#mysterious bog witch

[ghost-bxrd]

Im starting to think that whoever the mysterious researcher is has to be someone from the Court, bc i think you mentioned maybe wanting the league to be mers? Or at least Talia and Damian? so the court being the mysterious research group could make sense, and then i feel like it would either be William Cobb or Calvin Rose bc we all know how much you’re loving Calvin rn- Especially since, who i am assuming is Dick, is [redacted] in the post… Hmm much to think about. I’m leaning more towards Calvin rather than Cobb, only because in canon Cobb has killed members of the Wayne family before, so him wanting to protect them now seems unlikely- UNLESS of course that’s what you want us to think….. 👀👀

Cackling like a sea witch right now! 🤭

Good catch with the League! Yes, I mentioned it in an earlier post that they’re mer, so it would boot them right out the list of suspects? Maybe? 👀

And of course, our one redacted person being Dick… oh the mystery. Is it Calvin who was trying to protect him? Or Cobb trying to do one good thing in his life? Heheheh 🤭🌊🦈

[my-username-goes-here]

Coming back to Tumblr after bog witch hour moment like oh what's this there's squares of people and they're moving and they're responding to me??? No thank you

Returning to Tumblr after disappearing under mysterious circumstances and seeing a post saying they're removing that feature like oh well goodbye I'm sure somebody will miss you eventually

[carnyx-int]

📢 ANNOUNCEMENT 📢

She can grant your wishes, cure your wounds, even bestow untold power, if you’re willing to pay the price. Should you be so brave - or so desperate - you can find her deep in the forest, where even most animals dare not go.

Or so the story goes.

Mamó has long since forgotten herself, and even longer since stopped caring what tales fearful parents tell their children. She remembers not where she came from, the people she knew, nor even her own name.

_

Introducing Forest Keeper, a cozy farming/crafting sim following Mamó, a bog witch who lost her identity long ago in a mysterious fae deal, as she rediscovers herself through caring for others. Forest Keeper allows the player to harvest and craft at their own pace, with an engaging story of familial love, processing grief, and mending ties.

⚗️ Brew potions and hexes for curious patrons. 🌱 Experience self-sufficiency foraging mushrooms and harvesting ingredients on your farm. 🍄 Follow the story and enter Tír na nÓg, the otherworld realm. 🦊 Undo past mistakes and mend ties with a mysterious fae and a guardian fox. 

Forest Keeper is our first chapter of stories honoring Irish Celtic lore and mythology, inspired by our favorite games and the stories we have been told.

Coming to Steam and itch.io end of 2024! Follow our development journey on itch and join our Discord!

And yes, you can pet the fox.

[watchnrant]

A Discovery of Witches: Season 1 – A Bewitching Journey through Romance, Mystery, and Magic

Supernatural dramas often teeter between guilty pleasures and forgettable fluff, but A Discovery of Witches defies these expectations with a spellbinding narrative and captivating visuals. This isn’t just another tale of vampires, witches, and the occasional werewolf vying for screen time. No, this series takes the genre by the throat and elevates it, delivering a first season that’s as much about unraveling the mysteries of the heart as it is about ancient manuscripts and spell-casting.

Visual Mastery: A Feast for the Eyes

The cinematography in A Discovery of Witches is nothing short of lavish, transforming each scene into a sumptuous visual feast that rivals high-budget feature films. From the sun-drenched spires of Oxford’s Bodleian Library to the almost unbearably romantic gloom of Matthew Clairmont’s ancestral home, Sept-Tours, every frame is meticulously crafted to draw you into its world.

Take those scenes in Oxford, for instance. The camera doesn’t just capture the scholarly majesty of the place; it positively revels in it, lingering on each stone column and every dust-covered tome like they’re the most precious things in the world. It’s not just scenery; it’s a mood, a vibe—an atmospheric hook that digs into your soul and refuses to let go. With its gorgeously shot, centuries-old secrets, Sept-Tours feels less like a setting and more like a character in its own right.

While this detailed visual analysis is crucial to conveying the series visual splendor, the focus remains on maintaining the shows momentum. This ensures that the richness of the insights is preserved without overwhelming the viewer.

Performances: Spellbinding Chemistry

Matthew Goode’s portrayal of the enigmatic vampire Matthew Clairmont is sharp and intense, perfectly balancing menace with a surprising vulnerability. His performance is pitch-perfect, walking the fine line between menacing and magnetic while also showing a depth that makes his character deeply compelling.

Then there’s Teresa Palmer, who takes on the role of Diana Bishop, a witch who’s been denying her powers her whole life. Palmer’s Diana is no damsel in distress. She’s curious, intelligent, and cautious but never weak—just the kind of protagonist you can root for. The chemistry between Palmer and Goode is electric, the type of slow-burn romance that makes you want to scream at your screen for them to kiss already. But when they do? It’s fireworks—undeniably the series’ emotional core; their relationship keeps you returning for more.

Supporting characters also get their moment in the spotlight. Malin Buska’s portrayal of Satu, the witch with a dark side, is particularly noteworthy. Satu’s relentless pursuit of Diana creates tension, making every episode feel like a powder keg. Meanwhile, the delightful dynamic between Diana’s aunts, Sarah and Em, adds a layer of warmth and grounding that keeps the series from getting lost in its supernatural grandeur.

Storytelling: A Tapestry of Intrigue and Emotion

A Discovery of Witches doesn’t just lay all its cards on the table from the get-go. No, it plays the long game, slowly unraveling its mysteries like a well-worn novel—just enough to keep you hooked while leaving plenty of threads dangling to pull you into the next episode. The series is a masterclass in world-building, introducing you to its magical universe in a natural and almost organic way. You don’t get bogged down in endless exposition; instead, you discover this world alongside Diana, which makes the journey all the more immersive.

Thematically, the show’s depth lies in its exploration of identity and heritage, which is woven seamlessly into the narrative. Diana’s journey of self-discovery as she uncovers the truth about her lineage is not just a plot device; it’s the beating heart of the series. Her struggles resonate on a personal level, offering viewers a reflection on the often tricky path to self-acceptance. These themes also parallel broader cultural conversations around identity and self-discovery, making the show’s exploration of heritage and acceptance particularly resonant in today’s society. Matthew’s battles with his nature as a vampire add another layer of depth, turning what could have been a standard supernatural romance into a poignant meditation on embracing one’s true self, flaws and all.

A Few Hiccups: Pacing Pains

If there’s one chink in the armor, it’s the pacing. About halfway through the season, things start to speed up—almost too quickly. The pacing, particularly in the second half of the season, accelerates at the expense of crucial character development, such as the rushed transition from Diana’s abduction to her rescue. These narrative shortcuts dilute the emotional impact, leaving specific plot points feeling underdeveloped. This rush disrupts the overall narrative coherence and affects the emotional connection to the characters, making it harder for viewers to invest in their journeys fully.

Final Verdict: A Supernatural Triumph

A Discovery of Witches Season 1 is a triumph of supernatural storytelling. It’s a show that doesn’t just ride the coattails of its genre—it reinvents it, offering a sophisticated, emotionally resonant narrative that’s as enchanting as it is exhilarating. Sure, the pacing could use a little fine-tuning, but that’s a small price to pay for a series that delivers such rich rewards in terms of character, theme, and sheer visual splendor.

Whether you’re a die-hard fan of supernatural romance or someone who appreciates intricate character development and lush visual storytelling, A Discovery of Witches stands out as a show that casts its spell early and never lets go. It’s a series that promises not just escapism but an emotionally rich and visually captivating journey that leaves viewers eagerly awaiting the next season.

[insomniac-arrest]

PRIDE SALE

Hello loves and happy Pride!! In celebration of all things gay, I'm putting my Sapphic short story collections and brand new novella up for sale. Werewolves, mermaids, and deep dark woods--what better topics for love? Check out the stories below! Everything will be priced at $3.99 or lower until the end of June. ❤️🏳️‍🌈

New release: WOLVES AT THE DOOR

Brand new novella with a whimsical fairy tale story of a wolf and a doe.

Summary: In a tidy well-built home on the outskirts of a village on the outskirts of the world lives a doe. Fatherless and alone, MaryAnne has no herd. She is marked by fate. Other Beast Folk hang Juniper above her door. Year by year she survives the winter . . . until a howling comes.

Wolves of the bone cities are not meant to hunt their northern neighbors. Yet, the Hinterlands are wild places where rules bend and magic eats. Wolves may howl there and prove their worth. Despite her companions warnings, Shier the wolf begins to stalk a tricky doe. And MaryAnne may have tricks yet. Traveling from one villager to the next, she attempts to find secrets not meant for prey: What do wolves fear?

A classic tale of the hunt, a forest and the untamed places of the world, and a romance masked in teeth.

🐺 Check out Wolves at the Door

🌸Check out the Soft Landing Collection

Mermaids trapped in zoos, floating continents that block out the sun, curses that sprout flowers from your skin, astronauts on dying spaceships, and princesses bothering hungry bog witches. Five short stories that revolve around the love between women and the fantastical worlds they inhabit.

🌺Check out Rules for Loving Haunted Girls

Werewolves sharing early morning conversations with waitresses. Phantoms reappearing and disappearing in wild lavender fields. A coming-of-age story of a paper delivery girl as she uncovers the mystery surrounding a strange house and the girl inside who never seems to leave. Love stories of the odd, strange, and utterly lovely.

[laurelsofhighever]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 15/? Chapter Rating: T Chapter warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

--

In the unexpected doubling of their number, Alistair felt the shift in balance within their little group. No longer a partnership of he and Rosslyn with their acerbic bog witch guide, now they were outnumbered by strangers – or perhaps evenly matched if he counted the dog – set on a path of dubiously shared purpose. Leliana seemed trustworthy enough despite the air of mystery, but the same could not be said of Sten. Aside from the fact that he towered over all of them, the man emitted an aura of great, contained stillness, like one of Bann Ferrenly’s famous clockworks, wound up to burst into movement with the merest press of a switch. He walked with his empty fists clenched at his sides, but made no complaint about the pain of his wounds.

He also seemed fascinated by the idea of a war hound. On the first evening they stopped together, he stared for long enough that Cuno, pressed along the length of his mistress’ leg, grew leery enough to growl a warning, his ears flattened and his black lips pursed to frame the lethal curve of his teeth. Instead of averting his gaze, the huge qunari instead growled back, his own, blunter fangs bared, and only Rosslyn’s steadying hand on the dog’s flank kept him from launching across the camp in response to the challenge.

“Hmpf,” Sten retorted after a moment, and turned his eyes away.

“That’s a dangerous game,” Rosslyn warned him. “Mabari aren’t known for making idle threats.”

“I sought to understand him,” came the reply. “To fight alongside him, I must know the strength of his heart.”

“And what did you discover?”

Another grunt as he turned his attention back to the dog. “You are a true warrior, and worthy of respect.”

A further moment passed in tense silence as Cuno weighed the pronouncement, and then, like the snuffing of a candle, the tension vanished from his limbs and he went back to playing the clown, his long tongue lolling as he stretched and wriggled onto his back in a demand to have his belly rubbed. Indulging the behaviour with a smile, Rosslyn failed to notice the hard, calculating gaze still fixed on her across the fire.

It wasn’t the last time Alistair caught Sten watching her. She held the qunari’s attention as she saw to the horse, or when she listened in on Leliana’s attempts to melt Morrigan’s icy exterior, or sighted along an arrow to the fowl they hoped to spit for dinner. Though such scrutiny might be explained away by cultural differences, it unnerved him, and even woke a wyrmlike jealousy deep beneath his ribs.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling in love,” he snapped, when it needled him too far.

Sten glanced away from the other side of the kindling fire, where the rest of their group sat plucking their evening meal. “What?”

“You keep staring like you’re moonstruck.”

The qunari’s brow furrowed. “I do not know what that means.”

“Rosslyn,” Alistair clarified. “You watch her.”

“It bothers you that I do so.” It was not stated like a question.

“I want to know why,” he retorted.

Read the rest on AO3

[imaginesofeverykind]

Witches Brew ~ Chapter 2

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Warnings: Catholic-Centric monotheism demonised, language, 18+ Minors DNI

Tags: DnD Fusion AU, Targaryens are just noblefolk, more vagueness

Word Count: 5k

Chapter Song: Harbinger - Kiki Rockwell

Yurisa and Ornmir aren't in a DND pantheon I just made them up for the purpose of the fic!

Series Masterlist

The power of words came from the ability to heed what is said, the Holy word of God revered by many and feared by others denounces the practices that don’t abide his word. Yet, your words — the words of a heretic, a pagan, a ‘devil worshiper’ — haunted the brothers, resounding in disembodied whispers cruelly reminding them of the events that transpired in wake of a seemingly ordinary day.

Neither spoke of what happened, in fear that speaking it outloud would make it a reality. It almost felt as though they shared a deranged and highly realistic dream that stubbornly did not disappear into the back of their consciousness when they were awake. A nightmare they were forced to reckon with when their Lord Father fell mysteriously ill, an infection that appeared seemingly from nowhere had him bedridden for a tenday.

His left eye had begun to fester and rot away.

Troublesome as the sudden ailment came, it all but made the brothers’ blood run cold when they soon realized the eye that had begun its necrosis would have been the same side on Aemond’s if he lost it that day. He did lose it that evening. And then a miracle — dark blood magic — brought it back. This had been the price. The saying ‘Eye for an Eye’ appeared to be most taunting in this instance.

Cycles of the moon that once meant nothing but something to measure time with became a looming presence for Aegon. A beacon of light in the night he looked onto with resentment and disgust where it once bore witness to his acts of sin and debauchery. Each phase a creeping reminder that he must return back to the decrepit hut, a threat he considered hollow until he felt the pull of the moon the closer to full it became.

The swamp surprisingly looked more harrowing during the day, perhaps it were because under the shield of darkness the night brings, many creatures were hidden away. The afternoon sun seared through the treetops, warming the marshy waters and in doing so lifted a pungent odour, souring the deeper into the bog it got. Sulfur fumes so strong it was hard to believe the sounds of nature indicated life thrived blithely, undisturbed in the thick mud pits, reedy bushes or trees when it so easily brought tears to Aegon’s eyes and made his lungs burn.

Fungus, abnormally larger than the toadstools that littered the edge of the Kings Road sat in halo’s of spores it created. Demanding reproduction and relentlessly over taking the grounds of which they grew, the damage a single spore can do to an entire ecosystem of plant life once it infected a single limb of a plant.

Nature was hideous and beautiful, harrowing and wonderous, unforgiving yet forgiving all at once. Amongst it all, as if tying the cacophony of life, death and all that sat in between nature oscillating and constant; A blissful humming. So subtle it was almost easy to miss the gentle caress in the area getting stronger, coaxing more fervently as it neared the epicentre of the swamp. 

The Elder Tree and the Hut entwined in its roots.

“Hello little lordling,” You appear behind him, but Aegon doesn’t jump. Almost as if he were expecting you to be exactly there. The same presence that plagues his thoughts, you could tell how restless he had become over since you last met. A smile pulls at your lips, tauntingly smug, “the moon is not full and yet here you are. Five moons early.”

He regards you slowly, though out of fear or caution you can’t quite tell until he speaks, “my father has fallen ill.” There is no sadness in his voice, no guilt, no indication that he is upset by what you’ve done to ensure his brother became whole again. 

You drag your feet toward him with a tilted head as you stare into his eyes of Violet, curling a hand around his jaw to look at him with far more scrutiny, your fingernails like thorns into his skin. Part of you is disappointed, the younger brother seemed to be a far more amusing moon servant with his boiled temperament, but when you look into Aegon, you see someone far less self involved — self serving perhaps but not one who uses a holy shield to look down on those who refute one God. 

He is as much a sinner as you were but for different reasons.

“That is the price, to meddle with the forces of nature.” You muse, taking away the hand that clawed into his soft cheeks, crescent moon indentations mark where your fingers had previously sat. Head tilted once again, you inspect his rugged appearance, the dark circles under his eyes and how stringy his hair looked. Leagues different in comparison to how he had looked the last time he had enlightened you with his presence. The moon gives and the moon takes, just like magic, just like nature.

”I didn’t come here to hear riddles, hag.” His lips downturn into, what you could only assume was, a frightful grimace with his brows casting downward. Haggard in appearance wasn’t the only change you could note, where he had last been in the clothes of a nobleman now he was wearing commonfolk garb. Though you are inclined to believe this is his choice to do so and not an artifact of disowning from the Lord and Lady of Oldtown.

“I’ve jokes if you would rather,” you smile tauntingly, though he looked less than amused on account of his eye twitching with an ire you had only previously seen with his brother. It must be the Moon. Though you don’t concede in your jest,“forgive me, I was under the impression you were the fun brother.”

He snapped, grabbing the scruff of your cardigan and pulling you up off your feet with a strength that seemed to surprise even him briefly, “there is nothing fun about what you did to me.” His eyes were wild, animalistic like he might just snap a little further over the threshold of man and monster. This anger appeared foreign on him, you could tell. The creases worn into his face like ridges in a tree were that of someone forlorn and closely recognised misery as a friend, not someone who was quick to anger and enmity. His ire was not of desperation as you had seen once before, it was an artificial plague of your making by bestowing him the curse of the moon in your actions of removing it from his brother. 

As if reading his thoughts you shake your head, “I cannot undo what has been done.” You have said this many times to many different people who seek you out, an echo of the woman who raised you, as she would say the same to similarly lost souls. This time it filled you with feelings distant to you but not entirely unheard of, it stirred a deep sorrow that you could not understand the origin or why. 

“Why not?” His grip loosened, a crack in his voice indicated that he will not lose himself to the beast that lives inside his very being now.

“What is taken, must be returned. Your brother's eye was returned to him, but only because it was taken from someone else,” his father, you don’t need to say as he is sure enough to understand on his own, “the curse bequeathed to your brother removed, but only because it was parted onto someone else.” You, Aegon. Your eyes watch his with great interest, his pupils begin to shrink and the violet in them return, and a faint whisper that barely passes as a thought but still registers in your mind are three simple words that shake you to the core: I’m so sorry.

***

Blood curses on their own are incredibly hostile in nature, to meddle magically with the very rivers that bring a soul life, is to be inherently evil. You recall the night of your eleventh winter, the moon at its highest and forever etched into your memory was that it was red. A Blood Moon. Auntie, (as you referred to the woman who raise you as despite her being anything but) would regale you with stories of the various cities she had visited, the travels she would get up to and despite the discrepancies in her timelines you would always listen with a grin on your face and wide eyed.

While the Moon was the symbol of the wolves, the goddess commanded her soldiers and servants when it was at its fullest. A Blood Moon was the symbol of petrifyingly beautiful harbingers of death, lustful creatures seeking blood to keep their souls appeased and their hunger satiated. Though, to your recollection, you weren’t sure what a moon decorated in a blue hue meant and who served the Moon when she turned blue.

The bones of your beloved childhood pet ferret laid out before you indicated troubling signs for the evening's full moon, it warned of uncertainty and danger. “Gods be good,” you whisper and gather the bones of the late Yurisa, you had named her after the Goddess of Winter aptly because of the fur as white as snow. The Goddess of Winter was known to be cruel and calculating, worshippers often regarding her as the Mistress of Atrophy, for when she brought her touch upon the land, it withered beneath her.

To you, Yurisa was merely a name to call your furry companion. 

Now you are well and truly alone. No Auntie left to gently guide you through the mystical arts or teach you kindness and compassion. No more Yurisa to cuddle up with when loneliness crept up like a misfortune or to scuttle around your feet when you went foraging for ingredients. It seemed as though you were destined to be alone, abandoned by a mother, abandoned by another and left alone when death crept up and seized the soul from your small companion.

Perhaps that may have been the reason your thoughts lingered to mournful and sorrowful when lamenting on the impromptu visit for the lordling Aegon days prior. The same reason that voice whispered to offer mercy the night the brothers arrived. Though, you could lament no further out of frustration of not getting any answers and by happenstance due to Aegon’s arrival.

His footsteps were weary, despite being at the hut for a third time, though the weight with each carefully placed step had an adjustment to its cadence that piqued your interest. Blood curses with transformative properties were cruel and unusual on the body and the mind, the ebbings of change often appearing in those infected a few days before and after the Full Moon. It was already taking a toll on him. 

You opened the door at the moment he raised his fist to knock, startling him slightly though you don’t notice behind how disheveled and unwell he looked, “little lordling.”  

Through his tired eyes rimmed with red from exhaustion, he narrowed them, “stop calling me that.”

“Would you prefer Moon Servant? Wolf Pup?” You are hardly smiling or even joking for that matter, as you stepped aside and waved him through.

”Just Aegon is fine,” he grumbled, compared to last time his anger was at a low level — still foreign on him but low nonetheless. His face was more sunken in, hollowing at the cheeks and under eyes as if he were more skeleton than flesh. One of many unfortunate side effects he was about to endure and he was none the wiser about how awful it was about to get for him.

By the hearth you boil water and whisk around your cupboards for the right ingredients when the question in your mind suddenly fell past your lips, “how are you feeling?” It felt like a mistake to ask such a question, as it often is only asked when endearing someone, “the pain, I mean. Fevers? Anything out of the ordinary?” You quickly add, while fussing about the pot of boiling water and various ingredients swirling in a maroon brine.

”I feel…” He had to think about it, eyes lifted to inspect the ceiling while thinking, “I feel like I’ve been hung, drawn and quartered. Though I s’pose that is meant to be normal right, witch?” His tone laced in a particular type of venom, calling you a witch as if it were derogatory but it was nothing except a label of what you are. Sorceress, Enchantress, Hag, Witch — they all meant the same thing; Heretic.

You remind yourself that as far as he was aware, he was not here of his own free will which was far removed from the truth. The lapse in your wrath the night you had crossed paths with him had you wavering conviction and offering mercy. That mercy being that he would not have to face the Moon’s Curse alone and could do it in a place that concealed him far from the eyes of the many zealots within the walls of Oldtown.

Extending a clawed hand out, you gesture for him, “show me your fingernails.”

”Why?”

”If I wished ill fortune on you or even death, I’d have done it by now, no? Show me your fingernails.” You grew impatient.

He reluctantly holds out a hand for you to grab. Unexpectedly, they were red raw around the nail but not because of the impending transformation, this was purely habitual, a very human trait that indicated he was nervous and anxious often. The nails themselves though, were beginning to blacken at the nail bed and were more hardened than what was normal.

Holding one of his hands steady, you manifest a small jar of medicinal salve and begin to lightly swipe it over the affected areas. It wasn’t going to lessen the pain of his impending transformation, but it would help stave off infection. You feel his gaze on you, not hard or weary, rather just inspecting carefully as you silently tend to his fingers.

”Erm — I’ve had joint aches and mood swings. I haven’t eaten either.” He admits shrewdly, the violet in his eyes washing away from colour in his iris slowly. It felt rather ludicrous, hearing his ailments like he was a patient and you were a healer. Though to a degree you may have been just that, even if the circumstances were very different. 

You don’t answer him, merely nodding and turning back to your boiling concoction, opting to add a touch more Docrut ash before scooping a cup full of brine into an aged bowl. It is not grand nor lavish like what Aegon may be used to, but you didn’t care, offering it to him, “drink. It will help with the pain.”

Lifting the bowl to his lips, he grimaced with flared nostrils and took a gulp only to immediately splutter it back out and cough it all over you. Unsure if he was being overdramatic or he simply wished to indignify you for his shortcomings, nevertheless, you wiped your face of his spit silently.

”That tastes like piss,” he gagged, covering his face and mouth as though it would shield him from the steaming brew in his hands.

”I never said it would taste nice,” you smile with slight amusement, “though if you forgo what is helpful simply because of its taste, I can assure you, you will regret it come morning.” He was an interesting individual, thrust into a circumstance out of his control and yet finding ways to nitpick it like the true highborn soul he was. 

“Perhaps if you hold your nose and drink it won’t taste so bitter,” you offer, remembering when as a child how much you despised the mushroom bark stew Auntie made. She would tell you the same thing, because out in the Swamp you either ate what was given to you or went hungry. Choice was not a luxury you grew up having.

He seemed taken aback by how childish you sounded, or, you thought, it was because you had said something that wasn’t inherently monsterous in his eyes. So you decide to bite a little, a smile curling at your lips, “what? Even us Hags have to eat disgusting things despite ourselves… I’ll drink some with you, if it helps.” 

You scoop yourself a bowl, holding it up as if mocking a ‘cheers’ and bringing it to your lips. He wasn’t wrong at all, it smelt awful, eye wateringly awful and as pungent as the acrid scent of the swamp outside. Gods, don’t think about the swamp water. Yet, with a pinch of the nose to seal your nostrils shut, you tilt the bowl up and begin to drink. Eyes flicking over to Aegon who is dutifully following despite the exaggerated expression of disgust.

”See,” you cough and wince as the brew burned your throat and assaulted the senses, “it wasn’t so —,” an onslaught of coughs prevent you from finishing the sentence, though when you came too it wasn’t the fact that he had finished his bowl that came as a surprise. It was the simple and disturbingly pleasant fact that he was actually laughing - at you, yes - but laughing nonetheless. 

The feeling of delight, something as plain as hearing him laugh sent troubling waves of nausea within you. Stop that, you insisted to yourself for thinking too long on such a factor but unfortunately for you it seemed to imbue you with a sense of being. 

“I’m pleased to know it isn’t poison at least,” he jests half heartedly, setting the bowl down on the table beside him. His moment of weakness, laughter, subsided and his walls were back up, though as you look out the window you are reminded that he will very much be a very different kind of man soon, and even more come the morning.

There was still some time left before a long night began, a question that had been plaguing you since that night a month ago and had never found a suitable answer by speculating, “why did your brother get attacked that night? The Lycanthropes in the swamp… They are usually docile because of Ornmir.”

He looked over at you, brow raised in confusion that was met with your annoyed sigh, “right of course — The Swamp Spirit, she has domain over this area, nurtures the land and watches over the creatures.” You explain as if it were the most obvious answer, but recognise you were being unfair on someone who most likely had no idea there was a spirit of the swamp.

There’s a moment of slight humour back in his eyes, a scornful snort exhales from his nose as he laughs dryly, “I suppose then this fabled ‘spirit’ is responsible for the attacks on the nearby village then? A beast descends on a village to kill their livestock, that feels rather opposite to being watched over and docile, like you said?”

”hm,” you hum momentarily, letting his words settle, “perhaps it’s God’s will then?” You weren’t mocking him specifically, rather his family and those who sought to eradicate the magic in the world. The surrounding village’s littered on the outskirts of the swamp were often benevolent in the few times you had passed through to get seeds or fruit, yet the cathedral spires of Oldtown were a beacon that infected many people with prejudice and it reached as far as the closest Village.

Ornmir’s domain was relatively benign despite the creatures that reside, so it did strike you as odd that something had been thought to attack the villages, just like it struck you as odd that an attack happened to Aegon and his brother. Though, your question would remain unanswered for a while longer with the light fading to blackness settling outside of the hut’s windows.

It was always darker in the marsh long before the Sun had fully set, which was natural given the thick cover provided by trees taller than Oldtown's giant Cathedral. Though nightfall would turn within mere minutes, and with that, Aegon would be more monster than man. With great haste you beckon him outside of your hut and take him behind the Elder Tree. A lantern in one hand to illuminate the way and an old dagger in the other.

The humming that vibrated throughout the swamp seemed to permeate from the very roots of the Elder Tree; it was the largest and most intricate looking tree in comparison, even shrouded in darkness. Around it, the ground littered with moss and deceptively hidden soft mud that would encase your foot had you taken a wrong step.

You close your eyes and listen softly, to the wind and its direction, to the symphony of creatures and bugs that coexist within the heart of the marshy swamplands, the humming that never ceased. The moon was on the rise. You felt it, like a presence that made the hair on the back of your neck stand, like a feeling deep within the pit of your stomach. Many serve the Moon, but all life somehow feels its pull.

“Aegon,” you address with a softer tone than necessary, “this may very well be the worst thing you will ever go through. It’s excruciating. It’s difficult. You will begin to recede back, as though no longer in control because you won’t be in control yet will feel, see, taste everything. You’re a shattered soul belonging to two now. A man and a beast.” 

A Primal beast that will exist on urges that would make men weep at the thought.

”We are going to have quite the night together I believe,” you smile wearily, bringing the obsidian dagger to the palm of your hand and cutting deeply into it. He grimaced at the sight of crimson dribbling down your forearm, but in the macabre lighting of the lone lantern and a cluster of fireflies you watch his eyes wash away all violet colouring.

Black consuming even the whites of his eyes, you gave him a playful smile, one that certainly wasn’t appropriate for the situation at hand and darted off through the swamp

***

Lycanthropy is one of the few curses that shattered both body and soul, and contrary to what is believed that the only instance of change occurs under the full moon, the blight is a month long ailment. To have bones, tendons and muscle rip, warp and rearrange to a completely different structure was harrowing enough to watch, though scholars tend to only source that this happened one night per month. 

Mending bones and muscle was no easy feat, nor was it something that could be done in a mere day. Especially under someone’s first transformation. Aegon had slept for a day and a half before awakening to what you could only assume was the worst pain ever to be put through. 

He complained, immensely, but you took that as a sign of him feeling better than anything to be annoyed about. Two days after the full moon his fingernails had finally regressed to their normal sizing, and both his hair and eyes had a semblance of life brought back into them. 

You had forgotten how nice it was simply having another person around, not even just to talk too, but another presence that made the hut feel less lonely. Though, you remind yourself that much like your Mother, Auntie and Yurisa — loneliness appeared to be your curse to bear.

”I promise this tastes better than it looks,” you hand over a bowl of seemingly beige modge podge that looks less than enticing and more like vomit. Aegon immediately grimaced but seemed to have caught himself and shook it off, probably in hopes that you didn’t notice. But you did.

His eyes widened in surprise when he shoveled a tentative mouthful of the unappealing looking soup, “this is delicious, what’s in it?” 

Snake and Eel. Against your better judgment you decide to refrain from telling him, lest he lose his appetite, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” A sly smile pulling at the corner of your lips as you tend to the daily chores around your abode. His watchful gaze never felt intrusive or rude, it was your understanding that he merely enjoyed people watching though he hadn’t said it, it was your own reticent observation that led to that deduction.

“You are strange, witch.” Without a hint of malice in his voice, it may have been the first compliment you received from him, one that you gladly took on. Invigorating you in a way that was unexpected and worrisome. Auntie had warned you that you had a tendency to grow attached too easily, a facet that rang true for all the creatures you helped mend themselves when they were injured or the travelers that passed through that you assisted her with helping them. 

“Strange is good,” you smile earnestly at him, and though your mind was yelling for you not too, your mouth opened on its own accord, “Bramble… Auntie called me Bramble because that's where she found me.” Though you refused to elaborate when he gave you an inquisitive glance. The memory of Auntie was somewhat sacred, that was something you wished to keep to yourself above all.

”An even stranger name…” he murmured, as though in his thoughts and you weren’t supposed to hear that. 

The remainder of the morning went as such, light chatter that felt more akin to a strategic game of droughts learning a small thing about the other as the morning progressed. He was a first born of four, wildly incapable of the pressures and responsibility of a first born, liked to drink his body weight in Ale and Fine Wine and was horrid at day to day tasks as you came to learn when he attempted to help you with something as mundane as hanging freshly washed linen out.

”Good lord what the fuck is that?” His exasperated tone caused you to turn, his eyes fixated in the distance and a finger pointed at the flying abomination in the air near a cluster of identical looking creatures. Features that looked not of this world, making it appear as though it was the gruesome victim of alchemistic cross breeding, beady eyes and a rat like face of a bat but its body looked like a giant mosquito.

You looked at it, unfazed and turned back to what you were doing, “Stirges, awful creatures…” While the flying monstrosity didn’t worry you, its presence did unsettle you greatly, having not seen a nest of them so close by before. Something strange was happening and it had started from before the night of the lycanthrope attack. You wished to know what events occurred that caused such a chain reaction. An attack on a human, an attack on the village and now an incursion of horrible blights that aren’t native to the lands.

“Aegon,” you slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze which was already fixed on you, “why were you in the swamp the night your brother was attacked?” It felt as though you asked this question several times before and never got a real answer out of him or the conversation naturally diverted elsewhere. 

While he was mostly open about his admissions already, you could sense him hesitate to answer this question. Perhaps he was gifted at deflecting and that was why you hadn’t received an answer for your question yet. Though the trepidation was not for lack of honesty or a need to conceal the truth, his eyes glassy and a slight tremble in his lip indicated guilt more than anything.

“Whatever is eating away at you, is not my concern. The reason is all I care for. Something isn’t right.” You hum, the nagging feeling eating away your insides like a looming sense of dread that was hard to pinpoint and it alarmed you grately that it took this long to figure out something strange was afoot. The humming of the Swamp droned gently, undisturbed and constant and yet there was a disturbance, over by the reedy shallows where the Stirges set their nest up. It was as though they came undetected, unseen.

He sighed, drawing your gaze to him, a look of shame and guilt marred his face, “I want not for ownership of the land, nor title or to become a Lord… but such is duty,” he was resentful and cutthroat, as if the word duty was an unholy word to be spit out. “Yet my father forces upon me what I push away — it’s my fault Aemond was hurt, he should never have been out there.”

Aemond, you repeat in your head, finally putting a name to the younger brother you healed a month ago.

“The village, Watercroft, asked my father to rid them of the beast that started killing their livestock and I was supposed to lead the hunting party. I would not do as he said, I cannot,” he looked away, gritted teeth as he spoke about his father like poison to the tongue. You couldn’t blame him, since you’ve lived in the Swamps his father has ruled Oldtown and whilst the locals revered him for peace, you had vehemently disagreed.

“So I drank, complained and let Aemond take the lead — he’s the one who deserves the power, the title, everything. And we’ve heard stories about beasts within the swamplands from travelers and locals, but this was different. A monstrous scourge that devoured six of our men whole before I sobered up enough to realize what was going on. Aemond.. he… he grabbed me and we ran… right into a den of Direwolves.”

You shake your head correcting him, “not Direwolves.” 

“Right.” He agreed quietly.

His story, while jagged and a mess to make sense of slowly began to click into place for you. It was unsettling at best and at worst borderline apocalyptic for the ecosystem within the Swamp and all the land around. There was only one beast in the Swamp capable of doing what he had described and that was Ornmir herself, in her natural corporeal form as a Swamp Drake. But this revelation only offered more questions than answers, the biggest one more alarming than any other speculation you had gone through prior to this.

Why was the spirit of the Swamp so angry?

~~~~~

Tag List: @karlachs-soldier @serving-targaryen-realness @deltamoon666 @bogbutteronmycroissant

If you want to be tagged let me know :DDD

[creature-wizard]

https://youtu.be/U8NNHmV3QPw?si=6aInyR5QVTAT3z0R Watch if you're bored but you might be surprised 🤷🏻‍♀️.

It's about spirit science

GHJKSD when you said this video was about Spirit Science, I thought you were gonna like, link to a video talking about how the Spirit Science guy Jordan Duchnycz is a rapist or his weird obsession with Emma Watson or his antisemitic claim that Jews come from another planet. I didn't expect you were going to link to like, an actual Spirit Science video.

In brief, what Jordan's putting out here is straight-up baloney. A lot of it's pretty bog-standard New Age pseudohistory based on unsubstantiated conjecture, misinterpretation of various mythological traditions, and shit somebody just pulled straight from their ass. Not only is there no actual evidence to support any of the stuff he's putting out there, the actual evidence we do have inevitably precludes it.

Here are some links that explain why and how we know that people like Jordan are just wrong:

The Sirius Mystery: did the Dogon know about Sirius B?

The Truth About Atlantis

Atlantis @ Bad Archaeology

The Weird Case of Atlantis-Mu in the Madrid Codex

Lemuria, the weirdest continent that never existed

Naacal @ Wikipedia

Close encounters of the racist kind

The Ancient Astronaut Hypothesis Is Racist And Harmful

Zechariah Sitchin @ Bad Archaeology

"The Emerald Tablets of Thoth": A Lovecraftian Plagiarism

Left- vs. Right-Brained: Why the Brain Laterality Myth Persists

Are the Egyptian pyramids aligned with the stars?

Criticisms of Drunvalo Melchizedek @ Wikipedia

Detailed deconstruction of the "face" and pyramids on Mars claims

"Christ" @ Wiktionary

"Allah" @ Wiktionary

Charles Hapgood @ Wikipedia

It’s better light, not worse behaviour, that explains crimes on a full Moon

Sphinx water erosion hypothesis @ Wikipedia

Egyptian Hieroglyphs @ World History Encyclopedia

Predynastic Period in Egypt @ World History Encyclopedia

Sumer @ World History Encyclopedia

Debunking the Myth: The Council of Nicaea and the Formation of the Biblical Canon

First Council of Nicaea @ Encyclopedia Britannica

Did Jesus Go to India? A Modern Gospel Forgery

Also, the fact that Jordan appeals to channeled information is a massive red flag. Channeling is fun and sometimes produces some interesting things, but a source of reliable information it is not.

He also claims that a pole reversal makes the planet start spinning the other way, which is literally not how pole reversals work at all.

And of course, Jason's claim that thirteen powerful families are controlling the world is that general conspiracy theory shit derived from The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, early modern witch panic, and blood libel. The whole thirteen families thing in particular comes from Fritz Springmeier, a far right conspiracy theorist who proudly cites other hateful kooks like Edith Starr Miller and Alexander Hislop and basically claims anything that isn't good wholesome Christian entertainment is actually Satanic programming.

Basically, Jordan Duchnycz is just another New Age conspiracy theorist pushing the same old garbage as loads of others like him.

[peridoodletea]

Hey!! Been a super long time since I've posted, but I never stopped drawing! Got super into D&D over the pandemic, so here's a very incomplete collection of some of the characters I've played! We got a pink half-dragon (homebrew race) child bard, a gross bog witch (this was for the Worlds Without Number system!), a fey warlock sheep-person (another homebrew race lol), an amethyst dragonborn psionic ranger (homebrew subclass), a tortle grandma monk, a satyr trickster princess, AND a gijinka of the Pokemon Minior which I played for a Pokemon Mystery Dungeon-themed game! I uhhh like homebrew LOL It's nice to be back! I have lots more to post, so keep an eye out!

[jonquilandlace]

So anyway I was bored and this was fully out of my typical fandom but I found this forest fairy maker by @elequinoa on my old favorite dress up game website from when I was a kid, Doll Divine, and proceeded to brainrot and say hey what if I made all the Disney Fairies in this, except creepy and weird and more my idea of fey? So anyway here's all of the fairies and the goofy redesigns (under the cut because I feel horrible for people who were never in this fandom having to scroll past seven sets of fairies lol)

Tumblr crop is bad so I apologize in advance. (Also disclaimer for minor photoshop on Rosetta and Periwinkle to make their body colors more unearthly, as my intent was None Of These Fairies Should Look Human, and to make Periwinkle's mask an arctic fox instead of a fox; I attempted to look at TOU and it seemed like this should be alright, but if not, I apologize for overstepping!) (Also minor edit for less pixelated banner image)

Fawn - She was the first one I did and wound up more muted in color scheme, but I really like how she turned out. She was meant to look somewhat like a moth or bark, with some faun-ish inspiration, as well.

Iridessa - As a fairy focused on light, there were two ways I could see taking her (the alternate being distinctly holographic), but in the end liked the double entendre of "light" when leaning towards "biblically accurate angel," so there's bird motifs and just general cherub vibes.

Vidia - The opposite of Iridessa, really; the goal here was to lean into lightning motifs and dark or gothic elements to emphasize the opposite elements in comparison to Iridessa's classical elements. Dragonfly wings for speed, of course.

Rosetta - As in her original, meant to resemble a flower, just amped up a bit to where she resembles a rococo/art deco fusion when viewed naturally, but could literally flip upside down and pretend to be a flower if she wanted to.

Silvermist - Yes this picture isn't from the first movie I couldn't find a good one lmao. Anyway, her wings reminded me of that specific type of dragonfly that skims over my uncle's lake, so I riffed on that alongside the almost pseudo-waves of the petal shirt. She is more directly meant to be an embodiment of water, but more lake or even bog-ish water, where she could peek out of the water at the top and an onlooker would only register her as perhaps a frog, as emphasized in the monochrome eyes, or a ripple in the waves.

Periwinkle - Where options did really start to limit what I could do, lol. I decided to lean into the mysterious and crystalline vibes of the winter, with her visage taking on the arctic fox and even reindeer-ish antler look of something moving in the snowy woods, but yet draped in a finery like freshly fallen snow. She's also the only one with "normal" fairy wings, but I could see it for her, with them perhaps being made of frost.

And finally, Tinkerbell - One that I definitely took some more risks with in design, she is nevertheless the most openly friendly-looking of the fey batch, despite her green hue, which is really in character for a fairy best known for hanging out with Peter Pan and being fascinated by humans. For clothing, I leaned heavily into artificer and witch vibes, mirroring a bit more of the human world, with a touch of goblin to temper it. I did shift away from her typical dress in favor of more adventurous wear, more suited for pretending to be a mushroom or even mouse in the corner of someone's eye.

Overall, idk, I just really had fun with this mini-project. I don't intend to do anything with it, ofc; it was just for fun, but I had a fun time with it!

[hexenmond]

Webcomic Wednesday: The Witch Door

Well, I've been thinking about this the whole day now, and I'm almost frustrated that I can't seem to put this into words so easily. What's great about The Witch Door? Well honestly, what isn't?

I thought about Anni's other comic (Transfusions) and how I'm finding that easy to sum up – vampire BL with explicit scenes. I mention those few words and most people will have a fairly good grasp of what to expect and whether they might like it or not. (I personally hesitated a long time before reading it, because this is actually NOT something that's right up my alley. Turned out to also be good though.)

For The Witch Door, I can't seem to find an easily digestible handful of descriptive words like that. I feel like it is very much the sum of all of its intricate details, and it doesn't fit any simple bill. So I'll resort to reviewing my favourite bits about it…

It has great characters

Seriously, all of them are well thought out and engaging, not a single dull person among them. I love all of them so much that I have actually put ALL of them in my fanfiction (except for the Lintukoto people as they belong to the main canon storyline, which I'm not touching on). That includes Ulriikka, the fluffiest plot device ever.

Tangential to that: it has great representation

There's young people. Old people. Thin people. Fat people. Light-skinned people. Dark-skinned people. Live people. Dead people. Bird people. Ummm… a cat who is definitely also people. And other assorted… humanoids? And oh, sexualities for every letter of the alphabet!

The worldbuilding is intriguing

I'd roughly call the setting "urban fantasy", but that could mean so many things really. In a world much like the one we know, there are witches with differing magical abilities, some powerful, some almost mundane, but most importantly there is this one simple, cool thing that opens up so many possibilities, and that is the concept of the Witch Door: each witch has a special door that can lead to any other witch's special door. So even though our protagonists live in Turku, we have already spent an afternoon in New York and one in Kyoto, without anybody breaking a sweat.

… but it's also kinda slice-of-life

I really love the way that protagonist Katariina – non-magical, bog-standard human who works as a nurse – accidentally stumbles onto her neighbour's secret (he's a witch with a witch door), but her life's still lifing, so it's not all just magical discoveries and fun and games from then on. More like her world gets expanded, but that also means that on top of her own, mundane everyday problems she now learns about things happening in the magical community that are possibly even more concerning, and even less actionable. Katariina deals with all those new experiences with curiosity, wonder, compassion, delight, and occasionally overwhelm, and she feels so real for that.

It's about friendships

The more I think about it, that might be what I love most about the comic. We meet a whole bunch of people and all the relationships and interactions are just gold. At the heart of it, there's a lot of people caring about other people in quiet, everyday ways. Everyone is allowed to have their own struggles, and people are so supportive of each other. And there's also snark and banter, delicious!

I nearly forgot: It also has villains!

I do feel I've managed to avoid spoilers in all my rambling here, so I won't say too much about the antagonists. Just this: they exist, they are still a bit of a delightful mystery (we're in chapter 12 as I am writing this), and I fully believe they are just as complex and well thought out as all the other characters. I love to hate them.

Conclusion

If I've managed to pique your interest, why not take a look at the 6 page prologue? And then take the plunge into a completely different kind of mystery with chapter 1 🙃 where we're introduced to both of our protagonists separately, and then to the magic of the fluffy plot device.

Or, if you're unsure about whether reading this comic will bring joy to you and you don't want to just take the plunge and check it out (which I can relate to!), feel free to ask me questions about it!

[shadowmaat]

Uhh... No?

There are a lot of cozy-type fantasy books out these days. I enjoy low-stakes stuff, and recently I've been indulging in a lot of "murder mystery with magic" stories. There's a bit of a sameness to them, but that's kinda baked into the mystery genre and isn't actually a problem. If anything, it's a comfort because you know how things are going to go. Usually.

I picked up a freebie book for my kobo. This one slotted into the "magic is a secret" vein of urban fantasy, so the witch in question is in the closet, so to speak. It was a mostly standard set-up; the witch's best friend dies in Mysterious Circumstances and the witch is the prime suspect because the sheriff has always been suspicious of her. Naturally the witch is going to work to clear her name and find the real killer.

As bog-standard as that premise is, it still felt a bit... off? Or at least not aligning the way I expected. I figured it was a me-thing and kept reading. If the witch's motives seemed more selfish than altruistic, well, maybe I was just reading it wrong.

One of the powers the witch has it to be able to touch someone and glean some surface impressions. She used that ability on the sheriff to get an idea of what was "wrong" about her friend's death, and she used it again on a reporter to get the name of her friend's former workplace. The first one I could understand since the sheriff is hostile and suspicious, but the second one I wondered why she didn't simply ask. It wasn't as if it was any kind of secret, and it's probably something she could have learned for herself with a bit of digging, but shortcut, I guess.

I was willing to go along with it until the victim's mother showed up, mentioning that an autopsy was going to be performed later that afternoon (this being four days after the actual murder). By this point results had come back on the "health tonic" (potion) that the witch had given her BFF; the one that had been found clutched in her poor, dead hand. The results showed it to be nontoxic and not the cause of death. This means the witch was no longer a suspect. Not that it was going to slow down her investigation. It never does in these kind of mysteries, although usually it's because the protag wants the killer brought to justice.

I guess technically that was the case here as well, but the way the author chose to handle/word things made it feel more... selfish. Sure, the protag wanted to find the killer, but she was also determined to learn all the secrets her friend had been keeping from her. Which, sure, would probably help her find the killer, but it just felt off. I think part of the problem I was having at that point was that most of what I'd seen the protag doing was very... self-serving? In addition to gleaning stuff from unsuspecting people, she'd also given another person a spelled cup of cocoa to make her more willing to discuss things she otherwise might not mention. Which, again, felt like something she could have accomplished just by talking.

The feel of the book was getting weirder. The protag had no qualms about the things she was doing, and maybe if it had stayed at that level of "iffy but not outright objectionable" I could have shrugged it off. Except then it crossed an unforgivable line.

Autopsies are important. They can give us a lot of information about how a person died. They may not be perfect, but they set a good baseline and are important in murder cases. Our protag, unfortunately, decided that an autopsy wasn't good enough and that she needed access to the body herself in order to glean whatever handwavy magic stuff could tell her about how and why her friend had died. And she had to do this before the coroner got a chance to examine the body.

She calls up the receptionist at the coroner's office, uses magic to determine the poor woman's "secret desire," and then uses that to put a whammy on her, giving her the irresistible urge to leave work without notice and rush off to fulfill that urge (in this case it was ice cream from the rival town miles away).

That's when I stopped reading and deleted the book off my kobo. Not just because she hexed an unsuspecting and unwilling innocent, but because that was her default method. She didn't hesitate, didn't question if this was really an ethical use of magic, and didn't try anything more mundane to get past the receptionist. She full-on altered a woman's mind to get the result she wanted. What the everloving fuck were you thinking, author?

So yeah. There aren't many hard and fast rules regarding the use of magic in fiction, but I'm pretty sure "do no harm" is the biggest one. Unless you're the bad guy.

[sylviesparks]

"Day or night, rain or shine, things are never boring in Kazoo!"

Introducing my lovely puppet characters!! They're the main stars of Kazoo and You, a horror/dark comedy project surrounding the mystery of the colorful puppet cast of Kazoo (With O'Malley and Lou), a late '70s/early 80's television program that's been firmly pushed into obscurity after its cancellation. Now nothing but alleged lost episodes, discarded merchandise, a long-abandoned and small theme park and a dusty, decrepit studio behind barbed wire and ivy, the puppets have been long cast away, and it seems that someone-or something- wants it to stay that way.

In left to right order, the cast is: O'Malley the Hare Lou the Dog Salty the Sea Cow Marsha the Bog Witch (She's younger than she looks...) Lottie the Lovebug Finnegan the Imp And lovely You of course!

I've been very focused on them recently (Thanks to my horror affinity and Don't Hug Me I'm Scared reminding me of them to begin with), so you'll see them and their story around more on this blog as work on it idly! I've been having a great time so far with them :3

[insomniac-arrest]

You seem to have two books. Which would you recommend for a beginner?

I definitely wrote the Soft Landing Collection first! So probably that one especially since it has a wide variety of tropes from mermaids to knights and so on. Though, if you like slightly spookier stories Rules for Loving Haunted Girls is your hook hand man ghost.

Links below for anyone who wants to check them out!

eBook 🌸 paperback 🌸 Goodreads

Mermaids trapped in zoos, floating continents that block out the sun, curses that sprout flowers from your skin, astronauts on dying spaceships, and princesses bothering hungry bog witches. Five short stories that revolve around the love between women and the fantastical worlds they inhabit. 

Get a copy here!

eBook 💗 Paperback 💗 Goodreads

Werewolves sharing early morning conversations with waitresses. Phantoms reappearing and disappearing in wild lavender fields. A coming-of-age story of a paper delivery girl as she uncovers the mystery surrounding a strange house and the girl inside who never seems to leave. Love stories of the odd, strange, and utterly lovely.

Get a copy here! 

[vikasgarden]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒: 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night . horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 & 𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

tagged by: @acedecoeur tagging: @vasted , @verflcht , @fireburial , @bvtchcr

[za-baransu]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strikethrough what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

TAGGED BY: my own stash TAGGING: mhm!

@quirofiliac ; @pwophet | @thusspoke | @nekurooma | @adenial | @baishouqijia | @kuraikyu | @determinazione | @zajevre | @owabisuru ; @gyakusama | @cinghialefedele | @keikakudori | @imagend | @yasuhtora ; @inouehs | @despairforme | @huntiburon | @deathleads | @jinjahime | @bornhollow | @hxbiris | @kamitakes | @lured-into-wonderland | @liecoris | @amaranthineoni | @deityforged [ and whoever wants to! just say i tagged you ]

CLASSIC.

black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. ghosts. dark alleys. empty streets. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. suspicion. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the American South. the American Northeast. England. analog cameras.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw marks. bite marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking. backpacking.

GOTHIC.

gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. books. stitches.

PARANORMAL.

malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at unseen things. iconoclasm. black ooze. old photographs. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

SLASHER.

bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. passing shadows. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. cut wires. character masks. scrunchies. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

THRILLER.

daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms. empty rooms. killer in plain sight. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. a noise in the distance