Freya Piper

Creative writer, Content creator & Storytelling enthusiast.

Freya is a Cornish born, BA (Hons) Creative Writing graduate from Arts University Bournemouth, with a longstanding passion for the craft.Specialising in editing and novel writing within speculative fiction, Freya explores genres of high and dark fantasy with elements of horror, as well as themes such as grief, honour and found family. A love for Dungeons & Dungeons has led Freya to have experience in working with homebrewing TTRPG's and worldbuilding.Running her own brand as an author, Freya also has experience in website and Instagram content creation, copywriting, and marketing, further aided by her research for her dissertation on cosy fantasy.

Today Is The Day
A prose poem on faeries and ritual, written for my nature photography inspired Community Project and performed at the Bournemouth Writing Festival in 2025

Cosy Fantasy: How covid-19 and resulting social and cultural factors influenced this new genre’s rise to popularity
Introductory extract from my Investigative Study, researching and examining the emerging genre of Cosy Fantasy

Marred By Ink
A beginning extract of my gaslamp dark fantasy novel-in-progress

Today Is The Day

Golden light dapples the ground, cutting through the gaps in the pines where it can. The needles are softened beneath my toes, prickly and fine, as I dance through the woad. Bright yellow they glow, alighting my skin, which shudders with energy deeply within. It is stuck, rooted inside me as I swirl and twist, screeching and whooping alongside the friends I will miss. Twigs scratch my flesh, catch the chitin of my wings, while nettles burn my ankles in our procession of kings. The singing is off-kilter, the bells chime discordant, and my throat aches from laughing behind a regent most important.Her court is here with us, leading the way, our snaking collection making a strange display. A hulking jaguar with passionfruit spots, a diaphanous elf strolling alongside; a clockwork jester that can do nothing but grin, and our glittering queen acting as guide. Her antennae reach the canopy, her carmine armoured skin gleams, as her butterfly wings surround her in orange, gold and green. I’ve never been honoured to see her face but some say she does not have eyes, instead using the ocellar markings on her wings to blink and discern all lies.“Today is the day,” She tells me as we near the pavilion of branches, her voice a hiss and a lullaby in one, growing deeper as she advances.“I take your hand for today is the Solstice, today is for our Summer Rites,” and her talons gently clasp my hand as the energy inside me spikes.The wooden steps are short but the journey seems long, as my friends linger behind and break into song. They bring out panpipes and strings strung with sinew, stamp their feet and howl when my nostrils breathe in mildew. It is rotting, this pavilion, from the inside out, mould feasting on fairies, blood and bones of the devout. The music continues to grow when inside we find a satyr waiting, with pale furred legs and curling horns covered in jade plating. Laid out before him is a bed of asphodel, a perfect outline for my frame, one that I have dreamed of and one I will gladly claim.Silken against my bleeding skin, the petals are softer than the pine, bright white against the decay as my queen bids me to recline. The tender satyr strokes my face and murmurs soothing words, as the song reaches a crescendo and sunlight catches a dagger’s curves. Today is the day I will mean something, today is the day I matter, for today is the day when the energy will disperse and in its absence I will shatter. But for the friends that I love, my vibrant queen that I admire, I am giddy to become Sacrifice and stoke our court’s fire.Up goes the blade, the song going silent, I giggle with anticipation for the coming, glorious violence. My friends gnash their teeth, the court tenses to pounce and down comes the blade as I whisper:‘I will be worth every ounce.’



༺ ᭡࿔ ༻ ༺ ᭡࿔ ༻Find out more about this community project on my Instagram: freya_pip_writesOr for the direct post:

• Community Project Instagram Post

COSY FANTASY: How covid-19 and resulting social and cultural factors influenced this new genre’s rise to popularity

Cosy fantasy is a new sub-genre of fantasy that so far has seen little formal research into its definition and origins, despite a boom in popularity in recent years and attention from well-known booksellers and publishing houses, such as Waterstones and Pan Macmillan. This investigative study will seek to rectify that, aiming to explore what cosy fantasy is and the component traits required for a book to be classified as such; and cross referencing these to examine why cosy fantasy has risen in prominence and what major social and cultural factors have influenced this new-found popularity.Explaining and defining cosy fantasy will be the first point of order, utilising and referencing the novel Legends & Lattes (Baldree, 2022), before moving on to the Covid-19 pandemic as the root cause of its rise in popularity. This section will examine resultant lockdowns, the state of mental health during these as well as methods of coping. Focusing on the coping mechanisms of reading and escapism, this study will use the research of Boucher et al. (2024) into Reading Habits in the Covid-19 Pandemic as well as referencing Tuan’s (1998) Escapism. The domino effect of Covid-19 will lead into an exploration in the coinciding escapist rise of nostalgia, aesthetic & cottagecore, all being traits that influence the themes and content of cosy fantasy novels, and again, linking back to Legends & Lattes (Baldree, 2022) as a prime example. Finally, this study will tie in the rise of internet use during and since the pandemic, with a focus on primarily visual social media platforms such as Tiktok, including its prominent internal niche of Booktok and its surrounding hashtags, content creators and videos. Marketing and publishing research will also be touched upon to enhance explanations of the social and cultural factors for cosy fantasy’s rise in popularity, but will not be a focus due to this essay’s wordcount and the large scale of inquiry needed to do it justice.Legends & Lattes (Baldree, 2022) will continue to be used throughout this investigative study as an example of cosy fantasy, a method to demonstrate the diagnostic traits, and evidence the effects of the social and cultural factors to be explored. This novel was chosen specifically as it is suggested to be the originator of the cosy fantasy subgenre and a clear example for what this essay means to demonstrate, exemplifying the themes of cosy fantasy, cottagecore and the social and cultural effects mentioned above.Before coming to a conclusion on the reasons for cosy fantasy’s rise in popularity, this investigative study will examine the potential factors through a mix of qualitative and quantitative research, including statistical data, literary analysis and case study.



༺ ᭡࿔ ༻ ༺ ᭡࿔ ༻Read the rest here:

• F.Piper - Cosy Fantasy: How covid-19 and resulting social and cultural factors influenced this new genre’s rise to popularity

Marred By Ink

TW: SwearingBlack liquid drips from the corner edge of the wooden table, burnt and scored from ringed bases of bunsen burners and long, blunt tongs. With pale fingers peeking out from dull silver gauntlets, Esme rubs it between her forefinger and thumb, turning her face away to avoid inhaling a breathful of the acrid and smoky carbon smell that coats every inch of your sinuses. It’s a glistening viscous type as always; oily but sticky as it stretches between her fingers like wet dough. It’s smeared across the wood as if something had skimmed too close past the table and she glances upwards, short wavy blonde hair brushing her broad shoulders.There’s nothing there but arched wooden ceiling and hanging unlit oil lamps but it never hurts to check. Better that she spots it first, before its oil drips down the back of her neck, warm and thick enough to stain her skin and clothes with a burning irritation, and it jumps down onto her back with claws unsheathed. The building doesn't help in that respect. Light filtering through the single barred window by the iron spiral stairs leaves dim shadows at every corner, a myriad of hiding spots for creatures that are black as pitch.Esme wipes the oil from her fingers before it begins to aggravate her skin with a rag, tucking it back into her trouser pocket for later, and digs the bladed point of her double-ended spear into the floorboards to help her stand. The workroom she’s in is large and spacious and she can imagine the neat organisation that would have usually suffused it. Glass fronted cabinets and shelves would have lined the wall with small vials, beakers and labelled tubs of chemicals and metallic powders inside, alongside protective gloves, goggles and measuring spoons. The tables would have been laid out in clear rows, clean of contaminants and ready to test on. That was Experiment VII’s purpose after all.Now though, the building is empty of its resident alchemists and their excited chatter. The gutted cabinet doors are shattered and hanging on their hinges, tables shoved haphazardly onto their sides against the walls to make an easier path down the centre. All of them have slick black handprints on them, the outlines skewed as the liquid has run down to pool on the floorboards.Picking her steps carefully to avoid crunching the glass beneath her metal toed boots, she passes closer to the other tables on her way to the spiral stairs. She holds a hand out, comparing it to one upon the upended table. The handprint is strange in proportion; the palm and fingers of it resemble a toddler’s, but the thin and spindly claws that extend from them are anything but, each the length of Esme's own fingers.On its own, the length of the claws don’t frighten her, though they do make her cringe knowing what’s coming. It’s never pleasant dealing with one that enjoys leaving paper cut slices in its wake. What does concern her though is the number. And the fact that multiple handprints are on every single one of these heavy oak tables, all helping to make a concerted effort to heave them onto their sides.“Fuck’s sake,” Esme mutters, sighing and climbing back down the spiral stairs.

Hi, I'm Freya Piper

I've been a writer for as long as I can remember. As an avid fantasy reader and daydreamer as a child, I would take my own stapled together stories into show & tell. Throughout my GCSE's and A-Levels, I continued to love any chance I got to tell stories through drama, art, fashion & costume, and creative writing.I grew up in quiet and striking Cornwall, with swathes of woodland, moorland, coastlines and inspiration on my doorstep. I went to university in Bournemouth, another picturesque place full of inspiration and the retirement destination of J.R.R.Tolkien.

There, I studied BA Costume at first before switching to BA Creative Writing, to finally take my craft and my creativity seriously.
(which turned out to be the best and most gratifying decision I ever made!)Alongside my studies and student union positions, I've continued to further my craft knowledge and confidence by attending writing summits, performing at the Bournemouth Writing Festival, and improving my professional brand by setting up my own author's social media presence, website and newsletter.

In my free time, I'm a typical writer. I spend most of it reading or drawing, amusing my cats so they don't march all over my keyboard, playing and running Dungeons & Dragons games, and wandering in the mossy woods for the sheer beauty and peace of it.My identity and writing is further shaped by the fact that I am queer and neurodivergent.
These aspects are central to the woman I have grown to be, so I take pride in it and incorporate this diversity and acceptance as much as I can into my work.

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