#modern fantasy world

[dominimoonbeam]

Bite to Bruise - 36

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: modern-fantasy mashup, werewolves, witches, monsters, romance, learning to trust, hurt/comfort, blood, violence, explicit sex, explicit language

The earlier parts can be found under the tag or over on patreon. <3

BITE TO BRUISE - CHAPTER 36.

She stumbled into her valley, reaching her ruined cottage. She had never wanted him to find it, even in her nightmares this was never where Baron caught up to her.

His laughter echoed between the trees behind her.

She ran for the side of the house, but he was already there, grinning at her. Fresh blood clung to his cheek, smeared from the mess of a bite he’d taken, while more blood stained his torn shirt and smeared his skin where he had been the one bitten in his short stint in the battle.

“No. You’re not getting away now. To think, you were this close the whole time…” Baron said, looking over his shoulder at the deep shadows of the forest. “Do you know how many of your kind we lost to the woods? They went where we couldn’t follow. I would think they died there, but every so often one comes back out. Tell me, Wilhelm… is that what drew you here? Were you just too afraid to take that leap and go past the river?”

Wren trembled but stood her ground, finally taking a long look at him. He was exactly as she remembered. And why wouldn’t he be? He was unaging. Undying. Nothing she could do could change that. “My name is Wren.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, it is this time. Forgive me, but you don’t quite look yourself. You’ve been hiding well.”

Her mouth twitched, tears overflowing. She swallowed down reason. Blackwell had been right about that—there was no reasoning with him. Logic would not help her now. “How many times have we done this?”

His eyebrow lifted, head tipping curiously. “You know?”

“How many times have you murdered me?”

His lips twitched, flashing teeth. “How many of my blood did you kill? We’re not even yet. A lifetime for a lifetime…and their lives were supposed to be endless.”

“How many wolves did you kill first?”

He tsked between teeth and she shivered, remembering that mouth on her hand and how easily his teeth had snapped through her finger. “Hardly comparable. You were going to leave me. I did what anyone would have.” He raised a hand. “We’ve gone over this before. Your reasoning and begging will do nothing to change my mind.”

She dragged shaky breaths but nodded in agreement, hearing the roots under her feet wake up after their frosty sleep. “Okay. Then let’s skip that part.”

Baron blinked in surprise, lips parting to say something that was lost in the air when the ground pulled open and tried to swallow him.

He moved fast, somehow climbing the moving soil and rocks as they churned underfoot. He almost lost his footing, knee-deep for a second before snarling and pushing himself faster, climbing high and coming for her.

She had to give up the ground when he swiped for her throat, pulling power in and pushing it out to shove him back, rolling him into a tree.

The black of her magic on her fingers crawled past the low cut of her leather gloves, spreading over the backs of her hands and deep into her palms. She pulled the gloves off and almost remembered clearly a time when her arms and legs had been completely black, screaming testament to how much power she had turned into craft in their world.

A previous life.

Lifetimes.

She had been trapped in this cycle of pain and death with him for so many short agonizing lifetimes but she kept coming back. It wasn’t that she was too scared to cross the river. She wasn’t ready to go. She had lived so many lives but not that one she wanted—not the one he stole.

Her palms hummed with power and when Kish pushed himself to his feet, she saw him doing it a hundred times in her memory. He wore a hundred different outfits, in different places, in different times. Sometimes he was snarling and sometimes he was laughing.

Here and now, he grinned furiously. “You haven’t done this in ages, Wilhelm.”

“That’s not my name,” she reminded, feeling her wolf break through the tree line into the woods, cutting a line straight for her.

She had fought wars in old lives, performed miracles, risen islands from the sea, and sunk cities into the ground. She was nameless and endless. Who the fuck was this shade to stop her from having what she wanted? Who was he to kill her?

Kish snarled and stalked toward her, ready for her attack this time, his cunning eyes studying her carefully. It was a game they had played many times just the two of them.

Behind her, the slush and snow parted, creating a track through the trees to that shadow with teeth.

She didn’t back up. She didn’t run. She waited as her nightmare stepped closer and closer, reaching for her, those fingers close to her cheek. In his dark eyes, she saw her reflection and only then realized she had dropped the glamour of Bellamy. That forever broken face looked back at her and for the first time she saw it clearly—the latest face in a line of faces that had all been hers, just as Bellamy was hers. She smiled when Kish froze, realizing his mistake too late. In his eyes, she saw one shadow burst out of the others behind her, reflected in his pupil. “My name is Wren,” she told him and then stepped to the side as the giant fenrir barreled into his chest, teeth snapping over his face.

#

Baron almost had his hands on his witch when they slid to the side and the wolf slammed into him. Darkness edged in teeth blotted out the world, enamel digging into the sides of his head and bearing him to the ground.

Baron laughed inside that beast’s mouth. “Again? What is it with you and these dogs?” he called to Wilhelm, his voice echoing in a chamber of flesh and teeth.

The fenrir jerked side to side, as though he might be able to rip Baron’s head from his shoulders. His spine snapped like a whip, breaking only to crack and heal instantly. A heavy paw pressed into his chest, trying to pin him while those jaws continued to dig in and pull.

Baron snarled against the warm, wet breath of a wolf, finally grabbing fistfuls of that body over his. Fenrir were a strange texture, between smoke and fur, but there was muscle underneath. They broke and bled and died like everything else living in the world. He pushed and the dog pulled, his spine breaking and healing again. The pain felt like fireworks in his spine, going off between vertebrae.

He clawed, digging fingers into skin and then pushed his head deeper into that maw rather than trying to pull free. He bit at the dog’s tongue, his teeth much smaller and sharper than the beast pinning him. His mouth welled with that foul blood, earthy and bitter, and… familiar?

With a growl the fenrir threw him, releasing him from his teeth and sending him through a tree and into another.

The cracking and falling of those trees echoed out in all directions, snow and ice hurling into the air between them.

Baron was quick to his feet, swaying for a moment and touching the blood on his lips. The wolf’s blood. He knew this particular flavor. He knew… His gaze snapped up to the fenrir prowling in front of him, furious yellow eyes fixed on him. “No… That’s not how your kind work.”

The past and the present blurred before his eyes. He stood in both places, in this dark and wet forest at the end of winter and at the base of a mountain in summer. The same fenrir. The same blood. The same valiant effort thrown against him. “I killed you,” Kish remembered, staggering a step back as the ground seemed to shift underfoot with those clarifying memories. “I killed your pack. I killed your whole line. He was going to leave with you. He was going to… No. No! You don’t come back! Fenrir don’t come back!” he yelled, voice louder than the falling trees.

Something hit him hard from behind, cleaving flesh and muscle and breaking bone to nestle deep in his back. One of his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees, but he twisted to try to get a look at this new attacker.

Wilhelm stood over him. “You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do, Kish.”

Before he could reply or snarl, before he could even reach back to grasp at the offending weapon in his back, something cold and biting squirmed from it to his shoulder. It sliced through his clothes and skin, digging deep and coiling like a snake made of razors.

Kish doubled forward, mouth agape in a scream that he couldn’t get out of his lungs as that midnight magic surged across his skin, the iron curse digging deep to leech his blood. Shade blood, as rich as they came, first to the vein of his midnight. He clawed at it, at himself, trying to stop it from taking the last he had of his maker.

The scent of it filled his lungs and in his blind panic, his first thought was that his midnight was injured. Solse’s blood was a cloud in the air around him. His second thought was the memory of walking into that dining room to discover all his dead kin—slain by that witch he had once loved.

The curse twisted up his chest and wrapped around his throat. He stretched his neck, clawing at the living metal, forced to look up at Wilhelm.

He felt cold. His body was slow to heal where the long serpentine body of the curse had ripped him open, the metal undulating as it drank more of his blood.

“It won’t be enough,” Wilhelm whispered to the wolf, watching him.

Kish’s hands were shredded from the fruitless effort to pull the curse off of himself, but he tried to smile. No. This curse would not be enough to stop him. Someone would find him or his body would decay and the curse would go inert. Time was always on his side. Always.

“What are you doing?” the wolf asked. Kish had not realized he’d changed forms until then, his voice thick with worry.

Kish swayed on his knees and might have fallen over if the witch had not taken his face in her hands. She held him gently, like they were lovers again, and looked down on him with those eyes—the same eyes in a new face—always those eyes. Kish had held the newborn Wilhelm many times. The eyes never changed, even when everything else did. Those eyes could see through time and behind veils. Kish had carved them out a dozen times. They tasted like power.

“I can’t kill you,” Wilhelm admitted with a woman’s voice. “But I think I can make you forget. Forget me, forget everyone I ever was, forget the wolves, and forget your dead.”

His body convulsed, panic lancing his body deeper than any curse. He tried to scream out but the iron spell around his throat wouldn’t give him the air. Without his blood, his body was weak, and her power pulsed through his skull, violating and rooting around to dig out pieces of him.

#

His face was cold in her hands and the fear and rage in his eyes more gratifying than she’d ever want to admit. As soon as she started pressing into his mind, digging around for the trails of herself, she realized her magic had been here already. Without realizing it, she had been trying to make him forget her, her magic lashing out on instinct during all those deaths. It felt confused and frightened, making her want to pull away and hide from this monster.

Ever pressed against her back, bolstering her up and watching her enemy like he might throw off that curse and strike out at them again.

She couldn’t run from monsters and she couldn’t kill this one, but she could kill the part of him that knew her.

She learned about all her lives through his memories. Instead of being told the stories of her past by another witch she had to see it—see what he had done and feel the madness of revenge take hold of him. She burned them out of his mind as she went, deeper and deeper. It felt like she was eating those memories, devouring them like a snake in the vast jungle of Kish’s life.

It was tempting to take more—to take everything. His hunger urged her on.

Eat more.

Eat it all.

Take everything until the great Kish, first blood of Solse, was nothing but a newborn drooling on himself.

It was a trick. She could do it. She could take it all, but it would cost her. Vengeance always had a price and was sometimes worth paying. She remembered falling in love and the agony of that loss. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been able to bury Kish back then along with his court. There was no regret for that vengeance, not even for all the lifetimes of pain it cost her, because it all brought her back to where she wanted to be—to Ever. It was all part of a plan and she wasn’t going to lose her chance this time.

She had waited. She had returned lifetime after lifetime, even when most of her kind had stopped, because she was waiting for this moment—for this life.

Vengeance had a price that was sometimes worth paying, but not this time. If she wanted to end it, she would have to be justice—cold and exact.

She reached the last bit of his memory of her, far beyond the first offense. The moment Kish and Wilhelm first met. His spirit writhed, trying to hang onto that last piece.

“I know you will hear about this from others,” she told him, magic thick in her voice and the black ink staining her fingers welling up past her wrists to her forearms. “I know you will see the paper trail of our history, but without the passion, what do you care? I am no one to you. Just a waste of your time. You are Kish, first blood of the midnight Solse and governor of her court until her return. What am I? Nothing but a poisonous weed, Kish. Leave me be and I am nothing, come for me and I will destroy you. That is all you have to remember about me. That is all you will ever know. When you think too long about me, when you hear my name, you will smell your midnight’s blood in the air and feel that curse around your neck.”

He gurgled, the iron spell squirming to leech more from a fountain that would never dry. His body convulsed and his eyes rolled back.

Wren let him go, the air cracking when she broke the connection to his mind and let his body fall back onto the icy ground.

She sagged, knowing that Ever wouldn’t let her fall with him.

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Been reading through Howl's Moving Castle for the first time and Howl himself is just an entirely different dude. Miyazaki said "oh fuck this guy" and made an OC

[blackblooms]

The fairies:

A group of self-proclaimed researchers that established themselves inside the ruins of the dragon keep. Fairies collect and gather knowledge from all around the world and provide guidance to those who need it.

Fairies are pathologically honest and will always speak their mind, but they are also very protective of the information they gather, only sharing what is essential to make their point. Fairies tend to be perceived as callous and manipulative and most people see these creatures with mistrust and superstition. Very little is known about their species and only 6 fairies have ever been observed in Narkaas.

Morgan the Sky fairy (they/them) The purple fairy is deeply introverted, resulting in very sparse appearances compared to their peers. They are both a dreamer and a cynic, preferring the refuge of fairytales and music to any kind of social interaction. They can be found in very high places, such as mountains or the top of buildings, but will only engage with people they find interesting enough. They are the first person that Lady encounters on her journey and appear to have a particular interest in her quest.

Fomore the Tears fairy (she/her) The blue fairy is known to appear before those who are dying or grieving. She is a brooding and gloomy individual, with a fascination for the tragic and morbid. She can be found most often in graveyards, especially those in proximity to water. She spends most of her time reading, dancing, and quietly enjoys the sounds of the sea and rain.

Loki the Wild Fairy (any/all) A free and untamed spirit by nature, the green fairy's appearances are common but unpredictable. Loki enjoys meeting new people and tending to their plants. They tend to get into long rambles about whatever interests them at the moment and often get distracted. Loki is a fan of any place with plants and can often be found tending to the plants of any old forest or garden.

Agni the flame fairy (she/her) The red fairy appears to those who pursue progress or change. She has a fierce and hard-working temper and is most often found near any kind of machinery, working to either build or repair experimental devices. She is kind but tough and judgemental, having little patience for fools and cowards.

Baal the Heart fairy (he/him) The yellow fairy appears to those seeking love or joy. Baal hangs around public places, offering romantic advice and fresh baked goods to those he meets. He is known as a hedonist and a tempter, luring people to indulge in self-gratifying vices. Despite his sweet and caring exterior, Baal is known to get very petty and toxic toward those who upset him.

Yami the Light fairy (they/them) By far the most recluse and elusive fairy. The grey fairy only appears to those who settle on a long and dangerous quest for forbidden knowledge. They spend most of their days meditating in dark and quiet places, away from any civilization.

[the-likeable-wizard-mack]

Modern Fantasy Monsters: Magic Academia

Magic dorms that are accommodating for all species. If someone is taller than a normal human the dorm will magically adjust to their height and any other accommodation they might need. Centaur students who have special rooms that come with centaur safe dorms.

Classes are mixed species that aren't just witches and wizards. Students come from all walks of life all there to get an education and learn the ins and outs of magic.

Broom riding classes...BROOM RIDING CLASSES. But here me out. no one says that the broom had to be an old dusty broom. Imagine some wizard just come in with a swiffer broom and their like "You said broom . You didn't specifically say what kind of broom." AND IT STILL WORKS. It can also just..spit water on people.

Also speaking of brooms did I mention students tricking out their brooms with all sorts of gadgets to make them faster/cooler. After school they gather out in abandoned parking places or unbusy streets to race?

New types of magic study being taught for modern times like, magic technology and it's application or the studies of other magics practiced by other races.

Coffee places around campus serve coffee to help motivate you to study and are great at getting rid of late night hangovers..

[gostaks]

Okay, I just saw another post on my dash about how Toph and Daredevil are great disability representation. Toph is great I don’t know anything about Daredevil except that they use echolocation? I don’t want to say they’re bad representation, but I’ve got a personal reason why I’d like to see more blind characters using canes.

My grandmother (who died earlier this year), was a badass blind woman. She started losing her vision due to macular degeneration in her teens, and was legally blind for her entire adult life. And for her entire adult life, she carried a long white cane. 

Once, when my mom was in college, my grandmother’s plane came into the airport two hours late. On the drive home, my mom managed to extract some of the story from my grandma (who was never a complainer, and never had a mean word to say about anyone). Before taking off, the flight attendant had literally tried to take away my grandmother’s cane before the flight. When she refused, the flight attendant threatened to have her arrested. My grandmother had a long-established legal right to carry her cane on an airplane, but the airline didn’t care. They were happy to try to take away her mobility aid for their convenience.

(They didn’t succeed, and my grandmother walked off the plane with her cane in hand.)

That incident, and others like it, led my grandmother to make a decision - in my entire life, I never saw her carry a folding cane. Her cane was a single piece of fiberglass, five and a half feet long. It was a pain in the ass to get into a small car or a tight space, and that was the point. She was the sweetest person I’ve ever met, I’m not sure she got into a single argument during my lifetime, but goddamnit she was not going to let anyone forget that she was blind, and she was not going to let them take her cane away from her.

That’s something I really wish I saw more of in fiction. I want to see blind people who love their canes. I want to see blind people who are proud of their canes. I want to see people who have fought for the right to use a cane, and are fighting on behalf of all the people who don’t have a cane yet. Because that’s what the blind people I know in real life are like.

[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.

[cmrosens]

Fantasy Religions: Rethinking Hell & Prayer

I'm creating a fantasy hellscape and death realms so I had some thoughts about that for worldbuilding:

What happens if your hellscape isn't a place of punishment? What alternatives are there to "punishment" as a concept, and what does that say about your fantasy religious system(s) and so on?

like: I'm using a system where it's about how you die. It literally doesn't matter what you were like as a person, if you die in a specific way, you go to the corresponding realm of the dead and you're at the mercy of whoever's realm that is. If they are pretty nice and the place is the one everyone wants to get into, you may need to convince the gatekeeper to let you in when you get there, but that's doable. Also people might then try and manipulate their deaths to fulfil the criteria for getting where they want to go.

It's also fun because then people can go to hellscapes (various) even if they don't deserve it, and what happens then? Can they escape? Can they journey through and find a way out? Can everyone?

Do/how do prayers function in this system?

Are people praying to a deity that can hear them?

How do they try and get said deity's attention and why is that meant to work?

If the deity/deities are very annoyed by the prayers of the living and have deliberately made it difficult for prayers to reach them, what then?

Or, is it more that the living require someone to open a channel of communication so they can be heard, and this also helps the souls of the dead in some way?

Can prayers benefit the dead? How and when?

Can the dead pray for themselves/for the living, so it operates in reverse?

I'm going with the system where you can't pray for yourself, that's an alien concept, because the person who prays becomes a conduit or a channel for somebody else. They have to try and make their mind go blank with repetition of words given to them by the wind - which carries the voices of the restless dead, who died without anyone to pray for them and open a road for them to travel on - and in that moment of blankness, the soul they are praying for can cross over from life to their appropriate death realm. If you don't have someone to pray for you like this, your soul joins the wind forever, and you are just a whisper bringing warnings and bad news to people, and telling them what to pray for everyone else.

This is based on the old folklore that you can hear the voices of the dead on the wind, I think it pops up in Flemish folklore in some form, but also I've heard it elsewhere. I just adapted it.

From this, you can build outwards and work out fantasy religions and philosophy and ideology. Just keep asking questions, layer on layer, and see where this goes, as your answers are the scaffolding and the shape will grow from those first decisions you make.

Like, ok, what's the terminology for these concepts and processes (do they even have words like 'hell' and 'prayer')? How do these terms show up in the language and casual conversation - idioms like "he hasn't got a prayer" or "not a hope in Hell" wouldn't work if prayer isn't something that's synonymous with 'chance this will work out', because in this world, the idea of asking for something in prayer doesn't exist.

So in my world, for example, 'he hasn't got a prayer' wouldn't mean 'he doesn't stand a chance', it means, 'he's going to join the restless dead because he's got no one to pray for him'. That might be used for a very unpopular person: he's so bad, he hasn't got a prayer. (He's such a bad person that he hasn't got anyone who will pray for him when he dies). Or, a very lonely, isolated person: I think that's so sad - living alone without a prayer.

Similarly, if there's no Hell, then all the idioms that use "Hell" as a place of punishment no longer apply, and if there's no equivalent, then "not a hope in Hell" would have to be retired and swapped out for something else that does make sense in this world instead.

Conversely, "living on a prayer" like Bon Jovi would mean "selling my ability to pray for you", like a service that people offer so you don't join the wind, or go to the wrong death realm, or that you'll get passed the gatekeeper if a prayer operates like a ticket to enter, or whatever this might mean in your world.

If this is something that can happen, how are these people seen - as necessary to the community, or as unscrupulous opportunists? Bit of both? There's a whole interesting series of characters you could develop from just that concept, which might draw parallels with the sin-eater figure. And what happens if someone who doesn't deserve a lovely afterlife pays someone to pray for them so that they get entry into a lovely death realm?

There's a lot to play with when you just take one idea away, and try to swap it for something else. In this case: Hell isn't a place of punishment, so what is it then, and does it exist at all, and if not, what is there instead and how does it work?

That's a good place to start with building fantasy religions. I've already done a few other posts on my thoughts there!

[scifrey]

ART THREAD

I have had the very great pleasure of commissioning some beautiful art to celebrate the release of my new novel Nine-Tenths. I'm going to share them all in this thread (and hopefully add to it if I'm lucky enough to be graced with more) so you can appreciate the talent of these incredible artists.

by Christopher Winkelaar

Nine-Tenths is set in a world where all the nobility in Europe are homo draconis - shape-shifting dragons who have the ability to take human form. Every culture in the world have dragons living among the humans, but the European and Asian nations are the only ones where dragons were historically elevated to the roles of monarchs, nobles, and emperors.

In a world where the American Colonies rejected British rule, this meant they were also rejecting draconic protection--and so while they won their Independence in 1793, they were soundly trounced in the War of 1812, losing all of New England, including New York State, to the British. They were absorbed into the Canadas, except for New York City, which was reclaimed by the Dutch and re-renamed New Amsterdam.

The Canadian colonies expanded west, as they historically did in our world, through a series of broken treaties with the Indigenous peoples of the continent, and the reprehensible colonialist practices which put the settlers in power today. It also means they were able to expand further south, without the Americans to bump up against.

This also meant that the Americans were unable to expand as far south and west as in our world, coming up against Indigenous dragon-protected lands, such as the Oniagara, or Aztec and Incan empires, which grew further north after Spanish contact, and flourished.

Unlike in the current version of Canada, the land was legislatively divided into much smaller provinces than currently exist, each overseen by a hereditary draconic Lieutenant Governor, who report to the draconic Governor of the Canadas, who in turn reports to the House of Lords in England (also dragons). Each province is divided into Duchies, Earldoms, and Marquessates, presided over by a noble dragon family.

As dragons are long-lived, the current Queen of England is Elizabeth (the first one). As she has not yet passed, the Kingdom of Scotland as yet remains separate from England. Ireland too is independent, the Irish dragons having beaten back the English ones. However, Wales remains a satellite colony of England, as the betrayal which brought about it's subjugation and the trickery around the hereditary title "Prince of Wales" still occurred. (This an important plot point).

by @seancefemme

This is the first piece of art I commissioned for the novel, and you'll note it's now become the cover art!

Meet the heroes of our tale: barista and disaster bi Colin Levesque, stuck in the middle of his quarter-life crisis and crushing on his cafe regular, Welsh dragon Dav, the Marquis of Niagara (though of course, Colin doesn't know he's the Marquis, and thinks Dav is just some minor noble with nothing better to do all day than hang out and read).

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin works at Beanevolence, an indie cafe in downtown St. Catharine's, in the province of Upper Canada (Southern Ontario in our world). It's owned by his bestie Hadi, and he was only supposed to be a barista until he'd graduated. But now he has his Sustainable Tourism degree, and no clue what to do next. He feels completely stuck. Luckily he has Dav to distract him.

Except that one day Dav distracts him too well, which results in a kitchen fire. As an apology for the inferno, and to help the cafe get back on it's feet while the repairs are under way, Dav volunteers as the new bean roaster, creating incredible and (and ultimately social-media viral) coffee roasts with his fire-breath.

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin and Dav start a flirtation at work.

Which leads to...

by @teejaystumbles

Luxurious dates and late-night smoochies.

by @pinkpiggy93

Which also goes a little bit viral. See, it turns out that the Marquis of Niagara usually keeps a low profile, and his sudden romance with a human has the gossip rags and tabloids all in a tizzy.

But more than that, it puts Dav under the scrutiny of Francis Simcoe. He's the Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, a dragon with a hate-on for Dav, and the perfect ammunition to ruin his happiness.

Because, you see, it's against dragonic rules for dragons to be seen to be laboring in service of humans... and Dav's new gig at Beanevolence is about to--forgive the pun--land him in hot water.

➡️ Read Nine-Tenths Here ⬅️

[yingxtkm]

Modern AU FFVII! (Will color later)

If Sephiroth and Aerith grew up together like siblings. Shut up, I’m a sucker for this trope between the two 💔 They both deserved better 🥹

[deus-ex-mona]

real talk: lxl should continue to explore romance fantasy concepts in their songs. it’s clearly working for them~

[super-nova5045]

i think the reason oliver is such a compelling character - or at least to me, he is - is because in the end…he wins! he gets what he wants and comes out on top.

in this modern world everyone is a bit of an oliver. crippling social anxiety, awkward, booksmart, and later in the film mostly queer audiences STILL find themselves relating to oliver’s struggle of how to express a desire that is so unconventional, so disturbing, so queer. normally in shows like this - shows with stunning rich people and their stunning social skills - the social outcast remains a social outcast. the queercoded character does not get their happy ending and remains the perpetual butt of the joke.

but in saltburn? saltburn almost has a gone girl sort of ending in the way the supposed villain gets what they want in the end, and we’re rooting for them! we see a mostly unexplored perspective in cinema - the perspective of the outsider, of the freak, and we see just how awful these people - beautiful shiny upper class folk - are, and then this outsider, who has been patronised and placed on a pedestal and humiliated, gets his revenge and gets everything he desired in the end. and in a world where queer, different characters are killed off or side lined or made fun off for whom or what they desire, oliver stands out, because he gets what he desires and he makes the audience root for him while he’s doing it.

[dominimoonbeam]

Bite to Bruise Finale

The final chapter of Bite to Bruise comes out this Friday. I started writing this story and posting it in March last year and now have a finished manuscript sitting on my desk for edits before publishing! Thank you again to everyone that's been reading it and encouraging the work. It's been so much fun to write and share. <3 <3 <3

[blackblooms]

Fun fact, the main character doesn`t actually carry any weapon. She analyzes the weapons of strong opponents (mid-bosses), copies their designs, and shapeshifts into them. This allows her to always be scaled to the strength of her enemies, no matter their level of tech. Very efficient.

---------------------- Anyway, here is your weekly reminder to follow the game on Gamejolt

Only 4 more until i post a character sheet of the main baddie.

[the-likeable-wizard-mack]

Modern Fantasy Monsters: Family Matters

A family line full of great magic users who's family tree is a literal family tree that grows old photos and letters from their branches. When a new family member is born a new sprot blossoms from said tree next to their parent and when an elder passes away their branch weakens falling off but, regrowing stronger than before so their memory can live on.

Halflings who's family gatherings are so large that it's always a large scale event that makes even rivals werewolf gatherings. They really know how to party and they are super close with each other.

Speaking of werewolf gathering, imagine a human who never had a close relationship with their own family marring into a werewolf family where they're all really close with each other. The human is an honorary pack member and they are overjoyed being apart of a loving family even if its not their own.

Alternatively a monster who never had a chance to understand the concept of a family being accepted into a human family with open arms being surprised yet super happy that they have people that they can trust other than their partner

Vampires who have family photos from every decade that they've lived through. Imagine seeing this proud ancient hand painted portrait of the family in decade old clothes next to the family portrait of said vampire family dressed in matching clothes doing on of those JCpenny's awkward family photos from the 80's.

A human with a child marring a magic user who also has a child creating a blended family of magic and non-magical customs. Sure the witch child will use their magic sometimes prank and tease their non-magical sibling but that doesn't mean they won't defend them when push comes to shove.

A giant couple adopting an abandoned human child along with their own child having those two grow up to be best of friends with the human sibling being the one to defend their MUCH larger sibling from bullies rather the other way around.

A young witch eagerly waiting for the day to get her powers so that she can be just like her parents when she's older. She counts the days until her birthday and her parents are happy that she's excited that they secretly got her a pet familiar for her birthday too to add to the surprise.

[happy-emmdings]

some captain swan honeymoon concepts…

1) wearing cute outfits

2) smooth sailing 💕

3) checking on Storybrooke on facetime a.k.a. what it looks like when Emma is handling the phone versus when Killian tries

4) being cute and romantic

BONUS: doing each other’s make up for an evening out✨ 

They got there🥺

[worstloki]

@theofreakingbell pointed out that Thor 1 is basically an isekai for Thor and I've been thinking about it since. it really does meet the criteria. Thor getting banished to New Mexico, America, was an isekai setup.