fantasy

Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.

Kingdom in Flames
God pisses on saint and sinner alike. How can I be so pessimistic? It’s a gift. Let me reintroduce myself. I’m dead. Wait, that didn’t sound right. That is also not accurate.
By Antonio Jacobs6 years ago in Futurism
The Fourth Hand - Chapter 1
Chapter 1 A small boy of 10 solar cycles, with eyes of mahogany and hair of gold, scuttled across the well-paved but heavily worn streets of Imperos. Each step calculated as he weaved his way into the crowd that had gathered across the communal marketplace. He had grown up on these streets. He knew each nook and cranny, each cut-through and alleyway. Today he was carrying out the family errands. Medicine and bandages for his father, silks and needles for his mother, all readily sourced amongst the humdrum of the capital cities’ market day.
By Liam Perkin6 years ago in Futurism
Twelve Stars (An Intro)
Meli took care to avoid the cracks that peppered the sidewalk on this street; this was not a route that she would normally take, but she wanted to get to the museum before the crowds arrived. She pressed her lips together as if tasting tangy citrus on her tongue, and breathed through her pursed lips to soothe what seemed to be about the tenth migraine threatening to creep up into her temples and take hold. It pinned one side of her head to an invisible board in pulsating prickles that throbbed in time with the lighshow behind her eyes. She honestly did not get these incapacitating episodes. She had always been relatively healthy, never suffered more than the common cold in her life, not even her childhood was littered with the usual infant ailments. Why now? Why get these debilitating headaches in her mid-twenties?
By Tricia De Jesus-Gutierrez (Phynne~Belle)6 years ago in Futurism
A Past Life
I have to state that before I write any of this my guide Sarah has shown me a lot of visions and potential futures in dreams. Not all of which were entirely factual. Even to this very moment as I write these words I am reliving an experience I have already seen in dreams years earlier. That has been happening now for the last few years. But along side real experiences their are false ones that seem to have been used to move me in ulterior directions. When it comes to these visions of what seems to be a past incarnation I cannot one hundred percent know if this is in fact a real life experience. The reason that I believe it is is because I know from this life experience I have certainly seen some of the extraordinary and impossible elements of this past life reveal themselves in a similar way in this one. In that sense they seem to validate this past life and so I will write about it.
By Jean-Francois Atkins6 years ago in Futurism
The adventures of Alora
"Hi! You probably don't know me and I for sure don't know you yet. So let me introduce myself. My name is Alora and I'm probably the protagonist of this story. I don't really know for sure, as well, Krysta hasn't wrote it yet. It's how her brain works. Creative process and all that. The thing is while I live in her brain, she's given me life before in a past story. That story kind of vanished or at least she can't find it now. I know she looked. A bit half heartedly but she did look. Not enough to actually plug in her old hard drive to see if it was on there. Let's not be too hard on her, she was having a migraine at the time. Between you and me she also had some stomach issues but she didn't want me to tell ya that. Now I know that's probably hurting your brain a bit right now. Or hell, maybe it's not but let's get something out of the way right now. The 'forth wall' doesn't really exist for me. I know I'm a character in a story. Krysta knows that I know I'm a character in a story. It's our relationship. I give her motivation, inspiration and content. She gives me life. It's a nice little symbiotic relationship that you're now a part of! Yeah, yeah I know, nobody asked you if it was alright for me to take up residence in your brain. Don't worry I don't plan on mucking with anything. Not that I really could anyway. See I can't do anything that you don't allow me to do. So I'm perfectly safe and comfortable in your little brain. Well, I could be a bit more comfortable if you'd imagine me sitting on a nice red leather chair, like from one of those old detective movies. You know the ones with the metal buttons as accents and that wonderful scent of tobacco and old book smell permanently saturated into the leather."
By Krysta Minor6 years ago in Futurism
The Carousel Of Dreams
Under a dark oak apple tree, in a green land far from here, stood a young girl with eyes as green as the grass, hair like the sunshine, and a quixotic mind. This young girl was named Annie, and despite her dreamer’s imagination and talent for storytelling which drew everyone in the land into her, she was desperately sad. Annie had lost her parents a few years earlued. They were dead, and she was now alone, with nothing but her stories and the apple tree. On a cloudy day, when the sky was iron grey and the air was heavy with malaise all across the country, Annie heard a woman’s voice as she was sat under the tree. Follow me, whispered the voice softly. Annie mused that it could have been the wind, or in her head, but she decided to follow nonetheless, through the red-bricked lanes into the empty villages, across the fields of black earth and wheat, stretching into the pale horizon where land meets sky. Eventually, it lead her to a bright silver roundabout, illuminated like a star, in the shape of an old-fashioned carousel. It was completely silent, other than a soft chime. The voice whispered to Annie that she had one wish she could make. One wish. That was all. Annie thought long and hard about what she wanted most. Finally, she spoke, in a voice broken with emotion, to ask for her parents back. The carousel split open, and out from it stepped Annie’s parents, as though they had been in there the whole time. Annie was overjoyed, and so began to walk with them back to the village. But her parents soon began to wilt and fade - they were no longer of this world, and slowly became a heap of silvery-grey glitter on the shadowy pathway. Annie sunk next to her parents and cried, devastated that they’d left her again. As she did so, one of her tears fell onto the dust. It rapidly began to spin around and take a shape, the shape of a tall, beautiful woman, with long flowing hair and immense gold-tinted wings. She bent down, and told Annie in a voice shimmering with compassion, that there had been a curse on her family - a curse dooming all of the women of the family to die young. But because Annie found the carousel of dreams, she said, and made a selfless wish, the curse was broken now.
By Remy Dhami6 years ago in Futurism
The FAE in San Francisco
Later Raven was enjoying a dance with Rhys, while Evelyn conferred with Alain about business, of all things. How far Rhys had come in a year and a day – it was Christmas Eve when Raven had confronted him at the Mycroft Institute, where he was foisting his cherished illusions onto other kithain, robbing them of what they knew. That shape-shifters existed who could still make the change while being observed had sure shocked him! His face when he sitnessed Raven’s change had been the stuff of comedy – and Raven had savored the memory of that face through the months that had followed, as she and Finders Keepers: Gypsy, Chiller, Jeannie, Darkling, Shorty and Butterfly; along with Alain and Adrian ahd led the former Jonathan Montagu M.D. into his reawakening. There had been some tense moments, and Raven had feared they were losing him to complete personality disintegration, after all their effrorts, but at the last moment meeting Evelyn and recognizing her had brought Rhys back to his full former self. That had been at Samhain.
By Kim Slone6 years ago in Futurism
The Fae in San Francisco
The last minute passengers scooted into the train just as the doors whisked closed with a puff of air. A blonde in earth and mud tones, no makeup, hair in a bun and an oversized tote bag obviously loaded with textbooks quickly took a seat, as did the dreadlocked freckled and blue-eyed boy in the tie-dyed tank top and painter pants. The lithe black man in dancer’s tights and hand-painted T-shirt remained standing, so he could move to the music from his headphones, swaying as the train lurched forward and rocked from side to side on the tracks. He just barely held on to the bar overhead, using it for balance and letting his legs do the rest of the job of keeping him in one spot. He made it look easy.
By Kim Slone6 years ago in Futurism
The Clockmaker
The Clockmaker In the faraway kingdom of Tempus, there lived a young clockmaker named Simon. He filled his shop with wondrous clocks, watches, and other magnificent timepieces to dazzle the mind. Every day you could find him in the back of his shop, tinkering away on his newest project, utterly unaware of how little business he had. Occasionally, someone from the city would come in and have him fix a clock, but those times were few.
By Matthew Angelo6 years ago in Futurism
The Dyrad's Story
~in the beginning~ For what felt like eternity she stood by these banks, tall and strong; holding strong before any wind or storm that came her way. She was not just a mere weeping willow, after all. She was a dryad, and she was in love.
By Sky Boivin6 years ago in Futurism
Ode to Wings
~chapter 1~ ~Memories~ “Come around the fire,” the Queen Faye waves as all approaches nearby, as she pulls the hood of her cloak more over her head. “And I shall share you a story. One of glory, sadness, and joys. One of honor and woes,” the fire glows bright as she begins to whisper her tale of the great warrior once known as wings.
By Sky Boivin6 years ago in Futurism
Cicatrice
He took the cup of hot tea the old man offered him gratefully, hoping only to shake the chill from his bones as he drank. He had covered forty miles on foot that day, and had trudged the last seven through gathering mist as the late October day settled into dusk. The old man’s hut had been a welcome sight, finally, as the warm light from the window reached through the fog to beckon him. He decided to accept the old man’s offer of hospitality. It never occurred to him to question the willingness of a vulnerable old man to accept a stranger under his roof for the night – and without references, at that!
By Kim Slone6 years ago in Futurism