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tag list: @winterandwords // @revenantlore // @space-writes // @indecentpause // comment to be added or removed!

For anyone new to the game, Octavius is a mobster and Milo's ratting on him to Scotland Yard in exchange for good medical care for his sister, and it should be fine, because even if he might be developing feelings for Octavius, Octavius would never fall for him back. Right? 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ???

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love is stored in the fictional couple i’ve gotten overly invested in

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im nearly done with my re-outline, and idk if this will end up staying but however, i love this exchange a lot:

“Master, how old will you be?” he asked, as they stepped onto the street. “Why?” “For your birthday—you should spank me for every year.” “Ra’soltha, even you would have trouble with that amount.” “Every decade then.” Rizeth didn’t dignify that with a response. “Every century? I can take seven, Master, you know that.” “Then when I am seven centuries old, you will take seven.”

i adore them, your honour

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

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writers and artists will go "this isn't good enough." my brother in christ, you're creating something new out of nothing and expressing yourself creatively. your productivity and unrealistic standards of perfection do not define you or the worth of your art. you're doing great.

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before you ship something stop and ask yourself... Is this otp material? Make sure your characters are:

Obstinate and inflexible in their actions

Terrible for each other in most circumstances

Poor communicators

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worldbuilding in 5 tag

tagged a bit back by @tabswrites, thank you!

Rules: post 3-5 images of a place in your world and tell us a bit about it!

for this one I’m going to do Voi’xindiiri, otherwise known as the Draconic Empire, from Valloroth!

Source 1 - [ID - A low angle photograph of a pagoda temple against a bright blue sky. The stone is grey, the roof gold with green supports.] Source 2 - [ID - A path lined by short stone columns, wooden fencing, and tall, straight trees.] Source 3 - [ID - The front of a large building with four pillars in front of a wooden door. Incomplete text is visible above the columns. The readable words are ‘I. ACAD. CONDITORE. POSUIT.’] Source 4 - [ID - A Roman bath beneath an overcast sky. Statues line the encircling open roof.] Source 5 - [ID - A stone monument of four carved figures sits in the foreground of a city vista.]

Voi’xindiiri is what remains of the dracari empire, created—and still ruled—by the Earthbound god, Sirsassa the black, who is the only living dragon left in the world. The Empire has forgotten more magic than the rest of Valloroth knows, and used to cover the entire eastern half of the continent before it fell to the destructive betrayal of the now-dead dragon, Ruvosha the Green.

Currently, Voi’xindiiri remains the most magically advanced nation, though it rarely shares its secrets. The most unique feature is the network of teleportation Waystations that criss-cross the country. Every major settlement possesses one, and the larger cities—especially the capital—have multiple. Travel across the Empire is fast and efficient for those with the coin to make use of it, and the most successful merchants always do. The secret of their creation has, unfortunately, been lost to time.

It covers a vast swathe of Valloroth, and a multitude of diverse environments. It’s divided into 15 provinces, the largest being Sahlizivara, where the capital of Kashoskalya holds the Imperial Palace of the God-Empress. Until recently, Mohaade and Fygek were also considered part of Voi’xindiiri, and many in the Empire still don’t recognise their independence, not least because the Zarahmin took control of the Mohaade Waystation and corrupted it to kill any dracari that uses it.

[ID - a green and black decorative banner]

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @reininginthefirewriting @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist

@at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph @sam-glade

@viscerawrites @thegreatobsesso (ask to be +/-)

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Hey btw this is a pro mary sue/"cringy" oc blog. You're creating! You're having fun! That's all that matters and I'm proud of you.

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If you ever feel like you don't contribute to fandom because you "only" comment—

A regular serial commenter just joined a fandom Discord server I'm on and people are coming out of the woodwork to thank her for her service to the fandom, expressing how much joy her comments on their works bring them.

Remember—they're never only comments.

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Popping in to demand, gently and with enthusiasm, that you share some banter from a wip of your choosing, please and thank you

oh this is a dangerous thing, and i have for you some bits from a wip i have literally never posted about, but which @lawful-evil-novelist reminded me of the other day, which is the Sellswords/Avernus wip that i wrote in a furious fugue state a few years ago and then never did anything with. however, woe, Jarlaxle & Artemis fic banter be upon ye, because they're incorrigible:

“What do you think, Artemis?” Jarlaxle asked him, pushing aside his plate and cutting into his thoughts. “Shall we track down a hag, or wend our way along the Styx?” The Styx would possibly give them two components for the searching of one. Maggie had heard a rumour that a devil named Bazelsteen, who ran a service dock on the river, had been refining Styxian sand there. Efficiency would mean they got this damned quest over with faster, but still...Artemis had no desire to risk the Styx if he could help it. He tapped the list. “Heartstone.” “Ah, you are in the mood to haggle with another hag,” Jarlaxle grinned. “Or to harm her.” Artemis gave him a flat look. “You wish to harry a hideous hag? Hurt her quite horribly, even? Ah, but Artemis,” Jarlaxle’s uncovered eye sparkled, “Though you are quite handy at hobbling humans, I know not how you hope to harass this hag.” “I know how I’m going to harass you,” Artemis growled. “Harassed by a handsome human?” Jarlaxle’s lips curved in a wicked smile. “However shall I handle him?” “If you don’t desist, I’ll be dragging a dead drow out the door.” Jarlaxle laughed. “You don’t enjoy my cunning linguistics, abbil?” “I don’t enjoy you.” “You are quite often a terrible liar, dear Artemis.” <What fun this is,> drawled Gargauth <Dinner and a show. You two should charge admission.> “I’ve changed my mind,” Artemis said. “Let’s travel the Styx. I have a shield to bathe.” <Don’t you dare!>

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ocs. have you guys heard about this?

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excerpt: brunch

tag list: @winterandwords // @revenantlore // @space-writes // @indecentpause // comment to be added or removed!

I wrote this really fast and it's a bit rough still but I just wanted to share these two. They have brunch every Wednesday, same time, same place, and all they do the whole time is snipe at each other. When asked, they will both vehemently confirm they are NOT friends.

bitches 🥰

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Nine Sentences Nine People Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @space-writes! :D

These are from Houses Full of Deceit:

Colman still didn't look happy. Yo-han stared at him for a minute, then closed the notebook. "All right, what's wrong?" "Nothing! …Nothing. Really." Colman poured himself another cup of tea. That was the least convincing denial he'd ever heard. "It's only… I'm a wanted criminal in America." In hindsight Yo-han should have thought as much. "Whose passport are you using? That American attaché's?" "No, I thought that would be too obvious when he was meant to come to Japan anyway. I have several passports in my suitcase." Of course he did. Yo-han didn't know why he was surprised any more. "The one I'm using is…" Colman fished it out of his pocket. "Frederick Wimsey of Blackpool, England. Occupation: journalist. Born on— Good god. How did I make that mistake? According to this I'm forty-six. Do I look it?" Yo-han would be lucky if he didn't look forty-six by the time they got on their boat. "No. If anyone asks, say it's a mistake. Is Frederick Wimsey, journalist, a wanted criminal in America?"

Open tag! :D

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Heads Up Seven Up + Nine Sentences

@space-writes tagged me to share seven lines and @frostedlemonwriter tagged me to share nine. Thank you!

I'm combining them and sharing sixteen sentences from Name From Nowhere.

Interactions between Aria and Gillen are so fun to write because they both get a kick out of being antagonistic and are very violence first, think later kinds of people, so they have an unstoppable force vs immovable object situation going on. My money's on Aria though.

“Fuck you like yes? He died during the arrest? And you didn’t? Oh, that must absolutely haunt you.” He drags out the word haunt like a slow stab. Something snaps in my head, in my heart, in my tendons, and lets go of a torrent of rage. I’m half a step outside of myself when my fist crashes into Gillen’s face hard enough to split his lip and my knuckle. He catches my next swing in an iron grip, grabs my other wrist and pulls me towards him, hardly more than a couple of inches between our faces. Then he licks the blood off his lip like he’s enjoying this. I don’t pull away. “You,” he says, and it comes out cold, “just got a lot more interesting.” “Really?” I don’t look away either because he doesn’t get to win this. “You didn’t. You’re not nearly as interesting as you need everyone to think you are.”

Tagging @k--havok, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @lordfenric-writes and @mysticstarlightduck if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in. Share seven lines or nine lines or whatever. Your choice! 💗

Reblogs, replies etc on my tag posts are always welcome, but if you're doing this tag yourself, please make your own post instead of using mine to start a reblog chain.

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WiP Questionnaire

Tagged by @winglesswriter (hello new fren!) here

I am taggin @rowanmgrey-author and YOU

--Big Post Coming Through--

Answering for "Before Deluca"

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

->This<- which became the introduction/beginning of the first chapter. Most of it was wildly altered...but it's why I have a 130k words of novel now.

If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

It's not much for a theme song, but for some reason my brain says this one;

What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Lucient is the favorite of this WiP, it should be Ludovico/Deluca (who is telling the story) but it's not. I love him too but Lucient's just so much fun to write and more complex than he initially seems. Also he's bratty but loving and earnest and just...he just wants this man, ok. Forever, only him. And I love it.

What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

Honestly, no idea. My brain cannot wrap around the idea of a fan base for anything I've done. Just does not compute.

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Getting the two main characters to stop making me write sex scenes. I kid (it's a problem I don't really mind) but the biggest struggle has been the real world setting and how much of it I want to replace with the magic I've injected into it. Historical fantasy is one thing, but it's more Alternate Earth at this point and my brain gets angry when it has to conform to rules it didn't create.

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Unfortunately not. They wouldn't be safe around the main cast. There are vampire who behave like animals, and by that I mean they wholeheartedly believe they are dogs due to abuse and mind-control and it isn't pretty. So...no animals, I am sorry. At least not yet, there may be a cat at some point (I tend to put them in everything).

How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

A great big ol' sailing ship that begins with the name La Lune Royale but gets another one later. She is very beeg and covered in magic. When landbound, they use carriages, coaches, a train here soon, and eventually a car (maybe, I dunno if either of them should be trusted with such a thing).

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

The time-skip that takes them through the rest of their first century together and into their second (and final). So...halfway point? You will recall the 130k I mentioned at the top, yes? Help me.

What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

The vampires probably, and the romance, and maybe the magic? I dunno. It gets weird and doesn't seem to follow some of the tropes expected of this genre...I write weird vampires.

What are your hopes for your WIP?

To have it done by the end of the year would be neat, like done done, published and all.

->blank questions under cut<-

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

What are your hopes for your WIP?

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Before Deluca -- did I share this yet? You can have it anyway

Sense cleared of all that swimming heat—short-lived as it tends to be—shame perhaps should have bloomed in its place. But our crewman’s thoughts swelled with fresher images...still of me, and regret bloomed instead.

I kept that regret—and a drop of something more—to myself, and fed Lucient’s neck kisses, and his thoughts a question, feel better, my love?

“Mm, merci mon amour, I feel much better,” He answered aloud but his salacious coo, and the wink that trailed it, were not for me, “how about you, Sebastian?”

While Sebastian searched for voice I remained in Lucient’s thoughts, don’t know when to stop, do you?

Why would I, He teased, caressing my cheek, when you reward me so sweetly?

Do I now, the kiss I gave was deep but, while delicious to me, the taste of him lingered too fresh and wet to be so for Lucient.

Who shoved me away and spat, “Bête dégoûtante!”

“A disgusting beast whom you love so much,” I reminded the scowl that consumed his perfect face as he wiped his mouth and gathered his clothes. Laughing, my tone continued too giddy to Sebastian, “You needed something?”

“We, we,” he found some syllables and his eyes flashed wide before he lied—rather, spoke around the truth as he hadn’t come to report anything—to the floor, “Land, Captains...we’ve found an island. No signs of a city, or people.”

“An important announcement,” I considered as Lucient—layered again in all his silks—wrapped his arms around my middle, laying his chin on my shoulder. He waited then, for Sebastian to look up, before he licked my ear, sending the poor man’s eyes back down and I dodged the nibble that chased, smiling at the giggles as I added, “that perhaps could have been given after knocking?”

“Mi dispiace, capitano,” Sebastian apologized, pronunciation perfect.

“Bene, Sebastian, bene,” the pride clear in my voice earned me a bite in my ear and what followed did so through soft gasps as Lucient held my skin in his teeth, “and the apology is accepted...but...don’t let it happen again, hm?”

“You are too soft,” Lucient whispered, coiling tighter, certain to keep me his.

“Make for the island,” I instructed Sebastian before dismissing him with a flick of my wrist. As the door closed, I spun in Lucient’s grip and slammed him back against the desk—to the delectable sound of his surprise—and pressed into him, “Soft, am I?”

Gasping for me, he chuckled, “Figuratively, treasure, but if we’re soon to go ashore we’ve no time for,” reaching to touch, to grab, he smiled with my gasp, “this.”

Tasting his neck, his ear, I whispered, “But, my love...I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

“It’ll have to learn,” he escaped me then, grabbing a parasol from their place beside the door and turning to snipe, “as you’ll have to learn not to spit in my mouth.”

The laughter bubbled before I could stop it as I chased him out of the cabin, towards a sight that should have worried more than it did…

--

->Taglist under the cut<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@thebejeweledwatercat

@starbuds-and-rosedust

@thespacelizard

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i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

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i like writing smut, but honestly my favorite part is the immediate afterglow (or aftermath, lol), because i think there's an underrated kind of intimacy and/or vulnerability to those moments: the unsticking and cleaning up, looking at this person and this situation once the urgency of sex is over and you're still naked and covered with bodily fluids and it's like, now what