Manor House Hotel, Castle Combe, England | @whatstacydid
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle
DEAR READER
Cosimo Galluzzi
styofa doing anything
Monterey Bay Aquarium
YOU ARE THE REASON

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$LAYYYTER

izzy's playlists!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.

#extradirty

Kaledo Art

★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

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Today's Document
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@ev-scarlet
Manor House Hotel, Castle Combe, England | @whatstacydid
we are the daughters of the witches you burnt born from midnight and sin with black magic at our fingertips and death on our lips you have never known fire like ours before.
something wicked this way comes (for you) // l.s. (via poemsforpersephone)
Final part of commission for Emiliethezombie! Fir the phoenix as a teensy baby - big head and everything, lol.
My headcanon (can I have headcanons for phoenixes?) is that the fire-bird’s feathers grow darker as it grows older - hence the darker red and orange plumage of adult!Fir. Their necks and legs also grow out, as well, and their claws will blacken from the soot of their fires. Phoenix eyes fade as well, burned white by their own flames; whether they’re actually blind or not is still up for debate. (in my head, at least.
Also, baby!Fir is more floofy than her adult counterparts because that way the fire will catch hold of the feathers and make her a little ball of flames, whereas adult phoenixes’ sleek feathers lead fire to only the edges of their wings. Babies need protection, y'anno?
First part of a commission for emiliethezombie! Fir the phoenix - she’s supposed to look serious, which translated as her-as-an-adult in my head whoops. Fir’s actually still pretty small… and young…… so…… yeah this is her grown up!
I’m ashamed this took as long as it did; trying to figure out her shape was hard
*shrugs* I like the idea of white-eyeballed creatures, and I’d imagine that her eyes glow when she’s active - that is, when her wings are spread and tipped with flames. Her tail would grow too, I think, and be more flame-y.
I can’t draw flames and I apologize for this fact profusely.
The Witch’s Son by ~Auroaronkitten
Incredible! I absolutely love the level of detail… Amazing piece! Please support the artist by checking out the rest of their gallery here and by leaving the credit links above… Thank you!
“Far north, away from the mensfolk towns, deep in a forest where the roots, streams and rocks still soak in old magic, there was a shack. Gabled roof, peeling red paint, mossy cobbles at the door, out all the way to an equally mossy stone wall which at some time in distant memory actually surrounded the whole building, but now protected a fashionable fourth of it. Were you to wander deep enough into this forest, while avoiding the bears, boars, and trolls that rummaged about, you would think that some cozy little woman, round, leathery in skin, and sinewy in arm lived there, taking little mind of the world outside and keeping to herself, as eccentric old women are want to do.
To people of the menfolks villages though you would know too well that such a cottage, out so far, dug so deep, rooted so old was doubtless built on chicken legs; enchanted and made of gingerbread held together by pacts with dark powers that made shadows move and struck men dead on moonlit walks. Such a place was a witches house, only they would live so far from man, only in conjunction with such wicked forces as would call the forest home could a person live.
So true, was this little red house, with its triangle roof (sagging some at the middle) a witches house, was a witches house anyway. Past tense is important here, for its current inhabitant was not very much of what one would call a witch. Wiry, perhaps would be the first word to cross your mind at seeing him, and if you didn’t know the word, then no doubt it leapt in there without help. He certainly was lank, raven haired, and despite what day you found him his wardrobe could assuredly be considered ‘ill fitting’ and patchy, save for the two brightly polished shoes on his feet. You’d doubtless comment on them, lovely things they were, easily viewed too, as his pants came to just above the ankle, years too old for him they were.
You’d find him out, hanging his laundry to dry, collecting mushrooms and herbs, tip toing between trees and behind him, always, a small black cat. No, you’d think, no witch, just a lad, living here in the rough of it. Till of course he invited you in, and you saw the skulls, the tinctures, the bones and flies and black crows roosting on the beams, the cauldron, and pointed hat, broom by the door. Warlock then? No, never, warlocks, those aged old men lived in great towers, practiced arts that called on lightning and blizzards, so keen were they on the conquest of men they would form their monstrous armies of skeletal warriors, orc kind, and giants. Caladam loathed the idea, his mother had raised him better than to be a warlock. No, at her death, he promised to follow her, become a witch, a master of potions, spells, moonlit flight and communion with the black forest, and dark denizens who dwelt within it, his was a close bond with the earth, the underworld, and all those who crept in shadow. No, no greed for power he, and though without teacher, without companion, he toiled then, in his little shack, learning book by book, spell by spell, how to fly, how to skry, how to possess mens minds, and change his shape.
So then, now, at this moment, we find him seated in the old rocking chair, beneath the noose of a man hung at the crossroads pouring himself a tonic; which if his estimations are correct will turn him invisible to the eyes of jotun…and if wrong, will temporarily render him invisible to sparrows. The process of testing such potions it can be agreed are somewhat, hazardous.”
Somebody wrote a lovely little piece of prose to go with my The Witch’s Son, thought I would share it with ye all
Čičmany I by rubenedelrot on Flickr.
Beautiful interiors by Alberta Prairies
Commission for Emilie! Thank you so much! Drawing has been rough lately but I finally got this one done.
I’ll be unveiling some new Poe-inspired art at the Poe Museum January 18th-19th for the 12-hour-long birthday bash in honor of Poe’s 205th birthday! If you’re in Richmond, come by for the festivities!
Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
‘Diamond Cove’
stuff for my pal @emiliethezombie of her characters tristan (blond one) and leo (dark not blond one lmao)!
Artist: @landofwordsandfrogs
Artist: @landofdrawsandfrogs
Drawn by the beautiful and amazing @landofdrawsandfrogs