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Posts by Sylvan

Thank you! 🥰

1 year ago 1 0 0 0
The variety of sensations- too much, far too much. Scrambled his every thought and twisted his words into half-articulated syllables, a waterfall of weak pleas out of his open, panting mouth. Blunt drag of manicured nails, fingertips, slick tongue, exquisite in the baffling way that pain is exquisite when the sting was so much that his adrenaline turned it to a radiating thrum, in the baffling way he wanted more. It threatened to crack him open, and he wanted to; split apart, spill out of his fissures, cascade to the floor, drip and pool on the flagstones. 

Pleasure bloomed so bright, it scorched. His skeleton stifled him, he could feel the edges of his senses testing the boundaries of his overwrought flesh. 

But when the teeth came, he tilted his hips up anyway. 

“This one will not use the mouth,” Joy-in-Sorrow had said, Becket remembered it plainly, and yet- the gentle scrape of teeth greeted the overwrought flesh of his thigh. He dared not look down, and so he threw his head back, screwing his eyes shut even as something feather-light kissed his lids. 

“Look not away, keening one,” Joy-in-Sorrow said, “Partake in all senses.” 

And so he did dare a glance through fluttering lids down to his own shaking thighs and saw with married wonder and revulsion that Joy-in-Sorrow’s skeletal had had lengthened, darkened, so that it appeared a massive thing of roiling shadow, expansive and clawed and made up of the blackest matter of the star-studded cosmos. Within the palm, Beckett spied, felt, trembled to be beneath, a darkened maw lined with many jagged teeth, winking white like starlight. 

On the crest of an ecstatic, serrated breath, Beckett screamed.

The variety of sensations- too much, far too much. Scrambled his every thought and twisted his words into half-articulated syllables, a waterfall of weak pleas out of his open, panting mouth. Blunt drag of manicured nails, fingertips, slick tongue, exquisite in the baffling way that pain is exquisite when the sting was so much that his adrenaline turned it to a radiating thrum, in the baffling way he wanted more. It threatened to crack him open, and he wanted to; split apart, spill out of his fissures, cascade to the floor, drip and pool on the flagstones. Pleasure bloomed so bright, it scorched. His skeleton stifled him, he could feel the edges of his senses testing the boundaries of his overwrought flesh. But when the teeth came, he tilted his hips up anyway. “This one will not use the mouth,” Joy-in-Sorrow had said, Becket remembered it plainly, and yet- the gentle scrape of teeth greeted the overwrought flesh of his thigh. He dared not look down, and so he threw his head back, screwing his eyes shut even as something feather-light kissed his lids. “Look not away, keening one,” Joy-in-Sorrow said, “Partake in all senses.” And so he did dare a glance through fluttering lids down to his own shaking thighs and saw with married wonder and revulsion that Joy-in-Sorrow’s skeletal had had lengthened, darkened, so that it appeared a massive thing of roiling shadow, expansive and clawed and made up of the blackest matter of the star-studded cosmos. Within the palm, Beckett spied, felt, trembled to be beneath, a darkened maw lined with many jagged teeth, winking white like starlight. On the crest of an ecstatic, serrated breath, Beckett screamed.

#WIPSnps #nsfw

A little freaky mage erotica.

1 year ago 4 0 3 0

As a trans person, I find body horror both compelling and intensely personal, especially when you consider the intersection of being trans and chronically ill, or disabled. It becomes exploring the horror of having a body, and consequently freeing yourself from the fear by writing it out.

1 year ago 6 0 1 0
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#JanuaryWorldbuilders Day 23: A beautiful tradition of ceremony

The city of Ombrelune has a tradition of wearing the death masks of their ancestors during formal events and festivals.

1 year ago 5 0 0 0
The man holding a greeting knife between Beckett's eyes looked painfully Ombrean, dressed as he was in a heavy, structure woolen cloak lined heavy with plush fur, the collar so burdened by it that his shoulders looked twice the size a man's shoulders should be, and gave him a vulture's silhouette. Beckett could not be kind; the man's face was a twisted horror, almost a mockery, for a mottled mass of scars split handsome and monstrous in twain at his right side. His features were gaunt and shadowed with exhaustion– he might have looked a mad, sleepy poet were it not for the scars, which leant an alien sort of rigidity to half his face so that his expression could not be clearly read. 

Even by Beckett, who considered himself rather clever at reading expressions. 

Though by the way the man's mouth drew into a tight line, and the knife, yes, the knife, Beckett knew naught but charm, and swift at that, would win him succor.

He eased himself into a honeyed smile, gentle, demure, and raised both of his hands in surrender, ignoring with practiced ease the pointe of the knife aimed between his eyes, and parted his lips. Beckett was aware of the loveliness of his own generous mouth, the always-sensuousness of it, especially as it spread into his habitual placid grin, "I am of no harm…" He said, voice low, eyes honed on the man, and added, "To you, my Lord."

The man holding a greeting knife between Beckett's eyes looked painfully Ombrean, dressed as he was in a heavy, structure woolen cloak lined heavy with plush fur, the collar so burdened by it that his shoulders looked twice the size a man's shoulders should be, and gave him a vulture's silhouette. Beckett could not be kind; the man's face was a twisted horror, almost a mockery, for a mottled mass of scars split handsome and monstrous in twain at his right side. His features were gaunt and shadowed with exhaustion– he might have looked a mad, sleepy poet were it not for the scars, which leant an alien sort of rigidity to half his face so that his expression could not be clearly read. Even by Beckett, who considered himself rather clever at reading expressions. Though by the way the man's mouth drew into a tight line, and the knife, yes, the knife, Beckett knew naught but charm, and swift at that, would win him succor. He eased himself into a honeyed smile, gentle, demure, and raised both of his hands in surrender, ignoring with practiced ease the pointe of the knife aimed between his eyes, and parted his lips. Beckett was aware of the loveliness of his own generous mouth, the always-sensuousness of it, especially as it spread into his habitual placid grin, "I am of no harm…" He said, voice low, eyes honed on the man, and added, "To you, my Lord."

#WIPSnips

🍯

1 year ago 6 2 0 0

As a writer with a career separate from writing, I find it hard to actually sit down and create during the week, so I'm humbly asking if anyone would like to share how they set aside time to write in these circumstances.

#WritingCommunity #writers #authors

1 year ago 3 2 0 0
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I think Notion is really neat, honestly.

1 year ago 5 0 0 0

In light of today's news, sometimes all we have to do is keep making art.

1 year ago 3 0 0 0
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They are pretty diverse and unique, but Court Mages tend to favor more ornate styles of dress as opposed to Mages of Noble Appointment, who are ever so slightly more conservative, but that tends to differ between regions and individuals!

1 year ago 2 0 0 0

All mages are reared and educated in a region where the fashion and custom is to obscure the features, so their language, movements, dress, and adornments are all very unique and highly expressive in the absence of facial expressions.

1 year ago 3 0 1 0
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Masks are diverse and are both practical and ornamental, functional art. I have drawn inspiration from Venetian carnival masks and Greek prósōpona.

1 year ago 3 0 1 0
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So if I can share about my mages real quick, they dress in shrouds, robes, masks and I like their headpieces having the silhouette of medieval hennins like this

1 year ago 5 1 2 0

I told myself today was for the WIP, but I spent all day giggling with my friends and cooking, which is just as well. I gotta feed myself before I feed the book sometimes.

1 year ago 0 0 0 0

Juxtaposed with Lord Cotard, who lives grief, is grief. Their push-pull dynamic regarding acceptance or rejection of grief is the central conflict of the novel.

1 year ago 0 0 0 0

Grief! Nearly everything I write has to do with grief; how characters struggle against it, how other characters accept and live with it, what causes them grief.

Beckett, the MC of Clockwork Ghouls fights his grief, and his inability to accept it drives the entire narrative.

1 year ago 1 0 1 0

Incredibly relatable; I'm sitting on two WIPs and decided to spend the day... cooking beans.

1 year ago 1 0 0 0
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#pretendpanel

For today's freebie Sunday, may I offer a WIP:

1 year ago 5 1 0 0
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Sylvan Cantrell Writer | Poet | Chief Mourner

My carrd containing general information about me and my contact information can be found here:

sylvancantrell.carrd.co

1 year ago 0 0 0 0
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Sylvan Cantrell Writer | Poet | Chief Mourner

I've finished my author carrd! Big milestone for me, it's more real now!

sylvancantrell.carrd.co

1 year ago 3 0 0 0
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Haha

1 year ago 2 0 0 0

👀

1 year ago 1 0 0 0

Beckett has a Problem with Mages

1 year ago 1 0 1 0

Thank you, thank you!

1 year ago 1 0 0 0

This is so evocative, I love this so much!

1 year ago 1 0 1 0

before tiktok,
before bluesky,
before twitter,
before meta,
before it all,
there were sewers.

after all, there will be sewers.

1 year ago 6944 1442 169 210
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Thank you! I love for my writing and my characters to have an ominous, creeping quality! I'm so glad it came through!

1 year ago 2 0 0 0

#WritingCommunity #Snippetshare

Quote or reply to share any snippet featuring the word "WALK"

A snip from "Clockwork Ghouls."

1 year ago 9 1 2 0

Thank you so much, I really appreciate it!

1 year ago 1 0 0 0

🎭

1 year ago 5 2 1 0

Oh my goodness, thank you so much! I will absolutely follow these, I appreciate your warm welcome so much!

1 year ago 1 0 1 0