froggybogwitch

[froggybogwitch]

stop taking away my Blorbos' large noses

[froggybogwitch]

𝓔𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓓𝓪𝔂 3: 𝓕𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮

“I came to training because I knew he’d have forbidden it. I came to training to get his voice out of my head. And to know how to stop a male if one ever puts another hand on me again. But none of it will ever bring my mother back, or the fact that I hid while my father took out his rage upon her. Nothing will ever make that right. But this mountain …” Emerie pointed to the small dirt path at the base of the peak. “I’ll climb it for my mother. For her, I’ll face the Breaking and go as far as I can.” -A Court of Silver Flames Chapter 68

Emerie���s future is full of possibilities as she accomplished so much for herself in such a short time. She’s a successful business woman with her shop, winning the Blood Rite, and becoming one of the first Valkyries in more than centuries ago. We have a lot to look forward to as her story is not finish yet.

@norabraveseeker and I would like to thank @mysleepyblue for this beautiful artwork of Emerie. She brought our ideas to life and created such a magnificent piece. Look at that wingspan!!! 😍

Art by @mysleepyblue

Commissioned by @norabraveseeker and me for @emerieweekofficial

Character belongs to Sarah J. Maas

[froggybogwitch]

i think it's funny when people say "yeah the writers use they/them for this character but that doesn't necessarily mean the character is nonbinary" because i guess it's true but by that logic i can say "yeah this character is referred to with he/him but they never say he's a man so i can do whatever i want" which i may actually start doing because it sounds based as fuck. if you want me to believe that action hero is a man maybe you should've been more direct about it smh.

[froggybogwitch]

[VINE BOOM]

Hewwo Feywah darwing

[froggybogwitch]

we're getting poly with it folks. just ... the vibes between cassian, Eris, and Azriel are so unheterosexual in all directions.

@cassianappreciationweek

[froggybogwitch]

day three: Atonement

You chose me because I could sully you like no other, but you were safe while I was there. Every day I wonder; would you would have bled so much if I had told you to find someone else? Would it still weigh me down like the world on Atlas' back?

I remain so utterly Sick about Mor and Cass. And they're also absolutely terminally Ill about eachother. Guilt and love are a powerful combination

@cassianappreciationweek

[froggybogwitch]

[rough concept sketch, Azriel]

Vitiligo!Azriel, you are so so dear to me

Also can't believe I made a tumblr and in the very same day, have been dumping all my fanart and stuff on here in quick succession like I'm possessed lmao

[froggybogwitch]

Cassian has been a protector, a shield, for a long *long* time, to many different people, but his brothers were the first.

(also, pretty unrelated, i think cassian should use chain blades. Bc they're SICK)

@cassianappreciationweek

[froggybogwitch]

The moment that Gavriel was a father for Aedion he did die. What is Aedion doing wrong Sarah? He deserves some happiness in this war

[froggybogwitch]

I saw a sign at a nearby village advertising a "veillée", a storytelling evening, which sounded intriguing, so I went out of curiosity—it turned out to be an old lady who had arranged a circle of chairs in her garden and prepared drinks, and who wanted to tell folk tales and stories from her youth. Apparently she was telling someone at the market the other day that she missed the ritual of the "veillée" from pre-television days, when people would gather in the evening and tell stories, and the people she was talking to were like, well let's do a veillée! And then she put up the sign.

About 15 people came, and she sat down and started telling us stories—I loved the way she made everything sound like it had happened just yesterday and she was there, even tales she'd got from her grandmother, and the way she continually assumed we knew all the people she mentioned, and everyone spontaneously played along; she'd be like "And Martin, the bonesetter—you know Martin," (everyone nods—of course, Martin) "We never liked him much" and everyone nodded harder, our collective distaste for Martin now a shared cultural heritage of our tiny microcosm. She started with telling us the story of the communal bread oven in the village. The original oven was destroyed during the Revolution; people used to pay to use the local aristocrat's oven, but of course around 1789 both the aristocrat and his oven were disposed of in a glorious blaze of liberty, equality, and complete lack of foresight.

Then the villagers felt really daft for having destroyed a perfectly serviceable oven that they could have now started using for free. "But you know what things were like during the revolution." (Everyone nodded sagely—who among us hasn't demolished our one and only source of bread-baking equipment in a fit of revolutionary zeal?)

The village didn't have a bread oven for decades, people travelled to another village to make bread; and then in the 19th century the village council finally voted to build a new oven. It was a communal endeavour, everyone pitched in with some stones or tools or labour, and the oven was built—but it collapsed immediately after the construction was finished. Consternation. Not to be deterred, people re-built the oven, with even more effort and care—and the second one also collapsed.

People realised that something was amiss, and the village council convened. After a lot of serious discussion, during which no one so much as mentioned the possibility of a structural flaw, people reached the only logical conclusion: the drac had sabotaged their oven. Twice. (The drac, in these parts, is the son of the devil.) The logic here, I suppose, was that no one but the devil's own child would dare to stand between French people and their bread.

The next step was even more obvious: they passed around a hat to raise money, assuming the devil’s son was after a cash donation. But (and I'm skipping a few twists and turns of the story here) the son of the devil did not want money, he wanted half of every batch of bread, for as long as the village oven stood. Consternation.

People simply could not afford to give away half of their bread, and were about to abandon the idea of having their own oven altogether—but then Saint Peter came to the rescue. (In case you didn't know, Saint Peter happens to regularly visit this one tiny village in the French countryside to check that its inhabitants are doing okay and are not encountering oven issues.) Saint Peter reminded them of one precious piece of information they had overlooked: holy water burns the devil.

People re-built the oven, for the third time. The son of the devil returned, to destroy it and/or claim his half of the first batch—but on that day, the villagers had organised a grand communal spring cleaning, dousing every street and alley in the village with copious amounts of holy water. The poor drac simply could not access the oven; every possible path scorched his feet for reasons he couldn't quite explain. So he was standing there, smouldering gently and wondering what was going on, when some passing tramp seemed to take pity on him, pointed at his satchel and told him to turn himself into a rat and jump in there, and the tramp would carry him where he wished to go. The devil's son, probably a bit frazzled at this point, agreed without much thought, became a rat and jumped in the satchel, and of course that's the point when everyone in the village sprang from the shadows, wielding sticks, shovels, pans, and started beating the devil's son senseless. (Old lady, calmly: "You could hear his bones crack.") So the son of Satan slithered back to Hell and never returned to destroy the village oven again—and the spring cleaning tradition endured; the streets were washed with holy water once a year after that, both to commemorate this glorious day of civic resistance when the village absolutely bodied the devil's offspring and to maintain basic oven safety standards. (Old lady: "But we don't bother anymore… That's too bad.")

She told us five stories, most of them artfully blending actual local events or anecdotes from her youth with folk tale elements, it was so delightful. She thanked us for coming and said she'd love to do this again sometime. I went home reflecting that listening to an old lady happily tell stories of dubious historical veracity involving the Revolution, property damage, demonic mischief and baffling municipal decision-making is literally my ideal Saturday night activity.

[froggybogwitch]

thank you @froggybogwitch for bringing this scene from AS to life 🖤

Azriel took a deep breath, bile rising in his throat, and unfurled them from his back.

It was harder than he’d expected—his muscles screamed with effort, trembling and straining as he tried to spread them. Sweat dripped down his back. He clenched his jaw and pushed—forcing his wings out another few inches. Pain lashed up his spine, and he hissed through his teeth. 

They spread halfway, muscles spasming as he held them aloft. And that was all he could manage.

Azriel stared at them in horrified silence. 

The left one bore the worst of the damage. The remaining skin was nearly transparent, so thin it looked like the slightest touch would tear it apart—as thin as paper. He could see where the spikes had pierced through the tissue and where the left one had torn free. Two large, brutal scars. Impossible not to notice. The bones along the frame had healed poorly—they appeared shrunken and misshapen.

Horror clawed at him, rising from the pit of his stomach. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. This was what he was now. 

many many thanks to @froggybogwitch , your talent is unreal!! 🖤

let me know if you want on or off my azris tag list!

@unanswered-stars @futurehunt @jules-writes-stories @christeareads @chunkypossum @talibunny30 @fieldofdaisiies @mistandmemories @neciebee @molcat07 @that-girl-reading @fourteentrout @iftheshoef1tz @pippsmcgee @g00seg1rl @buffy-vanserra @nus4y @aurorasleeps-27 @jolenes-library @astro-h0e-4azris @makinglongwordsslutty @wrraccountant @mudandmire @eatsbooks @ysmtttty @palomita-de-la-sangre @nightsandflamess @ejkreader @plumita-d-la-sangre @stargazingmellon

[froggybogwitch]

𝐸𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝐷𝑎𝑦 4：𝑁𝑒𝑤 𝐵𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 💐

Lucien and Elain finally start something new and begin courting. Here they are on a first date at a beautiful garden. I feel like Lucien’s fiery personality would bring out Elain’s sassier side so I see a lot of banter in their future. This gorgeous art was done by mangomangoj (ig) thank you so much Jane it was a pleasure working with you.

Art by mangomangoj (ig)

Commissioned by me for @elucienweekofficial

Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, ALTER, OR USE FOR ANTI-CONTENT

[froggybogwitch]

Warm-up piece today is Azris because we're all unwell and NEED this to happen

[froggybogwitch]

Most blessed type of fandom experience tbh

[froggybogwitch]

I know SJM characterized the Winter Court as the cute one where they have fluffy animal messengers but in my mind the Winter Court is all sharp teeth and bitter steel and barren ice-covered landscapes.

Winter is brutal and its fae are vicious. Villages on the northern border with the Middle ritually sacrifice their own and send young maidens across the border to appease whatever lurks there. Mating bonds are traditionally accepted by drinking each other’s blood. The High Lord's residence is a stronghold: a fortress that resembles a tomb.

[froggybogwitch]

Sketchssssssss

Tag list

@eatsbooks @the-darkestminds @olenvasynyt @buffy-vanserra @g00seg1rl @wrraccountant @chunkypossum @mistandmemories @jules-writes-stories @thesourcabbage @bloodyplunder @amalhe-kofee @aurorasleeps-27 @iftheshoef1tz @makinglongwordsslutty @ejkreader @fourteentrout @futurehunt @pippsmcgee @dionysuswineglass

[froggybogwitch]

It's a really convenient coincidence that this project was wrapping up just in time for day 4, since it's about my most enduring acotar headcanon. Trans boy cass is my favorite queer headcanon for these books ever, and as far as I can tell ... I'm the only one making content about it, so I'm here performing a public service, really.

Anyway, this is set roughly around the end of the first war and Rhys' assention to high lord, as the inner circle, and the bat boys especially are finally allowed to be around eachother again, and getting to know the new versions of eachother that the war created.

Things change, bodies, minds, personalities, but Cassian's sense of humor never will.

Here's a couple links to some of my other posts about it, if you're interested:

@innercircleweekofficial