#cmbyn roll the dice challenge

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2023 - Interest Check 🍑

Hi!

Back in 2021 we had our first round of the CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge. I was thinking we could do another round soon, and then maybe another round of CMBYN Bingo a little later in the year (maybe in the summer?). But before I set up a challenge, I want to do an interest check first. It’s anonymous, so feel free to let me know what you think!

https://forms.gle/Hzd4TnRKDbcrzfWu6

Thanks! ❤️

Ps. The masterlist of works created for CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2021 can be found here.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Elio watches the happy couple spill out onto the sidewalk, anxious fingers tapping a hurried symphony against the dashboard of the rented station wagon. His stomach churns with knots as the well-heeled guests obscure his view, and the nausea that’s been his constant companion throughout this road trip threatens to overwhelm him when an elderly nonna takes the bride by both elbows to extol her praise.

She’s a vision in satin and lace, auburn curls tumbling to the small of her back where the groom’s arm rests securely, less than an inch between them. His suit fits him to perfection - all sharp lines and broad shoulders - and the grin on his face is rivalled only by the woman at his side as the mid-afternoon sun casts his hair in golden splendour.

The tears are inevitable, he supposes, reaching up to dash them away, though on some level they’re cathartic, even if they change nothing. Across the street, a new chapter is beginning, one in which he will never be included, and it hurts.

Cazzo, it hurts. 

So much more than he’d dared anticipate.

“She looks beautiful,” he says, bottom lip trembling when a hand settles on his knee. “You have the same eyes.”

“So I’ve been told,” Oliver murmurs, stumbling over each syllable as his sister leans up to kiss her new husband on the cheek. 

“The same laugh, too.”

Hannah had petitioned valiantly on their behalf, but Oliver’s parents remained steadfast in their refusal to accept his choices, and a clandestine glimpse is all they can afford of this joyous event.

“Maybe we could invite them to B?” Elio suggests quietly, picking at his thumb nail. “In the summer, possibly? Before school starts in the Fall.”

“In the summer?”

“If you’d like.”

Oliver hesitates, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “Would there be room?” he asks eventually. “Pro’s intern -”

“Will be gone by the middle of August.” 

A timeline he remembers all-too-well.

Four years might have passed since those six fateful weeks, yet it didn’t take much for Elio’s defences to tear like stitches on an open wound. “Do you ever regret it?” his traitorous mouth mutters, already familiar with the answer, though needing to hear it regardless. “Choosing what little we can have over -”

“Something I never wanted in the first place?” Oliver’s smile is a fragile thing. “Not for a second,” he tells him - just as he always does. “I love you, Elio Perlman. You were my salvation. And don’t you forget it.”

“You give me too much credit, amore mio.”

“I beg to differ,” Oliver says, sitting up straight when his father breaks free of the crowd, his mother following soon after. 

The graduation picture on their bookcase is out-of-date, now, but the older man still strikes an imposing figure whilst ushering the wedding party in the direction of a vintage Rolls Royce. 

“You okay?” Elio asks, fighting down a wince as Oliver’s grip tightens, his breath catching on a shuddery sigh. 

“It isn’t fair.”

“Life rarely is,” Elio replies, laying his head upon his shoulder in solidarity. “But if we give in to bitterness and resentment, the only one’s who’ll get hurt are ourselves.”

Another lesson he’s learned the hard way.

“If there was any justice in this world…” Oliver swallows thickly, before dropping a kiss to his temple. “I’d marry you if I could. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Elio’s heart seems to swell in his chest, even as a part of him wants to collapse at the iniquity. “I’d take those vows in an instant.” 

“Impulsive.”

“So says the man who hopped on a plane…”

“To hell with a plane.” Oliver’s gaze returns to his father. “I’d have hired a dinghy if I had too.” 

He scowls mulishy, and the next few minutes pass in relative silence as the wedding photographer arranges a group shot beside the vehicle.

“We should go,” Oliver says at last, sounding choked. “If he catches us here, there’ll be a scene. And this is Hannah’s big day. She shouldn’t have to pay the price for his bigotry.”

“Neither should you,” Elio replies carefully, and if he lives to be a hundred, he’ll never forget the look on Oliver’s face at his whispered admission. 

It’s something he knew, of course. Something he’s told him numerous times since he showed up at the villa with nothing but the metaphorical clothes on his back. But there’s a fine line between knowing and understanding - a line one can only appreciate after walking both paths - and just like that, Oliver understands. 

And Elio? He watches him understand it. 

“This isn’t your fault,” he tells him, twisting their fingers together. “You broke the mould, Oliver. Defied their machinations. Became your own man.”

“No.” 

“No?” Elio asks, hating that his voice sounds weak, that his cheeks feel hot. 

“No.” Oliver nudges their foreheads together, thumb caressing the inside of his wrist. “Can’t you see I’ve always been yours?”

The honesty in his eyes cannot be fabricated, and Elio lets the simple touch ground him before sparing a glance towards the lavishly decorated function hall. “One day, tesoro. When the stars align.”

Foolishly optimistic, perhaps, given the circumstances, yet a wise man once said all human wisdom is summed up in two words; wait and hope. And if these are the cards they’ve been dealt, then who is he to question the fickle hand of fate.

“One day,” Oliver agrees, and as Elio turns the key in the ignition, he can’t help but wonder which of them he’s trying hardest to convince.

[cmbynwritingfests]

CMBYN Drabble Challenge

Hi!

CMBYN Drabble Challenge will be taking a small break from posting new prompts to give everyone time to catch up on older prompts.

I’m still hoping to do a new round of CMBYN Bingo or CMBYN Roll The Dice over the summer, so keep an eye out for more information on that if you’re interested.

❤️

CMBYN Drabble Challenge prompts :

* Prompt 1 : First Times | WC : 267

* Prompt 2 : Snow | WC : 319

* Prompt 3 : “I dare you.” | WC : 455

* Bonus Prompt 1 : Birthday Cake | WC : 425

* Bonus Prompt 2 : Trust

* Bonus Prompt 3 : Rose

* Prompt 4 : “When you meet someone so different from yourself, in a good way, you don’t even have to kiss to have fireworks go off. It’s like fireworks in your heart all the time.” | WC : 321

* Bonus Prompt 4 : Thunder

* Bonus Prompt 5 : Lewis Capaldi - Before You Go

* Prompt 5 : Sunset | WC : 298

* Bonus Prompt 6 : Candy

* Bonus Prompt 7 : Dancing

* Prompt 6 : Billy Joel - Piano Man | WC : 362

* Bonus Prompt  8 : “Look at me.”

* Bonus Prompt 9 : Water

* Bonus Prompt 10 : A phone call.

* Prompt 7 : Bobby Vinton - Sealed with a kiss | WC : 441

* Bonus Prompt 11 : Bonus Photo #1

* Bonus Prompt 12 : Absence. POV Annella.

* Prompt 8 : “Midnight, on the bridge. Come alone.” | WC : 238

* Bonus Prompt 13 : Dire Straits - So Far Away

* Bonus Prompt 14 : Reckless

* Prompt 9 : “You can find something truly important in an ordinary minute.” | 395

* Bonus Prompt 15 : Bonus Photo #2

* Bonus Prompt 16 : Prepare.

* Prompt 10 : ABBA - One Of Us | WC : 476

* Bonus Prompt 17 : “This is where I live.”

* Bonus Prompt 18 : Don Henley - The Boys of Summer

* Prompt 11 : Agastopia | WC : 328

* Bonus Prompt 19 : Chocolate

* Bonus Prompt 20 : Destroy. POV Oliver.

* Prompt 12 : Photo #1 : WC : 254

* Bonus Prompt 21 : Truth / Lie

* Prompt 13 : Mask | WC : 403

* Bonus Prompt 22 : Baby Queen - Want Me

* Prompt 14 : Bananarama - Cruel Summer | WC : 379

* Bonus Prompt 23 : Pillow

* Prompt 15 : Photo #2 | WC : 461

* Bonus Prompt 24 : “What’s the point?”

* Prompt 16 : “Ring a bell?” | WC : 286

* Bonus Prompt 25 : Bonus Photo #3

* Prompt 17 : Anniversary | WC : 337

* Bonus Prompt 26 : Shelter

* Bonus Prompt 27 : Consequences.

* Prompt 18 : Photo #3 | WC : 184

* Bonus Prompt 28 : Robyn - Missing U

* Prompt 19 : Tony Bennett - Winter Wonderland | WC : 482

* Prompt 20 : Bonus Prompts | Trope : Different First Meeting

* Prompt 21 : Photo #4 | Word : Dreaming

* Prompt 22 : Soulmates | WC : 399

* Prompt 23 : Harry Styles - As It Was | Trope : Exes To Lovers

* Prompt 24 : Photo #5 | WC : 268

* Prompt 25 : “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” - Oscar Wilde | Word : Pride

* Prompt 26 : Photo #6 | Trope : Blind Date

* Prompt 27 : Getting a tattoo / piercing | Word : Eagle

* Prompt 28 : Photo #7 | WC : 428

* Prompt 29 : Photo #8 | Word : Frighten

* Prompt 30 : Cinema | Trope : Hurt/Comfort

* Prompt 31 : Photo #9 | Word : Angel

* Prompt 32 : Pen pals | WC : 371

* Prompt 33 : Claude Monet - The Flowered Garden | Trope : Royalty AU

* Prompt 34 : Christmas Music | Word : Grinch

* Prompt 35 : Photo #10 | WC : 295

* Prompt 36 : “I’m sorry that you had to go through this.” | Bakery AU

* Prompt 37 : Photo #11 | Word : Resort

* Prompt 38 : Temporary | Trope : Mysterious Past

* Prompt 39 : Sam Park - Portofino Treasure | WC : 439

* Prompt 40 : Finale | Word : Goodbyes

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2023 - Update 🍑

Hi,

Two and a half weeks ago I shared an interest check survey to see if there was enough interest for another round of the CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge. Unfortunately the survey barely got any replies, so for now I am closing the survey and there won’t be another round of CMBYN Roll The Dice. I’ll check again later in the year, or perhaps we can do another event. But for now we’ll stick with just the CMBYN Drabble Challenge.

❤️

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Marzia blinks awake to the grating crunch of tyres on gravel. The afternoon is unseasonably warm for mid-October, and the sun’s still high in the cloudless sky, making her grateful for the apricot juice Elio brought out shortly after her arrival. His determination to make amends appears genuine - despite her repeated assurances that she’s no longer mad - yet their relationship is the emotional equivalent of walking on eggshells. They’re friends - more so every day - and though she may have forgiven him for being a connard absolu, the acceptance of a line drawn in the sand is a little harder to come by.

Elio’s suffering, too - despite a concerted effort to prove otherwise - but Marzia’s been his shoulder to cry on since his twelve year old fingers were struggling with a chord progression far beyond his abilities. They had promised, two days into his tear-stained return from Rome, that there would be no more secrets between them, and now that they’re re-establishing the boundaries of this brave new world, Marzia’s not about to abandon him when he needs her most. 

Friendship is a two way street, after all. 

Even if sometimes it still feels like she’s being dragged along the asphalt. 

“Votre invité est arrivé.”

“And so it begins,” Elio mutters, drumming his pencil in an idle rhythm against his notepad when the slam of a car door disturbs the doves in the nearby branches. 

Marzia’s no stranger to dinner drudgery, herself, and can’t help but sympathise with the listlessness in his tone. Perhaps, if circumstances were different, they could have suffered it jointly. Side-by-side. Furtive glances. Holding hands beneath the table. But no. That way lies madness. Elio’s devotion remains elsewhere, and Marzia isn’t fool enough to chase a dream that can only pale in comparison.

Bitter experience is an excellent learning curve.

“And who is your guest this evening?” she asks, tapping a cigarette from the packet of Alfas, and Elio tosses over his lighter as he rolls onto his back.

“Some new professore from the Statale,” he replies, draping his forearm across his eyes. “Papa says he’s transferring to the Classics department next semester. ”

“Comment est-il?”

“Je ne sais pas. But if he’s anything like Signor Beneventi...” 

He trails off, glancing across the garden at the sound of raised voices, and the sudden furrow of his brows has Marzia frowning in turn as she reaches for the ashtray. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” she asks, watching as he sits up slowly, placing his Walkman on the grass beside him. “Elio? What is it?”

“A strange remembrance…”

“Quel?”

“Nothing, I…”

It’s only then that Marzia recognises a familiar accent amidst Samuel and Annella’s exuberant greetings, and with a slight wheeze Elio scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over in his haste. Once upon a time she’d resented that voice’s owner - blaming him for both her and Elio’s pain, alike - but here she is, older and somewhat wiser, and Marzia’s heart skips a beat when l'Américain rounds the corner of the villa, his steps faltering the second he sees Elio standing there, waiting. There are tears in his eyes, yet Marzia’s sure she’s never seen Elio grin so brightly as he rushes across the lawn, and even she has to laugh when Oliver picks him up and swings him around like the hero in some telenovela, his bare feet barely skimming the ground. 

“How are you here?” Elio asks, clutching at the front of his unbuttoned shirt as he sets him back down. As if the very thought of not touching him is anathema. “What changed?”

Oliver’s smile turns tender. “I finally wised up about the things that matter.”

“Questo è impossibile.”

“Ah. But in order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd,” Oliver tells him, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “And what’s more absurd than quitting my job and moving here for good?” He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “If you’ll have me, that is?”

Elio looks incredulous. “Have you? I should never have let you go in the first place.”

The softness is uncharacteristic, Elio’s words bringing a lump to Marzia’s throat when he rises up on tiptoes, meeting Oliver’s mouth with a kiss two months in the making. It’s gentle at first - leisurely and indulgent - but soon becomes heated, and Marzia feels herself start to blush when they eventually pull apart, Oliver cupping Elio’s jaw as if he were made of glass. 

Though judging by the expression on his face, it’s unclear which of them is closest to shattering. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, making a chorus of his name. ”Elio… Elio… Elio…”

“Oliver…” It’s barely a whisper. A tremble of disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, standing tall. “I thought maybe you’d write - or call back after your roommate -”

“I wanted to,” Oliver says, pressing their foreheads together. “But I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Of you.” A beat. “Of us. I’d convinced myself I was in this alone.”

“È ridicolo.” Elio slides a hand to his open collar. “You knew how I felt.”

“Did I?” 

Their eyes lock, and Marzia experiences a sharp stab of envy. 

“I told you I didn’t want you to go,” Elio replies, unable to hide his hurt. “That I didn’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“I’m sorry -”

“Don’t.” Elio shakes his head. “Sei perdonato. That’s not…” He sighs, visibly frustrated, and Marzia can pinpoint the exact moment he drops his guard. “We never said the words, you and I… but for me, saying them would have felt like goodbye. And the truth is I wasn’t ready.” He swallows hard. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

“Elio…”

“We see each other. We know each other. We are each other.”

Très dramatique, perhaps, but just like that, Marzia knows what Elio’s struggling to say as surely as if he’d yelled it from the top of the belfry in San Giacomo.

Honestly, at this rate she wouldn’t put it past him. 

“I love you, too,” Oliver says, sounding choked as he takes him into his arms, holding on so tightly it must be a struggle to breathe. 

Elio’s not complaining, though, and clings on just as hard, guiding Oliver’s face to his shoulder when his body starts to shake with silent sobs. It’s too much, and Marzia decides - albeit belatedly - to give them their privacy. This is the embrace of two people defying the odds in order to be together, and slipping her Antonia Pozzi anthology into her bag, she wishes Elio her honest best in their reconciliation.

She loves him. 

A part of her always will. 

But sometimes love isn’t enough. 

Not when the one you care about is destined for somebody else.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Oliver wakes with a gasp, his heart thundering beneath his ribs as he scrambles to find the switch on the reading lamp beside him. The vestiges of his nightmare loom cold and foreboding despite the muggy air of the bedroom, and his stomach churns even as the details fade from his consciousness, leaving only a nebulous sense of dread that rocks him to the core.

Counting backwards from ten, he turns his face towards the slight breeze coming from the unshuttered windows, and when that does little to calm his racing pulse, he drains the lukewarm glass of water from the bedside cabinet. At two weeks in, he considered himself accustomed to the weather here in B, but yesterday had been the hottest day so far, and the slick layer of sweat that covers his bare torso feels nothing short of suffocating.

“Enough,” he mumbles, all-too-familiar with the signs of an impending panic attack. “You’re better than this.”

Struggling with the thin cotton sheets, he kicks his legs free, restless limbs urging him to run, though he knows not where. It’s unsurprising, then, that he finds himself hunched over the bathroom sink, both arms braced on either side of the porcelain bowl as he clutches the countertop in a white-knuckled grip. His lungs pinch tight, and squeezing his eyes shut he concentrates on his breathing, trying to recall the various techniques he’s used in the past. He succeeds, to a degree, yet his thoughts continue to flash like the slides on Samuel’s projector, and unable to pick a single focus point beyond the one he should not - must not - adhere to, he pictures his favourite rock near the ocean, instead.

In, then out, he repeats. A constant mantra. In, then out.

It doesn’t work.

The serenity he’s searching for remains out of reach, and the distant wheeze in his ears brings his dream rushing back with startling clarity. 

The whistle. 

The train station. 

The imminent threat of separation that ticks an unforgiving countdown inside his head.

Which is ludicrous, in retrospect. He’s no alchemist of time, and these halcyon days in Italy are borrowed from the greater good of the duties that lie before him. 

A wise man once said, conformity is the jailer of freedom, and the enemy of growth, and with the ever-present knowledge that his return to the States is unavoidable, he wonders how it will be possible for six weeks to sustain him a lifetime. 

“You’re okay,” he tells himself firmly, reaching for the faucet. “Everything’s fine. You’re okay. It’s alright…”

But it’s not. 

It’s not.

Nothing about this is alright.

Yes, he’s happy here. His every cell radiating contentment. But the villa itself is a fool’s paradise, and Oliver’s hemorrhaging his futile aspirations without so much as a tourniquet to stem the flow. Beyond these grand walls, the real world with it’s inherent obligations still awaits. For better or worse, his path is nigh-on set in stone, and his parents’ expectations cannot be ignored simply because he’s discovered his true self amidst poolside apricating and lively debate. It would be unconscionable, and in the face of it, the fact he’s falling hard for a seventeen year old feels relatively straightforward in comparison.

Nothing can come of it, he knows - Elio is too young, too full of potential to be tainted by the likes of him - but it’s the other side of that voluntary abstinence which concerns him most. The inevitable goodbye that has him splashing his fevered brow as the bloodshot eyes in the mirror offer their own baleful judgement. He’d hoped that a modicum of distance would minimise the impact, however the dark circles above his cheekbones make him look haunted, and the shivers wracking his frame leave him clawing at his own chest, needing to purge himself of the darkness trapped within.

It’s yet another harsh reminder, and glancing at the bathtub, Oliver wishes he could wash away his bitterness and regret as easily as he does the detritus of the pebble-strewn beach outside.

He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, his temple throbbing so hard it sounds like someone’s knocking on the adjoining door, and when he shakes his head, trying to clear his vision, a flurry of black spots encroach around the edges. His legs buckle, but he doesn’t collapse, and it’s only the hasty, vice-like grip on his biceps that keeps him upright as he stumbles into the wall next to the pedestal, his flailing elbow causing a half-empty tube of toothpaste to skid across the polished surface.

It’s a feeling not unlike drunkenness, and it takes him a moment to realise that Elio is there, whispering soothing nonsense as he eases him to the floor. The words remain a mystery, however, because there’s a voice inside his mind telling him to man up. To stop this ridiculousness. That he doesn’t deserve this kind of care. It sounds just like his father, and Oliver raises his knees, pressing his forehead against them until the frantic gallop of his heart slows to a not-quite-so-urgent canter.

“Breathe with me,” Elio coaxes. Elio, who’s dropped to the tiles alongside him. Who’s holding his right hand and tracing gentle patterns over the various lines and whorls of his skin. “In for three… hold for three… out for three. That’s it. Molto buona. And repeat.”

“I’m fine,” he manages, bunching his jaw.

“You’re not.”

“I’m sorry, I -”

Oliver hitches a sob, and Elio’s pulling him into his arms before he can apologize again, holding him close, one palm spread at the base of his neck, the other rubbing small circles over his naked back. His soothing tone is a balm to his blistered nerves, and it occurs to Oliver that in this, as with most other things, they are evidently the same. 

“Elio…” he whispers, wanting to reassure him in turn. “You don’t -”

“Va bene. I’ve got you.”

The sudden intimacy is both a blessing and a curse, and he grips Elio’s waist tightly as he buries his face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of citrus and cigarette smoke embedded in his t-shirt. He shouldn’t welcome the low humming against his temple, but it’s cathartic, nonetheless, and blinking fiercely, he’s finally able to suppress his tears. His moral compass is on shaky ground, and Oliver’s shame returns tenfold as he tips his chin to look at him, unclenching his fists from where they’ve been gripping Elio’s sleep pants like a mainstay.

“Bene allora.” Reaching above them, Elio tugs a bath towel from the rail then passes it over, watching mutely as he wipes his face. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, shuffling closer, and Oliver shrugs. He doesn’t trust his own voice, and when Elio rolls his eyes, he’s grateful he doesn’t press him any further. “You know… sometimes I wish I were an oracle,” he says, picking at the jagged edge of his thumb nail. “That way I’d be able to read your mind.”

Oliver scoffs, already certain he’s an open book. “Trust me. You’re not missing much.”

“Un professore così modesto.”

“I thought I was arrogante?”

“Aren’t we all? In a way?”

They grow silent, merely existing side-by-side until Elio moves as if to stand. It’s like a jolt to the system, and Oliver catches his wrist without thinking, seeing the surprise flicker over his features when he holds on tight.

“Don’t -” he says, stricken, unable to finish his sentence, and maybe they’re both under the same spell, because Elio sinks back down immediately, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

“My father would probably tell you to embrace the fear,” he says cautiously, as if testing the unstable ground beneath them. “But if you’d cracked your head open on that sink, Mafalda would’ve soft-boiled more than just your eggs.”

It’s accompanied by a playful nudge, and Oliver can’t help it. He laughs. Slightly hysterical, he’ll admit, yet it bubbles free from somewhere unexpected, working miracles to lessen the dismay that threatens to choke him. “Goose,” he rasps, sitting up properly. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t -”

“You did.” Oliver swallows. “So thank you,” he repeats. “For everything.”

“Prego.” Elio shoots him a shy smile. “At least you can’t accuse me of being a bad host.”

“Perish the thought.” Oliver angles his body towards him. “Could you -” Feeling rather pathetic, he clears his throat and tries again. “Will you stay?” he asks, somewhat aware he’s digging his own grave. “Just for a little while?”

Elio seems taken aback. “If you’d like,” he says, searching his face for… something. Whatever it is, he must find it, and a second later he rises to his feet, holding out a hand. “Let’s try to get some sleep, d’accord? You look exhausted.”

Oliver hesitates - a split moment of indecision - but in truth he’s bone weary, and the call of oblivion sounds wonderful as he lets himself be guided to the other bedroom.

“We can share,” Elio says, throwing back the covers. “It’s big enough.”

“Liar,” Oliver teases, eyeing the single frame doubtfully, yet once again his better judgement takes a back seat as he stretches out beside him, stiff and awkward at first, until Elio huffs, snuggling down into the pillow. “Buona notte, Americano,” he murmurs on a yawn.

Is this a good idea? 

Not likely. 

Could he refuse him? 

Absolutely not.

And if Oliver falls asleep to gentle fingers running through his hair, for now, at least, he’s safe in the knowledge that those who would condemn him are half a world away.

[cmbynwritingfests]

CMBYN Writing Fests | Fest Interest Check

Hi!

I was planning on running another round of CMBYN Bingo over the summer, or perhaps another round of CMBYN Roll The Dice. But after checking to see if there was any interest a few months ago, unfortunately I only got 1 reaction. So I just want to do another interest check to see if anyone would be interested in another challenge.

Last year we did a round of CMBYN Bingo, and there were two different bingo cards; a SFW prompt card and a NSFW prompt card. I was thinking of making three different cards this time, then I post them, and you can pick which one you want to write for.

Last year we did CMBYN Roll The Dice, where you received a prompt that consisted of three different parts; a fanfic trope, a word and an emotion. We could do that again, but maybe swap out the fanfic tropes for something else. Or swap out the emotions for something else. I have some ideas, but I do need to know if people are interested in me running another round of this at all. 😅

I’d love to do more challenges, so let me know if you’d be interested in one of these challenges, or perhaps both! You can leave a comment if you want, or if you prefer, you can leave an anonymous ask.

😘

[cmbynwritingfests]

🖋️ CMBYN Drabble Challenge : Challenge Update / Survey Results 🖋️

Hi!

A few weeks ago I posted a little survey, and I explained that because we don’t get anyone participating anymore, I was considering letting the challenge come to an end. However, in the survey a few people said that they are still interested, and that time is the issue. So I’m going to give the challenge another try.

I asked a few questions in the survey, and after checking out the results, there are going to be some changes made to the CMBYN Drabble Challenge.

1. I asked if you wanted new prompts weekly, every two weeks or every month. The answers to this question were split equally over all answers. So I’m going to be in the middle, and instead of having monthly prompts, we will have one every two weeks. (More on this in point 2.)

2. I asked what your favourite prompts were, and the answers were also very split. So what we’ll do is, we will have one ‘word/sentence/quote’ prompt on every 1st of the month, and a ‘photo/art/music’ prompt on every 15th of the month. This way if you’re interested in all, you will have two prompts every month. If you’re interested in only one of the two, at least you will have one prompt every month.

3. I asked if anyone was interested in a tag list, so you get tagged when there’s a new prompt. Everyone replied that they always see the new prompts, so that’s great to know that our posts aren’t getting lost in the Tumblr void. But if anyone is still interested in getting tagged when there’s a new prompt, just let me know!

4. I asked if you’re more interested in an ongoing challenge like the drabble challenge, or a challenge with a deadline, and most people answered that they like both. So we’re definitely keeping the drabble challenge for now, and for now we’ll also keep doing the challenges with deadline (like CMBYN Bingo and CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge).

5. I also asked for suggestions, and someone answered they want ‘less generic, more freaky/esoteric’ prompts. I don’t really know what they meant (I can’t see who suggested it), so again, if you see this and you want to elaborate on your answer, feel free to send me an (anonymous) ask! And if anyone else has prompt suggestions, my ask box is always open!

So in short : The CMBYN Drabble Challenge is getting another chance. We will have prompts twice a month. And now that I know the least favourite prompts, I’ll make sure to do less of those, and more of the popular prompts.

Thank you to everyone that filled in the survey, I really appreciate it! ❤️

[cmbynwritingfests]

✍️ CMBYN Writing Fests | Blog Update ✍️

Hi!

The CMBYN Autumn Challenge has come to an end, and you can find the masterlist of fics written for the challenge here. This was our last big challenge for this year, so there will be no Christmas / Winter challenge this year. I think we’re all busy with NaNoWriMo, or the Holidays are enough to keep us busy, so let’s not add a deadline of a writing challenge to that!

The CMBYN Drabble Challenge will continue as it is, so we’ll still have a new prompt every 1st of the month. You can find the most recent prompt here.

I’m already planning the challenges for the new year, and I’m hoping we can do another round of CMBYN Bingo or CMBYN Roll The Dice, or maybe both. But we can only do that if there is enough interest. So if you’re interested in that, let me know!

I’ll still be here to post the CMBYN Drabble Challenge prompts, but other than that, this is it for 2021, so I already want to wish everyone happy Holidays (if you’re celebrating any!), a wonderful winter? summer? Anyway, wishing you all the best, and we’ll be back with another challenge in the new year! 

😘

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍂 CMBYN Autumn Challenge | Information & Rules 🍂

Hi!

I know the CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge has only just ended a few days ago, but our next challenge is a very low-key challenge spread out over two months. It takes place from the 1st of September and it ends on the 31st of October, and here is the information about the challenge.

How it works :

- There will be ten different prompts / themes for this challenge. The prompts are all autumn themed (or fall, whatever you prefer) or they are inspired by Halloween costumes.

- Every prompt / theme will have a set date, with the first being posted on the 1st of September. Most prompts will be posted approximately four or five days apart. The last prompt will go up on the 15th of October, which gives you an extra two weeks to finish your stories to have them done by the 31st of October.

- A list of prompts and the full schedule can be found here. On every day when a prompt goes up on the page, there will also be a moodboard for that day’s prompt / theme for extra inspiration.

- The goal is to write something inspired by the prompt(s) / theme(s). You can use the early-released prompt list, or you can wait until the day the moodboard is released. You can set your own goal to finish your work before the next prompt goes up, or you can work on something until the 31st of October. Whatever works best for you!

The rules : 

- This is a prompt-based challenge. You can interpret the prompts / themes any way you like, but please use them in your work in some way, shape or form.

- All prompts have a set date, so for example, if you choose to work on something for the prompt that has the date of October 15th, you can start working on that story already, but please do not post your work until after October 15th. You can write ahead of schedule, but you can not post ahead of schedule. Works posted ahead of schedule will not be accepted into the AO3 collection and they will not be shared to the Tumblr page until after that prompt has been posted.

-  This is a CMBYN challenge, and all pairings or Gen stories are allowed, as long as they include characters from the book / movie, or the real-life actors / writer / director etc. However, there is an exception to this rule. Stories including the allegations regarding Armie Hammer will not be accepted into the Challenge Collection, they will not be shared to the Tumblr page and they will not be included into the challenge masterlist.

- The minimum word count is 250, and there is no maximum word count.

- The AO3 Collection will open on the 1st of September, and it will close on the 31st of October. All stories posted to the AO3 collection will be shared on the Tumblr page. If you do not have an AO3 account, then your story can not be added to the collection. If you still want to take part in the challenge, and you choose to post your story on another platform, then feel free to send me a link so your story can be shared on this Tumblr page and added it to the masterlist.

- Stories for this challenge have to be completed by the 31st of October. You are free to write a chaptered story, but make sure to have all the chapters posted by the end of the challenge. Stories that are not completed when the collection is closed will be disqualified from the challenge.

- You can combine prompts / themes into one story if you like, but if you do, please do not post your story until both prompts are posted to the Tumblr page.

- Stories for this challenge have to be new. Even if you have an old story that fits the theme, please write something new for it. The goal of this challenge is to get creative and create new content, so let’s write as many new stories as possible.

- Any rating or theme is allowed for the challenge. But please make sure to put up the correct tags, and to add a warning if your story contains things like MCD, Violence, Non-Con etc.

The prompt list and schedule can be found here!

If you have any questions, just send me a message! ❤️

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2021 🍑

The CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge of 2021 is here!  🍑

Just a few simple rules & guidelines for this challenge:

- This is a prompt-based challenge. Every prompt you’ll receive consists of three different things; a fanfic trope, a word you need to use in your drabble or story, and an emotion. To receive a prompt, you can send me a message here on Tumblr, or if you don’t have a Tumblr account you can send me an anon ask with your email (which I will not publish) and I will email you a prompt.

- There are 15 different tropes, words and emotions. When you ask for a prompt, I will roll a virtual dice to see which trope, word and emotion will make up your prompt. More info about prompts can be found here.

- If you feel like you can’t work with a prompt, you can skip up to two prompts during the challenge. If you’d like to skip a prompt, just let me know and I will send you a new prompt.

- The minimum word count is 100, and there is no maximum word count.

- You can contact me to receive a prompt from the 5th of July until the 10th of August.

- The AO3 Collection will open on the 10th of July, and it will close on the 15th of August. All stories posted to the AO3 collection will be shared on this Tumblr. If you do not have an AO3 account, then your story can not be added to the collection. If you still want to take part in the challenge, and you choose to post your story on another platform, then feel free to send me a link so your story can be shared on this Tumblr and added it to the masterlist.

- You can write as many drabbles and stories for this challenge as you like, but you can only request one prompt at a time. And make sure to post your work(s) before the 15th of August.

- Stories for this challenge have to be completed by the 15th of August. You are free to write a chaptered story, but make sure to have all the chapters posted by the end of the challenge. Stories that are not completed when the collection is closed will be disqualified from the challenge.

- Stories for this challenge have to be new. Even if you have an old story that fits the theme, please write something new for it. The goal of this challenge is to get creative and create new content, so let’s write as many new stories as possible.

- A masterlist of all the stories written for this challenge will be shared on this Tumblr page after the challenge has ended.

- Any rating or theme is allowed for the challenge. But please make sure to put up the correct tags, and to add a warning if your story contains things like MCD, Violence, Non-Con etc.

- This is a CMBYN challenge, and all pairings or Gen stories are allowed, as long as they include characters from the book / movie, or the real-life actors / writer / director etc. However, there is an exception to this rule. Stories including the recent allegations regarding Armie Hammer (this includes cannibal parodies, mentions of the allegations and mentions of the alleged victims etc.) will not be accepted into the Challenge Collection, they will not be shared to the Tumblr page and they will not be included into the challenge masterlist.

If you have any questions, just send me a message! ❤️

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 The CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge AO3 Collection is now open 🍑

The CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge AO3 Collection is now open!

The collection will remain open until the 15th of August. So make sure to post your finished works before that time.

When you post a work to the collection, it will have to be approved first before it is added. Make sure to use the tag ‘CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge’ or please mention in your notes that this is a work for the challenge.

All stories posted to the AO3 collection will be shared on the CMBYN Writing Fests Tumblr page.

Once you have submitted a drabble or story to the collection, you can request a new prompt if you’d like.

🍑 Find the AO3 Collection here 🍑

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2021 | Reminder 🍑

Quick reminder that there is now one week left to post your completed works to AO3. 🍑

You can request prompts for the challenge until the 10th of August and the AO3 collection closes on the 15th of August.

For more info about the challenge, see this post.

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2021 | Reminder 🍑

Quick reminder that there is now one week left to get new prompts for the challenge. 🍑

You can request prompts for the challenge until the 10th of August and the AO3 collection closes on the 15th of August.

For more info about the challenge, see this post.

[cmbynwritingfests]

🍑 CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge 2021 | End of challenge 🍑

The AO3 collection is closed, which means that the CMBYN Roll The Dice Challenge is now over!

A big thank you to everyone who participated!

I will post a masterlist of stories written for this challenge later this week.

🍑