on modern fantasy

HELLO!!! since i was fifteen i've had this idea for a Modern Fantasy World where it's like. modern day, but with CRAZY FAIRY TALE ELEMENTS. so i decided i'd put it all in here!! this post is the Intro post, i'll be adding a table of contents once everything's up! i've got a couple of things written from creative writing, but as i write more i'll keep putting them up <3 enjoy my Gay Shit

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

1. part one: on caution
   
2. part two: on ghost proofing
   
3. part three: on royalty
   

When that’s the way things have always been, you learn not to question it. Skipping home from school with Mary Sue and singing nursery rhymes only to stumble upon a ring of mushrooms and fall mum, silently agreeing to take the long way home rather than the shortcut through the field. It’s second nature to avert your gaze when you notice someone isn’t right, see their too bright eyes or their too long nails or their too sparkly skin, mouthing the words, “We must not look at goblin men/We must not buy their fruits” as a silent reminder at the market. They always have the most attractive crops, the juiciest strawberries and reddest apples. You go for their trinkets instead, peach pit rings and clumsy stone pendant necklaces. A silent exchange: ‘I’ve paid my dues,’ eyes politely averted as you hand over some coins. ‘I’ll excuse your baby for staring,’ eyes boring straight into your soul as she hands over the doll.

(You destroy the doll as soon as you get home, first cleansed in saltwater and then tossed in the fire. The honor system states that the fae won’t give any magical gifts in exchange for money, but it never hurts to be cautious.)

You leave offerings on your doorstep, a pitcher of homemade lemonade in the summer and a thermos of hot cocoa in the winter. No one celebrates halloween -- you never know who could be handing out fae food -- but you buy candy from the store anyway and leave a bowl out for them. A pumpkin pie and a loaf of dill bread at Thanksgiving, latkes and sufganiyot at Chanukah. A heart shaped box of chocolate for Valentine's Day and hamantashen for Purim. Every Friday you leave them wine and challah, always an extra, always a tribute. You learn not to question it.

Just burn it down. Your house can’t be haunted if you don’t have one.

“Nadia,” Jessy said, in her best pre-school teacher voice that made it clear she was judging all of Nadia’s life choices but still needed to be a good girlfriend, “You can’t turn this in. You know you can’t.”

Nadia tried to reply, something along the lines of, “It still works!” but with her face smushed into the couch cushions it came out as a muffled and incoherent string of vowels and consonants.

“Oh, Nadia,” Jessy said, her voice now sounding more pitying that judging. “This is about your magic, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s about that!” Nadia said, pushing herself up off of the cushions momentarily. “I mean, seriously! Out of everyone in the office, they had to ask the one dud from a long line of powerful witches to write a guide for non-magical creatures! That’s just cruel,” and then gave up, arms buckling under her weight as she groaned and landed face first into the cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t meant as a direct insult,” Jessy said as she sat down on the couch and began to run her fingers through Nadia’s hair, which would have been a much more soothing gesture if Jessy had taken the time to lift Nadia’s legs and set them on her lap rather than just sitting down on top of them. Nadia decided to let it slide. “Your editor probably just thought you’d know how to solve those things without magic because of your family history.”

Nadia made a tiny, miserable noise into the couch cushion, which really meant, “I am a terrible excuse for a witch and I should just quit and move to the countryside and herd sheep.”

Jessy just sighed and continued to play with Nadia’s hair. “I’m sure my dad’s got some books on the subject,” she said gently. “You’ll write an amazing article, I’m sure of it.”

--


Listen, I never wanted to be the person giving this advice. I’m not powerful like my sisters or my mother or my grandmother or my great grandmother or my great great grandmother or my great great great grandmother or my


“Nadia, I don’t think you really need to go through all of that. Have you even opened any of the books I gave you?” Jessy said, peering at the computer screen over Nadia’s shoulder. She looked annoyingly well rested in her reflection on the glossy screen. Nadia vaguely remembered Jessy telling her to get some sleep last night.

Nadia let out a frustrated groan. “This is hopeless,” she said in what she knew was a pitiful whine.

Jessy sighed for what felt like the millionth time in the past nine hours. “I’ll make a pot of coffee while you start researching,” she said, grabbing a big, dusty book off the top of the stack on the table and setting it down in front of Nadia. “Just look through the index for anything on ghosts and get started.”

--

THE NON-MAGICAL GUIDE TO GHOST PROOFING THE HOME, CAVE, HOLE, OR ANY OTHER KIND OF DWELLING

“Jessy, I really don’t think your dad’s books are helping,” Nadia said, eyes burning as she turned the page only to find yet another yellowed page full of tiny text. “This is boring.”

“That’s because you gave up the second the assignment hit your desk,” Jessy said. She still looked all pristine and perfect, hair not yet up in her hijab but still glossy and untangled. Fairy godmothers are annoying. “If you just applied yourself a bit harder -”

“Oh, I’m sorry mother, I’m sure if I just tried harder the family magic wouldn’t have skipped me,” she shot back, voice prickly and full of venom.

“Nadia, you know that’s not what I meant,” Jessy said, and maybe it would have been comforting if it were about anything other than magic, but now it just feels condescending.

“What, maybe if I just waved your wand around it’d be done? Should I call my childhood tutor? Maybe she can teach me how it’s done.”

“Nadia, that’s enough,” Jessy said with her arms crossed across her chest. “I’m not going to fight with you.”
“Fine!” Nadia shot back, slamming her laptop shut and standing up abruptly. “I’m going to the Cauldron. I’ll be back later.”

--

Look, we both know you’re not going to follow my advice. You’re going to read through the article, decide that everything is either too complicated or the ingredients you need are too expensive, and then you’ll sigh and call your local ghost exterminator to deal with the problem. What’s the point in lying to yourself?

“One quadruple shot latte with a sickening amount of sugar and no magic,” Rhea said as she set the coffee down in front of Nadia.

“Thanks,” Nadia said quietly.

“I still don’t get why you won’t let me give you, like, one shot of inspiration or whatever,” Rhea said as she hopped onto Nadia’s table and swung her legs back and forth. “It really works! And we totally took care of the issue where it tastes a bit like frogs.”

Nadia snorted. “That’d be cheating, though,” she said curtly. The argument with Jessy still stung in the back of her mind.

Rhea was quiet for a moment, staring intently at her swinging legs before saying, “Mom says hi, by the way. You’re always welcome at Shabbat dinner.”

Nadia sighed and closed her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

The coffee shop was more or less empty, only Rhea and some other girl working and no customers other than Nadia. The other barista was flipping through a copy of Teen Vogue. Princess Estella was posing on the cover in silver armor, brandishing a sword and a decapitated dragon’s head.

After a moment of silence, Nadia sighed and asked, “Do you know anything about warding off dangerous ghosts?”

“Are dangerous ghosts anything like mildly annoying ghosts? ‘Cos Randy refuses to go into my room whenever I listen to folk music. Although that’s…probably just his music taste.”

“Oh,” Nadia said. “Well, thanks anyway.”

“Maybe you could ask him? He keeps asking when you’ll visit. You never come around anymore.”

“Yeah, well. I’m just really busy.”

Rhea pushed herself off the table. “I probably should get back to work,” she said, and even though she was trying her best to sound nonchalant Nadia could tell she was a bit hurt.

She didn’t have time worry about family connections, though. She had research to do.

--

THE NON-MAGICAL GUIDE TO GHOST PROOFING THE HOME, CAVE, HOLE, OR ANY OTHER KIND OF DWELLING

“I’m not going to tell you how to get rid of a ghost,” Randy said, arms crossed across his chest. “I’m a ghost, and I like it here.”

Nadia took a deep breath. “Nobody wants to get rid of you, Randy,” she said patiently. “I told you. It’s for work. Do you want me to be jobless?”

“Do you want me to be homeless?” Randy shot back. “It’s so difficult for a ghost to find a nice place to live these days! If it isn’t already haunted, the owners have some kind of ward up to keep us out! Why can’t you write an article on how to attract ghosts?”

“You’re not going to be homeless. You’ve lived here for thirty years. If we wanted to get rid of you don’t you think we would have already?”

“Just because you have a valid point doesn’t mean I have to tell you anything.” He started floating back and forth, almost as if he was nervously pacing.

“Randy, please,” Nadia said. “If you tell me I’ll find you somewhere else to stay if Mom gets rid of you.”

Randy stops in his tracks. “You would?”

“I’ll even make sure there are lots of heavy curtains.”

“Well,” Randy said, thinking it over. “You do make a tempting offer. I’ll think about it and get back to you in four to five business days.”

“Randy, please. I need to have something written by Tuesday.”

“You do realize I have no clue what day it is, right?”

Nadia had forgotten how annoying Randy could be. “It’s Saturday, Randy. That gives me three days.”

“Oh, fine. I’ll help you write your article.”

--


Everyone knows of that one house down the block that’s haunted. If you’re lucky, it’s a friendly ghost, or just a mild inconvenience who criticizes your modern furnishings and pops in on you while you’re taking a shower. But sometimes you’re not lucky and end up getting stuck with bleeding walls and flying dishes. Once they take up shop in your home, these nasty spectres are difficult to get rid of without costly exterminators. The best way to avoid a vicious ghost in your house is to prepare your home with these inexpensive, ghost confirmed methods.

The thing about the royal court was that it had rules, and stuffy ones at that. They were rules like “Women must always wear dresses,” and, “Drink tea with your pinky out,” and, “If your laugh is louder than gently tinkling bells you will be removed from society and no one will acknowledge you ever for the rest of time.”

Of course, the ostracization portion of any of them didn’t apply to Estella, being the future queen of Gastos. She could be as crude as she wanted, even daring to use a hunting knife instead of a butter knife to spread jam on her crumpets, and all she got were rumours around the court and suitors who only stuck around for a day or two after realizing how “crude” she was.

“It’s just stupid,” she said to Sylvia, the member of the royal guard who had been assigned to look after her that day as she went gallivanting through the palace’s grounds. She hacked impatiently at a tree branch that grew too far into her path as Sylvia popped her bubblegum loudly. “It’s like, all these stupid rules, right, and they’re so important, but only if you aren’t too royal! What makes me any different from any other member of the court?”

“Bloodlines, or whatever,” Sylvia replies. She sounds bored, and Estella doesn’t blame her. It has to be the millionth time she’s ranted about the exact same thing.

“Stupid bloodlines,” Estella mutters, slashing her sword in front of her despite a lack of obstacles in need of slashing. “Why do I have to be queen? I never wanted to be queen! Don’t I get a say in these things?”

Sylvia makes a monotone sound in response. Estella knows she isn’t listening, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

“It’s all so stupid,” she says with a final huff as she drops her sword to the ground and flops down in the dirt, laying down on her back. A twig pokes painfully at her knee-pit, but she ignores it in her woe. “I just want to like, fight monsters and junk.”

Sylvia, sweet and loyal Sylvia, heaves out a tired sigh as she resigns herself to yet another of Estella’s moody fits over royalty. When Estella becomes the stupid Queen of stupid Gastos and has her stupid scepter and stupid crown, she is going to knight Sylvia. In a world of stupid, royal socialites, Sylvia is her one saving grace.

“When I’m stupid queen, I’m going to knight you,” she says. “You will be the knight of Stupidville. Your official job will be helping stupid princesses deal with becoming stupid queens and you will be magnificent, you beautiful phoenix of a woman.”

Sylvia laughs loudly and freely at Estella, behavior that would never be allowed in court. She laughs deep with her belly and lets out loud snorts, occasionally wheezing. “Don’t think there’d be any princesses stupider than you, your royal stupidity.”

Estella sighs. “You alone understand my struggle, Sylvia. Let’s run away and herd goats in the countryside. I hear the goats in Vollary are wonderful. They’ve got them in all colors of the rainbow, and sometimes they breathe fire.”

“Listen, Estella. You’re great, but unless I were protecting you on royal business I would not even think about risking letting a rainbow goat with fire breath singe my hair,” Sylvia says in response. “Besides, it might be fun to be queen.”

Estella shrieks in outrage. “I take back everything I said earlier,” she says, her voice completely over dramatic. “You will be un-knighted when I become stupid queen! I’ll un-knight you negative twenty times, see how you like having twenty titles stripped from your name.”

Estella can’t see Sylvia’s face from where she’s laying in the dirt with the stupid stick poking her knee-pit, but she can tell Sylvia’s rolling her eyes. She exudes this aura, like, ‘Look at me, I’m Sylvia and I’m a tough punk royal guard and I’m rolling my eyes at you.’ When she’s not completely charming, Estella almost finds her annoying. Almost.

“What I meant,” Sylvia says, “is that you’re not going to be your mom the queen. You’re going to be you the queen. You’re gonna rule with rainbow, fire-breathing Vollarian goats in the front yard and make your own stupid high society rules, like, ‘You have to wear a paper boat hat to court on Saturday evenings,’ or whatever.”

Estella pauses for a moment, letting that sink in. “Oh,” she says. Her voice sounds impossibly small. “I never thought about it like that.”

Sylvia snorts. “Yeah, well, you should have done. Would have saved you a whole lot of moping and would have saved me a whole lot of dealing with you.”

“Now you’re just being rude. This is rude,” Estella says, but she’s laughing as she says it. “I’ll have you beheaded, and your beheaded head parted with its precious hair for that.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, your highness.”