#original book

[maetersart]

Your style looks familiar. Are you these people who made book about illnesses where they were represented by monsters?

Yeah that's us hey hey hello Glad to see that someone has heard about this project 🖤 It's called "Infectus Bestiary" — a guide for beginner monster hunters about 10 world-famous diseases and infections. It's been a few years, but still hope we’ll get this baby officially published

cover and title page

Coronavirus page

Well, we should make more posts about Infectus here. Too much content for one answer... @_@

[ktrktrtrschblog]

Today is my birthday! I will be grateful if you share my works or say something nice <3

[nata-mata]

New book @ ComicAvenue9 L13

2024 2 Nov Thailand

[i-am-iz]

i havent posted anything interesting lately (i posted like 7 times a day, IT GETS TO A POINT) and so here have some doodles i made

victoria my dear they could never make me hate you

so like why she's doing No One Mourns The Wicked is because shes not only lord arduenna's eldest daughter but shes also glinda the good's sister (glinda's dead, i'll get into that later) and so you know, everyone sees her as this beacon of life that can help oz all. (and like shes also wearing blue or purple. so munchkins and the gilikinese can trust her).

leo, boq, and tik-tok.

leo and boq are wearing the same spectacles / goggles. actually, leo is wearing boq's. let me explain. in the twisted tale of oz's universe (its an alternative universe to the wizard of oz/wicked) boq is still like movie / musical / book boq, with one added thing. boq makes things. like gears, wires, hot air balloons, robots, or copper bots as boq calls them. his work is mainly inspired by the wizard's work. but he's killed. so basically, during the years of shiz with elphaba, galinda / glinda, victoria, boq, fiyero, and leo, a war breaks out. and aardvarkia (the land leo is from, its like on the border of where quadling country and munchkinland meet) steams out this gas, and it kills like half of the school. leo and fiyero had already been expelled, elphaba and galinda were with the wizard, and victoria was visiting her father. when the news got back to the others, everyone was devastated. elphaba couldnt leave the west, but she did mourn much, glinda fell ill, and victoria was taking care of her, fiyero and leo went back to retrieve his body and give him a proper burial. one of the reasons fiyero has plenty of gears and tools on him is because of boq, and leo took the goggles as a memory of boq. @marchofthewitchhunters come and get your boq angst

fiyero and elphaba

while the twisted tale of oz (and me too) is a gelphie truther (the reason elphaba became wicked was because of glinda's death, she blamed herself for not being able to save glinda), fiyero and elphaba have their moments. like the lion cub scene. that's still there. the bus stop scene (including the elphaboq friendship one!!!). and fiyero and avaric attempting to find elphaba after she flies off into the west, despite not knowing where the hell he's going.

and finally, the way i got my fiyero's design was through looking at my hair colour and saying "yeah no this is his hair"

[arielgalloway]

[lilbeanz-coven-side]

Art dump! Sketches & a couple renders ✨️

[discothemechanic]

DIY Is available for asks on @disco-party-ocs

[ronoken]

Something, Something, Magic

Obligatory book post!

Hi all. Just a reminder that if you're looking for a massive magical girl tome that contains:

Magical girls (cowgirl themed)

Robots

Zombies

More magical girls (gothic themed)

Ghosts with no sense of boundaries

Awkward romantic tension

Even MORE magical girls (kill-you-dead themed)

A disabled love interest

Mad scientist women

Second-hand embarrassment

Robot monsters (romsters?)

And lots! Of! Fighting!

…Then I have the book for you!

Something, Something, Magic is a wild ride through the process of becoming a magical girl via trial by gunfire. Gian Mosey is as anti hero-stuff as a teen can get, but when push comes to shove, she’s there to save the day in all her tasseled glory. Despite suffering some massive embarrassment at her theming, Gina steps up to stop the many mechanical monsters attacking the lovely city of Pine Grove. With the (non)help of an already established hero, a boundary-ignoring best friend, an insane aunt, and a questionably ethical teacher, Gina is about to discover what it means to be a hero.

Something, Something, Magic is available in kindle and print. Get your oversized magical girl book, today!

Here’s a link: https://www.amazon.com/Something-Magic-novel-telling-becoming-ebook/dp/B0CPL2HGVD/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&dib_tag=se&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.F_jYu_9MOFGU4ZmK2i5wg4k7Qn2jR3eJYZ7fzopwtuYnS-SRHaXKbGrhXGOeB397ozDWIvPyeu9UsQFvd2pDuOAP6F8yfJGh-XGjBQPyg7g.LoP2Bvr_82AX_rNc6cUUs0mL5vWnOD1vMRALinXbHdY&qid=1721936622&sr=8-3

[abbyzwrites]

Book Preview

Another snippet from Of Manors, Mirrors, and Magic!!

Wilha turns her nose up at him and traces her eyes across the three remaining contestants. “Why are you picking on me?”

Keir stretches his long legs out and rests his feet on the coffee table, one ankle crossed over the other. Wilha elects not to mention the plate he nearly knocks to the floor. “Picking on you?” he says, his voice a mockery of concern. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Wilha decides she doesn’t like Keir, not one bit. And she resents the fact that her skin tingles on the side of her body closest to him. “What do you think you’re doing, then?”

“Just scoping out the competition.”

Wilha laughs, a harsh sounds that carries no joy. Her chin tilts away from him, and she resolves to ignore him.

[notthiscoolkid]

Im drawing rn characters from my book and Flora looks kinda like book Yennefer at this sketch. Maybe if hair was more curly and black. But still. I will blame it on fact that they are both witches and hot as fuck.

The ref pic is from band The Amazing Devil. Awesome band btw, my current obsession to listen over and over and over. I want to draw Jaskier one day also from band pic cuz Joey Batey has so much Jaskier energy (pff just wondering why)

Anygays, wish me luck in drawing guys! It is war, between me and my artblock🤺

Update: i finished and here is final art.

[imbadatparking]

origin of something evil; 

The pale blue wall holds his attention at a sharp standpoint, the same smooth sight that’s been there since before he was born. The ceiling fan flickers, wavering shadows playing out a vision of his parents dancing and smearing azure paint across each other’s skin. Rolling brushes and Simon and Garfunkel and plastic on furniture, laughter ringing out. A time he doesn’t remember but aches for anyway. 

The pale blue wall holds his attention at a sharp standpoint, the same smooth sight that’s been there since before he was born. The ceiling fan flickers, wavering shadows playing out a vision of his parents dancing and smearing azure paint across each other’s skin. Rolling brushes and Simon and Garfunkel and plastic on furniture, laughter ringing out. A time he doesn’t remember but aches for anyway. 

Soccer trophies line the shelves next to school awards and a family photo. Him, Mother, Father, in their best clothing tastefully arranged on their stairs. They are all smiling, but before, what's unseeable, is that they were all arguing loud enough for the photographer to hear behind the closed door kitchen. If one squints, the premature gray hairs in Mother's hair, the hard lines of Father, and the tightness around Adam’s eyes becomes visible. Adam hates the picture.

The decorations have been standing, unchanging since forever. Besides the addition of his achievements, what Father says is the only thing worth showing off, it is a stranger’s room. Its inhabitant does not belong in it like it does not belong in the house.

He’s never considered changing it, but if he did, he'd make it less… blue. Father doesn’t like the idea. Father, I hate blue; Harhar, since when? ‘Sides, it’s a great color, an honorable color, a real man’s color. 

He’d choose purple, maybe. A dark purple. Royal or plum or hippo or —

The color of a fresh bruise. 

The darkening shade around Jackson’s eye after his fist landed in it, that smudgy sludge green, brackish mess, a bloom of violet crimson.

The sound had been sickening, a whistle of air and then skin against skin. Exhilarating adrenaline coursing through his arm as he pulled back and released before he even realized he lost control. The headspace of that awful rush of power that comes from having of a weaker thing at your mercy.

It was all kind of a blur. 

A slurred word, one too many jeered comments. A slam against the locker, hands curled into the school’s uniform collar, tight around the tie. One yank and he could’ve choked him. 

Close enough to hear his hitched breath, the soft flutter of his eyelashes. 

One hit, two hits, the spurt of vibrant blood from a crooked nose, a shouted curse, and frantic hands pulled him back. 

Only one voice registered in that panicked silence: Don’t — stop, Adam, stop. It’s not worth it, it’s not — 

More hands, more blood, more voices. White-hot anger. 

Then: Mr. Adam! Mr. Jackson! Both of you in my office. Now. Voice stern like his father. 

An acute walk of shame, every pair of eyes on him knowing what happened, waiting for the moment the hallways cleared so they could go back to spilling gossip. In the gray locker, a flicker of his reflection: narrowed, pinpoint eyes, dilated hazel to black, dark eyebrows drawn, mouth tight, a near-mirror image of Father on his worst days. All traces of Mother gone, only the cruelty of anger arranging an even crueler face.

In Jackson’s face, he saw intimate familiarity; bloody and bruised by the hands of a man too broken to love. 

When he got home, sullen silence from Mother emptying the car, reminiscent of the aftermath of stone-cold nights with too much wine and a heavy lifted arm, he didn’t dare let out a breath out of line.

Father had been rightfully pissed, but the straight of his back recalled something like pride. 

Adam spent years scouring over textbooks and bibles and handbooks, looking for a how-to on How To Be The Perfect Son, and the one time, the second time, the third time he gets into a fight, full pot of water filled with boiling rage spilling over and over and over, Father’s expression is the least concealed arrangement of pride he’s ever seen. 

Know what you did was no good, and there’re consequences to your damn actions —  spittle flying and bruises forming and bit-back groans — but if my son knows one thin’, it's howta swing one like a real man. 

I learned it from you, Dad.

The seed of rot has been planted, the roots have grown and knotted together in the dirt of his soul. Like the Apricot trees out on the lawn, blackening from the inside with a bitter swing to the ground and an unsalvageable likeness. A taste of him is already too much before he is spat out into the trash with the lid sealed shut.

It’s too late for him; one bad tree and now the entire grove is poisoned, generations of peeling bark and falling , no matter how often they prayed for redemption. Someone should uproot these trees and destroy them; someone should plow over it until it is nothing but pure again. But it’s stood here far too long thriving in its own ugly and no one has the tools to do it. It will continue to fester, diseased and alive, spreading fruitlessly to whoever dares eat what their branches bear.

Adam’s sins are intrinsic; internal; melded into the metal of his bone and sparked by his father’s hands, crafted into the perfect weapon. 

The blue laughs at him, having known this for years.

In the corner, an oil spill seeps from the creases, running down his wall and swallowing him in a black hole of darkness. The devil lives in these walls and he is staining the foundations. 

Maybe the only way to get rid of it is by praying, to baptize it free of the ever-present evil, and emerge blissfully clean. Wash his hands, rinse the blood off his knuckles, scrub these walls, and find his own.

He presses his hands together in that familiar fold, fingers laced, closing his eyes softly. Grounding, grounding.

Dear God. 

Don’t let me be him, don’t let me be him, don’t let me be him —

> @nosebleedclub prompt xxiv. > from an excerpt of my tentative book, Apricot Seeds > ask to be tagged

[nata-mata]

@ CA9 !!! SOLD OUT 🎉

Thank you so much!!!

And I got this cute fanart!! Aahhhhhhhh OMG 🤲✨✨

Idk is she gonna see this here, but I'm so happy that I can't describe about it. Thank you so so muchhh✨✨✨

[aghostahhh]

Guys since we're talking about ao3, I have a book that im writing and have like 5 chapters so far but many more planned. Should I post it on ao3? Would anyone read it?

[kakashikxge]

I have some very exciting news! As most of you know, I created a kakasaku fanfiction where kakashi worked as a drug lord.

I took the outline for that fanfiction and turned it into a real book!

I’ve been working on this for awhile now, and I hope y’all love the new story as much as you liked the fanfiction. The book is VERY different from the kakasaku story, although there are still parallels.

[arielgalloway]

Hiria Dunning (@hiriadunning.bsky.social) asked this question on bluesky today and I’m having so much fun reading the answers I wanted to try it here as well! Mine: Baldur’s Gate 3—the second act, specifically, Forgotten Realms in general, Wolfwalkers, The Little Mermaid, Alan Moore’s Voice of the Fire, Slavic folklore, Slovenian primeval forests, The Wizard of Oz, folk horror in general, Faun Fables, Jesca Hoop’s Hunting My Dress, Lorena McKennitt, The Decemberists’ Hazards of Love