#non-fantasy tag

[solaaresque]

my friend my friend how are mewwwww :3

im good!! just busy though </3 hru?

[virtualbuddysim]

Im so pissed I posted this on tt while I was shadowbanned <///3 this was my peak d&d au for ig technically both marble hornets AND creepypasta This one is with me and my friends ocs (Kit [left] belongs to my friend Romin or justkiting.cb on tiktok) lore and without mask BELOWWW

lore vvvvv

So in this world the plot of marble hornets still happens but obviously it's more like,,,,fantasy

Tim used to be a fighter, he adventured around with Brian (monk) who came from a richer family

Brian knew Alex from like when they were kids so they reconnect when Alex (Alex wants 2 be a bard SO bad and is SO pretentious about it) invites the two to go on a quest with him and Jay (uhh maybe a ranger? idk)

That quest group falls apart similarly to the short film from the og and they all just kinda go their separate ways until Jay looks into what happened and so on and so forth

The most notable change is that the operator/slender is more like a deity now and Tim gets like forcefully class swapped to Warlock bc of that

OK NOW TO LIKE THE ACTUAL CREEPYPASTA STUFF

toby's backstory doesn't need any change rlly, he's a rogue

All the pastas are like kinda forced to be members of this guild by the operator and he js makes em go on missions, it's kinda similar to my interpretation of the regular creepypata lore and stuff

They can switch up the parties they go with though (That's how me and my friend said Kit and Moira met, they got paired with the main 3 and like they all had major issues with the arrangement LOL)

uhmmm some other characters have roles too so let me list thoseee

Nina - Ranger

EJ - Cleric?

Jeff - Barbarian orr Rogue?

Liu - I see him as a spellcaster and a maybe bow user idk but we have alot of bow users

Kate - rogue

no mask masky absolutely NO CLUE why i never thought to make a version for brian? LMAO?

[elliwoods]

Gently hands you him

[filurig]

some domesticated Beasts in pareidolia... moar info below

fatfin perch:

the fatfin perch is derived from perca fluviatilis perch, and has been bred to be both larger, fatter and more docile in order to make herding, breeding and keeping them easier for sjörå. sjörå usually section off a section of a lake they inhabit and keep their perch there in order to keep them safe from other predators. and also with the help of their guard pikes...

guard pike:

derived from the northern pike, the guard pike is unmistakeable. selectively bred to be intelligent and loyal, these pikes are kept by sjörå as guarding/herding animals. every sjörå collective usually keeps a fair amount of these pikes in order to ensure the safety of their perch population.

tomteget:

a goat breed which has been bred by tomtar, its a very large animal for a goat and is used by gnomes as mounts and livestock. very robust and several other breeds derived from this one exist which have been adapted for different purposes (such as milk, meat, etc.). its possible that the idea of a "christmas goat" may stem from the tomtar's tendency to travel with these goats.

gloson:

a domesticated version of a relative of the wild boar, the gloson is both huge and striking in its appearence, fitting for the trolls. their wild equivalent is essentially exctinct and its current population are entirely kept by trolls at this point. used mostly as a guarding animal, but sometimes as livestock - it depends on the region (northern trolls tend to use them as the former, southern as the latter). humans have wrongfully interpreted their mane as "sharp" and able to be used to slice the gloson's target, but this is a misconception - while the gloson has quills, they aren't what is used for this manner of attack. instead, the trolls tend to provide them with sharp back armour if they choose to utilize their gloson for battle.

[peach-moths]

Goldenrods and Moths

The 2024 Unicorn

[ 2025 ] [X] [ 2023 ]

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Kat and Lily

They find each-other in every universe💥

[memento-morri-writes]

actually, sorry, I'm not done with my unicorn bullshit. I think unicorns are criminally underused in modern fantasy settings. And not just as "oh we're going to go to the stable and ride unicorns". No, I'm talking unicorns as an endangered species. Unicorns whose wild places are shrinking. Unicorns who, like animals pushed into contact with people, fight back and cause problems.

Imagine there being a conflict about the reintroduction (or even just conservation in general) of unicorns much like has been going on with the wolves of Yellowstone for decades now. They're a keystone species, they improve every single aspect of their habitat just by being there. Their magic helps the plants grow, improves the weather, keeps other animal populations in check. But they are wild animals. They do not behave in a way that is "convenient" for humans.

And above all else, they are protective of their homes. They will do whatever it takes to keep humans out. And the humans don't like that. They want to venture into the last wild places and ruin them. So they argue. They paint unicorns as dangerous, as mankillers. Claim that we shouldn't even be protecting them at all. Campaign to be allowed to hunt them. Display horn trophies in their homes.

Meanwhile the conservationists are wracking their brains on how to explain that the unicorns are not violent by nature. That when they are pushed into conflict with people, then there are problems. That having untouched areas, ideal habitat where unicorns can live without fear, will prevent lots of conflict. That killing the unicorns means killing the planet. They try educational outreach, and it works, a little, but then someone goes and tries to take a selfie with one and gets gored, and they're back to square one.

There's petitions to the government from both sides. Ads on tv to save the unicorns. They're used as dangerous creatures in movies, going on bloodthirsty rampages. The scientist scream that that's not a fair depiction, that it's causing more fear than is warranted. That you just have to use common sense and a healthy does of caution. People offer illegal unicorn hunts to the highest bidder. Every so often a video pops up online of someone petting a unicorn foal, and the authorities have to find them.

Zoos and conservation organizations sell unicorn plushies to raise funds and have "adopt a unicorn" programs, where people can keep track of a unicorn in the wild. (They don't do well in captivity, so captive breeding and reintroduction programs aren't even a viable strategy to save them. Scientists say it has something to do with the way they're bonded and connected to the land where they live.)

Just. Unicorns in modern fantasy. They really do have a place, and their mythology makes them perfect to explore these kinds of issues.

[kairamuwu]

What is up, I've been asleep since I got back from class lmao

Have homework i finished yesterday

[coolpikachu]

okay i'm posting because i am holding myself to this. i am going absolutely FERAL about making a soldys animatic to black hole fantasy by the crane wives... does anybody understand. pleas. does anybody want this i WILL be making it

[myreia]

Nightbloom

Rating: Mature (for heavy themes) Pairings: Wolmeric Characters: Aymeric, Aureia (WoL) Word Count: 3,365 Summary: Ala Mhigo rises in a chorus of celebration. But high above the city in the Royal Menagerie, Aureia faces a dire understanding of herself, where her secrets have led her—and what it means for the man who loves her. Prompt: v. song | music Notes: Set at the end of Stormblood, spoilers for the base expac. Content warning: themes of war and trauma, a brief mention of a miscarriage Read on AO3

The drums beat.

The city roars.

And a nation blooms to triumphant life.

High above the labyrinthine walls, Aureia sits in a field of red, legs crossed and hands in her lap. Her staff stands tall by her side, wavering in the wind, the tip driven into the soil like some bizarre mockery of the Garlean flags that once claimed this land for itself. She should have left the Royal Menagerie bells ago when they carted the body away, but she has remained, unable to bring herself to descend into the maw of the Eorzean Alliance waiting below.

From her vantage point, she has watched Ala Mhigo swell with victory. She has seen the sun set, staining the sky bloodred as Garlean banners burned. She has seen the moon rise and the stars come out, like shining beacons guiding the way. She has heard the crescendo of a thousand cheers in the streets, the chorus of voices joined in song, the flood of music cascading through every inch of the city. Soldiers and civilians, Ala Mhigans and Domans, Eorzeans and Ishgardians all joined as one, crying out to the dawn of this new era.

With the city reclaimed and any surviving Imperials thrown in prison, the celebrations have begun in earnest. The city thrums with music and dance, food and drink, good friends and even better company. Everyone who knows anyone—regardless of their role in the siege—has converged on the capital, keen to join in on the festivities and to chance a glance at the famed Warrior of Light who just brought Zenos yae Galvus to his knees.

She could join them easily. Head down the stairs, smile and nod as if nothing was wrong, accept the adoration of a thousand grateful souls, like any good hero should…

But she is ill-suited for a party—especially one where the Ala Mhigans have put on their finest. If she leaves now, her makeup will be the ash smudged on her brow and the dried blood splattered on her chin. Her dress, her ripped and stained combat leathers. Her jewellery, the scuffed ringbands fraying at the edges.

So, she stays in this field of flowers with her eyes on the horizon, ignoring the rhythms of the city as she turns to the north-east.

To Garlemald.

To home.

Farewell, my first friend. My enemy.  

“Bastard,” she spits. “You greedy fucking bastard—” 

Footsteps trudge against stone behind her, their rhythm recognizable in a heartbeat. She closes her eyes, ignoring the sting of tears prickling in the corners. Blame it on the wind and the dust. There’s little reason why she would cry when her heart has turned to ice.

“Aureia.”

Aymeric’s voice washes over her, warm and firm. For the first time since mounting the steps, she feels at peace—as if his mere presence has washed all her fears away, and shielded her from any others yet to come. For a moment, she can feel herself rising in a rush, tripping through the sea of red flowers as she flies into his arms—

She blinks and finds herself on solid ground. She never left.

“You came to find me,” she says finally, staring ahead. The mountains loom in the distance, black against a brilliant night sky.

“Aye.”

“Waste of time and a waste of going up and down those stairs.” A lump forms in her throat. Of course he came, it is in his nature to. This has been the way they’ve been for a while now, ever since she traded Ishgard for the front. Garlemald grinds her down and shatters her, and he’s left to pick up the pieces. How many times have they done this song and dance now? How many more times will he be willing to play his part? “I’m better off alone.”

His sigh whispers on the wind, faint and fragile, as if it weren’t for her ears. “Come with me, Aureia,” he calls. “You cannot remain here forever.”

“I can. I haven’t finished.”

“There is nothing left to finish—”

“I said I haven’t finished!” Her neck cricks horribly as she wrenches herself around to look at him, ruby eyes dark with simmering with rage. “I said I would take Zenos’ head and I haven’t fucking done that, now have I?”

“Aureia. You cannot.”

“I can—I still can! If not him, then the next one up on the chain of command, and the next and the next until I get to the Emperor himself. By the gods, Aymeric, this isn’t finished until every last Galvus and all of their underlings are cold and in the fucking ground.” 

He watches her impassively, an immovable mountain to her roaring wind. Once, she would have taken his silence as confirmation that he was listening. Now, she isn’t so sure. The subject of Zenos has consumed her for weeks, setting a blazing fire within her that burns without abandon. The mere mention of the prince’s name has been enough to derail her completely, stoking her rage into an uncontrollable beast.  

Zenos would love to know that he has had that affect on her, wouldn’t he? Bastard. That fucking bastard who got the last laugh, who looked her in the eye as he took her vengeance from her.

One cut was all it took.

One cut and she watched him bleed out, the promise of her future going with it.

The drums beat, their rhythms rolling distantly above the city walls like thunder. Music to dance to, or music to march to? Perhaps it’s one and the same. It doesn’t take much for her to imagine the sound of a thousand soldiers marching across polished metal floors to a beat very much the same as that one. Tonight may be Ala Mhigo’s first night of freedom, but the Empire was here for twenty years.  

Aureia shivers. A feverish chill runs down her spine and she wraps her arms around her knees, pulling them into her chest. Somehow she’s both too hot and too cold. Black mage’s paradox. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “That’s not the answer you wanted, was it?”

“Would it matter if I said no?” Aymeric replies shortly. “You seem to have appointed yourself the expert on how I feel about certain matters, all without the need to consult me.”

She chews her lower lip. Shit. They’ve barely traded words and already she’s pissed him off—well, as pissed off as someone like Aymeric can get. She misses Thancred’s directness. At least he has the decency of cussing her out and telling her off instead of giving her this polite veneer of passive-aggressive disapproval. They still fight these days, but it burns out quickly and they return to normal. But with Aymeric… gods, she doesn’t even know how to have an argument with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you? You keep saying those words, but the more times you say them, the less you mean them.”

“I’m sorry, I—” She cuts off, flushing red. Blowing out a sharp breath, she shoves her fist into the ground, fingers tugging at a patch of bright red flowers. The stalks pull up easily and she shreds them one by one, like a child set loose on their parents’ garden. “I need to be alone. It’s better if I’m alone.”

“Aureia��” His voice is impossibly calm. Where once she would find it soothing, now she finds it patronizing. “You have kept your solitude for too long now. I’m concerned for you—”

“Thanks. Take your concern someplace else and go.”

“No.”

“Why not? There’s a whole party taking over the city. Go get drunk like the rest of our friends and celebrate. You deserve it.”

Aureia yanks up another handful of flowers and tears their petals one by one, crushing them in her fist like some sad version of the game the Corvosi girls used to play in the barracks at night when their sergeants weren’t looking, giggling and falling into each other as they eyed the boys across the room.

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not…

Intimate relations in the infantry wasn’t encouraged, but they had ways of making it happen anyway. Even in the Imperial military youths will act like youths. She didn’t. She had no interest and showed no interest, to the point it became some sick joke among the bullies of their squad—regardless of gender—to see who could get into her trousers first. Thankfully none of them ever tried in earnest. She became adept at ignoring the squeaking cots and the muffled moans, rolling up in her bedroll and using ambient aether to block out the noise, pretending she wasn’t seething with jealousy at the connection her squadmates all seemed to have found.

And then she turned seventeen and she was whisked away to the capital. A specialized unit, her mother said, with her brother and herself at the head. To be sanctioned by the crown prince himself… if she could prove their worth.

She twists a petal between her fingers and pops it off the step. He would have been around fifteen at the time. Bold and strong, already well on his way to be the most terrifying and bloodthirsty general the Garlean Empire has ever seen. A child honed to be a killer.

And now he is dead.

Funny what seventeen years of hell will do to you. Where are those old squadmates now? Dead too, most likely. Maybe she killed them herself and never knew it, at Castrum Meridianum or the Praetorium, Baelsar’s Wall or Doma Castle, Castrum Abania or even here today at Ala Mhigo.

Or they’re prisoners of war, if they’re lucky. Maybe they’re like Fordola, shoved into a prison cell with an enchanted collar slapped around their necks.

The flowers ripple behind her. Her ears prick up and she straightens, muscles tensing as she senses Aymeric’s approach. Quietly, he kneels beside her and presses a hand to her cheek, turning her head to face him. He meets her gaze with silent fortitude, every inch of his expression etched with the yearning to understand but the inability to make sense of it. She can’t blame him for that. How could he understand? She’s never given him the information that would allow him to. He’s missing half the story and is still left to clean up the mess.

Her heart pounds, a painful ache squeezing tight. Gods, she loves him for that. His patience, his compassion, the way he keeps trying long after someone else would have given up on her. But this is one truth he can chase but never catch.

He’ll be chasing it forever.

She closes her eyes.

“Aureia,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

“I… I can’t—”

“Look at me. Please.”

“I…” She sucks in a breath, teeth scraping her bottom lip, and with a cry, collapses into his arms. He holds her as she sobs, gently brushing her hair back from her face. She shakes, heaving breath after heaving breath straining her lungs, a wave of nausea coursing through her. The more she cries, the sicker she feels, and all the while the air sings with the beat of those damn drums. “I can’t do this anymore, Aymeric. I can’t. I—”

Aymeric pulls her closer and kisses her forehead. “There’s nothing else to fear, my love,” he murmurs. “Your enemy is dead. Ala Mhigo is free. Is this not the outcome you were hoping for?”

It’s not. He fucking killed himself. “It… I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She curls into him, hiding her face, and presses a hand to her mouth as she forces down the nausea. A lie. Another bloody lie. She thought this would be the day she would let all of this go, bury her past and be done with it forever. She anticipated it so strongly it dominated every thought and every action, driving her to bloodlust and vengeance’s sweet call.

While the Alliance planned for Ala Mhigo’s freedom, she planned for her own.

Zenos was the last person alive to know her roots. The only one to make the connection between the infamous Imperial signifier who betrayed her country and killed her own, and the famed Warrior of Light. She still shakes with horror recalling the raid on the resistance camp, his hulking form emerging from the flames like a demon from the abyss. He knew who she was from the moment their weapons clashed—the same soldier he fought in that arena at the Imperial palace nearly two decades ago, the same soldier who electrified his spirit and charged it with the thrill of the fight.

He did more than just remember her. He devoured her—her essence, her very being. No one came as close to fulfilling him as she did that day in their youth, and no one else had ever since. Fighting him at Rhalgr’s Reach gifted him a taste of the thing he craved most.

It was then that she decided she had to kill him personally. Her hand, no one else’s. The logic was simple: kill Zenos, and she kills her past.

And she failed.

By refusing to give her the satisfaction of killing him herself, he has cursed her to live in terror. Terror that she is a Garlean through and through, terror that she can never be free of it. The threat he posed may be gone, but there is another one simmering beneath the surface. Instead of burying her secrets, she has dug them up and thrown them out into the open, like a graverobber exhuming a corpse and scattering the bones.

It is only a matter of time before the Alliance starts asking questions.

Aymeric strokes his fingers through her hair. “I cannot pretend to understand the trials you have undergone these past few moons,” he says quietly. “Fury knows that I have been absent for many of them, and by Her grace I wish I had not been. If I could turn back time, I would have unshackled myself from Ishgard and ventured at your side. Faced him with you at Rhalgr’s Reach.”

Aureia chokes, the sweet, sick rise of nausea burning in her chest at the mention of the raid. Their relationship has never quite been the same since. It wasn’t the bruises or the scrapes or the broken arm, but everything that came after. Sitting in a pool of her own blood, listening to the chirurgeon tell her something she never thought possible… In the blink of an eye, she was pregnant and then she was not. The shock and grief and overwhelming confusion that pulled her into the depths like a riptide, mourning something she never wanted in the first place.

If Thancred hadn’t been there, she would have lost herself entirely.  

Lucia told her Aymeric was mad with worry when he heard of her injuries, but what would he have done had he known what the chirurgeon told her? This bold, kind wonderful man, who loves her more than anything and longs for all that is supposed to entail—marriage and family, when the time is right. But the time is never right, nor is it what she wants. So, perhaps it was wrong to keep the truth from him, but she would rather he never know.  

There are many things he is better not knowing about her.

Too many.  

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” she mumbles, her face buried in his chest. “He would have targeted you to get to me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He pauses, his hand gripping her shoulder. “There is no way to know the what ifs and the what could have beens, nor should we. It is over. It is done. He may not have fallen by your hand, but perhaps that was a blessing. Vengeance is a hungry beast that cannot be sated by one death alone. It demands and it demands until there is nothing left of you.”

Her head jerks up. “Aymeric, I’m not Estinien.”

“I did not say that.”

“Nor am I Nidhogg.”

“I did not say that either.” He looks down sharply, his fingers falling from her hair. “But you must let this go. I know how this siege has weighed on you, but you cannot keep walking down this path—”

“Why?”

“Because I am terrified of what it will do to you.” His expression hardens. She has never seen him afraid—not when he handed himself over to his father and the Heavens’ Ward, not when they faced down Hraesvelgr together, not even when he turned a bow on Estinien’s possessed body when Nidhogg attacked Falcon’s Nest. But this? This is his true fear, isn’t it? Fear that he is losing her. “Please, Aureia. I love you more than words can say. But you cannot hold onto this anger and rage forever—”

“I can.”

“You cannot—” 

“Don’t patronize me, Aymeric!”

She shoves away from him and rises to her feet, stalking across the flowerbeds to the edge of the menagerie. Beyond the walls, an orange glow rises from the city below. Lights from the celebrations flood the streets, flickering in the moving shadows of dancers and other revellers. The fires of revolution, of a kind. From up here, it almost looks as thought the whole city is burning.

The music swells, the beat driving on and on, pressing painfully against her ears. If this were any other night or if she were some other person, perhaps he would ask her to dance and she would accept—a dance alone for the two of them, atop a city witnessing its rebirth.

But it is not any other night.

And she cannot stop being who she is.

The wind picks up, tugging at her unbound hair. Blinking back tears, Aureia opens her fist, tossing the crushed petals into the breeze. They spiral away, out over the battlements, and vanish into the dark of night.

“Aureia.” Aymeric’s voice calls from behind her. He’s close—close enough for her to sense his presence, yet far enough away that the distance between them is tangible. Cold. She misses his warmth, the days when she felt his embrace could shield her from the world. “Come with me.”

She stares ahead, the music raging on. “Is that an order, Lord Commander?”

“No. It is a request.”

“Then my answer is no.”

He is silent for a long time. Then—

“Do as you will.” His tone is short and sharp, as if speaking to an unruly temple knight who has spoken out of turn. “If you insist on refusing my help, then do as you will. I cannot stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I will wait at the bottom of menagerie for you. If you do not meet me there in half a bell’s time, then I will know your answer.”

Anger flares within her, burning bright. “If it’s an answer you want, I can give you one now—”

“Half a bell, Aureia. Either come or do not. The choice is yours.”

Aureia stares out across the city, her fist pressed to her heart as Aymeric walks away. In her mind’s eye, she can envision herself turning around and chasing after him, throwing herself into his arms with tears in her eyes and an apology on her lips, clinging to him as he carries her out of the menagerie and down the sweeping steps to the city beyond. Her heart aches for it, urging for it to come true. It would be so simply, to go to him, to run to him and hide, to turn her back on the truth that haunts her from the very horizon.

But she cannot bring herself to move.

In the wake of his ultimatum, he has left her with a single question: what does she give up? Her relationship? Or herself?

Nausea and bile rise in her throat.

She turns, running from the battlements, and collapses in the flowerbeds. She vomits, again and again until her throat is searing and her lips are cracked and her body has nothing left to give.

Below, the music beats on and on and on.

[solaaresque]

chewchewchew how are u my friend :3

HEWWO im good ^_^ hru?

[eri-pl]

So with @edennill mentioning isekai recently (a week ago? Idk), I started thinking and realized something: (if we ignore part of meta that's self-contradictory anyway or if we squint hard enough) if we are contemplating the concept of "isekai-ed into ME", landing there as an elf makes just as much sense as landing there as a human. Because the difference between the two kindreds is how they're tied to Arda and since we are getting thrown into a different world anyway (because this is the only way this premise makes any resemblance of sense, because time travel is a total mess) we can as well be more strongly tied to it. It makes just the same amount of sense as being more loosely tied.

(Tolkien said that there is no inherent physical difference between Men and Elves; the only difference is the nature of their bond with Arda and stuff like this, purely spiritual or whatever to call it.)

[pleasebegood]

ask and you shall receive (at least, the two of you who wanted to see this): my non-human omo fic

vague summary for tumblr: a certain Light Spirit tries out a human form and gets a lesson in humility the hard way; at the very least, her human companion thinks this could be a good bonding experience

or, she pisses herself because she’s too stubborn to ask what’s wrong with her, and her companion is really cool about it even if he never signed up to be a health teacher ; nonsexual omo scenario, HEAVY hurt/comfort & humiliation

[sillylanzhou]

and that's like less than the first 200 out of 800+ chapters 😭

(speaking of- who will take one for the team and actually make a hjyj iceberg)

[peach-moths]

Snow Covered Pines

The 2025 Unicorn

[2024] [2023]

[kairamuwu]

!! drew this a couple weeks ago as a gift!! It's kinda become a somewhat yearly thing I draw at this point lmao

versions from the past 3 years below vv

(pretend the fairy isnt clearly just etho)