#Blame Reddit

[runeskiamorph]

After seeing a 'behind the scenes' photo of Lars Mikkelsen having a smoke brake in full Thrawn outfit, I knew I wouldn't be able to rest until I've made this contribution to the fandom.

And I mean COME ON GUYS! How has this not been done before???

[finalyaksha]

Xiaoqing Analysis - Xiao’s “Obsession” with Keqing

Lantern Rite will be upon us soon, meaning it’s also nearing the Official Unofficial Xiaoqing Holiday Season. Happy Lantern Rite, Xiaoqing Shippers! May we be blessed with something we can squint at and interpret as additional crumbs in the same vein that “You are fierce with your blade” gave us last year.

Even though I’m forever going to associate Xiaoqing as the Lantern Rite ship, it’s still a pretty rare pairing. So, since brain rot season is here, it’s inevitable that the question will be asked: “why do you ship them?”

So, I decided to start a series that no one asked for where I essentially address questions people may have about Xiaoqing as a ship. Or just talk a little bit about it if you’re new to the pairing, curious about the dynamics, or that I can honestly just link to every time I have to explain why I’m so unhealthily obsessed with them.

Disclaimer: This is just my view of certain aspects of the ship. Even though Xiaoqing shippers share 99% of the same braincells, we still have interpretations that differ, so just because I feel this way about it, doesn’t mean all shippers do.

~~~

I decided to start with something that happens to come up every so often when talking about Xiao ships, which is Xiao’s characterization in some pairings. Apparently, it’s very popular to portray him as being “obsessed with” or “yandere” for whoever he’s being shipped with, which most people would consider a pretty big mischaracterization.

In general, I don’t really like when characters feel uncharacteristically obsessed with another character. It usually feels out of place if that’s not a major or blatant trait of the character. But I can get behind it if there’s some basis behind it.

Bluntly put, in terms of Xiaoqing, I think Xiao would absolutely become obsessed with Keqing at the start of their relationship. Almost to an unhealthy degree, if not actually just flat out unhealthy.

The way I interpret him, Xiao is an emotionally deprived, touch-starved character, who has spent 2,000 years not interacting with almost anyone. Not humans, not his fellow Adepti, no one. He has never been able to love anyone, and he’s never been loved by anyone.  That all changes when he and Keqing get together and he realizes that he is capable of achieving what he previously thought he couldn’t.

Once he is not only accepted by Keqing, but he realizes his feeling for her are reciprocated, it’s completely believable that he would reorder his entire life around Keqing. It’s mentioned in the Developer Insights that Xiao is much gentler than he shows himself to be, and I would argue his birthday letters further show him as the romantic type. I believe that Xiao has always wanted to show this side of himself, but has never had the opportunity prior to his relationship with Keqing. She is the one who showed him that he could love someone, make someone happy, and have a purpose outside of dedicating his life to the slaughter. 

Most of all, she is a mortal. And a wealthy one at that. She should honestly want nothing to do with him, and yet returns his love for her and accepts him despite him lacking wealth, his karma, and the danger he presents to her. She gives him access to her home, which becomes their home. The first place he could ever truly call home. A bed where he’s allowed to hold her and she tells him it’s the safest she’s ever felt. For him to be told that he makes someone not feel threatened, but safe, is the pinnacle of the resulting infatuation. There is every reason in the world for him to become obsessed with her, and I think it aligns with his lore in a way that isn’t out of character. I can 100% see him pining for her when she’s away at work, spending every hour waiting for her to come home. Not wanted to let go of her when she does get home. Wanting her to feel as loved and safe as she makes him feel.

The thing with Xiaoqing is, Keqing is not in support of Xiao putting her on a pedestal in such a manner. She is outright against it, knowing that it is only going to result in Xiao falling into an irreversible depression once Keqing eventually dies. On top of that, Keqing is and has always been very independent and isn’t used to the idea that she should be given as much attention as Xiao wants to. She is almost unnerved by the fact that Xiao is so fixated on her. Xiao is obviously aware of this and even more at odds with himself because he wants her to have her “me time” while also struggling to be apart from her. Xiao’s obsession is constantly combated by the very person he is so obsessed with.

So, given that Xiao would never deny the fact that his life would essentially come to an end without her (regardless of how long he lives, he would never be the same after Keqing’s death), Keqing strives to get him to find hobbies and interests outside of her, like art. To form friendships with others that he can confide in when Keqing isn’t around, like Hu Tao and Kazuha (I’ll elaborate on Kazuha specifically if anyone wants me to). She works tirelessly to find things for Xiao to find joy in so he doesn’t become a mere shell of himself after her death.

With that all said, I don’t think it’s a mischaracterization to believe that Xiao would become obsessed with Keqing considering the fact that it would essentially be an entirely new world for him in realizing that he is finally able to be gentle with and to love someone who doesn’t push him away because of his past. He would do everything in his power to maintain that relationship with her. Even at the cost of his own happiness, he would do whatever he thinks he needs to in order to keep Keqing satisfied with him.

However, Xiao is not a yandere, and would not just go around slaughtering anyone who gets near Keqing out of jealousy or a desire to keep her to himself. On the contrary, Xiao thinks he’s so worthless compared to wealthy, mortal men that lack the emotional baggage that he carries, he is more than willing to give Keqing up the second he believes someone better for her comes along. He loves her to an unhealthy degree, but believes that she deserves the person who can provide the world for her. Knowing that he could never do such a thing, he is always prepared for the day she decides to part ways with him. He would be devastated to accept it, but would do it just because of how much he loves her and wants to see her happy.

In essence, Xiao would absolutely have an unhealthy obsession with Keqing at first, but with her determination to shake him out of that, they would eventually reach some level of understanding that Keqing should not be placed on a pedestal. Nor should Xiao sacrifice his own potential happiness to constantly try to satisfy her. Xiao behaves this way as a result of 2000 years of repressed emotional connections with other people. While Keqing has always been independent and isn’t used to the hyper-obsessive attention Xiao would want to give her. Still, she also doesn’t want to push him away, as she obviously loves him back just as much. They’d eventually reach a middle ground of sorts where Keqing is able to accept when Xiao wants to do things for her out of the love he’s never been able to share with anyone. While Xiao is not quite as dependent on Keqing for his personal happiness and learns that he is allowed to have his own life, dreams, and desires that are not limited to his relationship with Keqing.

They’re both very stubborn people and have trouble accepting care from others. Part of the Xiaoqing dynamic is moving towards that acceptance and learning how to let themselves be loved and cared for just as much as they desire to show love to each other, and finding a good balance between giving and receiving.

~~

Xiaoqing Analysis

Why Xiaoqing

Genus Invokation TCG

[rey-jake-therapist]

FOUND THEM!!

You should really read before watching the next episodes... it's like, really bad 😬

Yes, there's an Elrond/Galadriel kiss. It's episode 7, very brief, and only done so Elrond can pass Galadriel a needle and help her escape Adar

Deaths: Adar, Celebrimbor, Damrod, most of the elves from Galadriel/Elrond's expedition + a whole bunch of nameless elves during the siege

Arondir survives, choosing to take down Damrod and save his fellow elves rather than go after Adar

Celebrimbanner is very much in, although he's placed where the statue of Feanor went rather than on the frontline

Durin III/Balrog fight confirmed, happens on a bridge like (maybe the same as) Gandalf's in FOTR?

The Stranger is definitely 100% Gandalf

Damrod actually sings the Last Ballad of Damrod as he goes into battle

Galadriel calls Halbrand "the hottest son of a bitch I've ever hated"

Cowron does not appear

Not too sure about this, but Ep 8 seems to hint that the Dark Wizard is some kind of "pre-incarnated" version of Farmer Maggot

Halfway through Episode 8, Poppy mistranslates "Suzat" as "South" and ends up in Mordor. It's hinted she might take control of the orcs Adar left behind

Mr. Mouse is Morgoth. This is who Mirdania is referring to when she says "I think he has been here all along"

Sauron uses Black Speech in his final scene, which appears to be Romanian spoken backwards

Post-credits sex scene between Snaggleroot and Winterbloom

Just a little bit of spoiler warning now to "Rings of Power" fans as last night the show had a screening in New York of the final 2 episodes of season 2 with the cast, writers, press, and fans, which means there might be actual spoilers out there now for what happens. I didn't really believe that many of the "leaks" before this but now that people have seen it going by my other fandoms when this happens there usually are people that leak the whole thing. So just be careful online especially if you don't want to be spoiled for anything that happens the rest of the season.

[pcktknife]

healer DOWNED

[formulaocean]

If you can’t handle 2024 Max you can’t handle 2021 Max and Lewis if you can’t handle 2021 Max and Lewis you can’t handle 2016 Brocedes if you can’t handle 2016 Brocedes you can’t handle Multi 21 Seb if you can’t handle Multi 21 Seb you can’t handle Crashgate if you can’t handle Crashgate you can’t handle Spygate if you can’t handle Spygate you can’t handle Schumi’s championship disqualification or Schumi in general if you can’t handle Schumi you can’t handle 1989/90 Senna and Prost or Senna in general if you can’t handle Senna you can’t handle Villeneuve and Pironi or Lauda and Hunt. Tell me again who’s in your list of all time greats?

[mortispoxi]

Seeing Twitter users recommending the People Make Games documentary as a good way to get insight on the issue is so….

I know, I’m always extremely disappointed whenever I come across someone who thinks it’s the end all be all explanations regarding the Studio ZA/UM situation.

Recommending that video always comes with a heavy caveat from me that the person needs to stop around the 40 minute mark since the interviewer shows a very clear bias that’s unbecoming of a journalist.

Regardless, now that more people are finding out about these layoffs, which might take out members of the studio that have been there since the beginning, it could finally help smack some sense into those Twitter users that actually thought, FOR SOME REASON, Rostov, Kurvitz, and Hindpere were lying for shits and giggles rather than seeing what's ACTUALLY going on which is that the investors have a very obvious agenda against the real wronged party. Hopefully this'll also open their eyes to how the People Make Games video fed into this twisted narrative that Kurvitz was somehow at fault/responsible for the theft of his own IP, but that might be asking too much from their concrete brains. Here's hoping though!

[cycle-of-violence-au]

CYCLE OF VIOLENCE - #18

Previous

[bethanydelleman]

So if you ever want me to explain why I have really started to hate P&P 1995:

Source

AUSTEN DIDN'T FUCKING DO THAT

You are probably thinking of Colin Firth's portrayal or freaking Lord Byron

(And I'm pretty sure the broody hero trope existed before she started writing, but that's just a guess. I don't have sources tonight I just have rage)

[keen-eye]

TL;DR: you can’t compare hating dean to hating sam

the difference between people who hate dean and people who hate sam is that it seems like most dean “haters” still enjoy his character. they’re just rightfully critical of his actions (he’s abusive, i’m scared of/for you if you think he isn’t) and the narrative bias towards him (because someone has to hold him accountable). part of what makes him/the show fun to watch and dissect is the horrible way he treats others while still making you invested in his character. the audience puts up with, or even justifies, his behavior because we’ve grown attached to him (sound familiar?). it’s disturbing and it brings back the horror that was missing from the “family is hell” show (but if you just want to watch the “perfect found family” show then idk what to say lol)

on the other hand, it seems like sam “haters” tend to dislike him with little nuance. people are allowed to like dean more and find sam annoying/boring but you have to separate sam’s personality from his actions/opinions within the family dynamic or else you need to do some self-reflection (& read some sam meta about victim blaming). of course there are those who’ve made up their minds on this due to shipping brain but there are plenty of other people who feel this way. something particularly annoying is equating hating dean to hating sam while ignoring the clear power imbalance in their relationship.

anyway. if everyone can wrap their heads around this and lift the curse then we can finally be free from this cycle. cycle…hey wait a minute—

[azelmaandeponine]

r/gravityfalls is having a normal one. Gotta love how this fandom can be counted on to blatantly victim blame and be extremely fucking ableist.

Gravity Falls fandom be normal about Ford challenge (impossible).

[atelierlili]

Katniss, Peeta, and the messy in between.

For a while I've been seeing the sentiment of blaming the distance between Katniss and Peeta after the 74th games on Peeta entirely and I think it's rather unfair. It's a messy situation involving two teenagers who are both valid in their feelings at this point in time.

There's multiple things going on at the end of book 1 in regards to Peeta's relationship with both Katniss AND Haymitch that it feel unfair to blame him, when Peeta, like Katniss, more often than not, is the last one to find out other people's intentions/plans, even from his own allies.

Now before I start, I feel like I must preface this by saying I'm not bashing anyone in this analysis so if you're gonna say something rude and mean about my babies, make that U turn cause I aint having it. Also I'm a yapper so this is gonna be really long lol.

It begins on the train tracks. Katniss and Peeta are walking along the tracks when Peeta picks her a small bouquet of wildflowers as Katniss is struggling to convey the kind of danger they are in, while also being paranoid that they're being watched. At this time, she also connects Gale to the wild flowers Peeta has picked for her and its adding her anxiety to the point where she can't even pretend to be happy at Peeta's gift. And that's something he picks up on.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks. “Nothing,” I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come. -THG - Chapter 27

Its not until Haymitch appears and drop the bomb and bows out that Peeta finally catches on that Katniss and Haymitch are still playing up the lover act without his knowledge.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?”

“So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess . . . back in the arena . . . that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

-THG - Chapter 27

The truth comes out. Uh oh. It seems this star crossed lovers act when on longer than Peeta expected. Granted, I don't recall him or Katniss ever making their status official, but somewhere between the cave and now, Peeta thought both him and Katniss were on the same page about their feelings. He's not wrong for thinking Katniss liked him back, she does, what he didn't account for is Katniss not knowing herself that she liked him back.

I think Peeta learning the truth through Haymitch and not Katniss starts them on the wrong foot. Because she isn't honest with him for a majority of the time in this scene. Yes, Katniss was worried if the capitol could hear them, but even after Haymitch lets them know they can talk freely, she's still isn't 100% honest with Peeta.

Now here comes the big question.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming

I'd be more than happy to dump all the blame on him for being a pissy baby after the revelation if it weren't for that last part at the end.

Peeta's hurt, yes, but he can rationalize that Katniss had to play lovers for the games, but here, right now, he's asking what he should be expecting when they get home. The words aren't there, but the subtext is loud and clear.

This is a confession. I'm hurt. But I still like you. Do you like me? Will we have something when we go home and the cameras are gone?

Katniss gives him her most honest answer yet. She doesn't know. She's confused and she's getting more confused as they get closer to home. And that's it. That's her answer. But it isn't enough.

Peeta explicitly waits for more of an explanation from Katniss. He hears nothing about her thoughts, feelings, fears. He only knows what she tells him. And when he doesn't get it, there's no other way to take it as a rejection.

So now what?

“Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. -THG- Chapter 27-

“No, I ate at the Hob,” I say. “But thank you.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, it’s so formal. Just as it’s been every time I’ve spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. -CF- Chapter 1

The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we’ve had ever since. -CF- Chapter 2

And this is why I feel like it's so unfair to solely blame Peeta for their distance between THG and CF. This distance came from both sides.

Peeta ends Book one asking Katniss to be honest with him once she figures her own feelings out. But she never does. She just picks up her life and tries go back to what it was before the games.

Was he waiting for an answer? How long did he wait? When did he give up and accept that whatever was the 74th was something his mind made up while he lying half dead in a cave?

Katniss has a valid list of a million things that are clouding her feelings for Peeta. We know them because we're stuck in her head. But Peeta isn't. And to be honest, I don't think he ever knows all of them throughout the trilogy.

I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? -THG- Chapter 27-

And this isn't a silly little fling for Peeta. He's liked Katniss since forever. Has there been other girls that caught his eye? Yes, maybe, but Katniss Everdeen has always been a soft spot for him.

Now, there is a part of him that now as to wonder WTF was going on in the Games, in the Cave and the Interview that followed after. You know the one, where Katniss cries into his chest, buries her face into his chest and practically sits on him the entire time.

Unlike Katniss, Peeta now has to question everything because the rug has just been pulled from underneath him. Yes, he's aware about the lover act and playing it up for the audience, but he isn't aware that Katniss and Haymitch have some crazy telepathic connection to each other that was guiding how Katniss would act towards Peeta in the games. He was even delirious half the time. How far did that go? When did it even begin? He knew that Haymitch was sending packages to Katniss instead of him.

I'm not making this shit up because it's the one thing that Peeta outwardly expresses frustration at (especially) Katniss and Haymitch.

“This has to stop. Right now. This — this — game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.” “It’s not like that, Peeta —” I begin. “It’s exactly like that!” he yells at me. “I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don’t pull this thing off. So, after all we went through in the arena, don’t I even rate the truth from you?” - CF - Chapter 5 -

So what is the point i'm making here? Oh right. I think Peeta is 1000% justified in withdrawing from Katniss after the train tracks. What else is he suppose to do? This isn't something he can bounce back and recover from right away. Taking a step back is the most mature thing to do in this situation. For his sake and hers.

I dislike the notion that his apology denotes complete wrong doing on his part. He's having a human moment and he navigates it better than most would. Yes, he freezes her out, but he doesn't berate her, blame her or is mean to her. He just fucks off and deals with his own emotions and only shows up to play the perfect boyfriend. (And when he does, he never does it with malice OR resentment, at least to from Katniss' obervation.) What other alternative is there? He's genuinely hurt and I feel like expecting him to be comforting and supportive on and off camera when he's hurting inside to be unfair.

We sympathize with Katniss because we're in her head 24/7. We can get to hear her yearn and pine for Peeta after the train tracks. But Katniss also just doesn't mention her every trying to fix her relationship with Peeta between books. She lets the ice freeze over until Peeta comes back to ofter friendship instead. Yes, she has trauma and more hang ups than the average modern day person, but so does Peeta. Trauma is an explanation, not an excuse. If Katniss is allowed three books to figure out her feelings for Peeta, Peeta should be allowed the in between of Book 1 and 2 to figure out his with Katniss.

There should be more nuance when we look at this point in time where Peeta and Katniss' relationship is estranged. Peeta has a lot of reasons why he might want distance from her and I think it's unfair to blame him for it. From him questioning the games, Katniss and Haymitch's involvement with each other and Katniss non-answer of a rejection to his feelings, there's a lot of things he needs to sort out himself. Yes, she saved his life, but she also doesn't answer a lot of questions he asks of her. Katniss doesn't owe him a relationship for what happened in the games, or even her reasons why she's not ready for a relationship. But in turn, we shouldn't blame Peeta if he personally needs time to pick himself up, to figure things out himself. And this is just one thing on top of the trauma that follows both of them after the games. He also just fucking lost his leg LMAO

[nqueso-emergency]

I think a ss wasn't sent because I don't see up votes.... but jfc these people are unbelievable. Victim blaming?? In 2024?!

These are way too similar to "if she didn't want to get ***** why did she dress like that?"

Makes me sick and sad that this shit is still considered okay.

Thank you for sharing ❤️

[chanoeys]

Sami Zayn has one last message, in Montréal...

WWE FRIDAY NIGHT SMACKDOWN FEBRUARY 17TH 2023

[pitconfirm]

so relived to look in the lance tag and not find it full of hatred and vitriol. maybe I just have enough people blocked to not see it but I was so scared that there would be a repeat of the dric incident

[spacedlexi]

the post about the mirrors between the Kenny & Jane fight and the Minnie & Clem fight just reminds me of all the similarities between Violet and Kenny. like obviously they’re different characters, I just find it interesting how they share so many traits (being very loyal, may or may not sustain an eye injury, like fishing even if one is rod fishing and the other is spear fishing). there’s some more similarities I forgot to mention but I’ve been patiently waiting for someone to draw Violet and Kenny fishing wearing “women love me, fish fear me” hats or something.

oh yeah, ALSO. they both have moments where you can fight them and calm them down (Kenny on the train, Violet in the ending where you didn’t save her).

this is just so interesting! wish other people acknowledged it.

anon unknowingly unlocking my beef with kenny defenders who hate violet

vi was one of the first characters for me where i realized that a female character can have all the traits people will defend in their favorite male character(s) and yet theyll still find a way to absolutely despise her for some reason

kennys #1 defense is that him losing his family is what drove him to the brink and its soooo understandable for him to act out the way he does (brutally killing people, abusive even if it comes from a place of wanting to protect "his group"). but violet, who acts the way she does (isolationist loner) because.... she lost her family... is a disloyal bitch for some reason 😐 even while shes nothing but loyal to clem regardless of choice (people are quick to defend louis' actions in ep 2 as well and his behavior never makes Him disloyal for some reason 😐 "he lost his best friend!" and vi lost her best friends/gf because of marlon so?), and only has a lapse in judgement after you (determinately) "betray" her 💀 AND she apologizes for it if you do!!

if nothing about violet changed besides her pronouns the fandom reception to her would be so dramatically different and i refuse to believe otherwise

[scrollonso]

Before — 1 (out of 3? maybe)

Sick. That's how Bez felt. Whether it was from the ridiculous amount of alcohol he'd had since he crashed out - since Marc Marquez made him crash - or because of the anger bubbling under the surface he wasn't sure.

All he knew was that as soon as that microphone was in his hand all he wanted to do was bitch and moan about his shitty race.

The room was crowded, full of people celebrating as he shouted slurred words into the microphone by his lips.

"We're here..." He started, done talking to Digi's daughter. Now was his chance "I just wanted to say one thing today. Marquez made me crash." He stated plainly, pointing his finger at the camera in front of his face

"He wanted to say it" The man behind him slightly laughed as he spoke, it wasn't a joke. This was all Marc Marquez's fault.

"I wanted to say it." He echoed before moving on, unaware of just how much this comment was going to shape his night.

The broadcast eventually came to an end after ten minutes of Bez's rambling. He wasn't sure when he came to this conclusion but he decided he was going to confront Marquez.

He was stumbling, not because that dickhead hurt him, he's too strong to be hurt by such a pathetic rider. Maybe he was just a little too drunk to do anything straight.

He pounded on the door of the Spaniards motorhome, ready to tear into him as soon as his door swung open. What he wasn't ready for was for the shorter man to be in nothing but a white towel hanging loosely around his waist.

Bez's anger flared even more at the sight of Marc looking so unbothered, so relaxed, as if nothing had happened. The Spaniard raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Bezzecchi, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Marc's tone was mocking, his eyes glinting with amusement as his lips curled up into a Cheshire cat smile.

"You think this is funny?" Bez slurred, his fists clenching at his sides. "Vai a farti fottere. You made me crash!"

Marc leaned against the doorframe, his smirk widening. "Is that what you came here to tell me? You know, blaming others won't make you a better rider, Marco."

Bez took a step forward, his vision blurring slightly. "Shut up! You did it on purpose. You wanted me out of the race! Your race ended a few laps later as karma for you being a reckless dickhead."

Marc shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe you should focus more on your own skills rather than finding excuses."

The words cut deep, and Bez's anger turned into a fierce determination. He pushed Marc back into the motorhome, causing the Spaniard to stumble slightly. Marc's smirk faltered as he realized Bez wasn't just drunk — he was furious.

"You think you can just ruin my race with nk consequences?" Bez shouted, his voice loud, echoing off the walls of the small structure. "Mi stai sul cazzo."

Marc straightened up, his expression hardening. "You're drunk, Bez. Go sleep it off before you do something you'll regret."

But Bez was beyond reason. He swung a punch at Marc and missed, embarrassingly enough. The two men stood there, the tension between them palpable, neither of them felt like they could breathe in the small space.

"Do something I'll regret?" Bez barked. "The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner."

He lunged forward again, but this time Marc didn't move. Instead, he grabbed Bez's arms and held him in place, their faces inches apart, Marc controlling him as if he was some mutt the Spaniard had trained. Bez's breath was hot and heavy, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with anger and something else neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Marc whispered, his voice low, warning the pup.

"Maybe I don't," Bez replied, his voice equally low, a stark change from the volume he had just seconds before. "But I know what I want."

Without thinking, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Marc's in a rough, angry kiss. Marc resisted for a second, but then he was kissing Bez back just as fiercely, their mutual hatred and frustration pouring into the kiss.

It was a battle for dominance, their hands gripping each other's arms tightly, neither willing to give an inch. It was messy, all teeth and tongues and pent-up aggression. It could hardly be called a kiss, not in any romantic sense. It was at once filthy and violating, no teasing or buildup. Not altogether unpleasant, Marc noted once he recovered from the shock of the turn this interaction had taken, but still unwelcome. And so, in response, he took the first opportunity he had to bite down hard on Bez's bottom lip, blood bursting across his tongue just before the Italian jerked away.

He didn’t appear angry, though, not even as he spat excess blood and saliva on the floor. He laughed instead, his eye darker than Marc had ever seen it and glittering with the manic hunger he got before a race. He brought his hand up to Marc's throat then to his jaw, swiping his thumb across his lips and smearing the blood Marc had drawn across them. “Just when I thought I’d found a better use for that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Marc slapped his hand away. “I’m glad we can agree at least one of us is pretty,” he grumbled, incapable of letting this end without getting one last jab in. He flicked out his tongue and still could taste copper at the corner of his mouth, and it was impossible to miss the way Bez followed the movement. “Although,” Marc continued in spite of his better judgment, watching as a trail of blood trickled from Bez's mouth down his chin, one valiant drop even climbing further down, outlining the column of his throat before disappearing into the collar of his shirt, “I think I’m starting to see the appeal.”

Later, Marc could rationalize this whole incident down to him being overworked and sorely needing a break, one that Bez had so conveniently stopped him fron having. But in truth, there was no rational explanation for why he proceeded to tangle his fingers in Bez's hair, or why Bez even allowed him to, before forcefully reeling him back in. Purely hindbrain base instinct, he mused, swiping his tongue across the impressions of his teeth cut into Bez’s lip, unadulterated desire, and the thrill of chasing something dangerous. A heady and addictive feeling he’d become more and more accustomed to as of late.

It was less making out than it was a battle on a smaller, intimate scale. All clashing tongues and teeth as each of them fought to set the pace to their preferences, resulting in something messy and frantic and not enough - not nearly enough - to satisfy.

Bez’s hand fumbled across Marc's chest, seeking out the towel still around his waist, and trying to focus on anything else besides the taste of metal and Marquez's spit in his mouth proved to be too much of a hassle, he brought his knee up to graze against Marc's groin, urging him to hasten things along. Almost immediately, he caught on and forced his leg back down, fingers digging deep into the meat of his thigh, just on the edge of being painful. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he laughed, pulling back to Bez's dismay. “Never thought I’d have to remind you to use your words. You were so eager to run your mouth and now you're ashamed?”

“Just get on with it!” Bez snapped, more on edge than he’d ever admit to.

Marc strolled casually to the side, putting on a show of untucking the towel from itsself and holding a corner away from his body, still covered. “Get on with what?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you can use context clues.” Bez gestured between the two of them. At Marc's lack of reaction, he sighed, “Or maybe not. Maybe media literacy really is dead, you poor, pathetic idiot.”

Without warning, Marc was grabbed once again, Bez manhandling the Spaniard on top of him as he sat on the sofa placed in the corner of the room until he had them right where he wanted: Marc, astride his lap with his knees bracketing Bez's hips, making use of the slim space available between the armrests. Marc wanted to gloat - his needling had been successful after all - but he was all too aware of the precarious position he was now in, no longer being towered over but instead spread open as the towel atop of his olive skin risked slipping down. And the only thing keeping him steady was Bez's firm grip on his ass.

“The only thing pathetic around here is your pride getting in the way of asking for what you want. Is this,” Marc forced himself closer, grinding his hips against Bez's, “better?”

“Cazzo,” was all Bez could think to say as he lurched backwards with the motion and shut his eyes tight. “Fuck, fine, sì. Just don’t stop.”

Marc only laughed and rolled their hips against each other again. Bez bore down, chasing the friction he needed. Marc's mouth found his skin again, this time latching onto the bolt of his jaw before moving lower, biting and sucking along his throat and leaving harsh bruises that he would have no way of hiding over the next few days. He was sure he’d care about that later, but there were more pressing matters. Pressing insistently against the front of his jeans, in fact.

“If Valentino could see you now, his pet panting like a feral dog,” Marc remarked, bringing one hand around to pull at the collar of Bez's shirt to give him more access to unmarked skin.

“You want to know something - quit that, you’re going to stretch it out - something funny?” Marc made a curious noise as he nipped hard at Bez's collarbone. Bez inhaled sharply but took that as his cue to continue. “I don’t actually care all that much about his attention.”

Marc stilled, and Bez just barely refrained from whining. He pulled back, lips spit slick and quirked in an odd grin, as he let his hand wander, falling torturously slow down the length of Bez's torso. “Is that so?”

Bez moved his hands to grip on Marc's shoulders, refusing to squirm even as the Spaniards hand trailed past his abdomen, fingers teasing along the waistband of his jeans. He leaned in so his nose brushed against Marc's ear. “But I really enjoy how it gets under your skin.”

He felt the button of his jeans pop and Marc's knuckles graze the straining front of his boxers as he dragged the zipper down. “Looks like we’re even in that respect.”

“Not if you don’t…fucking…do something,” Bez panted into his neck as Marc cupped him through the fabric.

“Are you going to ask me, or should I use context clues again?” Marc teased, increasing the pressure slightly for the briefest of moments, just enough to leave Bez aching for more.

“Just touch me, Che cazzo!”

“Vague. And rude. But I’ll take it.” Wasting no more time, Marc freed his already leaking cock and grasped him firmly in his hand. The first few strokes were too rough and dry in his calloused hands by any measure, but the instant relief at just having anything sent waves of pleasure prickling up his spine. A low moan rattled free from somewhere deep in Bez's chest, and he bit down into the meat of Marc's shoulder to muffle it.

“None of that,” Marc said, bringing his other hand up to yank Bez back by his hair. “You’ve been very vocal; you don’t get to stop now.” Marc focused his attention on the tip, pressing his thumb into the slit and gathering the precum that had already started collecting to ease the glide back down.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Bez spluttered as Marc settled into a steady rhythm.

Marc laughed and flicked his wrist just so, sending Bez crying out. “La poesía.”

Bez thrusted shallowly into his fist, trying and failing to match the pace with what little leverage he had in this position. Marc released his grip on his hair and went back to rocking his hips until finally their uneven back and forth fell into sync.

“Asshole- you- ah..- merda- Motherfuck- God!” Speaking, at least coherently, became increasingly difficult as Marc worked him over almost mechanically, as if every weak point of his was somehow preprogrammed into his movements, and Bez hated it as much as he never wanted it to end.

“Go on,” Marc urged him. “Let’s see if we can make them hear you through that door. You wanted attention, right?” Another twist of his hand, and something strangled and pitiful clawed its way out of Bez's throat. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy now? I’d love for them to hear you scream.”

“Someone’s - hah - a little overconfident in their abilities, don’t you think?” Bez managed in between gasps.

“Oh, I’m sure I could figure it out,” Marc said, voice low and liquid smooth in a way that settled deep in the pooling warmth that had begun gathering in Bez's core. He suppressed a shiver. “With a little time, I bet I could have you on your knees and begging.” At that, Bez snatched Marc's wrist, stopping him mid-pump even as his dick throbbed in response. “Didn’t like that idea, huh?”

“On my knees, I can do,” Bez huffed, gathering himself. “But I have no intention of begging.”

“No one does,” Marc shot back cheekily. “But I’ll bite. What do you have in mind to keep yourself quiet?” Marc loosened his hold, allowing Bez to slip out from under hum, his legs tingling from bloodflow rushing back into them as Marc turned to sit facing the Italian. Ignoring the minor pain, he continued sinking further down, situating himself between Marc's thighs as he knelt on the floor. “I like where this is going,” He chuckled, moving things along by taking out his own cock - with far less teasing and ceremony he had subjected him to before, Bez noted with embarrassment - already hard and leaking.

Pausing only to meet Marc's eyes - watching hungrily from above, cast in shadow by the glow of the dim lights haloing his damp hair - before taking him in his mouth, drawing a groan from Marc's. He moved slowly at first, with short bobs of his head as he progressively took in inch after inch, using his hand to cover what he hadn’t yet with his mouth, adjusting to the weight on his tongue and swallowing down the salty, bitter taste of precome. Marc's hand found its way into his hair, mockingly tender. “You know,” he said, “from this angle, you’re actually not too bad.”

In place of the cutting response Bez would have given in any other circumstance, he dove his head down the furthest he’d done yet, then flattened his tongue against the underside of Marc's erection, bringing it to a point as he dragged it up to the head. “Mierda!” Marc cried out, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. The fingers threaded through Bez's curls tightened sharply as he continued teasing at the tip, and that was the only warning he got before his head was forced forward again, then pulled back.

Apart from a muffled noise of surprise, Bez didn’t fight against it, focusing instead on relaxing his throat so he wouldn’t give Marc the satisfaction of gagging and paving the way for more snide, derogatory remarks he was in no position to argue. Besides, he still had his hand, and much like Marc had before, he moved and twisted it just so at the base of his cock, picking up a momentum that could eventually tear Marc to pieces. Judging from his flushed face, his panting breaths, and his condescension growing more and more disjointed, Bez felt he was somewhere on the right track.

“Yes, like that. Fucking- Dios! It’s like you were made for this. If I had known this was all it took to shut you up…” Marc trailed off, laughing. His eye distractedly followed the drool running down Bez's chin before snapping back up to meet his gaze with a wicked grin. “Why don’t you go on and touch yourself, Marco? I think I’d like to see you fall apart wrapped around my cock.”

Tempting as that was, his arousal flushed and heavy between his legs, Bez instead reached back to tug at Marc's hand on his head. He sighed, disappointed, but released him anyway. Still, Bez took his time retreating, tracing a vein with his tongue and swirling it around the head before sliding off with a wet pop that had Marc gripping the armrests of the sofa dangerously. “If that’s what you’re after,” Bez told him, wiping at his chin with his sleeve, “you’re going to have to work a little harder for it.”

Marc leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, so that their faces were nearly level, hot breaths mingling in the scarce air between them. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I don’t believe I did. But glad to know you’ve finally figured out how to read between the lines.”

Marc's hand shot out to twist in Bez's shirt as he stood, dragging him to his feet along with him. “You are fucking terrible at saying anything actually important.”

“To you, maybe. We just happen to have different priorities.” Bez could only watch confhsed as Marc swiped his free arm across a desk in the corner of the room, sending everything in the workspace - the mouse, keyboard, documents and checklists, various caffeinated beverages - clattering to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

In response, Marc practically threw him against the desk. “Priorities,” he scoffed.

“Let me guess, you sit at the top of that list while us younger riders hover somewhere in the low hundreds.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Marco.”

With sheer brute strength, Bez spun Marc around and forced him face down on the desk, braced by his elbows. He leaned over, covering Marc with his own body and bringing his mouth just behind Marc's ear. He could feel every armored edge of the Italians jeans rough against his bare skin, and more than that, Bez's erection jutting against the line of his ass through them.

“Impressive,” Marc praised sarcastically. “I’d say you have me pegged, but you forgot one thing.”

“Ugh,” Bez groaned at the tasteless choice in wording, “and what’s that?”

“Right now, I’d say one of my highest priorities is finding out exactly what kind of idiotic nonsense runs out of your mouth when you’re strung out and fucked senseless,” Marc replied, nipping briefly at the shell of Bez's ear before pulling away. “Any objections?” Without waiting for a reply, he yanked Bez's jeans down to his knees, exposing him fully to the open air.

“Do you think I’d even be in this position if I had any?”

Marc sighed. “Is a simple, one word answer too much to ask from you?”

“Maybe.”

Marc didn’t get a chance to retort before Bez finger pressed against his entrance, sinking in to the first knuckle. Marc bit his lip against a reedy noise in the back of his throat that came dangerously close to a whine as he acclimated to the intrusion before Bez pulled out again, catching on the rim, then pushed back in further. By the time Marc had adjusted his breathing to the rhythm of Bez'a finger pumping in and out, he introduced another. He couldn’t repress a shout at the initial sting of two fingers working him over, but the pain faded over time into a toe-curling stretch.

“Taking you- ngh- your time, I see,” Marc goaded, even as he rocked back to meet the thrust of Bez's hand. “Do you not wanna make me scream, Marco?”

“Don’t worry, that’s definitely still on the table.” To prove his point, Bez angled his fingers just so on the next push, nailing Marc's prostate and causing every nerve in his body to light up like fireworks. He didn’t scream, thank you very much, but it was a near thing, the sound scraping his throat raw and fighting to break past his gritted teeth. “But you’ll have to forgive me for assuming that you wished to retain your ability to walk tomorrow.”

“How considerate of you- oh.” A third finger joined the others, creating a delicious kind of burn as they dragged against his walls over and over until at last Bez was satisfied.

“That should do it,” he appraised, drawing his hand back. Marc swallowed a whimper at the sudden emptiness he was left with and took the opportunity to remove his glasses and sweep his now sweat-drenched chair out of his eyes in the brief calm before the storm.

For once, Bez didn’t leave him in anticipation, and a moment later Marc felt the blunt head of his cock lining up at his entrance before pushing in with a blissed out groan, filling Marc up inch by heavy inch with each movement of his hips, until there was scarcely enough room in him for the air in his lungs. The pleasure resided intimately by the pain, each providing kindling for the other until his own body became an echo chamber of conflicting desires: to lean into the sensation or to escape it, to tense against the feeling or relax around it. His head spun so much that he didn’t realize at first when Bez bottomed out, only noticing after a while that he had gone still apart from the labored rise and fall of his chest.

Tears pricked at the corners of Marc's eyes at the sheer fullness of it, the inescapable heat pressing against him. He felt spread too thin, a rubber band pulled to its limit before snapping, and still, after several seconds passed in this high-strung state, Bez did not offer him release. “Fucking…move already!” he choked out.

“Just enjoying the view,” Bez remarked, as coolly as if he were watching a sunset rather than buried to the hilt inside another person, if a little breathless. He did move, then, with extreme prejudice, gripping Marc's hips with bruising force as he pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back in, punching a rattling moan from Marc's chest.

He repeated this several more times, shifting slightly every few thrusts, some going deeper than others but no less forcefully, until Marc's arms shook and threatened to give out from the strain of holding himself up against the onslaught. Finally, Bez entered at an angle that grazed Marc's prostate again, sending him keening uncontrollably. Another adjustment, and he proceeded to hit that bundle of nerves near every time.

There weren’t words to describe the sensation. Marc was a walking encyclopedia, always having something smart-assy to say, yet all he could come up with were endless refrains of “more,” “harder,” “faster,” along with several obscenities that would embarrass a sailor. Distantly, he was aware of Bez behind him, growling something along the lines of, “Yes, fuck, so tight. Keep talking, tell me how much you need this.”

“Marco…” he began, but he wasn’t sure how to continue, even if his pride would let him. He was so close, teetering just at the edge but not pushed over just yet, and his scattered mind was useless in helping him figure out how to get there. He met Bez's thrusts, the lewd slap of skin against skin echoing in the room as he chased futilely after one final spark.

Then Bez moved one hand to reach around Marc's front and fist over his dick again, timing his movements there perfectly to that of his hips, and that was all it took. For several blissful seconds, Marc was suspended in ecstasy before his orgasm slammed into him with the force of an explosion, molten heat flooding out from his core to white out every other sensation, every other thought as he spilled over Bez's fingers and onto the floor.

Bez kept up the pace through Marc's release and beyond it, chasing furiously after his own. That feeling of not enough that had prevailed earlier suddenly switched to too much, wrung out and overstimulated as he was. Marc rested his head against the cool surface of the desk, burying broken moans against his fist, riding out the shuddering aftershocks dancing up his spine and letting the sparks skittering across his tired nerves wash over him.

With a grunt and a final stutter of his hips, Nez finished deep inside, bending over to cover Marc again as he moved them together to work him to the last drop. They stayed like that for a stretched out moment, breathing in the heady air thick with sweat and sex and satisfaction, before Marc pulled out, hiking his jeans and boxers back up immediately after. Grimacing, Marc forced himself to stand in spite of his shaky legs. By the time he turned back around, though, Bez had already tucked himself back in and started walking to the door.

He looked over his shoulder, voice still husky and breath short. “You might want to clean that up.”

“Asshole,” Marc hissed when he was gone, adjusting himself back to something semi-presentable. Pushing himself off the desk to force his body into motion, he made it one step, then two, then collapsed bonelessly onto his sofa, wincing as he landed. That was only going to become more unpleasant later, especially with the mess slowly creeping down his leg and drying there. He would clean everything up in a minute - just a minute - after settling in the afterglow and allowing himself to recover before his girlfriend made her way back. Before he had to sleep in the same bed as her knowing just how stretched out he was by his coworker just now. Before he pretended this never happened.

(next part)