Maxim

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL Returning before Emma, Bobby leans in slightly and murmurs into her ear with an overwhelming swagger and bravado. “Just lemme know if you’re not comfortable or when you want me to stop.” His left eye winks slowly, just above the appearance of a sexy, puckish smirk, and he glides away again as the tantalizing song picks up in volume, seasoning the sultry, saucy air. He puts about a step and a half between himself and where Emma is sitting, and waits a beat before he makes any movement. It was equal parts a notion for intense dramatic effect, but also (perhaps most essentially) a ruse to conceal his own slight reservation of what he was about to pull. Bobby wasn’t exactly the kind of guy that someone could consider hard-nosed or accuse him of taking himself too seriously. If anything, he feels as if he’s the one people tend to ring up when seeking ‘wild times’. Half a pint of Henny in the system, and it’s game over. That brings him to the root of his current issue, as, for whatever reason, being acutely aware of his actions gives him more anxiety than ever. But none of it stems from any genuine fear of emulating the beauty at her own craft and potentially embarrassing himself—rather a fear of coming on far too strong for the amount of time they’ve known each other and likely scaring her away, thus… embarrassing himself in the process. He'd brave on, though, wetting his lips and bowing his head slightly as he reaches down to undo his belt, swaying his stiff hips to loosen them. Finding his rhythm and growing in confidence, he pulls his shirt from beneath his pants and slowly teases rolling it off, endowing a peak at his full set of eight immaculately carved abs to the angel across the way. His sight locks to her and her expression of arousal fuels his own; fuck, she was driving him crazy. The fabric of his top stretches with each tug of his firm hands, then he'd manage to pull it over his head, bearing his fit, muscular torso. He grinds and rolls his abdomen forward—confounded by his natural talent (he did think himself to be of many)—thereafter dragging out his belt and working on the seal of his jeans. Glancing back toward Emma, he playfully pops his pectorals in repetition with another smirk, adding his patent humor to the libido. Slow steps lead him closer to the object of his desire, his pants falling lower and lower with each foot forward, exposing his white Calvins underneath, hugging against his thick, stern glutes. He'd then take the belt and place it over Emma's neck, pulling her into his body heat to face the continued winding of his hips. His muscles cavernous, he takes Emma's hand to guide her along it for exploration, running from his prominent pecs, down his trenched abs, and arriving to massage his large package, begging to be unwrapped. It's then he succumbs to his drive and forwards himself, grazing his lips on hers. Each maneuver serves to carefully widen the gap and introduce his warm tongue, the filiform atop the pink body part massaging Emma's. He climbs on her, still rolling his hips, creating friction against her lap with his hardening length. He'd next move his mouth down the edge of her jaw, to the nape of her neck where he'd suction continuously until the sound of her moans flush out the music ringing through his ear drums. Shifting focus to her ear, back across her chin and down to her collar bone, he'd look to her for permission to undo her robe, which she grants with nod yes and an anticipatory trembling body. "Wow," he whispers upon getting sight of her ample breasts up close, then he'd back away from his meal despite his ravenous hunger, and continues to cater to his woman's sense of sight. His jeans now below his knees, he turns to show off his back—flexing it for Emma—then draws on the elastic of his boxer briefs to give view of his round, plump ass. He chuckles against his shortened breath, then he'd turn back with a smile, the front of his briefs he pulled against to preview his long, thick shaft. His cock stands firm, fighting for escape against the cotton as the blood continues to suffuse it, showing how badly he wanted to bury himself in her. "You can grab it if you want," he mutters lowly, his chest expanding and collapsing noticeably, and his eyes projecting focus and determination. MONTY @Mariah.  

#allofmypride { height: 520px; width: 420px; background: white; outline: 1px solid #e59277; position: relative; margin: 20px auto 3px; box-shadow: 1px 2px 3px #e59277; overflow: hidden; } .aomp-image { width: 170px; height: 400px; position: absolute; background-size: cover; top: 85px; left: 0px; filter: grayscale(0.7); } .aomp-text { font-family: libre franklin; color: #000; position: absolute; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; padding-right: 5px; width: 195px; height: 400px; font-size: 11px; right: 25px; top: 85px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 1px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background: none!important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background: #000 !important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text b { background: #e2cccf; font-weight: 400;} .aomp-title { font-family: raleway; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; font-size: 9px; position: absolute; color: #e59277; letter-spacing: 2px; width: 380px; top: 38px; left: 20px; }   Two Princes | August & Bobby Playing off the above friendship between August and Andrew, as well as August's tryst with Emma, I thought to throw Bobby in the mix somehow? To start, Andrew is Bobby's best friend—his brother, better yet. Bobby would take a bullet for that kid, any day, any time. So when problems arise between August and Andrew, naturally Bobby would insert himself into the scenario. But it's not as simple as Bobby playing henchman. I wanna suggest that Bobby and August are well-acquainted or even have a weird, casual friendship? Perhaps they'd hit it off a couple times at a bar, exchanged some good laughs and grown a certain respect for one another; Bobby positioning himself as sort of the archetypal, rough-edged, high school jock befriending the quiet, scrawny kid, and looking out for him on occasion. Basically, Bobby thinks this pretty boy is kinda a loser, a dork and a wet blanket, but enjoys his company and enjoys teasing him even more. He also thinks it's cool as fuck that August has slept around with as many hot chicks as himself. Throw in a noogie from Bobby here and there. But their friendly relationship eventually becomes damaged by the whole Andrew situation, this after already being strained/made tense when August finds out that Emma⁠—who expressed not wanting to get romantically involved with August⁠—has fallen for and is pursuing a relationship with Bobby. From that revelation, a natural, quiet jealousy for his casual friend bubbles to the surface, leading way to drama between the hot-headed Bobby and the more sensitive, conflict-averse August. I'm already picturing August dodging Bobby like a bullet until he's backed into a corner, as Bobby has no clue why August is acting weird, having not known of his feelings for Emma. Anyhow, hit me up if you're down for this and we can work it out. I'm not looking for anything too heavy if that might worry you; just some classic melodrama. Take it easy! LINK TO SHIPPER MONTY

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL Absolutely gobsmacked at the unforeseen, and quite loaded, revelation, it was actually Bobby that pitched up with a start, administering a light shove (not forceful enough to seem rude or cause harm, and Emma was able to catch the signal all the same) to Emma in an attempt at distancing himself—from her side and from the situation he caused altogether. Through her affecting story, his infatuation quietly morphed into a mild affinity and admiration, then finding himself just as attracted to her bravery as he was her beauty. She was a powerhouse, beyond his usual level of understanding. “Nah, nah. Lookit, I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, and am probably daft where it concerns a lotta things,” Bobby started, hands up defensively, looking Emma in the face, “but I’m wise enough to know when I’ve strayed into dangerous territory. Maybe it wasn’t my place to have heckled you like I did. I apologize for that.” He rose from the plush seat at that moment, and towered over her withdrawn form. “Yo, look... take it from me when I say I know a thing or two about trauma. I’m not, like, a preacher or anything, but those things can’t define you, man. But far as I see, you’ve already got that figured out, tenfold,” he’d snicker, aware of how meaningless his speech would be to someone as robust and bold as her, notably after expressing as much. “What makes you bigger is the fact that you had big enough balls to not let it dictate you. I respect that a lot. Admire it, actually, which is not something I'd usually admit out loud. ‘Specially not to some broad I just met—no offense, of course. I just think you’re a fucking superhero though, and I hope you know that.” “But, uh, with that said…” Bobby scratched the back of his head, then continued on as he reverses into the wall opposite Emma, comfortably leaning against it with his hands rested in the pockets of his jeans, “maybe I really should just get out of here. Unless you wanted to let me make it up to you and lighten the mood?” He’d shrug his broad shoulders and bite down on his bottom lip, hoping to best the pull of the temptress with his proposal. “You gotta. See, shit, I even got these dumb puppy dog eyes on for you.” MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL The entire panoramic looked almost picturesque from Bobby’s point of view. The portrait Emma was painting against the sombre backdrop, bathed in the gleaming glow of smoldering ecstasy, threatened to ignite its own flame in Bobby himself. He wouldn’t consider himself a man sexually repressed—far from it; perhaps not as indulgent as he was in his late teens (Drew swears he’s full of shit), but he’s active enough to the point where he can keep his libido strong. Never once has he ever been at risk of blowing his load too early, however, so he’s very cognizant of the precarious position he’s found himself in. Nonetheless, he’d assured himself that that would hardly be an issue for him. Rather, the relevant dilemma he was facing was what to do with this hands in this current scenario. He wholly understood the implications of what he was faced with—the plush room, the hefty fee, the fucking stripper. Yes, he was ready to completely immerse himself with whatever came, but he also chose to be mindful of the fact that she was a thinking, functioning person outside of her work first off; one that was seemingly adverse to fellowship, but wasn’t so uncommunicative when it came to expressing her interests and establishing whatever it was she wanted to be made known, and it had only took the very brief time that he'd known her to deduce this. “Ain’t really much to me, to be honest,” Bobby started, at some point having had settled on linking his hands behind his head and resting it on his arms. “Just a guy hustling, doing what I can.” He had all intent of just leaving it there, willing to devote this full attention on the current thread of entertainment near his lap, but he figured the woman might’ve been largely unimpressed by the ‘brushed-off’ answer, and judging by the interpreted petulant shift of her eyebrow, he’d deduced that she was largely unimpressed by the brushed-off answer. “Uh, Bobby Carter,” he started again. “Boston boy. Short form: single," he lifted his eyebrows. "Got my own trade set up in business as a handyman, doing a lil’ touch of pretty much everything, essentially. So it takes care of me. Long form: Only child, C student, drank my first beer at 13, took my first hit at 15, bust my first nut at 16, left home and went out on my own at 18, and it’s been all me ever since,” he said. Of course there was much more dimension to Bobby’s arc than he was willing to share—partly out of mental repression, partly out of skepticism over who he’s sharing with. Above all, digging through those kinds of buried bones essentially undoes everything Bobby sought to gain when he landed in California, seeking a relatively new existence free of pity, trauma and preconceived judgement. None of it had any relevance to his life in its current form and to unearth it would be having to approach things Bobby’s not sure he’s ever really confronted fully. Bobby abruptly takes note of how consumed he was becoming in his thoughts, and hoped that it wasn’t conspicuous enough for Emma to start asking more questions. Creating a necessary out, he posed to her, “What about you, Miss America? When did life start gripping you by the nutsack? Not tryin’ to cast aspersions or anything, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard any yell out ‘erotic dancer!’ back when the teacher was probing us on what we wanted to do in life.” MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL “Give the doorman his thirty? What, we planning bank heists in there?” Bobby jeers, but he was half serious about the hefty fee. “Ha, privacy is some serious shit to you guys now, huh?” Keeping tight on her heels as she guides them beyond the curtain, through the surprisingly labyrinthine establishment, he uses the time to appreciate the fine form of nebulous stunner, now known to him as Emma, but as conservatively as he can, being mindful of a few of the watchful gazes and wary of being characterized as some kind of predatory pig, before it dawned on him that he wouldn’t really give a shit, anyway. They rounded a corner into a short, narrow hallway, of about three doors on each side, that lead to the very daunting silhouette of what Bobby can only imagine to be a man and not a house. So, the ‘doorman’ then. He can’t quite measure the expression in the man’s eyes, guarded by thick, dark sunglasses that can’t at all be practical in his secluded, poorly-lit position, but he registers the glaring sneer that the walking ham pointedly directs at him, and can’t help but chuckle. Intimidation technique, but Bobby isn’t at all fazed. He’s still, in fact, more peeved at the thirty bucks he shoves begrudgingly into the hands of the fully-loaded SUV. Walking into the compact room, he immediately notes the deep purple, comfortable, plush, velvet-y fixtures, and low lighting set to a one, all having been renovated since his last visit. Realistically, it does call to practically every ‘champagne room’ in a strip club that you’ve likely seen on film. But it’s elevated far beyond that of the silver screen, due to the awe-inspiring leading lady gracing his presence. MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL It almost seemed as if she was breathing into him rather than speaking; every word permeating through his skin, punctuated by a bout of desire and seduction, but also a cleverly suppressed, but detectable bit of resistance, as well—which was slightly disconcerting for Bobby. He would’ve loved to probe a bit more to extirpate the root of all of the apprehension, but his own trustworthy instinct told him that it was likely nothing personal, and had more to do with exercising general caution, rather than a perceived lack of interest. At some point, he'd turned around completely to face her head-on and look her dead in the eye. "Well, you'd have had to have been watchin' me just as long to know that, huh?” If Bobby hadn’t spent the last ten minutes taking note of intricate attention to every inconsequential detail on the blonde babe’s face, it’s likely that he wouldn’t have caught the slight tint of carmine colored across the expanse of her face, coupled with the ghost of a smirk that threatened to bloom into something he’s not sure the beauty was ready to confront right now. Not sparing her room for a proper verbal response, he stood up with a start, still looking her dead in the eye. “Tell you what. For whatever reason, the guilt of keeping you away from your bread and butter is practically eating me alive,” he started with a snort, “least I can do is fork over some change for being the biggest pain in the ass right now. How's say two hundred? Three? We don’t even have to do nothin’—I’m not some desperate dickweed asking you to bust out the knee pads or anything. But right now, a bit of your time seems to be worth every penny. Plus, it looks like it’d clear the conscience of ol’ baby blue eyes over there,” he pointed in the direction of the ever-present bartender with a thumb, who cast his eyes downward to the wine glass that he’d been shining, in a fruitless attempt at making it seem as if he hadn’t been completely engrossed in their exchange, albeit with eyes of scrutiny. “I dunno; maybe it’s kind of presumptuous of me, but it looks like you could use some company tonight—even if it’s just to talk. It’d keep you from having to suck off any shitheads tonight, too. Bonus! I mean, unless that’s your groove…” he'd jest. MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL Knowing well enough to perceive a signal when he was being sent one, Bobby downs the rest of his Bud in a single gulp, and spared her a hard, calculating look. He figured he knew the angle being played, but wanted to gauge her expressions and body language carefully to avoid a big miscommunication, which proved to be ultimately fruitless for him. The mask of schooled indifference revealed virtually nothing, to the point that he’d begun to believe that perhaps he was just ideating signs that weren’t there, and that there was a possibility that he was being blown off, rather than beguiled. It was only after she arose and gave him a soft touch on the shoulder that seemed to linger, coupled with a perfunctory bid of ‘goodbye’ that seemed to translate more to ‘don’t be too long’, had Bobby felt he had found the affirmative he’d been seeking out. Politely grasping on to her hand before she’d completely disengaged from his person, he brought her movement to a halt and had commanded her attention once more, although in this instance she’d refused to meet his gaze and her focus trained directly ahead of her. Deciding to persist with the little game of cat-and-mouse that they’d devised between them, and as stone-faced as he’d been given just a few moments prior, Bobby expresses, “So where am I telling good ol’ Andrew he can find you when he gets back?” MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL “Ssss, ouch,” Bobby wittingly made a show of having been burned on behalf of his accomplice. The bartender gives a nod of acknowledgment in his direction, and Bobby shifts his attention to the beer cooler with a nod of his own, motioning to the tall brown bottle labelled ‘Bud Dry’. “Good luck breaking that to that ass wipe. I promise you he already had where you’d be honeymooning and the gender of your three kids mapped out, all before you even gave him a name." Sending another nod of gratitude before the bartender strode off again, Bobby took to cracking the cap off of the bottle with the sheer strength of his teeth alone—a habit that he’s been told time and time again was ultimately damaging, but always got the job done—and took two hefty swigs before shifting his attention back to the soft-faced stunner. “A name it’d seemed that I don’t have the same privilege of knowing?” MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL “Idiot,” Bobby muttered aloud, begrudging witness to the blundering exchange some well feet away from where he was seated. He hadn’t heard a word of dialogue between the charismatic coquette and his right hand; hadn’t needed to, seeing as he was abreast on just about every aspect of Andrew’s quirkiness and intermittent absent-mindedness, to know when he was about to fumble. Rule of thumb: keep your eye on the ball. As he watched Andrew make a ‘discreet’ attempt towards the entrance, patting his pockets in conspicuous pursuit of his—Bobby’s sure—otherwise barren wallet, he slides out of his seat in one suave swoop, with about as much finesse as Donald Knaack on his famed percussion. At that point, the blonde beauty had casually slipped to a more secluded corner of the establishment, perched atop the counter top engaged in what seemed to be playful banter with the bartender. Bobby took another moment to drink in the sight of the vixen that was still but a vision to him. Sat atop the counter, one leg crossed over the other, still adorned in her lacy white ensemble, her gleaming silhouette looked powerful against the dank and tenebrous backdrop—imparting an illusion of a pure angel in a realm of death, uncorrupted by sin and malfeasance. As she shared another joke with the bartender, Bobby slips on to the barstool at her back, seemingly without detection. Looking past the woman, beckoning to the bartender that had, at some point, slipped away to tend to other patrons, Bobby starts, “They say you don’t fill yourself up on the appetizer—and with such a small serving, at that. I brought you something to wash it down, anyway." MONTY @Mariah.  

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL “Fuck off, man,” Bobby jests as he gives a firm backhand to Andrew’s chest, a move to effectively silence his insipid diatribe. “You can’t convince me you haven’t been eyeing her down since she came through them curtains, too,” he shot back at his accomplice in a cool, soft tone, never once having taken his eyes off of the entrancing figure directly beyond him. His eyes glide with the swaying motion of her faultless, mesmerizing hips, then trace up her torso to the pointed center of her bare, generous breasts. “This a new bird here, or am I crazy?” Andrew would begin to query in reference to the blonde dancer, gesturing in her direction with a raised chin as her attention turns back to entertaining her mesmerized audience. Redirecting the focus of his attention to the jeering man to his left, he continues. “You know anything about her? Actually... you know what, forget about that. Time I spend here talking, me and Miss America could already be halfway back to my place,” he sniggers, before squinting his eyes as he fell into a momentary pause for thought, his penchant for mischief slowly bleeding forth. “Ha, matter of fact: for all that wingman talk, I bet you a solid hundred bones you couldn’t even get her name. Or any real conversation, at that,” he teases as he lifts his tightened glutes from his seat and reaches for his thick leather wallet in his back pocket, exhaling upon regaining his comfort. “Nah, forreal,” he chuckles again while counting through his cash. “I challenge you. I’ll put it up right now: one hundred in cash.” With the wager wedged between his two fingers, he delivers a firm pat to the back of Andrew before he connects both of his palms at the back of his head and stretches back slightly. MONTY   @Cooksie

.intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 150px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } SWEET LIKE CANDY TO MY SOUL Holidays proved an especially grueling time for Bobby Carter, perhaps more so than usual. While many enjoyed time off and the chance to repose, he threw himself deeper into his freelance work and his intense fitness regimen, hoping to distract himself from the loneliness and anger he felt. Having to power through his deceased father's favorite time of year felt taxing, mentally; a feeling he wanted his body to overpower and overrule. But with the season finally winding down, it was perhaps his time to wind down as well, convinced by his friend to venture out into the night to see what the New Year might bring. Not that the gimmick of ‘New Year’s’ had ever appealed to him before. Touting vapid promises of correction as mechanism to cope with the reality of one’s shitty existence always just felt like such a farce, never mind the idea of it being laughable and illogical. He doesn't consider it pessimism, or wouldn't use as colorless a term as considering himself a "realist". He just has a firm understanding of where his life is at the moment, and doesn’t do much to upset that balance; all of his indiscretions and indulgences viewed as key components that dictate his day-to-day existence. This would explain how he’s found himself at what he considers a place of refuge—his preferred strip joint. Drew coined the term, “gentlemen’s club” at some point during their comradely partnership, as he’d considered Bobby’s verbiage crass and “lacking in any refinement”, but they entered the place through a hole in the wall (he knew a guy) in the back alley of an admittedly seedy part of town, and he’s pretty sure he had once passed along blow to the working girls at some point. So yeah, strip joint. Being bathed in the deep plum lighting once more was like his own personal solace. But the comfort and familiarity of their warm, soft glow soon transitions to brighter neons as he hit the bar up for his regular gin and tonic; the very moment she graces the stage, surrounded by falling plumes in a dreamlike display. Bobby had never seen her before; not here, not ever in his life. Nor had he seen anyone like her. Against the backdrop of a beat that registered to him only vaguely, he observes the way she slinks and glides across much of the stage—somehow managing to completely envelope the platform, despite being about an eighth of its size. She utilizes every corner with a routine distinct and likely choreographed, but steps with such a natural stride boastful of passion and cool confidence; with such a vague expression with amatory, he notes. Bobby takes into account the way her silky, golden hair sweeps and sails against the music with almost as much precision as she does. He then allows himself the indulgence of noticing how the lacy white get-up she’s wearing complements her glitter-adorned, dewy cream skin; the way it supports an ample and perfectly proportionate chest; the way it frames the subtle curve of her hips and runs down the length of toned and seemingly hand-crafted legs. Her beauty is astonishing. If Bobby was as green as he was about 10 years ago, he’s almost certain he might’ve lost himself in some embarrassing premature bullshit right then and there. But as she locks her gaze squarely with his, he wonders vaguely if he’s ever before felt sexual desire so raw, so explicit. Where a weaker guy might’ve probably already folded under her intense gaze, he eyed her down just as intensely; with about as much hunger and fervor as he could feel radiating just a few short feet beyond him—finding himself goading her even, with a lazy, lascivious smirk of his own. He’s only slightly broken from his reverie at a subtle, but intent nudge to his shoulder from his left. MONTY   @Cooksie

#allofmypride { height: 520px; width: 420px; background: white; outline: 1px solid #e59277; position: relative; margin: 20px auto 3px; box-shadow: 1px 2px 3px #e59277; overflow: hidden; } .aomp-image { width: 170px; height: 400px; position: absolute; background-size: cover; top: 85px; left: 0px; filter: grayscale(0.7); } .aomp-text { font-family: libre franklin; color: #000; position: absolute; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; padding-right: 5px; width: 195px; height: 400px; font-size: 11px; right: 25px; top: 85px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 1px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background: none!important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background: #000 !important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text b { background: #e2cccf; font-weight: 400;} .aomp-title { font-family: raleway; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; font-size: 9px; position: absolute; color: #e59277; letter-spacing: 2px; width: 380px; top: 38px; left: 20px; }   BOBBY & EMMA | RED-HOT LOVE AFFAIR Mariah, the bully! Yes, we've already discussed much of our angle at length, and are so well-attuned to each other that I'm expecting everything here to just flow naturally. I believe that this angle is premier for both characters, not only because it establishes and forms a significant connection that will prove to be effectual and defining for them both, but because it acts as something of a probe into their minds; into their overall makeup, and relays all the relevant elements that have been contributory to how each of them receives and approaches the world around them. Although romance and passion are undoubtedly key elements to their story, a number of dark layers are revealed over time as they're peeled back; layers that prove to be both oppressive and crippling to their growth and understanding. The fact that you normally have such pronounced and definitive ideas of how you envision everything playing out makes me giddy with excitement (no, really) and gives me enough confidence to accept that this is a storyline that we're about to turn out on its head. LINK TO SHIPPER MONTY

#allofmypride { height: 520px; width: 420px; background: white; outline: 1px solid #e59277; position: relative; margin: 20px auto 3px; box-shadow: 1px 2px 3px #e59277; overflow: hidden; } .aomp-image { width: 170px; height: 400px; position: absolute; background-size: cover; top: 85px; left: 0px; filter: grayscale(0.7); } .aomp-text { font-family: libre franklin; color: #000; position: absolute; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; padding-right: 5px; width: 195px; height: 400px; font-size: 11px; right: 25px; top: 85px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 1px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background: none!important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background: #000 !important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text b { background: #e2cccf; font-weight: 400;} .aomp-title { font-family: raleway; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; font-size: 9px; position: absolute; color: #e59277; letter-spacing: 2px; width: 380px; top: 38px; left: 20px; }   BOBBY & DREW | Thick as Thieves This relationship has already added an entirely new dimension to Bobby's character, that I wouldn't have thought he needed. Although from the distance the pairing seems to be a direct mismatch, Andrew's affable and jocular disposition serve as a near-perfect complement to Bobby's more destructive tendencies of petulance and belligerence; that he tends to serve as a something of an effective 'cooler' in times when Bobby can get a bit... chaotic. In that regard, I think our dynamic should lean more towards an established friendship, versus something premature and only newly-formed. I feel like this angle is essential only because Bobby is a character with so much to unpack (most notably, the destructive lasting effects of cold war) and having a steady, reliable foundation is perhaps the only thing that's kept him from imploding to this point. Andrew acts a something of an anchor in this regard --- not only as a (barely-competent) makeshift therapist at times when chaotic bouts of trauma threaten to consume him, but keeping Bobby from succumbing to his hedonistic tendencies, as well. Essentially, he's kept Bobby from going back to the pen more times than anyone has cared to keep a record of. On that note, the gleaming, dynamic bromance is only one element of this electric pairing. For now, we can just say that, with extensive coercion, Bobby has been able to find use of Drew's aptitude for thievery and chicanery --- something that they both believe they've been able to execute to remarkable effect. Of course, at the end of the day, they are still legitimately polar opposites where ideals are concerned, and that tends to invite some notable conflict and creates several key moments in their relationship. But all-in-all, I'm super excited that you've chosen to work alongside me on this. I can't say that I have a great deal of experience where role-playing is concerned, but I'm grateful that I have someone with (seemingly) enough know-how to steer me in a good direction, and hopefully help me develop beyond my own comfort. LINK TO SHIPPER MONTY

.ama::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 5px; } .ama::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background-color: #fff; } .ama::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #e59277; } .ama { background-color: #fff; border: #eee solid 1px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; line-height: 100%; font-size: 10px; color: #000; } .amatitle { padding: 20px; background-color: #e59277; font-family: calibri; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 3px; color: #fff; } .amafields1 { padding: 10px; background-color: #e59277; font-family: calibri; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #fff; } .amafields2 { padding: 10px; background-color: #e59277; font-family: calibri; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #fff; margin-top: 1px; } TRIGGER WARNINGS: PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA, EMOTIONAL TRAUMA, DEATH (+ THEMES RELATED TO), DRUG + ALCOHOL USE Robert James Carter II   face claim: Paul Walker canon name: Ares associations: Destruction, chaos, discord, mayhem, war. alias: Widely addressed as “Bobby”; “Boston”. age / apparent age: 24 zodiac: Pisces date of birth: 03/01/1975 place of birth: Boston, Massachusetts, USA pronouns: He, Him, his sexuality: Heterosexual moral alignment: Chaotic Neutral character traits: Impulsive, combative, cocksure, unctuous, hedonistic, passionate, roguish, waggish. world views: In spite of his military upbringing and background, his political, moral and ethical views reflect how they affect him and those he cares about, at any given point. Otherwise, he has no interest and finds it to be imprisoning. He believes in the Christian version OF God, but does not go to church, does not live by its commandments and only prays when he needs help or healing. physical attributes: An insanely physically attractive, prime specimen. Angelic, curly dirty blonde locks, often cut for easy maintenance; sharp nose; piercing, wide, down turned crystal blue eyes; lean, chiseled, prominent muscle; eight pack; round and tight ass; prominent, square jaw; boyish, attention grabbing, winning smile; 6'2" musical taste: Metal, NU metal, punk rock, gangsta hip-hop; Metallica, Megadeth, Motorhead, Led Zeppelin, Linkin Park, The Offspring, blink-182, Green Day, N.W.A, Wu-Tang Clan, Warren G, Eminem, Beastie Boys, Tupac Shakur, Jay-Z, DMX, Nas, Cam'ron aesthetic: Form-fitting undershirts, t-shirts and long sleeve shirts; crew necks; denim pants, usually ripped and/or rested below his hips, exposing his Calvin Klein boxer briefs; cargos; plaid flannel shirts; leather blazers, pants and motorcycle jackets; hockey jerseys. lifestyle: His lifestyle is staunchly anti-establishment, rejecting the principles set by society. He typically lives his life day by day, with no concept of long term repercussions or endgame. His relationship status is chiefly non-existent, choosing the path of a bachelor, with only casual sexual encounters—an act he enjoys and thrives in, greatly. He relishes pushing his peak physique to its absolute limit and is very physically active, fitness and boxing training being his only means of discipline. He's also developed a particular fondness for extreme sports, namely surfing. occupation: Ex-Marine / Carpenter and Construction Worker class: Middle Class genealogy: Robert Carter, father, deceased; Katherine Carter (nee Nichols), mother, age 51 BIOGRAPHY: Born Boston strong on the eastern coast of the United States, young Robert Carter II and his two loving, devoted parents were the portrait of an All-American family—as sweet and American as apple pie. His father Robert, a working marine, and his mother Katherine, a teacher, toiled diligently to provide their miracle baby with the best life imaginable; one full of warmth and tenderness. For them, Bobby was the rare gift for which there was no worthy value. An only child, Bobby’s irresistible personality, charm and good looks were hard to deny from the onset, the young “patriot” always vying to be the center of attention and the group clown in any setting he was placed in. To that, he had a strong penchant for mischief, practicing a wide variety of pranks on both peers and preceptors. So when the family decided to relocate to San Diego, California for Robert Sr. to begin a career as a chief level instructor on a US military base, it was no tall order for Bobby to quickly make a variety of new friends. But in a single moment, the comfort of the varied company Bobby enjoyed would soon turn to desolation—a loneliness so cold and dark, that it was as if he’d fallen and sunken into the vast depths of the Pacific. It was no secret how much Bobby adored and admired his father, more than anyone in the world. Every time his father came around, it was as if Superman was standing before him; he was a real life American superhero. It was ironic, then, that his father’s kryptonite would not be the insurmountable disasters of war, but a gang member’s careless bullet through the soldier’s skull one calm night, as Robert and Bobby were out for ice cream. It was a seminal moment for Bobby, one which froze his intangible soul, at only age 9. His subsequent years, namely his adolescence, were spent placing blame onto any and everyone, including his mother who would remarry to another military member. But after years spent brooding and soul-searching, Bobby thought he’d find something to fill his emptiness by joining the marine corps himself, also hoping it would serve to reconnect him with his fallen hero: his father. His training was grueling, but Bobby took to it like a glass slipper, his natural athleticism and peak physique putting him a step ahead of his contemporaries. But as fast as the training came and went, so would come the call to arms, Bobby forced onto the battle lines at a spry 18 years of age to fight in a brutal war in the Middle East. Physically, he was more than ready. But mentally, he had no idea what he was diving into. The destruction and chaos swept over him, his eyes nearly blackening from the smoke and debris, but not enough to blind him from witnessing the bodies of the innocent and his comrades falling around him, in pools of blood, bone and flesh. It wasn’t before long that the horrifying sights and sounds would make him absolutely numb. Then from there, he’d come out of body, watching as he himself would partake and almost relish in the brutality of war. He’d become a monster; someone he nor anyone in his life would recognize. And it would shock and traumatize him for the rest of his young life, even after the war had ended. As Bobby set foot back onto American soil, he was a different person. Stood still was the cocky, mischievous and good humored Bostonian boy, but in his core burned a feverish rage, which he tried and failed to suppress. The war made him highly explosive, as did the memory of his father, who he saw all through the fire and flames abroad. Soon, his “monster” would rear its head again once he got intel on the affiliates of the gang member who murdered his father, sending him onto a vicious rampage that would result in his arrest and five year incarceration for aggravated battery with a deadly weapon. The blood metaphorically stained his hands for the entirety of his sentence, with many inmates made aware of his past and reputation. He’d try to wash it away, wanting to use his sentence to get through his trauma and become a better man, but he was forced to wear his wounds openly and use those around him to survive. He thought he had escaped war, but it seemed he was in the midst of a new; one which he ignited. In the fall of 1999, Bobby was released from prison, and decided to carry on as normal a life as he could from here on out, for he had many years ahead of him at just 24 years of age. Taking on freelance work as a construction worker and carpenter, he let his new career path and new friends consume as much of his time as possible, in order to mute the sounds of hell on earth that were carved into his mind. He was still full of demons; phenomenally damaged. And he still had vengeance lurking through the shadows of his mind. But he made sure to never lose touch of that magnetic, trouble-making, All-American boy from Boston, Mass., for it helped to keep him grounded and sane. It remained to be seen if Bobby was beyond repair; maybe he was fated to be vessel for menace? Maybe he was that “monster”? Now, all he could hope for was to somehow do right by his father’s memory and make him proud. PLATONIC: Bobby does not do much in the way of friendships. His natural charisma and enviable charm ensure that he rarely ever lacks company or attention, but he never measures these as anything beyond superficial, and tends to find comfort and solace in being left to his own devices. He’ll react almost instantly to any smooth-talking attractive woman, however, and also somewhat genuinely admires any person with as twisted a sense of humor as his is. Mostly surrounds himself with company most would consider “unethical”, so a large number of his exchanges tend to be less than admirable. ANTAGONISTIC: Known for having a relatively short fuse, it doesn’t take much for the hot-headed Bobby Carter to get severely pissed off. Despite his extensive and practically renowned history with the armed forces, his discipline doesn’t exist beyond his fitness regimen, having found himself embroiled in many a bloody brawl. People from his recent criminal past or those he may have crossed (or have crossed him) can find themselves in this category. ROMANTIC: An instinctive flirt, Bobby never had any issue causing members of the opposite sex to swoon. Casual encounters take prominence, the young male preferring to submit to his lustful inclinations rather than get emotionally attached. It’s a revolving door of sexual liaisons, with the bachelor carrying the reputation of quite the philanderer. But this trait proves to be merely a defense mechanism. Sex as the sole objective is used to keep him at bay, but far away from getting someone he cares for tangled in his complexities. He absolutely respects women, their strength and their beauty, a lesson taught to him by his stern mother, but he does what is necessary to prevent them from sticking around. Should someone special capture his heart, he might try to soften and look to settle down into a more idealistic American lifestyle. And that someone could strike out of nowhere. OTHER: Open to anything that’s contextual to the character and his arc. If it doesn’t get in the way of planned plots, I’ll happily consider. no triggers, 24, EST, discord  

Love that I anticipated the predictable Endgame scene being mentioned before I even read through. If anything, this is hands down the most iconic sequence of the Avengers franchise. It's practically a staple (and even gets its due in Endgame, as it should). Well, this and pretty much any of Thor's entrances in any of the films.