Kidnapping Death’s Daughter Art – Robin

Hey everyone! Meet the usually chilled (hard to remain calm when your twin has died and a crazed librarian is telling you to get him back you need to kidnap Death’s daughter), sensible and loyal Robin. The story slips between his own and Sophie’s, until it finds them both in danger in York.

The art is, of course, by the wonderful Shio and you can find more of her work here:

Just like before, this post is about the art, and so snush and shush I will. I hope you like him!



If you’re unsure of where this character calls home, he is from my urban fantasy Kidnapping Death’s Daughter. Please find more information here: Buk Talk

And here be a synopsis:

Ever since Robin’s brother died, every morning has risen with a new question, all of them echoing the grandest and most desperate: Why?
Until the day after Peter’s funeral, when a librarian with an odd sense of humour, and an even odder creature for a pet, reaches out to Robin and whispers an irresistible opportunity.
“Death has a daughter, steal her.”
The questions have changed. Could this be a bargaining tool against Death? What will he say when Peter is returned to him?

How do you kidnap Death’s daughter…

His cousin Caleb is intrigued and eager to join his adventure, and if the next morning rises with too many questions, now, at least, they have a clue to find the answers.
They leave for an ancient city by dusk.

In York, cathedral spires claw at the moon, gargoyles peer down on cobbled streets from wooden beams, and the creatures of Yr Oerfa feel their skin prickle as they sense the change war brings. Amongst them, hunted by beings more dangerous than two mortal boys, Death’s daughter is writing her own story, and it, too, begins with loss.

Kidnap her? First they need to find her.


Thank you for stopping by!

Arbie X


Quote #4 – Robin – Kidnapping Death’s Daughter



Hey everyone! Tomorrow is Robin’s picture day and so I wanted to post a quote with my boy out first! He’s one of the two lads that sets about to find Death’s daughter, it is he who is on the quest to bring his brother back from the dead. This snippet is as Robin steps out on the streets of York.

This quote doesn’t describe York so I’m posting two incredible pictures I’ve found of York streets so that if you haven’t seen it you can now. I did not take these photographs. I am a photograph thief, although I am seriously trying to work out who to credit. I found these on pinterest.

I believe this is by Matt Cornock.
I think it’s from a blog called yetanotherbloomingblog although the blog is private so I don’t know how it ended up on Pinterest. I don’t know the first thing about pinterest other than I had to make an account to see these. Great, now I’m rambling in captions. Shhhh.


I hope you enjoyed the quote and I look forward to sharing Shio’s portrait of Robin tomorrow! X

P.S If the takers of these photos somehow stumble upon here please don’t hex me, either let me know how to credit correctly or tell me to take them down! I’m easy! Not that kind of….again, shhhh.



Today I’m doing this thing where I love who I am

because the other side of the coin is hating that same self

that wouldn’t pay to become something

“nice to look at when you come home”


You see I’m sick of writing poems about how you broke me

So here’s me showing you how I put myself back together


I took the same mirror I’ve been looking into

watching my self-esteem drown

said Bloody Mary three times

and stared into the eyes of a woman I’ve been taught to fear


Her eyes were dark blue

and when she looked back at me

I felt something ignite


I smashed the glass for a chance at seven years bad luck

so that when fate might arrive at my door

my lips would turn up

and when she said you’ve been waiting for me

I’d laugh, say yes, and lay down the conditions of a new contract


One where how I look is gold

meaning it’s worthless

meaning in the end it equates to nothing

but one thing

that my eyes will be that of a childhood ghost

staring back at any man that sees me as prey


My body is fire

the tears I cried weren’t enough to put me out

The shame you made me feel just for existing in this form

wasn’t enough to turn me to ash


When I dance I move like the flames that entranced you on a dark night

and I am the light that beckoned you forward

My heart still burns with the same heat

despite the cold you let in when I opened the door

and bade you enter


This is not the story of me rising

like the phoenix

on a new day

This is the tale

of a woman

that never let herself die



Hey everyone!

I’m using the word chance as a word prompt today. It’s one that I gave a friend to try and then we thought it would be fun for me to try too! This is what I came up with and I hope you like it.

Thanks for reading!



Under an unknown sky I waited

to press my body against yours

beneath the moonlight you claim to adore


Watching for your eyes to meet mine

and see all of me

not afraid to be taken in your arms

because mine will push you down with more ferocity

than you thought me capable


You’ll tell me you didn’t think sex could be like that

that you could be held like that

kissed like that

or that a woman could love like that


I’d feel like I’m the one your mother warned you about

not because I would break your heart

but that I would capture it in a vice like grip

and I’d be the girl to say I do


I’d remember what it was to sleep at night

to rest my eyes without need to dream

because you would be my tomorrow


While in another place you’d take me for granted

forgetting that one day I’ll wake

and how secrets fear the dark


You thought to tame me was to have me say I love you

that those words would mean all sins forgiven

but you don’t fuck like that

kiss like that

hold like that

or love like that

when you’ve been brought to your knees, unwilling


You’ll learn you cannot tame a storm

or shield your eyes from the fire

when its lightning crashes down in front of you


When its rain pours down outside your window

and the same moon shines shadows into your night

a silhouette in its light

and a memory of my body moving upon yours

will be all that’s left

because even in our midnight

you never learned

what it meant

to love a woman like that



Hey everyone!

Here is my response to The Daily Post’s prompt Tame. I wanted to do something for this one but I fell asleep and so put something together a little late. But in some places it’s still the right day! Eheheheh. This one might be a little rough around the edges but by George it’s something and better than me thumb twiddling.

Thank you for reading! I’m going to go back to bed now and, uh, most likely twiddle my thumbs! Night night!


“I believe in ghosts,” I said

“I enjoy how they fill me with dread.”

“Ghosts,” you laughed,

“bored memories of a broken past.”


“Not mine,” I state, finger lifted in the air,

“I mean spirits rising, swaying through a misty tear.”

“Ah,” you sigh, “you believe this world before the next,

is ours as no more than a test?”


“A spectral test!” I cry

“Oh, but should I die,

my answers will be all too dim,

a fear of what lacks deep within,

when truth revealed, weightless on a dusty scale,

a feather sinking ever lower, causing yawning angels pale


and tried and weak and all but meek,

fingers pat on heaven’s gate

ba dum ba dum

a stolen sound from final breaths

ba dum ba dum

my final beats played on holy drum

ba dum ba –


– but, oh! A boring life,

of lack of sin

How I but laugh and I do grin,

while gates turn in

my feet brought down on marble floors,

as I venture through Lord’s –”


“You lie!”

your voice is cold and raw,

all kinship vanished from before


A sigh, a laugh, a sneer, a jeer,

as footsteps gather ever near

How does this darkness,

all consume

this sudden confusion

clouding room

once known, once mine,

or so I thought, in other time


I pause, I wait, in silence seek

a calmer mind, until I find

your breath soon whisper beside my ear,

your form silhouette of ancient fear,

“You dare deceive of your life crimes,

as death knell marks your final chimes?”


At this I fall before your feet,

a demon I pray never meet

“Oh cruel decider of my fate,

I could not dream at heaven’s gate,

I did once stand,

my toes dipped in blessed sand,

fingertips in reach of forgiving hand.


Could not you reach and grasp,

as I do for forgotten past,

a sinner yes, believer no,

never guided down which path to go.


If god forgives as I have heard,

then surely redemption I deserve

as by a trickster I was lured!”


You stand before my destined door,

I kneel and tremble as afore

A hand does grasp as I did beg,

yet upon unholy pastures I soon tread.”



Hey everyone!

This is my response to The Daily Post’s prompt Believe. It’s weird where a starting line can go, ain’t it? I don’t know what I intended to do with this when I first wrote down “I believe in ghosts” but here we are iiiinnn hellllll! Damnatttiiiooonnn! Ahahah. That’s right! If I’m going I’m dragging you all with me. Sorry, not sorry, and all that. How else am I supposed to sit in a corner creepily while there’s a party going on?

Anyway, I hope this was alright and that someone enjoyed it. You, yes, you there! You enjoyed it right? Right?!

Okay, time to wrap this up. You know how easily I can go on for a ten page ramble.

Thanks for reading!



When I count my windows and doors

locked locked

is it with the fashionably OCD?

Do I show that the cuts on my fingers and hands

are small marks of an illness that’s been killing me…

Or that I like my lipstick to match my handbag, just right,


I’m so OCD

Me too!

I should cry

I, too, am so OCD

When I try to walk up the stairs

I turn back

I must

locked locked

Stave off that panic attack





Go back, check again, go back, check again, check again,

check again, check again, check a fucking ‘gain

Are you bleeding yet?

Have you felt the rise of frustration,

of “please make this stop”

that will help you remember,

you must not forget

in bed is where the other threats rest

The mind doesn’t tick,

doesn’t tock,

with pleasantries of day,

but with whispers I can’t keep away.

“Here, let me show you,

the images you dare no others see.”

In slithers the misery

that makes me so OCD!

The bones of my animals,

their flesh rotten raw,

all because I fucked up locking a door

A murderer’s victim, is fuel for the mind,

to poison eyes, lids closed, until another in kind

is brought to the fore

A child laid down

and oh, how she weeps

Don’t show me

Don’t tell me

I beg,

it just keeps coming back

when I try to






I dream

a lonesome ghost

whose compulsions have

been haunting me

Since I was…

The child I see weep?

Chunks from my mouth

my own teeth have torn free

and grated on wool

nails grated on ground until




I wake




And here I have found,

hands tear at skin with no fight left within

Only the laughter

The triumph

It won

I lost

You see, I understand, the cost

how you turn on yourself

when things aren’t as should be

what it is to be, just so fashionably OCD


Hey friends!

Here be lurking my response to The Daily Press daily prompt (oooh that’s a mouthful): Fashionable. I was going to write a blog post about mental health but instead this happened. Sorry about that, will clean up the mess on the way out! Mental health has been an upwards (sometimes stumbling downwards) battle for a while and although I didn’t really scrape the surface of what this is like to live with I hope it at least pulls the curtain back a little bit. It ended up being pretty blunt and in terms of poetry I know it falls short, but in spoken word it might work a bit better. I might give it a go. But you know I’m lazy … lead an incredibly busy life as a super villain herding ferrets, so I probably won’t.

Would you believe one of the most agonizing things about this entire bit of writing was whether or not to put an exclamation mark at the end. I’m still not sure. Sod it.

Thanks for reading!



I deny the notion,

no, the idea,



that your heart was ever mine to break.

I’ll put it simply, but not kindly.

I deny your touch,

I deny the push of your lips against mine

and the feel of your hands on my hips.

I deny the utterance of the words “I love…”


you’ll feel your lies jilted by my fingertips,

the way you stilled my cries.

Hush hush

“your sorrow is not for today”

but there never came a tomorrow.

Here’s the catch,

the key I hold to the lock,

you didn’t see.

It’s in my hand,

it’s forming these letters to sculpt these words

and create this poetry.

In short, I’ll put it simply, but again, not kindly.

I’m a writer, bitch,

you can’t hush me.



Hey everyone!

Here is my response to the word prompt Deny over at The Daily Post. I almost didn’t post it, but if I want to use this blog to get writing down and out I can’t be fussing over things not being just as I like them. Some things need to be on and of the moment and if I look back at them and cringe then meh, so be it. I never tried to fool anyone into thinking I was perfect. I am perfect though…look into my eyes…peeerrrrfeeecc….no? Damnit! I knew I should have stayed in magician school!

I’ve seen Grabbety Covens’ response to this (which is great) and I’m hoping to see some more!