#omal

[the-last-tsar]

Nicholas II, Alexandra, Alexei, Olga, Maria and others during the tercentenary of the Romanov dynasty; 1913.

[mainewash]

hi there!

i had the pleasure of getting to contribute to @rvbfoolszine and im rlly excited to share some previews of the work i did for it!!

pre-orders are open all october, so make sure to pick yours up here!! 

[skidar]

Thunder Strike

Omal colored sketch commissions for @nowherebear! 

Reduced Commission prices still opened! Help me finish publishing my book here!

[sunnysynergy]

Experimenting with aesthetics for my OCs and such, figured I may as well post it, since tumblr people like aesthetic-related things so much for some reason

[the-last-tsar]

Tsarevitch Alexei giving gifts to the crew of the Standart.

[the-last-tsar]

Olga and siblings at the imperial yacht.

(source: V.K)

[honeysweetmusings]

Of Moon and Leaf: Day 2 [1,057 Words]

Last night, I dreamt I was swimming in the ocean beneath the prow of the ship, when a hook caught deep in my back and dragged me out. I found myself in a cage in a room that was very dark except for the light of one flickering torch. The cage had a massive lock that I had nothing with which to break, and I felt myself falling into despair. Just then, a moth flew away from the embers of the torch and fluttered into my pocket, and when I reached in to let it out, my hand closed around my wooden key.

I used it to open the cage and stepped out into the dark, whereupon the moth flew out of my pocket and—glowing soft as a distant star—led me to a door. The door opened to a flight of stairs that led further into the ship, but I couldn't tell whether they went up or down. Still, I took them, if only to get out of that eerie room. I followed the moth in the dark, following this strange, twisting staircase until it let me out into a tower in a castle nestled in the snow. The moth then fluttered to my chest and turned into my moon seed pendant, resting cool as moonlight against my skin.

There at the centre of the tower, I found my lost ember, and I cradled it against myself for warmth against the bite of the wind. It guttered in my hands and glowed brighter when I approached the stairwell again, which seemed to be the only way out. This time, the stairs clearly went down, and so I followed them, and soon found myself in a massive, empty ballroom. The sweetest music was floating through the air, and my dream faded out into nothingness as I tried to follow it to the source.

I comb my hair at my vanity as I struggle to make sense of the dream, and then I consult my Oracle, which tells me the following three words: grasping, newborn, and churning. I wonder what it will bring while I make breakfast, and then I get dressed and head out into the forest.

Midway through the morning, I stumble upon an enormous creature nestled into its lair. I don't know how I didn't see it before I almost fell on top of it, but it hisses at me from deep in its throat, tail lashing as it nurses half a dozen whimpering whelps kneading at its belly. I do my best to back away from the mother as I keep my eyes on her without making eye contact, and when I'm far enough away that she stops hissing, I turn and march further into the forest.

The deeper I walk, the more I feel the sensation that I'm being watched. Every time I look over my shoulder, I can swear that I see a shadow shrink away from me. At times, I feel something tug at my cloak in ways that remind me of the fabric catching on nettles and brambles, but when I look down, I see nothing of the sort. At one point, something pulls at my satchel, and I grab it before it gets taken off of me, whirling around to see a pair of glowing white eyes in a shadow clinging to a tree.

"Now, now," I chide. "What is it that you want? Ask, and I might give it to you."

The spirit willows and sighs. "Pretty," they say, soft as a psalm.

"Thank you," I say, smiling my encouragement. "What is it that you want?"

"Apple," it whispers. "Sweet. Smell."

I reach into my satchel and pull out the apple I was planning on having along with my lunch. "This?"

"Yes," they breathe, detaching a hand from the tree to reach out and touch the apple with one wispy fingertip. "Please?"

"Of course," I reply, and I carefully hand the apple over to the spirit, making sure not to touch it directly.

"Thank you," they murmur, and I watch their eyes crease in an unseen smile before they disappear into the forest with their treat.

"You're welcome," I say into the nothing, shaking my head and turning around to continue on my way.

As I walk through the forest, I poke my head around trees and under bushes, searching for things I can forage to bring to my dinner table. All at once, I hear a great big roar from directly behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin, whirling around with my heart in my throat.

"Excuse me," says the creature who was behind me, smoothing one of their paws down their chest. "I was hoping to hear your thoughts."

"You could have asked me more nicely than that," I waspishly reply.

The creature blinks back at me in befuddlement. "But, then, how would I garner your honest opinion on my roar? I want to know if it's suitably frightening."

I roll my eyes. "Terrifying, yes, thank you for asking."

The creature grins—an impressive display of teeth. "Splendid!" they enthuse, and stretch out a pair of leathery wings. "I simply must tell my cohorts of this immediately. Have a wonderful day." Before I can respond, they take off and fly to parts unknown, leaving me to calm my poor heart by lonesome. I shake my head and continue on my way.

Eventually, I come across a tangle of mushrooms as big as my torso, petal-soft and in all sorts of lurid colours. At a glance, I know them to be poisonous, but I can't help but stray a little closer to admire them, crouching to find that they've grown on a big, ancient log that seems to have been split open from the inside. Their stems seem to writhe around one another, like so many grasping fingers holding fast to one another. It's romantic, in a way, even though I know they could kill me.

The sun begins to set, and so I make my way home. I wash up, make dinner, and get ready for bed. This time, I want to go back to that castle, so I focus on the image of that little moth that lead me through the dark, and I follow it into my dreams.

Goodnight, forest.

[honeysweetmusings]

Of Moon and Leaf: Day 1 [1,116 Words]

I live in a handsome cottage, situated in a forest made hazy by morning fog and damp with dew. There are fairy rings and the soft chirrup of frogs in the fish pond out back, and the garden is half-wild and well cared for. It's spacious inside, with two bedrooms and a large soaking tub in the bathroom; a squashy, helplessly comfortable sofa in front of a massive fireplace; and a kitchen big enough to be a veritable ballroom. The candles I make are always scented with roses, and my workbench is pockmarked with dribbles of wax.

My bedroom is my sanctuary. My linens are always soft and just the right temperature, and my pillows are always the perfect firmness to cradle my head. My bed is luxuriously cosy, and even the mosquito netting around the four posters gives it a soft, gauzy glow in the moonlight. In the drawer of my bedside table, I keep the gifts given to me by the people who love me: a moon seed wrapped in wire and strung on a pendant, for nights when the moon itself refuses to shine; a wooden key that can work any lock; and a lost ember to guide my way.

The first night after I move into the cottage, I dream I fly away to the sea to live on a great ship in the middle of the ocean, where its gentle rocking lulls me into a miasma of vivid dreams-within-dreams. When I wake, I can still taste salt on my tongue, and my shoulders ache with the loss of my wings. The ground beneath me feels too still; it leaves me unsettled.

When I check my Oracle, it gives me its usual number of words: stinging, chilling, and hiding. I ponder what they could mean as I make my morning tea, and then I get dressed and leave to spend the day outdoors.

A stone's throw from my garden wall, I find a tree I've never seen outside of texts about floriography: an autumn amacius, resplendent as a wildfire and shimmering with dew. I look up to admire it for a while, noting its pretty, smooth and waxy leaves and its riotous red and orange flowers. I resolve to leave it alone, though I make note of where it is so that I can admire it again later. A few minutes' walk from the amacius, I come across an ancient, weathered stump carved to look like a throne, with antlers at its crown and gnarled roots at its base. I don't dare sit on it for fear that its owner will come and scold me, but I admire that, too, before I wander further into the forest.

Eventually, I sit with my back to a grand, old tree to eat my lunch, gathering my cloak around me like a blanket. It's so cold today that my cheeks sting with every breeze, and I know that winter will bring a worse bite with it soon. Halfway through my sandwich, I hear the oddest little chatter from the branches above me, and when I look up, I see tiny faces peeking out at me from behind the golden leaves.

Little spirits, all in pale, glowing shades of blue and green, hiding behind the leaves above me. As I watch, I see that they're causing the tree to develop delicate hoar frost, the icy particles feathering away from them with every touch. They, then, are the source of today's unnatural chill. I try to smile up at them and say a soft hello, but they're so skittish that they duck behind the leaves and one another, huddling anxiously behind the frost.

I decide to sit very quietly and just make myself as nonthreatening as possible, and eventually, a handful of the antsy little spirits make their way down to inspect me. The bravest of them settle on my cloak and pet curiously at the thick, damp fabric, leaving patches of frost behind. I begin to hum and startle the lot of them, but they don't stay away for long.

Eventually, one of the little spirits speaks up in a soft, fluting voice, asking, "What song are you singing?"

"The Ballad of Nora Maisie," I gently reply, smiling down at the brave little creature.

"Oh," they say. "What's it about?"

I recount the tale of Nora Maisie, a princess who falls in love with a guttersnipe, and whose daring and tenacity convince her family that the man she loves is worthy of her hand in marriage. It isn't long before other spirits begin to pipe up, and we have a conversation late into the afternoon, until the little spirits tire and retreat to the branches above me to sleep. At that point, I pack up and begin to retrace my steps.

On my way back, I nearly trip over something walking near the forest floor, and I have to back up and excuse myself.

"Watch where you're goin'!" the creature creaks, holding a baby of its kind that is tugging none-too-gently at its long, russet fur.

"I'm very sorry," I say, and they cluck at me impatiently.

"Never apologise to a fae."

"I beg your pardon?" I blurt.

"Don't be doin' none o' that, neither," the creature tuts. "Never apologise to a fae. Don't say 'sorry' nor 'thank you'—them's bindin' words. Don't never give a fae a reason t' hold you in their debt."

I think for a moment before I reply, "That's very kind of you to warn me."

The creature only shakes their head, grumbling about 'clueless children' as they wander into the underbrush with their child. I take this encounter as a sign to head straight home for the day, except for a quick stop at the amacius tree to clip a few flowers and leaves. I take these to my workbench to probe with my magic, and I find that the flowers have powerful antimicrobial, antifungal, and anti-inflammatory properties, as well as being regenerative. The leaves, on the other hand, are powerful repellents for both insects and malice. What wonderful gifts from nature!

I decide to make a healing potion from the flowers, and a warding charm from the leaves. I affix the charm to the neck of my cloak, and I slip the healing potion into my cloak pocket, sure that it will come in handy out in the forest. After all of my work, I have a hearty dinner to celebrate the move, and then I pamper myself on my routine to bed. I spray my hair down with a mixture of saltwater infused with robin feathers, in the hopes that I can continue last night's dream.

Goodnight, forest.