

She liked trouble.

As she’d suspected, the bouncers didn’t have a problem letting ‘Georgia Lyonett’ into the bar tonight, or whatever the hell ID she’d grabbed. The only stipulation she had with her fake identities was to always use the same first name. If she started creating fake personas every time she went somewhere she’d never remember who was supposed to call her what. Hopping onto a barstool she flashed a smile at the bartender, glancing briefly behind him at the array of liquor bottles. “Hey there.” she said brightly. “Jack and coke, please.”. The drink was delivered promptly, and she immediately turned away from the bartender, not interested in small talk. Across the room, on a small raised platform, a band was finishing setting up and the place was really beginning to fill. After downing the first drink pretty quickly, she ordered another and hopped off the barstool to wander around. 

The band was good, local guys covering the classics so nothing fancy, but fun all the same. A few guys asked her to dance, but she slipped away before they annoyed her and asked twice. Georgia preferred to just stay on the edges of the action tonight, in her own little world as she bobbed and nodded along with the music. Maybe she was thirsty or just getting tipsy, but the drinks were going down smooth. Navigating her way through the crowd, she made her way to the bar, squeezing herself between a couple and some guy in a biker’s cut so she could order her drink. “’Nother jack and coke please. Tall, double.” she added, figuring she might as well save herself a trip. The man beside her laughed quietly and she froze, recognition flaring to life in her mind.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh Peach?” Mal asked. Of course it was him. She didn’t even need to turn her head. He was the only person who’d called her that, as if ‘Georgia’ was too many syllables or something. The smile that appears on her face isn’t a conscious choice. She feels... nervous wasn’t the right word... excited maybe? Adrenaline was definitely happening. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she rested an elbow on the bar and finally looked at him. 

“Mal Winters.” she said, fighting to control her smirk. “The fuck are you doing in Dallas?”

“Visiting. Where’s Tim?”

“Haven’t seen him in years.” Georgia admitted casually as her drink was handed to her and she took a sip. Mal adjusted himself to face her a bit more and Georgia felt her heart rate quicken. It wasn’t fair for a guy who looks this good to look at her like that. Normally, if she were looking to find a new job she’d be a bit more sober and a bit less, well, herself. Luckily, she had enough money right now, that she didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but her which was good, because she had a feeling Mal could see through her bullshit a little too easily for her liking.

“Really?” Mal said, and his eyes raked over her in a way that made her flustered and proud at the same time. Reaching out, she poked at the cut he was wearing, something she definitely hadn’t seen on him two years ago when they’d met.

“What’s this?” she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her dime store hoops dangling from her ears. So he was a biker now... or something like it. A little smile pulled the edge of his mouth up and her eyes got stuck there for a moment.

“It’s nothin’.” he said easily. Georgia rolled her eyes and moved slightly to get a better look, running her hand over the patch.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’. Looks to me like you like trouble.” she said, biting her lower lip as she smiled at him. Mal shook his head and lifted his beer a bit.

“Yeah, well, I’m drinkin’ with you, aren’t I?” he asked. Georgia laughed and shook her head a bit, taking a sip of her own drink. She liked that he thought of her as trouble. She’d have been insulted if he thought less.

“If you want to see real trouble, you should ask me to dance.” she offered, leaning a bit closer. It was nice to flirt for real. It had been a really long time since she had, hell, it might have even been the last time she’d seen him. Though that flirting had been accidental. Plus, there was the bonus that they already knew the other wasn’t exactly an ‘upstanding citizen’. The lack of bullshit was refreshing. She didn’t need to bat her eyes or pretend that she was a waitress or a student or something innocent and innocuous. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Peach.” Mal said.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Mal.” she countered, flagging down the bartender who made a motion to say he’d be right there.

“Yeah? You not into bein’ bossed around?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Not when I’m standing.” she said with a playful smirk before turning and ordering two shots of whiskey, handing over some money as she did. It was getting to that time in the night where she had to lean forward and practically shout to be heard, but she didn’t mind. 

“So when you say you wanna dance, d’ya mean the horizontal fuckin’ tango?” Mal asked, and Georgia couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of her, glancing over her shoulder to look at him.

"Maybe I mean both. Jesus, there's no fuckin’ subtlety to you, is there?" she asked, tipping her head and studying his face. He tipped his in return and narrowed his eyes a bit.

“Would ya’ like me more if there was?”

“Who says I like you now?”

Mal shrugged his shoulders. “Guess I’m just being optimistic. I mean, if you wanna prove me right, go ahead.” he offered.

Georgia rolled her eyes and grabbed the shots as they were delivered. "Drink with me. Dance with me. Then I'll decide if I like you or not." she said, handing one of the shot glasses to him, her heart rate only increasing when her fingers grazed his. Mal nodded his head.

“Yes ma’am.” he said. They both knocked the whiskey back easily before Georgia took his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. She was pretty sure he knew it was just an excuse to have his arms around her for a bit while they drank and pretended like they both didn’t know how this would go. There was no doubt in her mind that she was gonna try to take him back to where she was staying tonight. Crushes weren’t things she had often, and couldn’t remember the last one she’d had, but she had a feeling thats what she was feeling. As his hands settled on her waist and she wrapped hers around his neck, pressing her body closer, she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks and her breath hitched a bit as she remembered to breath. “You good, Peach?” Mal asked, smiling down at her.

“Do I not look good?” Georgia asked, wondering if there was going to be a point tonight where she stopped answering his questions with questions, but it probably wasn’t going to be anytime soon. She was having too much fun.

“I don’t recall sayin’ otherwise, sweetheart.” he said, tightening his grip on her as they swayed to the song. It was one of those old, country classics that she usually didn’t care for but everything sounded good when it was mixed with Mal’s laugh and the way he spoke to her. They danced, they drank and eventually she took him back to her motel. It was just going to be one night, maybe two, and then she could savor the memory of it the next time she was lying beneath some idiot, letting him pretend he was rocking her world while she planned how she was going to rob them blind. 

Somewhere in Arizona - September 4th, 2000

Georgia paced a bit out front of a gas station, stretching her arms above her head and rolling out the knots in her back from the hours on the back of Mal’s bike. She’d abandoned her piece of shit car back in Dallas, technically. It hadn’t exactly been on purpose, since she’d made the choice after a night of drinking and blowing lines with Mal. Georgia had only meant to get him tangled in her sheets for a night, but then that had turned into breakfast, and another roll around at his place, then more drinking, then some drugs. She kept waiting for him to leave, or for herself to get bored... but it hadn’t happened yet. It had been four, shit almost five weeks since she’d run into him and now she was somewhere in Arizona waiting while he went to get cigarettes. They were nearly inseparable. Her backpack with all her things and all her money were latched securely to his bike. They spent the days driving around and the nights at whatever motel they wound up in, drinking and laughing and kissing. It felt like freedom.

It was safe to say they were obsessed with each other. Georgia smiled to herself as she tried to detangle her hair a bit with her fingers while she waited for him. The tangles were as much from the wind as from Mal’s hands and the bed they’d crawled out of this morning. Distracted with her own thoughts her eyes lingered on his bike and the smile just widened. She didn’t notice someone approaching her until they were in front of her.

“You like motorcycles?” the guy asked, looking her up and down. Georgia’s smile tightened and lost some it’s sparkle as she looked at the guy.

“I do. Yeah.” she told him. The guy rested his hands on the handlebars and grinned at her.

“I could give you the ride of your life.” he offered, his eyes more focused on her body than the bored look on her face.

“You want me on that bike of yours? With you?” Georgia asked, playing dumb and tipping her head to the side. The guy laughed a little.

“Baby, I-” the guy said, but he stopped suddenly, his eyes moving off of Georgia to someone else. The strong arm that slipped around her shoulder and pulled her in closer had her struggling not to burst into laughter. 

“He botherin’ you, Peach?” Mal asked, his voice far too casual for her to believe it. Georgia knew if she said ‘yes’ Mal would probably lay the guy out and God that excited her. It was like having her own personal gladiator by her side at all times and she was getting far too used to it. 

“Baby, I think we stole his bike.” Georgia said, blinking up at Mal with wide eyes and feigned innocence. Behind his dark sunglasses, Mal’s eyebrows raised and his mouth twitched into a small ‘huh’ of surprise.

“This - this is your bike?” Mal said, his voice coated with a mocking disbelief as he took off his sunglasses and then pointed to Georgia. “So this - this must be your old lady too?” he asked the guy, who was holding up his hands and stuttering out some kind of excuse. ‘Old lady?’ Georgia thought. She was hardly his old anything seeing as they’d been doing this just about a month. Georgia leaned up and said softly but still loud enough for the interloper to hear, 

“Wasn’t his name I was screamin’ last night, baby.”

She then took the sunglasses and smokes out of Mal’s hands, knowing he was probably just gonna drop them in a minute anyway. He was already stepping forward. 

“It wasn’t? Ah. So that means this is my bike, and this jackass is hitting on my girl?” Mal said. The guy had gone from apologizing to talking shit, like an idiot, and Georgia just shook her head and smiled as Mal slammed his fist into the guy’s face. The rings on his fingers glinted in the Arizona sunlight with each movement. A thought popped into her mind just then and she shoved the sunglasses onto her face as she ran into the nearly empty shop.

“Help! They started fighting! Someone is gonna get hurt! You have to stop them.” she shouted pleadingly. The guy behind the counter and some guy that looked like a trucker rushed outside to help. Georgia moved to let them pass and then walked around the counter and popped open the register. Jesus, the lack of security in these places was astonishing. People thought they were only going to be robbed by dudes in ski-masks with a gun in their face. Clearly a shotgun behind the counter was not a fail-proof method against having your shit stolen.

A few moment later she was walking over to Mal who was finally done with his fight. There was some blood on him, but she doubted much of it was his, and he wore it well so it didn’t matter much anyway. Georgia waved a finger to signal they needed to get the fuck out. Now. He listened but quirked an eyebrow at her.

“They call the cops?” he asked quietly as he threw a leg over the bike.

“No but they’re gonna.” she said, climbing on behind him.

“I just loosened some teeth, maybe broke his nose, nothing that bad.” Mal grumbled. Georgia leaned up so she could whisper directly in his ear.

“I just robbed the till.” she admitted. Mal burst into laughter as he started up the bike and peeled away, and didn’t stop laughing until they were miles away from the place.

Later that night, outside a motel they’d rented with the stolen cash, they sat on the curb and split a cigarette and a six pack, watching the traffic and the stars. Georgia’s hair was once again a mess of tangles and her face was a bit flushed from what they’d just done. 

“You know earlier today, you called me your ‘old lady’.” Georgia noted, glancing at him only briefly as she took a drag and passed the cigarette back to him.

“Mhmm.” Mal hummed as he finished the cigarette and stubbed the end of out beneath his boot. He took a moment to exhale before turning to look her over, curious. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

Georgia smirked but rolled her eyes. “I’m not your old lady ‘til there’s a ring on this finger.” she said, wiggling the fingers on the hand that wasn’t currently holding her beer bottle. Georgia liked the idea of keeping Mal, but that didn’t seem likely. So she just wanted to wring every drop of happiness out of this time while they had it.

“Yeah?” Mal asked, his tongue running over his teeth as he looked out at the highway and the empty fields beyond it. “How’s about I put one there?” 

Georgia snorted and shook her head, and then glanced at him, waiting for the punchline but it didn’t come. Her eyebrows pulled together and she blinked at him for a moment before finding her voice. “Quit fuckin’ around. You don’t want to marry me.” she said, shoving him lightly.

“Why not?” Mal asked, taking a sip of his beer. Georgia opened her mouth to tell him exactly why, but she couldn’t think of any reasons. He knew basically everything already, maybe not all the details, but enough. Mal knew where she’d come from, and how she’d survived and how she worked. He knew how she liked her coffee and that she always liked to sleep with one leg out from the covers and that she finished her showers with a blast of cold water. If he already knew all that, and asked anyway...

“I don’t know.” Georgia admitted. Taking a moment to have another sip of her beer she shrugged a shoulder. “Are you sayin’ you want to marry me?” she asked, her heart beating a bit harder as she tried to act calm.

“Maybe. You sayin’ yes if I ask?” he asked with an impish grin curling the corner of his mouth as he turned his head to look at her. Georgia turned and smirked back at him.

“I think I might... just to see if you actually have the balls to follow through.” she told him. Mal set down his beer and turned to her, running his fingers through her hair and then trailing them down to hold her chin as he looked her in the eye. 

“Alright. Georgia - whatever your real last name is. Don’t matter. It’ll be Winters soon.- Fuck the formalities. Marry me.” he said. Georgia just blinked at him for a moment, waiting for him to laugh or to say he was joking but he didn’t and she smiled.

“Yeah. Okay. I will.” she agreed. Mal smiled and kissed her hard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, forgetting about everything that wasn’t him

Las Vegas, NV - September 9th, 2000

Five days later, she was standing in front of Mal wearing a white sundress she’d picked up the day before, slipping a gold band onto his finger and promising she’d love him forever. It was the first time she’d told him that she loved him and she meant every word. The life she’d had before him felt like a bad dream and she’d woken up to find herself safe in his arms. A life without him in it wasn’t something she ever wanted to experience ever again. Georgia Morgan was long gone now, along with all the other identities she’d taken. She was Georgia Winters and it just felt right, like this is who she’d always been meant to be. Someone said to ‘kiss the bride’ and Georgia pulled Mal’s head down with a stupid grin on her face. No more cons, no more faking being in love. Whatever came next, she and Mal would do it together.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, elricsister!

Apologies for the delay, @elricsister​ (my bad!). We hope you had a wonderful day yesterday, surrounded by loved ones, and topped off with delicious cake! To bring your party back, the lovely @historywriter2007 has written a story just for you!

A/N: Happy Birthday Elricsister!  I hope you are having a great day! I had you for the Secret Santa exchange and had an idea for this one, but I went with the more Christmasy prompt. I’m glad I got to put this together for you.  I choose the song El Tango de Roxanne from Mulan Rouge, I thought it sounded angsty enough for an enemies to lovers story. Hope you enjoy it.

Two to Tango

Rated T (suggestive)

-----------------------------------------------

Katniss took a deep breath as the other team finished their act, of course, they would go last, just one more way this entire situation screwed her over. It had been her second season as a dancer on Dancing with the Capital. She was thankful for the opportunity to be on the show, especially since it paid for her sister to go to college and for once they both had plenty. Unlike many of the other dancers, Katniss had to rely on herself to learn since she had to quit lessons at 11-years-old when her father died. At least she had enough of a base to continue, not to mention the Capital loved a survival story, as the producers put it. She should have known things would not be in her favor when it was announced that the powers that be wanted to add a show to the very end of their season.

Less than a week before they pulled everyone together to announce the additional episode, it would be a dance-off between the dancers, instead of the Capital darlings. They would all be paired at random, then given the song, it would be up to them to come up with the dance. The winners would get a bonus, something Katniss would be able to put away for Prim to use. She quietly prayed to be set up with anyone besides him, but of course, the first two names picked were Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.  

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Peeta, in fact, she hated Peeta. He had started the same year she did, and at first, she thought they could be friends, but he showed his strips in the first few weeks. As soon as his dance partner, Cashmere showed up. He also bragged about the new movie deal he had received, some stupid action movie where he would undoubtedly show off his muscular arms and chiseled stomach, not that she noticed any of that. Things only got worse when Haymitch, one of the producers, showed up to tell them what song they had to dance to. El Tango De Roxanne, they thought it would be great to do a nod to “Old Hollywood” since he was now going to be a movie star. Haymitch reminded them that the Tango was filled with passion, and hatred would be just fine, then he laughed as Katniss scowled at him, apparently, everyone knew how much they hated each other.

She felt his presence before he spoke, “Do you want me to say something to piss you off before we go out there? You seem to do better when you’re especially angry at me.”

Katniss turned to look at him, for a moment she forgot herself as she took in his outfit. Black pants that stretched over his strong thighs, she was sure his ass looked great too, and a white shirt with only a couple of buttons done. Her eyes finally reached his face and found his giving her a smirk, “Just you being here is enough to piss me off.”

The could hear the judges telling Clove and Cato how they had done, any moment they would be introduced. Peeta’s face seemed to soften a bit, “One more time? For the crowd?”

She smiled back and nodded just as their names were announced, not giving her the time to think about how his eyes seemed to carry a bit of sadness.

Katniss stood in the center of the dancefloor, trying not to feel embarrassed. One more thing she hated, her outfit. It was little more than a corset with a small skirt and fishnet tights. The music started and she felt Peeta come up behind her, just as the practiced. The moves in the dance were passionate, angry and sensual. She had to admit, Haymitch was right, her anger seemed to work just fine with the Tango and especially with the song they choose.  Doing some happy Jitterbug dance would have never worked for them. Enemies would have a really hard time acting happy.

They danced their hearts out, even though she was sure Peeta didn’t need the bonus he at least seemed to want to win this competition. Maybe it was because it was his last night. The final moves put Katniss fully at his mercy, one wrong move and he could drop her, but it was flawless. The judges praised the dance giving them 9’s and a highly coveted 10, meaning their score was the highest. All the dancers came to the stage for the announcement, Katniss and Peeta had won! Katniss jumped into his arms, hugging him before she could register what she had done. The moment his arms wrapped around her, without the guise of a dance move, she felt a spark run through her. She quickly stepped back, and they said thank you’s before leaving the stage.

Peeta walked with Katniss toward the dressing rooms. When she got to her door he stopped her. “I’m glad we got to dance together. I’m not sure why you hate me so much, but I just wanted to let you know I never disliked you. Good luck Katniss.” He turned and Katniss watched him walk to his room.

She stormed through her door, how dare he do this on his last night. Why wouldn’t she hate him, he was just like the Capital Darlings he danced with, manipulative and full of himself. She still remembered the way Cashemer looked straight at her when she announced she and Peeta had taken their “friendship” to the next level. She never thought someone like him would sleep his way to the top, she was wrong about him. Katniss then started noticing the little things, how he would whisper to others, many times looking her way. He was just like so many of the others that wrote her off as less than worthy of her job.

Katniss’s hair now hung loosely behind her, removed from the updo next she ripped off her outfit and put on a t-shirt and yoga pants, then to remove the pounds of makeup they always seemed to put on her. All the while she was getting angrier, why was he doing this now?

Against her better judgment, she stalked the three doors down and banged on Peeta’s door. She had to know what he was up to. Peeta’s blue eyes widen comically when he saw who was knocking. She noticed he had changed into jeans and a grey t-shirt already and took the gel from his hair, allowing his wavy hair to fall onto his forehead.

“Katniss, is everything alright?” He asked.

She glared at him, he honestly seemed sincere in his question. “Why did you tell me all of that?”

Peeta moved to the side and motioned for her to come in, she guessed he didn’t want a fight to get posted to the internet and cause issues for either of them. He closed the door and turned back to her. “I don’t know what I did, but I know you hate me and after a while, I just figured it would be easier for me to dislike you as well. The thing is no matter how much I tried I couldn’t. I’m sure I came off as more of an asshole than I meant, I just felt like I was being forced to go so far from how I really felt.”

“How did you really feel?” She whispered, afraid of what she’d find out.

Peeta’s shoulders deflated. “I like you and have from the day we met. But all of a sudden you changed and I didn’t know how to react. Self-preservation won out.”

Katniss shook her head, she couldn’t be hearing him right. “But you were with Cashmere, she made it a point to tell me all about it. Then your whispering with everyone behind my back.”

Peeta gave her a puzzled look, “What are you talking about? I’ve never done anything besides dance with Cashmere, in reality, she drove me nuts.”

“She told a few of us you did, she looked right at me when she did.” Katniss spit back, she was angry again.

Peeta raised his hands in surrender, “I swear I never touched her in any way that wasn’t professional.” Then realization came over his face. “She must have found out.”

“Found out what?” Katniss demanded.

“That I had a crush on you. She tried to get with me, but I didn’t take the bait. She must have done this to hurt me and you.” Peeta slowly reached for her hand, giving her plenty of time to pull it away. When she didn’t he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and looked her straight in the eyes. “I swear on everything that I never did anything with her. I only wanted you, even when you made it apparent you wanted nothing to do with me, I couldn’t get passed it.”

Katniss narrowed her eyes for a moment as she tried to analyze everything he was saying. Had she really been that wrong about him? “And the whispering?”

“Some of the guys knew about my crush too or at least figured it out. They would try to get me to talk to you so I could fix it. Anytime I tried though you glared at me and I was too afraid.” Peeta spread his legs a bit so he could be closer to face level with her. “I’m leaving here soon, if you never want to see me again that’s fine but I don’t want you to leave thinking something that’s not true.”

Katniss looked him straight in the eyes, she always felt she was a good judge of if people were lying, it came from her rough childhood, and what she saw changed everything. “I don’t want that. I...maybe we could.” she couldn’t find the words, those were never her thing, instead she leaned in and kissed him.

His shock was apparent as he stumbled back into the door, breaking the kiss. She pulled back mortified that she had read it all wrong. He said he had a crush in the past, not that it was still there, especially after the way she’d treated him. Before she could apologize he regained his composure and put his hands on each side of her face and kissed her again. She felt the kiss flow through her body to her curled toes. She pulled him closer and could feel the effect she was having on him. A few steps away was the small couch, she lowered herself down pulling him with her. It was awkward, given his size and the size of the couch. It wasn’t going to work, but she wanted more.

He pulled back and pushed some of her hair behind her ear while giving her a sweet smile. “I want you, but not here, not like this.” He kissed her gently once more as if to make sure she believed him. “Come back to my place, I’ll cook for you and we can go from there. No expectations, just dinner.”

Katniss smiled, “That sounds nice.” He grabbed his wallet and keys, then walked her to her dressing room to get her bag. As they left she grabbed his hand, she’d already decided, they’d wasted enough time, tonight was all theirs.

[jacnaylor]

tv recs: happy shows edition

I haven’t done this in a really long time, so here are the older editions. (If there’s overlap then I’m sorry, also these are shows that specifically make me have that cozy, happy feeling or that are comforting. all tv rec posts, including ones previously mentioning a couple of these, are here. if some of these i haven’t said as much about it’s probably because they are repeats. also there’s only so many times you can say ‘it makes me happy’)

1. The durrells (aka the durrells in corfu)

a slightly hapless, chaotic british family go and live in corfu in the 30′s. absolutely wild. there’s animals. there’s people falling in the sea. screaming out of windows. it’s fun, it’s silly, it’s gentle and gorgeous. keeley hawes is magnificent.

2. call the midwife

starting in the 50′s and now up to 1965, this follows the trials and triumphs of midwives (some of whom are nuns) in the east end. it covers hard topics as well but mostly it’s that lovely mix of sweetness, compassion and great characters. it’s really just lovely. there’s so many female characters that i love. makes you feel warm and cozy, especially the christmas episodes which air every year 

3. lewis

so this follows two police men solving crimes in oxford. they’re opposites but they end up working well together. lewis is the boss, he’s a gentle man from newcastle mourning his late wife. the young dc is james hathaway - a clever, ex priest turned police man. they ramble around, soft oboe music is playing. they solve crimes, they quote poetry. it’s not a gritty police drama. it’s a subtle show. it loves and showcases oxford. honestly i repeat: the police officers are not ‘gritty’ or ‘hard men’. they’re sad, sure, but in a nice, sensitive sort of way. they want to help people. they care. they aren’t afraid of showing emotions. hathaway talks about his faith and how it affects his work. it’s just not what you expect from a mystery show and it really is worth a watch.

4. good omens

an angel and a demon slowly become friends. they are perfectly happy living on earth, eating sushi and driving old cars. they are slightly perturbed when the anti christ is born and therefore is set to bring about the end of the world. silly, funny, beautifully shot. david tennant and michael sheen are wonderful. it’s absurd and it’s just so great and self aware. and british. 

5. gavin and stacey

one of the best british sitcoms of all time. it’s about an essex boy who falls in love with a welsh girl, and their families and friends coming together. hilarious, heartfelt, incredible. still funny to this day. one of those shows you can watch a hundred times and still find something new. like coming home.

6. derry girls

5 teenagers living in derry in the 90′s. the most chaotic group of people alive. they act like real teenagers, they love each other a lot but they also get themselves into a lot of scrapes. it’s just such a good show to bingewatch and curl up with.

7. galavant

a medieval musical comedy show. diverse cast, great songs, im so bitter it got cancelled but it got a great end so don’t worry. 

8. buzzfeed unsolved true crime and supernatural

so i wasn’t sure about this one but i adore this show so its here. it’s a youtube show with ryan begara, who definitely believes in ghosts and shane madej, who definitely doesn’t. there’s also the true crime edition. it’s HILARIOUS. it’s just these two guys talking like normal people about crimes and ghosts and its just so funny and wonderful and interesting. ryan is having a break down over an empty chair. shane is inviting demons to inhabit his body. it’s a good time.

9. anne with an e

one of the best recent period dramas. following orphan anne shirley and living with her adopted family in green gables. it has hard topics but its also about finding people you love. it’s about family, acceptance and imagination. wonderful!

10. ashes to ashes (and life on mars....i’ll explain)

life on mars is the first in two shows. it follows a police officer who is involved in a car accident and wakes up in 1973. I personally love this show but since ashes to ashes, the continuation (the sequel, if you like) has a happier feel because its set in the 80′s (and the mc is a female police officer.) ashes to ashes is funny, a bit bolshy, but its so fun. it’s a time travel/sci fi cop show that fully leans into the absurdity and is all the better for it. im my opinion it’s best to watch lom first because it’s all one big continuation of the same story. honestly it just makes me happy. 

11. miss fisher’s murder mysteries

phryne fisher, in the late 20′s is a single woman of means. she decides she wants to solve crimes and look good whilst doing it. she also flirts with a police man. her best friend is a lesbian doctor who lets her look at dead bodies. it’s honestly the best. phryne is the most charismatic lead!! includes the line “men. can’t live with them, can’t kill them with an axe.” so worth it just for that

13. great british bake off

a group of contestants bake in a tent in an effort to win the bake off. unlike american competition shows it really is about friendship and the love of baking. they all help each other out! they get very stressed about custard! gorgeous

14. hustle

cheesy, silly, fun 00′s show about a group of con men who decide to only con people who deserve it. i mean. whats not to love. it really does feel 2000s if that makes sense. in the best way. these shows aren’t focusing on being shocking or slick, it’s just telling a fun story. 

15. car share

this one is a comedy, a slice of life, a romance all in the setting of a car. it’s about two work colleagues who are made to join in their works car share initiative. it’s so funny but it’s also just. sweet. its about two normal people. they sing to the radio. they have to jump out to post cards to their nan whilst stuck in a traffic jam. it’s about them connecting and it’s just. it’s so good.

16. miranda

follows miranda, who is about 5′9 and socially incompetent in the extreme whilst she tries to navigate her chaotic life. honestly one of the loveliest shows ever made. 

bonus: the mallorca files, santa clarita diet, strictly come dancing, last tango in halifax, brooklyn nine nine, monarch of the glen

[thirtysixsavefiles]

What this is: that Rhysothy Dancing With the Stars AU that I started and never finished but still think fondly of sometimes.

Quick Summary: Timothy is a dance professional on DWTS who gets assigned Rhys as his “star.” Rhys is famous-ish for selling a social media startup and just generally being a media presence. Rumor has it Rhys is angling for a shot at being the lead on The Bachelor next season, but that’s unconfirmed and as far as Tim’s concerned, not his business.

Are you actually writing this? Not anymore, sorry, but it’s more or less a complete outline with some snippets of what I did write underneath the cut!

Preseason: Tim

“At worst, you’ll have to put up with an excessive amount of flirting. Word is he’s aiming for a Bachelor run in the next year or so.”

“Which is why you snapped him up,” Tim murmurs, eyeing the practiced camera smile, the slicked-back hair in the photos.

Athena shrugs. “Reality television is what it is. For once we get a star on their way up instead of down, he gets a springboard to other in-network programming. Everybody wins.”

She pats his head and turns to leave. “Do what you can with him, ok? And it wouldn’t hurt you to flirt back a little - audiences love a couple with chemistry.”

Timothy, dance professional, gets word from Athena, the new studio exec that his partner for this season is going to be Rhys Oliver. Rhys has founded - and subsequently sold - a social media startup and is enjoying the media limelight. Tim figures it could be worse.

Week 1: Cha Cha

“I want to die,” Rhys groans, all long limbs and drama, flat on the floor of the studio. Tim is less than impressed.

Tim nudges him with his foot. “You are contractually obligated not to die,” he says. “At least, not until we’ve gotten at least one dance out of you.”

At their first practice, Rhys is by turns whiny and flirty and he’s clearly aware of where the cameras are in the room, but he’s got potential. Tim can work with this.

It had all seemed so simple: ten weeks of dancing (if he was lucky, if he stayed on that long), with a professional instructor to make him look good. Rhys knows how to work a camera, and a crowd; this was supposed to be an easy step further into the spotlight. He just hadn’t thought that dancing, of all things, would be so difficult. He’s in shape, more or less. He does yoga. He did theater, a bit, in college - an audience doesn’t scare him.

But after that first session he had ached in muscles he didn’t even know he had, and Timothy hadn’t gone any easier on him the second day. Or the third. Or the rest of the week. And now Rhys is listening to his own recorded voice boom out above him, telling the packed auditorium and the viewers at home how excited he is to be here, to be working with Timothy.

He is excited. Timothy Lawrence is a fan favorite; Rhys is lucky to be paired with him.

He’s just never had an audience this big, and he feels a bit like he might throw up.

For his part, Rhys is finding this more challenging - and more exhilarating - than he had thought possible. But Timothy makes it - not easy, but rewarding. Handling the contestants is part of his job, Rhys knows, but he doesn’t seem like he’s faking it when he says they have a shot at going all the way.

Week 2: Foxtrot

Despite himself Tim can feel the faintest warmth in his cheeks and his mouth pulling up. This is taking the bait, he knows it is, but it’s fun to play along, and Athena’s right: audiences love a couple with chemistry.

He’s just bolstering Rhys’ chances, that’s all.

Tim leans in and tilts his head, putting his mouth right next to Rhys’ ear. “This is a family show, Rhys,” he murmurs, low and intimate and too low for the cameras to pick up. Tim knows exactly what this will look like, and the way Rhys shivers is just a bonus.

Rhys continues to be a terrible flirt in practice; Tim plays along, but only because it makes good television. Really.

Rhys watches the training package again, which he already knows Tim would prefer he didn’t - Tim says it’s a distraction, that he needs to keep his head on straight for the performance. But the contestants don’t get to see the packages before they air, and Rhys has always liked how he looks on camera.

But - it is distracting, to see them pressed together in the studio with Tim’s head bent close to his ear, and although Rhys knows that Tim was trying to get Rhys back on track - that’s not what it looks like here, even to him.

Certainly not to the crowd, which gasps with delight when Tim pulls back and Rhys smooths his hand over Tim’s shoulder up on the big screen while his voice earnestly tells the crowd what a dedicated instructor Tim is. Looks like the network is playing up the chemistry angle as well - and as Rhys glances over at Tim, he has to admit that he certainly lucked out in that department.

The performance part is getting easier, but the judging is getting harder. Rhys appreciates everything Tim is doing for him - he’s making Rhys look damn good on camera, both in the studio and on the floor, but the judges aren’t buying it. Tim assures him they’ll work on it.

Week 3: Rumba

“Yes, country,” Tim says as he moves them in small circle to the pounding beat. “We’re gonna move fast to double-time the beat. The judges love that. But they already got on you for holding back last week -” Rhys tenses and Tim rubs his back soothingly. “I know, I know. I’m just being honest with you - if that happens again it could send you home. And I don’t -”

Tim stops. I don’t want to see you go so soon suddenly, strangely, seems like too much.

“I don’t want to give up on the Mirrorball that easily, you know?” Tim lifts and Rhys gasps as his feet leave the ground. Tim swings him in a little circle, grinning at the faint flush on Rhys’ cheeks when Tim puts him down.

“I know we can do better,” Tim says, and Rhys blinks vaguely at him. “We just need to get you something to connect to. So we’re gonna try this. No choreography, not yet - just listen and follow my lead.”

Tim slows things down in the practice sessions, giving Rhys a chance to really listen to what Tim’s body is telling him. (Not like that, Tim tells himself. Repeatedly.)

Rhys tips his head back and closes his eyes, fingers flexing. A bit of professional flirting is one thing - Rhys needs to show that he’s got a television personality if he’s going to have a shot at The Bachelor. But the easy familiarity of Timothy’s hands on his hips had curled something comfortable and warm in Rhys’ stomach, and it’s that feeling he reaches for now.

Then the real thing settles warm and solid on his back, and it’s time to go.

Their first two dances had been highlighted by precise movement; Tim had said this one was more fluid, and to let the music and Tim’s body tell him how to move. Rhys has been hearing the music in his sleep for the last few days, and it hasn’t said anything special to him; Tim’s body, on the other hand -

Rhys focuses on just himself and Timothy until after the music stops, and he can already tell before he turns to the judge’s table that this was much better than his previous two dances.

Week 4: Argentine Tango

“I can’t wait for the next one,” Rhys says, settling on the floor across from Tim at his gesture. Tim give a pointed look at Rhys’ feet and Rhys makes a face but he extends his legs and starts stretching, making sure he’s limbered up for the session. The last thing they need is an injury. “We’re going to do it again, right?”

“Do what again? Dance? What do you think we’re here for?” Tim nods at the other leg and Rhys switches sides. He’s really getting pretty flexible; his stretch has more arch to it than it did three weeks ago, and he’s getting more extension out of his legs.

“No.” It’s muffled into his knee but Tim can almost hear Rhys rolling his eyes. Then Rhys lifts his head, eyes glinting. “I mean, yes. I mean the part where you put your hands all over me.”

Tim raises his eyebrows. “Family show, remember?”

Rhys laughs, locking eyes with Tim as he leans forward again, and there definitely wasn’t this much arch to his spine even last week - not that Tim’s looking, except that he is. It’s Tim’s job to notice these things. Professionally.

Tim is fine. He’s totally handling this well.

“What was that about a family show, again?” Rhys says as he lifts the - the thing and studies it. He’s not sure which way is up - both options appear to be equally horrifying in their own way.

“Hm.” Tim takes the mess of straps and buckles from him and stretches it out into a third arrangement Rhys had not considered. “Maybe you’re right.” He sets it aside and puts his hands on his hips, looking Rhys up and down. “We’ll just open your shirt instead.”

Rhys blows out a sigh of relief - and then pauses, watching Tim’s satisfied smile.

“Was this a ploy to get me to agree to take my shirt off?” He demands. “Present that,” he waves a hand, “as the first option, so this sounds like a better one?”

Tim’s smile doesn’t budge an inch. “Would I do that to you?” He winks, and turns to the other items of clothing on the table before Rhys can insist that yes, he would. Tim turns back around with a stack of crisp black clothing in his hands. “Here. Try these on for size.”

Rhys is also handling things extremely well.

[After this point it’s more notes and less actual prose, but it’s still a fairly solid outline imo.]

Week 5: Paso Doble (I)

Training: Tim

[Tim thinks Rhys is ready for the Paso, but gets hurt during practice.]

Show Night: Rhys

[Rhys is clearly distracted, worried about hurting Tim/Tim getting hurt.

Critique: can’t hold back with the Paso - have to push self and partner

They get by on fan favoritism.]

Week 6: Contemporary

“This is custom work,” Rhys says, pulling his arm back. He flexes his fingers absently. “The surgery to hook it up to my nervous system, the testing, the calibrations; the process was - painful,” he says matter of factly. “And expensive. Not everyone can afford that.”

“Getting Atlas off the ground was - hard. Even with the [social network name] sale,” Rhys says evenly. “Social media platforms - those are sexy. Everybody loves a good startup story. Biomedical research? With no clear return on investment?” Rhys shakes his head. “Much harder to sell to investors.”

“It was hard, walking away from Silicon Valley,” Rhys says thoughtfully. “It was also the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Is that why you’re going for a Bachelor run?” It’s a leap, but Tim feel like he’s right about this. That’s the way Rhys’ mind works.

Rhys starts, glancing at the cameras. Tim waves a hand. “They’ll edit that out.”

Rhys looks down and laughs softly. “Yeah, I guess it is. I know it’s unorthodox, but - between this show and that one, I could really put the Atlas foundation on the map, you know? And myself, of course,” he says, running a hand through his hair and preening. He looks ridiculous, hair sticking up with sweat and hair gel; he bats his eyelashes at Tim and Tim laughs against the sudden tightness in his chest.

Tim asks about Rhys’ Most Memorable Year; Rhys’ answer is less practiced but also, Tim thinks, more honest than he’s been before. Confirmation of Bachelor ambitions is something Timothy mostly already knew. There’s no reason to be jealous here. No reason at all.

Rhys’ voice echoes in the auditorium, telling Tim about the Atlas Foundation,  and he has to give the editors credit - they make what could have easily been “poor little startup boy struggles with a second startup” into an altruistic gesture - which, it is, Rhys reminds himself.

He just hadn’t intended to tell Tim any of it.

He’d had a couple stories lined up - a bad breakup, a poignant moment from his childhood - but when Tim had asked, this had come spilling out instead.

He’d managed to stop himself before he’d gotten to the worst of it - the sudden disappearance of the people he’d thought were friends once he walked away from what had been such a moneymaker, the long nights where he wondered if he’d made the right decision. It had certainly been memorable - but it was a little more personal than he’d planned on sharing with the whole country.

Coming back the next day and learning the choreography Tim had put together, though - in one night, no less - he wonders if maybe Tim hadn’t read between the lines. Rhys will be the first to admit that he knows even less about contemporary dance than he does about ballroom, and frankly he’s in awe of what Tim had put together in the less than a day. Five weeks of spending hours in practice together nearly every day have left Rhys thoroughly impressed with Tim’s skill as a teacher, but he hadn’t fully appreciated the artistry of what Tim does until he’d been coached through something that didn’t exist except in Tim’s mind. It had been incredibly - intimate, is the word Rhys keeps coming back to, like learning Timothy from the inside out.

The Contemporary/Most Memorable Year dance is easily one of Rhys’ best; it also leaves him the most wrung out.

Week 7: Waltz

Training: Tim

[Tim knows how this show goes. seven weeks in close quarters, practicing six hours a day, in an us-against-the-world situation - Tim knows what that does to peoples’ emotions.

This isn’t that.]

Show Night: Rhys

[Most classic dance. Tim looks very handsome in coats and tails; Rhys wonders what he would look like in regular suits - wonders what Tim looks like outside of dance, what he does in his time off. They’ve talked a lot about Rhys but not very much about tim.]

Week 8: Jive

Training: Tim

[Business travel trip to SF. Tim’s never seen Rhys in his element before - gives him the idea for the Paso.

ABC clears out the gym at the hotel they’re staying at for them to practice.]

Show Night: Rhys

[Rhys is exhausted but exhilarated. Tim had at least slept on the plane; Rhys lied and said he had. Tim frowned at him.

Rhys stumbles at end of dance and Tim makes him sit on his knee during critique]

Week 9: Paso Doble (II)

Training: Rhys

[Redemption dance. Tim puts Rhys in the lead. Tim no longer has any doubt they’re going to the finale.]

Show Night: Rhys

[Fierce eye contact.

Tim kisses Rhys on temple at the end of dance

Athena offers him the Bachelor spot. Rhys is ecstatic until he spots Tim across the room.]

Week 10: Finale

Training: Tim

[Tim had always known this was coming.

Looks at music composition, figures what does he have to lose.

(Besides the best dance partner he’s had on this show, besides the person he can’t wait to see, besides the person he falls asleep and wakes up thinking about.)

Dance studio covered in pictures of them dancing]

Show Night: Rhys

[The crowd is, ostensibly, louder than any they’ve danced in front of before, but it sounds muted, far away. A bubble of silence seems to surround him and Tim, and Rhys can hear Tim clearly when he says, “ready?”

Rhys isn’t. He’s not ready for this to be over.

Rhys kisses Tim on live tv after winning. Goodbye bachelor contract.]

Tagging @callmearcturus because you asked about it