#look it's a fantasy story anyway

[verkja]

Figuwhump Day 19

[ID: A pencil drawing. A dark-haired woman sits slumped back against a stone wall. Her eyes are closed; her hair falls over her face. One hand rests in her lap, holding a horsehair bow; the other rests on a large stringed instrument with a box-shaped body which lies on the floor. End ID.]

Alright, another past-due one done. It's Ide again, dozing in a hallway; hopefully she was not on her way to a performance. I realise all the pictures of her so far have focussed on illness or exhaustion - while she is often tired or unwell, that isn't actually the core of the whump she experiences in the (unwritten) story! But I suppose it's harder to depict emotional whump visually. :)

@figuwhump

[rendevok]

Act II ~ The Challenge

A tapestry for chapter 2 of Let No One Sleep by @azalawa-scroggs on ao3

[ravenkings]

i think i can say this now without incurring the wrath of his stans, but i have to say i deeply, deeply resent how neil gaiman, for years, has insinuated himself into like every corner of the fantasy genre so that any newish edition of any mildly influential work of fantasy fiction written since like 1920 will most likely have a blurb or a forward or some evidence of his greasy fingerprints all over it

[silentwalrus1]

the Benevolent Dictator/Utopian Fascism Universal Fix-It is a super popular fantasy all over, not just on ao3, but it’s in fanfiction that i’ve most commonly encountered the rather hilarious variety which

A) does not seem to realize it’s building a dictatorial fascist state as their glorious utopia

B) nonetheless expends near-constant screentime to trying to convince specifically the audience that no no, here’s why THIS authoritarianism is good really!

which is not a difficult contradiction to parse, given overall fandom desires. Of course you want your blorbo to live in a world that caters to them, and of COURSE any character that has hurt your blorbo SHOULD suffer state-sanctioned torture and capital punishment. In this essay, i will demonstrate that thus there is no need for fic authors to build out all these fantasy monarchies and galactic empires with all their tiresome complex social problems, they just need to make their fic a modern coffeeshop au set in Saudi Arabia -

[spid3r-trans]

so I have an au idea:

punkflower tangled au

a/n: had to work out some details w this one sorry it took longer! i really couldn’t get my head wrapped around like a fantasy setting for this so it’s kind of different. i hope it’s ok!

~

Miles is different from the others. He knows that. He’s an anomaly— that’s what he’s been told for as long as he can remember. He knows that he has to stay here, in this place, because if he doesn’t the entire thread of the universe could start to unravel.

People would die. So he stays put.

Hobie is different from the others. He’s more stubborn, more curious, and far less likely to follow orders. So when he hears a rumor about a boy in a tower, well, it’s only second nature to want to find out the truth for himself.

The gravity-defying, sleek structure that sits in the center of Nueva York is a mystery to most onlookers. Rumors of twisting elevators, endless hallways, and secret rooms pass in hushed whispers between lips — and Hobie knows they’re all true.

He’s sneaking through those very halls now, sticking to the shadows, keeping his head down. Being here is supposed to be a privilege, an honor, a tribute to his abilities. It’s all bullshit. He just needs to prove it.

In the outside world, talks about what they really do at the facility are common. Speculations, accusations, doubts — Hobie often spearheads such conversations himself. There’s something undeniably suspicious about conducting and preserving the events of the entire multiverse based on the theories of one man.

Hobie was never meant to overhear the high-spirited A.I. talking to the leader of the operation. He was never meant to hack into the security archives and pinpoint the exact location they spoke of— and he most certainly was never supposed to make his way there. Still, the heavy echo of his boots reverberates as he makes his way down the empty hall.

Deep within the confines of the building that houses the society, Hobie comes to a vast, empty room. Automatic lights click on when he enters, making him squint at the sight before him. A strange metallic structure juts abruptly from the floor, rising high into the air and doming at the top.

It’s a tower.

Of all the outlandish rumors he heard, Hobie had hoped this one was a myth.

—

Fuck. His head hurts. Hobie slowly regains consciousness, starting to move his hand to feel what must be a massive lump forming on his forehead — only to realize that he can’t. He’s tied to a chair and his web-shooters are gone.

Panic doesn’t have a chance to set in before his spider sense — which has decided to work now — goes off, and a figure emerges from the shadows.

A boy, apprehensive and wielding a frying pan glowers at Hobie from across the room.

“Who are you?” He asks, “And how did you find me?”

—

Miles needed convincing. It’s not easy to leave a place when you’re told the entire multiverse could collapse and it would be your fault— but Miles wants to go.

Hobie is convincing. He tells Miles in his silly accent about what’s really out there. About the experiences Miles can still have— he wants Miles to come with him.

Sneaking out of the facility is no easy task. Hobie almost wonders if it was worth it, if he did the right thing — but when they stumble into one of the few spots left in Nueva York where nature thrives, Miles smiles.

And in that brief moment, Hobie knows.

Send an army, let the entire multiverse collapse — he’ll be by Miles’ side.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

“Sweetheart, if you knew the things I could do with you, you’d have run away a long time ago,” said the young man standing below the arch of the city gate.  If you looked at him full-on he seemed normal enough, but catch him in your peripheries and he seemed Wrong somehow.  Like he had too many sides to him, or like his limbs were just out of proportion, or like he moved with a grace that wasn’t quite human.  He reached out to run a finger along a stray lock of hair escaped from the pigtails of the young woman he was talking to.     

She groaned loudly.  “Don’t. We’ve known each other far too long for this bullshit.” 

The man grinned.  It was an unexpected grin, usually men like this are expected to smirk, or leer, or smile slyly, or even quirk an eyebrow if it came to it.  But the grin was real, open and glad, briefly washing away the aura of inhumanity and leaving merely a boy who very much liked talking to this girl. 

“But it’s funny.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“But it’s really funny.”

Let’s back up a bit.  Everyone knows that history repeats itself and certain outcomes always arise.  Violence is condoned through complacency.  Tyranny lasts for a while then tends to burn itself out.  Empires always end up toppled in the end.  These are our stories, at least, which crop up again and again.  The principle is true in other lands as well, they just happen to view different things as histories. 

Fulfaran was particularly high in story density as cities went.  It seemed you couldn’t turn a corner without running into a run-away princess, or a charming scoundrel, or a crone (crones were particularly bad – it was a 50/50 chance as to whether they’d try to destroy your life or give you genuinely good advice).  The markets were teeming with exotic goods, the castle at the top of the hill flew its banners brightly in the breeze, and there were established parts of town you went to only if you wanted to a. meet an orphan, b. meet a thief or c. fall down a hole.  Rather a good place for Reynard and Connie, who tended to be plagued by stories. 

Constance was a baker’s daughter who had been taken as a teenager to live in a tower by a witch in exchange for her impoverished family receiving enough gold to live on.  She never fully understood that witch’s motivations but that’s just how it went.  She had immediately proceeded with a number of escape attempts, most of which failed until Reynard had ridden below her window and she had bargained with him until he snuck a rope inside with her food deliveries.  He had claimed to be a prince, but wasn’t.  Connie knew he wasn’t quite human either, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it and she didn’t want to pry. 

She had wanted to go home, but she knew the witch would try to exact vengeance.  So, she said her goodbyes for a second time and started out in the opposite direction, which happened to be where Rey was headed as well (or so he claimed, in truth he had no direction or purpose.  But he liked Connie, she was sensible and she made him laugh). 

Unfortunately, it seemed the two of them were not fated to have an easy path.  For one, events kept transpiring which forced Rey into situations where he was expected to betray Connie.  Said events seemed rather upset every time he simply told her everything and they worked out a solution together.  Connie, on the other hand, was continuously being offered chances to fight royalty and claim a kingdom.  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t like a kingdom, she commented once as the two of them wandered through the woods, but she didn’t think she had the training to run one.  She was, after all, a baker’s daughter.  She could make excellent bread but she didn’t care for administration. 

They also stubbornly refused to fall in love with each other, which seemed to make the stories very distressed indeed.  This was not helped by how within a few hours of meeting they had become firm friends – Connie rather thought they had been expected to be unlikely allies who hated each other at first.  But it wasn’t in either of their natures to hate very hard and she liked Rey – he was clever and cutting, but never cruel.

Eventually the events all became too much, which is why they had come to where they were, the main gate of Fulfaran.  The storied city.  Surely someone here must know how they could get out of this. 

Connie felt herself smiling back despite herself.  “Fine, it’s a little funny but I honestly don’t know how you can say stuff like that in public without wanting to curl up into a ball and die,” she said starting to walk again, under the gate into the crowds.  Rey fell into step beside her. 

“I have no shame,” he shrugged, “besides, I don’t know any of these people. No one’s paying attention and even if they were, they’d think it’s normal.  I’m pretty sure I saw at least three pairs of ‘people who definitely hate each other’ coming in after us."

Connie was going to reply, but she was cut off by a harsh voice that had snuck into their path. 

“Child! I see greatness in you—”

“Oh not today, thank you!” said Rey, doffing his cap to the aged woman in the dark cloak swaying before them.  Connie summoned up her best customer service smile, the one with just enough of a hint of rage in it that it tended to shut people up without them knowing why, and slipped past the figure. 

“Wait!” the crone cried, “there is a prophecy—”

“Probably not me,” said Connie cheerily over her shoulder.  “Try that girl with midnight-blue eyes over there, that’ll do the trick.”  She rolled her eyes at Rey who grimaced. 

“When we get to the inn we’re taking the most boring room imaginable,” he said emphatically.  “Nothing on the top floor, nothing with secret passages, just four walls and a bed.”  The two of them had long since given up on multiple rooms, or even multiple beds.  No matter how hard they searched every inn was always just a little too full. 

“We better do it quick, I want to sleep before dinner.  Who did you say this place was recommended by again?”

“Basically everyone I know who’s been here,” said Rey, scanning the buildings as they passed.  “They say it’s lovely, really quaint and unique. We should be there right around this corner—”

He halted.  Connie almost hit his shoulder but she hardly noticed, too focused on the inn they had found.  It was small and smoky, almost crumbling beneath the weight of the sky.  Hooded figures passed in and out, glimmers of gemstones sometimes flashing out from beneath their clothing.  The sign was covered in enough grime that it couldn’t be read and there was a large board on the front with dozens of papers stuck to it advertising quests, monster-hunts, missing people, missing dogs, various balls, festivals, and competitions, and the best shops to find weapons in the area.  Connie’s heart sank and Rey’s expression told her he was feeling the same thing. 

“I saw a TreacleTavern down the road,” he said under his breath.  TreacleTaverns were in every city and they were all huge and identical.  Connie nodded vigorously.

“Let’s go, let’s go.”  She all but shoved him back down the way they had come. 

As they left she shot one last look over her shoulder.  A young man was staring at them.  He had chestnut brown hair and an intense expression, as though he had seen them before.  He seemed oddly familiar to Connie, though she didn’t know how she might have met him. 

It was probably something very important that she would have lingered on had the circumstances been different.  Unfortunately for the stories, however, she was still extremely invested, come hell or high water, in getting her pre-supper nap.   

[shamanofthewilds]

Beautiful art of Gotosh and Zargaron that @orcdorc and I commissioned from the talented @kriskukko .

Its a fateful night at a luxury party where conversations are shrouded in the shadows of revelry and cigar smoke. Only their eyes tell the true story of an evening that will be unforgettable to only them.

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: two pieces of digital fanart depicting Luz and Belos from the owl house dressed as Sarah and Jareth from Labyrinth (1986), respectively. They're wearing the costumes from the hallucination/ballroom scene. In the first piece Luz stands in the foreground with her skirt bunched in her fists, facing towards us but looking at something out of frame. She has a necklace of her egg palismen and a rod of Asclepius hairpin, and is wearing her white vans under her ballgown. Belos stands behind her in shadow, looking down at her and holding up a light glyph. The background is black. The second image is the same piece except with no shading, more vibrant colours and a purple background. End ID] @toh-described

🦉💫Don't tell me truth hurts little girl/Cause it hurts like hell🔮🌟

Labyrinth au!! Honestly surprised I've never seen one of these before?? feels very fitting. But I guess I'm the only one w/ this specific brainrot cocktail lol

(DO NOT TAG AS SHIP OR I WILL EXPLODE YOUR EYEBALLS💥)

[atalienart]

Well... what can I say :|

[nerdsandbabyteeth]

Can I just say for all the people saying Belos ‘deserves a pathetic death’ and alike, I agree but it’s not about the death itself. He didn’t suffer, he died thinking he was right and trying to continue his manipulation, trying to start all over again. I think for his death to be truly satisfying he needed to remember, he needed to be plagued with visions of the past and the consequences of his actions, how they have amounted to nothing and destroyed his body and his mind in the process. I wanted him to realise, and this could have happened AND them leaving him to die in the rain and stomping on his skull. I understand most people watching the owl house aren’t looking for signs Belos is completing the hubris, harmatia, peripeteia, anagnorisis timeline of tragedy like I was because I keep thinking abt him through the lense of my tragedy course lol but I really wish he had that anagnorisis, that moment of realisation. I just wish he didn’t die thinking he could be martyred in any way for his efforts and death for his cause hmm

Edit: SORRY I turned reblogs off bc this was meant to be just throwing a thought out there before I rewatch the episode tmr and my opinion may change and I am not in a mental state to debate things or respond to people atm

[your-fave-is-christian]

Hellboy

Hellboy from Hellboy is Christian!

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, Draft 1—Masterlist

An older lady finds a ghost in her garden, with no memories of who he is or where he came from, and together they set out to find the answers.

Story originally written as part of the 2023 Inklings Challenge, which took place over on @inklings-challenge

Part 1

Gail Finds a Ghost in Her Garden

Part 2

The Ghost Apologizes

Can You Touch a Ghost?

Gail and the Ghost Get to Know Each Other

The Ghost Doesn't Know He's a Ghost

Walking to the Graveyard

Names on Gravestones

An Unfortunate Lightbulb Moment

Part 3

Outside the Lighthouse Café

Haunting for Answers

Answers Cause More Questions

Inside the Lighthouse Café

Mrs. Seward's Story

Confirming the Ghost

A Ghost Has an Existential Crisis, pt 1.

A Ghost Has an Existential Crisis, pt. 2

The Fear of Unbeing

What's the Right Choice?

To Visit a Ghost

The Body

Good-bye

Bringing Him Home

A New Hello

Epilogue, of Sorts

Someone New in the Garden

[akimojo]

people love to use ffxiii’s messy development as a reason to completely shit on the game but honestly the fact they managed to sneak in so many little details in the gameplay in a way that reflects the characters and story despite all the miscommunication between the dev sections is just impressive to me

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Febhyurary Day 5: Companion

It was happenstance that Demos at four and Osín (oh-sheen) only a few months old would meet in the woods. Both lost and having wandered far from their homes, they took comfort in one another. While a small four-year old Demos was able to find his way back home to Hrystmill, Osín never could find his starlight herd once again, not that he wanted to afterwhile. The two were never far from one another and never for very long until Demos made his way East, wanting to keep his best friend safe, Osín missed him terribly and worried for him, that when Demos found himself in a pact with a pixie and on another world entirely, Osín used his illusionary power to create a rideable copy of himself for Demos to have. It became his comfort in those days of light and in the adventures to come that would test him. Now a new adventure awaits to the West and this time Demos isn't leaving Osín behind!

[michameinmicha]

Me: can we have The Raven Boys?

Mom: we have raven boys at home

The Raven Boys at home:

[haunted-xander]

Why does Heavensward Thancred look like a mix between papa Nier and young bro Nier

Like I'm not just insane right.

I'm not making this shit up right. He looks like a weird mix of rugged old warrior man and somewhat refined young man but like. specifically in the Nier way. Does that make sense