#mptim

[mpxshuhua]

♝

♝ Shuhua and Tim holding hands

Born (and died, then resurrected) in the winter, Shuhua felt most in touch with herself during the coldest days of the year. Being on ice seemed like an idea that suited her, and she liked to imagine herself soaring through the vast white gracefully; how different could this be from dancing? Yet she could only skate at a warily leisurely speed in a stiff position at best, and most times at the skating rink are spent admiring one particular boy who made it look so much more effortless.  Another day at the rink alone, and she found herself unknowingly imitating his beautiful moves again, a leg slowly extending and lifting behind her in an attempt to balance on the other leg. In her visions, she was the swan queen, navigating across her domain with ease and elegance. But she was just Shuhua, and in just a blink of an eye her heavy, rocking body reminded her of that, painfully so. Frantically, she grabbed onto whatever was closest, and embarrassingly it was the boy’s hand; she hadn’t noticed she was following him so closely. “Oh, god- I... I’m sorry!”

[mpxharper]

Model Fit | Harper & Tim

Starter for @mptim

For someone who had spent his high school years rejecting casting agents, Harper did not expect to be modelling - even if only for Aphrodite’s boutique and a few art students. However, he had come to Mount Phoenix for a new start and, as much as dance would always be at the centre of his universe, Harper know he was long overdue for new experiences.

Perhaps that what how he had ended up in the exact moment, sitting on a stool and stripped down to his white boxers. For someone with such a baby face, Harper’s body was chiseled to perfection - his shoulders broad and the muscles along his upper back rippling with his every movement.

“So... how do you want me?” he asked, a little awkwardly. The last time he had been so bare it was with Aphrodite and Elizabella - and that most definitely did not go according to his plan.

[mpsaint]

「 1704 : chef-d'œuvre 」

❝ cher pécheur,

I am not big on grand gestures, as you know. there is no way I will let you win a competition as a birthday gift, even if I could bet anything your smile would make it less horrible. but that is not how we do things – you are good enough to beat me, but you will have to work harder. in all honesty, do not ruin your body for my sake (that is my job, as you well know). instead, I will send you this little project I have been working on for a while. you might recall the time I asked you to pose so I can take some pictures. yes, this is why I needed the pictures. I wrote this ‘poem’ down while I was working on the gift, I hope you will understand what it means (for meaning quite escapes me):

him – with ailes of gold, standing tall over a stadium of fleurs him – sang running down his spine and arms him – a river of colour that gives mon âme rhythm him – innocence and douleur lost the longer he looks at nous.

I hope you will enjoy it, and make sure to keep this on your desk. I have something to show you, so look forward to our date on your birthday. stay safe, petit idiot.

joyeux anniversaire!

jtmb, ton chaos. ❞

_________ *trans. dear sinner; wings; flowers; blood; my soul; pain; us; little idiot; happy birthday; jtmb – je t’aime beaucoup; your chaos.

With one long sleeve, folded over his hand, Saint wipes a stray tear of his cheek. A smile has turned up his lips and he scoffs softly at the letter and the poem. So stupid, and so Tim. Of course he had to make him cry on his birthday, so Tim. He reached for the sculpture to let his finger tips glide over it, feeling the small details as he looks at it, fondness and happiness bright in his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing in his apartment. The wings he never managed to manifest, gifted to him by Timothée again and again. Now he was forever reminded of it with this. He would definitely keep the sculpture on his desk and he’d cherish it like a treasure. Even though he might not say as much to the other figure skater he practically grew up with. “ผมรักคุณ…” He began in his native Thai tongue before switching over to French as his fingers once more traced the lines of the poem, his second treasure. Words he might never say to his face but even unsaid they were true. “…mon chaos.”  _________ *trans. i love you; my chaos.

[exmpsveinn]

encounter ,,

@mptim

it’s been a while since his peace has been disturbed. that is to say; he’s been taking great care to stick to the places he knows and to only interact with the minimum of people necessary. he hasn’t wanted to be disturbed by the bother of people’s opinions on him or the effort of social interaction that sometimes just becomes a giant drain on his energy, time and patience. he’s learned long ago that the best course of action to take is to just distance himself from everything for a little while and then he can slowly ease back into things when he’s recharged his batteries.

so even the tea garden hasn’t seen his presence in a while, the artist sticking more to his own home or his studio outside of work. occasionally he’d been at the post office to ship out this or the other painting he sold online, the proceeds of his art starting to go up high enough that he’s actually even been considering quitting his job. but then he likes tattooing too much so even if he quite at the taste of ink, he’d probably just want to continue doing it on his own. such a thing would require buying all the necessary supplies though, so it might be easier just to give up his manager position instead. the idea of falling under another manager rather than just the big boss, however, is also not really great, and so things haven’t changed and he’s just been taking it more easy at work.

outside of that, his intense gaze usually makes most people back off and decide against talking to him those few times when they did consider it to begin with. all this to say that peace has been a constant companion of his throughout the past couple of weeks, even lasting him throughout his interactions with dionysus, even if some of those were emotional enough to rock the boat a little every now and then. but that’s an emotional labour he wants to do, so it doesn’t bother him as much.

what he’s not prepared for is the voice calling for his attention, and when he looks in its direction, he’s faced with a blond young man who seems utterly delighted to have come across him. so much so that he actually takes a moment trying to sift through his memories to figure out if he’s ever met the guy before but he most distinctly has not. the youthful face beaming at him, though, speaks of interest or intimacy that he’s not sure should be anywhere between them. but for some reason he turns further, so he’s fully facing the other man, and then raises an eyebrow lightly in inquiry, not speaking just yet. 

[mpxarawn]

Poetry Lessons ||

@mptim || continued from { here } 

He snapped the book closed when the lecture came to an end and his class packed their things. “Remember, tests start next week. And your first draft essays are due next week as well. Bring them in, so that I can mark them and give you suggestions on what you’re missing so that all of you can pass my class,” he stated. Several girls after they’d packed up approached Arawn with papers with love letters scribbled on them and the god simply took them with a smile and sent them off before making his way over to Tim’s desk. He knew that the younger could often get lost in his thoughts in his class and he liked the fact that the other seemed to have a mutual love for literature. 

“Tim,” he hummed. His voice was still soft as always but that genuine timber that he had  was just masked by the softness. He nudged the younger boy and grinned when the attention seemed to focus on him. “Class is over and as much I’m sure you’d enjoy staying here, don’t you have other classes today?” he asked,  settling himself into  a chair across him. 

[mpsaint]

♘ ( tim kissing saint on the forehead )

@mptim

It had been a long day for the both of them of training, training, training. But what else was new. It was interesting though, to be at the same place as Timothée again. It had been 5 years now since Saint had moved and they had no longer be living in the same city, even country. While they both of course had various facets to their training much of today was apparantly for both of them on ice... Which was nice and weird because with him competitive they were they wanted to outshine each other even there while not giving away their routine for the next competition ahead. 

When Saint had been called off the ice by his coach it had been frustratingly beautiful to watch Valère, gliding so easily as he always did, knowing every square centimeter of the ice. He was still new to this rink, and he knew it showed for the both of them. What an unknowing eye would never see. It was with frustration and fire that the Thai demigod had stepped back on after that short break and a talk with his trainer. The man had meant well with his pointed but they were all things Saint felt he already knew. Besides, right now for him this was about them. 

Him and Timothée in the rink. 

He’d skated towards him and given him a look. “Let’s train together. Triple axel.”  They both knew they wanted to square off and neither would back down from a challenge, even if their coaches were against it. Thankfully they had known the two boys longer than that, and knew that a sporters driving spirit could lay in this rivalry. 

It was now much later, Saint sat down in the locker room, hair wet from the shower. He glanced up as he heard the other enter, having finished his own shower. He looked annoyingly hot for someone would performed a better triple axel just now than he had. But then he did that. Placing a soft kiss to his forehead after he walked over. And it all was fine. They were rivals on the ice, and also often off it. But they were also the closest of friends... To say the least.

[mpxharper]

Studio | Harper & Tim

For @mptim

Harper loved ballet - not just the performance but the technique, expression and the history behind every dance - and so becoming a trainer was almost second nature to him. Always warm and encouraging, he always had a supportive relationship with his students and strived to help them reach better heights. But goodness, he should have predicted that taking Tim on as a student was going to be trouble.

“You really need to be careful when you’re going into that move, Tim,” Harper attempted to instruct again, ruffling the back of his hair in mild frustration, “You might hurt yourself if you’re not more careful with your technique. I know you can do it, but you just need more... control.”

[phobetorxmp]

▽

▽ Tim patting/rubbing Phobetor’s back 

Phobetor’s pen stills as he feels long fingers slip across his shoulders, against the soft cotton of his shirt, running down to his collarbones before applying spine-tingling pressure in a quick squeeze and ending with a nice, firm pat. “Who let you in here?” He hums, voice low, in reply, knowing that interesting little mix of fear and self confidence to keep it quelled that was Tim. The young man had made quite the impression upon the god in their few meetings. Still, having him appear in his office at Babylon was unusual, he’s rather sure the young man doesn’t know where he’s standing. How unsurprising for one of Moon’s near and dears to be that precocious and yet adorably clueless. These sweet little things really will be the end of him.

Finally lowering his pen, Phobetor swivels a little in his large executive leather chair behind his oak desk, to look over at the demigod who had snuck in to his office to stand beside him. “Are you that desperate for my attention?” He asks with a teasing quirk to his brow.