#Folklore Stuff

[thejolteonmastertj]

Major Endgame Echoes Of Wisdom spoilers… just something funny I’m dying to say about it.

Prime energy this, prime energy that… you mean the fucking Triforce?

Ok but frfr as an anthropology nerd I like how it has different names across time & such, I also like how the rifts get called different things by different peoples (vines, gunk, etc).

[1-marigold-1]

Grian but make him a bloodsucking creechur from slavic folklore i dunno

"Strzygoń, is a male demon [female is called Strzyga] that according to Slavic mythology, every Strzygoń was initially a human being. Strzygoń is an eerie creature, often with bird and owl-like features. It has big claws and is merciless in nature, Strzygoń in order for his demonic body to survive, needs to hunt humans and drink their blood constantly. Barns, woods, and crossroads are his favorite places to be during the night. The word had it that people who were born with two sets of teeth, with no hair in their armpits, and with a unibrow or some kind of a birthmark on their back were the ones to turn into Strzyga/Strzygoń after they die. Allegedly, these people were also born with two hearts and two souls. The word goes, once a person dies (usually at a young age), one of their two hearts stops beating. The other one lives on and gives life to their second, demonic nature. Strzygoń remembers his human life. Therefore, he will start hunting those who mocked him or somehow hurt him before he died. "

So yep it's Grian, because 1) Bird like features 2) all the watcher stuff gives me the "transformation into a monster" vibe, which is kinda related to Strzyga/Strzygoń stuff 3) he has the vibes he's a menace

Also Mumbo is a Vampire or Upiór can't decide which yet even though they are very similiar [Vampire fits better but,,,, slavic blood-sucking buddies,,,???]

Yeah here I am drawing mcyt as some mythology/folklore creechurs and monsters

anyways Doc as a chimera sounds like something good to draw probably going to do something with that

[houseofmcallister]

AHHDHFHDJDBDIDBDJDH

Hey, don’t cry. Free online database of Japanese folk lore

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

[tuherrus]

koivu ja tähti

or the birch and the star, is a finnish fairytale written by zachris topelius about two siblings, taking place during "isoviha" (great wrath) or the russian occupation in finland in 1713 to 1721

the siblings are abducted to russia as children and run away ten years later in order to make a journey to find their home in finland, guided by two birds and a memory of their homestead birch tree with a star shining through it's leaves

[stormbornwitch]

When I was a child, I was often left in the care of my Nanna. It is from her that I learnt many of the pieces of what she would call "little magic".

At her side, I learned how to sew and make little finger puppets and 'dollies'. We walked through the park, and she pointed out the plants and trees and their properties. With her, I made my first lavender filled bag to help me sleep. She would spoil me with peanut butter and butter sandwiches (which my mother was staunchly against), and then showed me how to feed the house spirit (a bowl filled with crusts of bread and milk poured over the top with a bit of honey drizzled over it).

She also told me stories - so many fairytales and folktales that would horrify parents if told to their children nowadays. But it was only when I was older and in school that I realised the stories she told me were different from the ones my friends had been told... mine were darker and full of old truths and lessons I still remember to this day.

-

One of my favourite tales was of a little girl with honey blond hair and blue eyes whose name started with a V (I can't for the life of me remember her name). Her father was a merchant, and her mother was kind. Their little family of three were quite happy until the little girl's mother got sick. The merchant hired healers and priests to help his wife, but all failed to help the little girl's mother, her sickness worsening with each passing day. Soon, it was clear that her mother was dying, and the little girl's father refused to leave his wife's bedside, leaving the little girl to fetch water from the well, light the fires, cook meals for her family and care for the home.

One day, her mother called the little girl to her bedside and asked her husband to step outside of the room for a moment. The little girl approached her mother's bedside with trepedation. Reaching under the bed, the mother pulled out a strange little cloth doll with no face. The doll was made from a scrap of her mother's favourite dress, with her mother's hair ribbons binding it into the shape of a doll.

"Here, my child. She will protect you when I am gone. All you must do is feed the doll a drop of your blood and tell it your problem, and it will be fixed."

The little girl did not understand but took the doll from her mother. "But how will I feed her a drop of my blood if she has no mouth?"

The little girl's mother smiled, and for a moment, she didn't look sick anymore.

"Promise me, my beautiful daughter, that you will keep her with you, for she will act in my stead once I am gone."

The little girl did not understand her mother's words but promised again to keep the doll with her at all times.

The mother suddenly surged forward and tightly clasped her daughter’s hands in her own. "No one can know you have her, not even your father. Let no one see her. Keep her hidden on your person at all times unless you have need of her."

The little girl, now afraid at her mother's vehement pleas, nodded frantically to show she acquiesced and would do as she was bid.

Her mother, seeing the little girl's compliance, collapsed back into her bed and dismissed the little girl, bidding she tell her father he could return.

Her mother died that night; her father distraught at the loss of his beloved wife.

Though it was not long after the little girl's mother was buried, that her father remarried once more.

The little girl's new mother was a widow with no children of her own, and the little girl's father told her "She will make a good mother for you, my child" But she was not a good mother.

For you see, any time the little girl's father was home, the woman would treat the little girl kindly, but as soon as her father was gone, her stepmother would turn cruel and demand the little girl do all of the housework and chores. If little girl refused, her stepmother threatened to beat her, and told the little girl she would go to bed without supper if the work was not done. Since her father was away, and there was nothing the little girl could do, she did as she was bid; completing the work until her hands were cracked and bleeding with sores. However, despite the little girl's efforts, her stepmother was still unsatisfied with the little girl's work, locking her outside the house overnight.

Cold and exhausted, the little girl crept into the storeroom and laid down on the floor.

It was then that the little girl remembered her promise and the little doll she had kept secret in a pocket inside her dress. Carefully, pulling out the strange little doll, the little girl remembered her mother's words.

"Though you have no face, I will feed you a drop of my blood." And so the little girl dabbed one of her bleeding fingers against where the dolls mouth would be if it had one. "Please help me, little doll, for my stepmother is a cruel woman, and I can not possibly do all that she has bid of me."

It was then the little girl heard a voice inside her head, "Sleep, my child, and I will complete all that has been asked of you."

With a small smile of relief, the little girl went to sleep, and when she awoke, it was to find all of the chores her stepmother had requested, completed.

Surely, with all of the work done, her stepmother would let the little girl inside. So she tucked the doll back into the inner pocket of her dress and left the storeroom. But upon seeing the jobs miraculously done overnight, the stepmother's face turned ugly.

"I suppose since you've done all that was asked, you can come inside to break your fast."

The little girl meekly entered the home and ate the cold porridge she was given without comment. But as soon as she was done eating, her stepmother gave her another list of jobs to do, even more than the day before.

And so the little girl worked all day until her feet were sore and her hands were cracked and bleeding. But her stepmother remained unsatisfied, as all of the chores were not completed. Resigned, the little girl crept back into the storeroom for the night.

With bloodied hands, the little girl pulled out the doll from her hiding place and dabbed a drop of her blood where the doll's mouth would be.

"Please, little doll, I need your help once more. I can not do all that is asked of me, and my hands are blistered and sore."

Again, the little girl heard the doll's voice inside her head, "Sleep little one and all will be well, I will show you where the healing herbs dwell."

With a smile, the little girl went to sleep on the storeroom floor, and when she awoke, she found that once again, all of the jobs her stepmother had told her to complete were done.

Again, when the little girl went up to the house and knocked on the door, her stepmother seemed furious the jobs were done. With gritted teeth, she bid, "I suppose since you've done all that was asked, you can come inside to break your fast."

And so the little girl ate the cold porridge placed afore her as her stepmother once more listed more outlandish jobs for the young girl to complete.

And so the years went by, the little girl growing into a beautiful and capable young woman. Her hands and body were strong from all of the work she would complete each day, and thanks to her mother's blessing, she knew and harvested all manner of healing herbs and edible plants from the nearby forest.

But every time her father was home from his business trips, he would always comment "You are becoming so beautiful my darling daughter, just like your mother" These comments would make her stepmother scowl and her face turn ugly with rage. So, as each year passed, V became more beautiful, and her stepmother became more hideous in her hatred.

In her hatred, V's stepmother began sending her into the forest for ridiculous errands. V knew that her stepmother probably intended for her to get eaten by wolves, or worse, by the witch that supposedly lived in the wood. But thanks to her mother's blessing and a sharp thorn kept in the pocket of her dress, V was always able to fetch whatever her stepmother requested from the wood and return home safely.

One night, V's stepmother came to the storeroom door where V was sleeping on the floor. "Get up at once. Your lazyness has allowed the hearth to go out, and not even coals remain to light a fire. You must go to the witch of the wood and ask her for a coal"

"But stepmother," V cried out in vain. "The witch if the wood eats people! Surely she will not give me a coal!"

V's stepmother sneared down her long nose at her. "Go afore it is too dark to see the way."

And so V set off into the forest until not even the light of the moon could guide her steps. It was then that the quiet whispers of her mother's doll began to give directions through the dark wood.

Soon, V emerged into a strange clearing. In its centre, a wooden hut sat on top of tall wooden posts that looked almost like chickens feet. At the base of the hut was a small garden with all manner of plants growing. And surrounding the garden was a fence that seemed to be made of bones. Thankfully, as V approached the hut, she could see a warm light coming from within. This must be the home of the witch of the wood.

Following the fence of bone, V reached the garden gate. On either side of the gate were skulls set atop large bones. Small candles inside the skulls seemed to light as if by magic as soon as V touched the gate.

"Why are you here, child?" A voice called out from the hut. There in the doorway stood an old woman, her back bent from many years of hard work and her long grey hair gleaming in the moonlight.

V plucked up her courage and called out, "My stepmother sent me to find the witch of the wood to ask for a coal."

At her response, the old woman barked out a laugh that sounded more like the cawing of a crow than a human laugh. "And what will I get in return? I will not give you a coal for free."

Again, V plucked up her courage and responded, "I will work for it. I promise I'm a hard worker, you can see from my hands." At this V raised her hands for the old woman to inspect.

Seeing the calloses from many years of hard work, the old woman nodded. "Very well, you will work for me for a day and a night, and you will receive a coal from my hearth that will never go out."

With that, the old woman turned around and began to walk up to the hut. As she walked, she began to list the chores she wanted V to perform. "You will clean the house and yard, wash the laundry, and cook us two meals; breakfast and supper. You will go into the storeroom and separate rotten grains from sound grains and gather and store seeds from the garden."

After years of dealing with her stepmother's ever expanding list of demands, this old woman's jobs seemed almost easy by comparison.

"First, let's see your skills as a cook. Go to the garden and fetch us something for supper"

And so into the witch's garden, V went, gathering edible and medicinal plants until she had enough to make a hearty soup, which would helpfully ease some of the old woman's pain.

The old woman nodded at V's selection and led her up the ladder into the hut. On one side of the hut was a large stone hearth, and at its heart, five large coals gleamed as they cradled the base of a large iron pot.

"Take the pot to the stream and fill it halfway with water. Then return to make your soup." The old woman bid.

It took all of V's strength to lift the large iron pot from the hearth and carry it carefully down the ladder so as not to scorch the wood. Down the garden path, V carried the pot past the bone gate and back into the forest. Thankfully, her mother's blessing whispered directions, and V was able to quickly locate the nearby stream and fill the pot halfway.

Returning to the hut, V began chopping herbs and vegetables and throwing them in the pot. Soon the hearty supper was bubbling away in the pot and ready to be served.

The old woman passed V two wooden bowls and a large wooden ladle.

"You want two bowls of soup?" V asked the old woman.

"No, the other is for you, child." The old woman barked before hitting V with the large spoon. Doing quickly as she was bid, V ladled out two portions of the soup; one for her and one for the old witch.

With the soup placed in front of her, the old woman quickly ate her supper seemingly ravenous. V ate her portion much slower, not used to having supper anymore, though she was happy to refill the old woman's bowl with more soup when she was bid to.

With supper eaten, V gathered their bowls, spoons, and knife into the now empty iron pot and carried it down the ladder, through the garden gate and down to the stream to wash.

Upon her return, she found a pallet bed had been made up.

"That is for you," the old woman muttered as she walked over to her own bed tucked into the wall of the hut.

"But how will I get all of the jobs done if I sleep here?" V asked.

The old woman turned back to her with a strange smile on her face. "I'm sure a hard-working young woman such as yourself can find a way."

With that, the old woman climbed into bed, leaving V to climb into the pallet bed. When she heard the snores of the old woman, V pulled out her mother's doll from the secret pocket of her dress. "Please, little doll, I need your help once more. I can not do all that is asked of me, and my hands are blistered and sore."

Again, the little girl heard the doll's voice inside her head, "Sleep little one, the jobs will be done upon the rising of the sun."

With a smile on her face, V fell asleep, assured that her mother's blessing would help her once more.

When she awoke, V saw that the old woman was already awake and was staring into the hearth as she sipped on a strong smelling tea. "I see you were quite busy while you slept." The old woman said with a crooked smile and a gesture to the iron pot full of hot porrige.

"Are there other jobs you need me to complete?"

"You will eat this porridge and carry one of these coals to your stepmother's house. Then you will return here."

Once more, V did as she was bid.

Upon finishing her porridge, the old woman gave V a fox skull. Using large iron tongs, the old woman reached into the hearth and removed one of the hold glowing coals and placed it in the jaws of the fox.

"Take this to your stepmother's house to light her hearth and then return here."

And so V carried the skull, down the ladder, through the garden, out the gate and through the forest until she reached the edge where her father's house stood.

V knocked on the door, and her stepmother quickly opened the door, a look of shock and horror gracing her features.

No sooner had her stepmother opened the door, and then the coal had begun to glow brighter and brighter. Within moments, her stepmother's dress and the doorframe of the house began to smoke, and soon, both were burning merrily until naught but ashes remained.

Once more, V did as she was bid.

She returned to the witch in the wood and learned all that she could.

-

As a kid, I loved this version of the Baba Yaga tale, and now as an adult I love how these stories were the avenues for or my Nanna to pass on examples of small magic and witchcraft.

This is also probably why I've never had an issue with blood based magic when so many other witches do have an issue with it.

[thejolteonmastertj]

“Growing & changing with EVERY telling” is a slight exaggeration & understandably irksome for folks from cultures (Native American ones especially for example) that take memorizing sacred stories very seriously,

That said, the overall message is essentially 100% correct. Stories DO indeed change across time & space to better suit the culture & time-period! Sometimes they change to suit personal preferences of the storyteller. This all gets especially juicy once you take subcultures into consideration.

The key thing is it was, most likely I’d argue, almost always intentional. This is an especially great realization for the fanon & fanfiction argument. 🎉

Shameless plug for an old blog post I did on one of my favorite examples of this: The Dragons Gate legend!

The thing about fairy tales is that they have all been handed down, growing and changing with every telling, until they became the stories we know and love today.

Therefore, the 'fanonization' of Batman is the result of modern fans taking part in the time-honored tradition of collaborative storytelling, not damaging the original text. In this essay I will

[imbecominggayer]

Creating The Mythology For Writing

This is the topic that @melda0m3 has request of me with the specific quote as: "How to write legends about gods? I have my whole god system and their basic lore, but can never figure out how to make legends and such"

So, following this advice post, I will only be talking about how to create legends for your established gods and I will not be talking about how to create gods.

Writing Legends

Legends, as defined by a quick google searchl, are a traditional story sometimes popularly regarded as historical but unauthenticated.

Legends are also classified as myths since myths are traditional stories that were meant to explain a physical or social phenomena.

For example, the "marriage" between Hades And Persephone was meant to explain seasons as Demeter(the goddess of harvest) destroyes all the plants when Persephone is in the underworld for six months.

Using the real-life reason for legends and myth exist can help provide a clearer, more concise, guideline to make use of.

Of course, your characters won't discuss every single legend within the story so you need to write the legends which will be noteworthy to the plot.

For example, you can highlight the mythology that explains why your characters have inhuman characteristics and why {SOMETHING} is happening.

However, mythology doesn't only exist around the natural. Legends are also weaved around battles, important individuals, and other such things.

This is due to the fact that legends are often the most influencial piece of propaganda within the world. Legends often serve to disparate certain communities within a conflict as failing to win the cover of God.

However, this propaganda also serves to paint certain individuals in an almost heavenly light where their ability to present themselves as a seemingly supernatural creature provides untold benefits for them. A real-life example of this is the Legend of King Arthur.

HOW IS IT APPLICABLE FOR YOU(Story Ideas) ?

Characters have a vested interest in making themselves appear better than they actually are. They may attempt to utilize legends in order to appear like they are God's favorite child.

Countries have a desire to always appear victorious and idealized. This can create it's own sort of reflection chamber where exaggerate stories of grandeur can create a mutation of beliefs so profound that when your characters step outside of the country, reality is vastly different.

Gods are the most likely to manipulate legends to cast their enemies in an unlikeable light while portraying themselves as perfect. This can lead to a highly complicated hodge-podge of contradictory information.

I hope I did well by you @melda0m3 :)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[filurig]

ok so i have finally given my tomtar a bit of a Revamp... i was unsatisfied with them just being basically. anthro corvid. now i mean theyre still kind of Anthro birdish creature, but now they arent birds anymore and rather related to harpies and basilisks (whose ancestors are the scansoriopterygids).

ive been pondering some world lore with them and also vätte technology as well as their energy resource so yes they now fit a bit the "dwarvern/gnome tinkerer" archetype hehe...

[sincerely-sofie]

It’s Narilamb fankid hours.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Stay Out of the Basement [Yandere Monster x Reader]

Title: Stay Out of the Basement [Yandere Monster x Reader]

Synopsis: There's something in the basement and it wants you so bad.

For Horrorfest request:

“Theres something in the basement” trope

Word count: 671

Notes: yandere, monster

There’s something in the basement. 

There’s something in the basement, and you don’t think it’s human. 

There’s something in the basement, and you think it’s in love with you.

--

You don’t know exactly when your thoughts on the thing in the basement went from “It wants to kill me and possibly eat me” to “It’s fallen in love with me and probably doesn’t want to eat me.” 

Maybe around the time that you started finding scraps of plants--vegetation and dirt with hints of flowers, scraggling things that barely saw any light--on  your kitchen counter, complimented with a telltale track of dirty footprints leading to the basement stairs. Yes, that was around the time that you began to think whatever was in the basement had feelings for you. 

The flowers (and dirt); then came trinkets. Little rocks, sometimes jagged, sometimes smooth. One morning, there was some sort of black stone, shined and polished. You didn’t want to touch it--something about it made your mind absolutely forbid it. You scooped it into the trash with a paper plate and took it to the curb that morning. 

If the thing in the basement minded, it didn’t let you know. It only left more gifts. More footprints. More--and you swear this must be what it’s doing--signs that it exists and it likes you. Tapping noises from behind the doorway leading to the basement stairs--tap-tap, tap; jars of long-forgotten canned goods left in front of the door, black-mud streaks on the bases. 

You haven’t seen it, but you know it’s there. And you know this won’t last forever. You know it won’t be satisfied with leaving gifts and trinkets and tap-tap, tapping to get your attention. 

No one believes you. Not your parents, not your friends, not the police. Not the therapist you called out of desperation. 

You’re alone--only oh, how you wish that were really the case. 

--

There’s something in the basement. 

There’s something in the basement, and it wants you. 

There’s something in the basement, and it’s coming up the stairs. 

--

Your fingers grip the edge of your comforter, but you don’t dare bring it up over your face.  You want to see it coming. 

And you know it’s coming. It’s only a matter of time now. You can hear it. 

You first heard it coming up the basement stairs--thudding, thudding, thudding--and now you hear it coming down the hall. It’s not the steps of a person. It’s a heavy sound, almost dragging and--oh, someone help you--slightly damp. Like the basement. Like the sweat on the back of your neck, staining your pillow beneath you.

Like the stupid tears pooling at the edge of your eyes. What good would they do you? None. 

They fall anyway when the half-closed door creaks open.

Your bedside lamp is on, and if you were smarter, you would have turned it off 10 minutes ago. It would be must easier to face this reality in the dimness of the night, if you couldn’t see exactly what was standing in front of you.

It’s tall and broad shouldered. 

It has a mouth and eyes and a face, yes, and you might be tempted to call it humanoid. There are two arms and two legs, heavy and covered in something black, like it’s painted itself with dirt and mud. Its skin is splotches of green, dark and faintly damp, like moss growing at the edge of a swamp. Two yellow eyes blink at you and you don’t think you’re imagining it when your brain interprets its gaze as… fond. Loving. Wanting. 

It opens its mouth and there are teeth--sharp--and you think it must be trying to smile. Trying to smile and then say something to you.

What finally comes out, warbled and deep, is your name. 

You do pull the covers over your head, then.

Not that it does you any good.

--

There’s something in the basement.

There’s something in the basement, and you’re there with it now. 

And neither of you will ever leave again.

[avpol]

A witch to welcome October

[show-tunes]

Scrybeswap

I have a lot of scatterbrained design notes for each of them but generally I wanted them to look similar to their original designs but with different themes. I also imagine that they have the same inscribing tools as their original counterparts but just use them differently (i.e. Magnificus paints animals, Leshy takes pictures of people as they're dying/about to die, I'm not sure what the magic equivalent for P03 would be besides maybe a spellbook that copies the essence of things, and Grimora's quill would either "write" code or write directly onto the hardware of robots).

[victusinveritas]

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Considered one of the oldest traditions in Scandinavia, the Julbock or "Yule Goat" was the bringer of gifts to the household. Having a Julbock in your home is a symbol of "Jul" and a time of good cheer.

“Julbocken” (1917) by John Bauer