#like i am not working on lamplight but something about them. it’s the

[onomatopiya]

war of hearts came on on the hastor playlist again . thanking about those gay priests

[french-goodbye]

in the low lamplight

summary: your boyfriend is perfect, except for one tiny little detail.

warnings: conversations about sex; dry humping; consensual slapping and chocking; praise kink; fingering; p in v sex. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+.

notes: i'm tired of experienced steve and virgin reader all the time. i want steve and confident slutty reader who's more experienced than him and blows his mind. also a little praise kink bc i feel like my boy would be insanely into that. also my first time writing smut!!! i! am! nervous! title from work song by hozier.

it's not that steve is bad in bed, it's quite the opposite actually. but he's just... extremely vanilla. and you totally get it. most of his sexual experiences were with young suburban girls in the back of his car or in his room when his parents weren't home. he was a couple of girls' first time and knowing steve, he probably put their own comfort above his wants. not probably, definitely.

you just wish he was... kinkier. nothing too intense, just something a little more exciting. and it's not that you don't get to cum, you totally do. he knows exactly how to move inside of you, the spots that make your body burn in need and he gives the best head ever, which is a nice bonus.

but after three months together and having sex everytime you have the opportunity to, because you're still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship, it's getting kinda repetitive. it's always missionary, maybe you on top if you're in a particularly bossy mood. but he nevers puts you on all fours or asks you to sit on his face or even sixty-nine. nothing.

you know steve's attracted to you (he isn't exactly shy to tell you how much) so you know that's not the issue, so you've tried so hard to subtly ask him to be rougher, you've tried placing his hand on your neck and squeezing, you've tried guiding his hands to your ass, but you've had no success so far. every single time he'll respectfully pull his hand away and press them to your shoulder or keep them there but not do anything.

but tonight. tonight is the night, you've decided. his parents are out of town (as usual) and it's just you two in the house, you've made sure he's free the whole day the tomorrow (no driving little shits around or shifts at the video store) so you'll have the whole friday night and the next day to yourselves.

you even splurged a bit and purchased a set of overpriced lingerie, way too expensive for just two little scraps of fabric and shaved, exfoliated and moisturized your entire body the night before. you still haven't approached the subject with him, but you've already planned a careful yet objective way to approach the subject and even practiced what you'd say in the mirror and bought a cosmo magazine. you're not exactly proud of yourself for that last one.

your plan is finally set in motion after you and steve get home from work and throw yourselves on his couch, half watching a movie and eat leftovers from the dinner you cooked the night before. when you're both done, you tell him you need a shower, where you use that lavender soap he likes and spray on the perfume he gave you on your birthday. after you're done, he's waiting in his room for you, halfheartedly flipping through the book you're currently reading.

"you can take your shower now" you tell him distractedly, holding the towel you've wrapped around yourself tightly to your body. he finally looks up and realizes your state of undress, his eyebrows shooting up.

"what are you doing?"

you stop going through your over night bag to throw him a confused look, "what are you talking about?"

"you used that soap i like, and that perfume i gave you that you only use on special occasions..." he stands up from the bed and stalks to you, watching you from narrowed eyes, like he's suspicious you're planning his murder. "what are you planning?"

you fake surprise, your hand coming up to clutch imaginary pearls. "me? why would i scheme something against my dear loving boyfriend?"

he looks at you unimpressed and you stand on your tip toes to rest your hands on his chest, his hands coming to support you on your waist and you whisper next to his ear, "okay, maybe i do have something planned... why don't you go take your shower and find out?"

he glances at you one last time before squeezing your waist and letting you go.

"fine..." he sighs dramatically, "i'll go"

once he's locked the door behind him, you put on your recently purchased underwear and bra on. you throw on one of his old highschool t-shirts since he once mentioned how much he likes seeing you wearing them.

by the time he gets out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam surrounding him, you're sitting on his bed, rubbing lotion on your legs and he's shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants, that hang low on his hips, his hair half dry as he finishes towel drying it.

you tsk and shake your head disheartened. "oh- wow, okay, harrington"

he glances at you once and goes back to drying his hair. "huh?"

"the chest, the scandalous dick print..." you explain and gesticulate towards him. "are you trying to seduce me or something?"

"why are you looking at my dick? you interested?" your stomach burns with insinuation but you ignore him, simply tucking your lotion back into your bag.

"i mean... it's hard not to notice when you're whoring yourself around" you shrug with fake nonchalance.

he scoffs loudly at you, going back into the bathroom quickly to hang both of your towels and getting on your way when you're about to climb on the bed after having dropped your bag in the corner.

"i'm whoring myself?" he looms over you, hand resting on your shoulder to snap the strap of your bra that's peeking from his shirt "you're the one wearing a new bra babe."

you don't answer, simply slapping his hand away and climbing on the bed, intentionally giving him a peek of your ass as you finally sit near the foot of the bed, with your legs crossed.

"why don't you turn off the lights and come take a look?"

he earnestly complies, almost tripping on a sweater he left on the bedroom floor earlier that day as he does what you asked. he lights the lampshade on his bedside table and walk towards you, leaning down to reach you when you stop him.

"no" you say firmly. "go sit on the bed, near the headboard."

he complies, but not without giving you a look. "ooh, bossy"

you turn to watch him and can't help the spark that lights up in your tummy. he looks ridiculous attractive, hair fluffy from not being styled properly, his hairy chest all on display for you and his thick spread legs giving a privileged view of his dick in those sweatpants. it's almost criminal, but you swallow it down and keep going with your plan.

you crawl to him on all fours, purposefully, until you're between his legs.

"i don't know about bossing " you run a long manicured fingernail through his thick chest hair. "but i was thinking about something i'd like to try with you..." you only stop when your fingers are almost at his waistband and you swirl your fingers around his bellybutton. you glance at his face and he almost looks dazed, eyes following your finger avidly.

hook, line and sinker.

your boyfriend was almost too easy sometimes.

"yeah, babe... whatever you want" you hold back your laughter and finally climb on top of his legs, his eyes following the curve of your hips and your bare legs as you straddle him.

"how do you feel about chocking?" you ask, making his gaze shift to your face.

"chocking? are you serious?"

"yeah, i think it'd be really good to have your hands around my neck" his fingers dig tightly on your hips, but you can tell he's still unsure.

"what if i hurt you?"

"if it makes you feel better, we can have a safe word and we can immediately stop if one of us says it. no questions asked"

"what if you can't speak?"

"then i can just tap you three times, like this?" you demonstrate, tapping his shoulder. "is that okay?"

he nods quietly, so you ask: "what if i do it on you first so you know what it feels like?"

"yeah, sure"

you gently put your hands on his throat, not applying pressure yet, just resting there.

"you just have to make sure you squeeze the sides, not on top so you don't stop airflow" you explain, spreading your fingers so they're on each side of his throat and squeezing carefully. steve himself is more surprised than you when his breath stutters and he lets an almost groan out.

"did you like that?"

"fuck yeah, that's super hot" he tells you breathlessly, surprising you with a forceful kiss. he manages to distract you, his tongue slipping into your mouth and brushing against yours as his fingers squeeze your hips and start guiding you to grind on his lap. you let him call the shots for a moment, slowly moving your hips against his now half hard cock and sinking your fingers on his hair to scratch his scalp lovingly.

however, when his hands start to wander underneath your borrowed shirt you bite his lip softly, letting it slot back in place as you pull away.

he's about to complain, big brown eyes staring at you and almost pouting. you press your pointer finger to his lips, silencing him, hips still moving at a torturously slow pace against him.

"there's one more thing, actually" you move your finger away and trace his bottom lip carefully.

"more?" his eyebrows raise in question.

"what about you... i don't know, maybe you can be a rough with me? like slapping me a little bit"

"slapping?! babe, i don't wanna hurt you and i don't-"

"you slap my ass all the time!" you accuse him, reminding him of all the times you'd walk past him or bend down and he had slapped your butt teasingly.

"yeah, jokingly"

"babe, i trust you" you grip his face, forcing him to look at you. "i know you'd never hurt me if i didn't ask you to. i just think it'd be really hot, and who knows... maybe you'll like it too. and if you really don't like it we'll never speak of this again" you shrug, gently pushing his hair from his face.

"you sure?" you nod and press a quick kiss to his lips.

"if you wanna stop just say red, okay? anytime."

"yeah, i like that"

"you'll tell me if you wanna stop, right?" you press another quick kiss to his lips in thanks.

he nods eagerly "you too, okay? just say the word and we'll stop" you nod in agreement. "okay... but now what? do i just... jump right into it?"

"no... what about we start the way we always do before having sex?" you smirk, starting to move your hips in slow circular motions again and his hands slide down your back to slip under your t-shirt again.

he laughs huskily next to ear, making you shiver. "we're really good at that", his lips make contact with the skin of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there. you keep moving on top of him, hands sinking into his hair and keeping him there.

"fuck, steve" you whine when he sucks at a sensitive spot on your neck, his hands squeezing your thighs roughly, moulding fat like dough underneath his fingertips.

suddenly you feel a sharp sting on your backside as steve slaps your ass. you whine deep in your throat and your hips stutter in their rhythm against his lap.

"oh, you really like it when i do that"

"god, i do" you breathlessly tell him with a smile, tugging his hair harshly to guide him to your mouth. "you like this too, don't you? just wanna give me what i need, huh baby?"

"i do, i do. just want my girl to feel good" he whines against your mouth, while he spreads your ass and digs his fingers into your skin.

you kiss him some more, until you can feel his now hard cock against you, through the lace fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants. his hand lift up your t-shirt and carefully takes it off of you.

"god, you're gorgeous" you push on his chest gently until his back is against the headboard so you can show him the whole thing, from the intricate lace to the small straps keeping everything together. "you got this for me?" he teases you, his hands playing with your underwear, pulling it and letting it snap against the skin of your hip.

"yeah..." you answer distractedly, his cock rubbing in a very nice spot near your covered clit. his hand moves up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing your pebbled nipple through your bra. "you like it?"

"fuck yeah, i love it" one of his hand cups your breast, while the other pushes the fabric of your bra down so he can pull and twist your nipple.

you're already a mess on top of him, feeling the wetness on your underwear sticking to your folds, when he lowers his head to suck your nipple into his mouth and his hand plays with your other breast. the nails of your left hand dig half crescent moons on his bare shoulders while the other tug on his hair to keep him there and your head drops back in pleasure.

his hand stops massaging your breasts and you're about to complain when you feel it start to slip down your stomach and hook under your underwear to rub his fingers through your wetness, his knuckles grazing your clit. you hold him tighter, a loud moan leaving your lips when he sinks two fingers inside of you.

"yes, yes, yes, baby" you whine, hiding your face in his hair as he realeases your nipple with a lewd pop.

"you're so fucking wet" he rasps against you and sucks a mark on the swell of your breast, pumping his fingers in and out of you as the palm of his hand rubbing on your clit everytime he moves. "god, you feel so good around my fingers. can't wait to have my dick inside you."

you're lost in the rhythm of it, his palm brushing your clit at every stroke, the feeling of his lips sucking on your chest and his hips bucking underneath yours occasionally. but you finally reach your peak when his free hand slips down your back and slaps your ass again, harder this time, palming it underneath his fingertips.

"that's it... come for me, baby" you pull him to your mouth again as you come down and he guides you through it, still feeling yourself clenching on his fingers as you twitch in his lap.

"god, you're so fucking hot" you whisper against his mouth, still breathless. "you're so good to me, baby. such a good boy"

suddenly, he's holding you tighter and manhandling you, roughly dropping you on your back and looming over you between your knees. before you can react, he's ripping off his sweatpants and throwing it on his bedroom floor.

he stands completely naked in front of you, helping you spread your legs. you eye him lustfully, from his mussed hair to his throbbing cock standing tall, the tip pink and dripping with a little pre cum.

"can i go down on you?" you ask him avidly, starting to lift yourself up but he stops you, holding your wrist above your body.

"nuh-uh, baby. i'm gonna blow my load if you do that" he denies and you giggle, about to complain when he licks the palm of his free hand and strokes himself one, two, three times, shutting you up real quick. he's starting to align himself with your entrance when you stop him.

"wait, wait" he stops immediately.

"what? what's wrong?"

"i want you from behind"

he groans, dropping his head on the curve of your neck and letting go of your wrists. "you really can't say shit like that to me if you want me to last"

you giggle and tap his shoulder sympathetically, "you'll live". you lightly scratch his back, sliding your hands from his shoulder to his lower back and wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the tip of his cock nudging your inner thigh. "now... why don't you put me on my knees, handsome?"

he quickly moves to reposition you, helping you lift yourself up and pushing your spine down gently when you get on your knees. you lower your torso all the way until your chest is pressed against his bedsheets, lifting your ass up.

"fuck, baby. you look so good like this" he says when he slots himself behind you.

"maybe you should listen to me more, harrington" you tease, looking at him from over your shoulder as he kneads your ass.

"maybe i should, pretty girl" he answers distractedly, and you feel his thumb spreading your entrance. "look at this pretty pussy"

you moan and try to wriggle in the hold he has on your hips, "steeeve-"

he laugh mockingly and starts rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. "you this desperate babe?"

before you can answer he starts sinking himself inside, both of you sighing at the feeling. when he's finally inside you can't help the moan that escapes you, his big cock filling you up beautifully and the stretch in this position making you feel so full. however, his strokes are slow and languid and while that's nice, it's not exactly what you need.

"come on, babe" you grumble, trying to rock your hips against his grip. "fuck me like you mean it"

he scoffs and speeds up, his hand wrapping around your hair to press your face against his mattress and to keep you still, changing the angle slightly and pressing right against your spot inside of you.

"is this how you want it?" he huffs, slapping you again.

"oh god, yes. right there!"

he pulls you up until you're both kneeling on the bed, his hips slapping against your ass. his free hand climbs up your chest until it's resting on your neck. "do you want-?"

"yes, i want it. please, please, choke me" you interrupt, begging him to keep going, begging him for more. his fingers carefully start squeezing you throat and you wrap your hand around his to guide him until the pressure is just right.

"squeezing my cock so tight, baby. should've told me you wanted this sooner."

you don't get to answer, his free hand suddenly slipping down to rub circles on your clit and you're gone, your orgasm hitting you like a fright train. he helps you ride it out, until you gently pull his hand away and bend down again, resting your weight on your elbows.

"your turn, baby" you tell him, tilting your head slightly so you can see him.

he starts babbling and pressing you harder against the bed, a clear sign that he's close himself. he bends down, his chest against your back until he can stretch his hand out to hold yours against the mattress and he can babble against your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how much he loves being inside you.

"that's it, babe. you made me feel so good, it's your turn now" you tell him, still slightly breathless and sensitive around his cock. "please come, need you to come so bad"

"god, i'm gonna cum" and it's all it takes to feel him pull out and finish himself off on your back. you're both still for a second as you catch your breath and he squeezes your hand still intertwined in his gently. when you turn your face to the side to see him, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

he taps your hips gently as he gets up and goes to the bathroom, coming back quickly to wipe you and himself clean with a wet washcloth. when he's done he throws it on top of the rest of his dirty laundry, still thrown on his bedroom floor.

when he finally turns to you, you're finally laying on your back and getting comfortable on his pillow. steve throws himself next to you and his arms immediately wrap around your waist. you hug him back, guiding his head to rest on top of your bare chest, now littered with purpling marks.

"you had fun, pretty girl?"

"you couldn't tell?" you laughter, his head shaking slightly against your chest as you comb his hair away from his face and his breath against your skin.

"god, i'm obsessed with you" he complains, hiding his face on your boob. you laugh, gently coaxing his face away so you can see him.

"that's good," you smooth the messy hairs on his eyebrow. "i'm pretty obsessed with you too"

"we're pretty perfect for each other then"

"you should keep me forever" you tease, tracing his features gently. he presses a kiss to your sternum and gets comfortable against you.

"maybe i will"

it sounds like a pretty good deal.

[liloinkoink]

hey! i'm opening commissions for writing and editing!

if you don't recognize my URL, i'm driflew and skelew on ao3. my most popular current work is the Lamplight AU on skelew, which is the account i’ve been using the most recently, but i've got quite a few works around. take a look at those links for examples of my work and the tone/content i'm best at!

💀 slots:

i've not done this before and am testing it out, so to start i'm only going to have three writing comm slots. if all goes well, i'll probably open them again once i finish, but i don't have a timeframe for how long this will take

i'll also do three editing slots, but those might refresh sooner

💀 price:

writing comms, the rate i'm thinking is 5 cents a word.

(that's $5 for 100 words, $25 for 500 words, and $50 for 1000 words)

editing comms, the rate i'm thinking is $5 for every 1000 words read

💀 what i'll write:

for fandoms, i'm definitely open to write for third life, one piece, and magnus archives. i'd be willing to hear out other fandoms i'm familiar with, like blue exorcist or certain webcomics, but might refuse if i'm not as familiar

for content, you can assume i'm willing to write something similar in content or tone to anything i've already posted. i'll write fluff, angst, character death, and i'd be willing to talk about some amounts of horror / gore, certain romance/ships

if you have questions about specifics about what i'll write, just ask!

💀 what i won't write:

poetry, nsfw (i just don't have the skillset for it), super heavy gore, ships i'm not into (as a general rule i'm not interested in incest or adult/minor)

....pretty sure this wont come up but im not writing any academic essays for you people either

i also reserve the right to just say no because i don't want to

if you have questions about specifics about what i won't write, just ask!

💀 how this works (writing):

DM me here at @liloinkoink or over at @asexualzoro to let me know what you’re thinking. we can talk out the prompt you want written and figure out a word count range of the lowest and highest word count you want, and i’ll aim to fulfill your prompt within those numbers

💀 how this works (editing):

what i'm offering is help with both copy editing and content editing.

DM me here at @liloinkoink or over at @asexualzoro with a summary of the piece you want edited and what specifically you want help with, and i'll do my best to help! if you want content editing, i'll be sure to help with as much advice as i can

you can assume the rules about what i will and won't edit are roughly the same as what i will and won't write

💀 payment:

payment'll be handled through paypal invoice

i won't ask you to pay me anything until the piece is done. i won't give you the piece until you've paid me

if you want to be nice and throw me a bone, my kofi is driflew

💀 AVAILABLE SLOTS:

writing: open, 3/3 available!

editing: open, 3/3 available!

thanks for reading all this! ♥️

[mollymagician]

Matthew didn’t go immediately.

When Death visited the Dreaming that day, it was just he and Lucienne she was there to see. A quick visit, she said. Informal. Just the three of them in a quiet corner of the library. Because, she said… if anyone deserved to know, it was them.

She smiled that smile of hers, and he swore something that had been broken in his little bird-sized heart started to knit back together.

He would have been gone in an instant, out the window in a flash and demands on his…er…afterlife?… be damned. But Death crooked a finger at him, and leaned down, conspiratorial, to whisper, “Matthew, give them time, okay? It won’t be easy, at first. He’s going to need it.” A quick hand stroking his back feathers, like an apology.

He coughed and studied the wood grain of the desk . “Uh…yeah. I mean…right. Of course. You…you got it, uh, Ma’am.”

But she was already gone.

So, he gave them time.

A month passed, in the Waking, by his reckoning.

How much time was time, Matthew wondered.

What did ‘time’ mean to someone who was a few billion years old? Was a month enough time for the anthropomorphic personification of everybody’s brain-stuff to become Some Guy? How did that even work, anyway? Did he need to, like, solidify? Like a pudding? Probably not the instant stuff. But what the hell did he know about pudding, he’d only ever eaten it out of a little plastic cup.

While he pondered the pudding-to-Endless equivalency method of time measurement, another month passed.

Then one evening, as he perched on one of the palace spires and watched the sun sinking down towards the rippling mirage that concealed the horizon, his patience snapped completely, without warning, and he found himself winging his way into the Waking before his own common sense could sweet talk him out of it.

He landed on the narrow sill outside of a very familiar window. Mellow lamplight spilled through the glass. He could see inside, across the comfortable living room with it’s well-worn couch and cluttered dining table, to the two figures standing together in the small kitchen.

Holy fucking shit, Matthew thought.

He lunged foreword to tap out that familiar little rhythm on the glass— shave and a haircut— and Hob was hustling over to open it in an instant, grinning like a searchlight. Then he was skidding to a stop in the middle of the kitchen counter and before him was

Before him stood

If possible, he seemed even thinner than before— whatever had happened over the past two months had happened to him hard. But he was also…softer. Was that a thing that could be? Standing in the kitchen in a faded blue (blue. blue?) tshirt and threadbare gray sweatpants and smiling. SMILING. He was Some Guy and he was looking at Matthew and smiling.

He was exactly the same. He was entirely different.

“Holy fucking shit,” Matthew said.

Dream leaned his forearms against the counter, bringing himself down to ravens-eye level and said, “Hello Matthew.”

Very eloquently, Matthew said, “Dude.” Then, the floodgates opened and he couldn’t seem to stop. “DUDE. Fuck…it’s…you! It’s you! Look at that! Holy shit! I can’t even…I mean why am I surprised I died and woke up a fucking bird but I mean…look at you!! FUCK!!” He flapped his wings emphatically and stomped, as best he could with his spindly legs. “Goddammit! These…fucking…ARRGH. No thumbs! An’ no arms! I just wanna…HOB. My dude. Would you help me out here????”

Hob, who had been standing by with the expression of someone who had sprained an internal organ with the effort not to laugh, drew a shaky breath and a hand across his mouth and stepped foreword.

“Okay, I think I see. I get you.” He stepped up to Dream, laid broad palms on his narrow shoulders, and said with great formality, “Dream…from Matthew.”

And tugged Dream forward into a crushing, bone-creaking hug, compressing the breath clean out of him.

Dream squeaked like a squeezed balloon and that…that, more than anything else, made it real.

“Yeah,” Matthew said, “That’s the stuff.”

When Hob released him a solid minute later, Dream staggered a bit and caught himself on the counter, looking slightly stunned. But the smile was back, tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“I…I thank you, Matthew,” He said. “I missed you as well.”

Matthew looked down at his skinny little bird feet, listening to the sound of his claws clicking as he fidgeted. He felt…what was this? Shy. When the hell had shy ever happened to him? Never, that’s when. Fuck that. Matthew cleared his throat and looked up at the pair standing there beaming at him under the gold kitchen lights. “So, uh. What’cha up to? Got any big plans for…uh…for your afterlife tonight?”

“Ah. Hob is teaching me how to.” Dream paused. “Not set the stove on fire. We are making—what is this?” He plucked a small box off the countertop and studied it. “Pudding. Apparently.”

The sound Matthew made would have been pppPPPpppffffftttttt if he’d had lips. Which he didn’t, so the noise that actually came out was more or less indescribable.

“It’s a step up from tinned soup,” Hob said. “Progress is being made.”

Dream slanted him a look and picked up the can of whip cream, fiddling with the nozzle. “I did make perfectly adequate tinned soup. The second time. I believe I will be more than capable of—“ The rest of the sentence was obliterated by the sound of aerosolized dairy product spurting across his face.

Dream sighed.

Hob turned around to face the refrigerator, his shoulders shaking silently, organs once again in peril.

“…Oh man,” Matthew said. “This is gonna be great.”

[moonstruckme]

In a Week - send a character + au and I'll write a blurb for it (like vampire!Eddie, bodyguard!Sirius, etc.)

college au tasm!peter who's a photographer for the college newspaper and reader is a writer?

Thanks for requesting gorgeous!

join the party

photographer!(tasm)Peter Parker x reporter!reader ♡ 761 words

“Peter, these are gorgeous,” you breathe, leafing through the pictures he’s brought you of the protest near campus. “I mean, it’s heartbreaking, and they show that, but they’re so…just, great job.” 

Peter grins, leaning against your desk with a smile that’s half-sheepish, but you can tell he’s proud of his work. He should be. “Thanks,” he says. “Did you already write the article? This is supposed to go out tomorrow, right?” 

You bite your lip. “I did,” you admit, “but now I’m thinking I’ve got some editing to do. There’s so much emotion in these, I feel like you’ve definitely upped the bar for my writing.” You say it as if it’s a joke, but really you mean it, and Peter frowns like he can tell. 

“Your writing’s amazing, and you always kill these kinds of community-minded, emotional stories.” He nudges your chair with his knee, reprimanding. “Don’t sell yourself short. Can I read what you have?”

You hesitate. Letting someone else read your work before it’s finished always feels weirdly vulnerable, even when you’re mostly reporting on facts. You haven’t picked the exact right words yet, phrased your ideas the way that’ll convey them to readers exactly like you want, but Peter’s eyes are soft and warm in the light from your desk lamp, and he always gets what he wants out of you in the end. 

You turn your laptop toward him, letting him scroll freely. 

Peter stoops over your desk, and he nods as he reads, eyes moving quickly over the typed lines. You’re doing your best not to look like you’re watching him, but you grow uneasy when a crease appears between his eyebrows. At first it’s shallow, then not so much. 

“Wow,” Peter breathes as he finishes, looking up at you like you’ve broken his heart. Whatever you’ve done, you’re immediately sorry for it. “That was…shit, you don’t have to worry about missing the mark on emotion. The passion in that, it was incredible, sweetheart.” 

Your heart jumps from your stomach right up to your throat. Sweetheart. 

“You really think so?” you ask, then realize it sounds like you’re fishing for compliments. “I mean, you didn’t think the ending was too abrupt?” 

Peter shakes his head as he straightens, still looking somewhat awed. “No, I don’t think you should change anything. You really made me feel it, you know? It was so powerful.” 

You hope the dim light is hiding the flush you can feel coming to your cheeks. “It’s a powerful topic,” you say, taking back your laptop and skimming over the draft. “You can feel how much the protestors care, from both the interviews and the pictures.” Your finger hesitates above the trackpad. “You don’t think it felt too long, though?” 

Peter makes a scoffing sound, and you look up to find him grinning at you incredulously. “Stop,” he says, shutting your laptop for you carefully. “You know what I think? I think it’s too late to still be here. Your draft is already perfect, you should go home.” 

You frown, glancing out the window. It had gotten dark without you even really noticing. “Yeah, I guess I will,” you concede. “You should, too.” 

“I am,” he says, but doesn’t move. Neither do you, sensing that he has something more he wants to say. Peter fiddles with his backpack strap. “Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

You shake your head. “I’ve been here since just after lunch.” 

“That’s too long,” he laughs. “Would you let me take you for something to eat?”

You all but freeze, looking up at him. He’s as lovely as he always is, hair fluffy from constantly dragging his hand through it and features softened in the lamplight. Your mouth is dry, and still you swallow. “Like…like as friends, or…?” 

Peter’s smile is actually shy. “I was thinking as a date, but only if you want it to be. I don’t want to make things weird, if—”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, a date is good. I’d…I’d like that.” 

Peter grins so hugely that even his eyes get in on the action, creasing at the corners. “Yeah? Nice.” Then you grab your laptop, and those eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re not going to keep working on that, are you?”

“At dinner? No,” you reassure him, stuffing the computer into your bag. “But after I get home, yeah. I still have some edits I want to make.” 

He exhales, and it’s half exasperation, half amusement. “You’re relentless,” he says, opening the door for you. 

“Like I said, you set a high bar.”

[bobfloydsbabe]

dirty mind | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Imogen learns something new about Professor Bob.

WARNINGS: suggestive language, allusions to smut, age gap (mid 20s/late 30s), power imbalance. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: ~ 1k

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST

SPECIAL THANKS to @ryebecca who sent this delicious prompt. It took on a life of its own, so I hope it's okay that I posted it separately. Your love for Eccentric Professor Bob is one of my favorite things about working on this AU, and I know I can always talk to you about him. You see and understand the vision. Enjoy ✨

She runs her fingers along the book spines in his home office, so much more neatly organized than the ones on campus. She’s impressed.

“What are you doing?”

She glances over her shoulder and finds the professor leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of him. Behind him, the house is dark and quiet. Only a faint beam of moonlight hits the wall near the staircase.

Smiling to herself, she refocuses her attention on the books. “Browsing.”

Illuminated by the lamp on his desk, she can make out several titles that she knows and loves. Fiction mixed with historical texts, old dissertations from former students that send a pang of jealousy through her, and a small section of books he’s written himself.

His footsteps sound behind her as he draws nearer. “It’s not a bookstore,” he tells her, voice still rough from sleep. “Or a library.”

Casting another glance over her shoulder, he’s now leaning against his desk, watching her. He’s only wearing boxers, and the lamplight makes his chest look even broader and more defined.

“I know. No bookstore or library would be caught dead with disorganized shelves like these.”

“They’re organized,” he argues, but she hears the lilt of teasing in his tone.

“Method to the madness,” she agrees for the sake of peace. “If it makes sense to y–no way!”

Through his rumbling chuckle, she pulls the book out and opens to the title page.

She spins around to face him so fast she feels a little dizzy and Bob has to reach out to stabilize her. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? You have a first edition of Fanny Hill. Of course I’m not okay.”

She holds the fragile book in her hands, flipping through the pages as gently as she can, so she won’t damage it further. It’s from 1748 after all, and she tries not to judge him for not storing it properly. As a history professor who works with texts even older than this, he should know better.

“Must’ve cost you a fortune,” she mutters to herself, turning to the bookcase again to put it back, only for her eye to catch sight of another familiar title. “Is Lady Chatterley’s Lover also a first edition?”

“I believe so.”

She scans the entire shelf and finds only novels in a similar genre, and she suddenly feels hot all over at the knowledge that he’s read these books and enjoyed them enough to get first editions.

As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Bob comes up behind her, chest flush with her back. Sweeping her hair to the side, his fingertips graze her skin. He leans down and places the lightest kiss to her neck, and a shiver runs down her spine, breath hitching at the sensation.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

His hand travels down her body. The dip of her waist, the width of her hips, and the bare skin of her thighs. Her whole body’s on fire. He’s everywhere, low voice stirring something deep inside her.

As his hand trails up her skin, he inches toward her inner thighs where she’s sensitive and the wet patch in her panties should embarrass her, but it doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he whispers, breath tickling her ear.

She stifles the whine rising in her throat, willing it away. “Who knew you were hiding such a dirty mind.”

He chuckles against her skin, and his hand reaches the edge of her panties. “Baby,” he whispers, “I’m hiding so much more than a dirty mind.”

His other hand presses against her stomach, pushing her against him and his hard chest. She tries to rub her thighs together, but his hand there keeps them open. His fingers skim across her clothed clit, making her squirm in his embrace.

“Oh, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you, baby?”

She wants to say no. She wants to tell him to fuck off, try to convince him she’s playing a game, and he can’t reduce her to a stuttering mess with just a few words and touches. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Not when she can feel his growing desire against her back, and not when he pushes her panties to the side, drawing slow, torturous circles on her clit.

“In your dreams,” she manages, but it comes out airy and needy.

He pulls his hand away from her aching pussy, and the high-pitched whine that leaves her throat seems to shock them both. He recovers quickly, spinning her around to face him, his features half illuminated by the lamp on his desk.

“You’re always in my dreams,” he tells her, walking her backward until he’s crowded her against the bookshelf. “And in my dreams, you’re always desperate for me, for my mouth.”

He’s sinking to his knees, and one hand trails down her leg, placing it over his shoulder. He glances up at her, a cocky look on his face as his fingers hook into the waistband of her panties. “You want me, baby?”

She nods furiously, unable to form the words when he’s right there, so close to where she wants him. Needs him.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice dark and dangerous.

“I want you.” She’s trying to hold on to some semblance of self-control, but she’s babbling. “I want your mouth.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and then he pushes her panties to the side again.

His lips close around her clit, sending her into orbit.

likes are nice, but comments and reblogs are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @kmc1989, @roosterforme, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @rosie-posie08, @attapullman, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @millieb-3199, @auroraseddie, @keyrani, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @hangmandruigandmav, @cremebruleequeen, @cherrycola27, @seitmai, @bradshawsbaby, @sio-ina-bottle, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @bcarolinablr, @bluezraven

[mamawasatesttube]

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” & “I won’t lose you too.” with timkon, konbart, maybe even timkonbart if you really want to :)

combined with this prompt ask from @randomexistentialemo (who tumblr is being weird about tagging, sorry!):

“Who cares about what they think?” for timkon?

Kon is quiet.

That's the first thing that stands out, when Tim slips into his room. The lights are dim enough that the slight glow of his eyes is visible, a luminous cyan against the muted yellow lamplight. The only sounds are the TV and Bart rambling over it, explaining the plot of the game he's currently playing; Kon's eyes are on the screen, but just by looking at him, Tim can tell he's not watching. Not really.

He's too quiet. Kon is a lot of things, but quiet is never one of them. Not unless something is very, very wrong.

Tim deliberately lets his feet fall audibly against the carpet as he jumps down from the windowsill. Bart's head snaps up; Kon, who presumably already knew he was there from his heartbeat alone, flicks a glance over at him, and a vague quirk of his lips, but says nothing.

Bart meets his gaze, wide-eyed with obvious worry. He jerks his head none-too-subtly at Kon and, apparently having noticed his distraction technique isn't working, mouths a desperate help.

Right. Tim's turn.

"I brought pizza," he announces, placing the box on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "And I'm hoping you didn't already polish off all the drinks in the fridge, 'cuz I didn't grab any."

The mini-fridge in the corner opens on its own, and three cans of Zesti float out. So at least Kon's feeling up to that much. That's... something.

"Thanks," Tim says, accepting the can that floats into his hand. He pops it open and plops down on the couch on Kon's other side, so that he can be a sad pile of blankets in the middle of his two best friends, at least.

God, that haunted look in his eyes... Tim knows Clark is handling the lab, now that the kryptonite is gone, and that Clark is beyond pissed at what happened to Kon, but hell if Tim doesn't wish he could go back there and punch every single unethical white coat shithead in there that schemed, plotted, and lied in order to get Supernova alone just to poison, drug, and kidnap him for a wannabe Cadmus successor's next pet project. He went in thinking they needed help, and they betrayed him, took advantage of his kindness, and—

Okay. Getting pissed again won't help anything. Yes, seeing Kon out of his mind with terror in the midst of a flashback while injured and in pain earlier was agonizing, infuriating, and horrifying. No, dwelling on it won't help make Kon feel a little better right now.

Tim takes a breath.

"I'm not too hungry," Kon says, and god, his voice is still raw. Bart clearly hears it too, because he puts down his slice of pizza and turns to wordlessly snuggle into Kon's side. "Sorry. You brought it all this way, and..."

"Kon." Tim rests a hand on his shoulder. "If you don't wanna eat, don't force yourself. That's fine. It's not like it's gonna go to waste anyway. We've got Bart right here."

That at least makes Kon smile ever-so-slightly, just for a moment. But it fades far too fast, and he sighs, hangs his head, and stares down at the Zesti clasped in both his hands.

Bart lifts his head slightly and meets Tim's gaze again. The worry in his eyes hasn't lessened; Tim is sure his own face mirrors it. He's not sure he's ever seen Kon break down like that before, in all the years they've known each other.

"...People saw, didn't they?" Kon asks, his voice carefully neutral. He doesn't lift his gaze. "Bet someone recorded it. Now everyone knows their great hero Supernova starts screaming bloody murder 'cuz of a fucking needle. Is it trending on Twitter how pathetic I am yet?"

Bart's head flies up in rage. "Who cares about what they think?" he demands. "Even if it is, I don't care what anyone else thinks! I'd have been freaking out really bad too! Grife, Kon, what they did to you was fucked up, and it's not pathetic that you're not okay!"

Tim presses a little closer into Kon's side, hoping it'll ground him. Kon has always sought out touch when he's upset. Judging by the hesitant brush of TTK against his hip, it was a good call; emboldened, Tim reaches up and strokes a hand through his hair, too. "Bart's right. And also... it's not trending or anything. There was one recording, from the security system, but I got rid of it. And Oracle is on high alert for any duplicates that might crop up. It's not getting out. I promise."

"Oh." Kon lets out a slow breath. Some of the tension in his shoulders seeps away; somehow, curled into himself between them both, despite his stature and his broad shoulders, he seems small. "That's... good."

"Yeah!" Bart agrees. "And Tim and I are on high alert to sit on you for the rest of the week. Right, Tim?"

"Right," Tim agrees. Bart fist-bumps him; it brings another tiny smile to Kon's face. This one lingers.

"Okay." Kon finally, finally lifts his head. He glances first to Bart, then to Tim, and sighs, drawing the blanket a little more tightly about himself. "So long as you guys don't mind me being pathetic."

"Pffff, as if." Bart nudges him. "Besides, you used to wear Axe. That's way more pathetic than anything you're doing right now. And I still stuck around."

Another tiny smile. Tim mentally congratulates Bart. He slips his arm around Kon's waist, leaning into his side fully, and reaches for the box of pizza. "So, what were you playing before I got here?"

Bart lights up, grabs the controller, and launches into a delighted spiel about his game. Kon goes back to watching, and Tim settles in to quietly bask in both of their presence, stalwart in his resolve to protect Kon. They'll both take care of him. God knows he's always taken care of them when they've needed it.

And Tim won't call him out on it or anything, but when a piece of pizza levitates its way out of the box toward Kon's mouth, all the same, Tim can't help but smile.

♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥

[reviewdiaries]

Be still my beating heart - examining that Nancy x Ace moment from 4x03

I am a wreck. Sure I went into this episode expecting to have my heart smushed into many tiny pieces, but that just, yeah, I’m going to need some time to recover. This season is unhinged, unhinged I tell you and I am absolutely here for it. It gets long beneath the cut…

We left Nancy and Ace in a cautiously optimistic place at the end of the last episode - a fragile bloom of hope, a desperate shared yearning, finally, finally in the same space of wanting to try. And once Nancy commits to something, she is all in. You see that building all episode, this breathless anticipation and want. Because finally they’re being open with each other, they’re talking honestly about their feelings and it is soft and beautiful, framed in warmer light and lingering looks in place of touch.

I’ve talked before about how the curse is forcing them both into actually talking with each other, and we see that so clearly in the beautiful little moments - how long have they known they liked the other? What do they want to do first when the curse is lifted? It’s intimate and raw and filled with So Much Eye Contact. After so long avoiding how they feel, letting the other one know, acting on it, suddenly we see Nancy and Ace in a much more stable place. Everything is laid bare, and now it’s just the two of them working together to defeat the big bad and it is beautiful to watch. 

GIF Credit  @nacesource

But nothing as beautiful as the moment we’ve all been waiting for, that kiss. You know it’s coming, right from the moment when Bess says early on that they’ll need to activate the curse. The kiss has been a delicious promise hanging over everything. And it’s a study in light. That first breathless almost where they were in near darkness at Icarus Hall, when the work of uncovering their feelings had barely just begun. The soft lamplight of Ace’s apartment as Nancy told him about the parallel timeline, of the kisses and intimacy they shared. And now this. Full, beautiful light, candles everywhere, not a shadow to hide in, nothing but the raw truth on display for everyone.

Ace has been so confident, settled in his feelings, the knowledge that they’re returned. A new stillness that has infused him right from the start, until this moment. Suddenly faced with Nancy in a circle of petals, faced with the reality of her, of this moment, his nerves return. He can’t hold her gaze anymore, suddenly filled with the scent of her shampoo this close, the knowledge that she’s already done this, and maybe he won’t live up to the hallucination - even though it was technically him and he knows it’s ridiculous he can’t help the fear that maybe this will ruin it, somehow this moment, this start, will be the end. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

Even as he stammers out an apology, a buffer, a rationalisation for his nerves, he’s reaching for her. He’s held himself in check for so long, laced his hands together to keep from touching her since the last time he tried to kiss her when he was testing his theory, and now finally he can let his desires off their leash and touch her. She’s so beautiful, so steady and sure, she doesn’t look nervous at all and somehow that helps him, as he reaches out to cup her cheek and the side of her neck. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

He doesn’t so much draw her to him as use his fingers tangled in her hair to anchor himself to her, stop himself from floating away on the breathless anticipation of finally stepping in and closing that last distance between them. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

And at that moment where every other time he’s had to pause, to stop, to back away, Nancy finally reaches for him. Mirroring where his own hand is cradling her face, mouth opening underneath his and god this is so much more than he could ever have imagined. And he has imagined it so much. Hundreds of idle moments in school, washing dishes at the Claw, watching her kiss Park and Gil and wishing so much that it was him she was with. And these last days, after she told him about the parallel timeline and her eyes fluttered shut as she breathlessly recounted kisses and skin and hot murmured words against skin. He can’t help but pull her close, tug her into him so she’s flush against him and he can feel her warm and alive and real. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

There’s nothing now for him but her. Nothing but her fingernails scraping through his hair and using it to tug him closer, angle his head to deepen the kiss. Tongue sliding against his, that soft breathless noise he’s heard her make when the pieces slot into place in a particularly difficult mystery, that sound of satisfaction, of a complete whole, of the world tipping back onto its axis. 

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

He never wants to let her go now he’s found this, torn between wanting to cradle her like something precious and fist his hands in her hair to pull her head back for easier access to her neck. Lost in the desperate longing he’s kept so deeply buried for so long and the slow dawning realisation that this is her, this is Nancy, his Nancy, finally in his arm and beneath his lips and god he wants to just live in this moment forever.

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

The sigil burns as the curse fights to take hold, Temperance fighting for control even now, furious at their open defiance. He pulls back slightly, taken aback by the stinging reminder after being so lost in the feel of her. But she follows him and he cannot resist, not now, tugging her in deeper, never wanting this moment to end.

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

For a moment light flares behind his eyelids, but Nancy’s hands are in his hair and pulling him closer to her, and she’s lifting up onto her tiptoes, trying to get closer, closer, always closer. He can feel it in the rapid pulse beneath his fingers, the stuttering inhalations against his cheek. She is as undone by this as he is, ripped open by hope and longing and this sudden freedom to actually touch and taste and love.

GIF Credit @nancy-drew

He doesn’t feel steady on his feet, like the world is spinning and the only fixed point are the ten places he can feel Nancy’s fingers pinning him in place like a trapped moth. The world feels like it’s burning and his chest is burning and suddenly he’s being pushed away from her by the curse exiting him, eyes still closed, like if he just doesn’t open them then he can stay suspended in this moment forever. Lips still seeking hers, brushing his nose against hers to just stay in this moment of being close to her without knowing if it’s worked or not for just a heartbeat longer.

But it’s there and it’s real in a way the abstract thought of it never was, and he still lingers, still holds on to Nancy, his fixed point, his north star, hands on her arms, her fingers, still struggling to catch his breath when Nancy has stolen it so thoroughly, kissed away every thought and feeling beyond the desire to step back in and claim her lips again. 

And it’s beautiful and it’s terrifying and for a moment staring at it Ace is so completely lost, frightened by the enormity of it and the desperate hope that maybe maybe, just maybe, this will work and he can kiss her again in a moment. And as soon as he thinks of her, as soon as he looks at her again, he steadies. Because Nancy is it, she is worth anything, and if this hasn’t worked, if this is his last moment then he will go having finally known what it feels like to kiss her, to pull her close and show her just how much he loves her.

GIF Credit @horseshoe-bay-ledger

But it’s Nancy who crumples into him, and you can see the moment that he knows this hasn’t worked, that this has gone wrong and god damn it he just wants to be with the woman he loves and he could kill Temperance for doing this to them, for causing so much heartache and pain and predicting every way they were going to try and break the curse. But he can’t even allow himself to fully feel that despair and fury before he’s catching Nancy and calling for water and then more panicked for someone to call an ambulance, because he was fully prepared to put his life on the line but never Nancy’s. That was the only reason he pushed so hard, because he knew she’d be safe, that it was all him and he could take that chance if it meant trying, if it meant the chance to finally kiss her lips and pull her close. 

GIF Credit  @livelovecaliforniadreams

But Nancy suddenly pale and unconscious in his arms is terrifying in a way he hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t prepared for in all his musings about hope and trying and dying being worth it. A tiny voice in the back of his head telling him this is why Nancy didn’t want to try, that this was what she’d experienced with him and no it’s too much, too real, too terrifying and why won’t she open her eyes?! 

GIF Credit  @livelovecaliforniadreams

The adrenaline from a few moments ago replaced with something sour and terrifying that makes him want to scream at the world, promise he’ll behave, never push her again, never underestimate how much it hurt, god never kiss her again if she’ll just be ok. Anything, anything, please. Just open her eyes and breathe and tell him she’s ok. He can’t bear the thought of a world without her in it - her smile, her laugh, her brilliant brilliant mind. He’d do anything, rocked by the desperate high to low of having her and losing her and now the memory of their first kiss (their only kiss) will always be entwined with the thought of her limp and lifeless body in his arms, hair spread around them like blood, and the taste of fear in his mouth.

[the-fiction-witch]

SIlver Coin

Media Pinnochio (2009 Live Action)

Character Lampwick

Couple Lampwick X Reader

Rating Smut

Concept Coins

Smut Fingering / Full sex / raw sex / Prostitution

I blushed hard thinking of what I was to do, I waited in my room eagerly watching the sky darken and the lamplighters pass my little house lighting the street lamps as they go, I sat in my little grey dress my favourite to wear as it so often infuriated my father to see me in it given how much of my skin would be exposed in it, tossing my coin between my fingers. He had given me my allowance today so of course I had added what I needed to my piggy bank, put aside my treats and spending money for the month and now was left with a single silver coin that I now waited eagerly to spend. Once darkness engulfed the little town I waited listening to my father shifting and moving in his room getting ready for bed, soon enough the light from his room extinguished plunging the corridor into the darkness not a single bit of light was able to slip under my door and only a few moments later I could hear his loud snores. 

I took this as my chance opening my window and scampering down the tree I made sure not to be spotted as I hurried away from our little house. 

I headed for town seeing the shops shut up for the night, the hotel locked up too only really a bar or two still open and they had few on them, I hurried along towards the beach but found I didn't even have to go all that way as he stood on the bridge leaning there having a cigarette watching the ocean almost as if he was waiting for me. I blushed and slowly headed over hiding my coin behind me

"Lampwick"

He perked up and turned to me with a slight smirk "Y/n" he smirked back "What brings a little thing like you all the way out here by yourself?" 

"Just admiring the moonlight" I smiled coming closer

"It is a very nice night" he smirked back "Don't play innocent darling we both know your out for more than an evening walk"

"Maybe I am" I smirked handing over the silver coin he smirked taking it checking out and adding it to his pocket 

"I figured you'd be coming round soon," he says before taking my hand and the two of us happily scampered off down the cobblestones being as quiet as possible until we reached our usual spot. 

Just on the very edge of town was a bridge and a large arch on the side of this arch was a little stone room with a wooden door it was from back when the bridge had a toll and a toll keeper but it had since been forgotten about the door was padlocked but many nights ago Lampwick broke the lock for somewhere with a roof away from the cold I had replaced it so we could have a private little place we snuck inside and immediately locked the door behind us the room no bigger than a square foot just big enough for the two of us and as soon as we were inside he took me in his arms and kissed me I happily kissed him backbiting on his lip a little which caused him to pull back 

"Humm excited tonight darling" he whispered and I nodded "alright, nice and quiet" he reminds pushing me against the wall I eagerly waited feeling him stroke my body before he found my breasts fondling them a little as he kissed my neck "ummm you feel good, maybe I should play with these"

"Lampwick" I whined 

"I know I know, have some patience darling" he Cooes moving to pull up my dress his hand slipping under to stoke me "uhhh soaked already for me" he smirked slipping two fingers inside me and using his thumb to rub my clit I did my best to bite my lip my fingers finding little grips in the bricks as he worked tirelessly supplying me with wave after wave of pleasure often kissing my neck while he worked "that nice darling?"

"Yes, just uhh just keep going Lampwick" I gasped 

"Yes my darling" he Cooes speeding up his hand until I got close so much I was having to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep quiet "humm would my darling like something more?" He smirked and I nodded he happily removed his fingers and quickly he slipped his erection inside me wasting no time to begin his merciless thrusts I did my best to stay quiet but some moans I couldn't stop my knees going weak from the pleasure "uhhhh I'm close darling" he groans in my ear 

"Just a little longer" I pleaded 

"Would this help?" He smirked moving a hand around to stroke my clit which made me scream having to quickly stop myself before someone heard us "I'll take that as a yes" he smirked rubbing hard as he got even faster with his thrusts and it wasn't long until I bit my hand hitting my orgasm which he worked hard to let Me ride out before quickly pulling out and finishing on my dress.

For a moment we just stood gasping holding each other as we relaxed until I giggled as I turned to him 

"Lampwick you made a mess of my dress" 

"Sorry darling, I thought I had more time but you just felt so good" he smirked giving me a sweet kiss "I missed you"

"I missed you too, but I need to get back in case he finds I snuck out"

"Of course, will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Perhaps,"

"Well you know where to find me darling" he smirked handing back the silver coin 

"I do, see you tomorrow" I smiled giving him a sweet kiss before heading out and sneaking my way back home.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mysticstarlightduck!

OC Interview

Slowly but surely, I'm getting through my tags! To spice things up, I'm gonna use my new dnd character for this :)

Were you named after anyone?

"No siree, I'm the only Lady 3250 on this here Rock of Bral. I picked the first part because when I used to serve at an art gallery, before I became sentient, all the finest dressed people signed in as Lady. When I gained awareness, I knew I wanted to be like those people, those walking works of art, so that's the name I picked. It was only later that I realized lady was a title and not a name, but by that time, it'd stuck. 3250 was my old designation. I keep it as a reminder."

When was the last time you cried?

"What a silly question, dahling - can't you see these eyes are made of glass?"

Do you have any kids?

"You just really aren't getting this whole warforged thing, are you? I do not have kids. I suppose I could adopt eventually, but for now, I'm not quite ready to settle down."

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

"Only when I'm in suitable company. Politeness is important, but so is humor in the right crowds."

What is the first thing you notice about people?

"The level of care they put into themselves. A man with clean armor can be expected to be thorough on the battlefield. A mage with an organized spellbook is a mage more likely to not miss anything when investigating an old scroll. I try to surround myself with careful people, though I can't say I always succeed."

What is your eye color?

"A sort of glowing yellow. Like lamplight."

Scary movies or happy endings?

"I feel that horror films can produce a wider array of reactions in the audience if constructed correctly. The moments of fear highlight the times of peace and vice versa, making them both seem all the more potent. It's like a splash of orange paint in a sea of blue."

Any special talents?

"I'm quite the artist. My original medium was sculpture, however of late, I've been experimenting more with spray paint. There's something so intoxicating about art where it shouldn't be. I guess I could say I've also been gaining a talent in talking my way into places I don't belong for that very reason."

Where were you born?

"I was constructed as a non-sentient B2 guard unit on the Rock of Bral, a city floating within the Astral Sea. A merchant by the name of Silvanus Renn bought me to watch over his art gallery, where I spontaneously gained sentience after two years of service. Not that I'm not grateful, but I'm rather curious as to why that happened."

Do you have any pets?

"No, but I've heard tell of spells that grant the caster a familiar companion. I think that would be quite an interesting thing to have at my side."

What sort of sports do you play?

"I... don't?"

How tall are you?

"Seven feet exactly, but I usually wear heels. I might have changed occupation and rewired some of my brute strength towards nimbleness, however, I am still built as a fighter."

What was your favorite subject in school?

"I never went to school. When I gained sentience, I found I suddenly understood much of what I had perceived when I was mindless - including literacy and mathematics. Books filled in the gaps. I imagine if I has gone though, I would've enjoyed learning history. It's the world's greatest story, after all."

What is your dream job?

"I always thought it was working for the Bral Artists' Union, but then the guild leader turned out to be a P.O.S. who kicked me out when I left a rather artful, if anatomically exaggerated, marble statue of him outside the guild in retaliation for his changing of my contract without my knowledge. After I've found what I'm looking for out on the starry seas, I imagine I'd like to come back and start my own guild."

I'll tag @the-golden-comet @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @cowboybrunch and anyone else who wants to play!

Blanks under the cut

Were you named after anyone?When was the last time you cried?Do you have any kids?Do you use sarcasm a lot?What is the first thing you notice about people?What is your eye color?Scary movies or happy endings?Any special talents?Where were you born?Do you have any pets?What sort of sports do you play?How tall are you?What was your favorite subject in school?What is your dream job?

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Could you write some Bam x m!reader or even gn!reader? No specific requests,, smut fluff hurt/comfort I don’t care I just need more non f!reader Bam ficsssss 🥲

Bloodletting

A vampiric earl in ‘1880s London discovers a taste like no other, and an alcoholic surgeon finds someone who doesn’t mind the smell of death that clings to his clothes. It’s a win- win for both men.

Bam Margera X Masc!Reader

(Vampire!Au, Fluff, Angst)

6k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, alcoholism, scent kink, biting, blood, injuries, descriptions of Victorian-era surgeries, vomiting, corpses, manipulation, bullying, kissing, possessive behavior, jealousy, slut shaming (metaphorical)

An: Thank you so much for the request! What is it with me and writing fanfiction about Bam and vampires? I also noticed that most jackass fan fictions are for fem!readers so I can see where you’re coming from! I always try to make an effort to write fics with Gn!Reader but I really do think I should write more Masc!Reader, so feel free to send in any requests you may have for this! Also the manor Bam lives I’min this fic was not so sneakily modeled after the one on the cover of Bara No Seidou by Malice mixer (bc their music also rly influenced this fic!) lol anyways thank you for the request and please keep them coming! :)

It's not uncommon to hear people say that their careers drive them to drink, but you were sure that you were the only man in London who could honestly say that yours was entirely responsible for your drinking habit. Three months ago, you graduated top of your general surgery class at St Damian Medical School and you had just now come to realize the kind of stress that came with the job. Who knew performing autopsies and amputations day in and day out isn’t exactly easy on the mind? Despite that, you couldn’t complain about the pay, not the great company you found to share a pint with down at the local pub. Well, a couple pints, and some gin, and maybe some whiskey if you had to break out the leeches that day. Point is, they didn’t seem to care nor notice the cadaverous smell of death and formaldehyde that seemed to linger around you once you got off work. But after all the fun ended, you would have to make the long, stumbling walk back to the East End slums you lived in by only the light of the gas lamps that lined the River Thames and try to get enough sleep to function the next morning.

This was one of those nights. Just as the AMs lazily rolled around, you decided to depart, waving goodbye to all your friends and starting out into the cool, yellow painted misty night. Laughing to yourself at something one of the fellows said earlier, you were already pretty dizzy as you trudged through the streets, eerily quiet save for the clammy winds that blew in from the riverfront. The water that collected in the cracks of the cobblestone rippled under your boots as you dragged your feet, drunkenly unaware of what was around you. But despite everything in your surroundings pointing to you being completely alone, you got the very strange feeling that something or someone was watching you. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you ignored the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck as you passed a dim alleyway, trying to ignore the shadow in the corner of your eye.

Out of the dense fog, a pair of strong arms that suddenly wrapped around your torso and pulled you off your feet put it in your mind just how bad a decision that was. Drawn far away from the reach of lamplight, you were too slow to react as your body fell back against a firm torso and you froze in fear. A dark, leather gloved hand seized your jaw and wrenched your head to one side while an arm snaked around your waist, holding you snugly against your assailant. A low, predatory chuckle rumbled out of the chest of whoever was holding you, breathing little puffs of white smoke against your skin as he leaned in close to your neck and took a deep inhale, much like how one would relish the scent of a delicious meal. There was something that came over you as you were trapped in the clutches of your captor that made your head swim that made it so you didn’t so much as thunk to squirm as you felt what seemed to be two needles just barely scrape your jugular vein before plunging deep into your neck.

The lascivious suckling and laving noises echoed against the brick walls of the alleyway as the man who had you in his arms pinned you to the rough stone. Pupils blown, your body trembled at the blissed out groan in your ear, entirely helpless as your knees went all weak and your heavy eyelids threatened to fall shut. Just as you were about to fall unconscious from blood loss, blood permitting your clothes, you collapsed backward against your captor and he placed a sloppy, open mouthed kiss to your still bleeding wound before unceremoniously letting your limp body fall to the ground. Staring down at the body at his feet, a dark, lustful glint flashed through his eyes as he licked up the rich, savory liquid that dripped from his lips.

The next morning, when you woke up in the alleyway without any memory of falling asleep there, you chalked it up as a nightmare. Simply standing up, you brushed the fronts of your trousers off and headed home to clean up before your next shift. Your pounding headache that you were sure resulted from drinking made your wince as you splashed water on your face, not noticing the two, swollen little marks that remained on your neck nor the blood that stained your collar that you were pretty sure was there before the previous night. With the work you had cut out for you that day, you couldn’t afford to be late that morning. For the past two weeks your superiors had been breathing down your neck about those bodies that had been washing up in the river- prostitutes, mostly, but there were some urchins in the mix as well. After ending up in your hands, the cause of death for the cadavers was impossible for you to identify no matter how many times you went through the list- no signs of a struggle or trauma, but no bloating from drowning. However, since you were a fresh face in the medical field, the last thing you wanted to do was discredit yourself, so you reported the cause of death as the latter.

As you hurried down your front steps, a large ship drifted down the river in front of your apartment, the hand painted script on the back indicating it was a part of Earl Margera’s cargo fleet. Rumor has it his family got their old money fortune from the opium trade, but that did nothing to halt business for him. If you were a person in London that needed to move things, he was the man to call. Recently, you had gotten word that the Earl would be holding another one of his yearly lavish galas at his manor that he lived in with his council (the group of men that advised his business decisions) and that all of London’s finest would be invited- the only reason his eccentric lordship would bother to make an appearance. Making your way into work, you thought about how women would throw themselves at his feet, almost literally sometimes, but the Earl would pay them about as much mind as he did to the men constantly trying to win his favor to get their hands on his vast fortune, a constitution you could respect on some level.

Blinking hard and trying to pull yourself together, you were tying up your stiff, blood stained surgical apron as you got ready to slice up the body of the day, when one of your coworkers came excitedly running up to you. He thrust a piece of paper into your hands, “Y/N! Y/N! Have you seen this?” Speculatively, you scanned over the yellowed, crinkled letter, your eyes widening at what you read. That gala- yes, the one at the Earl’s house- was not only a charity gala, but a charity gala for the hospital. A bewildered smile spread across your face as you processed the news, “Oh my…This is incredible!” Your mind went wild as you thought about it- perhaps with the money, you could afford to finally purchase a new set of surgical instruments or switch to chloroform for sedation instead of relying on alcohol! Oh, this just couldn’t get better. According to the letter, the ball would be held two weeks from that day, giving you ample time to receive your paycheck and purchase some formal clothes for the event.

The air was thick with tension as you stood in the Earl’s front room with all the other dignified guests, the sweet scent of Acanthus and Hemlock blossoms drifting in from the garden through the wide open front doors. Above you, a large, crystal chandelier hung from the peak of the ribbed vault ceiling, cascading light onto the tall columns that held up the balcony of the second story. The manor really was grand, in every sense of the word. While you were taking all this opulence in, the room fell silent at a high pitched whistle from the top of the staircase and everyone shifted their gaze towards the sound. You did too, just in time to catch the Earl hoping up to slide all the way down the long wooden banister of the staircase. Not exactly the entrance you expected of him, but when his Edwardian oxfords touched solid ground and everyone all rushed to have the first chance to speak to his lordship, you were more surprised to see him completely ignoring them, parting the crowd as he walked towards…you? Shocked as everyone else, you weren't sure how to respond as he reached out a waiting, gloved hand towards you with a smile, “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Doctor.” You were suddenly stricken by the realization that he really was as handsome as all those women said, not to mention charming. Quickly taking his hand, you searched your mind for an appropriate response, “A-An honor? Oh, my Lord- it is a privilege for me to make yours!” There was a look of satisfaction on his face at your social blunder, glancing around at the patrons crowded in the room.

With one hand, he gestured for the large pair of heavy, wooden double doors at the far end of the room and they opened towards the great hall as the Earl glanced over to you with those crystal blue eyes, his voice entirely level, “Walk with me. Let’s talk about those funds for the hospital.” Following at his heels, you felt like a man prostrating himself before a king, “Really, it cannot be understated how much your generous donation means to us, my Lord.” There was something so enamoring about his generosity that just swept you off of your feet. The sounds of the festivities echoed through the empty halls as he showed you around the palace grounds, the suits of armor and sarcophagi and all the other eclectic relics he had collected over the years littering the halls. “Oh, ten thousand pounds is nothing. It’s the least I could give.” There was something about him that made you feel so comfortable in his presence, and you started to let your guard down, just slightly.

“You know, something about you is really quite…familiar. Have you visited St. Thomas’ lately?” Musing, you walked at his side through the grand, tapestry lined halls while you thought back to the faces you regularly saw at the pub, now blurred by alcohol, as if he would ever find himself there. Your eyes wandered towards the skull of an animal you didn’t recognize that sat on a shelf and was being used as a bookend as his expression turned sour like it was an improper thing to suggest, “Oh. I don’t go to hospitals…But” There was this knowing glint in the Earl’s eye as he continued, speaking with a tone that suggested a double entendre, “I’ve spectated on the operating theater in the past, if that’s what you’re asking. I am…morbidly curious about the fragile balance between life and death, myself. I'm sure you could understand, doctor.” Oh, you had no clue. All those nights he spent in the shadow cloaked corner of that pub you so loved to frequent, sitting there with a pint and a rare steak in front of him while you were at the bar, whining about your job to whatever drunk sod was humoring you that night, watching…listening…waiting in anticipation for you to head home for the evening- thinking about the desert that would follow his meal.

The two of you paused in what appeared to be a study. On one end of the room was a large, hand carved wooden fireplace, the mantle of which sat a candlestick holder that, if you had a less keen eye, you wouldn’t have recognized as having been fashioned from a human spine, and a glass vase containing an arrangement of roses, lilies, orchids, and irises, all white and all having seemed to have gone off a while ago. Above the mantle was where your focus was drawn, this large, regal portrait of the Earl, looking all serious and wistful in clothes that cost more than your year’s salary. Fascinated, you turned to study it in awe for a moment, but silently, and unbeknownst to you, the Lord had been carefully observing you in the study, like a hungry wolf watching a rabbit. The proximity of your bodies went completely unnoticed by the Earl in favor of the now exposed patch of skin below your ear. Oh, this was too good. He could practically hear your heartbeat thrumming from where he stood- feel the blood coursing through your veins. It was all so…tempting. Tremoring a little, he had to exercise the highest of restraint not to seize you right there- it would be so easy too, just to wrestle you down onto the velvet chaise lounge you were standing next to and bury his face into the space between your chin and shoulder. Boarding on fantasy, the Earl let himself get lost, imagining the way your squirming and whining would ease up once he’d gotten done lapping up all the warm blood squirting from your wounds. Clearing his throat together, Earl Margera cleared his throat, “We should, um- we should get going. I believe dinner is being served.”

The meal you ate was the height of decadence. Brimming trays of succulent pheasant, rare steaks, and legs of mutton larger than your head ran down the long table in between centerpieces of Nightshade and Lavender, flanked by crisp salads and potatoes with steaming baskets of dinner rolls served with butter and honeycomb, not to mention the assortment of trifles and puddings the waitstaff rushed to the table on ruby red Cape Cod glass platters. It was more food than you had seen in one place in your entire life, and yet you found your attention so drawn to the man sitting at the end of the table- so much so that you hardly cared that your meal was getting cold. He told these grand, winding stories of his world travels that all his suck up guests tried really really hard to be interested in, but you couldn’t help yourself from hanging on every word. Sipping wine from the silver chalice that sat in front of you that always seemed to get topped off when you looked away, it was like your mind was lost in some seductive trance you couldn’t seem to break free from, but you were of sound enough mind to remember quite a few details from that evening. Namely when his Lordship approached you personally and asked you, for the sake of ease of communication, to forgo all the formalities that came with his title, and that he would prefer you call him by his given name, Brandon. More than that, he would like to meet you again- one on one, to further discuss those donations for the hospital. You suggested lunch. He said he would prefer dinner.

There was something so enchanting about the Earl that kept you in high spirits far after your first encounter and well into the next week at work. You must have been quite a sight for any onlookers, seeing a man performing an autopsy with a lovesick smile plastered on his face. Before, you could hardly complete an operation without needing to flee the room halfway through to vomit, but now you had no problem with the whole thing. The waterlogged woman Scotland Yard lugged to your table still had her stockings on as you started the external examination, thinking back to that evening while you examined for physical trauma on the neck and arms. Feeling cold skin under your gloved hand, you recalled that the Earl- sorry, Brandon had made mention of an affinity for Blackcurrant pastilles, which you thought was sweet, though it was strange for a man- wait a moment. Leaning closer, you noticed something- two small, hollow marks on the woman’s neck, as if made by a seven gauge needle.

More disturbing was the resemblance it bore to the very same marks you had been waking up to on your neck. The operating room suddenly felt much quieter than you remembered. Swallowing hard, you took out your clipboard and, with a shaking hand, went to write it down before hesitating. A cold sweat collected on your brow and it was like some instinct inside of you told you not to- it could have been a mole or something- maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. Yes, that was it, your late nights were catching up to you. Steadying your hand, you put down the pen before reaching for the hand saw that sat at your side and made a mental note to visit the library after work. Maybe you could find some medical textbook that could explain all this away as some biological reaction or benign infection or something reassuring that you missed back in school. You also made note to purchase those pastilles while you were out.

Just as you went to leave work, someone stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, and as you were distracted with thoughts of your dinner that night, you jumped a little at the stern voice of your coworker, “Y/N. Where on earth are you hurrying off to?” Turning to him, you were still a little shaken up as you stammered, pulling your apron off, “Oh! I’m, uh- I’m headed off to dinner.” His expression seemed to soften a little at that, almost looking amused, “A date- is that right? You know, for a second I thought you were off to see somebody else.” Despite his calm words, the look in his eyes gave way to the jealousy sitting just under the surface. You had noticed people at work had been treating you…differently after you went to that party. Even the pat on the back you got from him felt ingenuine as he spoke stiffly, “Well, good luck with your lady friend.”

When you knocked on the double doors of the manor’s entrance dressed in your finest, you suddenly became conscious of the way you smelled of work. Usually, all that it took to get it off was a hot shower, but somehow tonight it seemed to cling to you more than before, but before you could think much of it, a member of the Earl’s council opened the door. He was a young man- well built and tall, with dark hair and eyes obscured by a pair of tinted glasses. He seemed a little too eager to welcome you in, watching you as you stepped through the door, “Oh, you must be the guest Bam was talkin’ about!” Bam? You recalled a mention of it being the childhood nickname of the Earl, but didn’t know his council would address him so informally. The American accent of the man who answered the door struck you as peculiar, but you brushed it off as something else caught your attention. There was a stack maybe a meter high of boxes, all varying sizes, that sat haphazardly tossed next to the door, all addressed from women. Upon further examination, you noticed that they were all boxes of blackcurrant pastilles, just like the ones you brought for the Earl. It was common knowledge that he had quite a few lady admirers, but this seemed excessive.

When you looked up, it seemed your arrival had brought quite a bit of attention to yourself as, from seemingly nowhere, you had attracted a crowd. They must not get a lot of guests around here, you thought, swallowing hard and trying to ignore how you felt like a zebra that had just stumbled into a den of ravenous lions from the way they were staring at you. But just at that moment, that’s when you felt a hand grab yours and quickly tug you away to safety. “Doctor! What a pleasure to see you again.” You couldn’t explain the wave of relief that washed over you when you heard his voice because you didn’t feel that you were in any danger in the first place, but there was some instinct in you that told you otherwise. “Are these for me?” Walking in step with you, Brandon peered curiously at the green silk wrapped box in your hands and you nodded. “You are too kind.” Taking them, he placed them on a table away from the other boxes, and just out of your sight, flipped a crude gesture at his dejected councilmen who were all disappointed they didn’t get to you first.

The Earl seemed more comfortable with you now than he was at your first encounter as he ate with you in the smaller, less formal dining parlor that was shuttered off to most guests. On the table was a more simple but nonetheless impressive meal- a spiced ham, mock turtle soup, Yorkshire pudding, and a treacle tart served with custard. The mahogany dining table was lit by a candelabra, the only light in the room since the heavy, purple velvet curtains were pulled closed. The striking details of his face looked even more alluring in the shadows, refined- like it was chiseled out of alabaster by some great sculptor. Sipping from the black crystal glass in his hand, Brandon raised an eyebrow at you from across the table, “Any stories from the ward, doctor?” Perhaps it was the wine, but the way he addressed you by your title made your heart flutter. Still, you composed yourself, clearing your throat, “Well, in fact, I do. For weeks now, the police have have been discovering these- these bodies in the River Thames,” Hesitating for a moment, you debated if this was appropriate conversation for dinner, but you took the fact he hadn’t stopped you as encouragement to continue, “and I still haven’t been able to deduce the cause of death!” Brandon simply nodded, watching you with half lidded eyes. Using one finger, you gestured towards your neck and continued with a slight tremble in your voice, “The only thing they have in common are these…odd marks that usually sit right above the jugular vein. And get this- I have observed similar marks on myself! I am led to believe I’m the only surviving man in London with these…” You didn’t notice the little glint in the Earl’s eye as you tilted your jaw to the side, revealing how Ecchymosis had painted your skin in these exquisite blossoms of purple and green that were previously hidden under your collar.

“Oh, how odd...” Bam wasn't really listening to you talk, but he did a damn good job at pretending he was looking at you and not just what was throbbing right underneath your skin. Maybe it was the alcohol content, but there was something so intoxicating about your blood, better than any opium or wine or sexual perversion known to his lordship. It was the taste, something far superior to any other human Bam had laid his mouth on- sweeter than dark treacle and richer than custard, an exotic, tender savor only enhanced by the intoxicating aroma that clung to your hair and clothes- that titillating stench of death. Oh, and the way you fought. Your little struggles were so useless- so benign to Bam that they were cute, in the same way a mouse thinks it can escape the jaws of a python by squeaking. You were an absolute feast for the senses. If his mouth never left your neck and the only thing he did all day was to suck from you, he would be the happiest man in the world. Alas, you were both men with careers and people that would notice if they suddenly stopped appearing in public. But that could always change.

Maybe you weren't as sneaky about your drinking habits as you thought you were based on how often the Earl ordered your glass to be refilled. The longer the night went on, the more and more you felt that your inhibitions were slipping away until it was time to leave. Standing up, you were unsteady on your feet and wobbled a bit, lightheaded from the alcohol. Brandon rushed to your side, placing one hand on your waist and his other hand intertwining his fingers with yours to steady you. With how he was holding you so close to his body like one would hold a lover, it was some sort of instinct that led you to lean towards him, pressing your lips together. But he didn’t seem shocked that you kissed him- in fact, the Earl almost seemed pleased as you staggered backwards, flushed as the wine taste of his tongue still lingered on your lips. “Oh my…! I apologize for being so, uh- so forward, sir.” Hushing you softly, his voice was perfectly level as he spoke, taking a step towards you, “There’s no need to apologize, doctor.” Brandon’s gloved fingers met your chin as he gently tilted your head to get you to meet his gaze, “Let’s say this feeling is…mutual.” And he smiled at you- a smile you weren't sure was comforting or predatory. “Now, you should be getting home.”

Bam wanted to kiss you more- from your feet to the tips of your ears, he would worship your body if he got the chance. Delectable in every sense of the word, this doctor was just too good to be true, he thought. This pliant, innocent man was almost literally sticking out his neck to him. Your every action was so perfect, so delicate in the Earl’s eyes, and to put it simply, he was addicted to you. He could drain you completely- gulp down every last ounce of blood you had in you and dump your body in the river like all the others he’d had his fill of, but more than how sinfully delicious you tasted, Bam loved the game- the hunt. Watching you stumble over your own feet as you walked home from his high perch on the roof of the manor, peering out from where he sat on one of the flying buttresses that held up the roof of the manor, Bam licked his lips. You were fun to play with, what with how easily he could make you blush and stammer and just surrender with the slightest of efforts, and more so how you hadn’t a single inkling of suspicion as to how he could sway you so easily. The mingling of saliva and blood may be the highest form of connection in Bam’s eyes, but what he had with you superseded that. And you hadn’t a clue.

They had stopped talking to you at work. You didn’t pay much mind to the glares of the bitter murmurs of ‘lapdog’ and ‘lickfinger’ you caught in the halls of the hospital from people who were once your friends, but even your superiors were avoiding you like the plague. Still, you had bigger things to worry about- those bodies, namely, of whom you had started coming to a conclusion about. After nights in the library spent studying books upon books, there was this creature you had come upon- from China and India and Greece, the walking undead that feasted on the vital essence of human man. Moreso, those marks on the necks of the victims and yes, yours as well, matched up with the scars one may bear after an attack by one of those beasts.

With no more friends to speak of for arbitration, you received your summons in the post: you were needed at the Earl’s manor the next day as he had fallen ill with consumption in the two weeks since your last meeting. More than that, he had requested you by name. Clearly the situation must be dire, given his lordship’s distaste for hospitals and the fact many people see surgeons such as yourself as a last resort, saved for only the most grim circumstances. There was something in you that made you nervous at the thought of seeing him again that you couldn’t explain, like how a maiden may feel about seeing her suitor. Perhaps it was just nerves, or you were just unsure about being the sole person responsible for saving the life of such an influential, wealthy man. Perhaps.

If you thought the Margera Manor looked impressive from the bottom of the hill it sat on, you were absolutely gobsmacked when you looked at it head on, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought you were entering a cathedral, what with all the pointed windows and spires. Your steps echoed on the stone terrace as you looked around at the garden, now far less cheery as fall had stolen the green from the trees and plants, leaving them skeletons that were perfecting roosting places for crows whose loud caws made you jump as you went to knock. The front door was…unlocked, swinging open under your slight nudge. Dressed in the extent of protective garb with your leather bound medical kit in tow, you crept into the seemingly empty mansion and realized just how empty it felt without some party or dinner to fill the halls. Sure, the knives of this and masks of that the Earl had picked up in his travels still hung on the walls, and the opaline glass oil lamps in the hall were still lit, but there was something profoundly empty about the manor. Slowly walking the wooden staircase, past the large portrait paintings that hung on the walls, you made your way upstairs.

“Hello, sir…?” Slipping through the Earl’s bedroom door, you expected the worst of consumption- open sores, weeping lesions, coughing up blood mucus, etcetera, but even from across the room the worst symptom you could discern was a light sweat on his brow. Sure, he was deathly pale, but he was always that pale, and you recalled the darkness around his eyes as having been there from your first meeting. Lit only by the red silk lamp in the far corner of that room that smelled of clove and patchouli, he looked rather beautiful for a man, almost fragile- but nothing like the people on death’s door that you saw at the hospital. Brandon’s half lidded eyes met your and he coughed slightly, his voice raspy and weak, “Doctor.” Moving to his bedside, you placed your leather case of medical instruments on the nearby table next to a small stack of Penny-Dreadfuls that sat there and helped him to sit upright with your hands under his arms. “What sort of symptoms have you been experiencing as of late?” There was this odd feeling that came over you as you touched his bare torso that you couldn’t place as your eyes scanned over him, fixating on the strange design that sat low on his hips, right where the silk linens pooled around him- a tattoo of sorts? The swirling, dark ink was beautiful, drawing your eyes to his Apollo's belt.

“I am just…terribly famished.” Brandon sighed under your touch, and as you continued feeling his skin under your fingertips, that’s when you noticed something- he was cold. Deathly cold, and his body bore no evidence of the telltale wasting consumption brought on. Disturbed, your eyes went wide but you made no other mention of it as you reached into your bag and retrieved your stethoscope. Be professional. Tend to the patient. But as you pressed the circular end to the left side of the Earl’s chest, you were shocked to hear…nothing. The lack of mucus in his lungs did not shock you nearly as much as the complete absence of a heartbeat. The only sound in the room was Brandon’s soft breathing as he studied you, expectantly leaning over your hands as you worked. Watching. Waiting.

You doubted it at first. It seemed the stuff of fairytales, that the Earl could be something other than human, but it was all consistent with the lore you had been reading up on. Part of you was curious about him- after all, you dealt in the morbid, so it made sense for a scientific mind such as yourself to find his case fascinating. But on the other hand, it chilled you to the bone to know that this man you had been growing so close to, could be some sort of monster- some creature that delighted in feeding on the blood of men. You cursed yourself for not realizing this sort of thing sooner as a chill ran through your bones at the situation your trusting nature had gotten yourself into. Quivering, and against all your better judgment, you slowly looked up to meet his hungry, nearly salivating gaze.

And before you could think to react, he grabbed you by the shoulders and you were underneath him, back pressed against the bed. Heart nearly thumping out of your chest, your body was caged in, absolutely captured by the Earl’s as he leaned over you and in your mind there was absolutely no doubt of his intentions. Warm breath gracing your skin, his too sharp canines grazing against where sensitive nerves and thick, tender arteries run just below the skin felt so tantalizing, but Bam hesitated. Why aren't you fighting? In all his fantasies about this exact moment, you would be writhing about like a scared and wounded animal right about now, all squealing and wriggling and begging for him to oh please please spare you, but you were entirely willing, perfectly still and silent save for the swell of your breathing. However, the promise of satiating his hunger was just too alluring and he couldn’t not resist, sinking his teeth into you anyways. Your breath hitching in your throat, this foul, sweet smell rose up from where his fangs had visceraly penetrated you and Bam nearly moaned at the exquisite taste of the sanguine amber that trickled slow and thick from you. Hemorrhaging there, all tangled up in the red silk sheets of the Lord’s bed and, in addition, entirely sober, you couldn’t escape the realization that this actually felt somewhat…enjoyable. In fact, you really could get used to this. Eyes glazing over, you stifled a groan at the feeling of him flicking the tip of his tongue against one of the little dribbling slits as you began to teeter on that romantic, presyncopic border between consciousness and sleep, limbs tingling while you slowly drifted off into twilight.

You blinked awake in that very same four post baldachin bed with a distinct chill which you would come to attribute to the wide opened double doors of the Earl’s balcony. Long, white marquisette curtains billowed in the night as the moonlight cascaded in so brilliantly. Silhouetted by the moon’s opalescent glow, there he stood- naked and beautiful. Sensing your stirring, Bam turned toward you, the toned muscles of his back flexing as he studied your expression. Slowly, he approached where you lay, looking down at you with those piercing blue eyes as he stood at your bedside. “Ah, my prince is awake.” There was a distinct tone of amusement in his voice as he spoke to you with newfound affection. Sensing your apprehension as you looked up at him with those wide eyes, Bam sighed, reaching a hand out towards you in an empathetic gesture, “I’ve been in your shoes before, Y/N. I know exactly how you feel.” Gently, very gently, he caressed your cheek fondly as he mused. “You have…nothing. Life has no meaning anymore, does it?” You shook your head and the Earl smiled. “I can fix that.” Leaning down closer to you, he spoke low, in a voice as smooth as whiskey and just as sweet, “Would you like me to?” And you nodded.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #6: Paperwork

Prompt: onerous || Master Post || On AO3

Lyse stared down at her never-ending pile of paperwork and sighed.

She had been well aware from a young age just how much work went into leadership; one of the few memories she still had of her father was of him crouched over a crate serving as his makeshift desk, reading reports by lamplight. Back then, the Resistance had been against the Mad King, and she could vaguely recall that some of her father’s work had been drafts for a constitution, a rough draft of what to, perhaps, put in place to govern Gyr Abania once the monarchy had been overthrown.

And now here she was, over twenty years after the fact, staring at a stack of reports and correspondence relating to how the Ala Mhigan council was trying to piece together a functioning government. Funny how things worked out like that.

Better late than never, she supposed.

Sighing again, Lyse took the folio that was on top of her “to do” pile, opened it, and got back to work. (Gods, how many had she done today?)

She remembered both Louisoix and Minfilia adopting similar hunched poses, too. The Circle of Knowing might have been small, but once in Eorzea and acting against the stated desires of the Forum, they’d been cut off from the majority of whatever funding they had had available to them. Louisoix had left Sharlayan prepared for that with his personal funds rather than anything from the Leveilleur family accounts—plus, as Lyse would much later find out, a few marks of credit snuck into his pack by Ameliance—and had budgeted ruthlessly; the memory of him chewing a quill into nothing as he balanced the ledger was one that she treasured. So many people, herself included, remembered him as a larger-than-life figure, when at the end of the day, he had merely been a man trying to do the right thing.

Minfilia hadn’t been a quill-chewer, but she had done most of her eating at her desk as she read through reports and organized them (in no way Lyse had been able to follow, but Tataru had—maybe it was something that made sense to anyone raised in Ul’dah). Honestly, it had been how Tataru had kept Minfilia fed; she had been terrible at keeping to regular meals, but if she was distracted with something else and had had a tray full of snacks in reach, Minfilia would absently graze as she worked. Maybe Lyse should start keeping snacks on hand, too, make the tedium at least somewhat enjoyable.

…No, that wasn’t wise. She was self-aware enough to know she’d polish off a tray of midye tava and leblebli and lokum and then get up to go look for more, instead of working.

Lyse signed off on the report she had finished, closed and set the folio aside, and took a moment to beat her forehead against her desk.

Don’t think about food, don’t think about food.

The next report she pulled down was, at least, genuinely interesting: one of Arenvald’s updates about the Silver Griffins. Raganfrid submitted his own reports, too, about the organization, but Arenvald’s were more colloquial—he probably had figured out it was Lyse receiving them, because she knew he could be as thorough and terse as Thancred at his most serious. Lyse read that one eagerly.

She was five reports removed from Arenvald’s when the door to her office swung open and Naago stuck her head inside. “Oi, workaholic,” she said, “fancy a spar?”

Lyse looked out the window wistfully; it was an absolutely gorgeous day. “I shouldn’t,” she groaned, “this pile gets bigger every time I look away from it for longer than five seconds.”

Her friend came over, poking at the pile. “This isn’t as bad as it was the day before,” the Seeker said. “Anything time sensitive?”

Lyse chewed on her lower lip. “Not really?” She glanced over at the outbox she kept on a side table, and blinked when she saw it was empty; huh, her secretary must have been in while she wasn’t paying attention to collect those. “I do those first thing in the morning, I know how slow I am.”

Naago nodded, and shouted out through the still-open office door: “Tilla, does Lyse have anything she needs to complete in the next few bells.”

“No!” Tilla shouted back. “Everything on her desk can wait another day or so.”

Lyse blinked, and Naago smirked. “This is why you have a secretary,” she said with a laugh. “They’re magical beings.”

“I really should know that,” Lyse muttered as she pushed away from her desk, the chair moving smoothly now that a carpet had been installed in her office. “Minfilia was a workhorse, but Tataru was a demon keeping the Scions organized. Who am I kidding, she still is.”

Her friend helped pull her to her feet. “Then utilize yours more! She’s there to help; you always bite off more than you can chew and need someone to knock sense into you.”

Lyse shrugged with a smile. “’Strue. But I will be doing the knocking around today.”

“Hah! We’ll see about that!”

PREVIOUS PROMPT || NEXT PROMPT

[thessalian]

Thess vs AI

So. The Bioware layoffs.

I actually am in the slow process of a Reddit argument about the use of voice actor AI because of this. And it got gradually dumber and uglier the more I debated. Which I suppose I should really have known would happen, because ... well, Reddit.

See, the reason the subject even came up is because there's a worry that, especially with Mary Kirby having been laid off, and Narrative Director and all that ... well, the concern is that they're going to start outsourcing their narrative stuff to AI. And this one individual was basically being The Champion Of AI, like, "Oh, I know some people will lose their jobs, but lamplighters lost their jobs when we got electric street lights; technology moves on! And cameras! If you wanted a portrait, you had to hire an artist, but now there are cameras and a lot of portrait artists suddenly had a lot less work but we could have as many pictures as we wanted! EMBRACE TECHNOLOGY!"

I ... had some things to say about this. Things like ... I don't believe that AI can properly capture nuance, at least not yet. And even if it could, once these companies have, say, a stable of voice actor's voices saved for AI use ... why would they want to hire new ones? Everything would become really stagnant in the industry on that scale, and you wouldn't have things like ... voice actors bringing something special to specific characters. I mean, there's a massive difference between Kai Leng from Mass Effect 3 and Joel from The Last of Us, but they're both still Troy Baker. Which Troy Baker would they get? Kai Leng? Joel? Logan? Booker DeWitt? Samuel Drake? Theron Shan?

That's when this individual started accusing me of being a snob, and eventually let out the real reason they championed AI. Namely, this individual wants to make video games, but doesn't want to code anything, nor dig up the resources for voice actors. No, they want everything ready for them to buy (or, more likely, pirate) so they can make a bunch of asset flips and stick them on Steam or wherever. They said, "You just don't want poor people like me to be able to maek video games".

I mean ... I do? I love indie games. I haven't got around to playing Darq yet, but that was one guy and a whole lot of work, so I can't help but be impressed. Solasta is janky as fuck and looks like an asset flip half the time, and the voice acting is not all that, but I still love it. You just ... make do with what you have.

Like ... if you can't afford voice actors ... don't have voices. Or find some drama students who want a warm-up project, or friends, and pay them in beer and residuals. But you don't go around exploiting people in a way that would kill an entire industry just so you don't have to find voice actors to make the game you want exactly as you want it.

In other words, I'm with the striking actors and writers on this (because while it doesn't get brought up, there's at least some worry about people being scanned and used in AI form going on in all that money-grubbing exploitative crap the writers and actors are fighting against) - "FUCK YOU; PAY THEM".

Buuuuuuuuut I know this individual is going to keep arguing at me because they want want want want want want ... but don't want to have to pay. It's another example about how art is commodified specifically so it can be devalued. Hell, I want to make a video game. Can I code? No. Am I pondering poking at Game Guru if I ever have a chance? Yes. Do I want AI voice actors doing the voices for me? NO. I have friends; I would ask them and promise them royalties.

This individual calls me selfish because I "don't want them to have things". I want the actors to have what they need to live because they give us things we enjoy. I want this entitlement bullshit as regards anything artistic to stop already. You want art? Pay for it, like anything else. But I'm probably going to stop responding at this point, because I have worked three hours of overtime and this person will not stop until they have the last word. Let them think they won. I stand with the voice actors, and everyone else who creates what I love. PAY AND RESPECT YOUR ARTISTS, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

[thelatekuijames]

closed starter for @masonxmahir when: several days after the council meeting, early december where: their apartment & atelier, above blush boutique

≽·≼

( memory loss, anxiety, and mentions of murder tw under the cut )

Meena's secretary was taking them back to Blush after their interview had concluded, and they went back to their life. But a few days later, Kui stirred and woke early, lamplight from the street outside was shading through the slats of their bedroom blinds, narrow lines of gold cast across their face and pillow. Reaching for their phone to check the time (around 5 am), they saw it was open to a conversation with Mason. When had they texted him? Yesterday? No, the day before... maybe? They scrolled back through the texts. They'd very plainly explained after the council meeting that they'd just relived the last time they were murdered, for an investigation, and it was "kinda a lot". It was all foggy. The messages they'd sent were sparse and without much identifiable emotion, though Mason's responses were much more obviously concerned. Gaps in the time stamps spanned several days. Kui rose and pulled on a robe, removed their silk hair wrap, then wandered out in bare feet to the kitchen-slash-living room of their apartment. There were partially eaten tupperware with what looked like some biryani and pakora in their fridge that had a note brimming with comfort and generosity from the Mahir family taped on top. On the sofa was a tangle of blankets, and two mugs. When they picked them up for further inspection, remnants of the scent of hot cocoa rose to meet them. Of course, they'd shared a meal, they remembered Mason being here... of course. Right? Or was that... no, that was some other time, in the fall? What had they talked about? They washed the mugs quickly, and folded the blankets with a growing sense of unease.

Not bothering to get more dressed, they padded out into the main workspace of the atelier, barefoot against the polished wood of the floor. It was far too early for anyone to be downstairs, the shop's exterior shutters still closed and locked. Kui flicked on the overhead lights to survey the space. To the untrained eye, it looked as it usually did. Mannequins lined against one wall, the large wrap-around desk with the sewing machine, space for material to be laid flat for cutting, and the drafting table next to it. Various racks of fabric and several movable clothing racks with finished and in-progress pieces off to one side. They approached the desk, and began to scan for details. From the sketches and the marks on their progress board in the atelier it was clear they'd done a lot in the last few days, careful columns of pieces in progress and 20% of their time dedicated to building their skills. It was just as it should be, only they couldn't recall marking it down. The serger with its tidy cones of matching thread had been swapped from black to green. The days had been X'd off the calendar, same as always. Routines were unbroken.

It was all... fine. Normal. Kui took stock of everything that had changed around them with the same chilly detachment they remembered feeling after their Resurrection, when they'd been taken to the Fairy Ring to recover from it. Was this the same as then, or was it something more sinister? It was probably just their brain deciding to take a bit of a vacation when everything got too heavy. But a shiver ran down their spine, landing in their stomach. Would they feel it somehow, if the charm the Coven had made for them to protect their mind stopped working? They inspected it, wrapped around their wrist, but it didn't look broken or different from normal. After a few minutes of fretful uncertainty, they made a decision, and reached for their phone. "Hey—sorry, if I woke you?" They pressed a thumb and forefinger on the bridge of their nose. Relying on someone was so inconvenient and… stressful. "I should've texted, sorry." The apology was clipped and hurried, their voice rough from sleep. "I know it's early, it's just—um—could you maybe come by sometime today, if you've got time?"

[lovinggreeniehours]

starry eye syndrome

↳ quinn × xxxx anya casper (dating sim parody)

↳ i was not sure if i should put this on ao3. but while im pondering that decision, ill keep it archived here first. this is an oc selfship, but there isn't much lore to learn (yet) besides the fact that they're in a poly 7:1 relationship. i just wanted to do something to celebrate quinn's birthday :') so here i am

Quinn had his fair share of late night walks since he left home. They were one of the many things he was finally free to do without the stifling company of bodyguards or his family. He would often work the night shifts at work, and opted to walk home through his exhaustion to hold onto extra savings.

Tonight was not one such night. Not exactly. In fact, while he usually reveled in the sweet tranquility of the midnight breeze, on that particular night, the atmosphere seemed to shimmer instead. And he highly suspected that his chosen company was to blame.

The pavement glistened with rainwater under the warm streetlights, pinpricks of stars on the earth to reflect the ones that hung above them. He could see blurs of his own shadow in the water, as well as the smaller one that walked beside him.

He glanced up to see him— Anya, who held a faraway, thoughtful gaze, his countenance painted in lamplight. A halo of it encircled his dark hair and flickered over the shine of his leather jacket. Quinn caught the way his eyes seemed to dart around absentmindedly, noting with some relief that he was, indeed, watching where he was stepping despite sticking his head in the clouds.

At some point amidst the silence of the walk, Anya spoke up.

"Did you enjoy the movie?"

Quinn smiled, nodding. "I did, yes. What about you?"

"I did." He felt his breath hitch when Anya turned to him with a playful grin. "I think I get why they all watched it without us now."

Reminded of his metamours, Quinn's expression suddenly soured. Anya made a poorly hidden laugh behind his fist.

"That's their problem now." He muttered. "Now they all get to spend their Friday night moping, while I get to be on a date with you."

Anya hummed, pleased. He made no comment on the pink dusting Quinn's cheeks.

Then it was back to silence, as it often was. But it was a kind of silence he could breathe in, No awkwardness. Just contentment. Relaxation. And to some extent, escapism from the pressure of dealing with other people.

He snuck an extra glance at Anya through the corner of his eye, not even noticing his own lips curling up into a smile.

As much as he'd enjoyed his newfound independence, and the brief period of solitude it had offered, Quinn was beginning to think this was much more rewarding, this.. domesticity? Was that it? The softness of the feeling that dripped over him like honey, encasing him in a permanent feeling of embrace. As far as he was concerned, none of the expensive gifts his father used to give him every year would ever compare to the spark he felt in his chest when his partner looked at him.

He paused. Partner.

As Quinn cast his quiet gaze onto Anya, the aforementioned spark eased, softening and swelling inside his heart.

Anya told him frequently not to trust his own brain past 10pm, but was going over his experiences with him (his partner!! Truly, how did he manage that?) really so bad?

"Quinn?"

He paused. No, wait, he did that a while ago. Quinn hadn't realized he had stopped walking, lost in reveries of longing gazes and holding hands in the darkness of the movie theater.

"...Quinn?"

The second call was what snapped him fully back to reality. He looked Anya in the eye (for real, that time) and felt his face burn with heat.

"Ye— Yes. I'm here." He cleared his throat in an attempt to look normal. "Sorry about that."

Anya quirked an eyebrow up at that, lips pulled into an amused smile. As he crossed his arms, Quinn couldn't help but curse the irony. Whose head was being stuck into the clouds now?

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, stepping a bit closer to him.

"Oh, nothing.." Anya did not believe him. Quinn whined, suddenly keen to look anywhere but his partner. "Nothing! Let's go home already."

"Quinn."

Quinn folded. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if (and he knew it didn't) maintaining a facade of annoyance would allow him to keep his dignity.

"I.." —stopped walking because I got lost in my daydreams about you. With 'you' in question being literally right in front of him. That was a completely normal thing to say.

"Well?" Anya poked him expectantly.

Well? Was there a way to salvage his composure? Or was he simply to wait until the earth swallowed him whole?

Quinn cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

"It's midnight."

Anya blinked at him. "What?"

Quinn was not scrambling, he was not—

"It's midnight." He repeated simply, pulling up his phone to show him that the time was, in fact, 00:06. He knew as much from his watch. He blamed his nerves for bothering to pull out his phone.

"Oh." Said Anya. Then his eyes brightened. "Oh! Happy birthday!"

Quinn stared at him briefly. Birthday?

As subtly as he could, which was not at all, he glanced at the date on his lockscreen.

00:07, April 22nd.

Oh.

"Um. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Anya nodded. "But you weren't waiting there for me to greet you though, were you?"

"Well—"

"It's fine." Anya shook his head, smirking. "You'll explain it to me later. But for now, we have to hurry home."

"We do?"

"Unless you want to keep all our other boyfriends waiting. Saffron made you a cake and everything."

"What?"

Anya grabbed his hand, making him jolt.

"Come on, let's go."

Quinn stuttered, the contents of his brain converted into static in an instant as he allowed himself to be pulled along.

"I. Uhm. Anya?"

His partner speedwalk-ed like they were about to miss a flight, somehow leaving Quinn almost unable to catch up.

"Yes?"

"Ah.. Anya, wait."

Quinn almost ran into him then, who made an abrupt stop at his request. The way he fumbled was almost comical, although very tragic to himself and himself alone.

"They're in my apartment?" He asked.

"Yes."

"I'm guessing you all planned this."

"Not the movie." Anya smiled apologetically. "They're all genuinely moping about that."

"Ah."

"Anything else?"

"I.." Quinn pursed his lips. They'd all be pestering them the moment they reach the dorms then. Not that he wasn't used to it. He'd long since accepted the terms of their seven-to-one relationship, but..

"I'm just.. Not quite ready for the night to end." He said. "That's all."

"Aw." Anya nodded, pursing his lips as he thought for a moment. "In that case, maybe let's not hurry too much."

"Yes. Let's do that."

"Anything else?"

Quinn fidgeted. His eyes roamed over their surroundings, confirming that they were alone.

"I'd.. I—" He stuttered over his own breaths, trying to get the words out. When Anya squeezed his hand, he squeezed back. "I.. I really want to kiss you right now."

Anya's eyebrows raised at the confession. "Oh."

"I just.. I'm not sure if I could once we got home, or I—"

Anya tugged him down by the scarf up to his eye level. Quinn nearly exclaimed, but then all his breath had gotten caught in his throat, rendering him only mute and red in the face. Not that he knows what he would have said in the moment. He was certainly not protesting.

Anya gently moved a strand of hair out of Quinn's eyes.

"Then do it. Kiss me."

And he did. They barely ever did this. Whether it be Anya's schedule or Quinn's own hesitance, and so he made sure to make the most of it now. His hands shook as they found their place on Anya's sides. But his mouth was sweet; intoxicating, in a way. Pulling away felt like falling into a dream. If there was one thing Quinn knew even with his adoration-hazed mind, it was that his partner made just about everything feel better than it ought to.

"Up for more?" Anya teased. Quinn couldn't even find it in himself to deny it.

[cavalierious-whim]

Golden Hours (XiaoAeXiao)

When casting a location spell to find his sister, Aether accidentally brings back someone back from the Abyss instead. Written for Aliferous, a XiaoAetherXiao Zine.

Read the fic here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter, and here on Patreon!

Leftover Sales for Aliferous are still open and you can grab a copy here!

--

The book sits on his desk, the yellowed pages dingy in the low lamplight. Aether drags a finger down the spine, pressing it flat. 

“Useless,” he mutters, flipping a page, then another, the crinkled parchment crackling in the quiet of his home. “This shouldn’t be that difficult.” He groans, pressing his hand to his brow. “A location spell—that’s it. This is beginner stuff.”

Perhaps if he were trying to find apples or oranges. The spell is simple enough depending on the application, but it’s not as though it was designed to find people. In theory, it can, but Aether is still working out the kinks.

“You’ve never made anything easy for me, have you?” he murmurs, thinking of Lumine. It’d been an accident—a spell gone wrong. Lumine was sucked into the ether, blipped right from this existence. Aether spends his moments outside of work looking for her. “Well, wherever you are, you’re giving them hell, that’s for sure,” he finishes, voice tilted by amusement.

And so, the spell. 

Something that is alike. Aether fiddles with a bundle of Lumine’s hair, pilfered from an old box she’d stashed underneath her bed. 

A stone that is alive. Mr. Zhongli was a curious man who didn’t have much in the way of money, but Aether traded a spell for a rock that pulses with Geo, tuned to the ley lines of Liyue itself. 

A feather, even slightly crooked, will do. It’d taken some coaxing, but Fischl eventually agreed to let him pluck a few from Oz, much to the chagrin of her familiar. 

Aether reads over the spell again. “Won’t know unless I try, right?” He rubs his brow. At worst, the spell fizzles out and he’s back to square one. It’s nothing so powerful as to cause an actual issue, but magic is finicky at its best and fickle at its worst.

“Alright then.”

Aether falls quiet as he concentrates. He plucks at the universe and draws power from the ley lines. He’s used this spell before. Just like all the other times, he thinks. Focus and think. We’re finding her, that’s all—just look for Lumine.

The ley lines are sleepy, sluggish, almost. He tries to focus his search through what looks like muddy water. There’s nothing, no inkling of Lumine; no sight of her, or the sound of her pealing laughter. It’s like slogging through a marsh.

So, he pulls harder. Aether sinks into the power as everything else fades away. He no longer stands in his home, he walks those lines personally, edging closer and closer to the Abyss. Worth it, he reasons. The risk. A moment near the edge of the world won’t do any harm. Near the veil is one of the places that he hasn’t looked. 

Darkness creeps closer and Aether skirts it—but then, a tendril reaches out and curls around his arm. Everything shifts. No longer is it the warm magic of the earth, it’s the bitter cold grip of the Void. Something beyond the barrier cries out in a wrenching, warbling noise. Whatever grasps him digs in with its claws. 

Aether panics. He yelps and pulls away, scrambling against the ground as he tries to remove himself from the magic. He falls through the frozen air and trips. His back hits the ground hard and the air is no longer crisp. A fire blazes to the right of him, and the kettle that hangs over it whistles. 

He rolls over to find the worn wooden planks of his cottage. Aether presses his forehead to the ground and sighs. He could kiss the floor. Too close, he thinks. Far too close to the edge, but—

There’s a rattling breath that gasps beside him. Aether jerks, snapping to attention, clambering back against the wall, a hand outstretched with magic swirling about his fingers. “What—”

“Where am I?”

Aether blinks. The man that stands before him is unearthly, slender, and lithe, with choppy hair like an oil slick. He watches back with a piercing, golden-eyed gaze. Aether opens his mouth and says, ineloquently, “Um, Liyue?”

“I had thought…” The man closes his eyes and inhales, nostrils flaring. “It felt familiar. It has been…”

“It’s been?”

“A long time.”

Aether’s gaze then turns curious. He can feel that power that thrums through the other man’s veins.

“Apologies,” continues the man. “I’m unused to sharing conversation, not that I’ve ever found it easy. You—” His eyes narrow, and suddenly, the air turns sour. Aether’s arm doesn’t shake, but his toes curl in his boots. “What were you doing so close to the veil? That isn’t a place for—” He pauses. 

“For?”

The man sighs. “It doesn't matter.” He stands but tilts, unsteady on his feet. “I need to—there’s work to be done. I have to—”

Aether should send him back. He certainly doesn’t think straight when he reaches out to pull at the ragged shirt the man wears to help steady him instead. The man pulls away as if he’s been burned. 

“Don’t touch me!” His hiss dies out in a soft whine. “It isn’t safe for you. Can’t you feel it? The karma that bleeds from my veins?”

Aether blinks. “No?” He feels power that is no doubt old and ancient, but nothing so implicitly evil.

The man blinks back at him, his brow furrowed. “What kind of sorcerer are you? Are you so unskilled you cannot see that I’m a yaksha?”

Oh. Well, that certainly explains things. Old warriors who fight off our evil, only to become it themselves, read Lumine once. Definitely not the type of story most children fall asleep to but they were always an odd pair.

Aether rights himself. “Yaksha or not, you’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

“I’m—”

“Barely able to stand. You should rest for a bit.” Aether doesn’t know why he’s offering. The last thing that he should do is let a man he dragged from the Abyss stay in his home. He sighs and says quieter, “I’m Aether. At least let me get you some fresh clothes.”

“I’m…” The man looks at himself awkwardly, dragging a bony hand over his ragged shirt. “Xiao.” When he pets the fabric, it crumbles away. His flat expression turns into a scowl, lips curled into a sneer.

Aether thinks it is cute. 

#

Xiao is an awkward man both when it comes to being back in the normal plane of existence and when engaging with others. “I’ve never been good at it,” he mutters.

Aether is busy cleaning his desk, putting away spelling materials, and dusting off books. “I’m not saying you need to be friendly, I’m just saying…” Aether shrugs. “You’re stuck here for the time being, so you might as well make the most of it.”

As it turns out, Xiao is tethered to Aether. He did as was suggested—he rested and took an outfit of Aether’s before being on his way, only to step outside the door and wind up right back in the kitchen. He tried again. And again.

It is a week later and he still tries when he thinks that Aether isn’t looking. 

“You are not my friend,” hisses Xiao that day, reminding Aether of a feral cat. 

Aether just glances at him. “Do you feel better?” Judging by Xiao’s frown, no. “Look, I’m not trying to be your friend—”

“No, you insist upon it.”

“—wouldn’t it be easier if you just… settled? The Abyss was a terrible place, right? Relax.”

Xiao cannot relax. He fidgets when in place for too long. “Those old gods,” he starts, “I can feel them. They’re still deep in the ground, leeching evil as we speak. I have to go fight it off.”

Aether has never met a yaksha before Xiao but he’s impressed by the level of dedication he’s seen thus far. “Because that’s what you used to do, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why were you in the Abyss?”

The question catches Xiao. He sits on the stool and tilts his head, discomforted. “It is where we go when we…” He trails off and Aether can assume the worst. “It is meant as a mercy.”

Aether turns to him at that, leaning against his desk and shooting Xiao a curious glance. “And was it?”

Xiao takes so long to answer that Aether thinks that he won’t. But then, ever so quietly: “No.”

Aether hums and returns to his tidying. “Well, you aren’t there anymore. My house, my rules—which are simple. Consider this retirement.”

Xiao looks at Aether as though he’s mad. And maybe he is. But Aether has grown attached to the strange yaksha, and he’s curious to see just what some peace might do for him.

#

The rapport they build over time comes with startling ease. 

Xiao is touch-starved, friend-starved, and generally, just starved. It doesn’t take long for him to grudgingly accept Aether’s friendship. He helps around the cottage, picking up things and doing chores. He isn’t a good cook but he makes a mean pot of tea, which eventually turns into him boiling up potions for Aether’s day job as a sorcerer for hire.

After some time, Aether tells him about Lumine. “She’s my other half,” he says one night as they're tucked into blankets to keep out the biting fall chill of the coming winter. The fireplace roars and they watch the embers, shoulder-to-shoulder and comfortable. “That’s what I was doing that day when walking the ley lines. I was looking for her.”

“That wasn’t smart,” says Xiao.

“No,” agrees Aether.

Xiao’s mouth parts to speak but he hesitates. “I am… glad that you were stupid. Otherwise, I’d still be…” He gestures vaguely.

Aether leans over and nudges him. “I’m glad too. It’s better with you here. I’m not so lonely. Are you enjoying your retirement?”

“As much as one can when brewing up spells every day.”

Aether’s mouth curls into a grin. “Xiao, was that a joke?”

“No.” Xiao grins back, though, which leaves Aether in a fit of roaring laughter.

#

Weeks pass into months. It takes a crisp winter morning nearly a year later for Aether to realize he’s abandoned his search for his sister. 

He thinks of Lumine, yes, but his thoughts are preoccupied with the newfound life he’s cultivated. Same old cabin, same old place; but the person is different, and Aether finds himself thinking of sharp golden eyes, and a subtle smile hidden behind a palm. 

Xiao has figured out retirement. He’s found value in his simple life here, and Aether thinks that he can do the same, instead of clinging to the past.

“What’s with that look?”

Aether jumps at his voice and turns to find him leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom. “Nothing, I just… lost in thought.”

“Lumine?”

“The both of you.” 

Xiao crosses the room then to pour himself a cup of tea. “Sounds like a punishment.”

Aether snorts and sips his own cup. “Nothing like that. Just… I think that finding her isn’t necessary anymore. I realized this morning that I hadn’t thought about it recently. I’m too busy with work and with—” Aether grins, “—you, of course.”

The energy in the room shifts. Lately, Xiao watches him with lingering stares that creep into his soul, and for a moment, it’s easy to think that, perhaps, he might feel the same. 

“You’re happy, then?” asks Xiao quietly.

“Yes.”

Xiao licks his lips nervously. “And there’s nothing more that you’d want?”

A year ago, Aether would’ve said his sister. But at that moment, in the cold kitchen with a steaming mug of tea in his hands, the answer is clear. 

Xiao closes the distance between them until Aether’s settled between his arms. The counter digs into the small of his back, but Aether forgets about it when Xiao kisses him. It is sweet. Lingering. A little awkward and fumbling.

Aether laughs as he sets his tea aside in favor of wrapping an arm around Xiao’s neck. Then, he learns that kisses are the perfect deterrent for any cold and blustery day.