msdrproffangirlmd replied to your post “Been thinking about starting up my kink/smut-writing career for a bit...”
Do it, man... I'd read it. :3
thank you for the vote of confidence! maybe i’ll end up doing it... but... of course, producing things on a regular schedule is HARD. maybe i can power through it for the sake of everyone’s boner, though
Micolash gestures to stacks of books with a broad sweep of his arm. “Books on the Great Ones in general are here.” He points toward the rafters. “Books on Kos in particular are up yonder. Books on Yharnam, books on the history of Byrgenwerth are…” He puts his hands on his hips and turns, slowly, in a circle, eyeing each bookcase. “Hell if I can remember the specifics.”
He claps his hand together and looks to the Hunter. “You’re sure to find what you need here.”
“Anything?” The Hunter is a bit taken aback by his kindness. Joviality makes him more unsettling, somehow. Dark circles don’t go well with such a bright smile.
“Sure as a snake sheds its skin, if a scholar had a thought, he wrote it down somewhere.”
They take a moment to inhale the thick smell of old paper.
“Am I supposed to be here?” the Hunter asks. “If I let you.”
“It feels like I’m suspended in jelly.”
Micolash laughs. “Such is the nature of the dream.”
“The nightmare.”“Whatever you want to call it. You’re not the one dreaming it, are you?”“I suppose I’m not.”
They walk in silence down the halls, the Hunter reaching out to run their finger along dust-covered volumes of books, Micolash’s hands cradled together behind his back. He watches with a quiet appreciation. He must have touched everything already. He’s been here long enough, the Hunter thinks, he must have read just about every volume there is.
“Thanks,” the Hunter says, finally. “It’s good to take a break from the hunt.”
Micolash nods.
“When I learned that Byrgenwerth had been destroyed,” the Hunter continues, “I was sure there was no knowledge left in Yharnam.”
“Then you found me,” says Micolash, without a hint of pretension. He doesn’t think much of himself.
“Then I met you,” says the Hunter, pulling a book from the shelf. Without glancing at the cover, they open it, and are surprised to find that they cannot read a single word. The text is strange, almost as if it stands off the page. It shifts, and swirls, like so many other things they had seen in the dream.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” they say.
“The language of the dream is a confusing one. It’ll take time, but you’ll learn it.” Micolash takes the book from them and shelves it neatly, setting his free hand on their shoulder. He steers them to another section of the shelf. “These are simpler. We’ll start here.”
He picks through book after book; he has an idea of the right one to start with, he says, but he can’t exactly locate it. Another pitfall of the dream -- things are so very mutable.
The Hunter, on a whim, reaches toward him, touches his cheek with rough fingertips. He turns his head to the side, questioning. Hands pause on a book. Aside from the churn of the dream around them, there is stillness. Then the Hunter kisses him, softly at first, just to see what it would be like; they are so grateful to him. It seems natural.
Micolash slides a hand up their neck, into their hair. And he kisses back. Firmly.