#Fantasy Story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insomniac-dot-ink · 3 months

Text

The Language of Wolves, a Fairy Tale

There is a wolf with the voice of a person up on the hill. Travelers were sent there, both the lucky and unlucky sorts, if they could not speak the common tongue. The wolf had mastered any language he had ever heard and the people of the valley were both reasonable and warry. Send the travelers to the wolf, they said, bound by hospitality, and ask him who taught him how to speak or else whose witches throat he tore out and stitched into his own.

Many unsuspecting pilgrims, soldiers, merchants, and wayward souls, found themselves on the doorstep of a creature wearing silks and smiling in fangs. He knew their local songs though, every bit of story, and they woke in the morning with their lives intact and bags un-stolen. So the wolf remained even as borders shifted and languages died, even as scholars arrived and the wolf refused all questions on the nature of its knowledge. A humble beast it said, wearing coats of finest red only as the lords allow it.

Monks whispered of a miracle, nuns gave a pilgrimage of fresh goats and blood to the wolf at his doorstep, holy wanderers said perhaps even wolves had souls–even wolves could be saved. Others, of course, only asked more questions.

Finally, there came a tricky man. Aged and silver, unwed, a scholar and a soldier both, coming from afar and very close all at once. The Scholar Soldier came in the downpour and the night, shed his muddy boots on the poor beast’s rug, and spoke in guttural tongues. The wolf’s eyes narrowed, and he used the voice of every person to ask where the Scholar Soldier came from. And the man spoke in tongues until the wolf’s ears laid flat against his head.

Do you not recognize it? said the Scholar Soldier, how can you not? The Scholar Soldier threw back his head and let out a howl–for he had fought in fairy wars, on the side of beasts, and knew the language of the wolves from the very first. The wolf tore off his fine red coat, tore at his beautiful cravat, and wept upon his floor. Can you take it back? he cried, can you make me whole?

Not a gift, of course, but a curse. As a mother turns away from her cub, placing a thorn in his throat that made him able to practice every language in the world but his own. Thrown out. The Scholar Soldier took pity on the old wolf and took him as a groom. They could be happy, he said, even if they were speaking with words never their own.

#I am doing a hundred day microfiction challenge #fairy tales #flash fic #fantasy story #spilled ink #flash fiction #micro fiction

333 notes · View notes

affinitystoryblog · 3 months

Text

The Star Squad's character sheets!

#orignial characters #ocs #original story #fantasy story #magical girl #fantasy #mahou shoujo #magical girls #magical boy #magical girl oc #character sheet #small artist #artists on tumblr #my art #star squad #edit: i fixed and updated all of the character sheets

311 notes · View notes

once-upon-a-time-a-crow · 1 month

Text

261 notes · View notes

therobotmonster · 1 month

Text

Chosen for What?

A short tale about chosen ones.

"There it is."

Johann's voice was barely a whisper but in the unnatural silence of the forest it might as well have been a shout. The knight took a step forward, oblivious to the crunch of his footsteps on the dry leaves or the sharp, almost metallic smell of the coming snow.

His focus was entirely upon the spear. It's shaft was made of white wood, polished so smooth he had mistaken it for marble, and the bronze spearhead was shaped like a elegantly stylized shark.

It was presently stuck within the ribcage of an obscenely oversized humanlike skeleton, which was itself entangled in the gnarled roots of a tree the size of a watchtower. The giant's bones were twice the size of a man's. More remarkably, they were made of pitted, rust-flecked iron.

Johann reached forward.

"HOLD!"

Johann froze. Even though the salvation of his people was mere inches away from his outstreched hand, he dared not ignore the voice behind him. He felt the wizard's hand grip him by the shoulder.

"You know it is not meant for you." Aldara said. She squeezed hard enough for Johann to feel it through his mail shirt. He remembered her saying that wizards aged only on the outside. He had no reason to doubt her on that point.

"And who is it for?" Johann hissed under his breath. "That scum?"

The scum in question was already walking toward the spear. Galen VonZent, the cutpurse and murderer. Galen VonZent, the spoiled, cruel son of a merchant house who killed his own father and nearly bought his way to freedom. Galen VonZent, who Alex 'sacrificed himself to save.'

"Galan, take the spear. You're ready." Aldara said, her voice heavy with the import of the moment. When Galan moved to obey, she slowly pulled Johann back away from the spear, step-by-step.

The tall, golden-haired man grabbed the spear with both hands, and began slowly pulling it free of the iron skeleton. To Johann's shock and disgust, the shark-shaped spearhead bent this way and that in a swaying motion, aiding in its release.

"The gods must be insane, or cruel beyond reasoning. If that beast is their chosen one."

"You aren't incorrect." The old woman chuckled. "But why say that now? Why not when we found him?"

"I had faith the gods had chosen well, that he'd grow into the role. But since we saved him from the gallows he has done nothing but confirm that he was right to be there. He has been cruel, selfish, cowardly, and petty at every turn." Johann's voice was a barely subdued growl. "And even if you do not believe me, he murdered Alex."

"I told you to give him a chance." Aldara said. Johann braced to be lectured about some hidden goodness or potential for redemption. "I'm glad you took my advice."

"What? You agree with me?" Johann gritted his teeth. "You should have let me at least try to pull the spear free. If he can do it, I certainly can!"

"Why is a prophecy like a worm on a line?"

"Again with your riddles! I don't know!" Johann barely managed to suppress a shout. "Is that why I am unworthy? A riddle?"

Aldara sighed. She smiled in that way that made Johann think of his grandmother, and his anger faltered. She spoke, clear and gentle. "Do you think the Gods would leave something this important up to chance?"

"Obviously not, that's why the prophecy-"

She squeezed again.

"Tell me, how do you ensure that a chosen hero isn't killed before they can save the world?"

Johann glanced back at Galan. The brute had managed to free the spear halfway, and was taking a self-congratulatory break. "Whisk him away as a child to be raised in safety? Assign a wizard to watch over him? Place other heroes along the path to help him?"

"So many moving parts." The wizard laughed. "The gods can try and play us like puppets, but free will is a wildcat in a burlap sack-"

"-you can take it wherever you want until the sack tears." Johann continued the adage. "And you'll get cut along the way regardless."

"The task gets no easier by adding more cats."

"Then how?" Johann asked, somewhere between sullen and frustrated.

"If you need to make sure only someone who is worthy can take the spear, you make the spear ensure that anyone who takes it-"

The wizard paused, a wide satisfied smile on her face. It was not the smile she had worn when they were joyously feasting with the elf-folk five days into the quest. It was the smile she had worn when she made Vorn the Destroyer's blood turn to water in his veins.

Johann's gaze was thusly occupied when the sound of Galan's sharp, anguished scream ripped through the air.

"-is worthy."

Johann turned slowly. As a knight he had heard enough death rattles and screams to know that he didn't want to witness the cause Galan's banshee-like shriek.

When he finally did turn fully, his gaze did not meet a horrifying eldritch mutilation as he expected. Instead, there stood Galan, holding the spear reverently with both hands.

Though nothing outward had changed, every aspect that Johann had found lacking was now plainly there in the lines of his face and posture of his body: compassion, thoughtfulness, maturity, competence, sincerity... even hope. Everything was there behind those eyes.

Everything except Galan VonZent.

#short story #mini-fiction #free will #chosen ones #fantasy story #drabble #tropes

183 notes · View notes

rustic-space-fiddle · 23 days

Text

Conceptual art of a Mountain Grazer || The Mountain Grazers raise cattle (see cow sketches below the cut), herding them from grassy mountainside to grassy mountainside by season. Sometimes they have to climb to get vantage points, clear pathways (the cows are not as graceful), and rescue calves that have been separated. They’re so strong that most of them can pull off feats like the one shown here: scaling an over-sheer cliff side with a calf dangling from one foot. Incredibly hearty and athletic, these fellas are the most no-nonsense of the Grazer species.

#original story #species design #original art #character design #procreate art #art #digital art #artists of tumblr #rustic space doodles #shepherd #fantasy art #fantasy story #character dev #story development #worldbuilding

73 notes · View notes

transbian-mailbomber · 3 months

Text

this bet was too easy you had thought, just drink one potion. you trusted the witch you made the bet with, being a regular at her shop, she had always been sly but her potions were magnificent! ‘i bet a thousand gold you couldn’t just drink one’ she had said, and you foolishly accepted. not even considering the aftermath of losing…

now you were downing your third. your head felt woozy but your whole body tingled slightly, everything felt more sensitive, but it felt so good… the witch cackles beside you, placing her hand firmly on your thigh. shivers shoot up your spine and you can immediately feel your body getting hot. she pulls you to the backroom, and you manage to glimpse the label of a similar looking potion:

Overstim Potion HIGHLY POTENT

the witch shoves you on a bed, quickly undressing herself as you begin to catch up on what’s happening. but it’s too late, you’re already caught in her trap, plus you’re soaking your panties with pre-cum, what’s the worst that could happen?

she rips off your clothes and flips you on your stomach, pressing the tip of her magical cock against your ass. you moan and squirm, you want her cock, you need it in you right now! your body seems to beg for it. she pushes it in, your legs shake as you orgasm immediately, a wicked smile stretches across the witch’s face. without hesitation she yanks your hair back and starts fucking you senseless, you cum again, and again, you can’t stop cumming actually. a wet spot forms under you as you soak the bed in your fluids. but it doesn’t matter to her, in fact she enjoys watching as tears begin rolling down your cheeks from the pain of being forced to cum over and over, and she loves the blank expression on your face as drool pools beside your mouth. your body is on fire, the pleasure overrunning any other emotion as the witch uses you as her personal fucktoy. she buries her dick in your useless hole, filling you with cum, and then continuing to ruthlessly fuck you. soon everything starts fading in and out, and it all turns into a blur, you vaguely remember her pulling out and finishing on your limp, twitching body, looking at you as if you were just a piece of art she had just cultivated in a matter of minutes. another useless toy to be used. and you loved it, maybe being her fucktoy wasn’t so bad after all. maybe, you could stay… just a little longer…

#hornyposting #mtf nsft #trans nsft #fantasy nsft #witch nsft #witch x reader #overstim kink #cnc overstim #overstim nsft #nsft concept #x reader #fantasy #fantasy story #helvedeshellhole #mind break

126 notes · View notes

iamtabbychan · 6 months

Text

This is a short story I did as a test for myself and my original character Hayami. I wanted to try making colorful comic pages, but there's still a lot to learn. I hope you like it.

130 notes · View notes

get-prompted · 7 months

Text

Prompt;

You’ve been hired as a servant in the Royal Castle. Nobody has seen, nor knows about the secluded prince/princess; only rumours of a “horrible curse” that has tainted them. Accidentally entering their living quarters, you’re about to see what exactly they are.

#story prompt #writing ideas #writing prompts #story prompts #prompted writing #writing prompt #writing resources #fantasy prompts #fantasy story #fantasy writing #creative writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writer things #writer ideas #writing #character writing #getprompted

88 notes · View notes

kix-mm · 10 months

Text

Pretty thing

A young lady tries her best to politely reject a powerful and persistent being’s offer.

While her family and neighbors give her pitiful reminders that she’s hard to marry off, she seemed to catch the unwelcome attention of a young creature. He has offered her his hand in marriage and is adamant to know her answer right that moment.

Though his promises were of great wealth to her family and comfort to his “bride” the young lady isn’t too sure she’s quite ready to be traded to someone so unusual. Surely her parents would be sane enough to not permit this wedding to happen.

But alas- her parents accepted the offer as soon as it was told, there was not a moment of hesitation and the two were pronounced newly wedded on paper as soon as her father pressed the wax seal… A summary of one million gold for her hand in marriage, as flattering as the amount was. She was still saddened when parting from her home, knowing that the journey would be far and she would likely never see her home or village ever again.

But as she watched her village vanish through the clouds she could only wonder why this interesting person had chosen her of all people, her best guess was a very expensive meal, or a new maid to clean up after him. He didn’t look very responsible, most boys his age would still have their mothers running after them while giving their daughters strict housework and lessons for their own future husbands. She spoke from bitter experience.

She hoped that if he treated her poorly she would at least have the chance of attempting escape… and if caught? She would not let this “husband” of hers take her life, but rather die by her own hands. She would let nobody control her life in such a dreadful manner. But truth be told? Her thoughts of toughness were merely a disguise, she felt her palms sweat and her breath tremble, even when so close to this stranger she felt like she was all alone at the moment.

She didn’t just feel her own heart pounding, but that of the being too, her cheeks flushed a soft red as he pressed her a little closer to his chest. She quickly pulled away as soon as she had the chance to touch the ground, wanting as much space as possible between the two, as a result, she tripped over a slightly elevated cobblestone and fell to her bottom, making him chuckle. “Dizzy? Don’t worry you get used to it.” He spoke.

She quickly pulled herself back up and dusted off her clothes while looking around. They were surrounded by lush green mountains and a large red temple floating atop, there didn’t seem to be any stairs that lead to a way down though, just a very, very long drop to the ground below.

119 notes · View notes

simbecca · 10 months

Text

[SB] Story poses 3

- 9 Adult-child poses for storytelling (+1 variation)

You’ll need:

Pose player

Teleport Any Sim

*Place 2 teleporters in the same spot.

*Disclaimer : I use custom rigs for my poses so they might look different on your sims due their body size, proportions and clothing.

Check out my story on Instagram -> @_simbecca_

Feel free to tag me there if you use them, i’d love to see them !

And let me know if you have any issues with them, and i'll try to fix it <3

DOWNLOAD

SFS or PATREON (free)

TOU

Please don’t claim as your own.

Don’t re-upload

#sims 4 #sims 4 pose pack #ts4 #download #sims poses #the sims community #sims storytelling #storytelling #ts4 poses #medieval sims #fantasy story #fantasy sims

129 notes · View notes

oubliette-odette · 7 months

Text

The Reluctance of Love, Pt. 5

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Word Count: 2,724 (average 16 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

I tried to pretend that the sweat dripping off of my body was because of physical exertion walking, but the pain in the pit of my stomach and the tightness of my muscles as I held back the incessant urges inside was a constant reminder that my symptoms were only getting worse.

I had hoped with distance, the urge to mate would diminish, but I found that walking away from Altan grew more difficult with each step. The thought kept passing that Altan was likely experiencing the same thing, and I felt even more sorry that my legs couldn’t walk me faster.

The travel to the outerlands was less than a week’s travel. I would sometimes be offered a ride to the next town, which would help me in getting there faster, but my body would seize as I sat on the back of the wagon, and my fists would be clenched and my jaw tight as I muscled through polite conversation. I’m sure they all found me mad or intimidating, but it was taking everything to keep myself in control.

The only comfort I had was at night, sleeping under the stars and returning to that space in my dreams where Altan would wait for me. He never complained about the situation, but would instead ask me how I was faring and tell me stories.

I was able to make a living with my forge creating tools and instruments for the local folk to purchase and I took great pride that my work was not only sturdy, but it was also pleasant to look at, even though I never considered myself an artist.

Altan, however, was an artist. The way he told stories, recited poetry and sang - it was all art. He carried so much grace and confident motion within him, even the way his fingers danced upon the air as he elaborated his story, I could never look away from those slender fingers and the control they had with each subtle brush and wave. His torso would sway, and I found myself frequently bound to staring at his waist and the slight curve there. He was as much a masterpiece of art. He was music, he was poetry, he was…magnificent. In the quiet of our own special dreamspace he would weave tales that his mother passed down to him - of the ancient days when his elven ancestors fought to defend their lands from a long dead evil.

He soothed much of my worry for him with his honey-silver tongue, but it created a deeper, more permanent ache inside me that I recognized never left in our dream world. A want to be near him, a want to see him and be seen by him. I struggled to say words around him, but he always cleverly and patiently wheedled answers out of me.

I learned that Altan had always dreamed of running away to be an artist and bring people joy.

He learned that I had always dreamed of traveling to new places, even across the sea if I ever got lucky.

I learned that Altan was the oldest with two siblings, and his mother was a high-born elf who left her people to be with Altan’s father. He seemed to clam up when it came to his father.

He learned that I had four broodmothers, and one very larger-than-life father who led our orc clan through countless raids and sired more siblings than I could count but yet he somehow remembered all of our names.

Altan liked rainy days, sweet food especially when it had cinnamon, and he often got in trouble as a child for rescuing animals off the sides of the roads.

I liked sunny days, spicy food that burned my face off, and often dazed off thinking about things and could go days without talking to a soul.

Altan loved people, and I was scared of most people. We both enjoyed sleeping in late, and didn’t enjoy following rules when they could be avoided. And we both felt like disappointments to our family, despite how hard we both worked for an otherwise more positive reaction.

We were both each other’s first friend.

I found each night as our conversation ended and our dreams pulled us back to the waking world, that I found great comfort in Altan’s presence and a remorse at having to say goodbye. He seemed to enjoy my company in return and I wondered if this is what it felt like to have a friend. A real friend.

I pondered it as I gritted my teeth and trudged through the misery of my days. I cursed Gruumsh for my misery and I prayed to any other god who would listen to watch out for Altan.

When I reached the border of my family’s land, I sniffed the air and followed the trail of smoke that wafted in the air. Orc tribes travel through the seasons and live in a shared commune that reminded me of an elaborate camp. There was always food on the fire, furs to nestle in and a sibling or mate to keep you company. As a child I remembered having no privacy in my home. There was always one of my mothers, or a sibling around to watch my every move. It was anxiety-inducing and I recognized that my body was holding a pit of dread alongside my need to mate.

I knew who I would need to see once I arrived, and I hoped that I could slip through without much notice.

But I would not be so lucky.

A horn blew as I stepped into outer circle of the commune. I saw orcs all around raise their heads from their work and turn to find me slowly approaching. It took some of them a few moments before they recognized me. I held my breath and waited for the loud and violent impact of my family.

“Drunrag!” They exclaimed, and some raced over to my side. My shoulders, arms, back, chest, and backside were all slapped - there was no such thing as hugging in my family - and loud obnoxious comments made about how slim I was. None of them seemed to notice that I swayed under their slaps as the pull of lordhovid pulled me back to wherever Altan was.

“Drunni!” I recognized my broodsister, Orga, as she clapped her hands on both my shoulders and knocked her forehead against mine. “We have missed you so much!” She grimaced as she pulled her hands back, damp with my sweat, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I need to see Nezda.” I managed. “Now.”

Nezda was one of our oldest she-orcs in our commune. All of her mates had since passed on and she alone was the one teaching the young ones our history. I remembered her as old when I was but a young pup, and I wondered how old she was then.

Orga led me with the rest of my family following behind begging for questions from me. Orga and I had often fought as we grew, she always pushed me harder than any of my other siblings, but when I looked over at her then, I saw only a passive look on her face. I didn’t know what that meant.

“Nezda!” She called, her hands was on my bicep as she practically dragged me into the tent that Nezda stayed in. It looked exactly as I remembered it. Layers of furs on the ground, stools and cushions to sit against and a burning hearth that kept the room stifling with heat. I groaned at the amount of heat inside and outside of me. It was getting to be too much.

“The quiet one has returned, I see.” Nezda’s voice rasped as she came from behind a curtain. Her violent green eyes locked onto mine. She had never liked me, told my father that I was too quiet, asked too many questions and didn’t think fast enough to be a warrior. She had been the first to call me broken when I was the last one of my brood to be unmated. I saw how she looked at me then, and I felt the same chilling shame that I did as a child and I averted my gaze from her.

Orga went about shooing the other siblings away from Nezda’s tent, eventually leaving only Orga and Nezda inside me. Two of the women I feared the most in all of my life, cornering me.

“What is this, Drunrag?” Orga’s voice was expectant and harsh. “Where is she?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Your raebukan!” Orga yelled. “You think I don’t know what you’re feeling?”

I shook my head, “There is no mate, I need this to go away.” I looked to Nezda. “Help me. Please.”

“Lordhovid does not manifest without a mate, shakedul.”

I felt so small with Nezda referencing me as a child, nothing more than just a boy in her eyes. While most of my siblings were probably having their third or fourth child, maybe even starting clans of their own…I was nothing more than a child to them. I hated how I felt here.

“You dukitod.” Orga continued the trail of insults, forcing my eyes away from her judgemental stare. “Why would you resist this? You’re finally one of us.”

I shook my head, “No. You must listen. There is no mate.”

Nezda narrowed her eyes at me. “You are speaking half truth, shakedul. Where is she?”

I looked at her, my face intent and pleading. Please. I begged in my head. Just listen. “Revered one, I will not lie to you. There is no woman for me to mate with.”

She narrowed her eyes further and a long, drawn out groan escaped her lips. She shook her head and walked towards me. Her long, bony fingers came up to my forehead and grasped each side of my temple. I closed my eyes and clenched.

I could hear her heavy breathing as she poured herself into my mind. She would see Altan, she would see he is not my mate. I was relieved to be seen as telling the truth. I dreaded my family knowing about Altan. He was mine to know, not theirs.

“Hmmmm” Nezda pulled back and her green eyes were on me like spotlights. “You do not lie. You do not speak truth. There is a mate. But a man.”

“What?” Orga exclaimed. She broke into an ugly fit of laughter and she slapped her hand on me. “You really are broken, brother.”

I ignored her and looked up to Nezda. “Will you help me?”

“You have not mated with him?” She asked.

I looked at her aghast, as if my crumbling composure wasn’t enough to show her. “No. I would not touch him.”

She didn’t speak, but only continued to study me. I finally broke her silence. “Please tell me you know of a way to reverse lordhovid.”

“Sacrilege” Orga breathed. “To mate is an honor.”

I resisted shaking my head at her and screaming to her the nightmare it was to be forced to mate. I hated the idea of all of this happening without my permission. I did not feel honored looking at Altan’s perfect body and desiring it without even knowing him.

“Hush.” Nezda hissed. “Leave, kristifam.”

Orga looked like she wanted to protest, but she quietly bowed her head before making her way out of the tent. I caught the whispered curses under her breath as she passed me.

“You…feel nothing for your raebukan?” She asked.

It was an unfair question. All of this, I realized, was because I cared for Altan. I think I was suddenly feeling more for him than I was prepared for, and most of it was happening even when I was in our dreams where lordhovid didn’t affect me. I wanted to end lordhovid now because I wanted to feel something for him without my body hurting us, hurting him.

Nezda didn’t wait for my answer, she sniffed. “Does he feel nothing for you?”

I didn’t really know that. I knew he wasn’t afraid of me. I knew he saw me as a friend. He certainly thought good of me. But I assumed there wasn’t much more than that. I could see that he would likely be that way with anyone if given the chance. I shook my head at her.

She hummed, her eyes piercing. “Mating in our clan is considered an honor above death in battle, you understand?”

I nodded.

“Would you choose to be dishonored by your own blood?”

“I will not do something that would dishonor him.” I affirmed.

She nodded once and bowed her head. “You will feel worse before you feel better.” She said. “Are you prepared?”

I spoke gravely, “I am, yes. Tell me what to do.”

45 notes · View notes

insomniac-dot-ink · 1 year

Text

The Princess, The Fairy, and the Goat-hearted Swamp

Prologue

Not all fairy godmothers are as talented as the stories say. Some fairy godmothers bumble their way through their duties. Thistle was one of those fairies and Calendar was one of those princesses–a little bit off. The king and queen of a poor country asked the fairy first if they could fix her. When she said maybe. With the right curse. The king and queen’s second question was quite plainly before she cast the spell: “Why a swamp?”

Calendar wished she remembered the day better in general but in her defense, the mice were a bit distracting. Bright syrupy midday light streamed in through the throne room windows and it was a meeting of four. The fairy, her parents, and Calendar.

Thistle carried a thorny branch instead of a wand and was absently stroking the leaves. A family of small mice were ducking in and out of her shoulder satchel and Princess Calendar, named such for curse-related reasons, was also watching their progress. The little mice were making their way from one end of the drawing room to another, their cheeks stuffed with seeds or berries or some other foodstuff Calendar figured. Her mother’s lips pinched together and her prudent gaze flicked back and forth between the fairy’s elfin face and the mice.

They were probably being robbed. Hospitality bid they not mention it.

“Well?” Her mother was never one for patience.

Cal sat in the center of the grand hall on a three-legged stool. She often thought three-legged stools had a magical and romantic quality and sitting on one might make her the type of princess worth saving. Her curse was not to be the usual type after all.

“Miss Thistle.” The queen, tiny and exacting, leaned forward. “Why a swamp?”

“Pardon?” The fairy Thistle was adjusting her bag for the mice to scurry up and down from. They were smaller than field mice with little brown bodies you could squish to your cheek against–Cal’s main priority in her imagination right then.

Cal’s mom was red in the face but the energy seemed to leave her body all at once and arms went slack at her sides. “We’ll do whatever you deem best.”

The fairy Thistle smiled brightly. “Why, the fresh air will be good for the girl.” She gestured at Cal’s perfectly pale and limp body, a testament to how far you can ring youth dry until you felt more like a dishrag than a girl. “Besides, how else will true love reach her? Holed up in this stuffy castle will limit the poor thing.”

“And a swamp will open up her options?” Cal’s father muttered dryly. He hadn’t so much glanced at the mice, a man of studied stoicism.

Her mother simply groaned and joined him under her breath, “second rate fairies. Oh yes, a bargain deal.”

“I don’t mind,” Cal said brightly. “I’ve never been so far outside of the lands . . . and I’m sure my true love will find me either way. That’s the way the spell works.” She shot the fairy a pointed look to confirm that was how the spell worked and Thistle nodded. Thank the stars.

Princess Calendar beamed. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

The princess was to be put to sleep in the middle of the swamp on an enchanted bed that could neither sink nor be found by unkind hearts. The netting up above was enchanted to keep out the rain and weather and bugs and the pillow was enchanted to keep her asleep lest the curse work its magic.

Being an unlucky princess was such a bother. You often wonder, ‘why wasn’t I born normal?’ Or at least, born taller. She might have some better stories by the time she was 22 then. Cal kept fretting over the details: What would she talk to her true love about? They would only have the swamp to talk about or the kiss Cal figured she’d only half-remember. She wasn’t entirely sure how to talk about swamps either–she wished she spent more time reading up on the trees or funny little green frogs that hopped around. If it was really her true love, they would know what to say. They would know what to do where Cal did not. It would be easy.

Her head filled with the dreaminess of love, true and all, and the prospect of never having to be alone again. To be wanted before they even knew her or had to know her. She liked that thought more than any in the whole world.

The last sight before Cal floated to an unseen and unknown world was Thistle leaning over her and giving a tense smile. “This won’t hurt.” Then, she kissed on the forehead and the world disappeared.

------

Part 1 to come!

Ko-Fi 🌻Patreon 🌻My book

#fairy tale #wlw #short story #fantasy story #fantasy romance #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #it's a working title btw #still thinking on

333 notes · View notes

averyghe · 1 month

Text

CATS PRINCIPALITY

#fantasy #fantasy worldbuilding #cats #kittens #character designs #illustration #art #fantasy story #wips #critters #digital art #procreate #inspired by #studio ghibli #the cat returns #meiji era photography

18 notes · View notes

ariellewm · 3 months

Text

Czar Agskaga - A Random Snippet Story

Warning: Slightly on a steamy side (nothing too crazy, it's on the light side), naga (half human, half snake beings)

The story I wrote was inspired by a question from @wyyvernn . She asked: If my original character played an instrument, what would it be?

I imagine him playing the dudek flute or any sort of flute. Remember the Narnia Lullaby that Mr. Tumnus plays? That's the exact song that came to mind that Czar would play. The dudek flute is also what was used for the recording of the song.

Enjoy the story down below!

**Play the Narnia Lullaby in the link above for added ambience to the story if you wish!**

It was a quiet evening within the Amber Palace. Waves crashing along the shore, the smell of incenses of rose and lavender filling the naga prince's chamber.

"Your Highness," the maiden called out behind the silken drapes, "I have the fruits you've asked for."

"You may enter." The prince said, inviting her into the chamber.

Walking in, she carried a woven tray. It was filled with all sorts of freshly picked fruit. Apples of jade, violet ripe berries. She made her way to Czar, careful not to step on his glossy onyx, red and gold pattern coils. The tray was placed upon a table beside the prince.

She stepped back, lowering her head, "Is there anything else you need, your highness?"

His upper tanned body slightly turned. Crimson eyes fell upon the maiden. He notice her shouched shoulders, unbalanced posture. Czar emitted a soft hiss as the end of his black tail reached toward her. Delicately, his tail tilted her head upward to face the handsome prince.

"S-sire?" Shyly she gasped from the cold touch. Her freckled cheeks blushed a delicate shade of plum.

Oh yes, indeed, her eyes lacked of sparkle. Dark circles beneath those beautiful, soft eyes.

The cool touch of his tail moved away.

Czar's hand reached toward one of the apples on the tray. "I noticcced your a bit exhausssted. Here," he tossed the apple to her, "you dessserve a break."

"But...but your--"

"Pleassse dear, call me Czar."

"Czar, what of my duties?" Confusion appeared on her face.

He slithered toward the cozy floor cushions, "Relaxxx my lovely girl. You've been hard at work all day, ssserving me and my uncle." His coils twisted and wrapped around the pillows and low table. He gestured a spot across from the table, "Pleassse, won't you join me?"

I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit for a while, she thought to herself. With a small smile she eased herself onto the large floor pillow. The maiden savored the crisp apple offered by the prince. She relished the taste with every bite.

"Ssshall I play sssomething for you darling?" His faded inked arm reaches over behind him. A beautifully carved wooden flute appeared.

"I found thisss the other day. Perhapsss you'd like to hear a sssong or two?"

The maiden swallowed before answering, "I would very much like to hear."

The naga smiled, placing his lips around the mouthpiece. Eyes closed, he began to play.

It was ethereal. Soothing to the ears. His fingers delicately danced upon the holes as he played. Otherworldly, almost as if she was transported back to the ancient city of Draca Isla, the once home of naga's and dragon's. She could smell the earthy damp rock, the sweet fragrance of amber lilies growing in the wild.

The pillow underneath the maiden began to sink. Or was it just her imagination?

Czar's ruby eyes opened to only darken as he took notice of the maiden's dreamy eyes. The half eaten apple dropped to her side. He smiled as he played, continuing his enchanting melody.

Want to learn more about His Illustrious Eminence?

Here are some links:

Information + Concept Artwork on Czar Agskaga

"Coils of the Naga" & "Coiled by the Naga" Written by Arielle W.M. ( @ariellewm ) & Produced/Voiced by Ycey Narrates

SFW Hypnosis Headcanon Story

#fantasy writer #fantasy #naga oc #naga x reader #naga x human #naga male #male naga #fantasy story #about ocs #prince oc #original character #writer #short story #my oc stuff #my original characters

24 notes · View notes