noise dept.
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Keni
No title available
KIROKAZE
Sade Olutola
Janaina Medeiros
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
JVL
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
No title available
art blog(derogatory)
No title available
Origami Around
occasionally subtle
@theartofmadeline
will byers stan first human second
seen from Germany
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
@roguelunatiic
cosmo jarvis, homoflexible, male + he/him, fighter «—◦—→ well met, simon agassi! the godling born child of selene. it’s been thirty years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can he change the course of history with their creativity, gregariousness, + will to survive? or will their dishonesty, fatalism, + pessimism hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!
only when the boreas cabin door latches shut, do his bones find the comfort to lay themselves down. home. it was a strange word that had taken on a whole new light these past few months, especially as he turns towards his moon-eyed lover.
a home, almost lost. lars sighs, equally in both relief and resignation, as he walks up to the other and puts his arms around simon’s waist. “fuckin’ did it,” he mutters. the sensation of solid ground under his feet is a luxury. the cabin’s cold yet strong walls, a relief. and the yellow-and-white gleam in simon’s bright eyes?
something he would have done this death march all over again if he lost it.
“do you remember the time you were pissed at me?” lars asks as a thought on tugs him. “in the woods. after you got me potions. shooting at a tree.” a smile tugs the left corner of his lips. “think i’ve been in love ever since.”
@roguelunatiic
"I was scared."
this was true for when he was yelling at lars, as proxy for yelling at anyone, at everyone; the rules were changing, survival of the quickest didn't seem to be the way to go, and simon was confused. at himself, mostly.
this was true when the heartsong started and one life ended, creating a terror so profound that everyone who made succeeding look so easy would expect anyone and everyone to try, despite the risks.
this was true when the bolt flew from his crossbow, parting the dark hair on the back of olivia's head, before he'd ended both their lives with a single shot.
and then lars smiles over at him (down at him), and the layered memories of fear seem to melt. simon doesn't smile back, but his frown lifts a little, and maybe that's enough.
"good to know it wasn't the sex." since he'd met lars, and rode lars, in a single night, and it wasn't his body that won the man but his fury, his frenzy, his fear. "can't say when I knew. but I think it was slow. bit by bit. every time you came back -- every time I didn't have to fight to make you see me, hear me." simon's voice dropped, just for the two of them, despite being alone. "there it was, a little more."
the words brought him back to the present, to the alley around them. lars tilted the other’s jaw back, sealing their lips together, all as his hips began fulfilling the task of why they were here in the first place. the cockhead jabbed to its own frantic rhythm - quick, heated, a mating pace. groans poured into simon’s mouth.
“i love you,” lars gasped aloud when the kiss broke. the movements now came like a tide, rise and dip, hips rolling together in a passionate dance. “wanna make you mine, si. forever.” the words came out slurred, unbidden. all true, too. then they melted into a long, drawn out exhale-moan, as the first of lars started to unload into his boyfriend.
for a second, simon felt a little bad for trying to rush lars.
but that only lasted a second.
there wasn't any lingering concern as lars uttered those now-familiar words, driving home with his hips, pinning simon against the wall -- as if he'd want to be anywhere else, at that moment. it's then, that he realized. 'sigh'. si. simon. his eyes blew a little wider open, as lars' wad blew up inside him, and he sighed as he settled further down on that dick.
"do it."
he wasn't in his right mind, or his left one either; he was just, whole. and hale. and heartily fucked, and in the process of being bred, and blissed out on everything lars was giving him. while he wasn't sure what he was daring lars to do, he knew that lars wanted to do it, and maybe a little bit of a dare would push him to cross that finish line.
as breaths and shoulders settled, simon let his head fall back on lars' shoulder, and he let himself let out a breathy little chuckle.
"how'm I not gonna get cum on the seat at the restaurant?"
A mess. It was pretty juxtaposed to the life Isaac had known from his own timeline. He'd made his fair share of mistakes but everything about his life was clean cut and sterile. That was the way Isaac preferred it because mess came with complications and complications wrapped themselves around the parts of himself that Isaac preferred not to touch.
Isaac had spent the better part of his life living in circumstances that he'd created to subconsciously isolate himself. People would screw up, make a mistake, and then Isaac would clap his hands together, walk away, and say 'see look, I tried.' Maybe there was a balance between the man who held onto every and the only who always let go.
"Damn." There was a beat as Isaac took a moment to consider what Simon had said. "Can I ask you something?" Truth be told, he still felt like he was stumbling around in the dark. Maybe they were both standing on unstable ground but Isaac valued Simon's opinion.
Cards were on the table.
The 'work' part of it was done; Isaac had his answers, whether he wanted to look further into them or not. Was the other Isaac's life really as much of a mess as he'd said? No way to tell.
But if framing it that way gave Isaac insight into who he did -- or didn't -- want to be? Then the parable of alternate Isaac would have served a purpose, true or otherwise.
"You asked a lotta shit already," came that smug reply. At least until he remembered he wasn't dealing with another shithead like himself, and he cleared his throat, pushing the chair to sit up straight. "What I mean is I'm already lettin you ask whatever you want. So another question or twelve isn't any skin off my back." For good or for ill, Isaac had his attention.
he nodded. other axel- or whatever was the best way to talk about his other self. him but from a different path. an axel picked up earlier and grown into someone who smiled more but hated harder. one who sought out attention to his own detriment instead of shying away from it. someone with the same face (though probably with more scars) but a different mindset entirely.
someone axel both pitied and wish he could've been.
"better." an easy answer to the question. he sighed and rolled his shoulders. "thanks. I appreciate it." a quick look out of the corner of his eye, just to help assure simon the words weren't said for the sake of them.
"better."
the word, a whisper. a grunt. simon's hands didn't pull back, but instead down, running the length of axel's spine from either side, pressing in every inch or two.
"you got it." eye contact was brief, but intent enough. "I know I can't push back on that stuff in your head, how you react to shit. how it makes you feel." simon's brows lifted, just slightly. "but I'll be here to help you deal with it. when you don't wanna explain. or when you need to, but gotta get the words poked and prodded out."
and then, he gave a signature simon smile. not the practiced and charming look, but the one that's more natural; sleepy-eyed, lips forming a more nervous shape, not angling his head to hide the shape of his brow.
lars’ fingers explored and indulged, but simon’s words rang true. his needs followed each syllable down the line. then he pushed his trousers down, palmed his cock to align it, and then- a bass note of a growl, escaping deeply, gutturally from the northman’s chest as heat welcomed him. he pushed forward. the heat expanded. every inch was taken with relative ease, that puckered rim all but softened by the morning’s affairs and the current one at hand. “si,” the word came laced in a rasp. simon was so incredibly, extremely warm, and he sought after that divine heat by a rough slam of his hips, making the other’s cheeks bounce.
fuck, he was losing all sense. his arm wrapped around simon’s mid-waist, holding the other up while tethering himself here, too. and if it makes him feel the other’s core bloom to accommodate his second thrust, then so be it. his hips rolled forth again not a moment later. slow and heavy, every inch felt, pure breeding strokes. “fuck,” lars gasped, mouth dry. half-delirious, he whispered against the crook of other’s neck, “gonna blow all of me inside you, baby.”
this time with lars is as any other time with lars; that being, the highest form of compliment he could give. simon even barked out a laugh at whatever language the northman was pawing at, that one word, before the sound melted to a grunt and a gasp as he's buried to the hilt.
"fuck." a common call and response, between them. "don't take your time. keep makin me make noise like that and we're gonna have to stuff our dicks into a clown car."
translation: hurry up and bust in me so we don't get our asses caught.
it's a graceful sort of fumbling, too dexterous to be clumsy, as he freed himself in anticipation of painting the wall, for when his man would get into getting into him.
as simon turned, lars pressed forth almost by instinct, slotting against the open curve of the his back. to lars, simon represented a freedom of exploration, an unmoored sense of self, and a steady push on his boundaries. from day one, the other had challenged him in all the best ways and all for the better, even when he would put his walls up. now there were no walls - metaphorical ones at least, as he pushed simon up against the solid physical wall they faced and freed the other’s moon globes. three fingers soon delved in between simon’s cheeks as suggested, and lars let out a small groan at the inviting warmth they immediately found. “still good from the hotel this morning,” he muttered, pacing it to the curl of his fingers curled within simon. lars withdrew the digits then for a bit moment, so he could slick them with spittle and slip past the puckered rim once again.
the stretch of that rim drew a soft, awed breath from him as he looked down at it. “fuck,” lars said, almost reverently. “you should see what i see. it’s fuckin’ wonderful. you’re wonderful.” the words were soon sealed by a kiss, his free hand guiding simon’s jaw to meet his hungry lips.
"nah."
simon knew his butt was a nice one. he knew how lars' fingers felt, how big they were, how the bumps of his knuckles would rub and stretch that much more.
"I don't need to see it. that's for you, big guy."
words offered like a gift, grin warm, as his face was turned to meet with lars' once more. one of his favorite parts of being with lars was how he didn't need to do much. it wasn't a performance, or a way to earn his dinner; for lars, he was simply enough. now, that didn't mean he wasn't working his hips a bit, using those knuckles as much as lars was giving them, but he did it for how it felt. not out of necessity, but of interest. of affection. of desire, not desperation. being 'enough' left room for the optional stuff, that extra mile, along with some whole nine yards.
or inches.
"c'mon. if I'm good, I'm good. you can take your time with me in a bed." now that was a different kind of desperation. one he could wrestle with, contend with, and enjoy the tension.
he let loose an unfiltered laugh, meant only for simon and the alleyways of paris. “shit. making me sound better than i am,” lars shook his head with an incredulous grin. “all i am is a guy who fell for another guy. and i’d do anything,” he emphasized this part by tapping a clenched fist against simon’s chest, “anything for him.”
and anything to be with him. lars’ following kiss was a bruising press between their mouths, a prerequisite for his hands to soon tug and pull and unzip both of them, all until he felt hardness against hardness. lars rolled his hips for some friction between their fronts, growing low when it came through. “gonna’ need me to open you up?” the words were all breath, heat, and anticipation. “or want me to go in raw?”
"you're damn good," simon muttered back, muffled. "too damn good for my ass, but I'm not about to fuck it up." there's a grin in that kiss, at that faint thump of knuckles. "not if I can help it."
going cock to cock with lars always put it in mind just how much his man had going on. sure, he'd stuffed up into the guy once so far -- and feeling lars struggle to take just that was as much of a thrill as it was a gift -- but they had a pattern, a shape. not roles or assignments, but a comfortable configuration. in this instance, it was simon shifting to brace himself on a wall, facing forward. "might still be good from this morning," he offered. "why not gimme three and check?" since, as much as he'd want lars licking him open, he'd rather get kissed when getting stuffed. better to keep quiet, that way.
“are you kidding? of course, you’re worth that.” he tried to keep the incredulousness out of his voice. there were a lot of things that came out of their time in the wardrobe but one of the biggest was being strangely protective of the man behind him. strangely because he'd seen simon in action and knew he was beyond deadly with a crossbow. “you’re worth way more than that."
the question took a moment to register the meaning. he hadn't thought that far ahead. "was just... I dunno. letting you know I'm here. which is dumb since you've got your hands on me."
what axel was saying, simon knew the sound of, the shape of. and his little grin came from knowing what it felt like to make those shapes, those sounds. watching someone try to bend into the right form, not knowing how to accept them. but he's learning. they're both learning.
"yeah, well. you're here. I'm here." his head tilted for a second, nose brushing hair again. "kinda forgot what we started on for a second. other axel, right?" brows up. "other simon was more of a shit than me, so gonna call it doing everyone a service."
except for alkaois.
but that's his cross(bow) to bear.
"how you feelin now?"
he was already caught in a daze that simon always brought on, mouth beginning to pepper the male's scruffy jaw with kisses. much akin to the effect the moon had on tides, lars rose and fell to the call of the other's lunar gravity.
the answer to that remark left as a low grunt, which roughly translated to a 'yes'. then lars quickly keeled to his own needs, making his hands lower and honor his public indecency comment by taking a handful of that shapely ass. "fuck, you're like ... a bowl of soup on a cold night."
was that a romantic analogy? he didn't know.
maybe axel's poetry lessons would have helped a little.
but simon didn't fall in love with his poetry, that much he knew. so he took the other's hand and pulled him into the nearest alleyway, all before he pinned his lover against the first wall he saw. breaths came ragged, excited. his grin reflected all of those sentiments. "you okay with this?" he still asked, wanting simon to be comfortable above all else. the thickening outline of the cock in his jeans could wait.
the effect he had on lars was apparent. incredibly, impossibly, undeniably. it's part of what kept simon so close; he didn't have to act, as he'd slowly sloughed off the act and bared something he didn't even know he was. the magician, vanished. the scrappy sworn survivor in his place.
"yeah?" nose to cheek. "you're a cold pack on a forehead with a fever. you're the time it takes for a cup of coffee to get drinkable." lars wasn't the only one spending time around axel; learning other languages, with their complex rules and different shapes, had simon seeing english in a different light. "you're all this stuff that I get without havin to ask, but I don't wanna take for granted."
while the mutterings were sweet, the implication was much more base. a dichotomy simon could live between. "yeah." he's okay with it. "gimme the whole thing. gonna be squirmin all through dinner." but he smiled when he said it.
well, now he felt bad.
axel had meant it a little as a joke but mostly as a compliment. instead, he'd pushed simon into thinking about his past- something he wouldn't wish someone to do to him. thankfully the two of them were in a much better place. he knew now how simon was and his way with words weren't meant to hurt him. he was pretty sure that it went both ways.
but that didn't stop axel from reaching up, blindly trying to get a hold of one of those hands and give them a squeeze. "I'm sorry."
"hey."
for him to reach axel's shoulders, there had to be some kind of difference in position; already behind the guy, he'd sink to a crouch, or something near it, or even half of it, just to have them closer. his chest, axel's back.
"you asked. I answered." his nose grazed axel's hair. "but thanks." voice low, which for him, was somewhere barely baritone. "for thinkin about me like that. worth apologizing to." tough outside, tough inside, but starting to soften in some degrees; sure, he could take it. but that didn't mean he had to, all the time.
axel squeezed, simon squeezed back. "you got any other knots I can crack open, or this just a touch to touch?" which wasn't a problem at all. surprising some, simon could be tactile.
"Yeah." The more Simon pressed into him, the more the man would be able to feel how tense Axel was. The bright side of that was he could tell exactly what was working. The son of Hermes wasn't exactly trying to hide how good it felt.
"How'd you get to be so wise, huh?" He chuckled low, daring to mess up what Simon was doing by tilting his head to look at him. "All these books I've read and I end up getting most of my advice from you instead of them. I should be trying to get you published."
wise.
now that had him paused, if just for a second.
sure, he was busy making axel melt with just his fingers, but axel was making him think, and thinking was the opposite of what he felt like doing.
"lessons hard learned." said with a low voice; not upset or angered, but just... soft. "let book writin' guys write books. they get history and numbers and names and all that shit" not about to knock authors and historians to the actual research assistant. or, simon thought that's what axel said he did, once. "what I got don't fit in a book. you don't read about the difference a little smile makes between the day you barely make it and the day you give up. or watchin people rip each other apart over the dregs in a dirty needle." could be considered harsh, or edgy, but simon didn't put any flavor or spin on it. where he was, simon learned endurance. diplomacy, deescalation. when to escalate.
simon learned ways to stay alive, that didn't come from other stories.
"but if you ask, I'll talk. even if you wanna write it down."
"I think I have a hard time establishing real, genuine connections with people. I blamed the divorce but I've never made it easy" Isaac kind of gestured, "But we're like two steps away from living on top of each other here so it was sort of inevitable." The list wasn't long, but he'd put Simon near the top.
With an easy gesture with his chin, Isaac pointed toward the last card. The reading had given him something to think about, but it'd only worked to reaffirm what he'd already known - and maybe have some gratitude that there were doors that Isaac couldn't open again. At least not easily.
"Hit me."
"do it fake long enough, it's like it's never real." he totally isn't speaking from experience. and having to challenge and confront that experience in regards to someone else. but this wasn't time for simon. this was time for isaac. he didn't respond any further, he just flipped that last card over.
temperance, reversed
where brows went up before, they now went down. "if this is what that guy left behind, then." no buts about it. "it's a fuckin mess." better to have it out. "temperance is balance. discipline. self control. not just things in order, but like, the ability to keep shit in order. some got it, some don't, and that's fine. but the other isaac?" simon frowned. "sure as shit didn't." stating fact from a card was a little new, but it's easier than softening it for correctness. "maybe he fucked around, fooled around. maybe he spent shit, hoarded shit. whatever it was, some shit was outta balance. and it's up to you if you wanna reach in and straighten shit up, or wait for it to bite you."
in another world, perhaps he was here with his wife.
in another world, perhaps everything did turn out to be cookie-cutter and uniform, an eternity of happy but lukewarm domesticity. he could imagine him and helene being in paris for a baby-moon, or something other cliché occasion. a european wedding, maybe? a private affair in a small chapel, family and friends only.
but lars was here now with a man he dearly loved, plus a magical raccoon, and he felt right about everything.
his lips bounced back a grin before they were sealed by a kiss, much to the protest of the scoundrel between them. still, lars didn't pull away. instead he nodded, muttering, "bridge, alley, wall. anything. paris inspires imagination in a man."
and boldness, too, as his hands lowered to the sides of simon's waist.
"they got any public indecency laws in europe?" whisper-chuckled, before he leaned in again for a second, warming kiss. otto be damned.
as far as simon's able to tell, this -- this, here -- is the only possible 'happy' iteration of his story.
even a simon different by a single degree was a miserable shit, from as far as he was able to tell. kissing in secret, stealing anything he could get his hands on, no real connections aside from one that couldn't seem to face what it was. but neither did he. or, the 'other' he.
in this story, simon has lars and lars has simon, and otto squirms between them as they kiss, and simon does the mean thing and click the weird fancy egg to put the creature to bed for a while. the space between them was left open, but simon pulled to close it rather quickly.
"probably," he says, before smiling against lars' lips. "but fuck 'em. wherever you want, big guy. just don't make me walk six miles after."
since lars seemed to love like a man wanting to become a father, despite the impossibility of the endeavor.
the raccoon stole a lopsided grin from him. “he’s gonna need a strong alibi in any case.” little mischievous rascal, cut from the same cloth as his owner. same dark-circled eyes, same silent grace, and same way of making things disappear. lars loved them both, but he would be lying through his teeth if he said equally.
a brow arched at simon’s recoil to the pamphlet. then, with his lips quirked, he bit back by countering, “but aren’t we already cookie-cutter?” his shoulder nudged simon’s. “i don’t need any set plans. just wanna walk into somewhere holding my boyfriend’s hand, carve our initials on a bridge, maybe.” that last, muttered part invoked a barely suppressed grin. fuck.
lars was in love, and because of it, he was in joy as well.
"his alibi is the front of my jacket." a few clicks, which turned into an argument of clicks against blank raccoon-ish looks, before he grunted and all but shoved the critter into the space between his chest and front zipper.
otto's head poked up above the opening, indignant.
"you can have the plans." he relents, possibly too easily, but it doesn't matter. he had a little fun ruffling lars' feathers, a little; more more like rustling his fur, since the only thing that ruffled lars was getting himself in danger. "we're nothing-fuckin-near cookie-cutter. look more like two guys about to fight than... you know." his grin widens. "two fools ass-over-kettle for each other, and all that." poor otto was pinned between them, as simon leaned in for a kiss with that so-rough figure that seemed to soften his edges.
"you better not be kidding about that bridge thing."
His eyes were closed about halfway through Simon's words. It wasn't just because how good those hands felt. Hearing compliments, a recollection of memories, and a reinforcement that he was wanted was a lot for him. Progress was being made towards being more accepting that he was worthy of such praise and appreciation but these things didn't happen overnight or even over a month. Luckily, Simon, Lars, and Calvin were all stubborn as hell.
"I get that." He sighed, finally letting his shoulders fall some. "Still, I feel like he should be... mourned or something. I just took everything away from him, you know? Even if he's me, mostly."
And that's not even taking into account all the other changes.
The best part was, Simon wasn't performing. Everything he'd said about Axel, the Axel he knew and fought with and defended, was true. Natural. No need to process, to contort, to bend into a better shape.
"Yeah?" The dropping of those shoulders was rewarded, with some pressure moving in towards the base of Axel's neck. "You can mourn the guy." It made sense to. The other Simon? To him, he said 'fuck 'im'. And it was easy, since he knew or figured that's how the other Simon would feel about him. But not everyone was so lucky (re; so callous). "Just don't do it at the cost of 'you'. Carvin shit off yourself to pay penance for that other guy's a waste. Not gonna go anywhere. Just gonna feel worse, and fuckin' hurt anyway."
Keep working. Keep pushing. Keep grinding out these... Feelings.
Isaac thought it was all an absolute waste of time, maybe even a bit selfish, but at every turn he was being proven wrong. The writing was on the wall that letting himself
Khai had said it best, we can be great together. That translated to how Isaac felt about everyone at camp, despite his predisposition toward charging in ahead of everyone, there was a selfish undertone. Isaac was ambitious and his aspirations were the first thing above his mind... But he'd come to learn in the last four months that when one of them succeeded, all of them did.
"Yeah I uh-" he thought about the ex he'd texted too many times, the name that wasn't in this phone anymore. "I've been that guy before, I don't intend on going backward." Isaac did better when he was ignoring his feelings, maybe confronting them meant Simon was good at this. "Guess I never really considered it like that."
As with times before, things seemed to be hitting Isaac a little (or quite a bit) harder than he'd been tossing them. That was either a sign of success, or hitting a soft spot -- which was just a different kind of success, long as Isaac didn't get bruised enough to swing.
"Nothin wrong with it, whatever you do." Hands up, unchallenging. "Fuck knows I was pretty shit before I got here, still am after. But it kept me on my feet back then, and it keeps me on the ground here now." But, this wasn't about him. This was about Isaac.
So, Simon looked good and hard up at Isaac, as he lifted the corner of the last card. "When you're ready, yeah?"
