#rizeth

[space-writes]

friday kiss tag

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea, thank you! the only progress on A Question of Trust that i’ve made lately is uhhh. organising my notes a bit. here’s some drunk kissing from the current draft anyway~

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

They stumbled in the vague direction of the bedroom, shedding clothing along the way. He managed to get his hands mostly everywhere, and Rizeth didn’t make him stop even once, which was a crying shame, really. He took Rizeth’s hand and put it to his throat, over his collar. “No. No,” Rizeth said, shaking his head. He kept on blinking as if that would help; Ashenivir knew from experience it would not. “You are drunk. I am drunk.” He blinked again. “I am drunk. Gods. You did this to me, you wretched boy.” He followed his complaint with a furiously hungry kiss that took them to the bed and very nearly rolled them right off the other side of it. Ashenivir ended up on top of him, his grinding encouraged by a firm hand cupping his ass. He wriggled in place, but the usual result was not forthcoming. “Spank me.” It wasn’t quite a whine, but it was close. “Absolutely not.” “Please, Master—” “I am too drunk to bruise you the way you deserve,” Rizeth said. He was rather more coherent than Ashenivir had expected him to be. Impressive, in the face of fun drinks. He kissed the pout from Ashenivir’s mouth and turned his whine into a moan as his fingers slid lower, teasing. “I am not too drunk to fuck you, though.”

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @viscerawrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @at-thezenith and @tabswrites

Obedience taglist: @foxboyclit @belovedviolence @thegreatobsesso @notwritinganyflufftoday (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

[space-writes]

looking back at wips and feeling The Temptation is such a mood oh my god. cannot look in my wips folder, that way lies madness

im always sooo intrigued seeing people writing (especially more involved/epic type fantasy) that don't outline/plan/prep as much as i do!! how are you just launching into longform stories just on vibes that's way too scary

i will concur that Will sounds like a delight to hang out with in real life and Vonnie sounds SO much fun to write. as i just added a hot mess lesbian to Valloroth, i feel solidarity here <3

IRIS yes i am also pinching her cheeks you go science girl!!

24 & 28 for the weird writer questions !

(--@space-writes)

thank you <3

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

it really depends? my wips usually start with a vibe or an idea that a character gets involved in, and then a setting around that, and then i just start writing and see what happens. with the raedoran cycle the prep has gotten more detailed and it's been nice to have that structure, but i definitely still go off the rails once i get into the groove of actually writing, so i can never really spend too much time on prep work because i know it will all be ruined by a character slapping me awake at 3 am because fuck the outline, they decided they don't want to be doomed by the narrative

it was fun to think about my prep work process so here's a wip by wip breakdown:

the raedoran cycle: originally was between three and five short scenes that i wrote in college for a creative writing exercise where we looked at paintings and wrote a scene based on it. birdie was in one, arthur and jack in another, and finally emilia and fabin in a third. i remember the paintings so vividly but g-d damn me if i can find them again :( so we were all vibes at first. and then nanowrimo was happening and i started writing out what all three stories together as one intertwined novel would look like, then abandoned it for two years until i took a novel writing class and revived it. most of the prep work happened there and i made a bunch of plot notecards (still my favorite prep method) but that was back when the story was a little less complex

lacuna: started once again with vibes--wanted to give a maura prequel backstory and came up with the character of keelan. and then he grabbed the steering wheel out of my hands.

thieves: planned out diligently. plot notecards, outline, the whole shebang. maybe this is why i've been stalled out in the drafting process for months :(

dragons: i don't know what the plot is yet

the witch: see above note about the cycle as a whole. also more recently all that has gone out the window as birdie snatches the steering wheel from my hands so you know. grain of salt!

hurts, doesn't it? (low sci-fi dystopian drama, shelved atm): i started writing this in eighth grade bc i thought the idea of a paint smuggler who threw knives was cool and wanted an excuse for her to exist. i never prepped anything and it showed lol--i just started writing and once i had a draft i went back and figured out what the hell the story was about.

log date persephone (high sci-fi story told through the transcripts of the audio logs of an astronaut stranded on an unknown planet, looking at getting back into it): got inspired for this by a combination of a book i read for a class and a sandbox video game. no prep no plan just vibes and then editing it until it's presentable for the thesis committee. yes this was my senior honors thesis yes i did pass no i did not ever have anything to tell my advisor when she asked me about my process

sting (sci-fi romance about gays on a boat studying aliens, shelved until i looked at it again this morning and fell back in love with iris): had a dream about aquatic aliens and woke up thinking that was a banger vibe. two nanowrimo plot worksheets later i got sick of prep work and started writing

i don't generally love the prep work process? it's fun to decide where the story is going, but for me the meat of the process is always in the actual writing, and that's honestly where i have my best ideas

28. Who is the most delightful character you've ever written? Why?

this is such a cruel question it's like asking me which of my children i love best so i'm going to cheat and take multiple definitions of delightful

delightful (would want to interact with them on a daily basis in real life): will moore -- hurts, doesn't it?

we stan a jewish king. he's got bad jokes for days and will absolutely let you crash on his couch if you're having a rough go of things. goofball extraordinaire loves his mom and his friends more than himself. he's just a florist!!

delightful (writing about them is very fun): vonnie mallory -- the raedoran cycle

i love vonnie she's such a hot mess. middle aged lesbian allergic to commitment but a big softie deep down. has a drinking problem but still manages to be better at her job than 95% of the men she works with. turns every scene she's in into a sitcom. has been ruining the tonal consistency of the third acts of lacuna and the witch of the west but i don't even mind bc at least she's fun

delightful (pinch their cheeks at the family reunion): iris adenaur -- sting

dumbass lesbian knows so much about biology and aliens and is so smart but cannot comprehend that kiri thinks she's pretty. gets excited about science and will ramble about her research for hours if you let her, sweetest person at the party/the drunk girl that tells everyone she loves them, lets her friends drag her to the gay bar but dreams about her lab the whole time she's there. requested a sample alien corpse to study and got laughed off bc the company that owns them wouldn't give her one and decided right then and there that she would just get a boat and catch one herself, dammit. never mind that they're incredibly dangerous and if she gets stung she'll be dependent on their venom for the rest of her life and also she doesn't know how to operate a boat. none of this can stand in the way of science!!

this got so long but u know what i got weird about it and isn't that the point? thank you again for the ask <3

[everybodyloveshippos]

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

[foxboyclit]

flufftober did cause iphis and nydalla to get stuck in my brain

and then came ashenivir and rizeth with the steel chair

[ssapiesplayground]

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

[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]

wip wednesday

tagged by @aalinaaaaaa, thank you! wip wednesday on an actual wednesday. a miracle of our times, surely. anyway, im hard at work in the extremely belated kinktober mines, so here’s a soft little snippet from the fic i’m writing for the aftercare prompt, ft Obedience Husbands.

(cut for light nsfw, tags and taglist under it also)

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

At length, Rizeth set the washcloth aside, and was then treated to a production of complaint as he persuaded Ashenivir out of the warm bath to be dried. “Cease making a nuisance of yourself,” Rizeth admonished, swatting him on the freshly-bathed backside. Eyes glinting, Ashenivir stuck out his tongue, then quickly fled further reprimand. Listening to his feet thumping down the hallway, Rizeth couldn’t help but smile as he rolled his eyes. Brat. He tracked his wayward husband to the bedroom, where he was knelt by the bed in apparent contrition. Rizeth pulled a black, silk robe from the back of the door and fastened it around himself as he motioned the lights down to a soft, amber glow. “You know exactly what you’ve earned with that little stunt,” he said, collecting a brush and comb from the dresser. “More bruises?” Ashenivir guessed. “A good deal more bruises.”

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @olliexwrites @oh-no-another-idea @sarandipitywrites and @mjjune

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

[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)

[ranger-rizeth]

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

[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.

[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

[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

[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.