Im In A Shippy Mood Tonight So Like This And Ill Im You About Shipping Our Muses. Please Try To Have

i’m in a shippy mood tonight so like this and i’ll im you about shipping our muses. please try to have some idea of who you want to ship with before i approach you.

@c0mpositeur liked for a starter!

Art didn’t talk to Christian very much. Their paths didn’t cross a lot. Art tended to be busy with his clients and Christian was busy with the show and Satine. Still, Art was fond of the composer. He was a kind, somewhat steady presence in the chaos that was the Moulin Rouge. He knocked on the door of Christian’s apartment, shifting his weight as he waited. “Christian? Are you in there?” Zidler had sent him to collect rent, although why Christian needed to pay rent when he wasn’t even living in the Rouge was a mystery Art had yet to solve.

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic.

The relief that Ennis’ words bring him is something that Jack can’t even begin to quantify. He takes the proffered whiskey bottle and drinks from it, hoping it hides his giant grin long enough for him to get it under control. “Nah.” If he had his way, this would never end. It’d just be him and Ennis on the mountain forever, with nothing and no one to drag them back to civilization. He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t want to scare Ennis off. “Not yet.” Even saying yet has him scared. Maybe Ennis will realize they can end this whenever they want and he’ll call it off right now. Jack knows he’s being stupid—Ennis just said he didn’t want to call it off, after all—but he can’t help worrying. “Figure I’ll take as much time as I can get.” He grins again, and then adds, “I’ll take as much’a you as I can get, too.” It’s a risky thing to say, but Jack has always been a risk-taker.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃. shuts everything out and creates a room where only the two of them exist. it's so easy to feel everything he feels for jack here. here where there's no one telling him it's wrong. no one waiting to catch him in the act and punish him for it. all those fears are swallowed , too , and ennis finds himself easing into the comfort of it more and more each day. but in the back of his mind , he always knows the morning is coming. and life won't be the same after leaving the mountain. he knows this. he takes a long swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and offers it over to jack. shakes his head in reply to jack's question. ❝ don't s'pose i do just yet. do you? ❞

Patrick didn’t know what was wrong with his car. He didn’t really care, either. He just wanted to get under MJ’s skin. He didn’t know how he’d found out Art frequented the garage, but he had, and so he’d decided to pay the mechanic a visit. He wasn’t much. Patrick had no idea what Art saw in him. Then again, Patrick had no idea what Art saw in anyone that wasn’t Patrick. They couldn’t take care of Art like he could. They didn’t know how to. Art had been with Patrick for fourteen years. He was the only one that knew Art the way Art wanted to be known. And they both knew it.

“Great.” He had to force himself back to the conversation. “How much? And how long is it going to take? I’ve got a tournament in Chicago in three days.” A lie, but MJ didn’t know that. “And I’m serious. Be careful around Art. I doubt you want to get hurt.”

˖ ⭑₊˚ For no more than a second, Micah was struck by images of bashing the oily wrench clutched in his hand against the other man's head until he stopped moving. He imagined red staining concrete floors and sticky on his palms. He imagined fixing a problem for his friend and not caring how much time he'd serve for it. And then his shoulders dropped ; his best impression of relaxed. He had to fix the car. That was what was important – fixing the hunk of metal that Patrick Zweig had pulled up to the garage in – because as soon as it was done then the other would leave. MJ could stop being so worried and angry when he left. His eyebrows rose and he turned away from the engine he was staring fixedly at to look at the other, ' I'm just here to fix your car, Mister Zweig. It's probably your cylinders. '

— @notefinal : ‘  it’s  not  true …  it’s  not  true .  he  takes  the  truth  but  he  twists  it  and  changes  it  to  fit  his  own  story .  ’

Riff’s grin widened as she relented. He took the lead back from her when the beat changed and grinned even wider. “I ain’t gonna step on ya.” He was confident about that. Riff had always said he was the best dancer in the ton, and he wasn’t going to risk that by stepping on Hannah Milbanke’s shoes. The dance was a long one, but Riff didn’t mind. He liked long dances. It meant he got to show off more. And he was very keen on showing off with Hannah. “You really gonna beat me with that?” he asked, eyeing her fan warily. He didn’t think she would, but then again, he wouldn’t put it past her.

hannah immediately snatched the card back, gaping at his impertinence. she was equal parts irritated and shocked that he had the nerve to call her out on her little white lie. didn't he know a lady was entitled to her secrets? and so they stood for a few tense seconds, staring each other down like they were dueling with their eyes. she so hated to lose a battle. but it was entirely her own doing, after all, she had been the one to bring him to such an event. " fine, " hannah eventually relented, her expression sour at the truce. when hannah extended her hand for him to accept, she guided them to the other dancing pairs, leading them with confidence as if she were the man. " but make one false trod on my shoes and I will beat you with my fan. "