#Short Fantasy Blog

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[sluttilythings]

Happy Thursday everyone! 💛 Which do you like better 1 or 2?

[ravenkings]

i think i can say this now without incurring the wrath of his stans, but i have to say i deeply, deeply resent how neil gaiman, for years, has insinuated himself into like every corner of the fantasy genre so that any newish edition of any mildly influential work of fantasy fiction written since like 1920 will most likely have a blurb or a forward or some evidence of his greasy fingerprints all over it

[the-ellia-west]

Raavas 1/3 - Feathered Sword

Enjoy! (Hopefully)

-------------------------------------------------

"With all due respect, you aren't getting any younger, sir."

"Ha!" Evellias touched a grey streak in his beard at the thought. "I suppose you're right. But I'm not dead yet!"

"If you're reckless, you could be by the end of the year."

"I'm reckless?"

"Not at the moment, but you could be if you start thinking you're invincible."

"I won't. Besides, I know my way around a sword Aery. Don't worry so much."

"It is my job to worry, sir." The guard put his hands behind his back. "You're the only protector we've got. This kingdom can't afford to lose you."

"Can't afford to lose my sword, you mean." Evellias raised an eyebrow, "You know just as well as I that the only reason they haven't taken it from me is because I'm the only one who can use it."

Aery started to speak, stopped, and continued. "You have protection nonetheless, sir."

"Well then, I may just have to use you for some other purpose, hm? How do you feel about errands, Aery?"

"No."

Evellias laughed, but a faint cry stopped both men in their tracks.

"Did you hear that, sir?"

"I did." The soldier reached for his sword. "What was that?"

"It sounded almost like a child." Aery knelt by the reeds. "It came from here."

"Almost bird-like." Evellias nodded. But just as he started to help, a strange feeling tugged in his chest. Almost like fuzzy strings wrapped around his heart, pulling him toward the water of the creek. The swordsman followed the pull but stopped as a faint glow caught his eye, pulsing faintly beneath the murky water. The warrior squinted at the cool light and slowly edged toward it. But as water soaked through the toe of his boot, the sigil carved into the center of the cross guards on his own sword burst into a light of its own.

A Protector's sword. But it couldn't be lit on its own.

The swordsman glanced around, steeled his resolve, and plunged into the water. He dropped under, reaching for the light. The tip of his finger brushed a hard object, and he fumbled with the metal for a moment before getting a grip on the hilt. Evellias pulled at the sword. It wouldn't budge.

The warrior pulled harder, bracing himself against a rock. And as he pushed himself to the last of his strength, the sword finally sprung free of the mud. Evellias flipped his hair back out of his face, brushing off the sword.

"Sir!" Aery stopped, catching sight of his boss standing in the middle of a creek. "What- Uh, never mind. Sir, you may want to come take a look at this."

"What?" The warrior hooked the sword to his belt beside his own and trotted over to Aery, the sword's light blazing brighter as he did so.

"It's a child, sir. A Harpy hatchling, to be precise."

"Why is it here?" Evellias frowned as the small bundle sniffled softly before continuing its tiny chirping cries.

"I'm not sure. But the nest looked like it had been abandoned." A pause stretched between the two. "We should kill it."

Evellias frowned and glanced at the sword. "No."

"What? Sir, we have to. If we let it loose in town, it could attack someone!"

"It's a baby. It doesn't know how to."

"Then we need to get rid of it before it learns."

"Aery," Evellias drew the sword. "It's a protector."

"What?" Aery stopped, staring at the glowing steel and back at the child. The guard pushed a lock of hair out of its face. "I... I suppose... Harpies are sentient..."

"Yes! It can learn!"

Another long pause stretched the air thin before Aery spoke again. "He. He can learn." The guard's eyes softened. "What will you do, sir?"

"I'll take him with us. I'll raise him, train him. This sword is meant for him. We'll make him a guard, the protector he's meant to be."

***

"What is rule number one?"

"Only eat what I'm supposed to."

"Rule number two?"

"Keep the sword safe, and make sure I always know where it is."

"Number three?"

"If something goes wrong, hide and wait for you."

Evellias ruffled the young Harpy's hair. "Good job!"

Raavas wrapped his wings around himself as a soft cooing chirp escaped his lips at the praise. "Thanks, Papa!"

"You're very welcome." The swordsman scooped the little boy into his arms.

"Can we go outside? Please?"

"Alright. Do you have your sword?"

The Harpy nodded, touching the little toy sword in its sheath resting beneath his wing. "Yes, Papa!"

"Okay, then we can go."

"Yay!" The little boy's fluffy white wings fluttered excitedly as Evellias took him to the front of the building.

Minutes passed of the little boy playing about in the grass before a familiar shape passed by the gate. Raavas gasped and leaped to his feet.

The man dismounted his horse and knelt. The little Harpy flung his arms around him. "Raavas! How are you doing?"

"Good!"

"Aery. Welcome back. Have you found anything?"

"Unfortunately, not. But we need to talk. Things have gotten complicated."

"What's the news?"

Aery glanced at the young Harpy. "It's a message from the king. Anyway, have you been behaving?"

"Yes! Did you bring presents?" The little boy grinned.

"Ha! Sorry to say, little one, not this time."

Raavas' smile faded a little. "Okay."

"I need to talk to Aery, okay? Can I leave you here for a little bit, Raav? Is that okay?"

"Papa?" Raavas squirmed, and Aery put him down.

"Yes?"

"Can I go get a snack?"

"Not right now, maybe soon, okay?"

"Okay."

The two adults retreated inside the building to converse, and Evellias called for a servant to watch the little Harpy.

They spoke and shared information on the new situations and the adaptations they'd have to make for a while. But just after they'd finished speaking, a servant burst into the room.

"Sir! Master Evellias! The young master has gone missing! We looked for him in the garden and all about the house, but he's gone. We can't find him!"

"What?" Evellias leaped to his feet. "Shit. Aery, find some sort of clues. You, follow him."

After a short moment to process, all three figures raced off to their respective orders. Evellias tossed the corner of his carpet away from the bed and pried up the loose floorboard, drawing out the magnificent silver sword.

It's light cast dimly upon the floor, he rushed back to the ground floor and nearly ran into Aery. "What did you find?"

"He's inside. We found trails of dirt in the hallways, and one of the servants heard him say something about food before he dissapeared."

"He did mention wanting something before we went to talk. We should go to the kitchen. See if he's somewhere in there."

"Agreed." Aery nodded, and the two warriors followed the hallways to the kitchen, but after searching it, found nothing.

Evellias drew the sword and held it out. The light glowed at the light levels of a candle. He backed toward the door, but as he did so, the light faded. "He's here."

"But that's impossible, sir. We checked everywhere."

"Apparently not." Evellias trailed around the room and stopped in front of a wall. "Here is brightest."

"But- wait. Unless..." Aery passed Evellias and pulled open the cellar door.

"No, that's not possible, how..." Evellias looked down at the sword. He stepped hesitantly onto the steps, the light growing stronger. But as the two swordsmen followed the stairs, a faint noise stopped them in their tracks.

A soft sniffling cry somewhere between a sob and a bird trill. Aery glanced at Evellias, and the swordsman dropped the weapon, rushing down the stairs. "Raavas? Raavas, is that you? Answer me. Are you okay?"

Instead of an answer, the sobbing continued. "Aery, grab a torch. Now."

"Yessir!"

Evellias stepped cautiously into the darkness, little hiccups interrupted the sobs as a small voice gasped from the darkness. "Papa... I... I'm sorry... I didn't... I didn't mean..."

"Raavas!" Evellias sighed in relief, but froze as the words finally sunk in and the child returned to sobbing just as Aery brought the torch.

But both of the swordsmen froze in their tracks as the light fell over the child. Blood. Panic surged through Evellias, but he stopped as he caught sight of the small shapes beside him. Crimson soaked the Harpy's hands and face and he flinched. "Papa... I'm sorry..."

"Raavas. What's there to be sorry about?" Evellias hid his fear as he sat beside the little boy and cradled him in his arms as Aery knelt to examine the shapes and the blood.

"I... I... I broke... I broke the rules! Don't... don't be mad... Papa. P-please."

"What do you mean?"

"Rats." Aery looked up. "Desecrated..."

"I was hungry, Papa." Raavas hugged Evellias. "I... they're quiet. I didn't want to hurt them... I..." He broke down sobbing again, and Evellias hugged him close again.

"It's okay, Raavas. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. It'll be the same as it always is." But as he and Aery locked eyes, they both knew that would be a lie.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Thanks for reading! Please comment anything if you read it! Anything at all!

Part 1 (Here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 3.5

@i-do-anything-but-write @friendlesscat @darkandstormydolls @artsandstoriesandstuff @rivenantiqnerd

@urnumber1star @bloodmoonloveletter @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @stars-forever @corinneglass

@supercimi @phoenixradiant @whoevenknowswhatimwriting @blue-kyber @aalinaaaaaa

@lunaeuphternal @chaoticcandle @sunflowerrosy @n1ghtcrwler @ghostlyboysstories

@floweryprosegarden @thisisntrocket @bluektw @nkikio @i-hate-happy-endings

@confused-romantic @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @starslide @ramwritblr @homelessnerdwrites

@thecoolerlucky @bread-roses-and-chrome @thepeculiarbird @roleplay-fanatic @bbatcat

@thelazywitchphotographer @ryahisbored @pastellbg @agirlandherquill

@taleweaver-ramblings @bigwipscholar @fantastictrashpolice @cowboylikericky

@cosmolumine @caffeinated-and-annoying-bard @cherrychiplip @theliteraryarchitect @the-letterbox-archives

Thank you for reading! <333

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Unlock the Secrets of Writing Realistic Fiction: Research Strategies for Authors

Understanding the Basics of Writing Realistic Fiction

Understanding the basics of writing realistic fiction is a key part of becoming a successful author. Realistic fiction is a genre of writing that strives to recreate the everyday realities of life as accurately and realistically as possible. It's often based on true-to-life characters and settings, and requires authors to draw on their own experiences and observations in order to create believable stories. To ensure that your writing is as realistic as possible, it is important to familiarize yourself with the genre, understand its core elements, and explore research strategies that can help you create realistic stories.

The Benefits of Writing Realistic Fiction

Writing realistic fiction has a number of benefits for authors, including the ability to draw on the real world for inspiration. Realistic fiction allows authors to create stories that are rooted in reality, allowing them to capture the nuances of everyday life and explore complex themes and issues. Writing realistic fiction also allows authors to create characters that are well-rounded and believable, allowing readers to connect with them on an emotional level. Additionally, by writing in the genre, authors can help create a sense of empathy and understanding between readers and the characters they are reading about. With these benefits in mind, it's clear why writing realistic fiction can be so rewarding and satisfying for authors—and why it's worth taking the time to research and plan your story before you begin writing.

Research Strategies for Writing Realistic Fiction

Research is an important part of writing realistic fiction. It helps to ensure that your story is based in reality and believable to readers. In order to write realistic fiction, authors should use research strategies that will help them to create an accurate and believable story.

When researching for your story, it is important to look for accurate information. This means researching in reliable sources such as libraries, historical societies, and government websites. Additionally, authors should make sure to take notes or keep track of the information they have gathered.

Another important research strategy is to talk to people who have experienced the topic you are writing about. This could include interviewing people, reading memoirs, and observing people in their natural environment. This will help you to create more realistic characters and scenes in your story.

Finally, it is important to keep track of all of your research and use it to inform your writing. Make sure to review your research notes regularly to ensure accuracy and credibility. Additionally, make sure to review your story with a critical eye to make sure that all of the details are true-to-life and believable.

By using these research strategies, authors can create realistic and believable stories that will captivate their readers.

Identifying the Core Elements of Realistic Fiction

Realistic fiction is a type of story that is based on real-life experiences and events. To write a convincing and believable story, authors must identify the core elements of realistic fiction. The most important of these elements are believable characters, a setting that is realistic and plausible, a plot that is believable and engaging, and writing that is vivid and evocative. Identifying and understanding these elements are essential to creating an authentic and believable story. When beginning to write a realistic fiction piece, the author must first decide which elements to focus on. Once these core elements have been identified, the author can begin to develop a story that is both believable and compelling. Researching and gathering information about the elements of realistic fiction will help the author create a story that is well-crafted and engaging.

Structuring Your Writing for Realistic Fiction

Structuring your writing for realistic fiction is an essential part of the creative process. It's important to plan out how you will structure your story before you begin writing. This can help ensure that your story has a logical flow and is consistent throughout. When structuring your writing, you should consider the overall plot arc, subplots, and the pacing of the story. You should also consider how the characters will interact with each other and the overall setting. By considering all of these aspects, you can ensure that your story is structured in a way that will pull readers in and keep them engaged throughout the story.

Crafting True-to-Life Characters

Creating believable characters is an essential part of writing realistic fiction. While it may be tempting to rely on stereotypes or stock characters, it’s important to remember that readers will be looking for characters with realistic motivations, flaws, and personalities. To craft true-to-life characters, authors should start by researching common character traits in their genre. It’s also important to create characters with unique features and backgrounds that will be relatable to readers. Additionally, authors should use research to create characters that are believable within the context of their story’s setting. Finally, it’s important to use research to ensure that characters’ actions and conversations are true to life. By following these tips, authors can ensure that their characters are realistic and engaging for readers.

Setting the Scene with Realistic Details

When writing realistic fiction, it's important to incorporate realistic details to make the story more believable. Setting the scene with realistic details helps to draw readers in and create a more immersive experience. This can be achieved by researching the setting and other details such as the time period and the culture of the characters. Using accurate language and descriptions will add to the authenticity of the story, making it more believable. When writing about a particular location, it's important to research the landmarks, geography, climate, and other relevant details. Knowing the culture of the characters is also essential for setting the scene with realistic details. Researching things such as the architecture, music, food, and language of the location can help bring the story to life. Finally, it's important to research the current events of the time period in order to provide an accurate backdrop for the characters and plot. By researching the setting and other details, authors can create a vivid and believable setting for their realistic fiction story.

Developing a Plotline that is Believable

Developing a plotline that is believable is essential for creating a successful piece of realistic fiction. It’s important to ensure that the plot follows a logical sequence of events. It can be helpful to come up with a basic outline of the story and then brainstorm the details. Ask yourself questions about the characters and their motivations and then use this information to build the plot. A believable plot should also have a clear beginning, middle, and end with rising action towards a climax. Pay attention to the pace of the story and make sure that there are no gaps in logic. When crafting a plot, it’s important to consider both the external and internal conflicts of the characters. This will help to create a realistic storyline that resonates with readers.

Finding Inspiration for Writing Realistic Fiction

As an author of realistic fiction, it’s important to have a source of inspiration for your stories. Fortunately, there are numerous ways to find new ideas and inspiration for writing realistic fiction. One of the best ways is to use research strategies to explore different topics and ideas. Researching different cultural backgrounds, settings, and events can provide writers with insight into the world of realistic fiction. Additionally, authors can draw inspiration from their own personal lives and experiences, incorporating them into their stories. Finally, reading the works of other authors in the same genre can also be a great source of inspiration. By using these strategies, authors can find the inspiration they need to write believable and captivating stories.

Making the Most of Your Research Strategies for Writing Realistic Fiction

Conclusion

Once you have completed your research for your realistic fiction story, it is essential that you make the most of the information you have gathered. To do this, you should take the time to review your notes and highlight the key pieces of information that you will use in your writing. Think about how you can incorporate the details in a meaningful way that will bring your story to life. Additionally, consider how you can use your research to deepen your understanding of the topic and create a realistic and believable story. Finally, be sure to use the research strategies you have developed to keep your story on track and add authenticity to your writing. By doing this, you will be able to create a story that is unique and engaging.

Copyright © 2023 by Ren T.

TheWriteAdviceForWriters 2023

[selenekallanwriter]

A perk of being an indie author: I decide how long my books will be.

A downside of being an indie author: I decide how long my books will be and have no self-control.

[godzilla-reads]

“Undine” by Patricia McKillip was low key kinda funny because the story can be summed up to an undine wants to lure a man into polluted water and winds up getting lured into his eco-political movement.

4/5 would recommend.

[ominous-feychild-writes]

“What if we just… quit?” I ask suddenly.

Noah is washing the dirt and plaster off his arms, scrubbing them so hard that what little of his skin isn’t scarred is bright pink. His scars are so faded that they look decades old.

We’re only twenty, but he looks so much older.

“I can’t,” he says simply, not looking at me as he washes the last bit of soap down the sink. His voice barely even broke.

The television host’s voice chatters for us.

“Stormwalker and Supernova: heroes, or no better than the villains?” it says, staticky from poor connection.

Our apartment is on the outskirts of the city—even as government workers, we’re paid far too little to live downtown. Even if it’d make our jobs easier to be there.

“—today the two heroes helped make a record number of arrests, stopping three riots and two villain attacks within one day. But are they any—”

“Why not?” I ask, pushing myself off the stool and moving to put a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugs it off.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

He finally turns to look at me, silent resignation written all over his face. He tries to fake a reassuring smile, but I know better.

“—left thousands of dollars in damages and thousands more homeless as—”

That’s their excuse for paying us so little. ‘Because they need it to repair the destruction left in our wake.’ ‘If we want to be paid better, we should do a better job; don’t cause so much damage.’

If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it yourself? Try dodging lasers while saving people, while leading the villains away from populated areas, while trying to take them down! Then—then you can tell us to ‘do a better job!’

“Even if they can’t appreciate it,” Noah finishes defeatedly.

The pain in his eyes makes me want to fly all the way to the reporters, standing out front of the half-destroyed West Bank and talking trash about us, and to punch them so hard they go flying into the wreckage themselves.

Like Noah was when Genesis made him pick between himself and the people trying to flee the streets.

Lasers do an incredible amount of damage, even to people whose skin is hard as rock and bones are hard as steel. Even Noah—Stormwalker himself—couldn’t fight against those.

That kind of force—powerful enough to send a man of steel through stone walls—is strong enough to cause cuts and scrapes and bruises on one of the strongest heroes in the world.

But, yeah. ‘Do better.’

I can’t even step in myself. I have to stand back from afar, watching Noah get bloodied and bruised while reporters salivate at the thought of talking shit about us once the danger is over. I have to wait for Noah to get close enough for me to heal him.

Because that’s all I can do. Heal.

Next to Noah, I feel useless.

I’m just as squishy as everyone else, but I still put myself at risk in order to help the heroes. Well, mostly just Noah. But he and Supernova are the only heroes in this city, so.

‘Do better,’ they say.

I want to spit in all of their faces.

‘It’s the right thing to do, even if they don’t appreciate it,’ Noah says.

“Okay,” I say gently. I fight the urge to cup my hand around his cheek.

Part 2 | Part 3

Divider from @cafekitsune

[queka-store]

Renard the sea fox

Part 1: 🦊🎨

In a vibrant underwater world, Renard (or Ren for short), the sea fox, is born into a family of legendary artists. Despite having no limbs, he dreams of creating masterpieces. But his attempts to paint with his tail and teeth are met with laughter and mockery. Feeling defeated, Ren abandons his dreams, just like everyone abandoned him. 💔

[libraryofbronze]

Smut Idea: A woman moves to a secluded home to live with two male roommates far away from sociey as a live in sex toy in order to fulfill all of their sexual fantasies. Everyday and night she is fucked in a new way, leaving her pussy and body unimaginablly red, sore, and stretched. She is their personal whore and nearly constantly in use by one or the other or both or a vast array of fucking toys and tools.

Lyan could hardly remember what it had been like to be a normal girl. It felt like a lifetime ago, like a fading shadow cast by the flickering flames of a dying campfire. Soon to be extinguished by the coming dawn,

There was a cock inside of her. She was bent over, her breasts pressed into the wooden wall of the old house. Her hardened nipples tingled and jolted, each thrusting pressing her against the solid wood. It felt heavenly, the cock was hard and big, filling her up until tears spilled from her eyes. Her pussy hugged it, gripping it tightly even as pleasure roared through her like a torrent. Each thrust, each motion, each grinding penetration filled her mind with fire and cast those early days even more deeply into shadow.

She hadn’t always been such a cock-slut. She hadn’t always been a soaking, dripping mess of a woman. A toy reduced to her most primal functions, her only purpose to serve and please her betters.

No, that was not how she had started life.

Lyan yelped, a crackling orgasm spun through her nubile body. Her pussy twitched, and her master gave a grunt of satisfaction. He filled her up, his seed pouring into her pussy with a flood of heat and warmth. As he pulled out, she sank to her knees. Her chest heaved, rising and falling. Her eyes were wide, her auburn hair in a tangled mess.

“Better get back to the dishes,” the man chuckled. “When Robert gets back, you’ll be punished if they’re not done. And you know we hate to punish you.”

She felt him sweeping from the room, heard the groaning of old floorboards under his weight. Just like that, she’d been used, fucked, filled and left.

Lyan knelt on the floor, her body trembling. Slowly, she ran one hand between her legs. Her labia were a little swollen. She’d been used a lot lately. A tingle of pain marked the contact. As Jason’s seed dripped from her lower lips, she noted she’d have to beg for a break soon.

Jason and Robert were good about giving her breaks when she needed them. They’d fuck her in the ass for a few days and give her time to recover. Lyan pulled herself to her feet. Her legs were still shaking, little sparks of ecstasy danced across her calves and thighs, and she had to lean against the wall, panting and groaning until she was able to stagger back over towards the half-finished dishes. The soapy water had now grown cold, but there was always plenty of power to heat more.

Running out of money was not a thing that either Robert or Jason had to fear. She didn’t know exactly what they did, but they were rich. Richer than rich, really. The kind of people who were so wealthy they didn’t need to flaunt it. They didn’t like to show off. They wore normal clothes and drove practical, rugged cars. They didn’t boast or brag and they certainly never made a big thing of it.

In fact, the only concession to their wealth was the house itself. It was old, a rebuilt farmhouse from the century prior. A forest had grown up around it, enveloping it slowly over time. The two of them had taken it as a personal project, restoring it and stocking it with the very finest of everything. Yes, it was miles and miles from the nearest civilization but when it had literally anything you could ever want on offer, who cared about the drive?

And ‘’anything’’ of course, included Lyan.

When the dishes were done and put away, she went to report to Jason. He was sitting comfortably in the living room, tucked up against a table upon which there sat an expensive-looking laptop. He didn’t spare her a look, and she figured he was probably doing something important. Playing the stocks? Racing horses? Hunting humans for sport?

Lyan realised she really didn’t know what he did for fun.

Besides her, of course.

“The dishes are done, sir,” she took on an appropriately servile tone. Sometimes, she liked to tease. To bait, to taunt them into punishing her. it was always fun when that happened.

She remembered one time she’d done something particularly bad. They had tied her hands above her head, draping them from a hanging rafter. Robert had taken the hot wax to her body, splashing it across her pale skin with quick, sudden motions. Lyan had whimpered, jumping with each searing pinprick. The feeling had been so intense, so quick. When the hot wax had curled about her left nipple, she’d let out a howling cry, but that was nothing to what she felt when Robert intentionally let a bead of it touch her glistening clitoris.

Oh, how she’d shook! How she’d shivered! She’d been begging for forgiveness by then. Her body clenching, her pussy hot and tight and wet.

They had taken turns fucking her for the rest of the night. First in the pussy, then in the ass. Just when both men were spent and she was sure it was finally over, Jason had revealed that he’d brought in a new shipment of toys. A crate - a whole fucking crate - was waiting to torment her until the dawn.

By the end, she’d been dripping, ruined, a total mess on her hands and knees begging her masters for forgiveness.

In the present, Lyan gave a little moan. Her pussy throbbed, a wave of tightness expanded between her legs. The idea of invoking another punishment was tempting…

But she was already aching. She had to pace herself. That was part of The Agreement.

The agreement. Yes. How long ago had that been? Another life, surely? It felt like it had happened to another girl. A normal girl. A girl still in college. A girl who had to worry about qualifications, about jobs, about a future which was so uncertain.

What would that Lyan think now if she could only see her future self?

“You’d best be ready to go the full way if you’re going to start playing with yourself, slut.”

Lyan’s face coloured. She’d gotten too caught up in the past! Her fingers had started to work the bud of her clit, teasing it with delicate touches and feathery caresses as she remembered her past punishments.

“S-sorry sir,” she said. “I can’t help myself….”

“You are forgiven,” Jason waved a magnanimous hand. “It’s what we made you, after all.”

It was true. That was what they had made her. What she had let them make her.

The agreement, an offer of damnation that seemed to spring from her deepest desires. Total submission. Free use, surrender. Her body would no longer be her own. She would cede control to these men, allow them to use her in every way. To fuck her, to humiliate her, to tease her and torment her.

And she loved it all. She lived for it. At twenty-one years old, Lyan was a professional slut. A free-use whore for her owners and any guests that they chose to bring to the small, isolated house. She’d had more sex in the last year than most women had in three. She was trained, submissive, degraded and humiliated.

And she loved every second of it.

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

Welcome to Oli’s Inkwell Symposium

Hi there, fellow storytellers & readers!

I’m beyond thrilled to welcome you to Oli’s Inkwell Symposium—a space where imagination knows no bounds and all creativity flows freely.

If you’ve found your way here, you’re in excellent company. I’m Oliver, but you can call me Oli!

You may know me from my other blog here: @oliolioxenfreewrites!

What is ‘Oli’s Inkwell Symposium?’

Oli’s Inkwell Symposium is a sub-blog (separate from my creative writing) dedicated to the various forms of storytelling. Not just myself, but any writer wanting to be apart of something unique and communal! This is intended to be a haven for writers, artists, and anyone with a love for exploring the depths of human emotion and the mysteries of the universe. Here, I’ll share diverse insights, ideas, and stories that push the boundaries of reality and dive into the fantastical.

I want this to be more than just a blog – I want it to be a community. This is where we can talk about the stories that shape us, the emotions that drive us, and the creativity that fuels us. That's why I created the symposium: to have a place to share my explorations of the fantastical, the mysterious, and the deeply human.

Here, I invite you to join me in the endless game of hide-and-seek. In this game, we bring the hidden corners of the mind into the light, and creativity is the key to opening new worlds for us to explore.

At the symposium, creativity is not just a hobby. It's like an unpredictable journey where your imagination meets reality. Whether you're a writer, an idealist, or a reader of boundary-pushing stories, you've found a safe space here. 💓

Manifestations

As part of this journey, I’m excited to introduce you to Manifestations: Tales of Unchecked Emotion—an ongoing anthology where emotions don’t just simmer beneath the surface; they break free, take physical form, and start to influence the world around them in ways that are both beautiful and terrifying. Stay tuned for the next post, where you can learn how to submit your writing and potentially be featured here on the page!

This is an open invitation for you to join in. Whether you want to submit a story, share your thoughts, or simply explore the worlds we’re creating together, Manifestations is about exploring the dark, the light, and everything in between.

Join the Community

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Your fellow dreamer and writer 😁🌟

[the-ellia-west]

Raavas 3/3 - Mind tricks

This one is VERY long and I profusely apologize. If you don't want to read it. I will not take offense

(3 years after 2/3 - Raavas is 19)

Raavas marveled silently at the forest, eyes darting from feathers to flowers as he soaked in the faint green light filtering through the leaves overhead. He knelt, trailing his claws lightly through the soft blades of grass and soaking in every moment of freedom.

But just as he closed his eyes for a moment to think, a gentle voice jarred him back to reality. “Raavas. May I speak with you?”

The Harpy jumped, feathers bristling and claws flexing at his mentor’s presence. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you…” Evellias paused to consider his question and changed it to a statement. “We’re approaching the caverns.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“Do you… want any help with anything?”

“No. I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking though.” Raavas watched the older warrior out of the corner of his eye as he nodded, and hesitantly retreated.

Evellias sat by the fire and began to polish his shield. As he usually did when he was trying to think. Raavas knew that look in his eyes better than any. A deep regret and defeat, as if he was lost and trying desperately to find a path he recognized. A few minutes flaked away as the Harpy tried to consider his options.

“Evellias?” Raavas reached for his mentor's shoulder. But he stopped as his claws brushed the edges of his mentor's tunic.

Evellias whirled toward him, knuckles turning white as he clutched the shield. He stopped as his eyes met his apprentice’s. “Um… hey Raavas. What is it?”

The two men stared at one another for a moment, both at a loss for words. Evellias crawling with hundreds of questions and Raavas burning with the desire to spill his entire guts to the man who’d raised him. But as he opened his mouth to speak, a crushing weight of anxiety pushed the words back into his throat with a barrage of what-ifs.

“Are you ready?”

“If you are.”

Raavas fixed his coat as he brushed a claw along the wall. The caves of desire, the only way.

The two men nodded to one another and headed forward into the darkness. They huddled close together for what seemed hours before a gleaming light in the distance caught Raavas’ attention. He squinted at it and shifted lightly. But remembering his mentor's words before their journey, shook his head. No, he needed to stay focused. But when he returned his attention to his steps, he found no warmth at his back.

“Evellias?” The Harpy’s feathers bristled as he spun in a circle, trying to find his mentor in the infinite darkness.

But as he stopped, panic seeping into his mind at the fear he’d been left behind, the soft light of a torch in the distance caught his attention. A faint familiar voice called out to him in a word he couldn’t quite make out. “Evellias?” Raavas moved cautiously toward the light, and froze as the fire washed over him and he found himself in the living room of Evellias’ home.

A little figure sat on the arm of the chair, laughing as two other familiar figures told stories and played games with him. Little wings, soft feathers, grey and black hair, talons, and fingers. Helping hands and toy swords.

Raavas stopped, tension leaving his body as he recognized his past. Long winter nights spent with his family. The brothers who’d taken him in. Who’d loved him like a son and nephew. Who he’d trusted.

He stepped over, wishing he could sit by that fire again, and listen to Aery’s stories, joke around with Evellias over a card game. But as he hesitantly reached for them, the vision in front of him faded to a mirror. A vision of himself, and beside him, his younger self, grinning.

And as he looked into the mirror, he couldn’t help but compare them. The little harpy, happy, safe, warm, and obedient. Himself hungry, tired, scared, and desperate to be someone.

“Sad isn’t it? How much things can change.”

Raavas jumped at the voice, drawing his sword. “Who’s there?”

“The caves.”

“What…”

Raavas glanced around in the darkness, and his eyes locked on a new scene of Evellias and Aery speaking as he played on the other side of the room.

“They’re your family. The only home you’ve ever known. You want to help them. Because you love them. But you’re scared that if you do anything wrong, you could prove their fears right.”

Raavas stopped. “How do you know that?”

“You told me.”

“What?”

“You said it the second you entered my home. The tension in your shoulders, the fear in your eyes, the way you grip that sword, your calling for your master. I want to help you.”

“What do you mean? Have you been watching us?”

“No. I’ve heard you. Felt you. I am the caves. And I know you, Raavas. Your worries, your fears, your loves, your heart, your desires. So I have no reason to distrust you.”

The harpy lowered his sword. “You… what?”

“I trust you.” The cave repeated, softer, more earnest.

“You trust… me?”

“I do. And I wish to help you if you’d let me.”

Raavaas froze, the phrase enveloping his whole mind. I trust you.

“Aren’t you tired of worrying? It must be so tiring to watch your every step.”

“It is… I suppose.” the Harpy aimed the tip of his sword toward the stone of the ground,

“Constantly being reminded of how they’re human and you’re not. They make you feel so… wrong. Especially when they talk about you like you’re an animal. You’re not. You can think, you can feel their words, and you know who you are. You’re not just some creature. You’re special.”

“You think so?”

“I do. And so does that sword you carry. But it thinks you’re human. But you’re not that either. You’re not human, you’re not an animal, you’re both. And that makes you different. Unique. Powerful. What would you do if you could prove all of them wrong? What do you want to be?”

“I… I want to be me. I want to show them that I can fight. That they can’t keep me back just because I’m not exactly what they want!”

“And what if you could be?”

“How do you mean?”

“What if you could be a fighter? What if I could show you how to use your skills to be better? What if you could have a better destiny?”

Raavas paused. “…I like the idea.”

“But are they holding you back? They talk about restraining you. Killing you. They treat you like a prize. What if they’re the problem?”

“No! I… I mean… I…” Raavas stopped.

“Let me show you something.” The cave’s walls whirled to a sort of glass, and Raavas startled as he spotted his Mentor on the other side. “Call out to him.”

“Um… Evellias!” Raavas shouted as loud as he could, and his sharp eyes caught the ripples in the air. Evellias flinched but stoically pressed forward.

“Evellias! No! Wait! What are you doing?” Raavas reached for the glass.

“Let me help you.” More ripples shot across the air as Raavas’ own voice screamed and shouted for Evellias to stop and come back for him. Not to leave him behind. But Evellias ignored them all and forged onward through the darkness.

The Harpy’s eyes widened. Why wasn’t he stopping? Why didn’t he turn even once?

“He abandoned you.” The Cave echoed Raavas’ thoughts.

“I…” Raavas stopped as his suspicion and his hope tore at one another like rabid wolves.

“He abandoned you! After everything! Nineteen years and he leaves you behind like a discarded copper coin.”

“How… how could he?”

“He lied to you.”

Raavas pulled back, his breath catching in his throat as the Cave’s words finally sank in. It seemed hours, as he tried to reason out Evellias’ actions only to fall to the same conclusion as the cave pointed out the signs Raavas had been ignoring for so long. Hours upon hours of conversation arguments, and rough emotions before The Harpy's mind finally twisted, his sorrow burning into an intense, welling anger as the crack of distrust from that conversation years ago, crumbled.

He left me behind. He refused to talk to me. He treated me like an animal. He made me eat things and agree to his rules. He decided to kill me!

“Raavas, I’d like to tell you something.” The cave’s voice brought him back to reality for a moment.

“What?”

“I have a body. Outside of the caves. I have a name, and I’d like to meet with you.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. My real name is Xeoulis. I want you to join me. But first… we must deal with the present issue.”

Raavas’ face darkened. “Evellias.”

“Indeed.”

“Xeoulis, where’s the exit?”

“Why? What reason is there to leave so quickly?”

“I want to head him off.”

“Ah, this way then.”

The Harpy stalked off down the illuminated path, but as he walked, Xeoulis’ voice crept back. “Raavas, you’ve eaten fish and eggs basically your whole life. You hate it don't you?”

“What about it?”

“Have you ever thought about eating… other things? Hasn’t Evellias kept so much off-limits?”

Raavas growled under his breath. “He has.”

“Here we are!”

The Harpy hid in the forest, watching the entrance of the caves with a soft snarl as his mind swam and thoughts drowned. Bitter memories and shifted blame rose to the surface at Xeoulis’ twisted reminders.

As a torch’s glow cast the entrance of the cave in a warm orange light similar to the one of home, Raavas tensed.

“Throw your sword down. Kill him with your hands, and I’ll believe your loyalty.”

Raavas drew his sword, staring at it for a moment before he cast it into the undergrowth and sprang from the trees, tacking Evellias to the ground with a thud.

Evellias grunted in pain, but his eyes widened as he saw the Harpy. “Raav? Raavas! I-”

But as he started to speak, Raavas thrust his hands around his neck and closed them. Evellias tried to gasp but choked on nothing and struggled. “R-Raav… what are you… doing?”

The warrior’s eyes widened as they met the Harpy’s and he finally struggled, throwing him off as he struggled to his feet, a hand flying to his bruised throat.

Raavas flew at him just as he drew his sword, and the two clashed in a violent bloody struggle as Evellias desperately backed away from his apprentice, trying to defend himself.

“You fucking liar!” Adrenaline and fury coursed through Raavas as he clawed for the warrior’s throat. The struggle lasted for several agonizing minutes, and when Raavas snapped out of his trance-like state, he tasted blood. He stopped, glancing at his reeling mentor, and a sudden wave of guilt and horror overtook everything else. He gasped, but before he had a chance to do anything, a hard object crashed into the side of his head and he collapsed into the grass, blood dripping down his face from the wounds. He clawed at the dirt, but in one move, rocks crashed over him, pinning him to the ground.

His eyes landed on Evellias’ leg, a large chunk ripped out of his calf so deep he saw bone. His hand flew to his mouth, smudging the blood as he realized what he’d done. He trembled, shocked out of speaking as Evellias advanced on him, and rammed the shield into him a second time. The next few seconds felt like years, as with every strike, Raavas thought about every hug, every kind word, and every game he’d played with his mentor, until Evellias stopped, shuddering. Tears tracked through the dirt and blood on his face as he stared at the trembling body of his apprentice.

He closed his eyes, raising the sword above his head. Raavas stared up at the glittering metal, voice shaking as he wheezed out a breath.

“D-dad?”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here) | Part 3.5

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[hemipenal-system]

The young duchess cries quietly, halfheartedly struggling in the dragon's claws. Held tight against the belly, she can hear the agonized cries of her soon-to-be-former fiancé through her captor's thick scales.

The dragon raises her head and spits a blood-splattered crown across the room, watching it as it rolls across the cut stone tiles before clattering to the ground. She dips her snout back down and gently licks the tears from the woman's blackened cheek.

You're safe now, my love.

[ominous-feychild-writes]

Check out Parts 1 and 2 first!

Death stands before me.

And before you ask, no, I do not mean metaphorically.

A being dressed head-to-toe in black and red robes towers over me, every bit as intimidating as you’d think when imagining Death before you.

A little cliche, but maybe that’s for a reason.

“Alina Jones,” Death begins—

I don’t let it finish.

“Please!” I beg, trying to step forward. I can’t move. I’m frozen in place, eyes burning without tears, as I try to bargain with Death. “I can’t be dead, I can’t die! He needs me—NOAH NEEDS ME!”

I can’t see it, but I know Death is grinning underneath its black hood.

“Why,” it begins—

I try to scream more pleas, but nothing comes out.

“Silence,” Death commands. After a moment, it continues slowly: “Why, Alina, do you think I would take a single soul when, through sparing it, I could claim countless more instead?”

What… do you mean? I want to ask.

Before I can, a flash of light sweeps over me like a barreling train.

I’m amidst rubble, bleeding but not injured, as fighting continues above me. Noah lays a few feet away, the glider much further.

I don’t feel his life force.

Time drags as I tear myself from the rubble, crawl to him, and reach for his pulse.

It’s not there.

Death may have spared me, but it didn’t spare Noah.

I hadn’t understood what Death meant by its words of sparing me to ‘claim more instead.’

Now I do.

My power isn’t just healing—it’s aging.

And I am not as kind as Noah.

Without him, there’s nothing stopping me from getting revenge on all those who’ve hurt us—starting with the thing that killed him.

Part 1 | Part 2

Divider from @cafekitsune

[lindoesntwin]

THEY WHO SHOULDN’T HAVE LOVED: THE STORY OF THEIR CURSED LOVE

A hunter who lives in a world filled with monsters is loved by one in human disguise. 

[andreai04]

“You want to wander the earth in pain,” Ala says. “But suffering isn’t atonement, Dymitr.”