#hail fandom

[briaberri]

“There is no single face in nature, because every eye that looks upon it, sees it from its own angle. So every man’s spice-box seasons his own food.”

— Zora Neale Hurston

Fantasy has always been on of my favorite genres -- the expansive, unlimited possibilities, the wealth real world seeds to inspire magic, the infinite colors of scale, scope, and scene. Literally, playground for dreamy, wandering imaginations.

Even so, I had to learn to freely embrace what I really 'saw' when I was read stories, what my own mind envisioned, self-immersing in the wonderscape that books really just serve to inspire. The hesitancy came from the countless messages and corrections, questions, and criticisms I heard received about where, how, and why my imagination was should unleash because I didn't look much like the usual protagonists.

The irony being obvious -- that schema is pure point opposite the genre.

The world of romantafantasy is so gloriously vast now. No limits on references, representations, and gods blessed published and fanfic writers. Somewhere along the quest I landed in that garden soft bed of luxury, and it was a whole wrap. All the inspirations living rent free in my mind while reading anything that wasn't 'coded' for audiences who were not European, thin, hetero -- well, they're quite beautiful in flight.

We make the space for our natures, and relish in their worlds, freely. Dreamers need not permission, because Feyre Darling, you bow to nothing and no one but your crown.

A minor manifesto I guess @>- ^_^ <3

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

pls pls heard me out...FIDDLESTAN! <3

ok, i got this ask ten days ago, and I've been thinking about it ever since. Because I got two other asks asking for fiddauthor, and I dON'T KNOW HOW TO LET THEM DOWN LIGHTLY BECAUSE I'M A FIDDLESTAN BITCH THROUGH AND THROUGH 😭😭😭😭 I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!

Don't get me wrong, fiddauthor is great and makes sense and everything. But listen. Billford and fiddauthor are multidimensional ships, they are good! But FIDDLESTAN!?!? that shit is the WHAT-THE-HECK-A-HEDRON!!!!!!! Even though it's literally 100% speculation, the implications are FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!!!!! I jumped between three ships so far during this gravity falls thing, each time thinking one is better than the other. I've decided that FIDDLESTAN IS KING!!!!!! I'm sorry. I could rant about them forever. I've been listening to nothing but extended versions of disco music for the past week. (YES THEY HAD A CRAZY ROMANTIC FLING IN VEGAS NO I WILL NOT ELABORATE!!!! (yes i will. I will elaborate at some point. it will be like ten pages or text. or I will draw it. idk.))

Here is a sketchbook doodle from like a week ago. I'm gonna post another fiddlestan thing in a few moments, but my style changes like I'm a completely different artist every week without warning, so I'm gonna leave this by itself!

He comes into YOUR house, he steals YOUR identity, and he fucks YOUR research partner!!! Fuck you!!!!!!!!!!

[kyalbrownart]

*Flashing images warning*

Something's coming...

...or not, we'll see lol. Felt like posting a gif because my previous video got lost in the void lol. I don't know why videos just don't seem to be seen as much. Is there a reason? Genuinely curious.

A short lil 11 second animation here

#cw flashing #flashing #flashing cw

[gracepureautumn]

“What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice.”

“I know... but I did it.”

More will be added to this illustration, keep an eye out for it 🎨

[alexsorsis]

Me when knee surgery is tomorrow

[sncwonthebeach]

I SPIT OUT MY FUCKING DOCTOR PEPPER 😭

[mo-mode]

Chiron: Welcome to Camp Half-Blood! Home to demigods of—

Me: Yeah yeah, which demigods can see the shrimp colors?

Chiron: Excuse me?

Me: You heard me. Who’s got the shrimp colors?

Chiron: Well, ah…Iris is the goddess of the rainbow, and Poseidon is god of the sea, but I don’t think—

Me: Give me the shrimp colors, horse man.

[marlinspirkhall]

Yes there are spacefaring microorganisms which eat the sun in this book, but you know what else there is? Voluntary auto-cannibalism.

[alitteraladhdmess]

sometimes

hearing other people talk

is overstimulating

it’s ok to take a break

[callmelittlesanshine]

Everyone that doesn’t know the band always acts like they’re some dangerous weird cult when these pictures pretty much sum up what ghost is:

If the ministry was real I’d join without hesitation btw

[rafora]

of course you're aroace, your favorite book is project hail mary

[roxanneslosteyes]

ALL HAIL THE HOON MAN PLUSHIE!

[mintsformich]

Perhaps Daryl may have found Rick...eventually 😏

BUT Rick never would have left the CRM with Daryl.

She did it.

The impossible.

Her.

She brought Rick back both physically and mentally.

That's why she's queen.

Everyone say, "thank you Mrs. Grimes."

Long live the 👑

[thatonegeekygirl]

hey, you there! fellow watcherina!

reblog this if you love ryan, steven and shane, and their art. if you appreciate all the effort and care they've put into their creations over the years. if you are rooting for them. if you see them for the human beings they are. if you remain a fan, and will continue to support watcher!

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard

*COD medieval au - Simon Riley x reader

cw: arranged marriage, dark themes, attempted sa & non-graphic sa but pls *read at your own discretion*, gore/violence, sexual themes, etc.

word count: 1.1k

“Again.”

You can’t help but to flinch at the sound of swords being drawn; it rings in your ears, echos in the recesses of your brain. The piercing, metallic clangs resound throughout the room-

How long had you been here, anyway? Judging from the sunlight that peers through the high transom windows, its golden rays giving the great hall an ethereal sort of glow, it must be nearing time for dinner-

“I’ve seen enough, thank you.”

With a dismissive wave, you rise from the bronze throne and turn on your heel, eyes focused straight ahead, fixated on the intricate carvings in the doors, your escape just within reach-

“Your Grace..”

General Leon’s voice is laced with exasperation and warning, and your long history with him is the only reason you halt, your handmaid nearly bumping into you as you turn again- the young woman struggling to rearrange the ridiculous train on your gown as the man speaks,

“You cannot continue on without a Queen’s Guard- His Grace demands the position be filled.”

Oh, of course. How thoughtful of your kind husband. The husband who only sees you when the physicians deem you fertile enough to produce an heir. The husband who you’re not even sure could pick your face in a crowd because he only ever fucks you from behind, your face pushed down into the animal furs beneath you.

The husband who killed your last guard, gods rest his soul.

Yes, I’m sure he’s very concerned for my safety..

You give a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you feel the placating smile tug at your lips; the one you’re so, so good at. The practiced smile that puts everyone in the room at ease, the one you’ve perfected in your relatively short existence of being groomed for this very life.

The life everyone dreams of, a life of royalty, of the highest privilege and power- how little they truly know.

“Of course, please, let us meet the next one then.”

Taking your place upon the throne once again, you sit properly, prim and demure, just like you were taught. The very picture of perfection in your emerald colored silks, not a single hair out of place-

Yet, inside, you were wasting away, your thoughts boiling and raging, your anger smoldering just under the surface, like a vein of coal in the earth that’s been lit aflame- the embers never dying, but never able to turn into the inferno they so wishe to be.

You don’t bother to spare your gaze when the doors open with a low groan, the quiet footfalls that enter the space only really given away by the shifting of chainmail and armor.

They’re confident strides, you notice- long and steady, and without even seeing him yet, you can feel the energy shift around you, his presence seeming to fill every available void,

“Ser Simon Riley, Your Grace.”

With one look, you’re utterly struck by the imposing man walking towards you- shoulders and hips swaying with each deliberate step, left hand resting lazily on the hilt of his long-sword.

His armor plates are dark, obsidian in hue, so different from the usual flashy silver you see everywhere you look. He is a looming shadow in front of you, somehow as wide as he is tall, if that were possible- and his eyes. The skin around them have been smudged with kohl, making the mottled amber of his irises look preternatural, his unmoving gaze entirely focused on you, even when he bows,

“Your Majesty.”

Your mind screams danger, much like it would if a fully grown wolf had just sauntered through the doors, looking for its next meal- and yet, for as much fear as he inspires, there’s something that draws you in- like a siren singing to sailors lost at sea.

Returning his gesture, you gently nod, holding his eyes until the General calls him back to assume a fighting stance; and even then, you swear you see his head tilt just so, just enough to flash you an arrogant look as the guard takes his place across from him. Ser Simon must easily stand a head and a half taller than the other man, you think, his figure even more impressive than it was before.

The men exchange nods before drawing swords, their dance beginning the same as all the others, assessing and calculating each other until the guard makes the first move-

The heavy whoosh of his blade is dodged with little effort, the giant wraith of a man moving far faster than any of you expected. He gracefully ducks under the other’s still outstretched arm, placing himself in the perfect position to swing his own sword towards his opponent's exposed neck- a maneuver surely meant to behead if this were anything other than a mock duel.

“Reset-”

“No.” You stand abruptly, stepping down from the throne much to your own surprise, “Ser Simon, what experience do you have as a Royal Guard?”

“Your Grace, this is-”

With a raised hand, you quiet the General, watching the mysterious knight sheath his sword once more, bowing again as he faces you,

“None, Your Majesty.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

“What experience do you have then?”

His head tilts to the side, and you watch the other guards tense when he takes a single step closer, those damned eyes gleaming down at you with a hunger you’ve never quite seen before,

“Battle, Your Grace. I’ve seen far more than most.”

This time, it’s you moving towards him, and when you step closer, the Kingsguard follows suit, though it seems nothing goes unnoticed by the towering specter.

“Well, Ser, I do not go into battle.. You might be better suited for my husband’s army, no?”

You watch the very corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, his gaze narrowing in amusement, and you’re positive you would see a devilish smile on his lips if he removed the helmet,

“I might.” He says flippantly, broad shoulders shrugging as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “But, I came here to serve you, My Queen.”

A deep and burning chill blooms in your core at his words and the resolute way he says them; it lights every nerve on fire, every cell and molecule, every atom in your being vibrating at a frequency you’ve never felt as the title rolls off his gilded tongue.

No, you’ve never met a man quite like this, and part of you questions if he truly is just a man at all- because no man has ever felt like this, no man has ever been able to pick you apart so quickly, make you feel bare with just his gaze alone.

He terrifies you as much as he excites you, and oh, how you’ve longed to feel something other than loathing, and boredom.

There is nothing practiced or placating about the smirk on your lips now as you nod toward your General, your handmaid once again adjusting the cumbersome fabric of your gown as you move forward-

“Well, you’ve gotten your wish, Ser Simon.” You coo as you breeze past him without a parting glance, “General Leon, make sure my guard is taken to his new quarters, will you?”

They fall into a sweeping bow as you exit, a quiet acknowledgement being the last thing you hear before the deep pulsing of your own heartbeat fills your ears.

What in the seven hells have I done..

[chapter 2 >>>]

[alexsorsis]

Tag time.