#rizeth

[space-writes]

friday kiss tag

tagged by @the-inkwell-variable, thank you! (one of my favourite tags, honestly. i love making my dolls kiss) please enjoy this one from A Question of Trust:

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

“It arrived.” He turned to find Ashenivir in the doorway, staring at the bed with an odd expression on his face. “Shortly after you left this morning,” Rizeth said. Ashenivir trailed his fingers over the top rail of the footboard, tracing the carvings. He bit his lip. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly. “I…it’s a bed, Master.” “Very observant, apprentice.” A wide grin split Ashenivir’s face. “It’s our bed.” He flung his arms around Rizeth’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Rizeth’s hand went to the small of his back, holding him closer—he could feel the smile in the lips moving softly beneath his, and returned it. A moment later he found himself pushed backwards; his legs hit the edge of the bed and then Ashenivir was pushing him down onto it, and he had a warm, lovely, already-breathless boy atop him. Well, now. That wouldn’t do at all.

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

no pressure tagging @revenancy @princessbonecrimes and @charlesjosephwrites

Obedience taglist: @foxboyclit @belovedviolence @thegreatobsesso (ask to be +/-)

[incoherentmuses]

happy pride everyone!

@foxboyclit brought up 'Rizeth, but in a crop top' and then this happened. consider it a companion to last years obedience pride piece i guess

ko-fi | commissions info | fic series Ashenivir & Rizeth are from (nsfw)

(also tagging relevant interested parties @lawful-evil-novelist and @britta-ashcroft)

[shadow-space-writes]

heads up seven up

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea, thank you! i’m very nearly done (!!) with The Perils of Wanting, so here are seven lines from that ft Ashenivir being Ashenivir and not understanding his own pining, as per usual

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

Up the hall, the red marker was still tied on his and Rizeth’s playroom. Moths in his chest again, agitated, a furious swarm, and that awful, hollow feeling that he was missing something important. I’m not missing anything, I have everything I want, it’s just comedown, I should go back to the room and wait for— “Ra’soltha?” His heart twisted. I want him. I’m already his, but I want him.

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @cherrybombfangirlwrites @loopyhoopywrites and @talesfromaurea

Obedience taglist: @foxboyclit @belovedviolence @thegreatobsesso (ask to be +/-)

[utterlyincoherent]

Artists asks! 5 and 25?

ahh, ty!

5. Anything you haven’t drawn yet but want to?

ohhh so many things! my wip-list is too long, but i really want to do a full character piece of my tiefling bard, Lilith in her full goth getup with her magic violin.

i've also been meaning to design Pharaun Mizzrym since i read war of the spider queen the other year and i still haven't. i love that awful little man i need to make him unnecessarily attractive

25. Based on your recent reference searches, what would the FBI assume about you?

that i am a gay little man who likes rope bondage which is what i get for drawing my ocs in spicy Situations asdjsdka

[thespacelizard]

howls outfit is KING THE WINGS!! yes.

i knew iphis and minisstra would be hot and ngl i originally read iphis sash as tying him to minisstra which. would also be vvv good. the 8-eyed circlet is such a great detail i wanna steal it. also also i live for them tearing everyone else apart. statler and waldorf but kinky and evil about it <3

Zeth'rinn is dripping in gems. lots of spider-eye style rubies and black leather, thigh-knife because it's hot AND practical. a cape that's also a train sparkling with gems because can you imagine the drama of such a thing? i also kinda wanna give him a like. leather version of jarlaxle's hat because a) the cunt and b) him outdoing jarlaxle with it would be so bad for that man's blood pressure.

Vizaeth i have this outfit in my head for him that i've never been able to use that's like: long white robes, blood-drip rubies falling off everywhere. if he could he'd have living spiders on him somehow, spinning his gloves or a capelet maybe. He's got heels that are fashioned to look like spiders, with all the legs into the spike-heel. i just like putting him in white and red because of the VIBES. sacrifice but make it high fashion.

i feel like Rizeth and Ashenivir are just such homebodies they wouldn't want to attend such a thing, but someone at the Arcanum would make them, and naturally the them is like. Mystra/magical based.

Rizeth's in the kind of thing that looks less elaborate from a distance but has subtle, cool details. His robes have interlocking 8-point stars woven all over them, in thread that shifts in the light through various hues. Like, almost iridescent but very subdued.

The most elaborate thing on Ashenivir I think might be his hair. It's long enough he could do some kind of very cool braiding with it, maybe with silver thread or ribbon. OH i did put him in a very cool harness-based outfit in Perils. That kind of thing, like a leather harness with pretty chains and attached drapery, silver and grey and dark blue, and matching earrings with sapphires.

i am sending you good vibes and a snack and also since it's the met gala tonight, lavish me with headcanons for oc met gala outfits. menzo met gala, naturally with the theme of arachnids. lets do this lets play dress up

(i know that the nydalla's would be on-theme and on-point, and also that they are *roasting* all the mediocre attempts *viciously*)

ITS MET GALA NIGHT? ohhhh my god time for my favorite annual pastime (roasting celebrities in my $12 sweatpants)

do you have any idea what heavenly bodies 2018 has done to my brain. literally half the reason i have so many fuckin priest ocs. give them gowns decked out in religious motifs. a side tangent is Howl would have a headband with multiple black wings. floor length black ballgown, feather motifs carried on in the skirt. gold ribbons in their hair/gold makeup for a pop of color

OKAY NYDALLAS' MET GALA LOOKS obviously theyre arachnid themed is anything else legal in menzo. now i can give Minnie those stupidly large headdresses matrons are known to wear. i think it keeps her hair pinned up to look like webs. taking a page right out of lolths book with that one. deep violet dress with silver details and a long train made to look like spider legs. you know how lolthite priestess robes are described as both clinging to the body and flowing around at once? thats the vibe she has

Iphis' clothes are on the more "cling to the frame" side because theyre made more to look like webs bc hes caught in Minnies web and is a lil tasty snack for her <3. silver robes with purple accents to match her, im imagining they have web patterns to match is scars and theyre tied off with a purple sash. give him a little circlet with sapphires to bring out his eyes, maybe theyre placed a certain way to mimic 8 eyes. deep violet eyeshadow and lipstick for him too

their whispers back and forth about the other guests are so ruthless, if anyone else heard them the whole city would break out into civil war. occasionally meeting up with each other again like "is the jewel box missing one of their girls? she's a long ways from home if shes here looking like that" and "imagine bringing your consort to the most important night of the year and all he can manage is an ill-fitting set of plain robes. are the other houses doing charity work?"

well now i gotta return the favor. how are your ocs dressed for the met gala. what themes are they slaying. are they trying to outdress anyone.

this made me feel a lot better i appreciate you <3

[everybodyloveshippos]

hiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Rizeth and Ashenivir from this fic by @incoherentmuses which is rlly good

[ssapiesplayground]

Secret Satan piece for @ranger-rizeth of their boy Rizeth ^^ organised by @leidensygdom <3 commission information @ssapiesplayground 

[ranger-rizeth]

Rizeth getting lost for the first time in a century, he does not like it.

[thegreatobsesso]

@space-writes 😍😍😍😍😍😍

ugh don't we all. and he knows it.

but can we talk about your Ashenivir and Rizeth please ???

@winterandwords's Brett and Noah, fuck my heart

@dontjudgemeimawriter's Terran and Raymond!!!

@afoolandathief's take on Loki and their entire fucking family dear gods

And every one of @itsthenovelteafactor's OCs are fantastic but for some reason Aunt Madeline overshadows everyone else in my mind🥰

sometimes you just have GOT to get weird about someone's oc. embrace them. treat them like you would the main character of a hit tv show. blorbo from someone else' brain. it's good for you

[space-writes]

i am at any given moment thinking about rewards/punishments for Rizeth and Ashenivir and at some point Rizeth is going to offer a reward and Ashenivir is not going to pick sex, he's going to pick 'Master reads me one of my smutty serial romance novels' and then live to regret it because Rizeth has a voice like dark fucking chocolate and that man can purr words like nobody's business.

he could make the phone book sound sexy, Ashenivir. he's going to get to the first line about kissing and you're going to have a heart attack.

[incoherentmuses]

some tender boys, as a treat, because Current Arc is so damn angsty.

ko-fi | commissions info | fic series Ashenivir & Rizeth are from (nsfw)

(@foxboyclit @britta-ashcroft)

[danield-c-blog]

My 2nd original character Abigail that will join the journey with Rizeth. She is a mage that blessed with the power of mother nature and only can use her power to help other, not to hurt them. #art #artwork #illustration #digitalart #portrait #doodle #conceptart #characterdesign #originalcharacter #oc #animestyle #animegirl #mage #fantasy #magic #pose #rizeth #wacom #medibangpro #adobephotoshop https://www.instagram.com/p/ByJrabjnCDL/?igshid=1jwyaqe0kik4h

[space-writes]

*incoherent yelling and hollering* i am loving your prose excerpts for this so so so much. i have too many favourite parts i need to Dissect

Whatever trigger mechanism inside turns him into a complacent mindless well-behaved submissive, this man knows exactly where it is and clicks it into place without any effort.

YES EXCELLENT. no thoughts head empty Hot Man Has Dommed Me

So that’s just great. His dick gets hard and he turns into a fanciful idiot. Psych degree out the window. But Christ almighty, does he feel good.

listen milo you don't need a degree when things of This Nature are occurring.

shushes him, because apparently he is making noise.

we are once again on the same page because i fucking love 'sub doesn't realise they're making noise' it's just so...OUAGH. so delicious

“You needed more, didn’t you, sweet thing? You needed to be manhandled and used and pulled out of yourself, and you made it happen, didn’t you? You made it all the way up here, with me.”

AGAIN EXCELLENT. yes THIS this this. Octavius clocking/knowing exactly what he needed and then saying it like. the matter of fact-ness makes it even hotter GAH

his mouth falls open like it has no other purpose but to receive this attention

YES. that's all i have to say on the matter

Blood-red lights activate in the ceiling at the sound of his voice, and an even torrent of water pours from a massive showerhead.

im dying at Octavius having a supervillain shower. it's so on brand and just the right balance of cool/ridiculous that it swings around into being cool again. i want one

“But not exclusively. I don’t always need to come. What I do need, though, is that feeling that I’m someone else’s god. Like there’s nothing in their eyes but me, the most flattering mirror in the world. That’s more intoxicating than an orgasm could ever be.”

you and i are once again always on the same damn page about this stuff. Rizeth is so similar in that the sex isn't always the need, it's the control, the feeling of someone else giving up everything to you; for Rizeth it's very much about the trust being given, the privilege of receiving that gift of trust.

scene #2 in its entirety

Okee dokee, for anyone interested, here's the full version of the scene I just posted a snippet of. Context: it's the first scene they do together after the initial attempt at a scene was interrupted by mob drama in a very dramatic fashion, and the first time Milo is going into an experience with Octavius after agreeing to rat on him to Scotland Yard. :)

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✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

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This second time, it’s got nothing the same as the first. Because he’s here under false pretenses, now. Because this isn’t about his pleasure, it’s a fucked-up undercover operation he’s not prepared for, not built for. Tonight is a lie.

Movies make this sort of thing look sexy, don’t they? It’s not sexy though, not by a long shot. How can he be sure Octavius doesn’t already know what’s going on? The man seems to have claws in every institution in the city including the police. What if, in between the first time and the second time, he’s found out? What if he’s luring Milo up to here to kill him?

Well, the only thought that comforts him is that, if Octavius wanted to kill him, he seems like the kind of man who could have it done any way he pleased, and the ideal murder scenario surely wouldn’t be inviting his victim up to his flat alone with however many people in the club downstairs as witnesses to his arrival.

Right?

This time when he knocks on the solid mahogany door, he’s not thinking about how lucky he is to be selected, how hot it’ll be to get used by some high-powered businessman. This time he’s only aware of the stark reality that he’s walking into the room of a criminal who, if he knew the truth, Milo’d be dead in seconds.

And he thinks of Meg, because he always thinks of Meg. He sees her in his mind’s eye because that’s where she always is, and she’s in a too-small bed in a crowded room in an understaffed hospital that’d drive the most neurotypical person on earth out of their wits.

So, he knocks. Of course he does.

Octavius Sinclair opens the door.

“Well, hello there,” he greets him with a cool smile that gives nothing away. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come back.”

Honesty is comforting when he can actually give it. “Neither was I,” he says. “But, I’m here.”

“So you are. Please.” He beckons Milo inside. This room was wrecked last time he left it - broken glass everywhere and a trail of Octavius’s blood across the marble.

He’s too aware of the click of the door closing behind them. Too aware of his inability to escape if something were to happen. Maybe every single person in the club tonight was a paid actor, and when questioned by the police they’d say they never saw Milo tonight at all. Octavius could do that. Octavius is the most powerful man in the city. Christ, what is Milo doing?

A steady grip on his arms turns him around and pulls him face-to-face to Octavius except it’s face-to-chest and Milo’s got to look up to meet his eye.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Milo. I don’t like repeating myself.”

It’s hard to quantify the feeling of hearing his own name on Octavius’s lips. Like he’s been turned inside out and laid out in pieces. Milo gulps. “You know why I’m here.”

There’s a horrible moment where Milo is certain the truth is written across his face, and then Octavius takes Milo’s chin in hand and holds him steady.

“I know what you want. I’m asking you why you want it. Tell me why you want to submit to me.”

Relief floods through Milo’s chest. It’s just sexy talk. A request that Milo unpack the kink verbally. He can do that.

“I’m always taking care of everyone,” he says, around a flicker of embarrassment over making himself sound like some sort of martyr. “I’m responsible. For other people’s wellbeing, all the time. My patients,” he adds hastily, saying nothing of Meg, because he’s not supposed to. “It feels so good to just, just let somebody else take control. To not have to drive. And you are so, so hot.”

That last bit is the most honest he can be, because being held still and made to maintain eye contact, it’s just undeniable. There’s something so fierce about his features that Milo wonders how he didn’t know what he was capable of before, how anybody could believe he was only a businessman.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s what he’s doing here - everyone knows, it’s just that nobody can catch him.

“Is that good enough?” he asks.

“Is it the truth?”

Milo steels himself. “Yes.”

“Then it’s enough.”

And then, Octavius tilts his head and kisses him. Milo opens his mouth instinctually and gets nothing in return; the kiss is meant to tease, not escalate. Deft hands snake their way under his jumper, and Milo reaches to remove his shirt.

He’s rewarded with a lightning-quick slap to the back of his hand.

“Stop,” Octavius snips. “I didn’t tell you to do that.”

Milo lets out a shaky breath. Whatever trigger mechanism inside turns him into a complacent mindless well-behaved submissive, this man knows exactly where it is and clicks it into place without any effort.

“Sorry,” he breathes, and then remembers his manners. “Sorry, sir.”

He holds his hands up to demonstrate that he understands - he isn’t to do anything he isn’t told. 

“You’re forgiven,” Octavius hums, his hands spread once again over Milo’s ribs, under his shirt. “But from now on, that’s rule number one. You don’t take off your clothes. I do, when and how I please. Understood?”

Fuck, why can’t this be simple? He’s a dream come true; everything that comes out of his mouth goes straight to Milo’s dick like a lightning rod. To be told he’ll be revealed at the pace his dom chooses, to not even be in control of what he’s showing and when he shows it? He’s practically trembling, and it’s not out of fear.

“Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Octavius breaks eye contact to look over Milo’s shoulder. “Now, go stand in front of the window.”

Milo complies, interested, and missing the feeling of the warm hands sliding over his torso. He looks out the window that comprises the entire wall, the one that’s been wholly mended since last he was here. And he can see other buildings twinkling in the night, and the winding Thames and the Houses of Parliament, all like pretty miniatures set lovingly in place just to serve the view before him. 

That he should be standing in such place-

“Hands,” Octavius commands lightly, coming to stand beside him, a view in himself to rival that out the window. Milo holds out his wrists and realizes Octavius has removed his tie, and is using it to bind them together. And that’s. That’s. Very nice. And the fact that Octavius can hold both his wrists in only one hand - nicer still.

No, it’s dangerous. Shit. Why is it so hard to remember who the man is, what he is? 

Because it helps your cover, Milo’s mind chimes in helpfully, and he barely stand the absurdity of having a cover, can barely register how utterly bizarre the entire situation is, but his mind has a point. The more he can forget about Shaelynn and the mission, the better he'll be.

“There we go,” Octavius says, tugging at his own knot. “Nice and tight.”

Before Milo’s got a chance to wonder where he’s going with this, Octavius reaches up the window and expands what Milo had assumed were nothing more than structurally necessary strips to support the panes. What unfolds is a stark, utilitarian, but absolutely unmistakable, suspension frame.

“Oh,” he says stupidly, wondering what other kind of kinky Tony-Stark-like mechanisms he’s got built into this place before the realization hits. “Wait, you’re going to... put me right here?”

“It’s one-way glass,” Octavius informs him, one finger still crooked through his bindings. “It’s always been, even before I had it mended. No need to be shy. Arms up.”

One-way glass aside, he still shivers as he's hung up in front of London like some sort of Dionysian sacrifice, and he feels his skin harden with goosebumps as Octavius pulls up his jumper and drapes it around his wrists, high above his head.

Next comes the kiss he was waiting for - the one that feels like an onslaught, like fire burning down his throat. The kind that drags a moan from his chest, makes him stand on his tip-toes to get closer. But he’s stuck, one big hand pressing into the small of his back, the other planted on his chest. No room to go forward or backward. 

It hits him with a jolt that’s he’s not thinking about escape routes or disaster scenarios or how quickly Octavius could snap his neck. Nothing’s changed - in fact, it’s only gotten empirically more dangerous - but some nonsensical voice in his head is telling him that Octavius wouldn’t hurt him. And it’s absurd. He is a criminal, a murderer both by proxy and apparently his own hands, and of course he’d kill Milo with a good reason, and maybe even without one. 

So that’s just great. His dick gets hard and he turns into a fanciful idiot. Psych degree out the window. But Christ almighty, does he feel good.

Octavius breaks away and he’s left panting, hot, dazed. The man in front of him only cocks his head, as though listening for something.

“That’s good,” he says thoughtfully, holding Milo’s trembling body still. “No gunshots.”

The sudden break in tension draws a shaky laugh from him. “Yeah. Very good.”

Octavius hums and redirects his attention to Milo’s neck, kissing, sucking, dragging his teeth. He brushes his fingers over Milo’s tits and Milo gasps.

He can hear Octavius’s smile rather than see it. “You like that?”

“Yes. Yes sir.”

A pinch follows, hard and without warning, and Milo cries out. Octavius moves to the other side and does it again, watching him this time, drinking in his pained expression.

“Look at you,” he muses. “Poor little thing. Having to go about your day, tending to everyone else and making decisions and being responsible, when all you really want is to be strung up and toyed with. Don’t worry, darling. I’m going to take good care of you.”

The words come out like he doesn’t even have to think about it, like he’s said them to a hundred men before, and Milo still has to concentrate to not just come on the spot. Christ, he’s heard dirty talk before but this is something else. 

“Please,” he hears himself whimper, to his own surprise. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Anything, sir, please, anything you want.” He’s babbling. He’s barely in control of what he’s saying. He’s drowning and they’ve barely even done anything yet.

Octavius smirks. “That’s a wonderful answer, Milo.”

All at once, the sensations stop. Octavius pulls away and departs from his vision, leaves him cold and staring into the night. But he doesn’t go far - Milo can feel the heat of him not far behind, and he can hear - oh, god - he can hear the unmistakeable sound of a belt being unbuckled. 

But Octavius hasn’t even undressed him from the waist down, and he’s left to wonder what’s happening for only a second before the belt cracks across his back.

Not the buckled side, nothing that would actually injure - just enough to sting. A thumb rubs across where he’s sure he’s already red. He colors easily.

“How was that?”

Octavius’s voice is soft, as if he’s just started giving a Milo a massage. Milo swallows. “You can go harder, sir.”

Octavius makes a low hum of approval that reminds Milo of a tiger stretched in the sun. Another loud crack sends the image to pieces, and all he can feel is the sting, worse in the aftermath than the moment of contact. Expletives fall from his lips, and two more hits in rapid succession make him arch his back as if he’s got somewhere to go.

Gentle fingertips over the affected areas; then lips. It’s almost too much. His body trembles and writhes on its own accord, ragged breaths scraping out of his mouth.

“Color?”

For a second, Milo’s gone so far out of his mind he barely registers what Octavius is asking. He swallows, his throat gone completely dry. “Green.”

“Good,” comes the reply from behind him, curt and professional, and Octavius’s arms snake around him and unzip his trousers. 

Milo can feel heat flaring in his cheeks as Octavius pulls them down, his pants with them, and taps a wordless request on Milo’s ankle. He understands, and lifts one foot off the ground at a time to let Octavius discard the clothing completely. And now his shirt is around his wrists and his trousers are god knows where, and he is cold and exposed and painfully hard.

Octavius wraps his arms around Milo’s torso from behind and shushes him, because apparently he is making noise. Fingers return to squeeze and twist at his nipples, and he pulls into the sensation so hard, the steel frame creaks.

“Breathe,” comes the voice in his ear, stubble tickling his neck.

Yes. He’s right. Breathing is something he needs to do if he wants to stay conscious, and christ does he ever. It’s hard when the touches alternate between light and rough so quickly he can barely fucking think.

“Sir?”

“Mmm?”

Octavius smells like woodsmoke and burnt coffee and money and Milo is going to explode. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna come.”

“Are you now?” Octavius sounds charmed as he releases Milo abruptly and lashes his belt across his back again without warning. “Good for you, Milo, being able to finish with so little stimulation. I’m making a mental note of that for another time.”

That reaches him even through the pleasure that’s peaking so hard it’s nearing panic - another time. He wants to do this again. With Milo. And he doesn’t know how to feel, he thinks some part of him was hoping he’d bore Octavius and then his own life would go back to the way it was, free of complications, free from near-death shootouts and mob politics and assassination attempts and-

The belt strikes across his ass, and then just like every other blow, Octavius traces his fingers over the mark as if in admiration. And Milo can’t think anymore. He can’t-

Hands snake around him again. They rest, maddeningly and incomprehensibly, around his midsection like a hug. He feels Octavius’s chin on his shoulder.

“I want you to look into the windows of those buildings,” he murmurs. Milo hadn’t registered when exactly he’d squeezed his eyes shut, but he opens them now. There’s at least two buildings close enough and tall enough that he can just make out the activity in their windows - three if he squints. 

“What...” he gasps, trying to remember how to put words in the right order. “What am I looking for?”

“People,” Octavius says simply, almost swaying in this strange embrace he’s got Milo trapped in. “People working late. Making phone calls to Japan. Men who don’t want to go home to their wives, maybe, or wives who don’t want to go home to their husbands. Pouring over project plans and budget allocations while their desires die inside them. And look down.”

Milo assumes he means at the streets, not at his own anatomy. There’s people down there, too, plentiful even at this time of night. Popping up their umbrellas. Rain sprinkles the window. 

“See?” Octavius breathes into his ear. “People floating through their lives, being perfectly acceptable. Wishing they were somewhere other than the corner of Upper Marsh and Royal, freezing in the rain at two o’clock in the morning. But not you.”

A hand grabs him by the throat, squeezes just enough to demonstrate what it could do with its full strength. 

“You needed more, didn’t you, sweet thing? You needed to be manhandled and used and pulled out of yourself, and you made it happen, didn’t you? You made it all the way up here, with me.”

The other hand moves to grasp his cock, and Milo stops breathing. Octavius stays perfectly still, and if the moment stretches on any longer, Milo’s certain he’ll combust. 

“Go on, then,” Octavius murmurs, and Milo could swear he feels the dart of a tongue behind the shell of his ear. “I’m not going to help you. Take what you want.”

In his wrecked state it takes him a moment to register the offer, and another to process what it entails. He has never just fucked someone’s hand before and it feels so wonton, desperate and dirty he can’t help but comply.

What quickly follows would be better described as an exorcism than an orgasm, pulling everything that’s ever been wrong from his body and leaving him boneless and electrified. The hand - hand - that’s responsible for it stays in place through wave after wave of glorious, mind-rending sensation, until he’s just hanging there, thoughtless and spent, trembling from head to toe.

And there are murmured words in his ear, a steady stream of gentle encouragement, there you go and well done and just like that, darling. The hand around his neck strokes now rather than grasps, fingertips grazing oversensitive skin. Milo shakes and shakes, and nearly protests when he realizes the binding around his wrists is being undone.

But he’s held up as his arms come down, held steady, and that’s so very very good because he’s not entirely confident his knees won’t buckle. And he’s being kissed, and his mouth falls open like it has no other purpose but to receive this attention. Words spill out around Octavius’s tongue without Milo’s permission.

“Please, sir,” he breathes, disoriented and exposed, fuzzy with want. “Please let me touch you. Please, please.”

Octavius makes a sound in the back of his throat and puts space between him and Milo, to Milo’s chagrin. At that moment he was ready to do whatever sir said, whatever he wanted, so long as he could keep touching him. He wanted to show him, christ, show him his gratitude, make him dizzy, make him feel.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Octavius says gently, stroking Milo’s cheek with his thumb. “But not tonight.”

The gentle but uncompromising denial hits like a splash of frigid water. Milo remembers himself, remembers what he’s doing here, and realizes that whatever fucking thrall he was in, he probably just crossed a line. It’s not his place to demand things, to drive their interaction, after all, and just because Octavius just made him come himself nearly to death, it didn’t mean this was anything to him outside of what he did every night, with a different person each time. 

“Right,” he stumbles, retreating, gathering himself. “Sorry, that wasn’t - I shouldn’t have. Sorry, I’ll just-”

A firm hand stops him as he dives for his trousers, which sit folded on the edge of the bed - fucking folded. 

“You don’t need to leave,” Octavius says, and if he’s faking sincerity, he’s doing it well. “Stay, have a shower.”

Milo scoffs, embarrassed. “Thanks, but I have a fully functional shower at home.”

“I meant have a shower with me, you ridiculous man.”

His hand has returned to cup Milo’s face, and all at once Milo realizes he’s misread the situation. Octavius Sinclair, crime lord of the London underworld, isn’t shooing him away - he’s offering aftercare. 

“Oh,” he says, pausing with his trousers balled up in his hands. “I... Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

“Splendid,” Octavius smiles, with the air of someone who’s just made a reservation for high tea. “The bathroom’s over there. I’ll only be a moment.”

Milo pads naked across the space he’s just coming to realize is not Octavius’s actual flat, but the place he brings his hookups, and notes with a flare of awkwardness that Octavius is using tissues to wipe his release off the window. And, there’s a lot of it. Good lord. 

He enters the bathroom, face burning and feeling almost more unmoored than when he first arrived. Unsurprisingly, the room is a sleek, showy affair with a continued view of the city and a walk-in shower big enough for five. Milo notes a ridiculous amount of spouts and knobs, all obsidian against the marble tile, and he feels greatly relieved when Octavius joins him.

“Shower on,” he says simply. Blood-red lights activate in the ceiling at the sound of his voice, and an even torrent of water pours from a massive showerhead. It’s all fancy and gothic and luxurious and Milo is ordinary, naked and sticky. He steps into the shower gratefully and tries not to stare as Octavius, for the first time all night, disrobes.

He does so without an ounce of shame and folds everything, just as he did Milo’s trousers. Milo rinses himself, and casts what he hopes is a casual glance.

It’s a childish sort of relief to see that Octavius is not sporting a ridiculously massive cock like anybody would assume if they witnessed how he carried himself. If anything, Milo’s own is a bit bigger. But when he takes in the whole picture, really looks at Octavius’s body - well. He’s tall, well-muscled, hairy but well-groomed, and frankly cut like glass. Junk size aside, it’s intimidating, and hard to resist comparing to his own stocky, squishy form.

Octavius steps into the gathering mist and wastes no time tending to him - kissing him, touching him, rubbing him down with products bearing labels in languages Milo doesn’t speak that feel like silk and smell like heaven. His nerves evaporate again in the face of the attention, swirl down the drain and out of sight, and so he says:

“Is the kink not sexual for you?”

He almost regrets it once it’s said, but Octavius’s hands, rubbing something that smells like fresh hyacinth into his hair from behind him, do not falter.

“It is, sometimes,” he says, his voice natural and untroubled against the sound of water on the tile like rain. “But not exclusively. I don’t always need to come. What I do need, though, is that feeling that I’m someone else’s god. Like there’s nothing in their eyes but me, the most flattering mirror in the world. That’s more intoxicating than an orgasm could ever be.”

He wonders if Octavius ever had an orgasm like the one he just did. “I get that,” he says anyway, luxuriating in the feeling of Octavius’s fingers working suds through his curls. “It’s the high that comes with worship, the need to be needed. Satisfies a primal urge. Acceptance, belonging, and all that.”

Octavius chuckles. It’s a very nice sound, like the popping of burning logs. “Restrain your inner therapist, if you please.”

“Wait, what?”

“You’re a therapist,” Octavius says simply, massaging his scalp. “A sex therapist, if memory serves.”

Milo filled out a thousand forms prior to this interaction, but he hadn’t expected Octavius to read them. He’d been dead certain, in fact, that filling out his occupation was simply so Octavius’s people could verify he wasn’t some kind of gossip columnist.

“I am,” he says. “Just got my doctorate, in fact.”

“So you listen to people talk about sex by day, and then you have it at night. Is that the general shape of it?”

Milo laughs. “You don’t have to be a nympho to work here, but it sure helps.”

“You’re funny.”

Is he? Milo’s never thought of himself as particularly funny, or particularly sexy, outside his niche interests where the shape of your body isn’t quite as important as the role you want to play. But Octavius said another time, so there must be something about Milo that’s caught his interest.

As to the rest of the implications - he’ll leave all that for another day. He came in frightened of getting murdered, and the evening’s ending with Octavius washing his hair. He can give himself a moment to indulge in the simplicity of it before things inevitably get completely, totally fucked.

[thespacelizard]

happy holidays im curious about how your ocs would celebrate winter holidays and/or find comfort in the cold

i swear all i can think about is Rizeth and Ashenivir just being cozy while it’s freezing outside. i got to write them having a little bit of Winter Adventures for Perils and ugh. my heart.

The boys don’t hold any particular winter festivals that close, imo—they live in the Underdark, seasonal changes don’t really come up. The ending of the year is a bigger one. but when they’re up on the surface in the cold, you should know that Ashenivir finds it very attractive when Rizeth’s flushed from the chill, and also that Rizeth did give him a big warm cloak that he looks so so so cozy bundled up in.

swap tea for hot cocoa (Ashenivir discovers marshmallows during Perils. he loves them) and just put them in a warm apartment with snow outside and them spending time together.

this is a bad answer for holiday celebrations but i’ve got cozy on the brain. they’re staying in bed while it snows. keeping warm through various means.

Zeth’rinn hates the cold so he’s def got charms and trinkets that keep him warm so he doesn’t have to bundle up. he’s just like me fr in that having to layer up feels bad and kills the entire vibe. his dad is Jarlaxle, he 100% has a charm so he can wear crop-tops in winter.

i do like the idea that Jarlaxle brought him up to the surface to show him winter festivals and snow at some point when he was a kid. He didn’t have to go through a winter neary freezing to death in a cave with a bear a la mister Do’Urden, he just got to spend like. a cold night up there with his dad, I think.

(i also think that when he’s up there with Bregan D’aerthe, he is the one who starts snowball fights as often as possible. i also think that at least one other member has stabbed him about it, which is what he deserves.)

(also also. please now im thinking about kimmuriel’s psionic snowfight-winning abilities. i dont know if that’s canon but it should be. stopping a single snowball with his mind then throwing like forty back and burying Zeth under a snowdrift. that’s what i want.)

Vizaeth hates the cold, hates snow if he ever sees it, and thinks winter festivals are stupid iblith nonsense.

[utterlyincoherent]

thank you @cauchemarlena for tagging me!!

Do you play an instrument? let's not talk about the clarinet. let’s just not. that’s more of a ‘used to’ than a ‘do’ anyway

Favorite book character? i don’t. listen. i can’t pick that’s not possible. i love so many in entirely different ways. Lestat is my beloved evil bimbo vampire boy that i imprinted on as a teen. Jarlaxle is So Very Gender and also an icon who lives rent free in the back of my head. i also nominate Blorbos From My Book, Ashenivir and Rizeth, because i can and because i love them

What’s your star sign? Libra, which is endlessly funny because i share it with an IRL friend who is the exact opposite of many of my traits.

Favorite color schemes? i love black with pastel pink and purple, black with royal purple, dark grey with teal and gold, and lately paper/coffee-ish white with pastel raspberry pink. are all of these obsidian.md colour schemes i’ve used? maybe. you can’t prove anything leave me and my aesthetically pleasing notes app alone

Naps or long sleep? long. sleep. please. im so tired. i keep waking up early because we have no curtains and the sun exists. i want to sleeeep

What languages do you speak? i am like little baby, i speak only English and sometimes that’s questionable.

Dreams/aspirations? i would love to chill, make art, and write words without worrying about rent. nothing fancy, i just want to vibe. oh, and also hrt. that’d be sweet.

Long hair or short hair? short short short. i love long aesthetically but it is a pain in the ass. maybe when i pass more i’ll grow it out and live the long haired elf prince fantasy for the gender vibes. probably i won’t, because i hate looking after long hair.

Tea or coffee? blech, neither :p i am a hot choclatey milk boy all the way

Bring a book character to life or go into the fictional world? i’ll go into a fictional world, but i do think it would be very funny to give Jarlaxle access to twitter.

tags for if folks wanna do it, no pressure:

@kazylgon, @controlledchaosetc, @lawful-evil-novelist & @brainrotvibes

[archaeologysucks]

My local college offers archeology as a minor, so I'm thinking of taking history as my major, just so I can get started. I really want to work in dig teams, so I'm curious if a minor in archaeology will be fine for the field work?

Yes that is absolutely fine! As long as you also do a field school, you will be able to find work in archaeology.