#suburban fantasy

[emwrote]

"Urban fantasy is set in an urban environment"

*looks at my fantasy stories set in Helsinki, Finland*

I'm not sure if urban enough. There's no skyscrapers and most of the stories take plave by a river in a suburb. I'm calling it contemporary fantasy.

[wonderful-prompts]

Prompt #1311

The spellbook was falling apart. Its wobbly spine was reinforced with peeling duct tape, the sigils inked on its covers had been nearly worn away by years of travel. Yet it remained in the witch's care.

[dabantam]

Urban Fantasy World Building: Elves

In modern times, elves are among the most widespread of sentient species, out competed only by humans and goblins. Long lived and having a vast history, there are a variety of elves throughout modern society.

City Elves: Also known as high elves, city elves are (as their names suggest) elves that live predominantly in urban areas. Experts at all sorts of magic and arcane inscriptions, they are the founders (and often leaders) of numerous magic unions and universities.

Wood Elves: The most traditional of the elves, wood elves are the elves who have remained in touch with nature. While some live in cabins in the woods, others live in suburban areas (though these are a bit more overgrown than most suburbs). They excel at nature magic, and are famous for their skills in gardening and potion brewing.

[fate-magical-girls]

Fantasy story idea: The Glaistig, the goat-legged, green-robed water fairies, are the true owners of the land. For generations they've allowed humans to live and build there. The Glaistig make sure all the roads are in proper repair, the playgrounds and swimming pools and other communal areas are cleaned, and that well-watered and trimmed plants appear in areas around the community. In exchange, the humans pay a yearly tithe. They must also build their houses in Glaistig-approved models, paint their houses in Glaistig-approved standards, plant their yards with Glaistig-approved plants in Glaistig-approved patterns, maitain their yards to Glaistig approved standards, raise only Glaistig-approved animals, and get the express approval of the Glaistig for any permanent "major" alterations to the exterior of their homes.

And now one family wants to convert their porch stairs into a ramp, and the Glaistig aren't pleased about the aesthetics...

[xiaonyc]

Burned my hair in fire,

Its alright tho.

The smell was strange

But interesting...

[lawofnamesmedia]

Episode 62: Walk-On - Pinecast

Please click here for show content warnings. ** Monday, July 6, 2009 The speech that the plucky hero gives right before the training mo

Monday, July 6, 2009

The speech that the plucky hero gives right before the training montage starts.

Conversations with Camren.

Holly knows what she's doing.

Like mother, like son.

#Arcadia_CA

Episode 62: Walk-On

[wardenred]

Sapphic September 1: Portal Fantasy

A maybe excerpt, maybe AU from a YA novel I swear I'll finish someday.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, wrapped in a cocoon of towels and blankets, and I can’t believe this is really happening. Everything is so ordinary. The flowers and the white picket fence behind the window. The soft electric light from the lamp on Claudia’s desk. The cat sleeping on the hamburger-shaped beanbag in the corner. The closed laptop, the bookshelves, the Lego clown grinning at me from the nightstand. The pale beige wallpaper in the gaps between indie band posters. Everything here is fabric and wood, messy and cozy. A forgotten dream of a place. I barely recognize it.

The door hinges groan softly, and my attention immediately snaps to the source of the sound. Claudia tiptoes in, carrying a large steaming mug, her lips pursed tightly in concentration. She’s wearing an oversized blue shirt and those bunny slippers I bought for her as a joke. It’s weird to see them still so new. So fuzzy. Just like her sleep-tousled hair.

Everything about Claudia is exactly as I remember her. That can only mean that I’m hallucinating, or dreaming, or under the influence of yet another toxic brew. Because it makes no sense, does it? Something must have changed. Her hairstyle. Her weight. Anything.

The mattress dips as she perches carefully on the edge of the bed. She offers me the mug. “Here. I even found a pack of marshmallows.”

It takes me a moment to figure out how to react. “Thank you.” My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable to my own ears. I clear my throat. Take the mug. Stare into it. Melting blobs of marshmallow float over the chocolate foam, like wave crests on a muddy brown sea. The heat from the mug seeps into my palms. The drink smells like home.

Claudia clears her throat. “So,” she says, “do you want to tell me what happened?”

And I do, so much, but I don’t know what I can tell her. All I know is I’m so grateful she wants to know. That she has let me in. Recognized me.

How is she still the same?

“I…” I draw a breath, and the marshmallow waves shift when I let it out. “Maybe it would be easier if you, um, asked specific questions?”

“Specific questions,” she repeats slowly. “Well, I don’t know, Sarah, let’s see. My girlfriend disappears without a trace for the entire weekend, then shows up in my back garden in the middle of the night, soaking wet and completely out of it. Gee. I don’t even know. I think my most specific question at this point is, What the fuck?”

I open my mouth to answer, and then her words register with me. One word, to be exact. Weekend. My hands go numb. The mug tilts. A few brown drops land on the pastel tartan comforter.

To think I was seriously worried if she still lived in her parents' house and had the same room there. The entire way from the lake, there had been one thought in my mind: Claud may have left for college by now.

One weekend. Jeez. How?

"Sarah." Claudia leans forward and places a hand on the side of my knee. I can barely feel the touch through all the blankets, but I still soak in the warmth of her presence. "Seriously. What happened? I was worried sick. I thought—" She swallows. "I thought you were abducted. Like Sammy."

"Sammy was never abducted," I say automatically.

But I was. Abducted, or kidnapped, or stolen away in the night—whatever words I choose, they won't change the ugly truth of what happened.

"Did you talk to Sammy?" I blurt, before she can ask anything else. For half of my unwanted adventure, Sammy had been the one person I thought of most. Surely my twin will come looking for me. She's the only one who can. And besides, it's her fault. And she is my twin. 

"I tried," Claudia says with a grimace. "I went to your house on Saturday, to see if you've been home. She... wasn't exactly forthcoming."

I swallow. Sammy doesn't like Claud, I know, but. But. There's something about this that makes the tangle of anxiety and fear in my gut tighten up further.

"Could you... elaborate?"

She frowns, and I hate that I'm putting so many sad, hurt expressions on her face. I want to be the reason she smiles. The person who makes her eyes light up and sparkle like the pond waters in the twilight, when all the stars are out already reflecting in them. All this time—all this weekend, apparently—I've been thinking about her smiles. The happy and open ones when she's having fun. The small smug ones when she wins a prize, or gets a compliment for a job well done, or gets singled out in a group for her accomplishments. The soft, hazy, sleep-painted ones in the mornings that she reserves just for me.

"To be honest," Claudia says slowly, and I push myself to focus, "I would much prefer it if you answered my questions first. But, okay, whatever. She was acting super weird. She tried to convince me you came straight home with her after Pete's party, like she was taking me for a fool. Then she said you were asleep. Then she just kept repeating I was unwelcome and overstepping and you would hate me for poking my nose into your business—"

"I would never!"

She squeezes my knee through the blankets, and finally, there's a hint of a smile. "Anyway. Eventually, your Grandma showed up and took over, and then I somehow ended up eating pancakes with Sammy and her on your back porch. That was... not even the weirdest part, to be honest."

Pancakes. My throat tightens. I can't help but remember the last time Grandma sat me down for some oddly shaped pancakes. Right after I first realized Sammy was lying to me about where she'd been all summer. Right when I got close to the truth about the Veil and the Other Places for the first time, only to be shoved in the opposite direction.

"What... what was the really weird part?"

Claud's dark green eyes harden. "The one, I guess, where I left your house utterly convinced that I saw you leave the party with Sammy. That you may or may not be going away to visit some non-existent relatives, but that's none of my business. That you and I have in fact broken up because you did something so terrible I'd better not even try to recall it. And I just walked around believing all this bullshit until I cracked my journal open in the evening, so please, Sarah, will you explain to me what the fuck is going on?"

Her journal. Can it really be so simple? Would any record of pre-enchantment events suffice, or is it all about the power of the written word? I file the thought away for later. I inhale, exhale, exhale again. The steam from the mug curls lower against its rim. I take a few sips and set the rest on the nightstand, then scoot closer to Claudia.

"This is going to be really hard to believe," I warn, my chin on her shoulder. "But I swear I'll only be telling the truth. I should have told you the truth a long time ago."

And then I explain it all: about the Veil, and where Sammy went, and where they took me. If I make it a little too long-winded, it's just because I'm afraid to stop talking too soon.

If she does think I'm crazy, I'd rather not know for as long as possible.

[worldofthechateau]

Lyall Fisher

Physical Appearance

Lyall Fisher is an average Caucasian 37-year-old male, 5’9” tall and weighing 155 pounds. He has tanned skin, gray eyes, and messy reddish-brown hair. He’s not as muscular as he used to be, but he’s by no means unhealthy.

As for clothes, he is a fashion disaster, on purpose!

Personality

Lyall worked as a cop in the city of Camphor until his boss fired him for not engaging in corruption. Needless to say, that experience greatly soured his view of law enforcement, and he’s now a firm believer in ACAB.

Currently, he works at the local library. It’s nice and peaceful, plus it gives him an excuse to look through books about supernatural stuff.

This man is addicted to coffee and out of fucks to give. He can’t function in the morning without a cup. 

As for the fucks he doesn’t give, here’s a list of things that don’t receive his fucks:

Fashion

How stupid his car looks with all the ridiculous stickers on it

What people think about his sexuality

What people think about him liking Pretty Kitties Adventures

Other people’s opinions in general

Being skinny

Lyall actually giving a fuck what you think is incredibly rare. Some members of the Society of the Supernatural haven’t even managed that. (If you’re wondering who makes the list, it’s Mary Anne, Amelia, Christine, and Ulysses.)

Abilities

Lyall’s magical specialty is fire– good thing “not setting everything ablaze” is one of the things he gives a fuck about!

His days as a cop have made him incredible at reading people. If he thinks someone is untrustworthy, listen to him.

His current job as a librarian has taught him good memorization and organization (the latter of which he sorely needed at the time he was hired).

Finally, he’s great at writing down notes in shorthand.