amberedcorpse

[amberedcorpse]

*leaves these links to some pinterest moodboards of my favs* Yarik Billie Duke The Sphinx Felix Dilnis

[amberedcorpse]

Billie should be sought after like an oracle and asked questions about the future! She will always tell you the truth! And it is never anything you want to hear. : )

[amberedcorpse]

🐈‍⬛🍷

[amberedcorpse]

The sheriff looked tired, lost, and trapped in the wiles of a fairy dream. Before, when unlucky voyeurs were turned to stags, and people’s lyres were once strapped to the hollow of a tortoise shell, they knew that beauty of this kind was a dangerous thing to see. The first ever sign of something altogether unusual, in spite of its primal essence. Yet it was that same animal quality which betrayed its nature, his songs less of a performance and more an integral part of a material reality– as with the sound of wings beating across the sky and the color of treebark changing with the seasons. Anchored to truth, to creature warmth, to the grandeur of the mortal spirit, and to everything which the gods had deeply coveted in their time. Now, it lured and snared with wild abandon, set loose upon a world plagued with modern forgetfulness…

The revenant gently drew the comb from their hand, eyeing it in his clutch as if it held any clue as to the other man's state of mind. There was nothing there, of course, even as he turned it once and twice over, noting its close-knit teeth. Perhaps it was mere exhaustion being mirrored between the both of them, though Felix could have sworn he’d felt the lawman falter then, as if they’d just been caught with a still-smoking gun. How? Why? He poured water over his head as he wondered, though his thoughts quickly flitted toward other things, distracted by the soothing motion of curls being brushed. Relief, and something close to satisfaction, tingled down his spine as he undid the knots which’d formed since his last death. The sound and ensuing sensation of each and every stroke lulled his eyes to close, wherein old images of his home misted up from the darkness. Nearly making him forget the rider for the greenery of a tropical mountain range. 

He’d felt like this before, and so long ago. He remembered being dressed in the soft colors of the morning, and sitting cross legged as one of witches took care of the tangles in his hair. Half asleep, shoulders relaxed, he’d often watch lights refracted from glass bottles dancing over the wooden floor, moving with the sun as it rose up to its perch. The fog usually cleared by the time his hair was neat, made ready to work and to attend his lessons. A daily routine of chores and strict training in the arts which bordered on physical neglect. But he sorely missed the fatigue that came with long hours of practice– vastly different to the kind of persistent and all-consuming weariness he currently felt in undeath. If only he’d known the end wasn’t the end. That eternity was so much longer than he could ever fathom. The colors slowly faded from his vision, and a melancholy resonance echoed through him, dappling his memories like fingers sifting through the still waters of a lake. Until it settled in the pit of his stomach, weighing it with a chilling sense of loss. 

No one would ever brush his hair again, he thought.

Felix felt strange in even missing the touch, knowing that behind the same hands that brushed him were the minds that raised him for slaughter. Still, a doll could only ask for so much, having been made for such a purpose in the first place. Comfort was comfort, even when it was offered with ill intent. At least it was offered at all. 

“I’ve performed on many stages…” Here, there, and everywhere. From the Caribbean and all throughout the South, stringing himself along wherever Mischief bade him to sing. He’d covered great swaths of land just to reach oil lamps and bonfires, lights of any kind as long as there was an audience to be found. Mischief wasn’t picky. As for their second question, he scoffed, albeit a little weakly, building a kind of depressive air over his person. 

“No. Nobody’s missing me.”

Entranced was what he was, standing there but not really being present. Not with his mind at least, but with the reflection of a voice reverberating within his head, so soft and soothing. In a language he did not entirely understand but knew of, able to point his finger at least and tell that he had heard many others before the other spoke it. A complete amateur at the tongue, it was only a handful of words he recognized. Insults mostly. None of the words that were sung.

And the closer he did listen to the few verses, the more he felt certain that he was wrong. That he had been mistaken and had wrongly interpreted. Because it sounded different. Because somehow it felt as though it was an entirely different language after all. That beautiful tune that was hum-sung by a pretty voice, unearthly and so removed from this reality. Like it was not meant to ever be sung around people such as him, or within a town as sordid and run-down as this. Music made for the fancy, for the rich folk up north, residing within the bigger cities, where streets were made out of cobblestone instead of wood and dirt. Where mud and sand did not gather on cloth and righteous people frequently went to church.

The next second Paukka realized how wrong he was again. This was not a language that was supposed to be heard by a mortal. A language he was not supposed to understand, let alone even know that it existed. The reason why Paukka was stunned and felt as though he was not deserving of hearing the other man sing was because he could literally feel how heavy with emotion it was. How raw and deep from the heart, and how even if the other would use words that were taught to him since a young age — Paukka would not be able to comprehend. It was too much, too many. Emotions so mesmerizingly vocalized that the Sheriff felt like the kind of man he would typically lock behind bars. He felt like a criminal. Like he was the one robbing the stranger of something he had no right to take.

Paukka blinked once. The melody was gone. What had been seconds had felt like minutes, drawn-out time that had passed slower for him than it did for the rest of the people within town. When he came to, the darker-haired looked at him from over his shoulder and Paukka barely recalled the last words that had been spoken to him. Instinctively his gaze sank to his own hand and the brush he was still holding. A chill ran down his spine. He felt caught for whatever reason, as though he had done something obscene, something indecent. Feeling out of place in his own pair of boots.

He tried not to let it get to him. As he tried not to let it faze him. Walking only slowly closer his gaze remained cast downwards until he was close enough to be within reaching distance. Handing the comb over to Felix, Paukka eyed him fleetingly, before turning to face the door. Trying to play it all cool by feigning wonderment over when the new clothes would finally be brought in. Only now did he catch the sound of his spurs again as he walked a few steps to get distance between once more.

            „You worked as a songbird?“

Which made him come up with another question.

            „Someone missing you?“

[amberedcorpse]

came back wrong but its from the perspective of the person who came back

[amberedcorpse]

The sand felt just as strange as the water, prickling the webbed skin of his feet to a point of mild irritation. It possessed a rough and granular texture. Moreso the quality of limestone rather than silica, even if that were a rare thing to discover on dry land, or on the black shores themselves. Whatever’d touched this planet had left its prints right over the order of things, vague shapes and impressions like smudges over perfectly clear glass. If only he knew what had produced them, or witnessed the Thing which had breached the sky and taken the moon by the whims of a nameless desire. An anonymous presence, unknown and uninvited. He dared not imagine them or make projections, knowing better than to judge by the limited scope of a material existence. 

Brief as it was, he’d had his own experience with another Thing, immense and tentacle'd, and far older than the rocky fissures of his ocean home. From it, Dilnis had learned there were such Things with a hunger so pure that they circled back to a core naturalism. An unquestionable and unyielding state of being, as simple and as sublime as the division of cells. If it’d been possible for him to further his experiments, he might have had a better idea of the all-consuming force that plagued Alexander. Yet communing with the Thing had almost cost him his life, feeling with all of his organs the frequencies of a voice a hundred times more powerful than that of a cachalote. With his nervous system completely shot, the triton was left adrift in the latter days of his investigation-- numbed and half-dead, paralyzed in total darkness. Until he was reeled back by a friend…

Dilnis stamped his heel, knocking on the ground for a hint of sound, only to feel the mute thuds reverberating back up his leg. How quiet, not a word from either the soil or the waves, save for the natural tugging and pulling of the tide. The wind remained similarly obstinate while it blew past their cloaks, betraying nothing of the chaos that whirled in its coils. Still, he listened, sensing and piecing together what he could, until he verged on the long, sustained note of a wasted voice–  like the rasping of an interminable scream. He shouldn’t have asked any more of a dying place. 

“You’re my guide and I trust your judgement. But I came here, to a near-vanishing world, knowing it would be dangerous.” And thrilled that it was. “Why not see everything there is to see? Unless there is somewhere else you’d like to go first.” 

As for their next warning, Dilnis merely cocked his head in response, the ghostlight of their surroundings catching in the reflective layer of his gaze. “I’ll just eat whoever gets in our way.” 

There came a twitch of the mouth and a quick flash of sharp teeth. Something like a grin, or as close to one Dilnis ever managed to give. Followed by the dual rumbling and ticking of a chuckle. As if his deep voice were laced with the chittering of a beast. 

“I doubt they will like me more than they do you.”

Fascinating. A word he had half-expected and that did not rouse within him that deeply-sitting frustration that he carried around ever since witnessing the crumbling of all around him. Instead he felt mutual agreement, not blind to the strangeness and the strength that must have been behind it, irregular and deviant. Not from this world, as they all had quickly found out and seen amidst the earliest breaking outs of chaos. So many years in the past now. Perhaps if Dilnis had witnessed it then too, his fascination would be limited. Not because of all the misery taking its course around him. Because he would have been able to see the being in all its glory, and with it give him something visually to better comprehend. Now all he could do was imagine, and ponder, and question. Alexander would tell him that it was fine. That — even though he had seen — he still wondered and asked. He had not become all-knowing when he had looked straight into the many eyes of the god.

His head turned at the question, followed the gesture and continued within his head where the new point of interest could lie, only to settle on the ruins himself. Poorly visible from his position he would have to guess. Memory long failed him in this place.

            „Someone's home, I'd guess. Maybe a fisher's hut. Maybe a place they'd light a fire for the boats that were at sea.“ The same water he heard being barely disturbed by the other's approaching. His own curiosity over his companion's appearance winning and making him look and watch, though trying not to make it too obvious. That, and he was indeed keen to see his reaction. That was why they were here after all. For Alexander to show and for Dilnis to see.

            „The Capital is close. It should be somewhere down the same direction“, it was said and his focus returned to the cliff and the stone remnants peeking out from atop it, from where it traveled to the left, down the length of the beach. Now he reached up to point the direction.

            „If we go around the other side there should be a path leading up. Plains stretch between the ocean and the Capital. It should be relatively easy to traverse. Just...“, he paused and his arm sank again. „I cannot say what is waiting there. Maybe we should be looking at something else.“

For a brief moment he pursed his lips, before facing Dilnis again.

            „I should warn you that whoever might still be alive and sane enough to talk with, they might not be particularly fond of... people like me. Even if magic is what once helped us prevail, it was used for ruination.“

[amberedcorpse]

poker is a hateful game that punishes people who wear their beautiful sensitive heart on their sleeve

[amberedcorpse]

The toll of his lover’s voice, soft and restrained, struck him with as much emotion as the announcement of Christ’s resurrection. A wild and fervid belief coursed through his limbs then, eager to search the man before him for clear signs of divinity. To touch and to penetrate with his fingers like a Doubting Thomas, and have the folds of that tender opening close tightly around his knuckles. Only then would he be convinced this was real, or remotely possible. That Alexander stood before him, barer and barer still, unveiling all of the sumptuous delights of an earthbound paradise. And that he might be worthy of it somehow. 

Duke stared on, both mesmerized and drawn to the sight, his mind wiped clean by the immensity of this hallowed apparition. All while the licks of a most lurid flame ignited in the depths of his eyes. Where the fires of Pentecost had blessed the apostles with the gift of holy speech, his tongue devolved to that of a low, sinning beast instead. Less of a man and more of an animal on its hind legs, his mouth curled to a half purr- half snarl. The dark rider’s hands hurried to his belt and he helped them along, roughly ridding himself of his shirt, his boots, his pants– wholly unashamed of what he was. Or of the excitement finally sprung from the fabric of his underpants, its freedom followed by the twitching of a creature pining to be touched. 

Yet the urge to taste Alexander proved the stronger. Deucalión withstood the savage need to pounce in favor of placing his mouth to their throat, kissing and licking from the base of their jaw to the start of their clavicle, finding it more than perfectly delicious. “Fuck– you taste good.” 

He groaned as he steadily lost hold of his composure, tugging and pulling more layers off of that delicate flesh for himself. The warmth felt over the pad of his tongue, the beating of their heart racing beneath his canines, and even the subtle hints of sweat borne on their chest were enough to make him buck. How he wanted to devour them whole, keep Alexander pinned where only he could sup and enjoy the feast. If only he could reach every inch with more ease. Suddenly it dawned on him that standing against the wall was no longer a favorable position to be in. Especially when it came to making his claim. 

It took him another while of kissing until he managed to pull away, albeit with a throaty complaint, already missing them entirely. He locked eyes with them and steadied, as if asking without ever voicing his want, then quickly pressed forward, crouched and lifted them off the ground to carry them. One arm tucked under their beautiful legs, the other beneath their back, the way only a prince deserved to be held. “You’re alright, I’m not gonna drop you.” He soothed as he walked, not burdened in the slightest. Alexander wasn’t exactly light as a feather, but Duke felt he was capable of taking them on for miles, to the ends of the Earth even. First, he would carry them to the mattress. 

The wooden frame creaked as he climbed, and again when he planted them carefully on the ramshackled bed, only changing his grip once he felt them settled more or less comfortably. Another wave of excitement overtook his senses, bringing himself to full mast now that he loomed over his Alexander, mere breaths away from properly mounting them. It wasn’t long before he eagerly chased their lips again and resumed his barrage of kisses down their chest and stomach, giving special attention to their hips as well. Unable to resist the hunger that pulsed, not from his stomach, but his groin, killing off all of his good sense and civility. If he were any more base he might have started to foam at the mouth– Really, he might as well have as he peeled their pants further down, and began to suck on their inner thigh. Hard. 

The brain stuttered for a moment while the eyes beheld his Deucalión. All the while uneven breathing held and heaved upward through tingles. While his chest filled with noise and pushed quicker breaths out, every other part of Alexander went on pause, while his thoughts tried catching up on what he had heard. It was so comfortlessly hard to make sense of the clear want that he was subjected to (and reciprocated). He was more distracted by the touch and the way his own body responded to it.

His narratology had always ignored the body, with it largely failing to garner a significant place in it. Now, he stood overwhelmed and increasingly growing to be. Touches that made him feel light-headed with desire, and that, he felt, did not grow stale or became known with their obstinacy.

With every new flitting of fingers or the greedy pressing of hands against his clothes, there was a frisson that was too elusive for him to name. A powerful stimulus eliciting a pleasurable tingle. A feeling of thrill which traveled down his back, where it split and darted off into his groins while simultaneously snaking down the length of his legs, nipping and biting at his thighs especially before nestling in the back of his knees, where it tried to animate overstrung limbs to finally give in.

He was hot and even his turned-harsh breathing brought no release of the heat he felt. Be it born from the closeness of the two or exalted by the lack of space left between them. The fire was there and licked along his hips and back up his spine in another tremble caused through the friction he was subjected to. Overwhelmed by the senses it was perpetually hard for Alexander to remain silent. As though needing to comment on the sensation it lured from him breathy hums and a closed-mouthed moan. Instead of feeling embarrassed about any of that however, he followed up with an unfeigned chuckle. Heart-felt and honest.

            „I do want to see you. And feel you, and...“ Soft-voiced and gentle, he trailed off. Too needy. He could not wait. His hands moved with quick precision. Gliding up to where the buttons of his shirt waited to be undone. His fingers worked all the way down to the last button, even with them standing pressed close. Adjusting his posture by straightening his back, his naked fingers dug in, yet instead of working on his own belt, began feeling for Duke's.

Between holding his breath, ignoring the feeling of his heart being stuck in his throat and feeling like he was burning up inside over the unexpected boldness of himself, Alexander worked swiftly on unbuckling the belt. Even through the haze of lust he was a little worried, having well felt what was waiting for him down there.

[amberedcorpse]

Dilnis may be shorter than most of my guys, but he's strong enough to lift them off the ground. Even Duke.

[amberedcorpse]

yearly reminder that activity on this blog is based on request. Everyone's welcome to contact/message me to plot if interested. ^^

[amberedcorpse]

Smiling and kicking my feet while I think of Felix being brutally gutted by a murderer/serial killer, then spooking the soul right out of them as he shows up at their door the next day. Or better yet, spooking them before they've even had a chance to get rid of the "body", preparing their equipment then coming back to an empty tub while Felix is eating all of the bread in the kitchen…

[amberedcorpse]

Their words should have come as a shock, or inspired in him mixed emotions over where they stood together, if he could even understand the full import of their confession. Yet all he felt was a strange and deep seeded jealousy. An urge to bite the sensitive crook of their neck as if he could clamp their soul to his canines, claim it for his own and not the tenebrous hands they had apparently sold it to. Alexander should be his entirely. To love, to spoil, and to scent like the territory of an animal in heat. His muscles tensed with the mere notion, wanting to lunge for every soft and delicate piece of that peerless body. In an act of defiance almost. Let the forces that govern the world watch as he took and gave, in equal measure, onto that which they meant to deprive him of. Let them watch on as he supped and drank from the fountain they planned to dry up to a desert.  

“I’m not blind, you know.” Duke gently lifted their gaze with a hand, reeling them away from that dark malaise. It pained him to see them fretting with their hands up to their temples, crumbling beneath a weight he was desperate to rid them of. 

“I’ve known that following you wouldn’t be a promised thing, or full of happy endings. Life before this– before you– wasn’t, so why should it be any different now? I don’t believe in mercy. I don’t believe in absolution or in good defeating evil. Not as much as you do, or as much as you try to with all the kindness you’ve sown in the world. And not after watching you reap less and less of it back… ” He stared into their eyes with a kind of stern expression. Stripped of judgement, but serious nonetheless, conveying all the certainty of his fists. That he would never let go of his precious lover no matter the tempestuous winds that followed. 

“But I believe in you.” Religiously and without question. Alexander was all the reason he needed to keep breathing, for his heart to pump blood and circulate it to his limbs. They were the rivers and the fields, the wild horses galloping to distant bluffs. All the beauty in the world, and all of it’s worth, coalesced and ambered into one person. One star. If pain should come hand in hand with his worship of them, then he would bear it to his own violent demise. 

“I believe in staying with you for as long as I can. For as long as we both breathe. So what if you’ve made mistakes in the past? I’m on the road to hell myself, and that wasn’t paved with good intentions at all. Yet you’ve never thought twice about that. You knew I wasn’t a good man, but you’ve let me in anyway. Alexander–” 

Duke drew their face closer, tucking his words to the purse of their lips, whispering what should only be heard by the person in full possession of his mind. 

“You accepted me as I am. Let me accept you.” Closer still, and he placed a tender kiss on their mouth. “I’m not afraid."

A shudder ran down his spine, hearing Duke's voice. Even if low in volume it reached so far, into him. Pricked his skin, slithered underneath. Sunk into his flesh where it met his bones. Nerves sprung to high alert in the intrusion, caused a trembling of his frame at the sensation that tickled and bit, softly. Shock and touched places of Alexander that felt unbearably raw. His entire body reacted. Unable to hold back the light spasm of excitement he breathed, slow and in deep. Only for the same breath to leave him shakily at the following misery.

Breathing in Duke's scent through his nose causes another involuntary shiver to shake him. He laughed. Tried to, with how breathy his voice came, how low in tone. A chuckle that was half-gasps. A weak shaking of his head that could as well have been him wanting to nuzzle further against the other man, to bury his face even further into that shoulder. Instead his back popped when he leaned back enough to straighten himself again, shifting his weight back to carry himself on his own feet. Hands that had gone slack slid back upwards, re-settling to the sides of the taller man. Only for a short moment, however. As one snuck its way upwards again. Settling exactly where the beating thing in question sat rooted beneath the muscle of a broast chest.

            „You have a lot of fate in me“, Alexander chuckled softly. On his face again that tell-tale smile that was half-heart half exhaustion. He understood. Of course. What the words had meant and why Duke had said them. He took it the only way he knew how to. With light laughs and gentle huffs. Took it the only way he could, if he did not want to melt into a puddle on the spot completely. If he did not want to turn into a mess of weak legs and a fretting heart. Or die a sudden myocardial infarction because it simply stopped from beating too violently too much, for too long.

Wordlessly his gaze sank to his hand, taking a moment to glance and eye the soft spot where Duke's heart must sit. With the pads of his fingers he carefully felt up the left to his sternum. The longer he stared, the heaviness returned and the softness of his expression slipped again. What if he broke it? What if it caught a bullet, because of him? Or worse, the kiss of a knife. Or worse than that. What if he would take it with him the moment he stopped being? What if him selfishly accepting this love would undo Duke too? An unthinkable sin.

            „Deucalión, I...“ Again he sighed. Finding it so unfairly hard to find the word words, let alone form sentences with them. Yet he felt the urgency and felt it bring back his resolve. At least some of it. Enough for Alexander to let his hand sink again and instead, look up. Raise his head to properly lock gazes.

            „Maybe you know, I am a lying man. I am not good at speaking truths—“ Despite the words, he looked serious.

            „My days are numbered, and when those days are over, I am gone. And I don't mean heaven high or to the depths below. There is no death for me. There is something that comes after.“ For a brief moment he paused. His own eyes darted from Duke's left eye back to his right, searching that gold glimmer that too told of something unnatural going on there.

            „I signed all of that away. Years ago. Before I even knew you were. If I had known—“ Stopping himself abruptly, his hands shot upwards. Covering his face with both of them, Alexander began rubbing the ridges of his brows, from where the tips of his gloves fingers traveled over his forehead, then to the side, massaging his temples with half-turns, before sinking again, rubbing briskly over closed eyes before his middle- and ring fingers draging down the bridge of his nose.

            „If... If I'd have known I'd find you, then—“ His head hurt. His breathing came unevenly. Clear signs of stress. Alexander did not even understand why he said what he did, why he talked so much in the first place. What was happening to him? Why did he suddenly regret everything that he had lived?

[amberedcorpse]

Adal, who already is the worst of himself and more beast than man, breathing heavily while he looks at Felix.

🐈‍⬛🐕

A moment of silence too long, drawn out, and Mischief had already gone around the room scenting the furniture with its wine. Had dragged its massive claws along the walls, ripping away the paint in chalky white streaks. Had left fabrics torn and strewn about the floor–baubles cracked and bottles spilled from being thrown. Voices, its own and others, bounced off of every surface and echoed in complaints. Until the violence of both sounds and motions had frothed up to a storm. 

Mischief was bored. So, so very bored.

For his part, Felix had remained perfectly still at the vanity, head propped up with a hand as he gazed into the mirror. He was no more amused by the shadow’s tantrum than if he were watching the breeze sweep dust up across the roads. It was almost a natural occurrence at this point, inevitable, like waves crashing over the shore. Mischief was a hard god to please and even harder to keep pleased. Yet Felix wasn’t in the mood to be placating or entertaining tonight. He’d barely even recovered from its last little scheme. So he hummed, trilled, carried notes over the chorus of groans and moans in an attempt to blot them out. Try as it might, he wouldn’t be goaded into leaving his chair just yet, even when the hands-that-maimed clawed at his thighs like a litter of restless dogs, ruining the seams of his pretty clothes. 

Then, there came a sudden shift in the air, a change in the pressure so striking it forced his focus elsewhere.  “Ah.”

He caught the other man lurking in the purview of the glass, practically drawn to the sight by the tugging of his puppet strings. How long had Adal been there exactly? Stock still in the doorway, looking pained, somehow, or even heaving for air. Felix began to rear up with worry, wondering if Mischief had fallen over them in its fit.

Though something in their stare also sent little waves of excitement up his back, practically jolting him upright…

“What’s wrong?” The revenant peeked over his shoulder to look at them directly, hands now fretting over his lap.  

“Come closer. Tell me what’s the matter.”

[amberedcorpse]

this took me forever but here's a lil height comparison for my silly creatures

[amberedcorpse]

🐈‍⬛🍇🏺🍷

It's a little hard to explain but-- Mischief isn't a passive presence, it sees and feels all of Felix's surroundings, and lands on others like the silhouette of a stranger backlit by the stage lights. It likes sticking its nails under other people's skin, searching-- sifting through their soft/creature parts and flooding them with drink. Then brings out the worst of their traits, dampening their judgement, making them believe the next couple of hours are totally inconsequential. Until all things devolve to a bacchanal. They don't have to directly involve themselves with Felix for this to happen, only pass him by on the road or make eye contact…Which makes Felix a kind of lure then, a pretty invitation to misbehave, and he's often the one paying for it in the end. And dearly. The same goes for romantic/erotic encounters. Because Mischief is ravenous and needs constant stimulation, and pleasure is as sweet as it gets. So to spend a night with Felix means being soaked with its presence, being torn from your good senses and reverted back to your baser instincts. The mindless and slobbering animal ready for its next meal. As reality tears with ecstasy and the very room is moaning, and screaming, and churning like wet, trembling flesh. :) Fortunately for Felix, he finally gets to enjoy/take part in the pleasure. He's used to the intensity and isn't repulsed by whatever wants/desires spring out from his partner (to a reasonable degree). At least he gets to party a little himself.

[amberedcorpse]

🦈🦈🦈🦈 You have to be a huge masochist to ever get involved with Dilnis (,even if it's just for a casual fling). His cold, flat affect doesn't crack, nor does he express himself any more than he usually does. There's a greater level of skinship afforded to you, but not a lot of heart. Not because he doesn't love, or is incapable of it, but his affections really hinge upon being the one in control. He needs to remain in control of himself for his own peace of mind, unwilling to loosen up the slightest bit, but also, he needs to be in total control of his partner too. I'm just saying, if you're not the kind of person who thinks it'd be ideal to spend hours on his lap getting brushed and petted like a prize winning poodle… Then you just don't understand his vibe…And you definitely wouldn't understand the times he'd make you crawl on all fours for a kiss… With that said, Dilnis still bottoms when he wants. It's just that he never lets go of the leash or submits. If you want to top him, you'll be doing it as pathetically, desperately and with as little control possible.

[amberedcorpse]

@malefikant sent:

"How does a man like you survive with folk around him this chatty?" The voice announced his return to the Lieutenant, quickly followed by the clicking of two beer bottles that had been carried over from the bar using only one hand, separated by taking one into each when he came to a halt besides their table. With a low thud the bottles were placed down before Dilnis and Alexander sank right back onto his chair, sighing while shifting into a comfortable position. His legs were too long and he was fed up of having to fold them.

We have little real information about the nature and amount of dissolved organic matter in the sea, especially in deep water. Among the few recorded determinations of dissolved organic carbon the limited numbers made by Krough have seemed to us to be perhaps the most reliable... 

Dilnis pressed a palm over his eyes, his upper body slightly slumped over the table and steadied by the same hand used to prop up his head. Darkness enveloped his senses first, then an encroaching silence which muffled out the crowd of gamblers at the bar. As if he were purposely submerging himself in water, letting the turbulent waves fold over him like a shroud. 

The general level of concentration of dissolved organic carbon which Krough reported was confirmed at these stations. However, instead of being homogeneously distributed it is definitely less at intermediate depths–

The Lieutenant focused on the voice, a half remembered holotape on the topics of marine biology and oceanography, abandoned by the time he’d found it in his mentor’s archives. Things were simpler then, quieter, his teenage years spent ruminating over some mindnumbing task. The narrator droned in the background as he organized their case files, filling the office with a semblance of life. It’d felt isolating back then, but the work of a scribe was usually a lonesome one. He’d been a fool not to appreciate the simplicity. Such a fool. Years later, surrounded by the tatters of his people’s own undoing, he would have given everything to recreate that seclusion. 

Pressure had built at his core, and painfully, his jaw tensing with every memory that resurfaced. Yet he imagined himself still wading in the murk, reaching inside himself to dislodge whatever had obstructed his breathing. Then, envisioned pulling it from his chest and casting it away, as he let himself sink further and further into the ocean depths. 

None of it mattered anymore. The past was lost and gone, even if it’d left its wounds. He was alive, and surviving for the present. Just as long as he could keep himself from…

“I drown them out.” He finally broke focus. Though little had changed in his demeanor as he looked up, dark and taciturn as always, betraying nothing but a burgeoning disapproval over his surroundings. All the sights and sounds of the Strip phased back into view, and he was instantly reminded of what had made him lurch inward in the first place. “It doesn’t always work.”

Dilnis looked at his own warped reflection on the beer bottle and quickly smudged it away with the pad of his thumb. “Thanks..."