#flood drawing for competition

[bullet-prooflove]

A prompt please for Terry Silver, 30-Darling you deserve more than just these roses.

Tagging: @volumesofforgottenlore@kmc1989@somethingdarkside17@noonee333

JP doesn’t get the message that you’re not interested. You realise this when a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne is delivered to the art gallery where you work.

Darling, you deserve more than just roses. – JP

It’s a dig at Terry, the bouquet of red roses he gave to you during your art show a few nights ago.

Love and admiration, the colour represented.

And you felt that in every single part of your being when he leaned in close and kissed your mouth. That’s the thing with Terry, he makes you feel like you’re the centre of his world, that there isn’t a part of you he doesn’t cherish.

JP, he can’t even remember that you dislike champagne, you have ever since the evening you got drunk off on an empty stomach and spent the entire night throwing it back up again. You’d told JP that story several times during the course of your relationship and here you are with a ornate box of Moet.

You try to send it back but the courier refuses to take it. You end up setting it on the shelf  behind the desk so you can turn your attention to the more important tasks you have to do throughout your day.

“He’s persistent isn’t he?” Terry remarks that evening when he picks you up from the gallery. He’d been helping you collect some of your paint supplies for a project you want to start at the house when he’d come across the champagne box.  “He doesn’t even remember how much you hate the taste.”

“It’s not really about me.” You tell him as you take the box from his hands and drop it into the garbage can with the rest of the trash. “It’s about the competition, the fact I’m with someone else, that I’m happy with them. He never thought I would accomplish anything like this.”

He’d said that to your face, Terry recalls. He’d told you your paintings were reductive, stupid simple things that couldn’t stimulate even the most stupidest of children.  

I didn’t paint for almost a year after that, you’d told Terry. It was why I took the residency in Paris, I needed a change of scenery, something to remind me of the joy in it.  

He despises the other man for that, for ruining something that had brought you so much pleasure.

“I want to hurt him.” Terry says quietly, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he draws you close. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, tones of amber, wild berries and rosewater. It’s dark and sensual, just like you in this clinging black dress. “For doing that to you back then, for trying to do it to you again now.”

“Beating the shit out of him isn’t going to help either of us.” You remind him, your fingers lacing at the back of his neck as your body presses against the length of his.

“What if I didn’t beat the shit out of him?” He negotiates, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “What if I did to him exactly what he did to you back then?”

It wasn’t just your confidence JP had destroyed, it was your actual paintings. When you’d told him you were leaving him he’d hosted a bonfire party, used them for fuel.  You’d come back to the house to pick up your stuff and found them burning in the back yard.

“Weren’t much good for anything else.” He’d told you as he took a sip from his beer.

You’d cried the entire drive home.

“I’m going to buy his paintings tomorrow, every single one of them.” Terry tells you as his thumb ghosts over the curve of your cheek. “And then me and you are going to take them over to his house and we’re going to have a bonfire of our own.”

“I love you.” You say fiercely. “For understanding how much this means to me.”

“He took something from you.”  Terry whispers against your lips. “Nobody gets to hurt you and walk away.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[artificial-transmutations]

Transformation Letter: Noah

Hello. My name is Noah and I would love transforming into anything or anyone. I'm an single 20 years old bisexual, who is annoyed by long work days as a german nurse. I would most likely describe me as the boring white boy with brown hair, brown eyes and nothing special. Would love to get out of germany.

It is way after ten in the evening after a long day of work. You are sitting in Ilkan's flat and enjoy a beer with your Turkish friend when he suddenly announces that he will have to return to Turkey soon because of family matters and there's a good chance he won't be able to get back for at least a few years.

For the last years, Ilkan has been a close friend to you, and a welcome opportunity to complain about work - the news is devastating. You even have a bit of a crush on the burly Turk, but since he is straight you kept that a secret. Of course, you can hardly say anything against him leaving, so, you just say "Tja."

You continue to sit there, sipping beer when suddenly, Ilkan appears to remember something.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I got this really strange letter today, do you know what's up with that?"

He fetches a letter from a company named "Artificial Transmutations" and shows it to you. It's just a QR code and a single line of text below it: "If you want to accept Noah's request, please install the app above."

Of course, you recognize the company - there had been an online ad and you decided to write a letter to them. Apparently, there was some kind of a raffle for a cruise or something, you didn't have a closer look at the ad back then.

"I think it's some kind of competition or draw or something where you can win a trip." You reply.

Ilkan nods and just as you are about to go on about data privacy, he has already scanned the code and started the download. Ilkan is refreshingly carefree with all of that.

The app installs quickly, and you are both looking at Ilkan's phone. Besides the logo, there is just a single green button labelled "Claim".

"So, does this mean you have won?" Ilkan asks.

"I don't know. Go on and press the button!" You answer, wondering why Ilkan has gotten the reply letter and not you. You are pretty sure you didn't mention your friend in your letter.

As soon as Ilkan taps the button, you feel very strange all of a sudden. Your dick grows stiff and strains against your jeans, flooding your system with arousal. You absolutely cannot think straight as you look at Ilkan, who is sitting next to you on the couch, legs spread slightly as usual.

Without further comment, you reach over and undo Ilkan's fly and greedily pull down his boxer shorts to expose his ample, but soft cock.

Ilkan is way too surprised of your sudden action to react and just starts to say: "Noah, what ahhhh..."

You interrupt him by closing your mouth around his soft cock, breathing in the sweaty groin and tasting the flavor of his unwashed dick, with all the traces of piss, sweat and dirt that have gathered during the day.

Almost immediately, you feel his hand at the back of your head, but to your big surprise, Ilkan doesn't pull you from his groin. Instead, he pushes you further in, with quite some force actually. Your nose is being pressed into his untrimmed bush of pubic hair, intensifying the manly smell even more as his hairs tickle your face. You cannot see anything since your face is in Ilkan’s groin, but you feel two things: First, Ilkan's cock is slowly raising and second, Ilkan stands up while still having his hand on the back of your head and positions himself right in front of you.

Your arms explore his big hairy legs that are spread widely in front of you, and you pull down his jeans and boxers for good. There is a slight movement as Ilkan steps out of them, all the while your tongue is busy teasing his cock.

Ilkan increases the pressure once more, and for a moment, your nose almost hurts since it is pressed into his groin with so much force. That passes quickly however, and you feel your face jumping forward a few centimeters more. It is like your nose has been flattened against his groin, but you didn't feel pain or hear a noise that would indicate it being broken.

Your mouth is full with Ilkan's increasingly erect cock now and he is bucking his hips lightly into your mouth. You hug his hips with your arm in order to press yourself even further to Ilkan, who now uses the hand on your head to face-fuck you, slamming your face into his sweaty privates with more and more force.

You don't even use your tongue even more - Your mouth is more like a pouch now, a place for his dick to be in, as your head becomes thinner and thinner - and more fabric like with every thrust. Your hands have fused behind his back and turned to an elastic rubber band, fixing yourself to his waist.

Suddenly, Ilkan closes his hand and warps your face - or what's left of it, around his erection. He grips his cock through your fabric face and begins to jerk himself off, warping your pouch that seems to be almost all that is left of you in the shape of his ample erection.

Finally, he cums a thick load of cum into you, which you absorb quietly as the jockstrap that you are now.

"Phew. I didn't know that was what you wanted Noah...". He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Although I suppose I shouldn't call you that any longer. You're just a jockstrap after all, and I'm gonna treat you like the thing you are, my possession."

You feel a warm feeling of agreement as your owner acknowledges your inferiority. Soon you're going to leave Germany wrapped around your best friends junk. You don't have to worry about your job anymore and you couldn't be happier.

Don't forget: If you, too want to send a transformation letter and want to be transformed, consider joining my riot page today!

[kakushino]

While being a hopeless romantic hidden beneath his harsh demeanor, he never found himself very intrigued in his own romance, despite longing for it. He simply assumed that in his age, he would never taste the sweetened honey of love on his tongue. Then, the incident in the former village occurred, and he found himself in your presence, longing for you and trying to drive you off, the butterflies in his chest clouding his judgement. You were just as stubborn as him though, determined to do your damn job and get Haganezuka back to full health. That was your own fire. He wanted to drown in it. Hotaru found himself looking for you throughout the village, longing to court you. He was relieved seeing that none of the other smiths wanted you, not that he couldn't handle it, he simply just didn't like the idea of the competition, especially since he was more than well aware of his own flaws regarding his craft. Hotaru knew that many women wanted an attentive husband, and while he would adore providing such, his obsessive behavior towards forging could put a dent in that. Imaging his surprise when one day you approached him, his favorite treat in your hand. "For you. I heard of you working yourself to the bone again. Take it, as a reward for your outstanding craft." You spoke warmly, making the swordsmith's heart flutter. If he didn't love you before, he certainly was enamored by you now. Offhanded mentions of your beauty soon flooded your way whenever you crossed paths with Haganezuka, the man always saying something strange about you or even simply telling you to do small things to keep you safe while you stayed in the village. "Your eyes are pretty, like the fresh ores I get to forge new blades." "Tie your hair up, unlike metals, it can burn away to ash and it'd be a shame to see it vanish." "You're like a freshly forged blade, sharp and beautiful." Each comment never failed to catch you off guard, a fact that delighted Haganezuka. Yet, he internally lamented about how you were still not in his arms at the end of every day. That is, until one night you appeared at his home bearing a few bento boxes and a shy blush on your cheeks. "I was wondering if you wanted to share a meal together?" More than a meal was shared that night, as you found yourself folded nearly in half, legs tossed over Hotaru's shoulders, your name on his lips as he thrusted his length in and out of you, the scent of sex and sweat swirling in the air. A cocktail of passion. "H-Hotaru! Hotaru!" You moaned out, your eyes squeezed shut with Haganezuka's eye drank you in, finally sating his longing to have you for himself. "C-close! More, please, I need more!" "I'll give you more then, my beautiful fire." He huffed, doubling his efforts and smiling inwardly hearing you suddenly scream out for him, the man descending upon you to bite and kiss your skin, leaving behind a collection of hickeys. His claim. The swordsmith groaned out as he felt you cum on his cock for the forth time that night, drawing out a second orgasm from him, overstimulation starting to kick in for the both of you. Yet, he couldn't stop, he never wanted to. Hotaru kept abusing your cunt, molding his shape into you attempting to claim you from the inside out. He wanted you for months now, and still it almost felt like years he's yearned so deeply for this, this feeling of intimacy, of love. He never wanted it to end, to never cease hearing your whines, your cries, all for more of him. Dawn broke after hours, you filled to the brim and then some and Hotaru clinging to you desperately, as if you would disappear if he loosened his grip. Hotaru smiled softly, uttering a gentle "good morning" in his gravely voice. You blushed realizing your situation before sighing and simply curling into his hold. "Five more minutes..." You uttered softly, closing your eyes and listening to the thrum of Haganezuka's heart. ~~~~~~ Enjoy my word vomit, I rewrote this after realizing I was gonna have another situation on my hands. So the first draft is shoved in my docs.

Oh sweet lord above... that... was...

[scrollonso]

Ride, Cowboy — Marcmarc

Pecco's bachelor party was in full swing, and the academy boys were set on making it a night to remember. They had chosen a popular country-themed bar for the occasion, its rustic decor and vibrant atmosphere setting the perfect stage for one final evening of freedom. The bar was adorned with wooden tables, vintage signs, and checkered tablecloths. A live band played upbeat country music, their melodies mixing with the hum of conversations and clinking glasses. The centerpiece of the night was the mechanical bull, positioned prominently in the center of the room, promising both challenge and entertainment.

Pecco, dressed in casual attire that subtly hinted at his upcoming marriage, was surrounded by his closest friends — Vale, Marco, Luca, Franky, Cele, and Mig. The guys were in high spirits, their laughter filling the room as they enjoyed shots and swapped stories. Racing was momentarily forgotten as they indulged in playful banter and reminisced about past adventures. Even Pecco, who usually preferred a more low-key presence in such settings, was swept up in the energy of the night.

As they navigated through the crowd, the music shifted to a heavier beat, drawing their attention to the mechanical bull as the lights dimmed. A group of incredibly attractive girls had taken over the area, each one more stunning than the last. They were taking turns on the bull, their laughter and cheers creating an infectious buzz throughout the bar. The guys couldn’t help but watch, half-impressed, half-entertained by the scene.

“Dio mio,” Luca muttered, his eyes widening in admiration. “They’re amazing!”

Vale, ever the responsible older brother, gave Luca a playful slap on the back of the head. “You’re married, Luca! Keep your eyes where they belong.”

Luca quickly apologized, his face reddening as he assured his brother he was just appreciating the spectacle.

Marco, grinning, elbowed Pecco. “You sure you’re ready to settle down? Because it looks like we’ve got some serious competition here.”

Pecco chuckled, shaking his head. “No way, man. Domi’s the only girl for me. But... I can appreciate the view.”

The group erupted in laughter as one of the girls — a tall blonde with a dazzling smile — took her turn on the bull. She managed to stay on longer than anyone else, her skill and confidence drawing cheers from the crowd. The boys exchanged glances, silently daring each other to give it a try.

“Alright, Pecco,” Franky said, nudging him toward the bull. “Last night of freedom — let’s see what you’ve got!”

“Yeah, show us how a pro rider handles a bull,” Cele added with a smirk.

Pecco raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing as he shook his head. “I’m not getting thrown off that thing tonight. But if you guys want to make fools of yourselves, be my guest!”

And then he took the stage.

Stole the show.

And then this absolutely gorgeous man jumped into the ring and easily swung himself up on the bull. Marco couldn’t see a whole lot of details from this far, but what he could see definitely woke the beast in him.

The man was fit, legs deliciously bowed as if he was made to ride a bull or a horse. The man was a cowboy, and Marco's childhood fantasies of the cowboys in old western movies came flooding back.

The man gripped the handle on the bull with his left hand, muscles bulging enough for even Marco to see. He pressed his heels against the sides of the bull, scooting forward in the saddle, and held up his right hand, arm in the shape of an L. He took a deep breath, sagged down in the saddle as he breathed out, and nodded to the person operating the bull for the group.

And rode for an astonishing 12.72 seconds. It had to be a sign.

His movements were completely fluid, he was one with the bull, there was no doubt about it and Marco found himself completely entranced. He couldn’t honestly say that his jaw didn’t drop because he could focus on nothing but this Adonis of a man riding the shit out of that bull, his movements flawless.

Marco had no idea what the group was speaking about anymore, all he knew was he wanted to be that bull. He needed to be that bull. His whole body flushed hot, his dick taking an abnormal amount of interest in the whole thing, and his brain demanding that he march down there and claim the man.

He rode the whole time with a cocky grin on his lips, eyes trained on the back of the bull’s head, and just as the clock signaled twelve seconds, the man changed his body position and tumbled gracefully off the bull in the next moment, seemingly by his own choice, rather than being flung off like all the others had been.

Marco was on his way over to the man before he had even made a conscious decision about it, his scotch abandoned precariously on the table he'd reserved for the party.

He slowed his steps as he was closing in on the crowd around the mechanical bull, pacing himself as if approaching a business proposal. Hell, he didn’t even know if the man was interested in sleeping with men and Marco recognized how it could be a sensitive topic, so he wanted to approach this in a suitable fashion. But on the other hand, he had never been this aroused from just watching someone before. He could only hope it wasn’t noticeable, on his face or otherwise.

The group of people had grown since Marco first started watching them, and even though they all congratulated the man on his excellent time, it was clear that most of them were strangers. There was a small group that seemed to be the man’s friends, though, and Marco came upon them just as the man was walking over, grinning widely.

How unfair, Marco thought, that the man was so stunning and not his.

“That was great, Marc,” a young man with long, brown hair was saying just as Marco walked up to them, clapping the man on his shoulder.

Marc. What an appropriate name, Spanish from the sound of the groups accents. What a good cowboy name.

“Not my best,” the man — Marc — answered in a tone that suggested he was trying to be modest. “But definitely best so far tonight.”

So he was competitive, this Marc. Marco liked that in a man. Liked it even more when competitive men bent over for him, not because they thought they had to but because they desperately wanted to. Oh, just the thought of having Marc turn into putty in Marco's hands made him hot all over again.

Also, competitiveness was one of the most easily manipulated personality traits, in Marco's experience.

“So good,” he said in a strong, dominant voice, “that you won’t be able to repeat it.”

Marc's whole entourage turned to Marco, collectively giving him a once over, and he straightened, not the least frightened. Just to be certain Marc would rise to the bait, Marco lifted his chin high, looking down his nose at Marc and, as predicted, that made Marc's hackles rise.

“Excuse me?”

Marc had a very pleasant voice. A low, threatening baritone that made Marco vibrate much more pleasantly than that godforsaken bass.

Marco shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just saying, if you’re as good as you seem to think, you should be able to repeat your performance.”

Marc snorted, turning fully to Marco, without a doubt the head of his group, shoulders squared and cocky grin back.

“Twelve seconds is nothing, man. That was just warm-up.”

By the look the older man with the wavy hair threw Marc, Marco suspected that twelve seconds was actually a rather good time and one that might be hard for Marc to beat. And Marco wanted Marc to win. Wanted him cocky and sure of himself as he submitted to Marco's touches.

“It was pure luck,” he challenged in a haughty tone, enjoying the twinkle in Marc's eyes.

“And who are you to say that?” a bigger man behind Marc asked in a gruff voice, the same man that congratulated him earlier. “Some kind of expert, are you?”

Marco spared the man a glance. Twinky, but a decent face. Marc sure knew how to pick handsome friends Marco would give him that. But they all paled in the face of Marc's appearance.

“Oh, I’m certain I would fall on my face if I ever tried,” Marco answered in a calm voice, smiling to himself when him admitting that made the man’s face fall. Marc, however, looked at Marco with sudden interest. “I was merely proposing a bet, since you impressed me and seem so sure of your own abilities,” he directed the last words to Marc, who drew himself up.

“Bull riding isn’t a joke.”

“So, you’re afraid?” Marco enjoyed seeing Marc flounder. “Well maybe it’s for the best. You must be tired; I doubt you would even last five seconds now.”

“Five seconds?” Marc spluttered, some of his group laughing, though it was unsure whether they were amused by the situation or Marc's suddenly squeaky voice. Marc walked into Marco's personal space and puffed out his chest. He smelled incredible. “I’ll last much more than that on any day.”

His low growl made Marco's whole body tingle. “Is that so?” he murmured, letting his eyes roam Marc's face and body. Marc definitely noticed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Marc grunted and Marco's eyes snapped up to Marc's, captivated by their beauty for a moment.

“I would, actually,” he easily admitted, voice low and inviting. “I would like to know that very much.”

Time seemed to stall for a moment, each caught in the other’s gaze, and Marco felt a thrill go through him. This was interesting, this was worth his time. Much more so than snorting tequila and salt from a random woman’s slick body or dancing poorly on rickety tables. Marco felt more alive in this moment than he had in years.

“Five seconds isn’t even a challenge,” the larger man said, interrupting them.

Marc seemed to shake himself.

“Eight, then,” Marco said with a confident smirk. “I bet you fifty euro you won’t last another eight seconds.”

“Fifty euro,” Marc muttered, eyeing Marco's clothes for the first time and seemingly only now realizing it wasn’t a cheap knock-off. “You better be able to fork that up, mate.”

“Don’t you worry about that, cowboy,” Marco winked and watched with satisfaction how Marc's pupils dilated slightly.

He muttered something that sounded like “whatever” and turned to go back to the bull. It had been busy in the background, flinging people off it left and right, and the crowd around it had grown even more but Marco easily found an empty seat where he could comfortably watch from afar.

Marc was talking to his friends, some of them throwing Marco looks, but Marc seemed determined to do this. Marco hoped they weren’t trying to talk him out of it because they thought he would hurt himself, Marco would be devastated if he inadvertently caused Marc harm. Most likely they were talking about the money, though, on the off-chance that Marc lost the bet. Marco really hoped that wouldn’t happen. No this was a battle he was willing to lose, to win the war, so to speak.

When it was finally Marc's turn to mount the bull again Marco was buzzing with anticipation, although he concealed it well enough. He saw Marc's friends tossing him glances from where they were standing, up by the ring, but he paid them no heed. He was perfectly comfortable back here, where he could pull one leg up and rest the ankle against his other knee, to hide inappropriate body reactions.

Because Marc was of course just as splendid the other time around. Time seemed to flow in slow-motion as Marc expertly rode the bull. He was either a natural or he had done this a lot, Marco easily concluded. Maybe he had even ridden real bulls? Now there was a thought.

A thick, muscular, frothing animal bucking as Marc worked every muscle in his glorious body just to stay on.

Marco grabbed his ankle and pulled on his leg a little, his dick swelling to ridiculous proportions just imagining Marc working the animal. Marc's face and body told of experience and Marco watched with hooded eyes as Marc frowned down at the fake bull, concentration wearing on his handsome face.

Would he look as concentrated when he rode Marco? Most likely not, not if Marco had any say in what went on. No, if he — when he was in charge, Marc would be completely relaxed, face slack as pleasure crested inside him.

Marco let out a shaky breath. He needed to calm down or Marc would be more disgusted than intrigued and Marco didn’t want that at all. Suddenly he felt as if he would suffocate if Marc looked at him with hatred and he was momentarily stunned by his own feelings. What did he care, really, what Marc thought of him? Marc was essentially a nobody, a stranger whose station was so below Marco it wasn’t even funny.

Except, when he watched Marc ride that bull, all of that seemed inconsequential. They were just two men in that moment, and Marco desired to stay like that almost as much as he desired Marc, as much as he coveted the man’s pleasure.

The ride ended somewhat more abruptly this time, compared to when last Marc rode. It still looked as if Marc had been in control of when to end it but as if he had been a bit more tired this time around and his tumble off the bull was less graceful and it took him a moment longer to get up off the padded area around the bull.

The long-haired man helped Marc off the stage and Marco stood up just as Marc walked over to him on adorably wobbly legs. A quick glance to the digital clock revealed an astounding 9.57 and Marco made sure to show appropriate surprise and awe, instead of the actual relief and arousal he actually felt.

“There,” Marc said, hands on his hips and voice delectably breathless. “Piece of cake.”

“So I see,” Marco said smugly and walked over to Marc, much too close even for acquaintances. “I’m man enough to own up to my loss,” he said with a smile and pulled out his wallet to fish out a fifty, one among many, though he didn’t show Marc that, not interested in catching the man that way.

“I hope there’s no hard feelings?” Marc said as he accepted the bill, their fingers brushing.

Marc's hand was shaking slightly, no doubt from exertion, and Marco was happy he had lowered the time for the bet so as not to force Marc to match his old time.

“None at all,” Marco said with an intimate smile, leaning in and speaking in a lower tone. “You should know, I’m also man enough to admit that I only wanted to see you ride that bull again.”

That made Marc's eyes flick down to Marco's mouth and up again. Marco enjoyed the fact that Marc actually was a bit shorter than him, if only an inch, and definitely smaller.

There was a beat of silence and then, “Are you sure you’re only interested in seeing me ride bulls?”

A pleasurable wave so forceful it almost choked him washed over Marco and he swallowed once to be sure his voice was under control.

“I can imagine you’re apt at riding all sorts of things.”

Marc shifted from foot to foot. Marco's blood rushed in his ears, drowning out every sound except Marc's.

“You content with imagining it or do you want a demonstration?”

Marco arched an eyebrow, enjoying Marc's challenging tone and squared jaw, but not as much as Marc's reaction to the look Marco gave him. There was clear arousal in Marc's eyes now and Marco reveled in it.

“I have a car outside and an apartment not far from here.”

Marc flashed him that wonderfully cocky grin of his. “Deal.”

Marco took a moment to check his phone when Marc turned to talk to his friends. A quick message ensured that his friends knew he was leaving and not to wait up. Marco smiled to himself as he heard Marc explain that he would “take a hike”.

“Marc, are you sure that’s—”

“Gotta live a little, Alex,” Marc said happily and slapped the man on his back before walking over to Marco. “Good to go?”

“If you are?” Marco said but started walking through the crowd around them without waiting for a reply. Marc easily kept up with his pace, as Marco had suspected he would.

“Don’t mind Alex, he’s just being an overprotective little brother.”

Marco nodded, not having much experience with that but understanding it anyway. “Maybe he’s right to worry a little, considering the things I have in mind for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Marc smirked just as they exited the club, the fresh summer air a blessing compared to the scorching heat of the club. Marco breathed a deep sigh of relief. “What are you planning anyway? You seem pretty vanilla to me.”

Marco smiled at the playful insult. “And yet you came with me.”

“Hey,” Marc said, voice suddenly low and seductive. “You’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, I don’t care what you wanna do, I’m in.”

Not that Marco was really planning anything more outrageous than rimming Marc until the man cried from the need to have Marco's hard dick inside him, but it was good to know Marc felt inclined to trust him.

“You know my name, but I don’t even know yours,” Marc murmured as they settled into the Italians car, eyes on his lips. “I’m kinda stupid for even getting in this thing with you, huh?”

“My name is Marco Bezzecchi,” Marco said, other hand brushing down Marc's front, catching on the edge of the man’s jeans. “And please don’t call yourself stupid.”

Marc shifted so that they were sitting almost facing each other, Marc's hands working on opening Marco's jacket as he drove.

“That's too long for me to scream when I come,” he said, voice making Marco's body vibrate with desire. “I’m gonna call you Bez.”

“Please do,” Marco answered, voice equally hushed, and nosed closer so that Marc turned his head just as their hands found each other’s hard-ons. “My friends do.”

Marc moaned into their first kiss, low and sweet and all for Marco as the car parked. He swallowed it greedily, pressing closer as Marc pressed the heel of his hand against Marco's dick. Their lips slid together, noses bumping, but Marco was too wound up to keep to sweet kisses for long. Marc seemed just as eager in the way he opened up when Marco licked his lips and Marco pushed in deep, owned Marc in that one gesture and felt a chilled heat pool in his groin.

Marc, for all his physical strength, sagged against Marco, moaning into the kisses and pawing at Marco's dick. Marco's plan was simple in this moment: get Marc hot and bothered so that he would be pliant and willing by the time they got inside.

Too bad his own pleasure was spiking almost dangerously already.

“Fuck you’re good at kissing,” Marc groaned when they pulled apart. “I’m so hard already, god damn.”

“I got hard from watching you ride the bull,” Marco was surprised by his own sincerity but Marc seemed only pleased.

“I could feel your eyes on me the second time,” he murmured. “I liked it.”

Fuck it, Marco would just have to come up with a way for them to get hot and hard again when they arrived. He needed Marc too much right in this moment to show any kind of restraint.

With one tug and a push, he had flipped them so that they were in the back with Marc on his back, Marco comfortable between the man’s strong legs. Legs that had hugged that bull like they wanted to crush it were now around him. Marco's dick jumped in his dress pants and Marc no doubt noticed.

“You like me watching you?” he asked, voice a low rumble and Marc parted his lips, nodding and looking up at Marco with big eyes. “Do you want me to see you in your pleasure, Marc?”

“Fuck,” Marc pressed out, one hand grabbing Marco's arm and the other digging between them to start opening his jeans. “I can’t wait, Bez.”

“You don’t think you’ll make it, is that it?” he asked, rising to help Marc get their dicks out. “Do you want to let some out now?”

“I’m riding you tonight,” Marc shot back, eyes glinting and Marco shuddered with pleasure.

“I’ll remember that, little cowboy.”

Marc opened his mouth to no doubt banter back but instead a deep groan forced itself out when Marco pressed their hard dicks together for the first time. Marco's whole body sagged with pleasure and he pressed his knees harder against the seat, sitting up a little and putting one hand on the back of the seat for support as he took their dicks in his other hand, squeezing them.

Marc arched his back, gasping and grabbing the seat under him as his body shuddered. His dick jumped in Marco's grip, pressing against Marco's and there was really no stopping him now. Yes, he wanted to wait, and no, they didn’t even have lube, but the desire was choking him, and Marc was making all the right sounds as Marco started jacking them. Marc was apparently one of those guys who had a lot of precome because Marco's hand got sticky fast enough to replace the need for lube.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” Marco huffed out, breathless now as the pleasure burned white-hot inside him. “Rim you, prep you, fuck you.”

Marc moaned, legs flexing around Marco. “I’m gonna ride you until you cry,” he pressed out through gritted teeth and Marco felt an unexpected surge of arousal at the challenge. “Gonna ruin you for all other asses.”

Oh sweet Lord, Marco was going to come soon. He had never been this attracted to someone, the way Marc challenged him even while submitting was blowing Marco's mind.

“You’ll never want another dick,” he managed to quip, words clipped, and sped up his hand.

They rocked together in the dim light of the car, the world outside forgotten as they came together, hands grabbing each other and dicks aching, yearning to release. Marco's balls had pulled up, so prepared to shoot all over Marc, and Marc's dick was leaking a continuous stream of precome that Marco craved to taste.

His spine burned with his arousal and he panted hotly, leaning down over Marc again, one hand on the seat beside Marc's head as Marc grabbed his body to pull him even closer.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” Marc grunted, pushing away Marco's hand and wrapping his legs around Marco's hips, bucking up. “Kiss me.”

Marco readily indulged Marc, hips working to grind their hard dicks together and though it was rough with their clothes and zippers in the way, it was the most glorious Marco had ever felt. Marc kissed him as if he were a man parched and Marco cradled Marc's head, one hand on Marc's hip, encouraging his movements.

True to his word, Marc came only moments later, body locking up and a shaky moan escaping his parted lips. Wetness spread between them but far from being tacky, it only spurred Marco on and he came too, a handful of thrusts later.

“Well, that was something,” Marc panted after a moment.

Marco blinked and did his best to pull back but his head was swimming a bit. “It wasn’t what I had planned,” he admitted and couldn’t help but grin down at the mess they had made. It was all over their clothes. Marc of course looked ravishing covered in Marco's come. “But then, the night is young.”

“Definitely,” Marc grinned up at him, cocky as ever. “You aren't getting out of that ride.”

Marco felt a renewed wave of arousal just as the overhead light flashed around them. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he smirked, thinking that for all its faults, the night couldn’t have turned out better in the end.

Marco walked them up to an apartment and then knocked on the door, he turned to Marc and smiled.

“Do you live with someone?” Marc asked, suddenly feeling like maybe this wasn’t the ideal plan.

Marco snickered, taking out a large ring of keys and trinkets from his jacket. He put the key in the lock and then turned to Marc before turning the key.

“No, I’m just scared of walking in on someone robbing my apartment so I knock to make sure they’re gone by the time I go in.”

Marc took a step back, “Are you serious?”

“Nope,” Marco said, opening the door and gesturing for Marc to enter. “It’s just a habit.”

The corners of Marc’s mouth turned up a little, amused, he poked Marco in the ribs as he walked past to show his mild annoyance with the bad joke. Marc chuckled, and then walked past Marco, letting the door stay wide open for some reason.

Marc's first impression of Marco's apartment was that it was well lived in, a loved space. Wherever he looked, there were pieces of personality shining through. It felt memorable, interesting. Full of care.

Marco stood still by the door, closing it behind himself. He took in the warm colors and the decorative knick-knacks that he could see all over. Potted plants kept high and low, posters and art in many styles and varying ages.

"Nice place. Have you lived there long?" Marc asked, pushing his hands down in his pockets just to have something to do with them. The space felt perfect, and Marco felt more perfect each second he spent with him.

"A few years," Marco turned to Marc, scratching his neck, and looked over this own space like he hadn't done that in a while. "It's too much, I know, but-"

"No, no. It's perfect." Marc felt the blush come alive again. "I like it."

Marco looked at him with some sort of surprise, nodding. He looked around again and then back at Marc. The looks changed almost immediately. 

He moved closer, a few steps to his side as he placed his hand on Marc's side. His fingers kneading down into the muscle there. Marco cornered him, making him back up until he was pinned to the wall. The pressure made Marc's breath catch in his throat. Marco's grip was light, fingers pressed down. And that was all that was holding him in place. 

"Hey," Marco said. He looked good like this, Marc thought. Standing over Marc. The light fixture above them made it look like Marco was wearing a halo.

"Hi," Marc answered, breathy and low. He had to lean his head back to the wall to get a good look at Marco when they stood this close. The closeness also made him in perfect view of the movement of the muscles in Marco's neck and jaw. Constantly moving, like Marco had tension built up that just couldn't escape. 

Marco moved his hands, placing them at the back of Marc's head. The moment felt like it could last forever. 

He pulled Marco's head down toward himself. Their noses touched for a second before their lips finally made contact. 

Marc sighed into it. The softness in which Marc stilled at that let Marco take the lead even further. Marco tasted sour, Marc needed more. The sensation of moving muscles under his hand and a grin against his lips filled Marco's mind with sparks. He quickly wanted more of all of it. 

With a light bite, he asked Marc for more. The question was answered by Marc opening his mouth and meeting him halfway, tongues brushing carefully together as Marco pulled Marc even closer, pushing both arms over Marc's shoulders to minimize the room between them. 

Marco had gone home with people before. The men had all just been distractions. Something to pass the time and release the stress of his day-to-day life. 

Kissing Marc, touching him, felt like something was coming into shape. Like the mass under his hands was clay ready to be molded into something. It felt different, and it made him feel desperate. 

"Bedroom?" Marc asked, 

"Yeah…" 

"No, where is your bedroom?"

"Oh, it's right there-"

Marc took Marco by then hand and pulled Marco after himself, turning when he got close to the door and pulling Marc close for another kiss as he fell with his back against the closed door. Marc met the kiss openmouthed and wanting, his hand going to the doorknob to open the door. He held Marco up with a hand on Marco's lower back, keeping his from falling backward as the door flew open and Marc lead him into the room.

Marc was stronger than Marco had anticipated, which gave him many ideas that he needed to explore.

Marco continued to move backward, Marc guiding him. When the back of his knees his something soft, he allowed himself to fall backward and Marc helped him lay down softly.

He pulled at Marc's shirt hem, annoyed by the extra layers. "Take this off," he said, mumbling his words and lazily flicking the fabric between his fingers.

Marc did as he was told, and the clothing was quickly discarded. Marco did the same, unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it in the same direction as Marc had started throwing his clothes. He started to unzip his pants, stopping only to motion for Marc to do the same. 

Marc was quick here too, the jeans falling down to the floor and then a fast two-step out of them. Toes catching the fabric and kicking the jeans to the side.

Marco snorted, pulling his pants down and off, letting them fall to the floor. He motioned for Marc to come closer, a beckoning finger asking him to come here. And once again, Marc did precisely what he was told, in record time. 

He crowded Marco, chests pressed against each other as Marc took hold just under the curve of Marco's ass and hoisted him more onto the bed. Then placing himself on top of Marco. 

"All good?"

"I'm great," Marco said, feeling his stomach flip as his mind replayed the light manhandling of the movement. So many possibilities, the opportunities were stacking up in neat little piles in his brain. 

"Good," Marc said, followed by a kiss. A quick peck, something to sign the deal. 

Marco could feel something in his lower belly start to form too early. He bit down, swallowed it, and placed his hands on Marc's shoulders as he hovered over him. He pushed Marc to his side, turning his own body so they were facing each other again. Legs still slightly tangled, feeling each other. The lack of pressure from another body helped, and Marco went in for another kiss.

The kissing got deeper, more rushed. Mouths open, small bursts of breathing against each other's lips to catch their breaths. Marc's hand graced Marco's cheek, moving along the jaw and then down over the side of his neck. Moving from the side and back to his nape, then back to the side in a slow movement.

Marc pulled away, already sounding out of breath. "Hey, so... What do you want?" he asked, his hand still moving over Marco's neck and into his hair. "Tell me what you like."

The touch felt deliberate to the point of almost being too much, too deep of a connection. Marco still leaned into it, acting like he'd been touch starved, and he was ready for a feast. 

"Well, you're the bull rider-"

"You want me to ride you?" Marc asked, raising his brow and trying to hide his grin. Marco was still touching him, looking at him like they'd known each other for all their lives, and not like this was something new, not some one-time thing. 

"I wouldn't mind that," Marc said, his eyes falling closed for a second as he composed himself. "But after seeing you in the car, I think you'd kill me — that… everything you did was… I don't think I can handle that happening again."

"Want to make another bet?" Marco asked, moving in close.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think that you always cheat when making bets."

"Is that a no?" Marco smirked. "I can show you a good time, I promise." 

"Jesus christ, are you always like this?"

"No, you're special," Marco said, smiling. He knew his words sounded insincere, but there was a knot in Marc's throat that scared him. Not of what he said but what he wanted it to mean. 

Marc leaned in, closing the short distance between them with another kiss. He positioned his body more on top of Marco, pressing him down into the mattress by his shoulders as he slowly made his way to fully straddling Marco. He could feel Marco half hard against his ass.

He pulled away from Marco's lips, his mouth gracing over Marco's chin and down his neck — making small stops to peck more kisses as he went. He found pleasure in this, feeling Marco's breath catch under him, the heat and taste of Marco's skin against him. It felt nice, felt needed. 

His hands squeezed Marco's shoulders before moving down to feel along Marco's sides, feeling and pressing his fingers down into the mass under himself to make it known that he was there. 

Marco's breathing was coming out in heavy bursts. Hitching and catching. Marc wanted him to talk, say something. Make a sound, something to tell Marc how he was feeling.  

Marc liked the sound of him, reveled in it.  

"This ok?" Marc asked. "You're quiet." 

Marco shuddered, letting out a gasp. "I'm just — this is good, it's good," Marco said, looking down at Marc. His lashes looked so dark like that. Heavy and thick, eyes studying. 

"Yeah?"

"Stop that," Marco laughed, pressing Marc's face down into his chest so that Marc couldn't look at him. "You fucking know it's good."

Marc didn't try to move against Marco's hand laying on his head. It wasn't holding him down, more holding him in place. There was no force, just the weight of Marco's hand. He grinned into Marco's skin, then continued his way down, down, down when he felt that Marco wasn’t going to hold him.  

Marco's hand was still placed on his head as he moved, and he didn't do anything until Marc reached Marco's lower stomach. His fingers tangled up in Marc's hair and pulled, stopping him from moving. 

"Give me a second," Marco said, so close to begging Marc wanted to tease the rest out immediately. "I just need to collect myself. Just one... One second."

With how Marc's head was placed, he still couldn't see Marco's face. The sound of his voice was thick, heavy and a bit slurred. Marc could feel Marco's pulse through his skin, feel the quickness of his breath. 

"That's fine," Marc said, moving his hands below Marco's hipbones and holding on with a firm grip. "I can wait."

"Fuck, Marc,"  Marco said. "How are you so good at this."

"Practice makes perfect, right?"

"God fucking damn it, ok… ok," Marco pulled his hand back, his grip moving from Marc's hair to the sheets. "Ok, do your worst. I'm ready." 

"Worst?" Marc asked, smiling up at Marco again, their eyes meeting. Marco looked flushed, his pupils blown and his bottom lip wet and marked. Marc wondered for a second if he was the one that had left the marks on there or if it was Marco biting down. Either way, Marc really liked the way it looked. 

"Best, whatever," Marco huffed and then threw his arm over his eyes. 

"I always do my best," Marc said like it was stupid of Marco to assume anything else. 

Marc's fingers moved under the elastic of Marco's boxers, pulling them down as he laid another kiss just below Marco's belly button. He then sat up, seated on his knees between Marco's legs. He looked at Marco lying there in front of him — bare, needy. Skin pink and shiny, a blotchy blush over his chest and neck. 

Marc's eyes moved further down, placing over chest hair that became a light sprinkling over a softer middle, which then became thicker as it went below his belly button. His eyes glanced lower, admiring his view as his eyes settled on Marco's dick.

"Can I touch you?"

"You've been touching me."

"Ha ha, can I touch your dick, you dick?" Marc pressed his thumbs into the soft skin by Marco's hipbones - making sure that Marco knew he was there. Desperate to leave a trace. 

"Please don't be funny right now. I’m already so turned on I’m scared to become a heart attack statistic.”

Marc laughed, "Is that a yes?"

"Yes, for fucks sake, touch me, please."

The room felt like it was filled with sparkling electricity as Marc bent down again, kissing from his last spot under Marco's belly button and continuing lower. He could hear Marco breathing heavily, his breaths falling into a steady, recognizable rhythm. Marc stopped, smiling against Marco's skin.

"Are you Lamaze breathing?" Marc asked between kisses, placing a last one at the base of Marco's dick. Marco let out a light groan.

"Yeah, I'm pacing myself." He sounded out of breath, flustered. 

"You're so weird." 

"You're such a tease."

"And you're so easy," Marc said, smiling up at Marco. "If you don't enjoy it, you can just tell me to stop."

Marco shook his head, "No, no, fuck no. I enjoy it.”

Marc crawled back up on Marco, placing himself so that they were face to face. Marco starred at him. Marc wasn’t sure what Marco could see, he was so close he was sure it would be blury, especially in the dimly lit bedroom they'd found themselves in.

“Hola,” Marc said, floating over Marco. His hands were placed on each side of Marco's head, keeping him up yet so very close.

“Ciao,” Marco said back, smiling. Marc sat back up, straddling Marco's middle. He reached for the curls covering his face and pulled them back, gently. “Thank you.”

“You need to see this part,” Marc said, leaning back to settle himself better over Marco's hips.

He started to move his hips softly, feeling Marco's dick press against the cleft of his ass. The fabric of his boxers was the only thing between them. Marco hissed, letting out small noises as Marc adjusted. 

"What you do is, you follow the motion of the bull with your hips," Marc said, lifting himself up and then moving over Marco's crotch again with an easy flow in his hip. "The trick is to find the motion the bull is giving you, feel it with your hips, and then let it all move through your spine. You don't fight it."

"Inter- ah! -esting," Marco said through gritted teeth, a low moan splitting the word up. Marc smiled.

"I've been told I'm a great teacher." Marc didn't stop moving, grinding down smoothly over Marco and feeling his squirm.

"Cazzo, you're killing me," Marco said, voice pleading. 

"Listen," Marc said, giving Marco a light slap on his cheek so he'd focus. "Just look at me, see what I'm doing?"

"Yeah," Marco said, voice breathy and low. 

"I want you to do this for me, ok?"

Marco blinked, looking confused. "I thought we'd already established that I'm stiff as hell."

Marco looked down at Marc, "yeah, I can feel your dick against my ass. I know."

"I meant the riding."

Marc chuckled, ”I know, the bet is that I can teach you ride the bull.” Marc pressed down harder, making Marco tilt his head back as a hollow sound left his throat. "and, as I said, I've been told I'm a great teacher." 

Marco took a deep breath, grabbing Marc by the hips and rolling them over. Marc felt like the heat was radiating from him when his back hit the sheets. Marco was on his knees between Marc's thighs, he kissed Marc once before leaning back on his heels and clicked his tongue.

"Well, let’s see what you can teach me, teach.”

Marc reached for the bottle of lube and slicked himself up by giving himself a few strokes as Marco positioned himself. Positioned over Marc, he leaned slightly forward — aligning himself with Marc's dick and then slowly pushing down.  

Marc gasped, mouth falling open at the feeling. The slow movement up and down as Marco took more and more of him was excruciatingly hot. When Marco bottomed out, he stilled. Looking at Marc with heavy eyes and wetted his lips as he was getting used to the feeling. He looked amazing like that. 

Marco adjusted, making Marc catch a moan in his throat. 

"You good?" he asked, placing one of his hands on Marc's chest and the other on Marc's hip — finding his balance. 

"Si," Marc said. "You can move." 

Marco did as he was told, lifting himself up and then slow down again. Marco watched him closely, his hands on Marc's hips to help his movement, not for control.

"Fuck," Marc said under his breath, sounding like a whine.

Marc bit down on his bottom lip, his fingers digging into the meat on Marco's hip as he thrust up at the same time Marco came down. It made Marco let out a surprised moan, his rhythm halting. Marc thrust up again, deep and hard, his hands on Marco's hips helping him find the pace again.

"Is it- fuck… Is it good?” Marco asked, moving again. He was stiff in his movement, not to the point of making any of it less enjoyable, but Marc was trying to make a point.

"It’s good, it’s so - Marco, Bez," Marc said, moving his hands down Marco's thighs and feeling the muscle work. "Remember what I said, just feel it and follow. Just – Fuck!" Marc threw his head back as Marco, again, did just as he was told, finding the flow with Marc's thrust and met him seamlessly in the movement. Moving in a wavelike pattern, his hips loosening straight away.

Marc felt tension pooling in his lower stomach, a coil heating up lower down. His grip on Marco's thighs tightened, begging Marco to go faster. Marco was making all kinds of sounds, low moans that grew to almost a shout. Marc wanted to taste the sounds he was making.

He tried to speed up even more, desperate to hear what else would come out. 

"You look so good. You look amazing," Marco groaned, feeling sweat run from his forehead and down his temple. "Fuck Bez, you sound amazing." Marc gripped Marco by the hip again, feeling up his sides. “Just like that, exactly like that. You’re doing so good.”

Marco smiled, not slowing his movement. "You like this?" he asked, more a question than a tease. Marc thrust up harder, hitting Marco deeper, and he fell forward. Gasping and whining.  

"Oh god, I'm so fucking close-" Marco said, digging his face deeper into Marc's chest. His fingers on the hand that used to steady him pressed down into Marc's sternum and left marks. Marc didn't stop, the angle was weird, but it seemed to get the job done just fine. Marco's face still buried in his chest, mumbling nonsense and breathing hard. 

The coil in Marc's lower belly was tensing up even more, he was close.

In the heat of the moment, he rolled them around. Changing positions so that he was on top and Marc fell on his back. He gasped, sounding like he was choking on air. Looking flushed all over, his eyes were almost entirely black and his curls ended up littered around, framing his face. Marc reached out and fixed them, wanting Marco to see, and then leaning down to kiss him as he started to move at a quick pace again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Marco said, his hands gripping into the sheets for leverage. "Touch me. Please, touch me."

One of Marco's hands grabbed Marc's, moving it over himself between them. Marc followed without question, placing his hand on Marco's dick and giving him slowly paced strokes. Marco's bottom lip quivered, his mouth open and a guttural sound came out. After a few more strokes, Marco started to cum roped between them. His body tensed, contracting on Marc as he tried to keep his pace going. 

"You feel so fucking good, Holy-" With what he was seeing, sensing, smelling, Marc came. His eyes slammed shut as the orgasm took over. When he came to, he felt light and boneless, lying chest to chest with Marco. Both still breathing heavily, both sweaty and sticky. 

After a moment, Marco cleared his throat, "Thank you for showing me the proper technique for doing that, I…." He laughed. "No, I can't even make up a joke right now. That was amazing. fucking hell."

"Yeah," Marc said, feeling like he was made of cloud. Marc Cumulus. Don't mind the double entendre. 

They lied in silence for a few minutes after that, Marc realizing he was still inside Marco much later than was probably acceptable. He slowly pulled out, both of them hissing at the sensation. 

"Sorry," Marc said, rolling off Marco and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I think I lost most of my brain cells when I came, that was... Fuck, that was perfect.” He looked over at Marco, eyeing the shape of him. The size and the curve. He never wanted to stop looking, really wished he would be able to never stop. 

Marco pulled the sheet up over his chest, followed by Marc quickly pulling it down again. Like they are playing a game. Marco smiled softly and with a twinkle in his eyes. He seemed shy now. Like looking at Marc was too much, but he couldn't make himself stop. 

"Alright," Marco pulled the sheets up again, covering his chest up to his collarbones.

"That was good," Marc said, again. "Thank you."

Marco let out a full-body laugh, curving inward on the bed as he rolled over on his side towards Marc. He gave Marco a slow kiss on the cheek, and Marco wanted to follow him when he pulled away. 

"Well, you’re welcome." 

"Thanks," Marco said again, mortified by the sound of his own voice. 

Marco felt hot all over still, not in the same way as earlier but like a teakettle ready to start whistling. The light of the outside streetlight showered Marc's face in a soft yellow. It felt like a sign. Marco had just not realized what for yet. 

"All my pleasure, Bez." Marc said, rubbing the sheet over his belly. Really ruining them.

"No, don't say it like that!" Marco laughed, picking up the pillow from under his head and hitting Marc over the side of his face. "Don't be gross." 

"I think you like a little gross," Marc said. "I think you're a little freak that's just waiting to get out."

Marco hit him with the pillow again, "Shut up!" 

His laugh traveled from the middle of his chest, up and out in the open air of the bedroom. It ended in a smile, easy and genuine. Marc couldn't remember when he laughed like this last. 

Marc waved his hands over his head in retreat, laying the pillow down, and then rolled over on his side, face to face with Marco. 

"I'm not a freak."

"I know," Marc said. "Just a little bit weird and a lot of bossy." 

Marco felt himself blush, "Bossy?"

"Great quality, as I love to be told what to do." 

Marco narrowed his eyes on Marc, shaking his head slightly. "You don't seem like someone who does what others tell you."

"Oh, no. I'm not. I just like to be told to do stuff. It's different than actually doing what I'm told."

Marco laughed again, pressing Marc's face away from him with a  playfulness he didn’t know he had in himself. The night was dark and quiet. Marco could lie like this forever. But he remembered what it was, a quick hook up after some quick flirting in a bar.

The feeling of bliss didn’t leave him though, and Marc didn’t stop smiling at him.

"So," Marc started, turning his head and staring up onto the ceiling. "Can I call you sometime?"

Marco looked at Marc's side profile. The downturn of his nose, the double curve of his lips. He wanted to thank Marc's parents for their excellent work. They really did a great job with the gene composition. They should get a prize, some kind of award for their work. 

"Sure," Marco said. "You could do that."

"Nice, ok," Marc cleared his throat, still saying straight up. "And if I asked you out to dinner tomorrow, would that be ok too?"

Marco felt something flip in him, a flutter. "That would be ok."

"Great."

"Great."

Marc laughed, followed by Marco laughing too. 

"Good cause if this had been a one-time thing, I think I'd have to go celibate," Marc said, rubbing his hands over his face. "Don't think anyone else can live up to that. Ever." 

"Stop flattering me. I already said yes to dinner." Marco laughed, poking Marc in the ribs. 

"Hey, stop," He said, laughing too. "Maybe I'm flattering you for a second round?"

Marco let out a tired sigh, pressing his face into the middle of Marc's chest. Creating a burrow for himself to sleep. "Absolutely, I just need a nap first," He said. "Maybe a glass of water or a snack."

"I can accept all those things,” Marc said, his fingers moving through Marco's curls. “All those things are acceptable to me."

"Good, wake me up in like 45 minutes, ok?"

"Fine, yeah," Marc said, his fingers continuing to move through Marco's hair. "I'll do that."

[blackswaneuroparedux]

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Les aspirations les plus absurdes et les plus téméraires ont parfois conduit à des succès extraordinaires.

- Vauvenargues

St. Moritz has been a famous health resort in Engadine since the 19th century. At first, it was only frequented by spa guests, before the village developed into a high alpine sports centre, and for a time it was a playground for the rich and famous. There’s still some of that element present but not as in its hey day of the 70s. For nine months of the year it’s just another picturesque village in the gorgeous Swiss Alps, with Lake St. Moritz lying at its heart.

Crucially it is quietly forgotten by the outside world. Residents can breathe and go about their daily chilled out lives. For those precious nine months it was great to hike and ski there as my boarding school wasn’t too far away from getting there. But the other four months of the year, the high season, it gets flood with skiers and altogether more showy crowd.

The frozen surface of the lake, which can only be described as a desert of snow, now serves as a symbol of the resort itself. From nine months of natural bliss to four months of chaos and madness. Every time the ice lends its surface to polo tournaments, horse races, and the wealthy and beautiful make the pilgrimage down the mountains from their grand hotels, St. Moritz seems to transform. St. Moritz’s newest ‘gimmick’ for the past three years or so has been to serve the International Concours of Elegance St. Moritz - or The ICE St. Moritz - as a kind of classic car museum with an adventurous character.

Since the first ever The ICE St. Moritz in 2019, historic rally cars have been exhibited to the sports car-crazy public on the opening day, before demonstrating their horsepower on the ice racetrack on the second day of the event. However, the fact that The ICE is taking place on Lake St. Moritz, of all places, is no coincidence. In 1985, a group of Scottish and British sportsmen drove their vintage Bentleys to St. Moritz to celebrate the centenary of the Cresta Run (an eccentric and high spirited toboggan amateur race). As part of the festivities, they drove their cars on the racecourse across the frozen Lake St. Moritz.

This year, however, the ICE St. Moritz evolved slightly differently. For the first time, the event was held on two days: Friday 24 and Saturday 25 February. On the first day, the lake was transformed into an open-air museum, where the jury evaluated the cars on display from an aesthetic perspective. Then, on the second day, the actual race took place, whereupon the jury evaluated the classic cars from a performance perspective.

This year there were five category winners. In the ‘Open Wheels’ category, the 1958 Maserati 420M/58 “Eldorado” held its own. Meanwhile, the ‘Barchettas on the Lake’ category crowned the Ferrari 500 Mondial Series II from 1955 as the winner. My personal favourite, the aforementioned Ferrari 250 Testarossa ‘Lucybelle’ emerged as the winner in the ‘Le Mans 100’ category. As expected, Lancia Strato’s HF Zero of 1970 came out on top in the ‘Concept Cars & One Offs’ category. Last but not least, judges crowned the 1958 Bentley S1 Continental Drophead Coupé as the winner of the ‘Queens on Wheels’ category.

The evening gala took place at Badrutts Palace, which towers over the city like a castle with its high stone walls. In the stimulating semi-darkness and under shimmering candlelight, riders, collectors, enthusiasts, the public and media from all over the world celebrated the conclusion of one of the most anticipated competitions in the Engadine. Overall it’s spectacular fun and contrary to what one might believe it really does draw the car enthusiast crowd rather than the snob mob. It’s a very chilled event and bags of fun.

[rimeswithpurple]

I'm back! Thank you to everyone that's been tagging me over the last few weeks. I actually managed to draw quite a bit while on vacation! I usually take my iPad on every trip and never touch it. There wasn't even turbulence on the flight, so I was able to draw on the plane too. It was the first real vacation that wasn't visiting family since before the Little Purples were born and it was magical!

My Carry On Art Remix is all done and I'm almost finished with my Carry On Reverse Bang concept sketches! I've wanted so badly to share them. My little brother, who's never read the books, has been flooded with images of my artwork just so I can show them to someone.

Now, onto things I can actually share. I spent yesterday morning hurting my own feelings. I hadn't been able to stop thinking about OC Adam from @blackberrysummerblog's and my COBB fic, Time Will Lie Down & Be Still, so I drew a few sketches and it made my heart ache a little.

If Adam looks a little familiar, it's because he's inspired by a baker from a Food Network baking competition. We had brainstormed that we wanted Adam to be a baker and taller than Baz. I remembered the guy from this show and I always thought he was cute. I'll put the sketches under the cut because they're mildly spoilery, but not really, for Chapter 2

I can't get over how much I love Baz's pose! From his knee on the counter to the hem of his jacket

And here are some tags and hellos!

@talentpiper11 @messofthejess @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @thewholelemon @larkral @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @fiend-for-culture @cosmicalart @mooncello @that-disabled-princess @cutestkilla @noblecorgi @iamamythologicalcreature @best--dress @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs @whatevertheweather @rbkzz @ebbpettier @cccloudsss @theimpossibledemon @katatsumuli @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @theotherhufflepuff @onepintobean @orange-peony @hushed-chorus @fatalfangirl @ic3-que3n @bazzybelle @nightimedreamersworld @martsonmars @aristocratic-otter @shrekgogurt @monbons @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @raenestee @skeedelvee

[tadpolesonalgae]

Tamlin x reader: The Aftermath of Spring - Drabble

A/N: I believe there is a positive correlation between the summer-y air that I’ve been granted access to and the sudden increase in fluffy fics—couldn’t tell you why

What have I done?

You groan as the memories come flooding back to you—how he’d taken you in that cave. Even with the pleasant soreness between your thighs; the slight ache in your head and jaw, you can’t fully summon the feeling of regret that should be more prevalent in your current state.

The High Lord of Spring had been courting you for a while now, inviting out to luncheons and requesting your presence at the dining table. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed it immensely: spending time with him.

Upon receiving your first invitation from him, you had become rather flustered, tripping over your skirts and bumping into your bedposts as you hurried to beautify yourself, scrambling for the plentiful supply of cosmetics that lined the interior of your various draws. You’d settled on a slight tint to your cheeks, along with a shade that didn’t look too unnatural on your lips, finishing with a slightly darker colour than your skin tone to your eyelids.

You’d stared at yourself for long enough to be labelled as vain by any male who had no concept of hygiene, and managed to make it to his requested spot on time without appearing out of breath. An excellent start. From there on, he’d extended his arm for you to latch onto, as he took you on a personal tour of his gardens—the ones kept private to most of his Court.

They were dazzling as you had expected, unable to keep the wide smile from your lips, despite your attempts to remain as unruffled and dignified as possible. He hadn’t seemed to mind, though, not once frowning at your open display of adoration for his fine garden, nor making a thinly veiled remark that you’re well accustomed to in the higher ends of the aristocracy.

The date had been wonderful, and he’d led you aside for some tea and scones—which were fluffy without being dry—with petit glass trinkets of cream and jam o the side. You’d wished to indulge in more, but had feared appearing gluttonous before him, so had relished and savoured the last morsel. To add to his charm, he’d made certain you had safe passage home, giving you nothing more than a slight incline of his head as you had curtsied. Not even a wisp of desire to be found in his emerald green eyes—as if he’d purely requested your company out of an interest in you; not your body.

He’d left you feeling rather giddy, if rather flustered, and that night, you’d dreamt not of the usual odd assortment of things that once day has risen one is no longer able to make sense of, but rather strolling again through that lovely garden, discussing botany and the charm of wildflowers where they are unwanted.

It was the third luncheon with him when you’d witnessed his grin—that he had, admittedly, tried to conceal by turning to look at a statue of two frolicking lambs. It had been so boyish, so un-High-Lord-like you’d had to fan your face to keep from blushing. He was surprisingly debonair with his kind smile and gentle but relevant anecdotes.

You’d talked long into the afternoon, empty cups of tea settled on their bespoke dishes—a strangely personal touch you found had you warming to him even more. He’d discussed his fondness for the fiddle, and you had laughed genuinely as he told you tales of his youth when he’d been about town and swindled a drink or two out of some drunken merrymaker’s pocket in payment for his tuneful services. Heavier subjects had begun to crop up, though you did not find yourself dreading them. Rather, Tamlin had spoken of his time spent as a foot-solder, competing with his comrades in competitions for the lewdest limerick.

“You have enjoy poetry?” You had asked.

Once upon a time, members of the higher classes had been expected to be well versed in classical literature, familiarising themselves with the works of the greats from an early age to appear sophisticated and well-spoken. Now, lessons were devoted more entirely to memorising the arms of houses, lineages from prestigious bloodlines and the politics between families. If it were none of the aforementioned, it would be sessions on etiquette. Needless to say, you’d hadn’t anticipated his genuine interest in the subject.

It had been a month of courting when you received your first sonnet from him, and t had left you more flustered that his initial request for your company. And so the back and forth of epistles had begun.

There was, you have to admit to yourself, a certain memory that seemed to make a habit of slinking into your mind when you were at the brink of sleep. It had been a moon and a half since he had begun courting you, and once again he’d been escorting you through his gardens, taking route past the roses you so adored—red, white, and lovely yellow.

“Do you have an aptitude for thinking on your feet?” You had asked, peering up at him from a rose. He’s raised a brow, but nodded his confirmation. “Your sonnets are so marvellously put together! I can’t help but dread the time it must take you to construct each lovely line,” you muse, standing straighter as you lock eyes properly—a rather reckless move on your part, but a necessary risk you had justified. You didn’t want him to think you too eager, lest he lose his interest.

“And where is this going?” He asked, eyes sparkling as he took you in amongst the flora. You offered him a sly smile that had his lips lifting in helpless response.

“He asks with anticipation,

The route of the conversation.

She was quite curious,

He thought her injurious;

She sought out his improvisation.”

Tamlin blinked. Regarded you. Then grinned. It was a wide smile, full of mischief and humour as he shook his head. “It doesn’t count if you have to think about it, Lord,” you smiled playfully and challenge lit his eyes as he regarded you again. Paid more attention—you’d caught his interest.

“Her skill of beatification,” He said slowly, as if debating the words.

"Is cause for great celebration.

She let him see her,

His heed grew deeper;

Her charm was no perturbation.”

You rose a brow, inclining your head to him. You were poised to open your mouth, but he stepped forward, and your tongue fell dull at his proximity.

“There once was a maiden so sweet,” he said softly, watching you endearingly.

“She swept the High Lord off his feet.

He was so charming,

But she was disarming,

That she became all he would seek.”

There was no way for you to conceal your flush at his words—the flattery. You swallowed, about to return his rhyme when you were regrettably interrupted. Apparently, something urgent had come up, and your High Lord was needed to resolve it. He’d offered what seemed to be a genuine apology, taking you gently by the arm as he had someone call for a carriage.

The door was open for you, but he had taken you carefully by the hand, eyes latching onto your own as he raised your knuckles to his lips—soft, and surprisingly warm. It had been enough of an encouragement you’d taken your second risk that day. You’d taken a brazen step forward, feeling the onlookers shift with a mix of amazement and indignation, but Tamlin had stiffened at your intimate approach. You offered him one of your innocent smiles, then murmured your reply back to him.

“There once was a girl so adored,

She swept her High Lord off his paws.

He was so beastly,

And she was quite feast-ly,

That he really did wish she had whored.”

You drew back, curtsying low as your eyes had flicked up to meet his own. His eyes were wide, lips parted in pleasant surprise. As you had turned to step up into the carriage, you’d heard the faint huff of breath from him—and you knew he was chuckling.

————

The Great Rite had come and passed now.

Would he continue his pursuit, despite now knowing what awaits him?

A foolish mistake on your part. You should have resisted him. Should have insisted to keep some mystery to yourself. Males only took an interest in females if there was some kind of allure to them. You needed that element of secrecy, or he would think of you as every other woman—nothing to distinguish you from the crowd.

But as you drag yourself out of bed, feet settling into comfy slippers, fretting over your past decisions, you spot a sage green envelope sat atop a silver tray. The seal is silver, baring the Spring Court insignia. You know instinctively who it’s from.

With trembling fingers, you peel back the wax, uncovering the letter: it’s another sonnet.

You scan the contents, heart thumping in your chest as you read his words:

‘Am I to say you are a lovely glade,

Dappled in the shade of emerald leaves?

Thou art more than milk and honey hath made,

The gilt threads of our souls the mother weaved.

If the golden eye of heaven did close,

Enough light would be shimmered from your form,

To sustain the seeds and others like those,

Past the eves of twilight; on until dawn.

Celestial bodies, and those divine,

Would leap to waltz a rotation with you.

My Court, my territory, those are thine,

Genuflect as I would before you, too.

Between you and I, let me make this right,

Soon full feather and softest delight.’

A heavy breath blows from your lips as you press the letter to your chest. It seems he hasn’t lost an ounce of his affections. You can hardly restrain yourself as you hum sweet tunes from your memory, skipping and dancing across your room until your handmaid peers in to enquire about the noise.

All it takes is for her to note your smile, and the opened letter with its recognisable seal, and her eyes spark with understanding. You feel like you could grow wings and fly, or burst out into song and waltz the days away.

Excitement and something else—something softer; more tender—warm your chest as you reread the letter again and again, until you have it memorised.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

[the-french-belphegor]

Every room in Scanlan’s mansion existed for a reason, as a conscious choice. He often changed the setup, and sometimes forgot to make a room, but a random chamber just popping up into existence for no reason was unheard of. (A few decades after Vecna, Kaylie comes across a room that doesn’t make sense in her father’s magical mansion.)

(Shout-out to @mythtaker, whose post last March about Scanlan probably keeping Vax's room in his Magnificent Mansion nudged my brain until I could finally do something with it 💜)

Still Life

Scanlan had changed addresses again since last time.

Kaylie let herself into the house after disarming the few traps he had told her about in his last letter. Just like he’d said, they were nothing fancy: just small precautions to avoid disgruntled former customers (or worse, the local competition) barging in unannounced.

The new house was small, but looked cosy, with high windows and whitewashed walls painted a light blue. The Marquesian sun flooded the coloured cement tiles of the study with a golden late afternoon sunlight. Her father, sitting with his feet on his desk and browsing through papers, didn’t appear to notice either the beautiful light or his unexpected visitor.

Kaylie shrugged off her backpack and let it drop to the floor. The thump made Scanlan look up; the next second, he hopped down from his chair and ran to her, smiling from ear to ear.

“Kaylie Shorthalt, apple of my eye, light of my days, vegan cream in my coffee –”

“Hey, Dad.” Tiredness kept Kaylie’s voice somewhat short, but the first thing she did after carefully putting down her violin case was give him a hug he happily returned. It had been a while since they’d seen each other. “How’s tricks?”

Even after all those years, the nugget of warmth curling in her chest when she met her father’s grin still caught her off-guard. She’d missed him, she could acknowledge that at least, but just how much she had still surprised her every time it hit her.

“Tricks are going swimmingly, thank you for asking. Did you get Juni’s letter?”

“I did, yeah, just before I left.”

“Oh, good. Well, it means Wax lost the bet, but she was worried.”

“Wait,” Kaylie asked with the start of a grin she couldn’t quite hold back, “which bet?”

Juniper and Wilhand’ildan Shorthalt, even after leaving home for places of higher learning, still made a point of staying in almost constant contact with each other, their big sister, their Grog, and their parents, by means of letters, second-hand messages, or Sending Stones. Their correspondence included a lot of teasing, bets, and dares, some of which bafflingly silly sometimes. It had dumbfounded both Kaylie and Scanlan somewhat until Pike and Grog had assured them that it wasn’t that unusual between siblings.

Scanlan waved a hand, drawing the suspense, of course.

“You know the kids. I think this time a… goat was involved? I’ll tell you all about it at dinner. In the meantime, shall I fire up the mansion? For old time’s sake?”

“‘Old times’, yeah. Sure.” Kaylie rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. It had barely been six months since the last time they’d treated themselves to a nice stay in the Magnificent Mansion. Okay, it felt longer, but still. “I could do with a day at the spa anyway after all this heat.”

“Then it’s settled. Give me a minute.”

Scanlan rummaged in his pocket for the components, closed his eyes, and started to hum a tune Kaylie recognised as one she’d been working on the last time they’d seen each other. As always, the air around him went shimmery and warm, citrus and coriander with a dash of purple, and the door winked into existence.

Gnome-sized, of course. And flamboyant and magnificent and ridiculous in an endearing way, just like him.

He opened it for her with a bow and a flourish.

“Ladies first.”

“Show-off,” snorted Kaylie, and walked in with her violin case, trusting Scanlan to bring her bag inside. Which he did, after a double take.

It was always easy to tell, from the look of the mansion, if Scanlan had spent time in Tal’Dorei recently. The layout was different, the ceiling a little lower, the hues a little softer. Some of Wax’s drawings he’d made while inside the mansion hung on the walls in frames; there were touches here and there in the decorations of Pike’s blues and Juni’s golds amongst the pinks and purples. In the foyer, a sheet of paper covered in awkward letters bigger than Kaylie’s whole hand held pride of place on a sideboard along with a plate of cookies. She immediately pilfered a couple on her way inside.

“Where’d you put my room this time?” she asked, rolling her head on her neck. Gods, it had been a long day. Make that a long week. Or a long fucking month, to be honest.

“Ground floor, west wing, couple of doors to the hot springs. I’ll make the servants get started on dinner. Give me a yell if you need anything?”

“Sure thing, thanks.”

Kaylie recognised her bedroom immediately: the door was open, welcoming her in. Scanlan had styled it the way she liked, cool and cosy but not stifling, light on the frills, with plenty of space to put her things away and all the tools she needed to take care of her violin.

The bed looked way too comfy. It was tempting to just faceplant in it and crash. But then, she reasoned, it would still be there after a long soak and a nice dinner.

She threw her bag over her shoulder, padded barefoot out of her room, and opened the second door to the left.

And paused, puzzled.

Every room in Scanlan’s mansion existed for a reason, as a conscious choice. He often changed the setup, and sometimes forgot to make a room, but a random chamber just popping up into existence for no reason was unheard of.

That… wasn’t the hot springs. It was a bedroom, by the look of it, but a bedroom that didn’t make sense.

“Hey, Scanlan?” Kaylie called out, frowning. “What’s this room for?”

She didn’t wait for an answer and stepped in slowly, taking in the dark furniture, the elegant carpet, the plants in large pots scattered across the room. The circular bed was unmade, like its owner had just stepped out. She ran her palm over the quilt, a light, fuzzy fabric meant to look like it was made from black feathers. Or maybe stylised leaves.

Something tugged at her memory.

“What room, Kay—”

The footsteps behind her came to such an abrupt stop Kaylie thought Scanlan had Dimension Doored away elsewhere. But when she looked over her shoulder, there he was, framed in the doorway like a painting and about as motionless.

He looked nothing less than stricken.

And that… was all the explanation she needed.

After the dust settled, after that last big fight, as she was recuperating in Whitestone in a bed too big for her –

(from her wounds, from dying, from coming back to life in her father’s arms with his tears in her hair and her blood on his chest)

– he had come back, bone-tired and too quiet, the smell of booze on him stronger than some of her best and worst benders, but alive. They had talked a bit about what she wanted to do, now that the world wasn’t ending any more. She had pulled him into a hug, the only way she’d found to say everything she’d wanted to say without having words pulled out of her mouth like teeth.

It was only when she had come back from a much-needed nightly stroll and found him passed out at the foot of his own bed that she had realised he hadn’t said a single word about how the fight had gone down except We won.

What they had lost – who – had come up later.

Kaylie didn’t have many clear memories of Vax’ildan. The other members of Vox Machina she’d mostly learned to know after they disbanded. With the exception of her father – and a memorable conversation with Vex’ahlia, still vivid despite the fog of alcohol (But there’s a chance we can bring him back, if you’re willing to help) – the shape they had in her mind was a product of time in a new world, one that no longer involved escaping from dragons or being kidnapped and brainwashed by an asshole god. Vax would forever belong to that former world. The only remnants she had of him were a vague silhouette in dark clothing, a sharp grin, a surprisingly soft voice.

And the taste of blood in her mouth.

The last and strongest memory Kaylie had of Vax was his scrunched up face, contorted by guilt with tear tracks on his cheeks, open hand thrust forwards as Gilmore whisked her and Cassandra de Rolo away to safety. To this day she still viciously hoped some of that guilt was for her, too.

After all, she was the one he’d killed.

And then he had died (or perhaps before and it just took a while to really take, she had never been clear on the timing), and in the process had somehow gained the power to crack Scanlan’s heart right open.

So maybe Kaylie had ambivalent feelings about the guy.

But she was also very aware that saying fuck ‘im would not help at all in this situation.

“Oh, Dad.” She shook her head, but purposely kept her voice gentle, filing down some of her sharp edges for once. “Still, huh?”

Shock rippled on his face at the sound of her voice. It made him look a little less like someone had just punched him in the stomach.

“…I meant a couple of doors on the right,” he said in a small voice.

He’d sounded worse before – hell, he’d looked worse before, she had once seen his lifeless body laid out on an altar after getting ripped apart by a dragon – but something still tugged at her heart at that.

“Yeah, well. The spa can wait. What’s up with that?” She stepped towards him, telegraphing her movements, like he was a horse who might bolt if spooked. “Why did you make that room? You know that’s… that’s not a good idea, right?”

“I didn’t make it make it,” Scanlan protested with a little more life. “I just… didn’t not make it.”

“Okay, but why now?”

Silence.

Kaylie stared at Scanlan.

“You mean you don’t make it on purpose? It just pops up every time?”

“No! …Yes. Kinda? Look, the mansion’s a complicated spell, okay? It’s not even proper bardic magic in the first place. I’ve been casting it for years and I’m still not a hundred percent sure how it works.”

His eyes stayed mostly on her, but every now and then they strayed to the left, to the coverings, the bed, the plants. However his body still seemed rooted to the spot, and Kaylie was suddenly struck by a flash of insight.

“Dad, did you – have you ever actually stepped foot in there? You know, since he died?”

Scanlan went very still.

(How the hell did he manage to fool anybody, Kaylie wondered as her heart sank in her chest. How good a liar did that make him, really, that she managed to see right through him every time?)

She shook her head again.

“You haven’t, have you. Decades of making this room without even thinking about it and you never… Godsdammit, Dad.”

“I can’t, Kaylie,” he said, barely audible. “It’s not… I wouldn’t…”

Scanlan Shorthalt at a loss for words was a unique phenomenon that could be two things: downright hilarious or powerfully awkward. A very rare third kind of outcome, the instances of which Kaylie could count on the fingers of one hand and a half, was snapping your heart clean in two. And for someone like her, who prided herself on always keeping that soft, vulnerable part of herself safe from all hurt… Well, it sucked. To put it mildly.

Kaylie sighed.

Then she took her father’s hand.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” she said gently, and pulled him into the room.

She didn’t have to tug very hard. Scanlan stumbled after her easily. The next moment he absent-mindedly straightened his vest and looked around at the room as though he was seeing it for the first time.

The room, not the contents. It was obvious, from the way his gaze lingered on this and that, how he snorted at the sight of an armchair pillow embroidered with two tiny figures inside a giant black dragon, or smiled at a painting that depicted a bunch of cows and a giant bird, of all things, that the objects that populated the space were familiar, or at least brought up memories.

Kaylie gave him a moment, then climbed onto the human-sized (or rather half-elf-sized) bed, letting her feet dangle over the edge. The movement must have caught Scanlan’s eye; he turned, and after a while shucked off his shoes and clambered up, too.

The silence between them lasted long enough that Kaylie started to wonder whether she should summon one of the mansion’s creepy ghost servants to get herself a drink. But she had cut down on daytime drinking a lot these past few decades, particularly since Juni’s birth. Putting the kibosh on Scanlan’s meat consumption had been a gag at first – plus chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner got old fast – but the excuse of eating healthy to live longer had had some truth behind it. Behind the sarcasm she’d actually wanted her father to stick around, and you kinda had to stay alive for that. It had taken her a few years after that to realise that getting too fucked up too often would make her less inclined to stay alive, too.

Scanlan had stuck by the vegan diet, and Kaylie had cut down her drinking rather dramatically.

But damn if her fingers didn’t still itch for a pint, sometimes.

“So,” she said, if only to hear something. Dammit. She had counted on Scanlan being the first to open his mouth – he usually was. “That’s a nice bedroom. This bed’s comfy.”

“I should hope so,” said Scanlan, his voice almost normal by now. Almost. “Nothing but quality in my Magnificent Mansion.”

“No mirror on the ceiling in this one?”

“Nah, not this time. But I think everybody had one at some point? Gods, it’s been ages. Anyway, I made up for it. Look in the… I think it’s in the bedside table on the left.”

Against her better judgement, Kaylie shuffled to the bedside table. Inside it was a book with a title in Marquesian which in Common translated to The Lotus and the Butterfly.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that the one with—?”

“—with beautiful traditional Marquesian illustrations going back two hundred years from the best artists in Yios, yes.”

“I was gonna say ‘the sex positions guidebook’, but sure, let’s go with that.” She shook her head. “I thought you couldn’t leave anything from the Material Plane in the mansion?”

“You can’t. I had the servants make it special from a copy I picked up once at a casino.”

“The one you got scammed in?” Kaylie asked with a grin, making Scanlan roll his eyes. She leafed through the book idly, gaze quickly flitting over text and pictures, neither really registering. “And you just. Left that in your friend’s bedside table. Like that’s not fucking weird at all.” Her head snapped back up as a thought hit her. “Wait, did you… Did you ever hook up with him, back in the day?”

In the two seconds it took for Scanlan to open his mouth, eyes wide, she decided she didn’t need to know the answer. Those two had been good friends and clearly loved each other a lot; whether sex had been involved or not was irrelevant.

She steered clear of sentiment, though, out of habit.

“Wait, don’t answer that. Sorry. Gross, shut up. Still, what the hell? Was it supposed to be some kind of prank?”

“Well, no, I… Okay, maybe just a little. Once I finally got that he and Keyleth were actually, like, A Thing, I put the book in there whenever I made the mansion. Mostly I figured they might need, uh… not exactly something to help them get it on, but just… ideas, you know? It took them long enough to realise they both wanted to boink, just thought I might aid a little in that department.”

Kaylie stared at her father, not knowing whether she might facepalm or laugh herself sick.

“Seriously.”

“Hey,” Scanlan pointed out, “it was them or Vex and Percy, and once they figured out their own shit they didn’t need any incentive to jump each other’s bones! Man, I’m still surprised they stopped at five kids and didn’t go for the full baker’s dozen.”

Once upon a time, this would’ve been a golden opportunity for her to say something scathing about accidental children. The Kaylie from three decades ago would have verbally eviscerated present-day Kaylie for letting that opportunity pass by. But then again, being her three decades ago had been fucking exhausting. Sure, she sometimes missed the viciousness she had let go of over the years, but she’d also lost some fears and gained a little peace of mind. Overall, not a bad bargain.

She settled for a snort and put the book back in the bedside table. Then she made herself comfortable on the bed, leaning back and kicking her feet a little.

Surprisingly, Scanlan didn’t add anything. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his arms and gazed vaguely ahead with an odd expression, for him.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hm?”

Godsdammit. Pike would be much better suited for this.

Kaylie resolutely kept her own gaze in front of her and didn’t look at him.

“You do realise it’s… okay if you don’t make this room? Maybe not next time, but like… the time after that. I don’t think he’ll mind, I mean… It’s not… It wouldn’t be betraying him is what I’m sayin’.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head towards her a little, but he remained uncharacteristically silent and still.

“It’s nice that you kept his stuff. No, I know, it’s not really his stuff, but you know what I mean – it’s, uh… it’s a thoughtful gesture. Wherever he is I’m sure he’d appreciate it. But…”

How did people do this? Say words that weren’t even spells and fixed things somehow? Her music could break and heal alike, but that last part felt closer to tying a tourniquet on a bleeding limb: a tiny thing that might keep you from dying just now, but a far cry from magic that knitted bones back together or breathed life back into corpses. She had sung away the hurt from Juni’s scraped knees or Wax’s scratched elbows a few times when her little siblings were kids. She might as well be trying to do the same now on a decades-old wound that somehow still found a way to bleed every now and then.

“But… But there’s better ways to remember him by. This is like… frozen in time. Like a museum, almost. Somehow I doubt that’s what he was about.”

“It’s not,” Scanlan muttered. Then he cleared his throat and added, without the crack in his voice this time, “I mean, yeah, he was… He was, uh.”

She pretended not to see him wipe his nose on his sleeve.

“He had… a lot going on, once he got into his thing with the Raven Queen. That messed him up for some time. But even with all that, even when he went full emo goth chicken with one foot in the grave talking about death all the frickin’ time, he was… he was alive.”

Pause; a small snort of a laugh. When he spoke again he was smiling, but his voice was less than steady again. “Never seen a dead guy so alive, when I think about it.”

Kaylie waited for him to continue. When it became obvious that nothing more was coming, she bit back a sigh, then shuffled closer.

And closer. Just close enough to lay her head on her father’s shoulder if she slumped a little.

(Ever since she’d first laid eyes on him she’d always been a little taller. That he’d never been there while she was still small enough to hold and carry was one of the things she still was angry at him about occasionally – and angry at herself for it. She was tough and strong and a grown-ass adult, godsdammit, not a bloody child.)

After a while, Scanlan laid his head against hers, giving her time to slip away if she wanted, like he usually did.

“Didn’t you want to go to the spa?” he asked quietly.

Kaylie gave a one-shoulder shrug, careful not to jostle their skulls against each other’s.

“I will. In a while.”

“I included the steam room again.”

“Good. It’s nice. Also pretty.”

“Well, you deserve the best.”

“Damn right I do,” she murmured.

Maybe he wasn’t the best father. But he certainly wasn’t the worst she’d thought he was for the first two thirds of her life. Sure, the space between their souls had its share of broken things, but in time they had built trust, and affection, and unspoken words that warmed rather than hurt.

She shifted, just enough that she could kiss his temple just above his ear – a little smaller than her own, one of the few physical traits he didn’t pass on to her – and give his hand a squeeze for good measure, lightning-quick.

Then she settled against him again before he could say anything.

The room was not haunted. In two dozen hours it would disappear, along with the rest of the house; one day it might cease to exist altogether. And maybe, between the two of them (beating hearts, warm bodies, lungs drawing breaths in tandem with one another), they could lay some old ghosts to rest.

[your-averagewriter]

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.”

Summary: After trekking through the rainforest the Suicide Squad stumble upon a camp and after a brief massacre they discover Rick Flag, uninjured and not captured.

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, gore, Suicide Squad violence and warnings

-

-

After a day of walking through a rainforest, moisture attaching itself to my skin I try to shrug off the feeling of dirtiness. We reach a makeshift camp and are instantly told to execute anyone and everyone within.

A brutal but sadly common order in the Suicide Squad. DuBois and Peacemaker have an obvious rivalry not leaving many to the rest of us but I’m not complaining. I’ve never been someone to enjoy killing, only when ordered to or when it’s necessary, that’s not to say I’m bad at it, don’t misunderstand.

I approach the camp, following behind the two in competition, not something I wanna get involved with. Slowly, I pull out a few bullets from my bag, toss one in the air, catch it then throw it, propelling it straight into a man’s head. Sunlight shines through from the other side, illuminating the cascading blood from the wound. I repeat the process with a second bullet, lodging it in someone’s skull before moving on through the camp.

Watching the two ‘vigilantes’ act like children is entertaining for a few minutes but gets old quickly as they fight over the last victim. Quickly, I pull out two bullets from my bag and propel them at the same time towards the last man standing. Falling over, you can see the two holes the bullets paved through his eyes, perfect shot, I think allowing a small smile at the precision and accuracy.

Both of them turn to me, glaring ever so slightly annoyed that I took away their tie breaker but we have a mission to do and competition with each other will only get each other killed.

“Damn it.” I hear both of them say, frustrated, watching as the man falls, flat on the ground, the remains of his eyes splattered nearby.

Staying silent, I follow closely behind the leader and another who has also deemed himself a leader (Peacemaker). His ego seems to have no bounds, from his pretentious name to stupid hat.

Heading towards a tent, DuBois pulls open the entrance to reveal a short woman in some sort of uniform and a patched up Rick Flag. They turn to us in confusion which is mimicked by our faces.

“(y/n)?” He asks and I furrow my brows looking at him, sitting laughing in a tent whilst we were out fighting and trying to protect the island.

I step back, out of the tent slowly as too many emotions flood my system making me not be able to think straight. I just need to get out of here.

I don’t walk far and I don’t know what to do so I walk through the camp following the trails of my murders tracing my bullets. They’re not really that special but I don’t know what to do right now.

Feeling a tear carve a path down my face, my hand flies up immediately to swipe it away and I refuse to cry or to let anyone see me cry. I grab at the bullets, forcing my fingernails into my palms almost drawing blood but the pain stops the tears from falling. Reversed logic but when did emotions ever make sense. Stuffing the bullets back into my bag I walk over to a fallen tree where I perch my head in my hands, not crying, not angry, just overwhelmed. Although, an overwhelmed assassin can be a dangerous thing.

This whole experience only lasts seconds in reality but it feels like it’s going on forever.

Waller convinced me to go on this mission stating that Rick had been captured, that he was being used by the enemy, she didn’t outright say he was being tortured but it was heavily implied.But here he is laughing in a tent with some random people, certainly not looking captured.

I know it’s not his fault that he's unharmed, not captured by the enemy, I’m not mad at him, it’s Waller as usual - manipulating me using my emotions and using the one person I care about to force me on this mission.

Rick emerges from the tent a few moments afterwards, likely done with a short debrief for DuBois and the others. He scans the forest, tracing the treeline, looking for me and eventually he clocks me sitting on the tree.

“(y/n)-” I interrupt.

“Why are you here? I don’t understand.” I say, my hands threaded in my hair.

“Trust me, I’m about to ask you the same thing.”

“Waller called me in, she told me you had been captured and were probably being tortured. That’s why I’m here. Why aren’t you being tortured?” He chuckles quietly. “I know that sounds weird.” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Waller lied to you.” I sigh. What I thought has now been confirmed.

“I can’t believe she would do that… Well, I can.” I frown.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, wrapping his arm around my waist, resting his head on top of mine. “I don’t want you to be here because of me.”

“It’s not your fault. We’ve just gotta make sure we both get out of it now so we can deal with Waller later on.”

“Yeah. Then you can show Waller what you’re made of.” 

“She won’t know what hit her.” I manage a small smile. There’s a comfortable silence that falls over us before I stand up holding onto his hand, cherishing the warmth he provides me with. “We should get back to the others…” I say.

He agrees quietly, following after me. We walk back over to the tent where the others are standing and talking with the people in uniform.

“DuBois?” I say and he turns around upon hearing his name. “Did you know?” I ask.

“Know what?”

“That Flag wasn’t captured, wasn’t tortured.”

“I didn’t know Flag was here.” He says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Peacemaker asks. “Why is he so important?”

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.” I say, the anger of Waller lying being emphasised by Peacemaker’s idiocy. I feel Rick squeeze my hand, an attempt to calm me. I don’t have anger issues but there are some specific things that rile me up.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Robert stands in the middle of us putting his hands up, preventing escalation. “He’s just a dick.” DuBois says quietly.

“Hey, I can hear you!” Peacemaker shouts.

“Fuck off!” I yell back.

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

I'm so boring with my title recently, I've just been putting quotes from the fics, I'm sorry haha.

I thought you'd want to be tagged @mandy-eminem-moxley77 (I have a much better Rick Flag fic that I'm gonna post tomorrow or the day after that's 'spicy' so...)

[aimportantdragoncollector]

Three Weeks of Trioholders Winners!

I’ve been thrilled by the amazing flood of content for my event. Now I’m proud to announce the winners! This will only be the first round of prizes. As a reminder, I extended Three Weeks of Trioholders for a bonus round from Monday November 21 to Sunday November 26, 2023. The details are here. However, I’m not going to make the people who submitted early wait any longer to collect their prizes. It was extremely difficult for me to pick the winners, and I had some very very close decisions. I loved every single entry.

First Place Winners in Writing and Art:

@missremember takes first in writing for [LISTEN], an amazing fic in the form of the Second One for All holder’s old recordings. I both laughed and cried!

For art, I just couldn’t decide on just one winner because the competition was too steep. Therefore I’m awarding a tie for first place in art.

@suugiart did an entire animation for the duoholders. I’ve watched it three times already. Words cannot describe my emotions so I will settle for WHOA.

@fanfictiongremlinao3 blew me away with this gorgeous trioholders piece. The shading is beautiful. I love seeing Yoichi so happy after his tragic past.

Second Place Winners in Writing and Art:

Nana’s Guide To Ending 200 Years of Pining by @samthehyena had me clutching my sides laughing at the oblivious pining trio.

@stealthsuitdeku made me laugh so hard with this drawing of All for One’s reaction to his brother eloping. If only Yoichi had tried this in canon, he might have given his brother a heart attack. I also think it’s a hilarious Dad for One-compliant detail that apparently All for One has laser eyes to match Izuku’s tear attacks.

Writing Honorable Mentions:

For @chaosverse-mainblog who wrote an entire collection for Three Weeks of Trioholders, my greatest challenge was deciding which one to award a prize to. In the end I picked A Foxes Love because it hit all my favorite tropes of kitsunes, Second and Yoichi being cute together, and All for One being a creep.

@teriiphelia for Innocent Accomplice which has my adored gender-swapped Second and Dad Yoichi.

@breeze-tells-tales for heart, don't fail me now because I love Anastasia AUs so much, and cute trioholders interaction.

Art Honorable Mentions:

I had a really hard pick between the two submissions by @thebnha-auhoard but in the end The Dragon and his Vampire won my heart. Just look at those beautiful wings, horns, and teeth!

@palebonedry this made me gasp out loud, the bloody colors are haunting. I’m fascinating by this AU and Nyavka Yoichi and All for One. If you want I’ll write the AU for your prize! (Or pick anything you’d like, it’s your prompt.)

@gracelyn33 this art perfectly captures the tragedy of the duo holders. I adore how you shaded the light across their faces.

@whensaturnfalls how pretty, I love Sleeping Beauty AUs.

@unknownreservations you drew too much good art and made it very hard for me to decide which one I wanted to pick for a prize. But in the end I picked this one because I loved the expressions on their faces. It’s obvious how much Second and Third adore Yoichi.

@azzabynes these three are adorable and I love how you made them dance.

@chaosverse-mainblog the one and only entry for the newly named Vault Breakers ship (Second/Third) is worthy of its own honorable mention. I adore the blushes on their faces so much.

Prizes:

First place in both art and writing will receive a fic of a minimum of 3,000 words from me (Katydid on Ao3) based on a prompt of your choice. Second place in both art and writing will receive a fic of a minimum of 1,500 words from me. Honorable mentions will be given at least a snippet based on your prompt (hopefully they don’t all get long like last year.) You can contact me to receive your prize here on tumblr, or on discord where I am katydid1. I’m setting a deadline of December 31, 2023 to claim your prize. I reserve the right to ask for a different request. And please be patient since I gave out quite a few prizes for this contest.

I enjoy writing prompts and I’m excited to receive your ideas. It’s been a blast to host this event.

[ghoulsnghosties]

i have 11 followers but here’s my video game review so far for fashion dreamer- noting it’s been out for roughly 16 hours.

i love making my little outfits

i will continue making my little outfits for myself and others

there needed to be more to do

i think they really wanted to make it almost an mmo, they’ve really emphasized the online aspect. but as much as i LOVE seeing the lookits other people make for me based on a handful of my own style prompts, there isn’t much interaction between players. i don’t have any other friends playing and unless you really really like dress up games and clothes are consistently your favorite parts of other games, it’s not worth it. especially not for that price. so i haven’t been able to test adding people on purpose

I love the idea of clothing customizing, but that is also pretty limited. for most pieces it’s only choosing the color of the garment. sometimes you can draw your own pattern on things but not often. i wish there was more you could do with a piece, like maybe choose the material or adjust length. then the in world clothes market wouldn’t be flood with slightly different variations of the same thing, which you likely also have the pattern for and could make yourself

the solo mode- why aren’t there quests? why isn’t there a story mode alongside the multiplayer? why isn’t there something else to do? competitions, like a beauty pageant or something. side quests, photo contests, ect. it just seems like the solo mode only exist to make it technically possible to play without internet. the tutorial section is basically all you can do and the two activities get so repetitive really fast. i’m not bored yet but there isn’t enough here to get anyone hooked long term like in style savvy. since they went genderless in their approach to the game, i really wish i could wear some of the men’s clothes, but unless you make another muse who is a man you can’t. only the accessories and hair cuts are gender neutral

overall, i’m still going to play it, and if anyone else is reading this and is playing and enjoying i will absolutely play with you, but i couldn’t in good faith recommend this to anyone as it is now. if they update and add some other features it could be a different story, but for now, 50$ to put clothes on an avatar and sometimes change those clothes colors is simply not worth it, even with an incredible photo mode

[ranger-potato]

I need some ideas for what scene to draw for the recently announced KOTLC Fanbase art competition. The theme is ‘KOTLC book cover’, and I need your opinions on what scenes you like the most out of the series, or which ones you think would look the best on a book cover :D

[bizarrequazar]

GJ and ZZH Updates — January 28-February 3

previous week || all posts || following post

This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

01-28 → Nothing of note.

01-29 → 361° posted two photo ads featuring Gong Jun.

01-30 → L'Oreal posted a promotional video spoken by Gong Jun.

→ BEAST posted a commercial featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted a behind the scenes video from Gong Jun's shoot with BEAST. Caption: "Whose eyes are locked on yours?"

→ The Instagram posted a video of "Zhang Zhehan".

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video from the same shoot. Caption: "The flowers are in full bloom and the gold is flowing. @ Gong Jun Simon presents auspicious spring colours in the garden, and everything welcomes the new year."

→ Vogue posted a photo of Gong Jun.

01-31 → 361° posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Gong Jun posted a photo from the BEAST shoot to his Instagram. Caption: "Bright love from BEAST."

→ Fresh posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ The Instagram posted two photos of "Zhang Zhehan".

→ Not directly related to anything, but a good comparative: A couple convicted in 2021 for the of the deaths of two toddlers were executed. Immediately following the execution, the mother of the toddlers posted a video where she talked about receiving online harassment because of the case for the last three years, stating that she had maintained her silence for sake of not interfering in the trial, and that she will now be suing those responsible for the cyberviolence.

02-01 → Gong Jun posted six miscellaneous photos. Caption: "Photos taken casually." Fan Observation: The first among these has become the latest photos that people are comparing silhouettes to, owing to the ear in it looking distinctly larger than Gong Jun's.

→ PRSR posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Gong Jun reposted a post announcing the premiere of My Special Girl, which stars Song Yiren whom he costarred with in Flavour It's Yours.

02-02 → The scam released another song.

→ The BL drama The Spirealm (aka Kaleidoscope of Death) was suddenly released on streaming platforms only to be pulled shortly thereafter due to competition interference. #There's a light on you, I want to catch it and see#, the line from Word of Honor, appeared on Weibo hotsearch in connection to the show including the first half of the line in one of its episodes; the hotsearch was likely bought to draw attention to the show, and the original novel does not include any line similar to this. Whalers tried to post photos of Zhang Sanjian to the tag; these were reported down en masse by CPFs, who then flooded the tag with positive content.

→ Zhang Sanjian wandered conspicuously around an airport again, this time in a knock-off of the Alexander McQueen suit Zhang Zhehan wore to the 2021 Weibo Night awards. A reminder that even if it wasn't hilariously obvious that it's not the same suit, designer outfits worn by celebrities are almost always rented for single events.

→ China Literary Art and Volunteers posted a video featuring Gong Jun giving New Years well wishes.

02-03 → Gong Jun's studio posted four behind the scenes photos from the vampire-themed photoshoot back in November. Caption: "Behind-the-scenes footage dropped~ @ Gong Jun Simon Open your eyes + close your eyes = super bright eyes 📸"

→ Rare posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

→ Gong Jun posted a commercial for Fresh to his Instagram.

Additional Reading: → N/A

previous week || all posts || following post

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

Best part, seokjin bts, mutual pining pls 🫶🏼

A/N: ok bestie this combo……I’m in love. With you and the idea. Thanks for the request, I hope you like it!!

GN! Reader x Kim Seokjin, mentions of alcohol and drinking, drunk kiss, Christmastime?? Not proofread. Sorry!!

Your eyelids flutter open gently to a room flooded with the white-gold light of morning. Everything is as you left it last night — your head is still resting on your arms at the coffee table, your purse and coat are still on the floor, a few empty bottles of various types of alcohol are still littering the counter, and Kim Seokjin is still curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

And as you look at him -- messy black hair falling over his forehead, big eyes shut, those perfect lips parted ever so slightly in a dream -- you know that no amount of alcohol could erase last night from your memory.

Nothing had happened. Nothing ever really happened between you and Seokjin, but for the past six months, all of that nothing had started to feel awfully like something. That was the earliest you could trace back the phenomena of Seokjin being the first thought in your head when you woke up, which had started as an occasional thing and had progressed into an everyday one.

Before then, Seokjin had been just another member of your friend group, a tight-knit squad of varying careers and interests who'd all been friends since college. You'd always liked him -- he was smart and kind and funny, always willing to participate in any of the antics of other members of the group and always making sure everyone was taken care of -- but it hadn't got beyond that until Christmastime.

Specifically, the Christmas Dance Battle Challenge.

This yearly tradition was one of your absolute least favorite parts of Christmas with your friends. You were decidedly not a dancer, but you played along because you saw how happy it made your other friends. The rules were simple: on December 1st, each person draws a number, and whoever draws the same number is their partner. Each number coincides with a song, which is the song the two of you have to learn the dance for by the time of the annual Christmas Eve-Eve (two days before Christmas) party. There would be a group vote after everyone had performed, and the winning pair got a prize -- usually a gift card each and a bottle of wine -- that the rest of the group had to pitch in to buy.

So, on December 1st, you had gathered. You had drawn #2 with Seokjin, and the song had been Bite Me by New Jeans. And the two of you had met up the next day to discuss "the strategy", which was what Seokjin had called it, clueing you into something you didn't realize about him: Seokjin was competitive.

"Alright," he'd said, pacing in front of you like a general in front of his troops right before battle. "This year I have it on good authority that the prize will be a gift card to my favorite restaurant, and I have to defend my winning title from last year, so this has to be good. How confident are you?"

"Uhhh..." you'd stuttered, and Seokjin had paused in front of you to flick your forehead lightly. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Now is not the time for insecurities," he'd told you. "You hold yourself back from true greatness every year, I've watched you. But you have amazing potential. And now, I will be the one who releases this butterfly from their cocoon."

He was speaking seriously, and yet there was a way that his mouth turned up at the corners that made you realize that it was mostly an act. So you'd grinned at him hesitantly, and he'd clapped. "That's the spirit! Now, I need to know your schedule so I can put together a rehearsal timeline."

You'd practiced twice a week with Seokjin, and his positive encouragement meant that your dancing skills improved markedly during that time. And you were also enjoying getting to know Seokjin, whose goofy humor and gentle teasing eased your normally-anxious mind. He calmed you, and brought out a more energetic, less timid side of you that you didn't even know existed. Being around him was as easy as breathing. In time, you even found it within you to tease him back as you learned the moves to the dance. Things were going so well.

And then, the "dress rehearsal" on December 17th.

Only a minute in to the practice, Seokjin paused the music. "I swear I didn't mess it up, Seokjin," you growled at him, "and I know, because I made a point to flick my foot specifically like you said --"

"That's not it," he complained, stopping your words with a finger. "There's not enough passion."

“Huh?” you said.

He strode over to you, stopping well inside your personal space bubble and looking down at you. “Do you think I’m handsome?” he asked you.

Your eyes had gotten wide and you’d blushed. “You -- what?”

“Answer the question,” he’d said with a half-smile and an eyebrow raised.

“Well, of course,” you’d stammered. Because he was -- tall and broad-shouldered, confident and self-assured, with that sardonic smile and those eyes that were as sweet and warm as the caramel cinnamon syrup you liked in your coffee. You’d always known he was handsome, but it wasn’t until this moment that you’d realized just how beautiful he was. He was perfect, really.

“So, why do you act like you’re scared to touch me?” he asked you, amused.

Unbeknownst to you, Seokjin was fighting to keep his very real frustration out of his voice. Because for the past month you’d been teasing him without even realizing it. He was addicted to your secret humor, admired the way you were so thoughtful and considerate to your shared group of friends, and couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty you were. He’d been feeling this way since you’d met, secretly praying every year that you’d get partnered up for the dance competition, but only this year had the prayer been answered. And while it had been thrilling so far -- Seokjin was learning there was almost no line he wouldn’t cross to hear your laugh, especially when it was because of him -- he was also discouraged at the lack of real progress. His first concern was that if he said anything to you about his feelings, you’d be too polite to turn him down, and he hated to put you in a situation like that -- but he’d started to wonder, with all the times he caught you staring, if he might have more hope than he started with.

So it was time for him to take hold of his destiny, he supposed. When he wrapped an arm around your waist, you gasped a little, and Seokjin had to grit his teeth to keep himself from becoming a giggling mess. He pulled you gently into him. “Have you ever danced with a man before?” he asked you.

Blushing furiously, you shook your head no. He nodded, lifting one of your hands in his own. “Follow my lead,” he’d said, and with your hips touching, he waltzed you around the room.

You were surprised at how quickly you were able to relax into his arms, especially because your whole body felt tingly and electric where it met with his skin. Seokjin led you through a short waltz that had the whole room spinning treacherously around you, forcing you to look at him. His eyes seemed to swallow you whole in their warmth, and there was something unspoken and magnetic in them that threatened to overwhelm you. Finally, he slowed to a stop, but didn’t let go of you. “Feel that?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes searching your face.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

He let go of you then, taking a step back. The sudden distance between the two of you left you feeling a bit cold, and you shivered. “That’s the energy we need to channel,” he said, turning away from you -- because this was the only way he knew how not to kiss you when you looked at him like that.

The rest of the practice had gone smoothly, but that was the first night you dreamed of Seokjin. And the first morning you woke up thinking of him. Little did you know, he was waking up that same morning thinking of you, too.

And you’d won the dance contest, without much of a competition. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” your friends had told you. “I mean, the chemistry?”

“Thanks,” you’d said, meeting eyes with Seokjin and blushing. “I had a really good partner.”

You’d assume things would go back to normal -- back to how they were before -- but Seokjin still texted you every day, just about different things. You ended up at his apartment a couple times without any of your other friends present, all for regular friendly activities like movies and video game nights, and he’d never made a move, always the picture of manners and thoughtfulness. And you had fun together, laughing more than you’d ever laughed with anyone. But the feelings that had awakened when he was standing so near to you had only grown, resulting in every morning being flooded with memories of him -- his smile, the smell of him, even the goofy pajamas he wore on occasion when you’d come over.

You hadn’t told him anything about this for several reasons. The main one was of course that you were friends now, and whatever else existed between you, you really enjoyed being around him. The fear that all of that would evaporate like a stray bit of smoke was 90% of the reason you stayed silent.

The other 10% was that you knew if you let yourself fall for him, there was a possibility that it wouldn’t work out, and you weren’t entirely sure how you’d survive that level of heartbreak.

So you’d let it be what it was for six whole months — from December to June, you had ached for Kim Seokjin in the same way as a carefully concealed wound. Sometimes, if you moved a certain way, it hurt worse — like during movie nights when his arm extended over the back of the sofa, but never quite around your shoulders. And sometimes it was barely there, like in late hours of the night when your quiet conversations had fizzled out and you were sitting in comfortable silence together. But still it remained, becoming clear to you at some indistinguishable moment that it wasn’t ever going to go away.

And then yesterday the call had come. “Hey,” he’d said. “What are your evening plans?”

“I’m pretty open. Why?” You hated the way your heart took off at the question, but it was hard when he phrased it in such a date-like way.

“Did you use your gift card?” he asked, referring to the one you’d both won as the prize for the dance competition.

“No, I didn’t.” You waited.

“We should go there tonight,” Seokjin recommended. “I can pick you up. Is seven okay?”

The whole day had been a terrible waiting game. The hours crawled by at a sloth’s pace, refusing to show much progress no matter how often you checked your watch. You’d gotten ready at 5, and it had somehow taken you only a half hour, so you were stuck waiting for another hour and a half before the knock finally came at your apartment door.

When you opened it, your jaw dropped. He looked like a prince in a blue suit with a crisp white shirt, his hair pushed up off his forehead. He’d held out the bouquet in his hands. “Um, hello,” he said, an endearing nervousness coloring his tone. “You look…really nice.”

You’d tucked a stray hair behind your ear with a jittery hand. “Thanks,” you’d replied. “Why the flowers?”

“Oh,” he’d said, like he’d just remembered them, although he was still holding them out to you. “They’re a thank you. For helping me win.”

“You really didn’t have to,” you said, taking them from him. “I had a lot of fun with you. And I’m glad we were able to get closer because of it.”

Was that a hint of a blush on his cheeks?

But he simply smiled, offering you his arm. “Let’s go.”

And dinner had turned into drinks, which had turned into drunk Seokjin. He was similar to regular Seokjin, just louder and less filtered, and though you were tipsy yourself, you knew better than to let him try and get home on his own. Not knowing what else to do, you’d brought him back to your place, letting him down gently onto the couch.

“Hey,” he’d said in a scolding tone as you stood up to stumble into your own bed. “Why are you leaving me?”

“It’s okay,” you told him. “You’re at my place. You’re safe.”

He’d reached up, then — and on your wobbly legs it was impossible to resist his surprisingly strong grip. You fell right into his lap, your hands finding purchase on the fabric of his shirt, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. He spent only a second looking at your stunned face through hazy eyes, admiring the tint of pink the alcohol lent to your nose and cheeks and the way your brows knit so adorably in nerves and worry, before he leaned in closer and pressed a soft, slow, entirely overwhelming kiss to your lips.

You couldn’t help it. You twisted your fingers around his shirt and returned the kiss, knowing with a pang of agony that this could be the one and only chance you had. You tried to say everything you couldn’t put into words with the kiss, caressing his face with the hand not holding his shirt and finally allowing yourself to feel all the feelings you’d been hopelessly trying to ignore that grew stronger and stronger the longer your lips were locked. The kiss cemented Seokjin firmly into his position as the first person you could ever remember loving like this.

And then he was the first to pull away. He frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to do that while drunk. Wanted it to be more…romantic. Special. But…”

“Yeah?” you’d whispered.

He’d fixed you with a bleary gaze. “If you love me, won’t you say something?”

And then he’d fallen asleep.

You watch him now — the sunlight turning his brown hair slightly auburn, the soothing rhythm of his breathing. And you know you’ll need to talk when he wakes up. But for right now, you let yourself reach across the short distance to move his waves off his face so you can see him better. “Beautiful,” you whisper.

As you let your hand drop, his hand shoots up to your wrist. “Hmm?” he hums at you, blinking awake. “What was that?”

Your heart is beating in your throat, but you know you have to ask. “What do you remember from last night?”

He closes one eye to try and focus. Then he realizes. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

“No really,” he says, sitting up. “That…shouldn’t have happened the way it did.”

And you’re not sure what he means by that, but it’s almost to the point that you don’t even care anymore. So you shake your head and take your hand in his, preparing to be the boldest you’ve ever been in your life.

“Seokjin, you should know...that when you hold me, and kiss me slowly, it’s the sweetest thing.”

His jaw drops. And you continue, “I’ve felt this way forever. And all of the time we spent together has only made it worse. Because no matter what we’re doing, you’re the best part.”

You wait for him to respond, but he seems lost for words. Finally he chokes out, “you’re the sunshine of my life.”

Your face splits into a massive grin. “You want coffee, babe?” you ask him.

“You’re the only coffee I need,” he replies, looking at you like one looks at the stars — awed and reverent and overwhelmed all at once

[catsi]

im curious what the "beast tribes" in the tenth are, if any? Also hello, Leviathan is the main god? I'm so curious what the tenth is like and how it differs from the Source. Like the Tenth is the shard that was consumed by too much water-aspected aether right? So is the world just a massive ocean with a few surviving landmasses or smth else? these are so many questions sdhfkjh no pressure to answer all of them but i am so intrigued regardless

i'm so sorry it took me so long to reply to this... i tried to draw art for it but. i cannot draw moogles for the life of me lfsffshfs

there are no beast tribes on the continent of oaxia, but the feylands to the south of oaxia are populated entirely by beast tribes (all collectively called fey) or fey-cursed humanoids! there are moogles, tonberrys, lupins (i think?), spriggans, and more! aether is scarce in the feylands, so they all use dynamis for their magic (which has been given the name 'faether' on this shard)

spriggans are my fav they are little ghosts who inhabit empty metal shells like vehicles or grenade casings or metal shacks or bits of armour and stuff and only crave competitive violence lol. the party won their respect in a monster truck rally so they're our friends now.... they comprise most of the airship the party is using rn. breaking everyone out of mage jail with a boat made of ghosts babey!!!!!!

yeah the world is largely ocean-covered! the seas have been rising for decades, but the world has recently reached a more precipitous point. the BBEG's term for the impending apocalypse he's trying to start is "The Great Deluge" and one party member has had visions of a world where even the Oracle's tower is flooded up to its top floor

Leviathan is the main god and is who the Church claims to worship, but the Church actually worship Levianear, who is like Leviathan's malevolent foil, and try to suppress knowledge of the existence of the second serpent. Leviathan is the umbral serpent and Levianear is the astral serpent. the two of them are currently locked away and locked in combat at the bottom of the sea, but Levianear has started to overpower Leviathan. the party's ultimate goal is to acquire the key that will unlock the place where the serpents are fighting, and put an end to Levianear's influence...

bc everything is water-themed, the party's term for The Echo is instead The Ripple :)

[amrass]

Fanfiction updates and excerpts 09.01.24

I am still sort of burned out, so taking it slow, but wanted to update any readers on my projects. I have settled on four main works, all for RDR2, two small crack fics and two smut fics (Arthur/Micah/Dutch, and Colm/Micah).

Info and excerpts under the cut!

Love Letters. Crack. Unexpected twoshot about the gang drawing dicks on the face of a certain sleeping rat. Part one is up!

"Oh," Grimshaw said, frowning at Micah's face, dirtied with something other than dirt. "Well. It's not my job to wash men who are that level of unwashed. But ..." In a swift, elegant movement, she pulled a fountain pen out from her hairdo. She wielded her pen like a knife, and the onlookers blinked at the added details to Micah's face, and an awed "Ahh" went through them, together with polite clapping. "Someone forgot the balls on that one," Grimshaw said.

Moral Tinnitus. Crack. Half finished oneshot where Arthur can hear the honor bell. This is even sillier than Love Letters, often breaking the fourth wall, with weird physics.

Arthur stood stock still when Dutch started rummaging around in his beard. After some shuffling about, he grasped two section of voluminous hair as if pulling apart theater curtains. Deep inside the beard was a familiar form, the sheer compactness of his squatting making Micah's earlier yoga positions seem like child's play.

 "Trelawny! You rascal, what are you doing inside Arthur's beard?"

"I'm hiding from the law, old friend."

Scotch, Cream and Rum. Smut threeshot, Arthur/Micah/Dutch. My first attempt at PWP, and it will be about 10 - 15k words. First part is done, but I want to finish the second to estimate the action curve lol. So far it is like 4000 words of a competitive blowjob ...

Micah had to breathe at some point, taking a break to swallow back spit. But it wasn't a true break, because he left a trail of kisses around the head of Dutch's cock, pulling back the foreskin and panting against the sensitive skin beneath, which Arthur would've never thought to do.

"You're truly ... remarkable at this, aren't you?" Dutch said.

"You're the remarkable one, Dutch."

Arthur thought he might puke.

Micah must've sensed it somehow, because the reverence in his eyes deadened as they slid to the side. "Your turn, tough guy," he said, holding Dutch's cock like they were boys sharing a stolen cigar behind a garden shed.

Salt. Previously titled Perfect Night. Colm/Micah pre-canon sugar daddy AU, multichapter kinkfest? Part 1 is done, but this is still changing a lot, and after 200k words on writing Micah as a secondary character, he is letting me write from his perspective!!! Their villainous chemistry is off the charts. Warning: DARK CONTENT

He didn't get far before pain engulfed him, so intense it took a moment to realize it came from Colm squeezing his balls. Pride leaked through his mouth in a high, undignified sound, until they became numb. It was worse when Colm loosened the hold. Blood flooded back and Micah almost went to his knees, but Colm steadied him, one hand finding his erection through the fabric. Micah felt distant to his own arousal, closer to the pain.

"Knew it," Colm said. Casual, he undid Micah’s jeans, pulling them down just enough to expose him. The glove was around him was softer than a callused hand. "No underwear, kitten? That's gotta chafe. You’re such a pain slut."

"Queer piece of shit geezer."

"Sure. But you can call me sir, if you wanna."

^^ bonus crack variation of this dynamic

Colm: I'll steal all your secrets, I’ll make you love me, I’ll wrangle your true submission out of you

Micah: ok boomer

… Thanks for reading!