#ghost orchid press

[dorywhynot]

"Ada & Elisya" Watercolor on Paper, 2024.

I had the absolute pleasure of working with author Jelena Dunato and Ghost Orchid Press, painting characters from "Dark Woods, Deep Water". This is the second of three postcard prints included in a book box with special hardback editions of Dark Woods, Deep Water, and the new novella "Ghost Apparent".

Check out the book box here!

[duckprintspress]

Subscribe to the Indie Press Exchange Newsletter!

Want to support indie publishing? Well, Duck Prints Press is part of a small, awesome group of micro presses and small presses working together to help all of us grow! This Wednesday, we’re excited to share that this group is launching their debut newsletter, featuring news, new releases, upcoming events, and more from nine different presses! The presses involved in our exchange are:

Ghost Orchid Press

Shortwave Publishing

From Beyond Press

Speculation Publications

Neon Hemlock

Archive of the Odd

Sobelo Books

Tenebrous Press

Duck Prints Press (that’s meeee!)

Want to get the latest news from this awesome group of Presses? Sign up for the Indie Press Exchange newsletter today!

This newsletter has been put together by Speculation Publications, HUGE shout out to them for putting in the work to make this happen!!!

[thegirlwiththelantern]

2023 Fantasy Releases

The Enchanted Hacienda by J.C. Cervantes | 16 / 05 / 23 – Hachette After losing her dream job and realising that her boyfriend is a jerk, Harlow Estrada decides to flee New York City and head back to the one place she can always call home – the enchanted Hacienda Estrada.The Estrada family farm in Mexico houses an abundance of charmed flowers cultivated by the women in Harlow’s family. By…

[cambion-companion]

Glimpses (Baldur's Gate 3 x reader)

A collection of x reader snapshots as follows: Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale and Raphael. Part II will have more!

"Careful darling, I bite."

"I don't think most people know what you fully mean by saying that, Astarion." You whispered to the Elven vampire spawn as you made your way to the tavern table, flickering firelight making the bustling atmosphere cozy and warm. "It's hardly an appropriate disclaimer."

Astarion's red eyes flicked over to you, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. "You sound jealous, my love. Don't be, my fangs are all yours."

"I'm thrilled." You deadpanned, your gaze drifting back to the barmaid Astarion had definitely been flirting with. "Do you chat up everyone or were you just trying to get discounted ale?"

"You are jealous!" Astarion chuckled and you squeaked slightly as he pulled you by the waist to sit next to him. "Now, don't go off in a huff." He leaned in and you smelled his familiar scent of cloves and iron. "

"I'm not going anywhere." Your familiar words caused Astarion to still, his hands softening their teasing grip on your hips.

"Darling..." Astarion murmured. He hesitated and then you felt his soft lips touch your neck, no scrape of his fangs against your skin this time. He buried his nose in your hair, and you heard him inhale deeply.

"Like what you smell?" You teased gently.

"Mmm." Astarion murmured, kissing your neck once more before moved his face away again. "Like wine and death."

Moonlight filtered silver through the latticework windows, turning the stained glass to broken shards of ice against the starry sky. You heard footsteps approaching you, soft upon the deep carpet of the hallway. You turned, your breath catching in your throat as you saw Shadowheart walking to you dressed in a gown that seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, hugging her every curve.

"You look beautiful." You said, the words leaving your lips feeling like they did no justice to how your heart was skipping.

Shadowheart looked uncomfortable, pulling at the edges of the fabric that draped so elegantly over her hips. "I can't remember when I last wore something so impractical." Her green eyes met yours. "But thank you for your sweet candor."

You closed the distance between the two of you and touched her hands, coaxing them away from where she was tugging at the dark dress and pulling her into you. You pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed your nose against hers, feeling her body begin to relax at the familiar affection.

"We must make our required appearance at this gathering, and then we can slip away." You promised, your hand ghosting up the side of Shadowheart's neck until your fingers tangled in her long thick hair. "Get into something more comfortable."

"Can we indeed?" Her voice lilted, always an edge of playful teasing to her words. "I suppose it'll do."

You pulled her in by the nape of her neck and kissed her plush lips, dragging a small groan from the woman you'd grown to love deeper than the shades of Night Orchid blossoms.

"Now let's go show Faerun how lucky I am to have you at my side."

"She is the most darling little thing I have every laid eyes on." You spoke fervently, but kept your voice soft as you looked down at the winged cat sleeping in your lap.

Gale approached quietly, his smile fond as he looked at the two beings he treasured most in the world. "She's quite taken with you."

"And I with her." You looked up at him and smiled, it was always such a pleasure to hear his voice and share his company.

Gale crouched down beside where you sat with Tara, his hand reached forward and stroked the Tressym's feathers gently and scratched her sleeping head. Tara yawned widely, showing off her sharp white teeth before she tucked her head beneath a wing and went back to sleep.

You pouted a Gale as he continued showering affection his sleeping friend. Gale caught your eye and chuckled. "I'll pet you too, if you ask nicely."

You snorted but your expression softened when you felt Gale tuck his fingers beneath your chin and tilt your face back up to his. He leaned forward and placed a loving kiss on your cheek. He moved his lips to press against the top of your head and lingered there for a moment. "You'll never know how grateful I am for you." His voice was as gentle as Mystra's weave, it carried notes of magic and the promise of safety. "

"I love you too, Gale."

You grumbled in frustration as yet another wooden match broke in your fumbling fingers. "Gods above..." You muttered, yanking another from the box to try again.

"Not quite." A familiar voice said, and you turned to see a well-dressed noble with dark hair and eyes. He gave you a devious smile and clicked his fingers.

A spark of fire, the smell of sulphur, and your campfire burst into flames that quickly took purchase on the sodden logs and warmed your face pleasantly.

"Ah." You grimaced, fighting down the feeling of elation at seeing your favorite cambion. "Raphael...thanks for that."

"You're most welcome." Raphael said dryly as he approached you, glancing over your bedraggled figure. "Did my mouse get caught in the rain?"

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the familiar needling banter between the two of you began. "What does that make you? The cat, making sure its meal is warm and dry?" You grinned at him as he stepped even closer, pushing into your personal space. "A guardian devil as it were."

You felt his hands dig into your waist, the sharpness of his claws growing more apparent as Raphael slowly dropped his human guise. "You should know better by now." He rolled his shoulders, stretching his wings to their full extent, the flames of your campfire dancing wildly in the gust of wind the motion created. Your hand slid up between his shoulder blades, the heady scent of musk and cherries filled your nostrils as you felt his teeth on your neck. The devil's voice sent a vibration to your heart. "The fox, rather...luring you in inch by inch until you belong to me."

[takemetomyfragiledreams]

just another fic in my wip folder about kid!Tim and ghost!Jason:

Tim doesn’t get a chance to visit Robin’s grave until well after the funeral. He’s been waiting anxiously for the press to lose interest in the tragedy that is Jason Todd’s death, made popular only because of the man that adopted him. From what Tim knows of him, Jason would hate it, but Jason isn’t around anymore to call the press out on their behavior. 

It’s been raining a lot since the announcement. Gotham is always downcast; always inflated with heavy clouds and thick smog, but it’s been worse lately. The streets are constantly slick with rain, to the point where flood warnings have been going off on the television for weeks. It’s as if Gotham herself is in mourning for the bird that was grounded too soon. 

The graveyard grounds are thick with mud. With grim determination, Tim trudges through each sucking step. It’s hard work that leaves him panting under his raincoat. The earth itself is begging him to turn back but he’s far too stubborn for that. 

It’s dark which is why Tim thinks he’s alone at first. The flowers left on Jason’s grave are bedraggled from the storm. Tim’s seen pictures of the angel built into the stone but it’s different being so close. The gloom makes it seem taller, more severe. Rain drips down from its praying palms, washing away some of the mud creeping up the bottom of the grave. 

Tim rocks back on his heels as he takes it all in, suddenly unsure of what to do. He’s never been to a funeral before. He’s got no first hand experience with how these things go. There is only the constriction of his lungs, like a vice slowly closing in on his ribs, and the tears he’s cried since he realized the announcement wasn’t just a cover. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he isn’t sure what it is he’s apologizing for. For thinking Robin above death? He saw the Flying Grayson’s fall, he should know better by now that no matter how magical a person seems, they’re always going to be left shattered across the ground.

He blinks water from his eyelashes; is it rain or tears? Tim doesn’t know. He places his bouquet of flowers amongst all the rest. White orchids and blue forget-me-nots. You are always loved. You are never forgotten. 

It doesn’t feel like enough. 

He sniffles, sure that he’s crying now, and wipes a hand across his face. “Robin,” he whispers, like the secret it is. 

There’s a wet sucking sound from the other side of the grave; Tim freezes in place. For a moment there’s nothing but the pitter patter of rain, and then comes something like a sob. He approaches the side of the grave hesitantly to peer around the back. There’s a small body back there, curled up on itself and splattered in mud. 

Tim gasps and quickly rounds the grave. “Are you okay?” 

There’s no reply. 

He bends down next to the body. They’re shaking harshly; a flash of lightning shows that some of the patches of mud look darker, almost like blood. Tim hurries to pull his raincoat off to wrap around the stranger. 

“Come on,” he says, shivering as the rain begins to soak through his clothes. “I’ll help you, okay? You just have to walk.” 

There’s no reply but when he stands the stranger stands too. He takes their arm to lead them back the way he came, steps even more determined than before. It’s a task to fit two bodies on his bike but he hardly notices a weight difference. He squints through the rain on his way home, using all his concentration to ensure they don’t crash. His teeth are chattering by the time they arrive at Drake Manor so he can only imagine how cold his guest must be. 

“This is my house,” he explains, as he lets them in. He’s tracking mud across the floor but he’ll have to deal with it later. “Come on, I’ll take you to the bathroom so you can shower. You can wear my clothes.” 

Tim starts the shower for them when they say nothing. He makes sure it’s nice and warm before forcing himself away. “It’s ready. Use whatever you want, I’ll leave you clothes by the door.” 

Again, there’s no answer. 

He hurries through his own shower in the guest bathroom, mind racing with thoughts of what he needs. They’ll need hot food. Blankets, too. What if the stranger is in shock and that’s why they’re silent? He nearly works himself into a tizzy over the possibility and rushes back to his room. 

The shower is still going so he waits. And waits. And waits. 

“Hello?” He finally calls. The door creaks open as he peeks in. The room is thick with steam; he squints at the shape of his raincoat on the floor and looks further in to the shower. “Do you need help?” 

There’s no reply. Tim steps forward hesitantly; he knocks on the glass door before pushing it open a crack. There’s no one there. 

Here’s what Tim knows: there are only one set of footprints on the wooden floor. His bike didn’t feel like it had another person’s body weight on it when he rode home. He doesn’t remember ever touching skin or feeling any warmth from the stranger. They never spoke.

Hallucination? Maybe. But Tim didn’t move the bottles in the shower and he didn’t put his raincoat on the floor. Something isn’t right and he’s going to get to the bottom of it. 

Tim returns to the graveyard the next day. His nose is stuffed up and he’s got a cough from being in the rain for so long the day before, but he’s determined. Someone was at Jason Todd’s grave last night, someone who was definitely a child like Tim. Robin would make sure they were safe; Robin would solve the mystery. So Tim can do nothing less. 

The rain has washed away any traces of last night. The holes his feet left behind have been overtaken by puddles, which leaves him no way to look for a second set. He brings out the little hand held flashlight he brought along to search the gravesite. There’s no trace of anyone. 

Tim rocks back on his heels with a frown. He thinks back over his actions the previous day; he didn’t bring flowers this time, if this is magical in nature does that have something to do with it? He said words too, though he doesn’t think they were all that magical. Either way, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Robin.” 

He cracks an eye open and feels silly when there’s no change. “Maybe it was just a hallucination,” he mumbles. “Robin would know what to do.” 

There’s a gasping sound from behind him. Tim whirls around to find a small figure bent double in the mud. He kneels beside them, hands hovering a few inches away from their skin. 

[revasserium]

Hi! It's me, I'm the problem Jazz again 🤣

Ikemen Prince ask for either Leon or Silvio with prompt number 88 please 🙏 ♥️

send me a number and a character :)

priceless (88. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.)

silvio; 1,374 words, fluff and... fluff LOL this is only tangentially inspired by the prompt u__u whoops

01.

when you break his heart the first time, he doesn’t really know it’s real. he presses the lips of a dozen priceless wine bottles to his mouth and imagines every one to be yours — he drinks until the world is spinning, the way it spun when he asked you to dance for the very first time.

he gets drunk on the sound of your remembered laughter.

he makes a mess of the sheets, of his silk-lined robes, of all the richest furs in the corners of his closet — he falls asleep wishing that this were all but a dream.

he wakes up and has to deal with the realization that it is not all just a dream and that for the first time in his life, this isn’t something he can buy his way out of because what is the price of heartbreak? the tag on the pieces of a shattered wish — he screams into every single pillow he owns and falls asleep at noon.

02.

the second time you break his heart, he catches your arm before you can leave.

“what d’you want?” he asks, desperate and imploring, with a shudder in his voice that he’s never truly heard there before but —

you shake your head.

“i — i don’t want anything from you.”

he feels his fingers slip from around your wrist as you purse your lips and stumble back half a step. but that’s all he needs. he’s needlessly reminded of a story he’s heard a long, long time ago — about a genie and a girl who accidentally summons him. about the genie who asked the girl what she wished for and she told him she didn’t. the genie stayed with that girl for years and years and years, and in the beginning, whenever she asked him to do anything, he’d ask if that was her wish but she’d shake her head no. she’d tell him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to.

and yet somehow, he always found that he wanted to.

silvio wonders what he really wants, and the answer comes — clear and quiet as a winter stream —

he wants… you.

03.

the third time, he thinks he can get used to this.

04.

the fourth time, he’s ready for it —

“no,” you say, shaking your head, frowning at something he’s demanded of you.

“alright then,” he says, shrugging.

you blink, watching him as he turns away. watching him as he takes three steps away from you before you reach for him, tugging him back by the sleeve.

“what — that’s it? you’re… not gonna force me?”

he chuckles, “what’s the point if you’re just gonna snark at me? and anyway — i’ve got proper maids for this kind of stuff.”

“fine then,” you say, petulant, your voice sharp in a way that makes his lips twitch.

he grins, cocking his head as he watches the color wash up into your cheeks.

“fine,” he parrots back, his own voice painfully sweet and just as smug. he revels in the way your eyes flash, the way your fingers curl into fists at your side as he turns away.

so it really does take two to tango.

05.

“y’know, a million girls would kill to be in your place right now.”

“then why aren’t they?”

“hm? why aren’t they what?”

“why aren’t they here, in my place?”

silvio licks his lips, tasting salt and heat and the midnight air.

“cause… i didn’t really take to any of ‘em.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“and you just so happened to take… to me. why?”

silvio shrugs, “you’re beautiful.”

“bullshit — there are plenty of girls out there prettier than me.”

“prettier, yeah. but more beautiful? no.”

your breath catches in your chest — hook, line, and sinker. you feel the tug in the base of your belly, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“w-what? that… that doesn’t make any sense.”

silvio only laughs, casting his eyes back out at the florid lushness of his palace gardens, teaming with the world’s rarest flowers — the night blooming cereus, the elusive ghost orchids, the fire lilies, and his prized juliet rose bushes. he leans over the thick railing to tug one from it’s bed of thorns, pressing it to his nose and taking a deep breath.

“it took my best gardener 12 years to cultivate one o’ these,” he says, twirling the peach-colored flower between his fingers.

“wow,” you say, eyeing the small, unassuming bloom, “that’s… a long time.”

“yeah, sure. but the gardener was rewarded pretty damn well for his work.”

at this, you heave another sigh, leaning up against the stone banisters.

“and i’m sure that’s the only reason he worked as hard as he did, right?”

silvio traces a finger along the edge of a velvet petal, admiring the fractal-like formation of the flower’s center.

“yeah… i’m sure it is.”

06.

the sixth time you reject him, he almost laughs out loud. it really is fun pushing all your buttons after all.

07.

the seventh time, he curls his lips around the shape of your name and dares to ask why.

you tell him, “because… it’d be nice of you to ask instead of demand for a change.”

he shivers at the gentleness of your tone, at the feather-soft of your confession, the pink that kisses your cheeks like the rosy-fingered dawn.

“but… if i ask, there’s a chance you’re gonna say no.”

you laugh and roll your eyes, “i say no anyways.”

“so why bother askin’ when i know what your answer’s gonna be?”

“because… sometimes, if you give someone the choice to stay or to go — they’ll surprise you.”

08.

“can… can y’just… stay? please?”

“...okay.”

09.

“when’d you learn how to say please?”

you twist to face him in the silver light of an encroaching dawn.

silvio groans as he buries his face in the silken pillows, his hair a hallo of lingering moonlight.

“dunno — shuttup… it’s too damn early.”

you allow yourself a smile and snuggle in before drifting back off to sleep.

10.

“kiss me.”

silvio smirks, cocking his head, “no.”

you narrow your eyes, frowning even as he chuckles, his fingers tight around your waist as the pair of you spin in ever and ever faster circles to music only the two of you can hear.

“why not?”

“cause…” he bites back, laving his tongue luxuriously across the expanse of his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth, “y’didn’t ask nicely.”

you fight down the urge to push him away but his grip on you is tight and true, strong and steady and… so very nearly sweet.

“fuck off.”

he grins a foxhole grin and you feel yourself sinking into it’s depths, deeper and deeper as he spins you beneath his arm and dips you low, low, low.

“nope — pretty sure y’didn’t ask there either. and… that ain’t proper language for a lady, now is it?”

you roll your eyes as he pulls you back up and the dance begins again.

“fine,” you bite out, sparing him a half-hearted glare, “can i please have a kiss?” you ground out the words, even as the heat crests up your chest and bubbles over into your cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of your ears.

“hm… now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

he leans in and you let your eyes flutter shut.

when he breaks the kiss, he is smiling.

“kiss me again,” he says.

you smirk, “what happened to asking nicely?”

“hn. don’t feel like it — too much trou—”

but you cut him off with another kiss, and briefly, silvio considers the merits of tugging away if only to tease you about the impropriety of interrupting a prince’s speech before he’s finished. and then the next moment, he decides that, really, he prefers just kissing you instead.

[ardenrabbit]

quietly presses my face against the window

your fic is really beautiful and very fun to read. i am not normally a fanfic person but this one i would recommend to anyone and everyone who knows tgcf (and i will)

Thank you so much!!! I'm so happy you're enjoying it :D There are so many good tgcf fics out there! I'd encourage exploring them! Here are some of my favorites: we're after the same rainbow's end by @naamah-beherit - Modern AU where Hua Cheng helps get Xie Lian out of an arranged marriage. Really sweet look into their mutual support and admiration. Beautiful inner voice with Xie Lian's POV. This is a really great "Xie Lian learns to set healthy boundaries in his life" story. Complete

Fluid Dynamics of a Fish Out of Water by Antaresia - AU where Xie Lian is a dragon, as in, carp-turned-dragon-turned-human. Really fun incorporation of Chinese dragon mythology. Aligns pretty closely with canon with most of the background, but diverges. Ongoing

Digging for Orchids by @bettsfic - Modern AU where Xie Lian is a fallen star actor suffering from an old injury and Hua Cheng is a hot art student who becomes his very helpful roommate. Really fun twist on Hua Cheng's hero worship. Also, Hua Cheng speaks eight different languages and I'm obsessed with him about it. Complete

a glimpse of light by @parsnipit - Post-canon de-aging fic where Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Hua Cheng fight over how to best raise/protect tiny Xie Lian. Mainly Feng Xin POV, which is hilarious and amazingly well done. Really REALLY great exploration of Hua Cheng's insecurities in how worthy he is of Xie Lian. Like. I love this one ok. I reread it every few months. Complete

Lips That Would Kiss by Boomchick - Canon divergence at the very end of the story. Hua Cheng becomes a ghost fire and Xie Lian has to navigate his days and take care of both of them, waiting for Hua Cheng to recover his strength. Incredibly sweet and heart-wrenching. Angst with a happy ending. Complete

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Microfic: Without Sunshine

A little something for the two lovelies @shealwaysreads and @sitp-recs on their birthdays <3 I hope you both had a wonderful day!!

T, 1.1k, apocalyptic flower shop strangeness, fits the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'thunder'. This is the first thing I've written in many months, so please be kind! Thanks to @tackytigerfic for sharp eyes and endless patience.

The end of their world, when it happens, begins on a Tuesday morning.

It’s surprisingly easy. The concealment charms evaporate the minute the Leaky falls, leaving the whole of Diagon caught unaware, belly-up vulnerable. Shopping is abandoned on the cobblestones as witches and wizards grope for their wands, casting blindly while all around them bombs drop and buildings fall. Those who can leave do, as the tanks move in off Charing Cross Road, over broken glass and broken bones, tracks like rolling thunder along the narrow streets. Owls and ravens spill out through the blown-out Menagerie window, disappearing into the darkening sky, as Nifflers scrap loudly over stray bullet casings below.

It's several minutes before Harry, cloaked in the Azkaban-strength wards of the little flower shop, even notices that anything’s wrong.

“In theory, indefinitely,” Draco tells him, thoughtfully. He’s perfect, Harry thinks absently, bathed in high summer light, a puffy, peach-coloured rose held in delicate balance between finger and thumb. “The problem is that ethically harvested unicorn hairs are–”

And that's when everything goes dark.

By the faint blue phosphorescent glow of the ghost orchids, they peer out through the glass. Draco starts at a burst of gunfire, his breath coming fast, the rose still clutched in his hand beginning to tremble. Unthinking, Harry curls his own fingers around Draco’s, stilling him.

“There’s no Floo here, is there?” he asks softly, although he already knows the answer.

“We’re on the list,” Draco replies, distant. “Next week, they said, maybe–”

“And your anti-Apparition wards–?”

Draco just gives a jerky nod, lips pressed together, and that’s that. There’s nothing to be done about it, Harry knows – no duel to win, no long, lonely walk out into the Forbidden Forest – and in a strange way, it’s a relief.

The warded air around them is silent but for the oblivious tinkling of bellflowers. Across the way, a sharp burst of light heralds an explosion inside Fortescue’s, sending slick blue rooftiles crashing one by one to the ground below. For a long, uncertain moment the whole building seems to shiver, its ancient magic struggling against the onslaught, before, like a sigh released, the walls begin to sag in on themselves. Beside Harry, Draco is holding himself stiffly upright; the occasional twitch of his fingers the only nod towards the horror unfolding before them.

“Well,” he says eventually, looking down at their joined hands, “their timing’s dreadful.”

Harry lets out a surprised burst of laughter. “It really is. I was working up the courage, you know–” he looks at Draco “–but there was time. We had time.”

“We did. We had time.”

Their view is blurry now, both windows coated with a thick film of dust, the alley a smeared thumbprint of impressions: shadowy figures moving back and forth, spells cast in quick, colourful flares, the returning staccato bursts of gunfire from every side. Harry turns to watch the reflections in Draco’s eyes, benign as fireworks.

Draco doesn’t return Harry’s gaze. “Give me a second,” he says quietly. He pulls away, rose in hand, and begins darting around the shop, gathering up blooms, humming with approval as he goes. The wards are struggling now, Harry can tell – cracks appearing alongside the window frames, smoke curling in from beneath the door, tremors beneath his feet – but if Draco even notices, he doesn’t show it. Harry’s breath catches as he watches Draco pick out the largest of his precious ever-blooming lilies to add to the bunch: dainty pink-tipped lisanthus, sprays of baby blue speedwell, all cast in the eerie, flickering half-light of the shop.

“Here,” Draco says finally, thrusting the enormous bouquet towards Harry. The fragrance is overwhelming, damp petals tickling Harry’s chin as he takes it into his arms. “That is to say–” Draco clarifies, chin raised, “I had planned – if you had asked me–”

He tails off, the blush on his cheeks apparent even through the gloom, and Harry lifts the flowers to hide his smile. “They’re perfect,” is all he says.

“Not a patch on what I’d intended, really,” Draco says, quickly. “I’d hoped to have perfected the maturation charms, you know, and of course no-one can get hold of luminous larkspur at this time of year–”

“I’ve never been given flowers before.”

Draco pauses, mid-sentence, frowning. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I’d have given you more,” says Draco, and there’s a rueful edge to his smile. “Hundreds, probably. Tulips from Keukenhof, sakura from Hokkaido, mountain lupine from my mother’s garden… you’d have been sick of them in weeks, I’m sure.”

Harry opens his mouth, thinking to object, but is interrupted by an ominous splintering – the first audible indication of the chaos outside – as thin streams of plaster dust begin to cascade down from above the counter. Another crack, louder this time, Draco’s sizzling snapdragons snarling and straining upwards as one edge of the coving crumbles away, uncovering a narrow chink of daylight. The wards are beginning to flicker, more outside sounds audible now – the whir of a helicopter, the clatter of boots – and that’s when Harry feels the first tendrils of hope winding their way beneath his ribs.

“Still got those Seeker reflexes?” he asks Draco with a grin.

Draco’s brow furrows, but then he cottons on, eyes widening. “What, you think we can Apparate before–?” He brings his palm down smartly against the back of his other hand, a gruesome demonstration of their impending fate.

Harry swallows. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t honestly know, but I want to try.” Louder this time: “I mean, I want to try with you.”

Harry’s never been one to look back once a decision’s been made, but he forces himself to wait, heart in his throat, as Draco chews his lip, eyes fixed warily on the ceiling. He looks genuinely uncertain, and he’s not wrong, either: an end now – quick and painless – versus… what? What will the future look like, if they run?

But a second more, and Draco looks back down at him, jaw set. “Alright,” he says, and Harry leans forward, warm and giddy with adrenaline, to press their lips together – once, a beginning, and then again – flower heads crushed between their bodies as time stands still.

They wait.

***

When it’s finally over, black-clad soldiers spread out across the street. They work in pairs to sweep up the leftover crumbs of magic, guns nosing along the rubble beneath their steel-capped toes.

“Hey, look,” says one of them, voice tinny through his mask. “Someone’s left us a souvenir. You should take ‘em home to the wife.”

“Yeah,” his partner says thoughtfully, stooping to collect the scattered stems, “You know, I just might.”

[tlbodine]

NEVEREST Now Available for Pre-Order

A woman’s search for her missing husband’s body on Mount Everest sends her into the grip of ancient forces that don’t want her to leave in NEVEREST, out April 25 from Ghost Orchid Press.

Ally Wilkes, author of All the White Spaces, called it, “An intense psychological study of obsession, jealousy, and hubris, set on the body-strewn slopes of Everest [...] Perfect for fans of Amy McCulloch's Breathless, or Sarah Lotz's The White Road.”

“NEVEREST weaves a deft, intoxicating spell of grief, intrigue, adventure, and the ghosts of our pasts. Beautifully paced and haunting in all the best ways, by the end of the journey I felt almost as breathless as a doomed climber. Bodine spins a talented and imminently enjoyable tale—settle in for winter horror at its best,” said Laurel Hightower, author of Below.

NEVEREST is available immediately for pre-order:

Publisher Website

Amazon

Goodreads

Review copies are available - if you're a bookblr or reviewer, hit me up and I'll get you an ARC.

[starcunin]

@faebhaal | cont’d from here.

Astarion can’t help but be captivated, his crimson eyes drinking in every detail of the scene before him: Ithaca’s lips slick with blood, the rich, intoxicating scent of iron filling the air between them. Her orchid-toned skin gleams with the viscera of the unfortunate soul now lying limp and forgotten on the cobblestones.

She is feral, unbound, and he marvels at it. At her.

He’s drawn closer as if by instinct, his fingers reaching out with a deliberate slowness, brushing against the scarlet smear staining her lips. The warmth of it lingers on his skin, and he brings those same fingers to his own mouth, savoring the taste like a connoisseur with fine wine. It’s sweet—sweeter than he remembers, more than it has any right to be. He smirks, a dangerous curve of his lips, and his voice drops to a purr as he leans in, the words sliding between them like velvet.

❛ You’re too good to me, ❜ he murmurs, each word laced with a seductive tease, but the affection beneath it is unmistakable. The distance between their bodies vanishes, his cool breath mingling with hers. He dips forward, not quite kissing her yet, but instead running his tongue over the slick surface of her mouth, savoring the mingled flavors of blood. It’s a reverent sort of worship, as if she’s become his personal altar to devotion and desire. It all feels less tainted now—now that he’s truly free—now that he knows she won’t become another one of Cazador’s meals or endless spawn.

But even as he revels in the taste of her, he catches the flicker in her eyes, that faraway glaze that tells him she’s not truly present. Not yet. It’s the Urge—her hunger made manifest, an all-too-familiar companion to his own. A memory of his own leash tightens in the back of his mind, a phantom echo of what he once was: trapped and ravenous, ever at the mercy of darker needs. A shudder ghosts along his spine, a mix of fear and excitement as he realizes how close he is to her when she’s like this—wild and untamed, a storm in human ( or faerie ) form.

Her hands rise, slowly, deliberately, winding around his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch. He opens his arms to her. He feels her press into him, and his tension melts away. He embraces her, opening himself to the closeness, the warmth of her body against his. It’s almost instinctive now, his need to feel her heartbeat against his own still chest.

She kisses him then, her mouth hot and stained, and he falls into it without hesitation, a soft, desperate sound escaping against her lips. It’s a sound he would have been mortified to make before, a sound that betrays how deeply he wants this, how much he wants her. He drinks in the taste like a man starved, letting his tongue slip past her lips to seek more, to claim whatever she’s willing to give. Blood coats his tongue, rich and metallic, and slightly sweet. And then, almost as quickly as she’d offered it, she pulls away, her breath ghosting against his mouth as she murmurs an apology. The word barely registers—he hears the hollow note beneath it, the lack of any true contrition. But oh, he finds that lack delightful. His lips curve into a slow smile, blood still painting the sharp lines of his mouth. He holds her gaze, the desire in his eyes softening into something almost tender as his thumb traces the edge of her jaw.

❛ Don’t be, ❜ he breathes, his voice like silk and shadow, teasing, affectionate. ❛ You know how I like it when you’re naughty. ❜ He leans in, pressing another kiss to her lips, this one softer, lingering. His free hand winds through the rose-petal waves of her hair, the strands slipping like silk between his fingers. For a moment, he lets himself bask in the closeness, in the strange, exhilarating intimacy that only she can offer him.

But practicality soon rears its head, tugging him back to the present, to the reality of where they are—standing over a corpse in the middle of the city, the night yet young but far too exposed. He pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against her mouth, the edge of a smirk still curling his lips. ❛ But we should probably get out of here before someone finds us making out and bloodied over a corpse. ❜

[dorywhynot]

"King Amron V & Orsiana" Watercolor on Paper, 2024.

I had the absolute pleasure of working with author Jelena Dunato and Ghost Orchid Press, painting characters from "Dark Woods, Deep Water". This is one of three postcard prints included in a book box with special hardback editions of Dark Woods, Deep Water, and the new novella "Ghost Apparent".

Check out the book box here!

[i-eat-worlds]

Hello! From the Whumptober tropes, 31 for Joseph?

- Ruth

31-haunted by the ghosts of the people they failed to save

ask game masterlist

This one is really sad. I nearly cried several times while writing it. So I’m inflicting it on y’all. cw: major character death (you don’t know her but it’s written like that), grief, blood, depictions of injures, graphic death scene, medical treatment, needles, all sorts of begging and crying and misery, cursing

In every INSUPA center, there is a wall. It’s made of black marble, polished so shiny that you can see your reection in it, and it’s engraved with the names of fallen heroes. The memorial wall that stands before Joseph is one of the bigger ones, hundreds upon hundreds of names chiseled into the marble. It’s a lot to look at, so many names that they bleed together. But Joseph’s eyes always go to the same place. It’s in the sixth column, twenty-eight row. Patricia Evelar, (S/H), 02/23/20xx. He clenches the ower in his hand when he reads over it. “Hey, kid,” He says, reaching out to touch the wall.

“Hey kid,” He says, kneeling down by her side. “c’mon, Pat.” He quickly ties a tourniquet around her mangled left leg, trying to stem the bleeding. She groans as he tightens the windlass and clips it in. He quickly searches for any more major bleeding, hands patting up and down her body. He swears he can still smell her blood as he presses his fingers into the smooth grooves in the marble, tracing her name.

He finds a jagged hole in her chest, nasty and bleeding. Joseph does his best to stick the chest seal down, but her skin is covered in blood and dust and sweat and it won’t stay put. “Ex-exhale?” She whimpers, eyes wide with worry. Her face is clammy and her breathing is fast and she looks like she’s about to cry. He pulls his hand away when his eyes start to water, the texture of the marble still on his fingers.

“Joseph. Call me Joseph.” He says while he readies the decompression needle. Her breaths are ragged and too close together, and he wastes no time plunging the needle into her chest. She yelps in pain when the needle goes in. He bites his lip and drops his head, several tears rolling down his cheeks while he stares at the name.

The signs of shock are plain and obvious, and Joseph knows that the only thing that will save her now is blood. He pulls out his IV kit. “I-I think I’m gonna..” She says, her breath catching. Joseph tries to nd a vein, but they’re too sunken back. There's no way he’s going to be able to get an IV in. “I don’t wanna die," she hiccups. “Please, I don’t wanna die.” Her pleas echo over and over again in his mind. “I’m sorry, kid,” he mumbles, trying to hold back tears.

His fingers press into her neck and find her pulse. It’s weak and thready. “I’ve got you,” he says, “I’m going to do everything I can to help you.” It’s a lie, because there's nothing he can do. She’s lost too much blood, and she’s bleeding out internally, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. He should’ve done a thousand other things. He should’ve never let her go.

“‘m sorry, Exha-Joseph.” Her voice wavers, and she starts to cry even harder. “Please, I don’t wanna go.” He wraps his hand around hers, blue nitrile intermingling with shaking and cold flesh. He’ll never forget the way her lip shakes as she talks, as she begs for life.

“It’s okay Pat, I know it’s scary.” He comfortingly squeezes her hand. “I’ll be here to help.”

She whimpers, and she looks up at Joseph again. Her eyes are pleading, and she looks so desperate to keep living. Another tear rolls down her cheek, and then her life leaves her and she goes slack. Joseph presses his ngers into her neck again, feeling the pulse fade away. She’s dead. She’s fucking dead. “I'm sorry, kid,” He whispers, wiping his eyes, in an attempt at having some dignity. Then he stops. Pat died, soaked in blood in the wreckage of a collapsed building, where was the fucking dignity in that. “Please forgive me, Pat,”

Hands shaking, he sets the orchid down in front of the marble wall.

“You deserved so much better than what I was able to give.”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps

[thegirlwiththelantern]

More 2024 Horror

I’ve said a few times already that this list or that list is my favourite. But this is such a fantastic collection of books! Fear in the Blood: Tales from the Dark Lineages of the Weird edit. Mike Ashley | 25 / 03 / 24 – British Library Publishing Timothy followed, in his dream, and saw the ungainly, yet agile creature clamber in through the cat-flap… He could hear the flip-flop as it went up…

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Ghost White Orchids

Thora receives a potted orchid. Time will tell whether or not she had overreacted.

@pirate-melody just wanted to wish you lots of love today and in years beyond. I wrote a gift for you, and I hope you don’t mind me writing something set in the Shardrunners ‘verse. The fic takes place between Plenty of Time and Meant to Be.

AO3

~

Thora didn’t get gifts of flowers, not anymore. She didn’t receive gifts often in general, and they were always practical items like a new dagger. Thora’s birthday had been eight weeks ago, and a potted white orchid wasn’t something practical. And so, she had immediately expected the worst.

First, she had focused her mark to sense what magic laid within it. She was expecting a time-delayed spell intended to manifest a fireball that would kill her and everyone near her. That, or it was being used to scry on her. Someone wanted to learn her secrets. Maybe it was a lucky guess, since white orchids were a common enough flower, but they had already sent Thora her favorite flower. She wouldn’t allow herself to become more compromised.

Nothing.

There was nothing but a fading Risian enchantment, one intended to keep the flowers in a stasis. The magewright who had enchanted them must have done so very lightly, as to not hurt the orchids with the frost.

So there were no magical traps. That didn’t mean the flowers were safe. Carefully, Thora began to manipulate the pot. She gently traced the contours of the pot, trying to find a hidden button that if pressed would shoot out a poison needle. And then she saw the card. It had fallen between the decorative outer pot and the inner pot that actually held the orchid. Slowly Thora removed it from the pot, careful not to disturb the ghost white petals.

Thora felt herself relax as she read the name of the sender. Marianne was too flirtatious for her - and Thora’s - own good, but she wasn’t a threat. Despite the fact that it had to have been a lucky guess, but Thora still appreciated Marianne’s flower choice. She could have easily just gone for the most common option and gotten roses for Thora instead. Thora wrinkled her nose, remembering the disaster that had occurred the last time someone had given her a rose.

Thora flipped the card over to see if there was a message. There weren’t even any letters, just a semicolon followed by a closing parenthesis.

Thora groaned as she crushed the card in her hand. Another wink. So that was what this was. Another attempt to flirt. Thora probably would have preferred some badly written poetry on the card to a winking face. It was bad enough when she saw a winking face from the younger members of House Tarkanan, those just old enough to be sent on jobs and too young to understand that no, using emoticons was actually worse than not using any sort of encryption on the messages. And Lucien really thought it was a good idea to use House members Marianne’s age and even younger as foot soldiers against the Twelve, when they’d likely be even worse?

It was ironic, really. Marianne was competing for a mark, and yet if she gained an aberrant mark she might want to join the House. And if she joined the House, then Thora would have to make Marianne sit on the sidelines, not living up to the full potential that had allowed her to win, for at least a few years. That, or Thora would have to accept appearing as a hypocrite to the abandoned marked kids she and Fileon kept trying to wrangle. Some days, it felt like she was more of a babysitter than a crime boss.

Maybe she should insist on Lucien spending more time with the kids before he tried to encourage them to fight. Thora bit her lip. Lucian had been having a lot of concerning ideas, lately. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him around the kids, even to teach him a lesson. The very Trials that Thora had met Marianne through had been Lucian’s idea, at first. Thora still wasn’t too sure of the specifics of how he was going to help awaken aberrant marks, just had he had done so twice before. At the time Thora had agreed to the Trials, but now? Now it was too late to turn back, and yet Thora felt uneasy about the whole situation.

And not just because one of the competitors was a kid who kept flirting with her through winks and propositions.

Thora looked down at the orchids, feeling a slight sense of calm as she gazed down at them. They were beautiful, and it had been such a long time since anyone had given her flowers. She was going to keep them, but not so close to the front of the manor. She wanted them to be safe, kept away from the public areas of the House. Thora carried them up the stairs to her bedroom, gently placing the pot of ghost white orchids on the corner of the windowsill. Hopefully they would get enough sunlight there.

~

Author’s Notes

So... I wrote this before you revealed that the Trials would never result in gaining an aberrant mark and were only a trick to get others to do Thora’s dirty work. Um. This is an AU of your fic I guess? 😅 Mainly because I wanted to add a sense of caution to this fic re: Lucien's plans and to contrast them with Marianne's gift.

I acknowledge that it makes little sense for Eberron, whose tech level is roughly set in the 1920′s, to have emoticons which weren’t used until the internet chatrooms of the 1990′s. I thought it was funny for Marianne, and other young adults of Khorvaire, to use emoticons anyways.

The bit about Lucien wanting to use child soldiers comes from my campaign, specifically a plot point that will come about if my players decide to pursue a greater relationship with House Tarkanan than just me occasionally making their contact show up with a plot hook. Thora’s morals are a bit skewed, given that she’s the leader of a group of assassins, but she is heavily against the use of child soldiers. She doesn’t explain her reasoning well enough to the kids of House Tarkanan, though, which has led at least one of them (aka the party’s contact within House Tarkanan) to think that she doesn’t let them do anything cool (just pickpocketing and carrying messages). Meanwhile, the Son of Khyber is scheming to take over the House as part of his quest to exterminate the Twelve, and he’s willing to use the kids (who are desperate to prove their worth after having been abandoned by their families) for this.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 1/5

Book Blurb:

In the depths of a remote forest, an enchanted castle preys on unwary travellers. The servants of the Goddess Morana sacrifice to their dark mistress every soul who crosses its threshold. One terrible night, three people who should never have met find themselves trapped there: a spoiled lady escaping an unwanted marriage, an aging warrior-prince on a deadly mission, and a resourceful rogue caught up in a botched heist. As their destinies entwine and the dawn approaches, the solution to the castle’s riddle becomes clear: if they want to escape, one of them must die.

A dark fantasy tale inspired by Slavic folklore, Dark Woods, Deep Water is the debut novel by Croatian author Jelena Dunato. Set in an intricately imagined world that staggers the line between fairytale and brutality, this novel will appeal to fans of Katherine Arden and Naomi Novik, as well as lovers of classic Gothic fiction.

Review:

A spoiled princess with a failed elopement now trapped in a castle, a poor girl willing to con and swindle her way through life, and a assassin/secretary who must face the goddess of Death. Told through dual timelines, the story follows three individuals: Ida, a poor girl who has spent her life swindling and conning people to get what she wants, Elysia, the spoiled daughter who falls for a prince and in an attempt to get out of her marriage tries to elope but ends up in a different marriage with a killer for a husband trapped in a enchanted forest, and Telhani, an assassin/secretary for his lord. The story follows the three characters giving context to how they each got to where they are and then having them all meet at the same place and the outcome of that. This was not a good book or even a fun one to read, all the characters were lackluster and honestly the only one I really liked was Telhani and the guy barely even got a storyline with it only getting interesting at the end. Elysia was a spoiled, selfish, coward who had her head in the clouds and I couldn't care less for her story honestly. I enjoyed how quick on her feet and adaptable Ida was in her storyline and how she did everything she could to survive. Overall this one was a miss for me, I was so intrigued by the cover and the premise but the actual story itself was lacking. Also please be warned of the triggers before going into this, there is a lot to take in so do be cautious.

*Thanks Netgalley and Ghost Orchid Press for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Rose, Lilac, Orchid, Petunia, and Snowdrop for Ronnie in the regular, werewolf, and maybe the regency AU, if that’s not too much!

oh no it's never too much M. I could talk about Ronnie forever and the rest of time. she my baby

Rose - What is your OC's favorite form of self-care?

Regular AU Ronnie

Going surfing. It's a way to clear her head and bring herself a bit of joy when she's feeling low, boost those serotonin levels.

Werewolf AU Ronnie

Doing a craft or going on a hike. it helps her organize her thoughts and declutter her mental space. her favorite craft is knitting!

Regency AU Ronnie

Declining a social event, honestly lol while she is a socialite and she loves being around people, sometimes ya just gotta stay home with that hunk of a husband and read by the fire.

Lilac - Does your OC have a comfort item? If so, what is it?

Regular AU Ronnie

It's her mother's engagement ring. She pulls it out and puts it on when she misses her and needs comforting. Kinda why it means so much for Jake to propose with that ring.

Werewolf AU Ronnie

It's this hand-crocheted stuffed wolf that was given to her when she was just a baby. She slept with it until she was ten years old and still to this day it sits in her room somewhere. Eventually, it probably gets passed on to one of the kids. It was given by a member of Blue River and is modeled after her father's wolf form.

Regency AU Ronnie

The necklace that Mr. Seresin gives her! When she's feeling anxious she messes with it, feeling the grooves of the pendant and the bumps in the stones. It's very calming in a way.

Orchid - What is your OC's biggest fear?

Regular AU Ronnie

Uh, not to get too deep here but it genuinely is losing the people that she loves. Girl has been through it with people dying or just straight up ghosting her so um...yeah.

Werewolf AU Ronnie

I mean besides the literal horrors that could attack her family that exists in the universe? probably closed in spaces/being buried alive, she claustrophobic y'all

Regency AU Ronnie

Being married without love

Petunia - When was the last time your OC cried?

I can give a general answer for all three versions of Ronnie because every single version of her is very easy to make cry so like 3-5 days ago for each of them for one reason or another.

Snowdrop - What is something your OC loves, and what is something they hate?

Regular AU Ronnie

loves - shitty reality tv full of terrible people, she thinks it's so funny

hates - flying, whoops

Werewolf AU Ronnie

loves - pressing flowers and leaves

hates - olives

Regency AU Ronnie

loves - picking out fabric for a new dress

hates - smoking