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#My Writing | #My Art

Recent Publications

This Kingdom, Your Ficus; Its Belly, Your Fig (khōréō) Seen Thrice in Serpent's Flesh (FIYAH) See Now the Misfortune of the Thinking Tenax (Lightspeed) It Holds Her in the Palm of One Hand (Lightspeed) BRIDE / BUTCHER / DOE (Strange Horizons)

Forthcoming Publications

Yolk-Wet in the Veld (pre-order, Shatter the Sun) The Wolf Maid from the Sea (Neon Hemlock) The Night's Teeth Find a Home in Your Hide (Lightspeed)

Current WIPs

WYRM | novel, 60k/100k words | drafting | wip intro

#don't reblog plz #i mean you can i guess #but theres not much of a point #anyway

saccharine-dreamer

Jean Paul Gaultier 2002 Fall-Winter Couture

creaturesculptures

Unicorn Statue - Mirabellgarten, Salzburg [x]

skunkes

you got him preggers !

CORRECT!

#me core

anoelleart

Protolith - Prologue

Charlotte Ujunwae died thrice before her twenty-eighth year.

August 30, the 184th Year of the Mother In the eighth summer of her life, Charlotte witnessed the murder of her parents. A deafening gunshot woke her. In the moment between opening her eyes and cognition, she thought it was a crash of thunder that roused her. But the sound of heavy rain banging on her bedroom window was accompanied by the scent of acrid gunpowder and burnt flesh. The slick smell of blood brought to her primal fear, the kind of fear where her body knew she faced mortal danger before her mind. A fear which made her veins run with ice before she even realized that it was indeed her mother’s body strewn across the floor. Her mother lay between her and the bedroom door with a hole in her chest. In her mind’s eye, lightning struck then, but her memories of this night warped with time. This moment of light revealed to her the stranger who’d murdered her mother. He held his gun to her father’s head. That night, Charlotte escaped by throwing herself out of a third-floor bedroom window. She did not remember how her head unceremoniously collided with a stray rock in her garden. At three o’clock in the morning, she gasped for air. Shards of glass were embedded in her bronze skin. Blood soaked her auburn hair. Yet, she dragged herself nearly three miles that morning on a broken femur until she reached her uncle’s farmstead. Under the tumultuous clouds, her scattered brain matter looked just like the dirt.

July 2, the 200th Year of the Mother In her twenty-fourth summer, Charlotte was unmarried. To her uncle’s chagrin, she had run away from any acceptable proposal. Had he not stolen her inheritance, she’d be a university student. Instead, she spent her nights downtown. On this night, the sky was clear and dark. The moon hung loosely, like a butcher’s hook above her. The first man who sought to hire her services instead wrapped his hands around her neck. She remembered most clearly his eyes, brown and yellow, his breath sick with alcohol, and the callouses which scratched her skin until blackness crept across her vision like a spider web. At three o’clock that morning, Charlotte lurched back to the land of the living. An undertaker stood above her, puzzled at this unexpected resurrection, perhaps upset at the loss of income, but more than anything, curious about the frightened and angry woman who was suddenly shouting at him. Her instinctual fear arrived too late, and though her return to life was met with a friendly face, she threw herself backwards and reached for the knife hidden in her boot. The undertaker was a tall and dark man, with a large smile and an even larger desire not to die by the knife of a prostitute. Over a gin on the rocks, he told her that he collected cadavers for the university morgue and garnered gold from rich medical students desperate for time with a true human specimen. “If you promise not to nearly die in another alleyway, I’ll give you the family discount,” the undertaker told her.

Her third death has yet to come.

***

Read more: Chapter 1, Part 1

#protolith #other ppls writing

ink-the-artist

one of those “predatory lesbians” ive heard so much about

vieneinpace

William Etty's Male Nude, with Arms Up-Stretched (1828) revamped by Astra Zero

baba-yaga-lifestyle

Israel drops more bombs within the last few years than were dropped during the entirety of ww2 and its significantly impacted the entire planet, warming more of the atmosphere and hastening this process for what little there was achieved during the 2020 quarantine when emissions sank. One of the worlds largest polluters is the united states military, with emissions and waste rivaling the entire output of industrializing countries.

ink-the-artist

Love Bite

asablehart

Hear my words, Great Riashmanei, and I will deliver you paradise beyond your understanding. Riashmanei, I have divined our allegiance. I have cast aside the material world for seven days and seven nights until God wreathed me in the sight of you, red-coated and striped by the night, asleep in a bed of stars. Riashmanei, do me one service and you will never hunger, never tire, never want. Hear me. No other creature will come bearing such gifts. Hear me, please. Can you hear me? Yes, girl, I hear you. Get you from this place.

My story "This Kingdom, Your Ficus; It's Belly, Your Fig" is in the latest issue of khōréō magazine! In this one, the sorceress seeks out the tiger Riashmanei and offers her paradise--so what is she to do when the tiger refuses?

pansylair

Some more ceramic critters from earlier in the spring! A few more posts and I'll finally, briefly, be caught up on the sold work backlog 😅

asablehart

Trievennia has fallen, and with the destruction of its impossible towers comes the death of its centuries-old sorcerers and their mycelial technology. The anatomist Michele d’Eliore flees the ruins of his home for a fort in neutral territory, where he’s trapped by a storm said to be borne from a hungry goddess. But Michele has no mind for superstition and no time to waste on his growing attraction to the fort’s commander: he will find the survivors of Trievennia, even if he must stare down the maw of an unspeakable beast.

My science fantasy novella "The Wolf Maid from the Sea," is part of Neon Hemlock's 2026 novella collection!

This is a fever dream of a story and very dear to my heart. It's a love story and a playground of weird. If you love dead things, shapechangers, and a world haunted by animals, you'll love this book.

You can sign up for notifications on Kickstarter to be notified when it launches. If you like queer scifi/fantasy, there's probably at least one book that'll pique your interest in this collection. You can see the other announced titles on bluesky :)