#thespacelizard

[olive-riggzey]

trick or treat! (--@space-writes)

Trick!!! Or... could this be a treat? 🤔

Either way, if you would please give me either the vaguest or most over-the-top description of one of your characters... and I will read it and attempt to doodle them from memory >:}

#Zeta Replies #I was gonna screenshot this and post it on the art blog but meh #Writeblr Trick or Treat #Writeblr Event #I dunno man I think this will either be really funny or embarrassing for me. We'll find out which #thespacelizard

[memento-morri-writes]

boo! trick or treat! (--@space-writes)

Hi Space! Thanks for the ask!! Have a TREAT!! 👻🍬

In High Fantasy WIP, one of the only characters I'm determined to have stick around is an unnamed warlock. Their powers revolve around shadows, including the ability to manipulate the size/shape/darkness of shadows, using someone's shadow to trap them, and creating shadows that leech the life from those who touch them.

They have an... uncertain relationship with their patron, and the patron has been known to forcibly take control of the warlock if they don't do what is asked of them. They live in fear of what they will be made to do next, as well as of losing control at an important moment.

The one upside to their pact is their familiar, a little black cat made entirely of shadows. She is a huge comfort to them, will ride on them wrapped around their neck like a scarf. She can also merge into their shadow to avoid physical danger. Oh, and she has purple eyes, I think.

#thespacelizard #writeblr trick or treat #high fantasy wip #oc: shadow warlock

[skittidyne]

💫 for the fic writer asks?

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

long ones!! i love ones that kinda follow the chapter’s events and comment on multiple things. i also love key smashing and memes - i got super lucky with meme creation comments in my mass effect fic haha.

but yes i love book report comments the most ever in existence

#ask #ask meme answer #thespacelizard

[space-writes]

hello (again) writeblr! i decided to make a new intro that has all my current wips on it, since i have way more than when i first started out on here.

about me

I go by Space, my pronouns are they/he, and I’m in my third decade of existence, which is absolutely wild. I’ve been writing for most of it, so I like to think I’m pretty decent

I write mostly fantasy and erotica (sometimes at the same time), both original and fanfiction, and all of it's queer

You can find my work on my AO3 here, crossposted to my neocities here, and under my snippets tag

I’m open to tag and ask games, and my inbox is currently open to anything as well. I don’t always reply the fastest, but I’ll get to it eventually! (I don’t take part in chain asks, so please don’t send me them)

I use obsidian.md for all my writing, and it’s my favourite notes app ever, so I also talk about that occasionally. The tag for it is here, and I’m hoping to write some more showcases/tutorials this year!

my main goal is to actually finish some damn books and also to inflict my OC brainrot upon people. so far the second one is the only thing that’s actually happened, but i live in hope

My current wips are Chronicles of Valloroth (Renegade Prince being book one), Obedience, Obsession, and claws—summaries and links for all four are under the cut!

this is my writing sideblog, you can find my main @thespacelizard, and i follow/like from there

tag directory is here

current wips

Chronicles of Valloroth

⚔ Genre: Fantasy Adventure

⚔ Features: Queer cast, found family, A Whole Entire Dragon, magical mishaps, The Mere Concept of Doing The Right Thing, a grumpy assassin, a sparkly mercenary, knock-off tieflings, a handsome prince (he’s gay), more banter than your average dungeons and dragons campaign

⚔ Status: Book One: First draft completed, re-drafting in-progress || Books Two & Three: outlined

⚔ One Sentence Summary (Book One): A runaway prince seeks freedom in a new world and must find a way to convince a rag-tag group to defeat an ancient dragon, all whilst he is being hunted by a band of mercenaries and an infamous assassin.

⚔ Series Tag: valloroth blogging

claws

🩸 Genre: Queer Horror

🩸 Features: teacher/student relationship (university edition), toxic romance, gender fuckery, broken identity, demonology, murder, self-harm, obsession, stalking, infidelity, a lot of blood, pact-based magic system, corruption, jealousy, eldritch entities, love is a wound, body horror, attempted suicide, and a little bit of arachnophilia

🩸 Status: First draft complete!

🩸 One Sentence Summary: A young student’s obsession with his demonology teacher sparks a twisted romance that draws him to the limits of his humanity—and into the web of an eldritch horror.

🩸 Series Tag: wip: claws

Obedience

💜 Genre: Erotic Romance, D&D fanfiction (original characters, Forgotten Realms setting & loose 5E ruleset)

💜 Features: a variety of BDSM scenarios, one closed off wizard dom, one enthusiastic nerdy sub, weird uses for dnd spells, a painful amount of pining, somehow; worldbuilding, emotional slow burn, as much self indulgence as I can possibly fit in a fanfic series

💜 Status: Arcs 1-3 are complete (read on AO3 here, or my neocities here). The first book of Arc 4, The Perils of Wanting is currently in edits. The second book of Arc 4, as yet untitled, is on its second draft.

💜 One Sentence Summary: A D/s M/M series featuring two wizard boys, the kinky magic they get up to, and the feelings they definitely don’t have for each other.

💜 Series Tag: obedience fic blogging (it began on my main, so the tag there has more snippets)

Obsession

🕷 Genre: War of the Spider Queen/Forgotten Realms fanfiction, also Erotica, Horror and a smidge of Dark Romance

🕷 Features: OC/canon, a nightmare transmasc wizard boy, obsession, stalking, jealousy, violent impulses, dubious consent, possessiveness, evil gender dysphoria, incest, gore, the inherent horror of Having a Body, and occasionally actual school things happening at Sorcere

🕷 Status: Ongoing serial, which you can read on AO3 here, or my neocities here

🕷 One Sentence Summary: Pharaun Mizzrym is everything to Vizaeth Thaezyr. He’ll do anything for him—even if Pharaun doesn’t know it yet.

🕷 Series Tag: obsession fic blogging (it also began on my main, so check the tag there for additional content!)

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #writeblr reintro #writing community #writing #writers on tumblr #writers #i did it i remade the intro! #everyone cheer and clap for me #anyway hello to all the people who've joined me here since i started! #thanks for listening to me incessantly post about my blorbos

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

16 Questions Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @amethyst-aster! :D Making a new post because the thread is getting long:

Are you named after anyone?: My real name: yes (two real people). My penname: also yes (a Shakespeare character).

When was the last time you cried?: Today. At the dentist 😬

Do you have kids?: Not yet. I want children, but unless my crush returns my feelings (highly unlikely :( ) I'll have to adopt.

Do you play/have you played sports?: Not unless you count races at school

Do you like sarcasm?: Yep!

What do you notice about people when you meet them?: Very little. I'm terrible at noticing things 😅

What's your eye colour?: Grey-blue

Scary movies or happy endings?: Both!

Any talents?: Writing. And accidentally creating series out of standalone novels.

Where were you born?: Last century in a place that doesn't exist any more :P (More seriously: I was born in the 1990s in a hospital that's been closed recently)

What are you reading?: Full Moon by P. G. Wodehouse

What are your hobbies?: Reading, writing, taking photos, calligraphy, and learning languages.

Any pets?: Yes, a cat

How tall are you?: 5' 2" and mad about it D:<

What were your favourite school subjects?: History

What's your dream job?: Author

Tagging @thestorywitch, @thespacelizard, @writingamongther0ses, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

#tag game

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- Lost in Paradise

The sight in question was simple enough. No, that is a lie, it was anything but. We approached the precipice of another world when we stepped out on deck. A world more vibrant than what lay behind us. Above it, around it—swishing ever so below it, ignored in the moment but remembered in the telling—were colors I’d not seen outside of dreams—atop a shadow too grand to exist.

An island, Sebastian said, and it was—surely, it was—but it was larger than any single island we’d come across not speared by progress and teeming with smoke and men. Its forest—of soft gray trunks and warm purple leaves—stood impossibly on cool blue grass, defiant of my study. Shifting and twisting, it appeared altogether too close and too far, keeping me ever-guessing for its size and shape—the lights blinking within.

Closer and closer we drifted—too quickly for how many sails were reefed—into familiar air. Not for scent or sight but something in it swooned with knowing, through the steady breeze guiding us to a glistening dock of sea-black stone.

Taglist

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

@thebejeweledwatercat

@starbuds-and-rosedust

@thespacelizard

#writeblr #snippet #writing #before deluca #i did a lot of fixing today but this is all i actually wrote #so you may have it #i am excited for this island #you know deluca's freaking out when he breaks out the emdashes #needs to cool it though it's driving me nuts

[bardic-tales]

Tumble Game: Manuscript Search

Thank you for the tag, @verba-writing. This is one of my favorite tag games.

I am going to softly tag some of my new followers: @whatwedointhecraft @spitefulbull @theharpywrites @lordkingsmith @thespacelizard

My words to find are: Teeth | Mistake | Silence. I am going to find them for my secondary WIP: Timeless Souls.

Your words are: sorrow | light | fear.

Chapter 7: Silence

Vivian was pulled out of her thoughts by her smartphone, the ringtone cutting through the morose silence that had followed her outburst. She was jerked back to reality with a suddenness that made her head throb.

Chapter 11 - Teeth

Something seemed off about this man. On the surface, he seemed to be the perfect visage of what she found attractive in a man—short, brunette hair, squared jaw, five o’clock shadow, and blue eyes—but Vivian seemed to see a crack etched in the facade. His teeth were too white, his eyes too intense, and his smile too wide. It was as if he was a lion and she was his prey.

Chapter 13 - Mistake

“Perhaps, I made a mistake turning you!” he hissed. “Perhaps, I should rectify that mistake! Does the lake of fire call to you, Cherelle? Do you long for the endless eternity of relentless suffering before your soul suffers the Second Death? That one you will not come back from. If you think me an unfair master, wait until you spend some time with Asmodeus!”

#tumblr games #originals #original stories #original writing #writers on tumblr #original works #writeblr #writeblr originals #oc: vivian rossi #oc: vincent delacroix #wip: timeless souls #timeless souls #snippet: timeless souls #bardic tales #bardic-tales

[rukafais]

for @thespacelizard so i'm not just making an extremely long post with no readmore or like, spamming DMs

“Why, Kimmuriel, I had no idea that you were interested in such carnal pleasures,” Gromph Baenre said to the psionicist when Kimmuriel had finished with Dahlia and was preparing to leave House Do’Urden. With the new insight he had gained into the morass that was Dahlia’s jumbled mind, Kimmuriel had thought it time to depart Menzoberranzan for a bit and see to his business on the surface. His intended teleportation journey was interrupted, however, by the rather powerful psionic intrusions of Methil El-Viddenvelp, the illithid standing at Gromph’s side when the archmage met Kimmuriel in the antechamber just outside of Dahlia’s room. “I was learning,” Kimmuriel replied dryly, “as the subject of an experiment.” “One for which I am sure you could find many willing subjects,” Gromph teased. Kimmuriel stared at him blankly, revealing his boredom. “What do you want, Archmage?” “I?” Gromph asked innocently. “Why, Master Oblodra, you are the one who is where he does not belong.” Kimmuriel hardly failed to miss the unsubtle reference to his surname— the name of a House Gromph’s mother, with the power of the Spider Queen flowing through her, had utterly obliterated. “Bregan D’aerthe has been ordered to serve in House Do’Urden, has it not? I lead that band.” ---

“Your unrelenting quips waste my time, Archmage. Is there something of substance you wish to discuss? Like, perhaps, why you instructed Methil to interrupt my attempt to be gone from this place?” “Because I wished to speak with you, of course.” “Then speak of something worthy of my attention."

---

Gromph looked from one to the other, and arched an eyebrow when the illithid bowed to Kimmuriel.

“Do you plan to enlighten me?” asked the archmage, who sensed the exchange but could not quite decipher it.

“Our discussions are quite beyond your understanding at this point in your training, my student,” Kimmuriel answered.

Leave us, Kimmuriel silently requested of Methil, and the illithid bowed again and complied. Methil walked to the door, then dematerializing to pass right through the closed door as only a powerful psionicist might.

“Brilliant,” Kimmuriel said as he watched Methil leave.

“Rather showy, I think,” Gromph said.

Kimmuriel looked at him incredulously.

“Shall I weave a dimensional door to take me from this place when I desire to leave?” the archmage asked.

Kimmuriel shrugged and shook his head, his expression still incredulous, even belittling. “If you so desire.”

“And will I then be brilliant in the eyes of Kimmuriel?”

“Showy,” the psionicist was quick to answer, and now Gromph wore a confused expression.

“Methil exists more in his mind than in the physical world,” Kimmuriel explained. “He exited the room in that manner for the sake of expediency, nothing more.”

Gromph glanced back at the door. “Are you saying that it was less effort for the mind flayer to walk through the door than to reach out and open it?”

“Brilliant,” Kimmuriel replied, and when Gromph looked back at him, he added, “And brilliant in a manner unlike your magical dweomers each day. For Methil the powers are nearly inexhaustible.”

“Will I come to that point, my teacher?” Gromph asked slyly.

“If you do, I will envy you.”

--- “Ah, yes,” said Gromph sarcastically. “You were learning.” “I am always learning. That is why I am the master, and you the student.” Gromph’s red eyes flared for just an instant. He was not used to being talked to in that manner, Kimmuriel knew. “Now that you have learned, you will leave? Or am I to have another lesson?” ---

It was a curious phrase coming from this one, one of those nonsensical surface structures often bandied about by the less intelligent races, but in this context it was more than that. A hint? Kimmuriel sent his probing thoughts into Gromph’s mind. There were few drow more intelligent than Gromph Baenre, and he could easily defeat such psionic intrusions from afar. Indeed, Kimmuriel wondered whether even an illithid could gain much from stubborn Gromph directly through the meld of its probing tentacles if the archmage mentally tried to block it. But now those guards were down. Gromph was allowing him in. Gromph kept it focused, his disciplined mind allowing no side-journeys for the psionicist, who felt almost as if he had mentally entered a long and illustrious hallway, full of statues with teasing placards.

--- “Enough!” Gromph shouted suddenly, breaking Kimmuriel from his trance. Kimmuriel blinked open his eyes and looked at his student, his expression one of puzzlement. “Archmage?” he innocently asked. “What kind of fool do you take me to be?” Gromph said with deathlike flatness. A wave of panic rolled up through the normally composed psionicist, and he seriously considered teleporting from that room at once—though of course Gromph would chase him and find him. “Spare me your false accolades,” Gromph clarified, and it was all Kimmuriel could do to suppress a great sigh of relief. “I know I have failed this day.”

---

“It will grow easier,” Kimmuriel assured him. “These powers of the mind are new to you—I am amazed at the progress you have already made. Such psionic scrying is a difficult task for any, even an illithid, and that you can perform it at all is testament to your mental strength, and offers great hope that you will one day—one day soon, perhaps—attain psionic greatness to rival your arcane prowess.” The compliments performed as Kimmuriel had hoped, and Gromph eased back and visibly relaxed. And the kind words were only partly a lie, Kimmuriel knew, for Gromph was indeed powerful in mind magic —and as intelligent as any drow ever known. Intelligence alone didn’t guarantee psionic prowess—the brilliant Jarlaxle was quite fumbling with regard to the psionic powers, after all—but when one had that aptitude, as with Gromph, great intelligence would present great opportunity, a ceiling as high as the sky in the World Above. “Are you prepared to resume our sessions?” Kimmuriel asked.

---

He could hear their telepathic calls in his head, begging for instructions, and he knew that he controlled them. He could feel it. They would obey his every command. “Kill that one,” he instructed the others, pointing to what appeared to be the most aggressive of the group, and without hesitation, the other four fell over the targeted creature, bearing it to the floor with a tumbling crash. They tore it apart, appendage by appendage, leaving a smoking, melting husk on the floor. Gromph felt almost godlike, and he couldn’t suppress his grin as he considered the melding of psionics and arcane powers. He understood the mind flayers much better at that moment, and understood Kimmuriel as well, and wondered how his brother Jarlaxle could possibly control the psionicist of House Oblodra. ---- “Where is that creature you claim as a peer?” Gromph demanded. The one you consider your tutor? Jarlaxle thought, but very wisely did not say. “Seeking answers, I would hope.” “In the Abyss?” Jarlaxle nearly laughed out loud. “Where Kimmuriel always seeks his answers,” he replied. “At the hive-mind, of course. The illithids know everything in the multiverse, if one is to believe Kimmuriel.”

---

“You will tell me everything Kimmuriel learns,” the archmage said at length. “And when he returns, you will deliver him to me immediately.” “Deliver him?” Jarlaxle shrugged and offered a meek smile. “What?” Gromph demanded. “Kimmuriel is a leader of Bregan D’aerthe, dear Gromph, and as such, he is free to make his own choices,” Jarlaxle explained. “I will inform him of your desire to speak with him, but …” Gromph’s nostrils flared and for a heartbeat, Jarlaxle feared that he might have gone a bit too far in his overt backtracking. But Gromph quickly calmed—no doubt he reminded himself that he needed Bregan D’aerthe right now more than they needed, or feared, him. Jarlaxle could get word of Gromph’s whereabouts to Matron Mother Baenre very quickly, after all, and the mercenary leader had a good idea that Quenthel and Gromph were not on particularly good terms at this time. “I wish to speak with him,” Gromph said calmly. “Perhaps it would help if you would tell me why,” Jarlaxle offered. “Perhaps I might burn my explanation onto your naked back and leave you face down and dead on the floor for Kimmuriel to read.” “A simple no would have sufficed.” “Jarlaxle doesn’t take no for an answer.” “Hmm,” the mercenary leader snorted, and he shrugged, tipped his hat in concession, and walked away, muttering as he made his way through the haunted corridors of Illusk. Now he knew, without doubt, that Gromph blamed Kimmuriel for Demogorgon. “Ah, my tentacle-loving friend, what have you done?” Jarlaxle asked himself, but the question carried back no answers in its echoes.

---

“I will reduce him to ash,” the archmage promised, and there was no compromise or debate to be found in his tone. “Yes, dear Jarlaxle, do go find him.” All four of the others took a cautious step back from the sheer weight of the threat. “He was your instructor in what you most desired,” Jarlaxle dared to reply. “Was,” said Gromph. “And he betrayed me.” “You do not know that.” Gromph glared at him. “Am I to believe that mighty Gromph Baenre considers himself to have been used as a puppet by Kimmuriel?” Jarlaxle answered. “You think it was Kimmuriel who tricked you into casting a spell beyond your control, one that brought the great Demogorgon into the tower of Sorcere?” “There are many times when Jarlaxle speaks too much,” Gromph warned. “But that cannot be,” Jarlaxle pressed anyway. “How can Kimmuriel have had knowledge of that kind of power? To summon the Prince of Demons? Every matron mother in the city would have murdered her own children to find such a secret." ----

Kimmuriel shrugged. “These are strange times of unexpected occurrence, Archmage. I did not know that the invocation I helped you to sort out through the combination of magic arcane and psionic would bring Demogorgon to the Underdark, or that it would so damage the Faerzress as to give other mighty demons access to the corridors of Faerûn’s underworld. “Had I known that, surely I would have helped you to avoid that … trouble.” He shrugged again. “Come, Archmage. You will find the journey enlightening in ways you could not ever before imagine.” Gromph tapped his fingers together again, staring at this confusing drow. The hive-mind! From everything Gromph had ever learned regarding the mind flayers—and thanks to Methil El Viddenvelp, his knowledge of the subject was extensive—the illithid hive-mind was perhaps the greatest repository of knowledge and understanding of the multiverse in existence. He took Kimmuriel’s hand. ---

“Lower your defenses,” Kimmuriel urged him, audibly and in his mind. “The illithids have no reason to show you enmity. It was they who bid me to bring you.” Gromph looked at Kimmuriel with great suspicion, and thought for a moment that he had foolishly accepted the invitation, and that this, after all, might be no more than a ploy to eliminate a threat to Kimmuriel, who had long been favored by the squid-headed beasts. But Kimmuriel shook his head. “They would take no sides in our dispute, even if I so wished,” he said. “They would know with confidence that whichever of us proved the stronger would willingly work beside them, to learn from them as they learned from me, or you. “Lower your defenses, I beg,” he went on. “They cannot serve you here in any case, and hiding behind walls of useless wariness will only prevent you from experiencing the power of this place of ultimate knowledge.”

---

Gromph and Kimmuriel walked side by side through the passageways of Gauntlgrym, a host of dwarf guards directing them. King Bruenor hadn’t been pleased to see them, but at least they had come to see him properly, in accordance with Catti-brie’s wishes. Gromph hadn’t much noticed or cared. He had only come to this place now because of Kimmuriel’s insistence. Since he had accepted Kimmuriel as the official ambassador of the illithid hive-mind in the rebuilding of the tower, Kimmuriel’s wishes were no small thing. “It is an amazing insight, perhaps,” Kimmuriel offered as the party descended the long circular stair to the main chamber of the lower levels. “It is idiocy,” Gromph replied with calm confidence. The only thing preventing him from a complete explosion of outrage here were his most recent memories. Never had he felt such power flowing through him as when the illithid collective had sent the kinetic barrier to the waiting K’yorl. That had felt to Gromph to be the purest and most intense expression of intangible power he had ever experienced. In those moments of flowing perfection, he believed that he had come to know what it was like to be a god. ---

“Truly you wound me, my friend.”

“I wound you, but you’re to get me killed, beyond doubt,” said Kimmuriel.

“Gromph is not going to kill you,” Jarlaxle assured him. “After feeling the power of the illithid hive flowing through him to destroy Demogorgon, he is more likely to cast enchantments of love upon you than to lob fireballs your way.”

“Thrilling,” Kimmuriel dryly replied.

“He would give you a room at the Hosttower.”

“To be surrounded by insipid wizards and their limitations?”

Jarlaxle sighed in surrender.

#he cannot stop comparing gromph to jarlaxle in some of these lmao #jarlaxles ego would become fucking intolerable if he knew kimmuriel was like YEAH JARLAXLE IS SO SO SMART HE JUST SUCKS AT PSIONICS SO BAD #this isnt all of them but they have like. A lot.

[foxboyclit]

To Be Loved Is To Be Changed

a trans slash fiction, featuring the Nydallas. special thanks to @hyenagirlbulge for the title, and @thespacelizard for the Drow language ideas. tw for transphobia

“Og’elend-vith!”

Spat out by his mother and chased by the hissing snake-headed whip after an unsuccessful attempt to slip past as his brother. Iphis’ breath drew thin as the serpents deposited venom into his veins. She’d whip him until he fell unconscious, no doubt, hoping when he awoke there would be no memory of the desire to rebel.

“I did not raise a heretic. I did not raise a cross-dresser!”

The whip cracked, fangs lodging into his skin as Iphis cried out. Gritting his teeth, he braced for another strike. He didn’t expect her to be up so late, nor any impending threats that would warrant casting out her senses to catch interlopers. That bastard brother of his must have sold him out. If he survives this, Xashin will suffer all this and tenfold.

The whip rested still in Matron Kilth’s hand for a moment, its snakes writhing in anticipation. Then, with a voice of ice shards, she asked:

“Have I made myself clear?”

She could strike him dead, track down his soul where the Infinite Web hung and find wanting for his compliance. Perhaps it was the wine, or Miss Nydalla’s attention, for his poisoned blood sang with bravery.

“As clear as I’ve made my name to you.”

The whip cracks, fangs pierce his skin, and Iphis hears one last snarl as everything goes dark.

“Your name is Nephila. You will honor it as you honor Lloth.”

—

It was shortly after his rebirth that Iphis would find himself treated to a new wardrobe. Before now he got away on whatever his brother wouldn’t miss, which hung awkwardly over his frame. The majority of clothes shopping was complete, but his Mistress saved the best for last. He kept his eyes shut as instructed while she dressed him.

Being able to only feel her made his head swim tenfold, fine-tuning his nerves as he was left to hope she wore that pleased expression.

Two taps to his bicep signaled to raise his arms as Minisstra slid the sleeves of his shirt through, and Iphis didn’t have to see to know she would leave just enough unbuttoned to show the violet and blue splotches of her ownership.

Her palms trailed over his chest once more, smoothing out any imperfections as he failed to suppress a shiver when they dipped slightly too low. With an arm around his lower back, she guided him to the grand floor-length mirror.

“Now, Ra’soltha, you may open your eyes.”

As he did, Iphis felt warmth, strange yet not unpleasant, spreading to the tips of his ears. He drank in the sight of Minisstra’s work; a new shirt, one that hugged his frame, flattering rather than hiding it, made for his height and proportions with sleeves that didn’t need to be rolled up, but looked damn good when done so.

It was sleek and dark as her kept widows, embroidered with delicate white flowers climbing the front. Small moths hovered near the blossoms, their blue wings glinting with hints of silver thread.

“This is your artistry?”

Minisstra nodded, “I needed a model for my work, and you serve as a fine doll.”

Iphis traced the pattern, glowing at the worth he’d earned to wear such a perfect thing, that it looked perfect on him. “It’s gorgeous,” he whispered, “thank you, Mistress.”

“Any excuse to show that you’re mine,” she smiled, her hands finding his hips as he leaned in, and she pulled him closer, and Iphis was forever pleased to have a life expertly intertwined with hers.

—

It’s the word carved into Minisstra’s door during her time at Arach-Tinilith. The culprit was easy enough to find, was foolish enough to snicker as she walked by. She stopped, caught the young woman’s eye. “I assume you left a message for me?”

The accused met her gaze, unflinching. “And if your assumptions proved correct? What is someone like you going to do?”

“Why do you ask, if you could settle a confrontation from someone like me without breaking a sweat?”

“And do you have a place in mind for such airings?” a question that was not a question, a last opportunity for Minisstra to back down.

“I do.” Minisstra held her stare in an iron lock. “I’m sure you know your way around the school's caverns, the lower levels will provide seclusion for our little chat.”

To Minisstra’s heated delight, she found her opponent waiting at the proposed location. She kept her smile internal; it was important to keep the illusion of her opponent having the upper hand. The only sound to echo from her across the near-forgotten cavern was the hiss of an unsheathed blade.

To the novice’s credit, she proved a worthy effort with each swing of her blade. Minisstra parried again and again, allowing herself to be backed against a wall. Once her opponent closed in, she countered with a languid slash that forced the priestess back. From there it was easy to knock the sword from her hand, and as she stumbled, Minisstra forced her on her back, keeping her prone on the ground with her foot digging into the novice’s ribs.

“Now,” she smiled coldly, “you shall die in shame, proving your training insufficient for a female.”

She watched crimson eyes widen in anger, then fear, before glazing over as her blade sliced across her throat.

—

A banquet hosted by a higher ranked House, an event that would call for Minisstra and Iphis to be on their best behavior. The task proved easy, save for a few distinct glances from the other guests, and relief drifted through a brief window as the night seemingly carried itself on the harmony of a bard’s tune.

That was until Iphis caught ill-timed jeers on the wind.

“I heard Matron Nydalla made an appearance with her new consort.”

“That false Matron found a freak to match?”

“Og’elend-viths, the both of them. To think they’ve earned an ounce of the city’s respect.”

“I suppose.” The males exchanged laughter, volume a decibel too high for their own good.

The unspoken rules of more public banquets were to never poison a fellow guest, as this gathering was a delicacy of neutral ground. Still, addressing a grievance with a fellow guest was not entirely barred, so long as no one had to inspect their food.

Iphis rose from his seat, using the table runner as his catwalk as he sauntered over to the disrespectful lesser nobles. Keeping his posture relaxed and expression smooth as carved ice, he let the swash-buckle of his scabbard and the scrambling of lifted plates from either side of the table be his only warnings.

He stood in front of his critics now, the table’s platform joining heeled boots in a marriage of high ground.

The two jesters paled as their eyes locked with Iphis’ constructed gaze of intrigue as he spoke,

“My apologies, it appears the message for me and my Matron was lost in the crosstalk. Would you mind repeating yourselves?”

The males stuttered as more eyes fell on them. Iphis rested his hand on the sword’s hilt.

“Please, take a moment to compile your thoughts. I’d hate for there to be a misunderstanding.” He let their stunned silence ring out before tilting his head.

“Was it not worth repeating?” his eyes narrowed. “If so, I’d like to return to my meal.”

The remainder of dinner carried on two voices quieter.

—

Night came to Menzoberranzan, its late hours a protective shroud for the rare vulnerability between the matron and her consort. Iphis stared distantly at the ceiling, his gaze casting a peculiar contemplation.

“Something keeping you up?” Minisstra asked, to which Iphis responded with a small nod. He sighed, voice light enough to dance across a silk strand undetected.

“Do you ever pause to wonder if the remarks thrown at us bear any truth?”

“Which remarks?”

“How we have betrayed not only our fellow drow, but the natural order? That by rebelling against our bodies, are also traitors to Lloth?”

He turns his head toward her, studies the certainty carved into her face, smooth as the obsidian figures positioned in churches and fountains.

“If that is true, She would have made her displeasure known to the house long ago. She would have favored every drow willing to test us, and they would still live, and we’d have been no more.”

“You’re confident to believe there is no impending punishment?”

She cups his hand in hers, draws circles in his flesh with her thumb. “Lloth Herself takes many forms. If we’re made in Her image, how would our actions be treacherous?”

“Haven’t we shed that image?” His question beckons a small smile from her.

“Is a spider denouncing her mother when she molts?”

He pauses, turns the question over in his mind. Lloth’s children shed their skin, breaking from their former selves stronger, more beautiful, more complete. Could the same be said about them?

His hands absently trace the webbing of scars on his chest. “I suppose, we are Lloth’s children as much as any spider. I can’t see why you wouldn’t be right.”

“I studied Lloth’s doctrine for fifty years, I feel Her power coursing through me with every decision made as Matron. Of course I’m right.” She punctuates with a chaste peck to Iphis’ lips.

“Goodnight, lince’sa.”

#c: iphis nydalla #c: minisstra eradia nydalla #fox's writing

[thespacelizard]

Vizaeth visits the surface and learns a few things about fear and faith.

—

The nearer they get to the surface, the worse Vizaeth feels. It starts as a nervous nausea behind lips pressed tight and silent and, as they rise through the depths, out of Her perfect darkness and sheltering stone, it spreads until it turns his limbs numb, disconnects his skin, stutters his heart. The moment he sights the cavemouth, he stops dead.

“No.”

He tries to declare it, but it comes out barely a whisper. The others move past him, and Master Do'Urden goes right up to the edge, where the light—the light, oh Lolth, the light—actually touches him.

Beyond that threshold lies the surface. Nothing above, all that’s sacred below, crawling with faeries and iblith—he can’t go out there, he’s not meant to go out there, none of them are meant to go out there. He takes a step back, then another and another; he has to get away from that silver glow, so bright it burns.

Master Zaurett’s cold hand lands on his shoulder.

“Not thinking of running out on us are you, apprentice Thaezyr?”

“We shouldn’t be here,” Vizaeth says. “This is heresy.”

“Do you call every raid heresy, too?”

Vizaeth shakes his head, digging his nails into his palms. That’s not the same. “I won’t go out there. I can’t.”

“You can and you will.” Zaurett takes his wrists, forcing him to unclench his fists. His hands are shaking. “You earned your place in this class—have you forgotten I was there to ensure you kept it? You will not let petty fear remove you from it now.”

He’s not afraid, he’s faithful. It’s insanity that none of the others feel this, that none of them are devout enough to know when they’re straying to places She doesn’t want them to go. Zaurett clasps his hands, stilling them.

“We do not fall to fear,” he says, and his onyx rings glow black as a quiet pulse of necromantic energy thumps from his fingertips. Vizaeth’s still-tangled Weave catches at it eagerly and he takes a sharp breath. “We command it.”

Keep reading on AO3

#fanfiction #dungeons and dragons fanfiction #dnd fanfiction #forgotten realms fanfiction #oc fanfiction #my fic #obsession fic blogging #c: vizaeth thaezyr #did vizaeth learn anything? well technically yes but also no #he's having a little crisis and i did make myself a bit sad with this one #poorest wettest meow meow

[jmhwritesstuff]

last line tag

tagged by @space-writes, thank you!!

Rules: post the last sentence you wrote in your WIP and tag as many of your followers as there are words in the sentence.

From my current nano wip:

Bethe had only made it three months before she had been found far out in the Wastes, and the reports had continued to trickle in ever since.

27 words ... hoo boy! xD I don't think I can tag 27, so no pressure tagging:

@missvalerietanner @skelliewrites @hallwriteblr @thespacelizard @aalinaaaaaa @meerawrites @skullszeyes @starlitesymphony

Honestly, anyone who sees this and wants to join in!

#tag game #writer tag game #last line tag #writing #writeblr #tls #wip: tls

[memento-morri-writes]

hey morri, happy sts! since i’ve been afflicted with New Character Disease this week and been unable to evict the little bastard, please share with me the character(s) who you most wish would start paying rent for all the space they take up in your brain (–@space-writes)

Hi Space!! Thanks for the ask! <3

Okay, so the two who owe me the most rent are obviously Fallon and Kristopher. They occupy my mind just about 24/7, even if I haven't touched their story in MONTHS. (tbf, I haven't touched any story in months...) And since they're royalty, they can sure as hell afford to pay rent.

The other blorbo who's been taking up a fair bit of brainspace the past few weeks is my d&d character, Rook. I actually have a session with him today!! He's my literal bastard, former noble, current pirate, chaotic bi disaster. I would love to adapt him into a book someday, because I'm so in love with him and his backstory.

But yeah, Fallon, Kris, babies, please pay rent.

#thespacelizard #Morrigan replies #sts #sts asks #storyteller saturday #space-writes

[digitalsatyr23]

Nine people I'd like to get to know better

Thanks for the tag, @serenanymph! I'm going to tag @ryns-ramblings, @bumblingwitch, @skymeria, @mitchell-nihil, @lorenfinch, @thespacelizard, @gummybugg, @cranberrysoap, and @gravegrime! (no pressure of course)

Last song: Extras by Molly Daisy Scarpine & Daisuke Ishiwatari

Fav color: I always have a tough time with this question. I can't just pick one color!!! Uuuuuh today I'm feeling black.

Last tv show/movie: Sousou no Frieren

Spicy/sweet/savory?: Definitely a sweet and savory kind of guy.

Last game: 7 Days to Die

Last thing I googled: "How to collect water in 7 Days to Die", lol. That game is troublesome sometimes.

#tag game #nine people you want to get to know better

[space-writes]

find the word

tagged by @bardic-tales, thank you! (im gonna do this on my writing blog, thespacelizard is my main) my words are sorrow, light, fear. Since one of the words is sorrow, i simply have to go back into Renegade Prince for this.

no-pressure tagging @talesfromaurea @kaylinalexanderbooks @sam-glade and @jmhwritesstuff with the words return, allow, flee and away

sorrow

(it’s a character name, so that’s what this is, which kinda feels like cheating, but also i do love him very much so…)

Arcanist Rivaanlehnim was, therefore, thoroughly awake when Sorrow and his trio of Vetusak K'zinla climbed in through the window of his fourth-floor study in the middle of the night. He did not look up from the crystals spread out on his desk at their arrival. “Someone should teach you how doors work, Prince Sorrow,” he said, flipping a stronger magnifying lens down over one eye. “I had very little desire to be transformed into a toad this evening,” Sorrow said. At his left shoulder, Excellence was scanning the room, taking note of the additions Rivaanlehnim had made to his protections since last they’d visited. “Skellin, actually,” the arcanist said. “Much like the one your lieutenant has for some reason tucked into her shirt. Are you aware they’re venomous?”

light

Her feet were light again on the stairs as she hurried back down. She needn’t have worried – there was so much noise from back room and taproom alike that no-one would have heard her if she’d danced a jig down the banister and sounded a fanfare to finish.

fear

(three guesses who’s saying this line)

“You need not fear. Our little ghost is the most mercenary man I have ever met – so long as his purse is full of my coin, his murderous intent will be turned elsewhere than you.”

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist @at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph @sam-glade (ask to be +/-)

#writeblr #tag games #find the word #find the word tag #original fiction #snippets #wip #valloroth blogging #c: aliyne #c: sorrow #sorrow my beloved <3

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Out of Context Line Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @eccaiia and @tabswrites! :D

Here's an out-of-context line from Death Waits for Some Men:

Louise continued to be amazingly helpful in arranging her own murder.

Tagging @isherwoodj, @cruelflesh, @theeccentricraven, @thespacelizard, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

#tag game #writing #my writing #my WIPs #WIP: death

[dyrewrites]

Writing Share Game

Tagged by @kaylinalexanderbooks here

Rules: Share some writing!

Tagging @rowanmgrey-author @shepardsherd @aziz-reads and @angie-j-kay ^.^

A recent bit I find amusing (reminder; I am a terrible person).

We needn’t chase far, as Sebastian’s sat at the base of the stairs. Inside, he lay shivering on a small bed, glistening with sweat. But what worried was the waxy pallor...and all the blood that soaked clothes, sheets and much of the wood beneath. He’s lost too much, treasure, Lucient’s tone cold, distant, he kept it to thoughts, even with that cursed tongue of yours, you’ll not save him. For all he’s done for us, my love, I have to try, I insisted, licking my lips and studying my fingers. Glancing at Lucient, and the ice yet holding those moonlight eyes, I instructed Nico, “Strip all that covers his wounds.” Sebastian groaned, speaking slow and ragged, “Not...me...others.” Nico met my raised brow and Lucient’s tilted gaze with a shake of hands and head, “Others are injured but not worse, he is worried for...for,” Captain’s wrath, he finished with rough, loud thoughts. And I looked at Lucient, whose eyes were half-way to vanishing in his skull, but kept the words quiet, he is suffering for fear of you. As he should, was all he gave me. Then Sebastian coughed, wet and ragged, worrying a gasp out of me. “Par les dieux,” Lucient huffed, zipping to loom over the dying man, “if I promise your safety, will you let my sweet imbécile heal you? I refuse to watch him mourn prey.” “Captain...would mourn?” Focusing on the wrong part Sebastian coughed again, with Lucient’s hand shoved against his largest wound, and nodded, “Yes, heal, please.”

Taglist

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

@thebejeweledwatercat

@starbuds-and-rosedust

@thespacelizard

#writeblr #snippet #before deluca #tag games #writing share game #he heals with his spit usually with tongue or lips and it makes him and whoever is healed all warm and happy... #so it's a problem for the jealous brat what wants him all to himself