#Book Snippet

[thatdisasterauthor]

A snippet from my book that is funding on Kickstarter right now!

Come check it out!

[learningfromlosing]

FUCKING BAWLING AT STEPHEN KING TALKING ABOUT HIS FURIOUSLY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER TELLING GOD TO GET HIS OWN FUCKING CAT

[etawardana]

We are all blind to parts of ourselves we are not yet willing, or ready, to face.

Dr. Nicole LePera, in How to Meet Your Self.

[baphomimi]

CHAPTER ONE – DUTY

PROLOGUE / CHAP 1.1 / CHAP 1.2 / CHAP 1.3

CHAP 2.1 / CHAP 2.2 / CHAP 2.3

Our ancestors were closely bonded to The Absence– we know this from the clear evidence of human sacrifice across many different cultures throughout history. But modern convenience has severed this connection, to the point that most fear The Absence so greatly that they can no longer even tolerate Its presence.

Our duty as Worthy is to find more of us- people strong enough to embrace Its presence, as our ancestors once did.

Those who reject The Absence we call the Unworthy. Our secondary duty is to purge these poor, deprived souls from this plane, so that It may take their place.

They're talking about his family on the news again, but really that's no surprise. They dig up the details of the fire for every anniversary; first, second, fifth and now tenth.

Trent pretends not to be listening– focuses on the stubborn congealment of crumbs and grease that have formed as a gelatinous layer at the bottom of the hotdog warmer. He goes at it with the edge of an old name badge– for lack of a more appropriate tool– that belonged to the manager who quit three days after Trent started working here. That was some good five years ago, and they still haven't replaced her. But with their staggering three customers a day, that's really no surprise either.

Over his incessant scraping sounds, he still hears the reporter on the TV going on.

"Eli Rothschild was declared missing, presumed dead, but his actions helped lead police to the cult's base of operations:  a prospective hotel resort whose development was abandoned in 1987. It appears that this is where The Worthy of Absence carried out their work: kidnapping civilians seemingly at random, and forcing them to endure trials of self-mutilation in the name of a deity they called The Absence.

The raid that followed took place ten years ago today, but The Worthy of Absence were prepared. As police entered the building, all 51 members of the cult set themselves alight, in what experts believe was intended as one final, grand sacrifice. The fire also seemed to destroy any evidence that may have been left behind, but police did manage to recover a single manifesto, which is still being studied by sociologists and religious specialists to this day.

The question we are asking viewers this morning is this: are any members of The Worthy of Absence still out there? And if so, will they ever resume their sick torture rituals? Officials say no, but we want to know what you think."

Trent pulls his head out of the display case, and stands up straight. The AC is bust again, and the stickiness of the air has drained him of all patience.

"Will you turn that shit off, dude? It's kinda bumming me out."

His coworker is sat behind the register, hunched over the counter to get as close as physically possible to the TV mounted on the opposite wall.

"Aw, no, c'mon,” Chris whines in his usual, sunny southern drawl, “They're gonna get some callers on soon– what if a Worthy calls in? Or what if Eli calls in? Like, I'm still alive motherfuckers! Catch me if you can!"

"Mm, yeah. Somehow I doubt it."

Chris turns towards him, searching for some glimmer of enthusiasm in Trent's tired, sullen expression that maybe he can work with. His coworker is almost a perfect opposite in both appearance and manner; an infinite well of enthusiasm with blond, gently curled hair and a perfect smile. He's unusually bulky too, built like he picked up a sport in high school and kept eating the same once he stopped. He might as well have been born wearing a varsity jacket.

Trent– with his limp black hair, perpetual insomnia, and the dimensions of someone who was never not sick as a child– feels like a shadow threatened by the encroachment of the sun, whenever the two of them share a shift. Which, god help him, is fucking always.

The first caller is announced on the TV.

"Those people got what was coming to them,” she says, muffled by the phone line, “They did so much damage to countless communities, so many victims still coming forward to this day...why would you even suggest that they're still out there? Don't you think that's just going to encourage copycat killers?"

The news reporter, an older woman with her hair set in a neat bob, expertly brushes off the critical remark, and they move onto the next caller.

"Hey, yeah, I gotta say– ain't no way that Eli guy’s still out there. These people kept their whole operation under wraps for decades, all these victims poppin' up and the cops couldn't get a grip on it ‘til that fella's rampage got them all caught. What I'm sayin' is, ain't no way they let him live after that. If he was still kickin’ he woulda been found by now.

And y'know, while I’m on, I saw prett-y compelling evidence that this whatchamacallit, this Absence of theirs? It's actually a rogue body of ancient aliens, and those cult folks were helping 'em to experiment on us, in exchange for immortality and telekinesis powers and–"

A few tones beep to indicate that the call has been cut off abruptly.

"Well, it looks like we've lost caller number two, sorry about that!" This lady really is a professional.

Chris shakes his head, laughs. "Aliens– can you believe that? Like The Absence could be explained away by somethin’ so simple."

Trent bites back the usual fury that rises in his throat, whenever Chris starts talking like this. It may have been ten years since it all fell apart, but to hear an Unchosen speak with such authority on The Absence makes him wish he could do something about it. He's seen Chris's type a thousand times before: all talk, but when it comes down to it, would probably faint at the first sight of blood. And god, he would love to see it.

"So what do you think, Trent? Think any of ‘em could really still be out there?"

"I don't care."

Him and Lena. They’re the only ones who got out of that place. He knows there are other groups in other states– maybe even in other countries– he’s heard names in passing once or twice. But it seems that his cousins have largely all gone dormant, or at least are working discreet enough for it to stay out of the news. He's thought about going out to find them a few times, making something new with them, but no one else knows how to fix the register here when it breaks, and Chris would probably end up setting the place alight if he left.

The ding of the door sensor draws Trent back into the present. An over-tanned old man in khakis smiles at them, making a snail's-pace crawl towards the counter. Just here paying for gas, like everyone else. No one would drive out to the middle of nowhere here for any other sensible reason.

"I know they're still out there," Chris never seems to pick up on his coworker's extremely obvious disinterest in the subject, or at least doesn't let it deter him. "I don't know why, call it a hunch." He sounds far too excited over that fact, if true.

"You better be careful tempting fate like that. You could end up as their next victim." 

Trent can’t help himself. It’s like this every shift– if it’s not the news, it’s some survivor’s auto-biography or a drama miniseries about various Judgements. It’s all the same shit; all of it a mockery of what should have been his life’s work. He can’t count the number of times he’s almost exposed himself out of pure frustration.

Trent glances up to see if his vague threat has made any impact at all, but there’s a sparkle in Chris’s eye as he rings up the old man, so if anything it’s just encouraged him.

“Now wouldn’t that be somethin’?” He sighs, gives the old man a little wave as he leaves. 

“Hey, that reminds me,” Chris goes on, as the door sensor dings again, “You didn’t happen to watch my latest video, did ya?”

Slumped over the counter, Trent sighs, “I told you a million times already, dude. I don’t wanna watch your shitty videos.”

“Aw c’mooon, you dunno they’re shitty ‘til you watch ‘em! I actually went through that new series– Top Five Goriest Judgements– and explained how I would pass each one.” Chris spins idly on his stool, “To be honest, heh heh… it’s really starting to make the rounds online. Going viral, I guess you could say.”

“Wait, for real?” Trent can’t quite place why that worries him so much, suddenly. Media attention is obviously nothing new, but this guy is too close to him.

“Seriously, dude! If it keeps blowing up like it is, I’m gonna be the face of the Worthy of Worthy!”

Trent is helpless to conceal the disgusted scrunch of his nose. “The what?”

“Oh, sorry. That’s what we call fans of the Worthy of Absence. We have a forum– oh, but it’s invite only, on the deep web. ‘Cuz the public site kept gettin’ shut down for glorifying violence, somethin’ like that.” Chris rolls his eyes and scoffs.

Trent shakes his head, as if physically trying to discard the information from his mind. The way Chris’s face is lit up, the guy clearly has no idea how insulting this all is. Like he has even half a clue of how hard Trent worked, how hard his family worked, the suffering they inflicted and absorbed back in turn. It’s no wonder Lena calls these kinds of fanatics ‘freaks’.

“And so this video, what– you’re saying you could cut off your leg or something, like no problem?”

What Trent fails to realise is that in asking that, he’s making it seem like he’s taken a genuine interest in Chris’s work. His coworker shifts to one side on the stool, immediately starts digging into his pocket for his phone.

“Yeah, exactly! Here, lemme show you,” A few taps, and then he turns his phone screen towards Trent. The screen displays a thumbnail that includes a cut-out image of Chris’s face with his eyes shut and tongue poked out to one side– a pantomime depiction of death. Bold block text in red reads: HOW TO BEAT THE 5 MOST F****D UP WOA JUDGMENTS!!

Trent’s expression remains stock still. “WOA?”

“Oh, that’s just how we shorten the Worthy of Absence. Gets annoying typing it over and over, otherwise. Now, this video is 57 minutes long– but hey– not like we got anything better to do, right?”

Hearing that, Trent immediately nudges the phone away with a knuckle. “No no no, you’re not doing this to me. God no.”

“It’s fine I promise, it’s not scary!” Instead of getting the hint, Chris just starts trying to dodge Trent’s hand, keeping the phone in front of him. “Ain’t no pictures or nothin’, they don’t let you show real gore on–”

“Alright man, look,” Clearly being an outright asshole to this guy just isn’t going to penetrate whatever the fuck inorganic substance his skull is made of. Trent turns properly, so that they’re standing face to face. Chris would have a good few inches on him, if he wasn’t sitting down.

“I’m happy you’re blowing up or whatever, I really am. I’m sure The Absence is very pleased with you. But if you make me watch this video right now I think there’s a very real chance that it might actually break me. Like you’ll have to take me out back and put me down, kinda broken.”

The blond opens his mouth, but Trent doesn’t let him speak.

“Chris, I am so serious about this.”

He watches Chris process the rejection in real time; his face falls and he silently sets his phone down on the counter. It’s hard not to feel a little guilty when faced with such an earnest display of disappointment. 

“Right. Yeah! My bad.”

“But hey, hey, look–” Trent quickly follows up, chasing his gaze when Chris looks away. “Maybe I’ll watch it tonight, when I’m home.”

Chris’s face lightens a little. “Yeah?”

“Uh, well. Like I said: maybe.” 

It’ll be like a kind of digital reconnaissance, so Trent knows exactly how fucked he’ll be if this video ends up plastered over every corner of the web. That’s what he tells himself– Chris’s happiness has nothing to do with it.

“Alright buddy, I’ll hold ya to that.” Chris starts tapping through his phone again, “But I do have shorter videos too, so if you want I can show one of those?”

Realising that there will never be a true end to these negotiations, Trent takes a step back.  “You know what? I’d love that. I really would. But I think I'll go fix the AC for the hundredth fucking time instead. ”

“Ah,” the blond swivels in his chair, watching as Trent makes his escape through the doorway behind the counter, the one that leads to the storeroom. “Yeah, good idea. And I’ll stay out here, in case we get any more customers.”

So he can keep watching the news, more like. Trent almost leaves it at that, but he pauses just as the other man is out of sight, peers around the doorframe.

“Don’t call into that show while you’re meant to be working, by the way. I’ll kick your ass, I swear.”

“Oh shit, think I could still get on?”

“No, I–” Trent cuts himself off, sighs through his nose, then grumbles a “fuckin’ whatever man,” before disappearing back into the storeroom.

[alinacapellabooks]

Since it is now officially aromantic awareness week, here’s a snippet from my upcoming aromantic vampire novel, Blood On A Yellow Rose! Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list for it!

————————————

She looks out of the window as if looking for something that’s no longer here. “Bea and I were best friends all through school, and we were in a band together called Bleach Babes. Last year, we finally got a record deal, but then Bea met Tyler, and it all went to shit from there,” she continues, “Bea became Tyler’s lapdog. Tyler said that he didn’t want her to be in a band, so she quit, and we lost our record deal. Tyler said that he wanted to move in with her, so she kicked me out so that he could move in, even though we lived in a two bedroom flat, and the landlord was happy to add a third person to our lease. Bea never wanted to get married, or have kids, but Tyler wants a wife and kids, so now she wants to have a big white church wedding, and be a stay at home mum to however many kids he wants.”

I narrow my eyes. “So, Bea is the kind of girl who throws her individuality away the second she gets a man?”

“I guess, but I never expected her to throw me away,” she sighs, “Bea always said that no matter what, she’d always be my friend, but obviously that was a lie.”

She glares at the sky as though pissed off with the universe. “When she kicked me out, she said that I should understand that Tyler is more important to her than I am. My ten years of being her best friend meant nothing in the face of Tyler’s six months of being her boyfriend. And the worst part is, everyone, even my aunt, took her side when I told them about it.”

She looks at me like there’s no way I could possibly understand what she went through, but she tells me anyway. “Auntie said that she’d accept me when I came out as aro-ace, but when I told her about Bea kicking me out for Tyler, she said that I should be more understanding to Bea. Tyler is her boyfriend, so he’s her number one priority now, or so she said,” she sighs, “I’m expected to be ok with being treated like a second-class citizen, and all because I don’t have some bullshit biological urge to find a mate and make babies with them.”

[yun-yunera]

01

"Mu Rulan was the research subject he has targetted. She was his prey. He had wasted a lot of time and effort on her, so naturally, she belonged to him."

Reincarnation- Lord is Extremely Hardcore (Hongkong-Chinese translated novel)

Criminal psychologist x his unsolvable psychopath

[blaaaaask]

Hello Friends,

If you have Kindle Unlimited, you can read my book for free!

Scarlet's Quest: A Deal with the Demon

I am in my second phase of edits for Book 2. I have a little bit of a laundry list of things to get done for it, too (book cover, note updates, etc.) but things are going along as expected!

Here is a little tidbit from Book 1:

Thanks for reading! And there will certainly be more coming soon!

[smuttydreambarbie]

Does anyone want McDonald's?

[katmajik]

[…] Brad sticks his head between the front seats. “So do you guys fuck or what?”

Oh, Brad Jones, Schwasted and Lonely, we were rooting for you. Now Trixie’s going to have to kill him.

She’s a Nice Girl, but it’s been a long freaking day.

“What’s that like?” Brad sincerely wants to know, or so says the crease between his eyebrows as he regards Trixie and jerks a thumb at Riot. “He looks like he’s into all that freaky shit, like handcuffs and stuff.”

“Brad.” Riot spins the steering wheel, maneuvering around a Honda Civic with expert precision (and why, Trixie wonders, does she suddenly, finally understand the word sexy?). “I really don’t like you enough as a person to talk to you about the freaky shit I may or may not be into. Put your seatbelt on.”

“See, though, he is into it.” Brad does as he’s told, and clips himself in well away from Trixie’s personal boundary line. But then he ruins it when he keeps talking. “But like, the way I heard it, Trixie’s lookin’ to get broken in tonight. How long’ve you guys been going out, anyway? ’Cuz I figure Riot—you would’ve tapped that already.”

Once again Trixie finds herself debating the pros and cons of tuck-and-rolling, but the cons win out; she likes this outfit too much to ruin it on the asphalt.

“Hey, Brad.” Riot flips his blinker to turn down Maple. “What kinda music you like, man?”

Brad cups his mouth. “BEASTIE BOOOOOOYS.”

“Great.” Riot clicks the CD player and Celine Dion fills the car.

💿 ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴇx ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅʏ : a millennial coming-of-age parody

cover by @redbelles

title font by peax-webdesign

[minutiaewriter]

Hera: To Touch the Heavens First Look - Chapter One

       The release of Hera: To Touch the Heavens is right around the corner, so as a little thank you for your support I'm releasing the first chapter below the cut!

© 2023, 2024 S. M. Campbell All Rights Reserved

A tear slid down the old woman’s cheek, illuminated like a drop of sunshine in the light of the lanterns. Her gaze passed from Rynn to Kilderan, and that was when she had begun to weep, otherwise silent in the wooden chair she had seated herself in.

         Rynn reached for Kilderan’s soft hand and felt reassured when his brother clutched his hand back.

         The four of them bowed low and silent as the high priestess’ gray eyes flooded with tears. Her breathing was faint, and she never removed her gaze from Kilderan.

         Rynn did not understand why she was staring so intently at Kilderan, but he felt even more confused watching them; so he instead studied her robe and the string of glinting beads around her wrist.

         She muttered something Rynn did not hear, but Kilderan dipped his head further behind the boy.

         Velle Deka then spread her arms and looked up at Aome.

         “Mother Deka,” Aome murmured, falling into the woman’s outstretched arms.

         Though she embraced the young woman, the high priestess’ gaze bore into Rynn. When Aome pulled away, Velle Deka spoke. “Daughter...Aome… We thought your mission went awry. When we didn’t hear word… Ah, well, no use dwelling on what didn’t happen. Have you come all this way with the celestial children?”

         The priestess began to nod but then halted. “Well, almost.”

         “Wait,” Yojackson said. “You know that Kip’s also a celestial child?”

         Velle Deka nodded solemnly, dabbing at her eyes with a cream-colored handkerchief she produced from the folds of her garb. “You have united the two celestial sons.”

         Aome’s lips parted. “Kilderan found his brother and brought him away from Arsteine.” She lowered her gaze. “I was the one who told them about you and encouraged them to return.”

         Velle nodded in understanding. “Show me the blood,” the old woman muttered, turning to Rynn. “Let me see the luster.”

         Rynn swallowed and glanced over his shoulder up at Kilderan, who pressed his lips into a firm line.

         “Is that really necessary?” Kilderan asked faintly.

         Velle Deka eyed him and then held out her hands towards Rynn.

         The boy turned to his brother. After a few heartbeats of morose hesitation, Kilderan bent, brandishing his dagger. He gingerly clasped Rynn’s wrist and pressed the cold blade into his flesh.

         “Ow,” Rynn whimpered. He looked up at Kilderan, whose eyes had flashed.

         Soon the pale skin was broken, but as little as possible, and a flood of deep crimson blood, faintly glittering, gushed forth from his arm.

         Rynn had forgotten that the blood of the stars flowed in excess, and once he remembered, he winced.

         Kilderan’s fingers lingered on Rynn’s arm and Rynn continued to look up into the wide, pale blue eyes that stared upon him before turning to Velle Deka.

         She sighed contentedly and took his arm in her ancient hands, studying the celestial blood. Her eyelashes were dotted with teardrops, minuscule diamonds twinkling in the light. She looked up at Kilderan again. “After this, never let those veins bleed again.”

         Kilderan frowned, which diminished his now-soft expression.

         Yojackson shoved past Kilderan and placed his hands on his hips, staring down at the seated priestess. “We need to know where the celestial spring is in order for that to happen.”

         “You have the pendant?” Velle Deka asked.

         Aome promptly lifted the silver chain from her neck and handed it to the elderly lady.

         Rynn studied the ivory pendant that was carved with an image of the galaxy’s three suns. He wondered how the high priestess would be able to use it to disclose the location of the spring that Kilderan so desperately needed to take him to.

         The high priestess turned the pendant in her hands, examining it sentimentally and almost lovingly.

         “Aren’t you going to, I don’t know, read the necklace or something?” He had meant no offense, and his eyes were round in innocence. “We need to know the spring’s location as soon as possible.”

         The woman used her handkerchief again before her eyes brightened and she began to chuckle at Yojackson, the cracked sound filling the small safe room.

         The criminal frowned and glanced at Aome.

         Velle Deka continued to laugh for a long moment and eventually she said, “The pendant has nothing to do with the location of the spring.”

         Yojackson’s mouth fell open. “You mean to tell me that we just risked our necks in that blasted palace to get a worthless piece of junk?”

         Aome glared at him and then said, “Mother, there has to be some explanation.”

         Velle Deka blinked. “I need that pendant as much as you need me to divulge the location of the celestial spring. That pendant is the only way I can be certain that I will be safe when I reach my next destination.”

         Aome’s brow creased. “You’re not staying in the hiding place? What about…about the temple?” She grew somber.

         Velle tilted her chin towards the priestess. “This is only a temporary safe place. I cannot stay here forever. But there is somewhere, someone, who will allow me to take refuge with them if I show them that pendant.” She tapped a frail finger to the necklace in her palm.

         “Will you tell us where the spring is? We can’t stay here either,” Kilderan said.

         Velle Deka brushed her long, silver waves over her shoulder and pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing her fair skin.

         Rynn squinted. Tattooed on the high priestess’ arm was a curious cluster of stars and planets. Altogether it was a brilliant, intricate masterpiece that was stitched into the old woman’s skin, but he did not comprehend its significance.

         The elder ran her finger along the tattoo until she reached a constellation sitting amongst legions of ink specks, fainter than the rest of the design. “This is the constellation, Ormena, over the celestial pool. This is what you’re looking for. Reach Ormena’s lucida and you’ve reached the spring.”

         Rynn turned to look upon Kilderan, whose gaze had become distant, pondering.

         “The most highly guarded secret in the entire galaxy and it’s tattooed on your arm?” Yojackson asked rather curtly.

         Aome made a face at him. “In plain sight,” she mused, “where no one would ever consider. This whole time…”

         “How far is it?” Kilderan asked, stepping closer to the priestess, though he limped. “How far from where we’re standing right this instant?”

         Velle Deka shook her head. “No one knows where it is, no one has ever been able to locate it.”

         “Then how do you know it even exists?” asked Kilderan.

         “Because of you and your brother.” Velle Deka’s eyes shone.

         “Forgive my ignorance,” Yojackson began, milder after two glowers from Aome, “But what exactly is this spring anyway? I’ve heard the stories, but always sort of believed them to be just that. —Until I met Kip, of course,” he quickly added.

         The high priestess folded her hands. “The celestial spring is a mystery I believe not even the goddesses understood. It is the gateway between the world of light and stardust and the world of flesh and blood.” She glanced at Kilderan, and then at Rynn. “It is what allowed the goddesses to assume their mortal forms and rule over the planets in the first place. By delivering Rynn to the spring, you are enabling him to pass into the realm of the stars.”

         Yojackson scratched his chin and inhaled, preparing to speak, but Velle Deka silenced him, peering at the criminal as if she knew what he was about to say.

         The high priestess stood and began to rummage through the charred satchel sitting against the wall. Soon she turned back to them with a small pot of ink and a slender brush. She beckoned to Kilderan, and he sidled up to her, dragging his injured leg behind him.

         Rynn watched as the old woman rolled up the sleeve of Kilderan’s shirt and swirled the brush in the ink. He glimpsed the faint bruises on Kilderan’s wrist, as well as the staining bandage. Velle Deka brushed one of his bruises gingerly with the pad of her finger, and she gazed empathetically into his eyes. “You’re safe now.”

         Rynn found himself pinned under the stare of his brother’s cold blue eyes, and so he stepped towards Kilderan and watched as Velle Deka painted the image of the constellation Ormena onto Kilderan’s skin with the dark ink.

         After she had finished, Kilderan’s forearm bore the lines and dots of the constellation’s peculiar arrangement. “The constellation, as I said, has never been found in the sky by the priestesses, by anyone. But when you see it, it will be unmistakable. But do not go at this moment. Rest here for the night and in the morning, leave as soon as possible,” the high priestess instructed them.

         Aome approached the high priestess and the celestial children. “Thank you, Mother Deka. We’ll never be able to repay you.”

         “Honoring the goddesses’ memory is enough, Daughter. What have I been telling you your entire life?” She smiled at the young woman.

         Aome lifted her head and a smile came to her lips before she dipped her head to the celestial priestess and joined Rynn, Kilderan, and Yojackson in settling into the small room.

         Rynn’s eyes shot open, though he was still half asleep. His ears were filled with a furious pounding overhead that was coming from the world outside the hiding place. He believed it to be torrents of rain, but a dizzying sensation seized his head and his veins pulsed, making it seem otherworldly. Rynn swallowed and gripped the thin blanket Velle Deka’s entourage had provided for him.

         The storm continued to assail the roof of the tunnel—which was really the ground—with heavy raindrops and pieces of debris that made an awful clamor when they collided with the hidden tunnel.

         Rynn sat up, fearful. His veins seemed to writhe beneath his flesh. He glanced over at where Kilderan was sleeping on the floor, with Yojackson and Aome lying in their respective bedrolls a little ways away—Rynn had been given the cot. He started when a loud clang sounded overhead.

         Rynn swung his legs over the edge of the cot before tearing the blanket off of them and slinking to the other side of the small room.

         Quietly and carefully, he spread the bedding next to Kilderan, whose face was drowning in his long, mussed-up hair.

         Rynn glanced up at the ceiling when the thunder shook the ground above them, but he felt safe sleeping closer to his companions and his brother.

         “Rynn,” Kilderan whispered, though his eyes were still closed.

         Rynn jumped before rolling onto his side to face Kilderan. “I can’t sleep. It’s too loud out there.” He did not want to tell Kilderan that a storm and the unfamiliar crumbling tunnel frightened him, if only slightly. Because despite the eerie phantasms that sleep twisted the shadows and the rain into, Rynn knew he was undoubtedly safe here.

         “All right,” Kilderan muttered. “But try to fall back asleep. We have to leave very soon.”

Hera: To Touch the Heavens releases THIS SPRING! Reblog to spread the word and stay tuned for more updates and pre-release content <3

[writervmillzyy]

“I’ll kill him.” Lyo said it like an endearment. Like a love confession. “I’ll kill him for you. For us. I’ll kill anyone who gets in the way again. Burn it all down and build you that house on the ashes.”

[thatdisasterauthor]

A snippet from my book that is funding on Kickstarter right now!

Come check it out!

[jadiealissia]

The first three chapters of "Taylaron's Story" are now available!

You may enjoy this story if you like:

Vampires

Necromancers

Nature/Cottagecore

Foraging

Friendships

Mysteries

If this is the first time you are hearing about Taylaron's Story, you can read more info about this project on my pinned post :)

You can listen to the audiobook for free on YouTube:

[etawardana]

It takes tremendous energy to keep functioning while carrying the memory of terror, and the shame of utter weakness and vulnerability.

Source: The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk M.D.

[ca-mae]

Water is peaceful. I am at rest. In the water, I am safe and pulled in where I can't get out. Everything slows down—the noise and the racing of my thoughts.

- Theodore Finch