#letters from fairy hill

[lettersfromfairyhill]

Hi! The fourth edition of our @mabelpodcast zine is up. It includes fanart, poetry, stories, and an interview with one of the actors in the show. Read it digitally here, and read our previous three issues in this folder.

This edition of Letters From Fairy Hill was organized by @andromerot, edited by her and @ekaterinaroskova, with cover art by @liebredeaconito.

Thank you for reading!

[andromerot]

okay i posted the story i wrote for lffh on ao3 its about mabel and her body. read it :)

[liebredeaconito]

“Un-named Daugher”

3/4 piece for Letters From Fairy Hill 04, a @mabelpodcast cast fanzine at @lettersfromfairyhill,  organized by @andromerot , edited by her and @ekaterinaroskova​

[Image Description: Ekaterina Roskova (aka Aconite) from Mabel podcast. The image is from her point of view and we can see her facing ¾, shoulders up in the reflection of a mirror she is holding. She has light skin and wavy red hair, small lips and small nose. Her eyes are black with golden irises. In the mirror behind her there is foliage and behind the mirror, just red with three moths.   End ID.] @mabelpod-described

[mediumgayitalian]

The slam of his car door is loud enough to make him jump, echoing across the dipping valleys and proud hills. He curses to himself, standing frozen, one, two, three, four, but no one comes running. A light dusting of snow falls in a perfect circle around an invisible border, and Lee shivers as he jogs over to it, worn sneakers squelching over the wet, half-thawed grass.

As soon as he steps onto the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, he feels the difference, the balmy breath of warm summer under the clear December sky. The power of Thalia’s tree sends its usual shiver down his back, and he touches it, briefly, as he speeds past, sending his usual prayer of thanks. He pauses at the crest of the hill, using the bright gibbous moon to survey the camp, marking his path.

“Two, four….twelve,” he mutters to himself, craning his neck to map every one of the patrol harpies. He crouches for a while, watching them, tracking their patrol: paired, hexagonal, staggered circuits around the cabins. Four minute window of opportunity.

He can do four minutes.

As the two harpies walking the Apollo-Artemis circuit begin to cross the common, Lee bolts. He keeps low and close to the shadows, sprinting fast and on the balls of his feet to stay quiet, and ducks behind whatever shadow is closest whenever something looks his way. By the time the harpies turn back towards Cabin Seven, he’s already on the rickety porch, tossing his backpack inside the window Michael left open for him and throwing himself in after it.

He lands palms-first, tucking into a roll to absorb the momentum. He freezes, panting, by the leg of what is usually Amir’s bed, straining to hear past the crickets and cicadas.

One, two, three, four.

Nothing.

He’s good.

“Took your damn sweet time, didn’t you.”

“Hello to you too,” Lee grumbles, pushing himself upright. From across the cabin, lounging on his bed like a goddamn French monarch, is his dick of a brother, grinning like the little shit he is. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, most people say hello, et cetera, et cetera.”

Michael shrugs. “You’re late. I watched you on the hill; you coulda made that run twenty minutes ago.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“I’m always asking me.”

“Get over her, boogerbrain.”

“Real mature,” Michael mocks, but ambles over anyway. He retches like a twelve year old when Lee hugs him, but twists his hands in the back of Lee’s shirt when he lets go too fast. Lee hides his smile in his over-gelled hair.

“You might miss me less if you actually write me letters, you know.”

“I didn’t miss you,” he responds automatically. “And I wouldn’t have to write you letters if you stayed home, already.”

Lee sighs. “…I have school, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure your dumbass bio teachers have loads to teach the guy who can do open heart surgery with his eyes closed.”

“Yeah, yeah. If anyone could do with a good, old-fashioned, public school humbling, it would be you, hothead. You ready to go?”

Michael pulls away with a roll of his eyes. “Only since yesterday. Been waiting for your sorry ass.”

“My sorry — your sorry ass doesn’t have a car!”

Michael snickers, jogging back to his bunk and grabbing the black duffel bag resting under it. Lee makes quick work of packing his own bag, stuffing in a couple squares of ambrosia and and giant roll of bandages, just in case, before creeping over to the only bed left with someone still in it.

“Hey, kiddo.” He folds over the sheet pulled all the way over messy blonde curls, immediately plaguing the cabin with loud snoring. He rests his palm over a sleep-creased cheek, mapping his thumb over the freckles dotting pudgy cheekbones, and brushes back the hair plastered to his baby brother’s forehead. “Will, sweetheart, get up.”

It takes him a couple minutes of gentle prodding — when Will is out he is out — to wake up, squinting blearily in the dim fairy lights strewn across his bunk. He blinks, one, two, three, four, then gasps.

“Lee!”

“Oof,” Lee grunts, shifting his weight as he is abruptly accosted with an armful of child. He smiles, curling around Will’s flailing, chattering form, tightening his hold on his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Hi, buddy.”

“—missed you so much! Is this why your letter was late? Are you staying? Is this why Diana left yesterday? Is she here now? Is Cass coming? Is everybody coming? Can I —”

“C’mon, Motormouth,” Michael interrupts, cuffing Will’s ear as he walks by. “Go get your sneakers on. We’re going for a drive.”

“‘Kay,” Will days happily, dashing off to find the light-up Star Wars shoes he refuses to throw out, even though there are literal holes in the soles.

“You got his bag?”

“Yep,” Michael affirms, holding up a straining backpack. “Toothbrush. Hairbrush that he won’t use. Three comic books. Change of clothes. And two more changes of clothes for when he inevitably destroys the first one,” he adds when Lee opens his mouth. He shoots him an exasperated look. “Me and Diana have been chasing after the little brat for four months, dude. I got him.”

“Alright, alright,” Lee grumbles. “Heaven forbid I double-check.” He turns over to the door, where Will is tying his shoelaces, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “You ready, Will?”

He tugs on the two loops. The entire knot unravels. Quick as a flash, he stuffs the laces inside his shoes, scrambling to his feet.

“Yes,” he lies. He scratches at his throat.

Lee and Michel sigh in unison.

Luckily, the reaction is hardly more than itchy eyes and a cough. Lee herds him towards the door, sliding the backpack over his shoulders and holding out his arm and —

“Hold on a sec.”

“Why?” Will whispers.

“Shh,” Lee says.

Window cracked open, Michael exhales. The release of his bow hardly makes more than a soft hiss.

The angle is odd, limited space as there is, but Michael never misses — the clunky arrow whistles through the open window, sailing past the sloped roofs of the west wing cabins, and thunks somewhere behind the first layer of trees in the forest. Immediately, it lets loose a burst of sound identical to a dropped bottle and a group of teenagers cursing. In seconds, the curfew harpies are screeching, descending upon the source of the noise with the fury of a thousand sun chariots.

“Go go go go go,” Michael orders, wrenching open the door.

Will, immediately, takes off, gleeful at the opportunity to run away with permission (usually, he’s running from one of them, screeching at him to get back here). (Or Chiron, although Chiron has a much easier time catching up, what with the six limbs and all). (…Is Chiron an insect? Technically?)

“How long do we have?” Lee whispers, once Michael has caught up.

He shrugs. “Seven minutes, give or take? More than enough time.”

Lee worries his bottom lip. “More than…” He glances at the forest. Vaguely, in the low firelight, he can see the odd wing, hear the odd screech. Nothing looks very close. He glances at the rapidly approaching Athena cabin, just a few yards out of their way. Hm.

“Detour!” he decides. “Will, c’mon!”

Ignoring Michael’s hissed complaints, he veers towards to neatly maintained cabin. He slips in the space between Cabins Six and Four, holding tight to Will’s hand. He counts the windows as he passes — one, two, three, four — and stumbles to a stop, crouching down in the dirt.

“Oh, are you — for the love of Zeus.”

Lee ignores his eye-rolling, scanning the ground for pebbles. He selects a handful of them, careful not to choose anything too big, and jogs a few steps back.

“What’re you doing?” Will asks, too loud, but at least he tries to whisper.

Instead of answering, Lee launches the first pebble at the window.

It pings off harmlessly.

Waiting a breath for the harpies to come running, he continues, firing off pebble after pebble with increasing strength. Finally, after pebble #7, a face appears behind the clear glass, bleary eyes widening when they take in the sight in front of them. Quickly, the latches are undone, and the window is yanked open.

“Lee?!”

Lee grins. “Hey, Carter.”

“What’re you — you’re — it’s December! What’s going —”

“I need a favour,” Lee whispers. “Can you — cover for us?”

For the first time, Carter looks away, brows raising as he notices Micheal, who taps his (watchless) wrist obnoxiously, and Will, who waves brightly. Carter waves back, small smile tugging at his lips.

“Cover for you?”

“Just, like, infirmary stuff. I don’t think anything will happen, and if it does we’re an IM away, but —”

“Lee,” Carter says exasperatedly, “cover you guys for what?”

“Oh.” Lee clears his throat. “I, um. I need to do something for my family.”

Smiling, Carter rests his elbows on the windowsill, chin in his hands. “Mysterious.”

“We’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” Lee assures.

“And then you’ll stay for a bit?”

Lee’s mouth goes dry. “You want me to stay?”

Carter ducks his head, fingers tracing a mindless path on the windowsill. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you for a while.”

A thousand gods of prophecy could not predict the sound that comes out of Lee’s throat.

Something between a whimper and an awkward laugh, his voice cracks four seperate times. Carter giggles. Lee prays, genuinely, that a crater opens up beneath him and drops him right at Lord Hades’ feet.

“Everything okay, Lee?”

“Peachy,” he croaks.

Carter giggles again. Lee flushes. Michael gags exaggeratedly behind him, pausing mid-heave to whisper something to Will, and then there’s a giggle, and then two people fake-retching. Carter peeks through his dark eyelashes, pleased expression softening his heart-shaped face, and Lee counts twelve of his own capillaries straight-up explode.

“Well,” he says, too loudly. “I’m — well.”

“I think you have harpies to run from,” Carter suggests gently.

“Indeed.” Lee clears his throat, nodding. “As you have so astutely observed, we do —”

Michael, recognising the strained tone to his voice, groans. “Fucksake, Lee —”

“— and so I bid you adieu —”

“Dude, oh my gods, snap out of it —”

Lee can’t. He barely has control over his own mouth.

“— and vow to see you again in the eve.”

Feeling his soul exit his body, settle in front of him, and then crumple up and die, Lee fucking bows. There is the very distinctive sound of a hand slapping over a mouth, muffling an eruption of giggles, and then the hand of mercy, also known as Michael Yew, clamping on the back of his lava-hot neck.

“Please excuse him,” he says grandly. “He was dropped on his head as a child. He’s normal, usually.”

“Except when you wear your glasses,” Will pipes up. Lee makes a mental note to find Clarisse’s spear and shove it through his own eye. “He gets real weird when you wear your glasses. Once he walked into a wall and broke his nose.”

“…Did he.”

“Yep. And last time he —”

“God, this hurts me to say,” whispers Michael, “but I have to put a stop to this conversation. We’re on a time limit. C’mon, Will. Bye, Carter. Sorry for — well, you know. Apollonian dramatics, not always easy to control.”

He turns, dragging Lee, still hunched over, out of the Cabin Six shadow.

Lee does not un-hunch until they are well over the crest of Half-Blood Hill, harpy screeches beginning to echo behind them.

“I have never been more embarrassed to be related to you in my life,” Michael informs him, the second he’s upright. “Like, genuinely, I’m considering disowning you. That was atrocious, Fletcher. You need to get ahold of yourself. Where is your game? Your dignity?”

“I think he lost it when he was born,” Will says thoughtfully. “Or maybe when Carter smiled at him the first time.”

“I hate both of you,” Lee croaks.

Neither of them seem too incredibly bothered, snickering to each other as they duck into the car.

Willing his flush to go down, Lee herds them into his car. He takes a moment in the cool air to chill the hell out, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, then slips behind the wheel. He checks that Will is belted in properly, slips the car into neutral, and coasts down the road, waiting until Thalia’s tree slips out of sight before turning it on and hitting the gas.

“Where’re we goin’?

“You,” Michael says, flipping down the vanity mirror to glare sternly at Will, “are going to dreamland. It’s three in the morning. Time for bratty children to sleep.”

“What? No! I’m not tired!”

“Fine, fine,” Lee says, exchanging a grin with Michael. “Stay awake, then. As long as you like.”

Will narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“No trick?”

Lee crosses his fingers. “‘Course not.”

“Fine,” he relents. He settles into the booster seat Lee dragged out of the trunk for him (which he hates), arms crossed over his chest, and stares out the window.

Counting off on his fingers — one, two, three, four — Lee and Michael begin to hum.

At first, nothing happens. Will taps absentmindedly on his knees, humming along to the parts he knows, but soon his fingers slow. Lee and Michael keep it low and quiet, cycling through quiet folk songs Michael’s dad taught him, matching with the rumbling of the car, the slight breeze of Lee’s cracked open window. Michael kicks softly at the base of his seat, one, two, three, four; and matches the rhythm of the radio static, the click of the blinkers on every turn.

Will’s out in twenty minutes.

———

The drive is long.

Michael curls up sometime around four, fogging up the windows with every snore. Lee keeps the radio on a low hum, letting the background noise keep him focused as he navigates. The Atlantic Ocean is ink-black in the early morning, and the waves crash loud enough that he can hear them over the sounds of the engine, and for a while they’re still far enough from the city that the air smells fresh. Even when it starts to sour, and the noise gets a lot more urban, it’s early enough and he’s east enough that the traffic is minimal. Never non-existent — he actually cannot imagine what a traffic-less New York would look like; he doubts he’ll ever live to see it — but enough that he keeps at a steady 35.

The drive through Jersey is uneventful. Farmland and suburbs, nothing he hasn’t seen every day of his life, nothing he didn’t see the last time he made the drive. He entertains himself by counting every brown car he sees, randomly wagering the number by the time he gets there. He’s relieved when he finally crosses the memorial bridge, driving down the exit ramp and pulling into the first big parking lot he sees. Michael wakes up as he puts the car in gear, killing the engine.

“We here?” he asks, popping the joints along his spine.

Lee yawns. “Pretty much, yeah. Pulled off the highway.”

“‘Kay.” He glances in the backseat, where Will is starting to stir. “You nap. I’m gonna find a place for him to change and brush his teeth, maybe get breakfast for all of us.”

“Sounds good”

He crawls in the backseat as Michael guides Will out of it, accepting the blanket tossed his way. He slides his hoodie over his face, lies back, and conks out in minutes.

———

“Yo, Lee. Get up. I got food.”

“Timizzit?” he asks, shaking the grogginess from his limbs.

“Eleven. You slept for four hours. We gotta be at the theatre in an hour.”

“When’s she on?”

“Fuck if I know, man. Diana said noon, I’m gonna be there at noon. You wanna piss off Diana?”

“No.” He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, reaching blindly in the direction of Michael’s voice. “Food, please.”

A bag of grease is deposited into his waiting hand. He is pleased to find three cheeseburgers within it, and immediately tears into them with a fervour that can only be described as ‘ravenous’, or perhaps ‘revolting’. Esurient, perhaps, if one was feeling poetic.

Finally awake enough to function, Lee looks critically at the scene in front of him. Michael is dressed in the same button-up and slacks he wears to his dad’s performances, on the years he’s in the U.S., and Will is in jeans without grass stains, real shoes, hair mostly brushed. Michael has even managed to find a shirt that’s not half-unraveled from Will picking at the seams.

“Nice,” he says, nodding in approval.

Michael picks at his nails, visibly preening. “Oh, it was no big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dweeb.”

He polishes off his last burger, then ducks inside the nearest store to find somewhere to get changed. Diana told them it didn’t matter, really, what they wore, but Lee knows better. He knows what this means for Cass, and while yeah, sure, it wouldn’t really matter if he showed up in sweatpants, he wants to show her that he put in the effort. That even if her mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, they will. All of them. He wants her to see them and know that they did this for her. He wants her to see them and know that they tried, that they care.

Hair perfectly placed and clothes as unwrinkled as he can get them, he hurries back to the car. The theatre isn’t far, and they have a little under an hour, but he doesn’t want to push it. Finding parking will be hard enough.

“Are we on a quest?” Will asks, five minutes out on the road.

“Eight year olds don’t go on quests.”

“Diomedes was ten when he fought the Trojan war.”

“Are you Diomedes?”

“No.”

“Are you ten?”

“No.”

“Then no quests for you.”

“Aw.”

“Your quest can be being quiet for twenty minutes,” Michael grumbles, making a face when Will sticks his tongue out at him.

———

part two

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

Time for the March Summary!

First of, the egg that haunts my dreams,

Richarlyson

For the 3rd month in a row, with 13/62 polls won last month, Richas has been voted most likely to:

Eat a random nut/berry/bug he found outside

Aim for the head during dodgeball

Intentionally cough/sneeze on someone while sick

Pick up something gross and chase his siblings around with it

Play computer games in class instead of doing his school work

Play football indoors and accidentally break a family relic

Play Julius Ceasar in a recreation of the Ides of March

Love a cursed food combination

Hunt down islanders that aren't wearing green on St. Patrick's Day

Pretend to be possessed to scare a sibling/parent

Refuse to wear shoes, even in the woods

Be the Rico (Penguins of Madagascar) of the island

Be covered in band-aids all the time

I do not know how he managed to win this many without me noticing. I think he's stealing trophies from me when I'm not looking.

Dapper

Wait, what? Even I wasn't expecting our favorite literal-demon child to win 2nd! With 11/62 polls won, Dapper has been voted most likely to:

Read Wikipedia articles for fun

Berate adults for coughing into their hand

Be a "Home Alone" protagonist

Love "Doctor Who"

Read Homestuck

Make a recreation of the Ides of March

Actually catch a leprechaun on Saint Patrick's Day

NOT have to sing the alphabet song to remember what order the letters are in

Love the Sherlock Holmes books

Know everything about demon folklore and scare everyone with their knowledge of it

Be determined to find every single easter egg at the island-wide easter egg hunt

She's a nerd, what else is there to say?

Chayanne & Pepito

Tied for 3rd, with 6/62 polls won each! Chayanne has been voted most likely to:

Love Hockey

Hyperfixate on the Percy Jackson series

Be a try-hard in P.E. class

Start a game of King Of The Hill everytime the school replaces the woodchips at recess

Fight with a teacher over a test grade

Sleep through fasting all day

Only look for the difficult to find eggs so their younger siblings can have fun at the Easter egg hunt

And Pepito has been voted most likely to:

Lose every round of Hide N' Seek because Pepito can't stop giggling

Believe in the Tooth Fairy

Chase Pepito's own tail

Still not know how to swim

Actually break a leg during a school play on accident

Eat paper because Pepito thinks it tastes good

One of the oldest eggs tying with one of the youngest. It's perfect.

Sunny

With 5/62 polls won, I'm sure Sunny is a little miffed that she's ended up in 4th. But it's okay, you all are sure to put her in 1st place one of these months. Sunny has been voted most likely to:

Secretly paint their closet an obnoxious color

Have a fashion show using her parents' clothes

Sleep with all of their stuffed animals so they don't get lonely

Treat the masjid shoe racks as their own personal shoe store

Have an imaginary friend

Tallulah, Ramón, & Pomme

Tying for 5th, with 4/62 polls won each, I'm very happy to see Pomme winning her first ever polls! And a total of 4 of them, no less! Tallulah has been voted most likely to:

Try and dye her own hair (making a huge mess)

Fit the main character role in "Coraline"

Perform Tarot card readings

Catch bees to pet them

Ramón has been voted most likely to:

Be obsessed with cowboys and the Wild West

Race to recalibrate the SmartBoard at school

Set up an elaborate rube goldberg machine to suprise a parent for their birthday

Have a space hyperfixation and want to be an astronaut

And Pomme has been voted most likely to:

Be a monster at PaintBall

Hyperfixate on Splatoon

Be very meticulous while coloring in a coloring book

Write a book

I think there's a pattern with that last one.

Leonarda

With 3/62 polls won, Leonarda has been voted most likely to:

Be obsessed with Power Rangers

Be into ice skating

Read every single Warrior cats books

I don't have anything funny to say here, It's hard to pay attention while listening to Ze Frank talk about coral kkkkkkkk

Empanada

With 2/62 polls won, Empanada has been voted most likely to:

Spend recess burying herself in woodchips and sleeping

Have Batik as a hobby

Oh hey, it's the first time Empanada's gone a full month without winning a poll about sweets!

Chunsik

Finally, our youngest has won a poll! With 1/62 polls won, Chunsik has been voted most likely to:

Be exempt from a Federation experiment because he politely declines it

What a polite kid!

...

...

That's it, right? That's all the eggs. All 11 eggs, all 62 polls for the month of March

...

Why does my clipboard say I'm missing two polls.....

...

Oh! Yes!

Juanaflippa & Bobby

In an absolutely unprecedented event, Juanaflippa AND Bobby have become our first ever dead eggs to win a canonical poll, with 1/62 win each! Juanaflippa has been voted most likely to:

Have a million allergies during the spring

And Bobby has been voted most likely to:

Get BANNED from playing Bulldog

It's still insane to me that you all managed to get these two a win. Bobby was going up against RICHARLYSON for void's sake. You all were fighting against the current on that one.

See you all soon!

[ogsherlockholmes]

The Hound of Watson's Grief

I made a post a few weeks ago about how all of the Holmes stories could be interpreted as Watson's imagination in order to compensate for his loneliness (sorry for putting that idea in your heads) and I wanted to expand on that by focusing on The Hound of the Baskervilles. So, prepare for some inarticulate rambling which I hope will make sense.

One of the things that has always struck me about this particular story is ultimately how different it is from the rest of the canon: not just Holmes' noticeable absence in the mid-section, but the emphasis on Watson's description and the supernatural features. Although these can still be seen in the other stories, The Hounds of the Baskervilles still seems to exist separately from them, and I have a an idea why this is.

The Hounds of the Baskervilles, as a story, was never meant to be. Holmes was dead- ACD was proud to announce that. He had rid himself of the so called 'great detective', and could focus on more historical serious novels. But, alas, he thought of an interesting story line, and could think of no other way of conceiving it without help from Holmes. So, Holmes was prematurely resurrected, without any form of indication that he was actually alive, or if this was D Watson writing up his notes, or if the audience should just suspend their disbelief and read the story as an undefined prequel.

Realistically, that is about all there is to say about the premise of The Hound of the Baskervilles: the story just is, and we have to accept that. But what of THotB is purely a work of fiction, including within the realms of the fictional world of Sherlock Holmes? In some ways, THotB could be read as Watson finding an outlet for his grief for Holmes.

Firstly, Holmes' absence: not just in the story, but in Watson's life and in the public's life. Holmes was dead, with no chance of return... supposedly. He had died offstage, with no witnesses, apart from the man who died with him, so no one could check with him if Holmes was actually dead. For Watson, the only proof he had of Holmes' death was a letter, with no body to bury; for a man who had spent so much time with someone so furtively based on facts, I can't imagine that that would have felt right to him. Holmes was dead, but where did he die? It's reasonable to suppose that Watson went through a stage of denial, believing that Holmes was still alive. Of course, he couldn't admit that to the public (like so many other things... the unreliable narrator that he is) so he would need another outlet. So, why not write a story involving Holmes? Maybe Watson began writing, including all the quintessential characteristics of Holmes (his quick deductions, sarcastic quips and his effortlessness in complimenting Watson), but then the realisation of his friend's death dawned on him. Watson looks back on his work, and remembers that he now must solve mysteries by himself. Holmes is busy elsewhere, and Watson is alone.

Watson begins a tirade of long, flowery descriptions (in the words of Holmes "cut out the poetry, Watson") which are usually skipped over in the shorter stories. We are fully immersed in the gloomy Dartmoor with its "tinge of melancholy", and the introduction of an escaped prisoner: Selden, the Notting Hill murderer. This feels like compensation for Watson forcing Holmes' logic in the earlier chapters, almost as though he's trying to build another story for himself. The addition of the Baskerville legend also seems more alligned with Watson's interests than Holmes: overall, THofB becomes more of Watson indulging himself in a fairy tale than reporting facts, as Holmes would prefer.

Still, Watson is just as dutiful as ever, writing letters to Holmes, but receiving little response. Again, this might be a parallel for Watson's life: he wishes to communicate with his late friend, but hears nothing back. Here, Watson might be doubting himself again: he's obsessing over Holmes' death, so much so that he can't be sure he's even dead. A glimmer of hope: maybe Holmes is alive, and he's out there, waiting to come back. Watson mentions "the figure of a man upon the tor", the "tall, thin man" which is undeniably Holmes: he allows himself this fantasy, to the point where he explicitly states this idea when he reveals that Holmes has been with him in Dartmoor all along, but hiding away from him. But, he can't be too certain, so Selden (who could be seen as a mirror to Holmes as he is confused with Holmes as being the figure on the Moor) is killed off as soon as Watson finds Holmes. Again, Selden is killed offstage and by falling off an edge, which sounds familiar...

Now, Watson has his Holmes back, in theory. He ends the story by describing Holmes being involved in other matters which he doesn't provide too much detail on, as per usual. The story was quickly and almost effortlessly resolved, with the antagonist, Stapleton, seemingly dead but the protagonist, Henry Baskerville, saved. I don't think it is too much of a stretch to say that Stapleton and Baskerville are Moriarty and Holmes substitutes, respectively (Stapleton's academic backgrounds and unusual characters; Baskerville's assertiveness, Watson's detailed descriptions of his movements and appearance, the implication that Selden's death was originally confused as his). So, here is another instance of Watson applying the narrative he wants, almost as though he's manifesting Holmes' resurrection.

I've thrown many ideas together which can probably be easily disregarded, but I tried rereading the story with this perspective, and I think it helped me make sense of certain aspects of the story which never sat comfortably with me. Although I'm not claiming to know the true reason why ACD wrote THotB, I do hope that you can understand the point I'm trying to make.

[withasideofshakespeare]

Woah no way?? People (completely unprompted /s) want to hear my trans Shakespeare headcanons?? You bet I can do that.

I’ve done this once before:

But I have even more thoughts now!!

In no particular order:

Puck (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Every single pronoun possible. He/she/they/it + all of the neopronouns and xenopronouns that exist currently or will ever exist. Fairy gender is always weird but Puck’s is extra weird.

Oberon (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Fairy gender. Probably he/they/it?

Titania (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): More fairy gender. She/they/it?

Titania’s fairy attendants (Midsummer): Get a hat and fill it with various pronouns and draw them out at random for the fairies.

Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing): Could go either way, but I really like the idea of transfemme Benedick. Or he/him lesbian Benedick.

Beatrice (Much Ado About Nothing): The she/they to end all she/theys

Viola/Cesario (Twelfth Night): Could be trans in literally any direction. I made a post about this too at some point. My suggestion is all of the directions: they/she/he

Sebastian (Twelfth Night): He/him, transmasc. I also made a post about this at some point.

Feste (Twelfth Night): I saw a great she/her Feste last summer.

Orsino (Twelfth Night): Specifically the himbo variety of he/they

Margaret of Anjou (Henry VI trilogy and Richard III): If I ever play Margaret, I will use she/they pronouns.

Catesby (Richard III): Just played Catesby with she/her pronouns and it worked!

Richard II (Richard II): Tell me Richard isn’t the most they/he or he/they guy alive (or… dead).

Hal (1 Henry IV-Henry V): Saw Hal played with she/they pronouns last summer and it was great. Could also see he/they Hal. Very nonbinary vibe overall. I personally believe that going by Hal rather than Henry for two whole plays is their way of pulling the “going by the first letter of what my name used to be instead of picking a name from scratch” nonbinary trick. He probably pretends to be cis after his dad dies and he becomes king—one more element of Hal’s lifelong identity crisis.

Hotspur/Harry Percy Jr. (Richard II & 1 Henry IV): He/they in denial.

Kate Percy (1 & 2 Henry IV): She/they, not in denial. (Also Katespur should be bi4bi)

Ned Poins (1 & 2 Henry IV): Transmasc Ned Poins?? Maybe he doesn’t actually have a sister and Nell is just his deadname. Ned Poins’ failed scheme to flirt with Hal.

Romeo (Romeo & Juliet): he/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Juliet (Romeo & Juliet): she/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Mercutio (Romeo & Juliet): they/he(/it?). Vibes alone. Look at them. Just look.

Nurse (Romeo & Juliet): she/her, transfemme!

Cassius (Julius Caesar): Would love to see a they/them Cassius

Hamlet (Hamlet): he/they. I’ve made multiple posts about this theory and I still love it.

Ophelia (Hamlet): she/they. As she should.

Laertes (Hamlet): she/him and NOT just because Laertes used she/her pronouns the first time I saw this play.

Rosencrantz (Hamlet): he/they/she. Vibes. Sometimes goes by Ros/Rose. Probably genderfluid.

Malcolm (Macbeth): they/he or they/them. Also vibes.

Lady Macbeth (Macbeth): stolen straight from my last post because this is still my HC: she/they; would insult you for “having pronouns in your bio” and then turn around and punch you in the face for using their pronouns incorrectly.

Angus (Macbeth): she/her, transfemme. (t4t Ross/Angus. I will die on this hill… Dunsinane Hill.)

Ross (Macbeth): he/him, transmasc

Caithness (Macbeth): she/they lesbian

Mark Antony (Julius Caesar and Antony & Cleopatra): I would not bat an eye at he/they Mark Antony

Edmund (King Lear): they/he, nonbinary, sexiest man (/gn) alive.

Edgar (King Lear): he/him. Transmasc Edgar is slowly becoming canon To Me.

Cordelia (King Lear): she/her, transfemme.

Goneril (King Lear): she/they. I would let them kill me.

Coriolanus (Coriolanus): transmasc OR transfemme Coriolanus is!!!! The butterfly/metamorphosis motif! Name changes during canon! Discomfort with scars/body! Lack of autonomy granted by society! This is THE transgender play. (Other than Twelfth Night)

Imogen (Cymbeline): Tell me she doesn’t want to be a she/they so bad.

Florizel (The Winter’s Tale): he/they(/she?). Literally just a vibe. I have a pet rock named Florizel.

Perdita (The Winter’s Tale): she/they. I also have a pet rock named Perdita.

Ariel (The Tempest): Similar to Puck, probably they/she/he? Even my conservative English prof consistently rotates between she/her and he/him for Ariel (possibly not intentionally? I’m not convinced he knows what her canon pronouns are.)

Ferdinand (The Tempest): she/they. PLEASE give me transfemme Ferdinand. PLEASE let Miranda realize she’s a lesbian during canon.

Miranda (The Tempest): she/they. Ariel taught them about the existence of she/they pronouns and she immediately started using them.

So in other words… every Shakespeare character should be trans, actually.

[de-sterren-nacht]

The Fae of the British Lostbelt

This is gonna be a long one, so strap in.

The fae and other creatures of the British Lostbelt take heavy inspiration from real-life legends; almost every major character is named after a type of fairy or mystical creature from British folklore. Many of these names are not English; I've added a pronunciation guide for these in brackets after the word. In this post, I'll go over the beings and concepts these characters are named for and compare the legend to the original. This won't include Morgan or Oberon; those figures are complex enough to deserve posts of their own.

Aesc [ASH]

Aesc is more accurately spelled Æsc. It's an Old English word for the ash tree, and also doubles as the word for the rune for the letter Æ. This is pretty much a direct translation into Old English of Aesc's Japanese name, Tonelico (トネリコ), a word meaning "ash tree".

Albion

Albion is a poetic name for the island of Britain, from Greek Albiōn (Ἀλβίων), the name used by classical geographers to describe an island believed to be Britain. The name probably means "white place", which is how it's connected to the Albion of Fate. The Albion of Fate is the White Dragon, a symbol of the Saxons from a Welsh legend. In the most well-known version of the legend, the King of the Britons at the time, Vortigern, was trying to build a castle on top of a hill in Wales to defend against the invading Saxons, but everything he tried to build collapsed. He was told by his court wizard to find a young boy with no father and sacrifice him atop the hill to alleviate the curse. He sent his soldiers out and found a boy being teased for being fatherless, but when he brought the boy to the hill, the boy, a young Merlin, told him that his court wizard was a fool and that the real reason for the collapsing castle was two dragons inside the hill, one red and one white, locked in battle. The red dragon represented the Britons, and the white dragon represented the Saxons. Merlin told Vortigern that nothing could be built on the hill until the red dragon killed the white one. A red dragon is the symbol of Wales to this day, and a white dragon is occasionally used in Welsh poetry to negatively represent England. This white dragon is Albion in Type/Moon lore.

Baobhan Sìth [bah-VAHN shee]

A baobhan sìth is a female fairy in Scottish folklore. The name literally means "fairy woman" in Scottish Gaelic. They appear as a beautiful woman and seduce hunters traveling late at night so that they can kill and eat them, or drink their blood depending on the story. They're unrelated to banshees except in terms of etymology (Banshee is from Old Irish "ben síde", meaning the same thing as baobhan sìth). They're often depicted with deer hooves instead of feet, which is probably what inspired Baobhan Sìth's love of shoes.

Barghest

In the folklore of Northern England, a barghest is a monstrous black dog with fiery eyes teeth and claws the size of a bear's. The name probably derives from "burh-ghest", or "town-ghost". It was often said to appear as an omen of death, and was followed by the sound of rattling chains. The rattling chains probably inspired Barghest's chains. Her fire powers are also obviously based on the fiery eyes of the barghest. Otherwise, she's not very connected to the folkloric barghest, which is never associated with hunger or eating humans.

Boggart

In English folklore, a boggart is either a malevolent household spirit or a malevolent creature inhabiting a field, a marsh, a hill, a forest clearing, etc. The term is related to the terms bugbear and bogeyman, all originally from Middle English bugge, or possibly Welsh bwg [BOOG] or bwca [BOO-cuh], all words for a goblin-like monster. It usually resembled a satyr. It's not really ever depicted with lion features, so it's anyone's guess why Boggart is a lion-man.

Cernunnos [ker-NOON-ahs]

Cernunnos, probably meaning "horned one", was an important pre-Roman Celtic god. His existence is only attested by fragmentary inscriptions and the repeated motif in Celtic religious art of a "horned god", a humanoid figure with deer antlers seated cross-legged. This fragmentary evidence is often led to assume that Cernunnos was a god of nature, wilderness, animals and fertility. There exists no evidence that Cernunnos was a chief deity of any kind, since we have barely any evidence he existed at all in the first place. Cernunnos might not even be his name; it's just the only name we have. Needless to say, the only thing the Cernunnos in the British Lostbelt has in common with the real figure is his large antlers.

Cnoc na Riabh [kuh-nock-nuh-REE-uh]

Cnoc na Riabh, Knocknarea in English, is a hill in Sligo in Ireland. The name means "hill of the stripes", referring to its striking limestone cliffs. It's said to be the location where Medb's tomb lies, so it's connected to Cnoc na Riabh through Fate's conflation of Medb with Queen Mab, a fairy mentioned in Romeo and Juliet; this etymology of Mab as derived from Medb was formerly accepted, but has lost favour with the advent of modern Celtic studies due to the lack of any concrete connection between the two figures.

Grímr (don't know how to say this one, apologies; Germanic myth is not my strong suit)

Odin (Wōden in Old English) was a god worshiped in many places, basically anywhere the Germanic peoples went, including the Anglo-Saxons that became today's English people. As such a widely worshiped god, he had a very large number of names, titles and epithets. Grímr is one such name, literally meaning "mask", referring to Odin's frequent usage of disguises in myths, which is fitting for how Cú disguised himself as a faerie in the British Lostbelt and hid that he possessed Odin's Divinity from Chaldea.

Habetrot

Habetrot is a figure from Northern England and the Scottish Lowlands, depicted as a disfigured elderly woman who sewed for a living and lived underground with other disfigured spinsters. She often spun wedding gowns for brides. Cloth spun by her was said to have curative and apotropaic properties. All the Habetrot of the British Lostbelt has in common with this figure is the association with brides and with spinning cloth. "Totorot" is not a real figure; the name is just an obvious tweak of Habetrot.

Mélusine

Mélusine is a figure that appears in folklore all across Europe. The name probably derives from Latin "melus", meaning "pleasant". She's a female spirit of water with the body of a beautiful woman from the waist up, and the body of a serpent or a fish from the waist down. In most stories, she falls in love with a human man and bears his children, using magic to conceal her inhuman nature. However, she tells her lover he must never look upon her when she is bathing or giving birth. Of course, he invariably does so, and when he does, he discovers her serpentine lower body, and she leaves, taking their children with her. Since Mélusine is just the name Aurora gave her, the Mélusine of the British Lostbelt has very little to do with this figure, but an analogy can be drawn between the Mélusine of folklore hiding her true form as a half-serpent to maintain her relationship with her lover, and Fate's Mélusine suppressing her true form as both a dragon and an undifferentiated mass of cells to ensure Aurora continues to love her.

Muryan [MUR-yan]

A muryan is a rather obscure Cornish fairy. The word is Cornish for "ant". Muryans are diminutive figures with shapechanging abilities, cursed to grow smaller every time they use those abilities until they eventually vanish altogether. Muryan, of course, is connected to muryans through her ability to shrink others.

Spriggan [SPRID-jan]

A spriggan is a type of creature in Cornish folklore. The word is derived from the Cornish word "spyryjyon" [same pronunciation], the plural of "spyrys", meaning "fairy". They're usually grotesque old men with incredible strength and incredibly malicious dispositions, and are often depicted guarding buried treasure. Spriggan is not himself a faerie, and the name is stolen from a faerie he killed, but it's still appropriate due to the greed and selfishness spriggans are usually depicted with.

Woodwose

Woodwose is a Middle English term for the wild man, a motif in European art comparable to the satyr or faun. The etymology is unclear. It has little to do with wolves or animals, despite its association with wildness, but there is at least a thematic connection with Woodwose's character, since the archetype of the wild man depicts a figure who cannot be civilised or well-mannered no matter how hard he tries, much like how Woodwose barely restrains his temper by being a vegetarian and dressing in a fine suit. Woodwose's predecessor, Wryneck, is named for a type of woodpecker with the ability to rotate its neck almost 180°.

[teecupangel]

The library was a small place nestled between the hills, with shelves that stretched to the ceiling, each filled with books whose spines whispered secrets of the world. And there, between the dusty aisles, lived the lizard. He wasn’t always a lizard, but it was hard to remember what he had been before; he liked to think that maybe he had transformed because of his love for books, scales slowly replacing skin as he turned page after page.

Every morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the high, round windows, the parrot would flutter in, perched upon the tallest shelf, and caw down at the lizard, "What shall we read today?" The lizard would gaze up, smile—a slow, scaled smile—and then gesture toward a book with a colorful cover or a title that had caught his eye.

One day, the parrot and the lizard were sitting side by side, reading an old, tattered book about sea adventures. The pages spoke of distant islands and treasures buried under palm trees. The parrot chirped in excitement, "Imagine if we sailed to find treasure! Imagine if we could read stories out there, by the sea." The lizard gave a thoughtful nod, his tail curling slightly as if contemplating an imaginary map.

That night, the lizard felt restless. He wandered between the shelves, passing his favorite books on alchemy, history, and fairy tales. As he moved, an idea formed in his mind—a story. Not a story someone else had written, but one that came from his own scaly heart, one that could travel beyond the library, beyond the hills, to places only the books spoke of.

The next morning, as the parrot swooped in, she found the lizard sitting at the desk, a long sheet of parchment unfurled before him, ink splattered on his claws.

"What are you doing?" asked the parrot, perching on the edge of the desk, eyeing the paper with curiosity.

The lizard blinked slowly and smiled. "I'm writing our own story," he said. "One that others can read, one that can fly far beyond this place."

With that, they worked together—an unlikely team. The parrot dictated ideas in her enthusiastic squawks while the lizard penned the words slowly, deliberately, carefully forming each letter with his ink-dipped claw. They wrote about two friends who set sail in a ship made of books, traveling to magical lands. They described how the words on the pages unfurled into new worlds, where talking clouds led them to hidden cities and stars whispered secrets from above.

The parrot laughed at the funny parts, chirped with excitement during the thrilling bits, and even fluffed up her feathers in fright when the story took a dangerous turn. They worked until the parchment was filled with their tale.

When the story was complete, the lizard rolled it up, tied it with a piece of golden thread that they had found in the forgotten drawer of the library's desk, and smiled at the parrot. "It’s time to send it on its way," he said.

The parrot nodded in agreement. Together, they left the library and made their way to the small clearing beyond the hills where the courier lived—a determined man who has seen the wonders of the world.

He took the rolled parchment from the lizard, inspecting it with a nod. "A story, is it?" he asked, his hair gently swayed along the wind.

"Yes," said the lizard, his voice soft and hopeful. "A story we want to share with the world."

The courier gave a gentle smile and tucked the letter in his bag. "Then off it will go," he said. With a skip to his steps, he took to off, disappearing into the distance until he was just a tiny speck against the sunlit horizon.

The lizard and the parrot watched until they could see the man no more. They looked at each other and smiled, a silent promise passing between them. It wasn’t just about reading anymore. It was about creating, about sharing, about letting their own story go as far as the shoes the courier could take it.

And with that, they returned to their beloved library, ready to read, dream, and, perhaps, write some more.

Unbeknownst to the man, a second letter is tucked in a tiny nook of the envelope. Inside it says: "Character of your choice is reincarnated into Dandy's World. Your choice if they stay as a human or a toon. Go crazy"

Well, if you’re going to give me a choice, I’m gonna pick Desmond, of course. XD

And he becomes a toon with, of course, he’s own twisted version

I’m kinda imagining him to look something like this:

His entire body is quite ‘flexible’, appearing like multiple DNA strands attached to one another with a strange eagle-like mask.

His twisted form, on the other hand, are multiple strands of DNA falling apart with the eagle mask broken in half and dangling on while three large eyes take over the three main DNA strands.

He would walk fluidly as a toon but it would become shaky when he’s twisted because of his strands breaking apart.

However, he has more range as a twisted and his eyes move independently, granting him wider vision which act more or less like a perpetual Eagle Vision.

================== Alchemist Part ==================

The courier wasn’t that worried.

Sometimes, the alchemist staying on a small cabin at the edge of town just didn’t have anything to send.

Sometimes, it’s because they were too busy with the daily requests they would receive from an employer that he had never seen.

Other times, they were busy with something else.

But…

It always felt a bit strange visiting them and not receiving even a single delivery.

So yes… He was a bit worried.

But he wasn’t that worried.

However…

All that worry slip out of his mind once he saw the delivery the alchemist wanted to send today.

They looked alright. Their hair was messier than usual, less ‘I don’t need to comb it’ and more ‘I’ve been in bed for long periods of time’ and they smelled of something herbal.

Either they’ve been sick or they’ve been busy… making this…

“I can’t deliver this.”

“Why not?”

He rubbed his forehead.

Why not?

WHY NOT???

Well, for one thing…

“It’s a living-”

He paused.

He wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

It had limbs made of ribbon-like appendages with a texture that looked like muscles but aren’t.

Three large eyes darted all over the places in three different ribbon appendages.

And…

It was too big to fit in his wagon.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Look. Living things are only allowed to be shipped if you also take care of its food and other stuff it might need. I don’t think they’d ever agree to shipping this since no one knows what it is.”

Did the alchemist find it deeper in the forest where everyone in town says never to go to?

Did they create this?

He could never be sure with what they could or could not do.

“Unless this is like that other thing where you can make it stop moving, I’m afraid they’d just reject any requests to ship this.” He paused before adding, “”They might even come here and ask where you got this and-”

He glanced at the small cabin as he guessed, “I have a feeling you don’t want people asking too many questions about what you’re doing here.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

They sighed and turned to look at the writhing creatures, “Give me a second.”

His eyes widened when he saw their staff glow, creating a sharp blade at the top.

Seeing them stab one of the eye, he turned around and covered his ears.

Oh.

It was such a beautiful sunny day.

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 2B, MATCH 1 OUT OF 8!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Ella of Frell:

She's had a "gift" of obedience placed on her, and her quest is to figure out how to get rid of it. I love her

he's under a curse that makes her obey any order given to her. She met her Prince Charming (Char) when they kids, and they became friends. Her stepsisters found out about her curse while they were at boarding school, and because of that (and some things they made her do) she ran away to try and find the fairy that cursed her. When she does, the fairy says that she doesn't do magic anymore, because she realized her gifts were actually curses, and refuses to remove it. Ella goes back, and is eventually demoted from "lord's daughter" to "maid". She still writes letters to Char (currently in a foreign kingdom, but before that, when he came to try and talk to her, her sister forbid her from leaving her room so she would have all his attention), but eventually stops and even writes a fake letter from her sister to convince him that she never cared/doesn't care about him, because she realized it would be too dangerous for them to be together; with her curse, she could easily be made to hurt or kill him. Flash forward, and Char returns home. The king throws balls, and she goes, because even if she can't be with or let him know who she is, she just wants to see him again. Char is drawn to her, and for a lot of the three balls, they're together. At the end, her stepsister gets jealous, and right as Char proposes (because Ella, despite having to lie about her identity, is the most honest person at the ball and a friend already), she grabs her mask, revealing her identity. Char reaches her home before she can leave, and there's a whole scene where he finds out she's a scullery maid, that the letter was a lie, and says that she doesn't have to be Ella if she doesn't want to be, and she says she's not, and he asks if she loves him, and she does-- and then it's all ruined because he accidentally orders her to marry him, and then her stepmother tells her to, and all the while she's fighting the curse, because she doesn't want to endanger him and their nation, and doesn't want her step family to be rich and powerful, and finally-- she says no. She gets so excited to say no, to refuse, that she didn't even fully realize she broke the curse until Mandy (her fairy godmother) tells her. Anyway, they all lived happily ever after. Ella is one of my favorite Cinderellas ever and I really hope I did a good job of explaining her and what her story is about (it's been a while since I've read the book)

I was so enraptured with this book as a kid, it had such an impact on my young mind. Got me into fantasy.

BEST CINDERELLA!!! please use the picture from the book cover and not the movie 🙏

She breaks her curse spell in such a magnificent way. Like yes she embodies the whole “kindness” and “courageous” characteristics that Cinderellas are known for, but for her she’s been forced to be obedient as well. And while she thinks can rise above anything she soon learns she will just hurt so many more people that way. She chose to be self-sacrificing because it was the one way she could express her love that wouldn’t harm anyone (then). But! But! She also ends up getting to be selfish! And that is also a great kindness! To herself and to those whom love her and she loves in return.  All that after she breaks the curse.

She can mimic languages. :) She refused to marry the love of her life and thus broke her curse. :) She fell in love via letters. :) She lied to the royal family that orange carriages are very popular in a nearby city.

brave, smart, a linguist, a nerd, she evolves steadily and beautifully throughout the book, with a sharp voice that never stops being distinctive and fun to hang with.

complex character coool as fuck premise and also. the nostalgia of it all

Cinderellis:

I submit him more as early cannon fodder than anything else, though he is a very fun and interesting character to follow in the 150ish page book we find him in, where he fulfills both the Cinderella main points of mythic importance, as well as a Ukrainian fairy tale involving the rule of three and how it applies to precious metals, and the materials one may use on a quest. Also, both he, and the girl he eventually marries are just fun characters to see the viewpoints of.

[homesickfornowhere]

Books that I’ve read recently and would recommend. 🖤 Part 2

A Dowry of Blood by S. T. Gibson. A reimagining of Dracula’s brides, written in letters to Dracula from his first wife, Constanta. I love anything vampire-related and can’t even describe how much I loved this book.

A God in the Shed by J. -F. Dubeau. A fantastic horror novel set in a messed up little town. A murder investigation, a serial killer, a god trapped in a shed (literally), the occult, ancient evils, blood and gore, and lots of twists and turns.

The Poppy War by R. F. Kuang. A historical/grimdark fantasy novel heavily inspired by the Second Sino-Japanese war. Very violent and graphic, but an amazing read.

My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix. A fun 80s demon possession story set during the satanic panic. A teen girl drops acid, gets lost in the woods, and accidentally gets possessed by a demon — and it’s up to her friend to save her. Gorey and campy.

Maggie’s Grave by David Sodergren. A pregnant woman, falsely accused of being a witch and brutally murdered, takes revenge on a Scottish town centuries later. Fun, fast-paced folk horror meets splatterpunk with an endless amount of gore.

The Island by Adrian McKinty. A tense, fast-paced thriller set in in an island off of the coast of Australia. This book genuinely stressed me out and made me want to bite my nails, but I couldn’t put it down. A bit of Wolf Creek vibes.

Delicious Monsters by Liselle Sambury. A ghost story and psychological horror with dual timelines. Family drama, a haunted house, toxic parents, etc.

Never Lie by Freida McFadden. A psychological thriller with a great twist. When their realtor doesn’t show up, newlyweds take shelter from a blizzard in a manor that belongs to a missing psychiatrist.

Six Crimson Cranes by Elizabeth Lim. This book and the world within it makes my heart flutter. A dreamy, whimsical fairy tale blended with East Asian folklore.

The Overnight Guest by Heather Gudenkauf. An atmospheric mystery/thriller. A writer travels to an isolated farmhouse where two unsolved murders and the disappearance of a girl took place decades earlier, and plans to finish her book while snowed in. Things go down hill after she finds a young child outside and decides to bring him in from the cold.

Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati. A retelling of Greek mythology, and such a beautiful and heartbreaking book.

A Day of Fallen Night by Samantha Shannon. A a high fantasy novel and standalone prequel to The Priory of the Orange Tree. Amazing world building, amazing writing, amazing characters, and dragons.

Ring by Koji Suzuki. I’ve always loved the films, both Ringu and The Ring, but I’ve never read the book until now and I highly recommend it if you haven’t either.

[lettersfromfairyhill]

hello! we are now officially recruiting for the fourth edition of our mabel podcast fanzine, to be released in march. we are looking for visual artists, writers, and all sorts of creators. you can find more information about the project here, and join it through the discord link at the end from today until january 14th. hope to see you there!

-andy

[andromerot]

I really loved your short story in the newest edition of Letter from Fairy Hill <3 The whole zine is beautifully put together as well, you did such a good job!

I almost submitted something but then I got too embarrassed lol, cause all the art is always so gorgeous. But maybe some other time <3

ohhh my god tysm for telling me :D im sooo proud of this particular edition i think it came along really really well :) sort of insecure about my story honestly so i thank you twice. dont be embarrassed to submit btw!!! we are grateful for everything that makes its way into the pages.

[liebredeaconito]

“Ghost”

4/5 piece for Letters From Fairy Hill 04, a @mabelpodcast cast fanzine at @lettersfromfairyhill,  organized by @andromerot , edited by her and @ekaterinaroskova​

[Image Description: Juniper, member of the Underhill and Lily Martin, from Mabel Podcast. First, Lily She is drawn from the waist up, over a pink-ish background with red splashes. She seems fragile, with big lips and big eyes with heart pupils. Her hair is down to the shoulders and wears bangs. Her hair brown, with green and red tints, and her skin is green.She has long elf-like ears. She wears a purple shirt. Plant tendrils climb up her neck, torso and shoulders, and two stem from her hair, near her bangs. She is on a ¾ view, holding her neck as a bouquet from flowers pour up from her mouth. End ID.] @mabelpod-described

[boygirlover]

my drawing for Letters from Fairy Hill #4 (@lettersfromfairyhill​​)! go read it now & i will love u forever

[quote from episode 25: chimera +close-ups under the cut]

[alicedehorner]

I woke up because of the uncomfortable rays of sunlight on my face. I sat up instinctively grabbing my bag to check that it was still there and that the crystal sphere was still inside. I carefully climbed down from the tree where I had spent the night and began to walk parallel to the river without any direction. I stopped a few hours later to rest, eat, and do everything else. For hours, I saw nothing but the same forest, everything the same, until near a hill, I managed to see a column of smoke, I walked until I found the origin of this, there, in the first streets outside a beautiful town I saw a beautifully decorated store, full of flowers outside and the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread, and as if by instinct I looked up seeing the wooden sign with the name of the establishment, finding the initials "JH" with the image of a pie and a hand with the thumb up and a plum, I smiled sarcastically to enter the establishment and buy a cake, leaving with it in my hands while I walked to what seemed to be the center of town, it was a nice place, Spanish style, and as I saw it was called "Del mar" looking at the buildings, I quickly realized that something had happened in that place, since many parts of them were under reconstruction, especially a mansion that was in the distance, which was missing practically the entire roof.

"What could have happened here?" I said to myself, sitting on a plate where I could eat the cake, taking a large slice of it, and when it made contact with my mouth, the rich texture and sweet flavor was better than I remembered, nostalgia made into food, it was curious how the smell or taste of a simple cake could evoke so many sensations and memories, I couldn't do anything against the wave of memories that unfolded in me.

I remember how if it were yesterday the first day I arrived there, I had my reference sheet from my old jobs and I was wearing the best clothes I had, standing outside the huge doors with gold letters "JH", waiting for them to open, passing Escorted by some guards, I entered the huge factory. I expected to meet the owner and boss of the company first, but no, the head baker greeted me, looking at my sheet with a serious expression and then looking at me, as if she didn't believe what she saw. on the resume and with me.

"Mr. Horner will receive you, go to those doors and knock on the door," he indicated, reluctantly giving me my sheet and instructions and leaving to continue with his work.

I watched as the woman with black braid left, and I calmly walked to where they indicated to me. The doors were as colossal as the entrance, almost so that a giant could pass through there. I did not personally know the now called "Great Jack Horner" but like everyone, I had heard the rumors regarding his appearance, his intimidating presence and his criminal history not at all subtle, his very name caused a strange sensation in the spine, he was someone who you definitely shouldn't mess with, I guess the police themselves were afraid to arrest him or charge him with something. I touched my knuckles on the dark wood to wait for confirmation, hearing a "pass" from the other side. And honestly when I entered I had never felt so strange in my life, the truth is that the rumors did not do the owner of Lil' Jack's Horner Pie Co one bit of justice. Even though he was sitting and still not paying attention to me, he could Seeing his enormous figure, sitting in that chair watching some papers, he was gigantic, he was easily eight feet tall, dressed in purple and purple colors, including his hair which was violet, I didn't dare to look at his face, so I My eyes wandered around the room, full of magical objects and fairy tales, to a huge stained glass window of himself that dimly illuminated the room behind him. "So there's the company's money," I thought. "If you're done snooping, you can sit down." When I looked at him, he was looking directly at me, with a bored face. "I'm sorry," I apologized, sitting in the chair in front of his desk at his direction. "Give me your resume," he ordered, extending his hand. I passed it to him and, practically tearing it out of my hand, he read it quickly. "Wow, it seems like you have a great work history," he said, putting the sheet on the desk. her belly After a few short seconds of thinking about what to say and building up courage I spoke. "Well, Mr. Great Jack Horner, as you will see my most notable jobs are as a main employee in a cafe and as personal assistant to the fairy godmother, especially in her potions factory," I said. "Tell me something, why don't you work with the Fairy Godmother anymore?" He asked standing with the blade in one hand and the other behind his back, looking at the fireplace. "All the employees were unemployed when the Fairy Godmother died," I answered simply remembering that day.

―I understand― he said without further ado before turning to look at me again. ―Now I want you to tell me everything you said face to face― he snapped, placing a hand on the chair where I was sitting to lean, looking directly at me while he was quite close to me. Many things were going through my mind at that moment, I had the feeling that he, like the head baker, didn't believe me capable of what I was saying, and in a way I did too, despite the fact that I had the abilities I described to him, this man's way of being made me feel like I was a novice at what I did, I felt tiny physically and mentally. ―As I told you, Mr. Great Jack Horner, I am an excellent employee, I am committed to my work and have confidence in my ability, and if you hire me, I will be one of your most loyal and trustworthy employees― I said, looking him in the face, still somewhat nervous, but I was able to say everything I wanted. ―Very well― she said, walking away until she reached her chair again. ―In that case, tomorrow you will have the opportunity to demonstrate everything you say so much―

It took me a while to understand that he had hired me, but when the sense came to my head I jumped up from my chair, looked him in the face and said, "You won't regret it, Mr. Jack Horner," I said as I walked to the door. "I hope so, employee," he said as he returned to his original position behind his desk. That's how I left his office, and before closing the door completely I dared to look at him. He saw me too. I had the feeling of being prey about to be devoured.

I finished the pie I was eating and stood up to continue on my way, it was there that I remembered a small detail, I touched my small bag tied to my pastry chef pants and noticed that I only had two coins, I needed money. I walked until I was alone and entered an alley in the town and took the crystal sphere out of my bag. "Show me where there is money in this town," I asked her, who showed the house I saw in the distance, it seemed to belong to someone important, I could get enough money to travel a while longer. I put the ball back in my bag and walked towards the mansion, before arriving I hid my things in a tree and advanced with my hood on, armed with my bow and arrows. I entered from the broken roof, seeing the house inside it did not look as bad as I expected, it was almost intact. ―There must be a safe somewhere― and so, I went through every room in the house, checking behind every painting and in every piece of furniture we found, until I found the main living room, in which there was a huge painting, dressed in fine clothes but with the face of a cat painted over the original face, I laughed softly, it seems that it had been a very good party, I walked up to the painting and finally, the safe. Seeing the model of this box, I put my ear to it and turned the knob until I found the combination. ―All that gold is for me― and when I opened it, I found the bags full of coins, I loaded what I could and walked to an exit ―For being the house of someone so important, it has terrible security― I said sarcastically to leave through a window, once outside I ran with the money to the tree with my bag and walked with everything carefully so as not to be seen by anyone in town, but everything went to hell when trying to cross a wall something ripped a bag causing the coins to fall and produce a loud noise ―! Hey, where did you get that money!?― A man who was with more people shouted at me ―It's the governor's money― a woman shouted seeing the logo on the bags. ―Damn―

After that I found myself running from a small crowd of people with torches and pitchforks, it was the first time I had been chased by a real angry mob, and if it weren't for the fact that they were practically following me on my heels, this would seem funny to me, I smiled with satisfaction as I slowly began to gain the upper hand and get away from them, finding myself almost out of the town, as I watched them fall behind I laughed to myself, satisfied, but it took me too long to realize that when I looked ahead a huge cart had crossed my path and I was basically run over (or rather pushed) until I fell to the ground, unconscious.