#aspiring horror author

[remedyxtragedy]

Doodles of The God From The Machine or her more used title, The KRAGENHEIM

[girl-and-her-cat]

Chapter One: Extended Contracts

The probe was dead.

I knew it the moment I lay eyes on the thing. And no, it wasn’t because of the layer of icy crust surrounding the shaft nor did it have anything to do with user error. I knew it the moment they told me what the issue was. The probe had been running non-stop for four months in a freezing cold vacuum. AKA; space. And they were using a standard run-of-the-mill type-13. No way could that handle a four month operating time with no breaks.

Dumbasses.

The two techs that had brought me out here were arguing through their helmets on the main channel; I could hear everything from the saliva smacking against their lips to their stuffed up noses they wouldn’t stop snorting through as if that would help them breathe any better.

Just use a goddamn tissue.

“What’s the application?” I asked again. I knew what it was, I just wanted them to stop barking at each other. The techs got nervous when I came up here. At first I thought it was because my job was to report back to HQ and let them know if the tech’s were doing their jobs; RJ told me it’s because I’m a woman.

One tech, the one that only had one front tooth and was clearly the follower of the other guy responded after snorting mucus down his throat. “Temp and pressure of the atmosphere surrounding the pipes. Gotta know how much they can handle before being blown to shit.”

He looked at his bro for approval and smirked at me after receiving a nod.

“Can you tell us what the problem is so we can get back down? Boss don’t like us being up here too long wasting oxygen.” Leader boy said this nonchalantly but I knew who his boss was and also knew that a guy had been fired last week for using more than the mediated level of oxygen for a site run like this one. Found out he had brought his girl up for some “sight seeing”.

Fucking idiot.

“It’s dead. You’ll need to get a new one. A Type- 15 to be exact if you want it to run longer than 4 months out here.”

Read More Here

[atlasail]

Here is the statement I wrote on my Slaughter Avatar. Jasper Sutton more commonly referred to as ‘The Jagged Blade’. Constructive criticism helps immensely as an aspiring author, updates to this project may be inconsistent as I primary focus on my supernatural horror novel which I’ve named ‘Project Psyche’. I am hoping to go the traditional publishing route so information on said project shall be limited.

The next Avatars shall be:

- Web

- Spiral

Thought I’d include some disclaimers because slaughter typically gets messy (See Below)

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/54390121"><strong>The Jagged Blade</strong></a> (2358 words) by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artysal"><strong>Artysal</strong></a><br />Chapters: 1/1<br />Fandom: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/The%20Magnus%20Archives%20(Podcast)">The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/The%20Magnus%20Protocol%20(Podcast)">The Magnus Protocol (Podcast)</a><br />Rating: Explicit<br />Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence<br />Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, The Slaughter (The Magnus Archives)<br />Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, Animal Death<br />Summary: <p>An avatar at the heart of the slaughter strikes a deal with the archivist offering his statement for an unknown favour in return.</p>

Snippet:

“I like to think of The Slaughter as very versatile. I feel I help many of the powers. Does The Desolation not delight at the pain left down my path? the grief and suffering of those who know my victims. Does The Corruption not squirm through the decaying corpses? Patiently waiting to spread the filth to whoever is unlucky enough to find them. Is The Stranger not tickled by my performance of a wounded man looking for shelter? And with my unending torment are they not pushed towards The Spiral? Or close enough to death they can almost taste The End itself? And does The Eye not revel in the chance to know that fear?”

Content/Trigger Warnings

- References to Animal Harm (no direct depiction because I don’t want to write that)

- Graphic References of Murder, Torture (a lot of it)

- mentions of infested corpses

- references to manipulation

- if you find any more tags/ warning that I haven’t added please let me know and they will be updated accordingly :)

[rhiannonhgarrard]

Mask #1

"I turn and stare my only company in the face. A white mask hovers outside the car window – not that the window would do anything to protect me from it, should it decide to come in. It’s in the classic comedy/tragedy shape, with black, bee-stung lips puckered in a taunting smile. Its arched eye holes suggest happiness, but the single black tear drop painted down its pale cheek contradicts them. It’s been following me for about fifteen years now. I know what it wants; it’s not getting it. ... I roll down the window and lean out for a better look. The Mask moves – silently but with an unmistakable air of resentment. The fog reaches its hands up and caresses my face, leaving chills in its wake. The Mask has settled itself into the empty doorway under the arches, snow white and gazing soullessly at me. The fact it’s chosen to settle there tells me everything I need to know."

A teeny couple of extracts from Inspector Gilboux and the Cursed Inn, the story I'm working on self-publishing this October. The Mask has quickly become one of my favourite ghosts in the series and I think the cover artist did her justice! I'm just a sucker for the comedy/tragedy masks. :)

[awkwardpasta004]

I wanna talk about this somewhere but I’m so into working on my book series again. Months of meltdowns and depression ending with me loosing a job has just sparked the need to work on it again. I’m so determined to get the pre writing shit done so I can start writing.

I’m currently trying to compile all the world building info into one page per country instead of the massive folders I have rn so I can better see what I’m missing. At this point, one country has been thought out a good bit but the other 3 need the same treatment.

Also I’ve already drawn one of the MC and the secondary characters from the one country, let’s call this country T even though I have posted this stuff online so it won’t be hard to find. Man I’m bad at keeping things secret but I want people to know my countries and characters! Anyway, I still need to draw the others.

Oh oh! So before I was trying too hard to be the YA version of Game of Thrones even though I haven’t even read it and only know a general gust of the story. I’m also only taking 1 minor inspiration from that but I was so against having mythical races and magic in my world when that’s what I love about fantasy. It’s there now! The magic is back and it makes the story so much more interesting and brings more challenges and ahhhhhh so excited!

Reading The Hobbit helped and I’ve started Fellowship. I’m in between 3-4 books. Goodness I need to chill. But now my story has gone from Harry Potter inspired (that’s from so so soooo long ago) to inspired by Avater the Last Air Bender, Tolkien, a tiny pinch of Game of Thrones, and dnd.

For those who don’t know, I’ve been working on a YA fantasy series on and off since 2017. I’ve been stuck on the overall plot and world building for a while. Ik the plot but it’s kinda blurry and I’ve been trying to clear the fog. And the world building….I just really like world building but! I swear it’s important! The cultures and history of the countries are important to the story and are a big part of the characters since all of them (the main cast) are each from a different country. And now I’ve made up new races which yes I do plan on creating them into homebrews.

Speaking of how cool would it be that after I (hopefully) get my series published that I make an rpg guide for my world?!

Ok that’s all. I’ve always wanted to blog about my writing but Ive always tended to take such long breaks but I’m hoping that won’t happen this time now that monsters and magic is back in my world *knocks on wood*

[jessepatches]

Jacklin

Art by Puppy, my wonderful brother!

Meet Jacklin!

A no nonsense woman with a medical degree, she works underground running her own clinic. She sees to people who can't afford healthcare and also fills bounties and calls for torture, usually for extracting information or for others entertainment. She adores her partner, Bella, and will do just about anything for her, despite her frustrations with her at times.

[pollyendings]

The Trees That Bleed

We are the trees that bleed,

Created by angelic suffering.

We were not formed by a loving god.

We were constructed by human blood.

Bark, roots, pure iron, and age;

Our blood holds the current of a lake.

Blood from the ones who sacrificed.

All lead by madness like blind mice.

The natural soil walked upon us cursed.

Flesh and bone become a great hearse.

As the moonlight shines upon us,

The farthest attempt to medicate our virus.

We are sick and we are alone.

Graves made of bark become home.

Forgotten by all who we once loved

As we create rivers of lost blood.

If there is a true idol they are not to blame

For it was the liar who formed the shame.

He pieced our veins with rusted lies.

If we were well minded we would be alive.

His curse mind washed us all

While the angels of heaven began to fall.

And nothing could save us now.

Inside the rotting bark we are forever bound.

In our sorrowful, tragic tale;

In the forest blood soaked the trail.

Our vengeance urges to feast

As we become the trees that bleed.

[thealsioproject]

Work in progress - Chap 1. The Proposal

Here is my first WIP snippet of what I am currently working on, the book I am writing titled A Lost Soul in Oakbrook, what will be a horror trilogy and oracle deck based off imagery from the series.

This project is still at the beginning workings, but I am so excited to share this with all of you. I am currently in the works of creating a Patreon account so I can share more and you can subscribe to it.

[idiosyncraticofficial]

Idiosyncratic tells the dark story of Calixte Stanhope, a rather callous but…ordinary enough young man who awoke in a truly bizarre dystopian world after being pushed in front of an ongoing train while escorting his significant other home, a faceless and nameless woman he remembers only by her mere existence in this vivid memory, and throughout his journey he's haunted by a deep longing for her that's seems to drive his quixotic incentive to do whatever he must to survive

Rather than being welcomed by either the pearly gates of heaven or the fires of hell, Calixte found himself standing in the midst of the very strange and deceptive town of Baltimore, where everything from the largest bank to the tiniest coin is made entirely of cardboard and plastic, like the set for a play—mimicking the real thing while not actually being it. One can say, a rip off of everything in our world.

The citizens of the town too; although they're quick to greet you with a warm smile and talk with such an enticing charm that is sure to ensnare anybody desperate for answers to their odd predicament, they are not even close to being as ordinary as first impressions suggest--first impressions of which Calixte, for whatever reason, could see straight there. And soon enough, those illusions of a society you could trust fades into ash and the true extent of the young man's situation is ever so cruelly unveiled to him, and this reality would threaten twist and pervert the perceptions of goodness and evil he long since held dear to his heart, or at least he thought he did--he can't quite recall where his knowledge of civility, law, and order came from as vivid as they are to him, they seem feel almost like the figments of a hazy dream or fanciful concepts from a child's tale...

Regardless, what's become absolutely and abundantly clear to Calixte is that this world seems to glorify the things we don't, endorse the activity we shouldn't, and corrupt the ideas of right and wrong we have used to scaffold our civilizations from the ground up. Violence and madness is the way, entropy and discord is the center of worship, and every sad unfortunate soul who's found themselves in this world must abide by the matrix of the daily grind as they do here. The citizens of this delightful world are diehard fanatics for this way of living, lusting for violence so much to the point where its broadcasted on television, discussed fanatically in literature, and any horrid death calls for a grand celebration. The more irredeemable and atrocious something is, the more the residents of Baltimore revere it like sacred scripture, and the man who proudly encourages and orchestrates this madness is none other than the eccentric mayor, referred to as just “Whitman Sedgwick"--his pen name, as he only seems to make himself known through various propaganda, manifestos, and biographies littered about the town.

The unlucky few who wound up in Baltimore under bizarre circumstances similar to Calixte’s, properly labeled as “actors”, have to routinely partake in abhorrent acts for the public’s sick entertainment otherwise more than just their dignity, humanity, and pride will be torn from them. And eventually, once you're fully proven yourself to be of no use to Whitman's design, you are properly "dealt with"

It’s a horrifying ordeal to most, but a paradise to some of humanity’s greatest degenerates, and that small minority is powerful, hungry, and determined to survive by any means necessary--no matter how low. Thus leading Calixte, an obstinate man with an ambition, to meet people he never would’ve otherwise, creating a fragile alliance that will either make or break this band of deplorable lowlives, all depraved in their own ways but alike in their desire for freedom and above all, answers.

As he begrudgingly adjusts his mind to this new world, he quickly realizes his dangerous willingness to do anything and everything he must in order to escape the clutches of the Hegemony and Craze and to reunite with the one woman so dear to him. However, Calixte never would’ve thought that the madness of this world stretch far, far beyond just the glamorization and capitalization of evil. It seems, there's more than one person pulling the strings--its just a question of, who exactly is at the end of the cross brace?

OOOOoooh so ominous

Also, PLEASE, give me feedback.

Idiosyncratic is actually the result of FIVE years worth of heavy editing, revision, and complete transformation of my earliest drafts of the Idiosyncratic story, even though that was not its original title (not by a long shot). Since seventh grade, i've had my mind deadset on creating my own series and sharing it with the masses--my mother was the one who fueled this dream simply by suggesting that I got into writing even though by then neither of us really knew that I had a talent for it per say. Back then I had yet to get a true taste of the darkness in this world so the plot for Idiosyncratic I did contrive was something that would not only make you cringe into yourself from how sickeningly sappy it was, but it would also bore you half to death from how milquetoast and unremarkable the writing was. I actually don't know if I should exactly consider this the precise foundation of Idiosyncratic given how vastly and jarringly different the plot is now, or if I should just call it the crappy ass grandfather of Idiosyncratic that would awake me from my cringy writing phase and ultimately be scrapped for something better. Regardless, it was 600 freaking plus pages of writing that went straight down the drain. And thank God it did. It was total dog shit no law abiding citizen on this great green grass should ever have the misfortune of reading.

[maddiegailwrites]

Thanks for checking out my page.

I’ll be sharing updates, answering questions, and posting snippets as I complete my first full length horror novel, “The Weeping Widow”.

A huge piece of creating a story that matters is sharing it with a community. And what better place to grow a community than Tumblr? With that being said, I appreciate anything and everything (along with everyone:) that interacts with my new page. I can’t wait to see where this takes me🖤

[wickedjr89]

Weekly Wrap Up #14: Reading, Movies and a Short Story posted

[remedyxtragedy]

Other smaller stories/books/plays I'm working on and will later provide descriptions on--

Seize The Day, Coxswain! (play)

The Blight of A Christian Misanthrope (autobiography)

The Horromedy (collection of various short and absurd stories)

Sever The Unity (book)

Sardonic Sanctum (play)

I Don't Wanna Be The Punchline Anymore (collection of poems)

The Hand They Bite With Rage (Book, The big Idiosyncratic prequel that unravels everything. Gonna be a while till I start working on it though)

The Halo Defect (book)

Dearth of The Design (book)

Fall All Around Me (book)

My Doll Sincere (play)

Heaven went to Hell (book)

[finalgirlconspiracyclub]

welcome to the official tumblr for final girl conspiracy club, a wip horror trilogy that follows a group of final girls who band together when they realize that the same organization was behind all of their slashers.

these are the original crimson trio: jennie, hayden, and summer.

and the latest two additions, fellow camp counselors who survived a summercamp massacre.

and damien, a reluctant slasher turned guard dog doing his best to protect the girls he once targeted.

i’ll be posting updates, wip chapters, art, and anything else related to this series as i attempt to finish my first draft by the end of this year!

you might be interested if you’re into:

female-focused horror

queer girls kicking ass together

found family

overarching mystery plots that take time to unravel

authors like stephen graham jones, libba bray, and grady hendrix

so yeah! i hope you’ll be along for the ride!

[damaskrose345]

"Banshee"

She was the old hymn of the bayou, something eternal with a skin of scarlet clay bedecked with ibis tracks.

Her hair was a cascade of Spanish moss, coils, and tendrils of silvery green that echoed the hide of lurking gators. Maybe that was the reason those ancient beasts paid her no heed; just as Cerberus yielded to the hand of Hades, their maws of force never dared to bite her. As she passed over the murky mirror face in the night pit, reptilian heads would rise from the mire and attend to her as hounds of fang and scale. They followed where she went, and some began to say that where her children crawled upon the land, the Bayou's Banshee would soon follow to evoke the taking of a soul. 

They said her veins pulsed swamp water, that the air around her form was as stifling as the backwater and whipped as fast as a moccasin's strike. They said her eyes were the same golden voids as those affixed into the skulls of her gators. Those who claimed to have encountered her say that, when she spoke, all that emerged was a gurgle, a drowned kind of noise that spilled from her lips like oil. The voice of drowning, some say. One feels it in their gut— the plunge from surface to bayou bottom is great, and those who hear the Banshee cannot help but feel as if they're sinking into the mud. 

Her voice in their ear, a twisted hand of cypress shackles around their wrist, and all sunshine falls away.

Then their eyes blot against the bog, and brackish blood pours into their throat. They look up at the pallid blur of summer's sun, high above the depths, and reach up towards it. Lichen patches the flesh of their hand. They scream under the water only to find their voice gone, replaced by the dead sound of the Banshee, the call of a corpse devoured by the swamp. Sunrays, the few daring enough to grace the pitch, are slaughtered as massive forms sail by above. Reptant reapers circle like vultures, tails slicing like knives. Yellow slits fixate on their offering; they dive, for the Banshee loves her children, and a mother must provide. The prey goes to scream once more as the beasts descend, yet cannot. Leeches writhe against their tongue and teeth. 

The Banshee's young open their mighty jaws and seize that which their mother gave, tearing sinew and shattering bone and rending limb from frame in a cloud of sanguine brutality. Fang punctures lung. Legs kick viciously in rebuke, only to be ripped away. The corpse call resonates against the muddy floor, a shriek of terror and pain as both life and soul are stolen. Yet beyond the realm of the swamp's depths, nary a leaf trembles.

The Banshee hovers above the surface, staring silently at the butchery below. Though the murk hides the scene, she feels its violence like wind on her face. Around her, the bayou is untouched. Terra cotta light pours through the reigning tupelos, the very same color as the blood her children emerge with on their mouths. 

They look up at her, and she smiles down at them. 

As they dip back into the water, so too does the sun behind the horizon, and evening streams into the swamplands. Her children rest for now, sated by the carrion of the unfortunate, but in the ebony domain of nightfall, they will hunt again by their mother's side. 

[atlasail]

Today I’m working on my manuscript but am really excited to write for these concepts. Was curious to which one you’d prefer. I’m going to try write one of them tomorrow during the break in between my uni classes.

[sodas-place]

More Pan because why not :3

He may look pretty but he’s not to be messed with, it’s more of a ‘look, don’t touch’ situation tbh.