#so i might write other stuff first

[artslovergirl]

Stanford!art as a secret admirer pleaaaaase

hiii! sorry this took me literally a month to finish i am still not very good at keeping a drabble a drabble and this one really got away from me but i promise in the future that hopefully wont be the case....anywhoo! enjoy! (also ty for being my first request ever!)

admittedly, art felt like a creep. not enough to stop sneaking glances at you across the lecture hall but definitely enough to feel hot shame crawl up his neck whenever you would accidentally meet his eye contact.

he quickly glanced away and stared back at the blackboard, trying to pretend that's what he had been looking at all along.

he began fiddling with his pen, pushing the plastic end of it nervously against his lips. he could feel your eyes on him for a few moments longer before turning back around to face the professor.

great. now you probably actually thought he was a creep. which is not exactly how he planned your first form of contact to go.

...alright, to be fair, he never had an exact plan in the first place? but "make awkward eye contact" wouldn't have been a part of it. that's for sure.

he was a little out of his element here. stanford was a hell of a lot bigger than mark rebellato was.

back there, most of the girls knew him, sometimes even liked him already or he had patrick as his wingman. (or when it came to tashi, competition.) but here? he felt so unsure all of a sudden. it felt like all of the experience he had with dating seemed completely useless.

when he first saw you, he was still pretty infatuated with tashi. but that doesnt mean he didnt notice how hot you were. as more time passed the more he realized that tashi and patrick were apprently locked in (go figure the dude finally learns commitment just in time. read bitterness.) and the more he saw you, the more he heard you talk in class, the more he saw you laugh with your friends, the more you wouldnt leave his mind. not to mention how fucking smart you were. well, are.

the lecture ended and as always you were one of the first people out the door. you were always in a rush. or maybe you just had another class all the way on the other side of campus?

he wondered what your major was. he wondered if you knew he played tennis. he wondered if it would even impress you if you found out. he hoped it would.

---

art was sitting in the cafeteria stabbing his fork into his salad that consisted of like 70% veggies and 30% eggs.

he had to say, he was definitely getting sick of eggs at this point. he took a small sip of his gatorade.

usually, he drank blue, but he decided to try red today. maybe because it was patrick's favorite flavor or maybe because he needed at least a little change in routine.

unfortunately, as he went to place the bottle back down on the table, he almost knocked it over as soon as he suddenly noticed you standing by the vending machine. and then turning around. and.. walking towards him? holy shit.

at first, he thought you would just walk past him, but you stopped at his table. he didn't know if he believed in god, but at that moment, he certainly felt like a favorite.

"hey," you smiled politely, "sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a quarter? that thing doesn't seem to take nickles." you nodded your head towards the vending machine at the entrance of the cafeteria.

"uh." his brain tried to play catch up. "um, yeah, let me check." he let out a small chuckle so he wouldn't sound so nervous, but it sounded more like he was wheezing. he pulled out his wallet, ripped apart the velcro, and checked. he silently celebrated when he noticed he did, in fact, have a few quarters. "yeah, how many do you need?" he looked up at you. his cheeks felt hot.

"oh, just one is fine." he nods, and suddenly, in front of your presence, it seems a lot harder to properly grab the quarter from his wallet. he does manage, though, and as he hands it to you, he feels your fingers brush against his palm.

as if transferred from your fingertips to his palm it felt like a surge went through his body, traveling through his arteries and sparking at the tips of his fingers and toes. you hand him your nickels in exchange. before you could turn to leave, he quickly interjected, "we're in the same class, right? english literature?"

he didnt know where he was going with this, he just wanted to keep talking to you.

your eyes flashed with recognition.

"oh, yeah! art, right? you sit behind me?" you knew his name. "yeah, yeah, that's right." he nodded, his fingers drummed against the table. there was a short lull in the conversation as he desperately tried to grasp for anything to talk about that wouldn't seem like he was hitting on you (even though he kind of was.)

"so, uh, this is actually good timing because i've been sorta meaning to talk to you anyway?" his lips pulled into a familiar charming lopsided smile.

"oh, really?" you tilted your head. "yeah." he nodded, his hand going to fidget with curls on the back of his neck that stuck out of his backwards cap.

"i, uh, need some help with some of the material, and, you know, you're so good-"

"oh, i'm not that-"

"nah, c'mon no need to be modest," there's that grin again, "i don't think i've ever seen you get a question wrong."

you huff, feeling embarrassed at the unexpected praise, "well, it's literature, so it's all interpretation, it's hard to be outright wrong."

"see, that answer just confirms it." he says.

you chuckle, finally giving in and accepting the compliment. "so..you want my help then?" he nods. he really prayed you would say yes because this was really his only plan on how to get to know you.

you mulled over it for a few seconds. then you nodded. "yeah, okay, let me give you my number and we can figure out the details later. i got another class in like-" you glanced back at the clock, "shit, 3 minutes."

you hastily ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook scribbled a number on it and left it on the table. "oh, and thanks for the quarter!" you yelled back (even though you didn't even get to use it) before booking it out of the cafeteria. guess he was right about you always being in a rush.

---

4:58 pm. 2 more minutes till you'd knock at his door. art did another once over of his room. now he wasn't exactly a messy guy but he had to admit his dorm had never been this clean before. actually maybe it was too clean...would you think that was weird? like would you think he was a neatfreak? girls probably weren't into that.

he began messing up his bedsheets just a little so it wouldnt look like he had just spent the past three hours obsessively cleaning every inch of his dorm. even though thats exactly what he did.

it was a pretty small room but you'd be surprised how long it can take to clean if you're doing a real deep clean. not to mention the pain in the ass that doing laundry in college was.

he did all of this because, keeping true to your word, you did make plans with him to help him out with some of the reading.

you : does 5pm on saturday work 4 u?? :-)

art : Yeah, I'm totally free!!

(in hindsight the two exclamation points were probably a bit much.)

just as he was about to check out his hair for the 5th time today, there was a knock on the door. he glanced at the little digital watch on his wrist. 5pm sharp. wow, you were punctual. was it weird that he found that hot?

art quickly brushes a few unruly curls that were sticking out of his backwards cap away with his fingers before moving to open the door.

---

"so, what's the exact stuff you're having trouble with?" you peered at him from his bed, which you were sitting on, which he was being very cool about.

you had asked him if it was okay to sit there after you had exchanged a few pleasantries and then chatted for about 10 minutes.

it was mostly about class at first, then turned into more personal topics. you asked him if he was on the tennis team, because of all the..well..tennis gear in his room.

he nodded and told you about his tennis scholarship. you chuckled and said you had never really watched any matches at stanford so far, but you'd like to see him play.

he really tried to not seem overly enthusiastic about that but he did tell you the exact time and date of his next match.

apparently, you thought the sport seemed "really impressive". ( i.e. you were impressed. i.e. you were impressed by him playing tennis. or that's at least how he heard it.)

then, after he found out you were an english major, which wasn't a surprise, you finally brought up the topic of studying.

he spun in his desk chair, to face you.

"just some of this..interpretive stuff...i feel like i never know what the professor wants to hear from me." he tapped the end of his pen against the book he was holding. "well.." you shifted into a cross-legged postion, you were wearing shorts and he was trying really hard not to stare at your legs.

"you probably shouldnt be thinking about that in the first place, you know, what the professor wants to hear? you should think about what you actually got from the book." he knew this was pretty standard advice but when you said it, it sounded like the most intelligent, world-changing thing he'd ever heard.

"riiight...what if i didnt get anything from it?" he smiled sheepishly, leaning his head on his hand. you scrunched up your nose and playfully rolled your eyes, "oh, come on, how can you read classic literature and not get anything from it? i don't believe that."

you scooted forward a little. a little closer to him. a nervous chuckle left his lips, his gaze swept back and forth between you and the book before settling on you.

truth be told, he was doing fine, at least grade-wise, and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like he was striving to become an english professor, he mostly decided to take this class on a whim. but the part about struggling with interpretations was true, it just maybe wasn't necessarily a dire enough situation to require your help...

"well, maybe youre not asking yourself the right questions before you read." you hummed, gently tapping your finger against your leg. "can i see your notes?"

art panicked a bit at that. he wasn't sure why, but suddenly someone looking at his notes felt oddly intimate. you would be able to read the bits and parts of the book he regarded as important enough to jot down. what he liked. what he didn't like. perhaps it was a little intimate.

he tried to play it casual, though, and nodded as he handed you his english lit folder. his nerves only got worse the longer you took to read through them.

then suddenly, you smiled and nodded a little bit before looking up at him again. he prayed that you couldn't see the way his heart was trying to escape his ribcage right now.

"you know, you couldve just asked me out."

before his brain could even process that sentence, his mouth seemed to go into immediate action to splutter out some kind of denial in order to salvage this, "what? i- no, no, that's not- i mean, seriously why would-"

"i mean, i wouldn't have said no. like you didn't have to pretend to need my help. you clearly don't need it-" you gently tossed his folder back onto the desk. "-plus you're cute."

he didn't move for a good few seconds until he finally caught up to what had just happened.

now, this would've been the moment where he would've liked to be really cool and smooth in his response, but instead what happened was: "um..so then are we..like are you.."

in his defense you kind of caught him off guard. like completely. he had had a plan. how the study sessions would transition into friendship, and then maybe, hopefully at some point would transition into dating. he was a patient guy, really, and you had just skipped like...everything.

"are you free tomorrow?" you asked, as you stood up to grab your bag. wow, you were really taking the wheel at this point. and he discovered that he had shockingly little problem with that.

"uh, yeah, yeah i'm free..like all day." he did have training in the morning but he truly would skip it just this once if it came down to it.

"2pm?"

"sure."

"i'll text you?"

"okay."

"so..it's a date?"

you had stood up from the bed and were suddenly already on your way out. probably because you could tell he needed a minute.

"yeah, a date." he nodded with a (almost lovestruck) smile he hadn't even noticed had snuck its way unto his lips. you reciprocated with an equally excited grin, "cool."

before he knew it, the door had clicked shut, and he was alone again. he felt warm.

"cool."

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[backpackingspace]

Do we think odysseus started pranking Athena and her temples at some point? Because I do. He argued that it was good for sneaking and evading training. And you know what Athena couldn't argue that. Her chasing odysseus across the island was good training.

[vicsbasement]

So, @pitstoptaken sent me a reply with the prompt: Them being university people. They’re not really close, just know each other from friends. But one day things happen like, a 7 minute in heaven or something. “So are you gay or bi or?” // “does it really matter?”

And this came out:

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Carlos wonders, pointing with his head towards a taller guy, one that’s leaning against the wall as he intently stares at his phone. There’s a frown on his pretty features, and Lando isn’t the one to think other men are pretty, but this guy had commanded their attention from across the room. He was pretty.

“Him? Oh, that’s Charles, isn’t it?” Lando nudges Alex with his elbow and Alex nods, smiling happily as George pets his hair. “He’s a Modern Languages student, we go to the same translation theory class.”

Carlos nods along with the explanation, but a frown takes over his face. “So, there’s nothing a guy like me could ever have in common with him, huh.” Carlos muses, and Lando nods, almost solemnly. “Except…”

George places a glass, loudly, on top of the table, and grabs a glass beer bottle and a knife, making them clink and calling the room’s attention.

“Let’s play spin the bottle!” George claims, and the room erupts in equal part groans and laughter. Carlos doesn’t take his eyes off the handsome stranger, that doesn’t seem uninterested, but he couldn’t say he was on board with the idea, either.

“Volunteers can come to the kitchen floor and sit in a circle. Everyone else go back to your own conversations!” George demands, and the room erupts into laughter again, while some people move towards the kitchen.

That’s the moment the stranger looks up and catches Carlos’ stare on him. It must’ve been intense, because his expression was surprised, at first, but then, it turned… mischievous? The light wasn’t helping, though, and Carlos felt a shiver coming on when a trickle of cold sweat went down his spine at the little daring smirk the stranger was shooting his way as he, silently, walked towards George to stand directly behind him. They never broke eye contact. And Carlos tried his best to swallow around the dryness in his mouth.

Alex offered him a bottle, an eyebrow raised at him.

“You might not have to talk much with him, mate.” He joked. Carlos nodded.

Xx

Of course, George rigged the whole thing. And now Carlos is standing awkwardly in the middle of a hallway, catcalls coming from the living room, being ushered by George in the general direction of his bedroom – which of course he knows where it is, but it’s awkward, alright? – with a hand on a certain Charles Leclerc’s wrist.

Charles’ expression is almost unreadable in this light, but just judging by general feel, he doesn’t seem stiff, or nervous, he’s just an almost complete stranger that Carlos pointed out at this party. He walks quickly, still hearing the catcalls and wolf whistles, and takes a left so he can enter George’s room, closing the door behind Charles’ frame with a soft click.

“Who plays seven minutes in heaven anymore?” Charles quips, and Carlos feels caught. If he hadn’t pointed at him earlier tonight none of this would’ve happened, but now it’s too late to back out.

“It’s all George’s idea.” Carlos replies, running a nervous hand through his hair. “It was his plan to get to make out with Alex, but…”

“It landed on us, instead?” Charles wonders, and Carlos can see clearly how his eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room.

Surrounded by Lewis Hamilton posters, the whole scene isn’t how Carlos had imagined it would be, but he straightens his back, nonetheless, taking the leap to sit on the bed. At least he’s going to talk to the guy.

“What’s your name?” Charles wonders, and Carlos can’t help it, he smiles.

“I’m Carlos.” He replies. Charles shakes his head.

“You’re kidding.” Charles says, a bright smile and a soft laugh escaping him.

“No, I’m not, my name is Carlos Sainz—”

“We’re both named the same?” Charles interrupts him, and Carlos nods. He hadn’t thought about it, but there were some friends in this very college that called him Charlie, even.

“I go by Carlitos, though. You go by Charlie, right? I’ve heard Alex mention you.” Carlos says, and Charles nods. “I have some friends back home who called me Charlie, too.” Carlos admits, and Charles grins at him.

“Cats or dogs?” Charles asks him.

“Dogs.” Carlos replies, without thinking. Charles nods, agreeing with him. Then, it’s Carlos’ turn to question him.

“Do you have siblings?”

“Two brothers, I’m in the middle.”

“I’ve got two sisters and I’m in the middle, too.”

“Huh.”

“How old are you?” Carlos wonders, and Charles blushes a bright scarlet.

“I’m just shy of 21. In a month.”

“I just turned 24.”

“So you’re about to graduate?”

“Yeah, engineering. You?”

“I’m in my third year of Modern Languages.” Charles explains, and his phone pings loudly. “Actually I was checking on a group project when George called us to gather…” But he ignores the phone and sits right next to Carlos on the bed. Carlos feels the bed dip under his weight and leans towards Charles to bump his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s why you were frowning so hard.” He quips, sliding slightly closer to Charles in his movements. He didn’t seem to notice, but the next question made Carlos take pause.

“So, you were staring.” Charles says, more of a statement than a question.

“What if I was?” Carlos replies, a little defiance creeping into his tone. Charles laughs very softly, a twinkle in his eye.

“Are you straight or bi?” Charles goes right for the kill. Carlos, emboldened by the question, places a hand on Charles’ thigh.

“I’m bi. You?” He replies, clearing his throat and looking for eye contact, finding Charles’ eyes already trained on his.

“Gay.” Charles replies, almost a whisper.

“Huh.” Carlos says, inelegantly, his eyes darting towards Charles’ lips. His cupid’s bow is ridiculously charming and inviting. “Does it really matter, though? I’ve wanted to do this all night.” Carlos says, his face getting so close to Charles’ they’re sharing the same breath.

“I’ve been staring at you since you arrived.” Charles replies, his eyes trailing Carlos’ features and focusing on Carlos’ mouth as he smiles mischievously. Then, Carlos proceeds to lick his lips, and notices how Charles’ pupils start to dilate, and his eyes follow the movement.

“You’re cute.” That’s the last thing he says before he captures Charles’ mouth in his. He licks Charles’ lower lip, making him moan softly, shifting slightly on the bed to make room for Carlos to get closer, and Carlos takes the opportunity to push inside Charles’ mouth, tasting him all over. Charles is incredibly responsive, his body going pliant under Carlos’, who pushes him so he can lie on the bed. He shifts his position to lean on top of Charles, who now is lying flat on the bed’s surface.

After noticing how close Charles is to the edge of the bed, he pushes back on his knees and grabs Charles’ hips, lifting him slightly and moving him so they can both be centered, and Charles kicks off his shoes in the process. Carlos does the same and goes back to kissing Charles with abandon, but Charles takes his time, leaving soft, tantalizing bites on his lower lip, and it makes Carlos shiver.

When Charles is grabbing a fistful of hair and Carlos’ hands are roaming under Charles’ shirt, a faint knock on the door is drowned out with soft whimpers and moans as they both roll their hips together, Carlos fitting a knee between Charles’ legs and making him squirm and groan. Charles pulls at Carlos’ hair and rolls his hips once again, looking for more friction, and Carlos can’t help when a very loud moan escapes his lips.

Another knock, this time loud enough to make them pause.

“—los, the seven minutes are up!” Lando’s voice is heard behind the door, and Carlos can’t help when a petulant little moan escapes him as he leans over Charles to shield him from prying eyes in case they were to open the door.

“I heard you! Give us another second!” Carlos replies as he fixes Charles’ shirt, covering him up again. He tends to his hair, too, that got all rumpled with the pillows.

Charles giggles under him, covering his face with both hands and then using a pillow to hide his expression, but Carlos notices he’s blushing furiously.

“Hey. Charles.” Carlos says, lifting the pillow off Charles’ face and grabbing his chin so he could meet his eyes. “Do you want to go to the movies with me tomorrow night?”

Charles lets out another nervous giggle. He nods slowly, a big smile spreading across his lips and making his face light up. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

Carlos can’t help the moment he leans over again and kisses Charles, softly, tenderly, before he pushes himself off him to retrieve their shoes.

They both stand up at the same time, and as Carlos leads Charles towards the door, the other man pulls his shirt to make him turn.

“Let me fix your hair.” He mumbles, running soft fingers through the thick locks of black hair, and Carlos does everything in his power to suppress a full-body shiver. Still, unable to control himself, he pulls Charles towards him with his right arm, their chests pressed tight against each other.

“If you do that again I’m not leaving this room.” He whispers against Charles’ lips, and Charles lets out a shaky laugh before leaning in to kiss him again, Carlos reciprocating by pressing Charles against the door with a thud.

“George wants his room back!” They hear Alex shout from the other side of the door, and Carlos groans again as he is forced to break away from Charles.

“Mierda.” He curses.

Charles lets out another laugh as he turns around between Carlos’ arms and opens the door, the picture of innocence and decorum.

Until the light hits his face and his lips look bitten-red and a little sore.

[fictionadventurer]

A Biltmore Christmas may be the first Hallmark movie to drive me to fanfic.

[yasmeensh]

Paleolithic Media Catalogue

Hello everyone :) Short story first: When I began brainstorming for my prehistoric story, I started wondering what other prehistoric fiction there is out there. I was not familiar with it and have not seen much. That's when I started my grand literature review and began a search for what fiction exist out there. I wanted to know what kinds of stories are being made with this time period. What are the common themes or recurring ideas (I found lots of humans and dinosaurs works. And time travel). Since I've had a growing collection on my computer, I decided I should keep on enlarging it and put it online. It's nowhere near complete. I'll slowly keep accumulating the collection as I find more. I only have fiction books and comics right now. I still need to work on the film section.

You can access the blog here!

***

As for where I am in my reading, the one's I've finished reading are Earth's Children series (book 1-4. Dropped it afterwards lol. I made a post on with fanart) Dance of the Tiger and it's sequel Singletusk (They were good! I'll upload my review on the blog), and Sisters of the Wolf (It was ok!). I got my hands on The Inheritors and excited to start reading it. I REALLY want to read the Shiva trilogy, but I found no PDF online... and it's out of print :( There is certainly old copies on ebay. And I want to read Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. There seem to be lots of good books out there.

[atoltia]

oh march, she's gonna wife you so bad

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

Okok so like first off, I need y’all to know that this idea only came to me because I’d been watching ballets and the Indian movie I’d mentioned earlier Natyam (which is really really good I really do recommend it) but anyways one of those ballets was Swan Lake. Where the prince looks like this

Let us all take a moment to imagine this being Jace… okay moment over onto the au

So Jace multiclassed into bard in secret like when he was in college. His parents wanted him to become a wizard, and he tried he really did, but he failed and dropped wizard courses right after the second semester. He’s always enjoyed dancing, and he’s very skilled, but he’s always known that he could never view dance as any sort of viable life path. His parents would disown him. Not because they necessarily dislike dance or him dancing; they just believe he could do better, more important, things in his life.

He obviously goes to every recital he can, and damned if he doesn’t want to be up on stage with them. He goes back to his apartment after the performances and practices the moves as best he can. Sometimes when at night the moon is bright he’ll go to the spot he found by the lake nearby that’s slightly hidden from view, and get lost dancing to nothing but the music of nature. He’s not really religious, not like his mother, but he does find that dancing under the light of the moon helps to calm his mind and magic.

When he fails out of wizard classes he decides that maybe it’s a sign to go for something he’s passionate in. But he CANNOT let his parents find out that he’s switched from wizard to bard classes. They’re the ones paying for the university, his apartment, and they control his trust fund. If they find out he’s pretty sure they’ll disown him unless he goes back to wizard classes.

So he signs up for them in secret. He gets Corvin, a rogue and one of his best friends/fuck buddies, to sneak into the offices and make sure that there is no way his parents could find out.

And Jace fucking loves his dance classes. His teacher tells him he’s a natural, a prodigy, it’s still hard work and he’s sore and exhausted both physically and mentally at the end of every class. But it’s more than worth it. He’s never been so happy and at peace than he is when he’s dancing and performing.

As time passes it gets harder and harder to hide that he’s not learning wizardry from his parents. He just barely makes it out of having to go back home in the summer break, tells them that he’s still struggling so he decided to take up summer lessons this year. His parents are proud that he’s putting in the effort. And he is taking summer lessons, just for his dance class instead.

This pattern continues for another year. He’s slowly been working his way into more important roles, he’s even had a few solos this year. His teacher tells him that if he keeps this pace then by the fall semester he should start auditioning for some lead roles, that he’s near guaranteed the lead in a most.

Unfortunately that summer his parents decide they’ve missed him, and to surprise him with a visit. Three guesses as to what they end up discovering when they go to wait for his summer “wizard” lessons to get out for the day… They are of course furious. And when they see his name on a poster about a recital happening the next day, well, they decide to surprise him there.

Jace is the lead, and he’s incredible, and it’s so clear how much he belongs on the stage. His mother is almost moved by his performance, almost, and his father is thinking they should’ve stamped this out of him as a child.

By the time the performance ends, Jace is exhausted and riding an after performance high. His plans are to go out and have a few drinks with some of the other dancers before going home and crashing. That is of course immediately thrown off course when he leaves the building and sees his parents waiting for him. They don’t exactly give him a choice but to get into their car and ride in a painfully uncomfortable silence all the way back to his apartment. Where his parents make it very clear that he’s had his fun but it’s time start being serious. And that they aren’t accepting no for an answer.

But he is serious about dance, he shows them articles written about his latest performances, tells them about how his teacher calls him a prodigy, how he’s guaranteed the next couple lead roles. They don’t care. His father tells him if he doesn’t give up these ridiculous dreams they’re pulling away all his funding and taking him back home. Jace just barely manages to hold his tears back till they leave.

Okay, okay so he has till the end of the summer to figure out how to pay for his apartment, his schooling, and everything else. Not too hard right? Except that he can’t get a job that’ll pay enough for everything. And he already devotes almost all his time practicing. So he asks around his group if anyone has any advice.

One of his friends brings up how he could probably get a few scholarships. Another tells him that he should definitely apply for the House Sunstone Arts Foundation. It’s a pretty prestigious program, but even his teacher tells him he’s got a great chance at getting it.

About 2 weeks after he’s sent in his application he gets a response asking for a meeting with one of the members of the Sunstone family for an interview. The letter has the date, time, and address. It’s at a pretty fancy restaurant. One of those places with a dress code. And it’s only 2 days away.

He gets there. He’s nervous as hell. And as he’s led to the table he gets even more nervous because fuck he was not expecting the person he was meeting with to be so hot. Porter stands up to greet him, they introduce themselves, and Porter pulls out the chair for Jace. They both sit down, Jace apologizes for being late (he wasn’t, Porter had just shown up early). Porter says it’s fine, that he’d only just gotten there himself. They order food, Porter orders a bottle of wine for the table, and they begin talking.

Jace tells Porter about his accomplishments, his goals, his dreams, anything and everything he can think of to get him this scholarship. Porter nods and hums along before eventually asking why he’s applying for it. Jace tells him about how dancing has always been his passion, but that his parents envision a different life for him and cut off his funding. Porter tells him that he’s seen the videos Jace had sent in, that he can see the passion and talent Jace has, that he’s in the final list of applicants.

They finish dinner. And when they shake hands Jace tells himself he just imagined the caress of Porter’s thumb on his hand. He goes back home, tells his friends he’s made it to the final list. And life continues on for another 2 weeks before Jace gets 2 letters. One, from the foundation giving him another date, time, and address for a final interview in 3 days at the same restaurant. And the other from Jace’s parents stating they’ve cancelled his lease and he’s expected back home by the end of the month. He’s got three weeks of freedom left.

He goes to the interview. Once again Porter pulls out his chair. The conversation isn’t too much different from the last interview, but this time Porter’s asking him more questions. Mostly about his personal life unrelated to dance. And he keeps filling up Jace’s drink. And Jace keeps drinking. He knows he should stop, he’s already had a truly unprofessional amount, but Porter keeps filling it up. And Jace thinks it’d be rude to deny more, plus it’s good wine.

Jace knocks over his glass at some point, spilling it all over himself. He curses and grabs a napkin to try to dab it out but Porter’s leaning closer having already grabbed it and starting to dab Jace’s shirt. Jace is definitely not imagining how the dabs feel like caresses. And he’s definitely not imagining the look in Porter’s eye when Jace shivers from the touch.

They end dinner not too long afterwards, Jace can barely sit still in his seat now that he’s clocked Porter’s attraction. Jace is also far too gone to drive himself back home. So Porter offers him a ride. They go outside and Porter’s driver pulls up near immediately. Porter opens the door and gestures Jace into it. The back has plenty of space, but as soon as Jace has slid over to the other window seat Porter’s sidled up right next to him, draping his arm across Jace’s headrest.

Jace thinks he might actually explode. He knows there is no hiding how he’s practically vibrating out of his seat the whole drive. Especially when they come across a particularly sharp turn and Porter curls his arm around Jace to keep him from slamming into the window. And then just doesn’t move his arm back. Not until they pull up to Jace’s apartment building and Porter tells him to expect another letter soon. And asks for his crystal number. Jace gives it to him, obviously, and just barely refrains from inviting him upstairs.

More time passes with only the occasional texts between the two, and about 4 days before he’s due back home with his parents he gets the acceptance letter. Apparently not only will it be funding his schooling and dance specific items, it’ll also provide housing. Which is such a relief given he can’t renew the lease. Jace gets a text from Porter telling him congratulations, and that he can come by in a few days to take Jace to his new apartment.

Rumors spread eventually that Jace only got the scholarship because he seduced Cliffbreaker. But after he finishes his last performance before he graduates and gets scouted by 7 different companies those rumors start to die off.

[boyfriendyke]

there r a lot of things about the myth of psyche and eros that makes me a little insane but one of them has always been the tasks from aphrodite and the unfairness of it. they're not intended to be possible. they're so obviously not meant to be possible, and psyche isn't fucking hercules, you know, she's not a demigod or whatever, she's mortal and these aren't mortal tasks!! it's why psyche has to be helped with each one, fucking by like ants and river gods and shit. and so like. idk. i know ppl see psyche and eros as like a story about love and shit which obviously it is but as a kid psyche and eros always felt like a story about being able to accept help

[nullians]

It’s actually insane how fandom in general has become so scared of making weird and dark and ugly works. Like I look at myself and see how I have also subconsciously adapted this instinct to self censor and make things “marketable” and it’s making me want to crawl out of my skin. I need to get weirder and worse and more off-putting hello

[a-lonely-dunedain]

1, 3, 4, 8, 23, 30, and/or 33 for Margim and Celeair, if any of these tickle your fancy?

ooh ok! that's a lot lol, but these look fun!

1."are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?"

oh I color code most of my characters! once they've been around long enough they all usually get assigned one. Margim is burgundy and Celeair is silvery blue, I tend to draw them with outfits heavily featuring their respective colors.

3. "weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?"

Margim's weapon is a spiked mace, suited to brutal attacks that kill quickly and messily. She didn't exactly choose it, but it was the only thing available to her in Thorzhaf so she just had to get good at killing with it. Really good at killing with it. Celeair has no weapon, as he's a pacifist with no combat skills. As a loremaster he occasionally requires a staff, but only rarely as he doesn't need it for healing (which is most of what he does), so he doesn't usually carry one with him unless to use as a walking stick.

4. "how crafty/resourceful are they?"

as far as fighting is concerned, Margim is used to doing battle in a controlled environment, the same bridge in the same setting day in and day out, so fighting elsewhere might have taken her a little getting used to. As such she's still getting the hang of using her environment to her advantage, as she tends to fall into the habit of seeing her foe through a kind of tunnel vision and not focusing on much else. She has a very blunt and uncomplicated approach to problem solving, usually being "hit it with a mace til it stops being a problem, and if that doesn't work, ask Celeair what to do."

Now I would say Celeair is very resourceful! Between the two of them, he's usually the one with ideas (though he always values Margim's input whenever she gives it). Very 'think on his feet' kinda guy rather than 'plan every part in advance' so he's pretty adaptable even when things go awry.

8. "do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?"

well I know Margim is sometimes shortened to Mar by Elain, but there's not really much meaning behind it besides "we're friends and I shorten my friends names :>" (Margim certainly prefers it over any title she earned in Thorzhaf)

Celeair is sometimes called Cel (pronounced "Kel" bc this is still a Sindarin C) by his brother. I also feel like Elain would have a sort of nickname for him that isn't derived from his real name, maybe something that started out as a joke but kinda stuck, but nothing has jumped out at me yet.

23. "how would you describe their voice? can they sing?"

Celeair's voice is clear and gentle, and I think he can sing rather well! Margim's voice is quiet, low and almost rumbling at times. It can be a bit husky as well due to how little she speaks. I don't think she's ever tried to sing.

30. "do they smell like anything notable?"

hmm, I never gave much thought to how they would smell. I suppose Celeair would smell pretty strongly of medicinal herbs, but the exact composition can vary depending on what he's been working with. It'd range anywhere from the sweet and fresh (almost minty) smell of Athelas to bright fir needles and pungent poultices. The man basically smells like a walking herb store, which I guess makes sense considering he spends most of his time in such places.

As for Margim, first thing that came to mind was that she smells vaguely smokey? Can't think of a logical reason she would smell that way, at least post-Mordor, besides just *gestures vaguely* vibes™. Maybe smokey and spicy? (some of Celeair's herb smells rubbed off on her. from all the cuddling <3)

33. "if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them."

well considering Bitter Ash is written from both Celeair and Margim's PoVs, we kinda already know how they'd describe one another, so let's see what my other guys have to say about them! (they have at least met once after all)

Ethedis: likes Celeair a lot, sees him as a very capable healer with an agreeable demeanor. Instantly clocks that this dude has MAXED out his charisma stat, as it wouldn't be easy for just any Gondorian to be welcomed into Dunlanding village like this, and that he's much wiser than his easygoing exterior first lets on. Thinks he would be unstoppable if he honed his offensive Loremaster skills, but understands that hurting anyone would be against his principles. She wishes she could have gotten by on the same path, but the world demanded different things from them.

She was initially wary of Margim, as most people are upon first meeting her, but seeing the genuine trust Celeair has for Margim put her at ease somewhat. She's actually not intimidated by her at all (though she might have been if they met earlier), and is heartened to find such an unexpected and powerful ally. She's difficult for even Ethedis to read, but she got the impression that Margim holds a lot of pain in her past and that Mordor is to blame for it. She'll be the last person in Dunland they need to worry about falling under the sway of the Enemy.

Tossdir: was very wary of Margim upon first meeting and was slower to trust her than Ethedis was, mostly due to past experience with a certain Man of Mordor (*cough* Mordrambor *cough*) messing with his head that one time. I think once he's certain she's on their side and hates the forces of Mordor as much as they do, he would see her as the archetypal 'shady loner with a mysterious past' but he can tell she cares a great deal for the people of the Stag-Clan, and for this random Gondorian who's here too for some reason (he does NOT clock that they are madly in love. so oblivious it's almost embarrassing). He's curious about her past, but understands she wouldn't take kindly to him trying to pry into it, so he keeps a respectable distance. Even if they aren't friends, she's still a foe of Mordor and Isengard, and that at least, makes them allies. Still kinda wishes he knew what her whole deal was...

Speaking of Celeair, I honestly think Tossdir was too distracted by Margim to pay much mind to him in the short time they spent in Trum Dreng lmao. He's a bit odd, like Ethedis in some ways, but seemed like a nice enough guy. Tossdir couldn't say much more about him than that tho.

[xiii-e]

//ooc posting: I NEED to find more fun/silly things to do with my two they are Not meant to be all agony all the time I swear- I just have a penchant for the dramatic and they're a little in the torment nexus o(-< but on god they will Have Fun too

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[doomdoomofdoom]

not to get political on the blog for my thoughts of which many are political but

By far the funniest reasoning I've heard against voting for Kamala Harris is that she was/is a cop. She's not. Kamala Harris was a prosecutor.

These are not the same thing. These are so obviously not the same thing that it boggles the mind anyone would think so. Yes, cops and prosecutors work together. Yes, the US criminal justice system is incredibly flawed.

But one trains for 6 months and has the authority to use lethal force while not being required to know the law they're enforcing. The other has to spend 7 years to pursue higher education, 3 of which spent exclusively on law, and has a direct counterbalance when performing their job.

If you want to hate Kamala Harris for being a prosecutor, go do that. But don't pretend she's a cop to make it easier for you.

[dreamedfyre-a]

kinda wanna plot things, kinda don't know how to go about it

[puppppppppy]

footnotes arent enough I need you to talk to me like im fucking Amelia Bedelia