#eldritch tales

[eldritchpotato]

Mirrorbound

You’ve never enjoyed visiting your grandparents for the holidays. But when the shattering of an antique mirror seems to have released something into the old house things suddenly become much more interesting. Especially since the entity seems to be very grateful for releasing her.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Content Warning: Female reader, ghost sex, possession, dubious consent, stealth exhibitionism, blood and mild gore.

If superstition was to be believed you were now looking forward to seven years of bad luck. It was a nice distracting thought from picking up the shattered pieces of the priceless artifact you had carelessly knocked over while looking for holiday decorations in the attic.

The mirror had been ornate, and the detail carved into the wooden edge was hauntingly beautiful. One of your grandfather’s “curiosities” to be sure. Maybe it just gave you the heebie-jeebies because he only would have collected it if it was either haunted, had been somehow involved in someone’s death, or connected to something else equally awful.

You hissed as a piece of glass cut into your palm. “Bloody f—” you stopped yourself. “Mary, where are you?!” You yelled again. Your aunt was taking her sweet time.

Finally, she poked her head up through the trap door and held out a broom and dustpan for you.

“I’ll get you a bandaid, deerie,” she added cheerily before clambering back down the ladder.

You did your best to sweep the glass up but considering how filthy the attic was you certainly were doing little to clean it. Where were the decorations? Why didn’t they keep them somewhere that wasn’t practically booby-trapped?

By the time you had cleaned up, whatever dust you had swept up had just attached to you. After telling Mary to find someone else to get the decoration through a coughing fit you scurried towards the bathroom for a nice long shower.

Peeling off your dusty clothes you turned the water on. It was freezing, of course, the water in this ancient house took an eternity to warm up.

You settled on checking on your appearance in the mirror while you waited. How much damage had that dirty attic done?

It wasn’t as bad as you had feared, it was easy enough to get the spider webs out of your hair and a shower would do the rest.

But…

Something red dripped from the ceiling behind you. You glanced behind you but there was nothing. No liquid on the floor and no stain on the ceiling. There was no sign of anything strange. But red wasn’t something one would miss in a white bathroom and it wasn't like your mind had a habit of playing tricks on you.

Turning back to face the mirror a scream tore from your throat. You spun around, pressing back against the sink. But the spectator was gone. The bloody monstrous figure that had spider-climbed down the wall was nowhere to be seen.

“You alright, dearie?” Mary called, knocking on the door.

“Bloody Hell,” you muttered to yourself, clutching your chest. “I’m fine Mary,” you called back. “Just… almost slipped.”

“Are you sure?” she called back.

“Yes,” you huffed, leaning your head against the wall. Actually, you weren't sure you were fine. Hallucinating was a very much not normal and fine thing.

Alright, I’ll put the kettle on,” she offered before shuffling away.

Quickly you hopped in the shower to clean yourself off. Regardless of if you were losing your mind, you needed to get clean.

A chill ran down your spine as you lathered yourself. That primal feeling that you were being observed. But the bathroom was empty, the curtain was drawn, and no one was watching you.

You dried off quickly before scurrying back to your room to get a change of clothes. You paused on the way, still slightly dripping and wrapped in a towel. “Bloody Hell, Mary, what are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’ve got it, I've got it,” she huffed, awkwardly climbing back down the ladder with a box of decorations balanced precariously.

You just shook your head and stepped into your room, closing the door behind you. Since she had sorted that you were free until supper at which point maybe you could use your new hallucinations as an excuse to leave a few days early.

You hung your towel up and waltzed over to your still mostly packed suitcase to fish out some more clothes.

Standing back up you froze. Behind you, reflecting in the full-length mirror of the guest room was a woman. She wore a tattered white dress stained red. Blood soaked her long matted hair from various shards of glass embedded in her skull. She clung to the wall with talons, what little of her skin you could see was covered in runic tattoos.

Since she wasn't real you didn't panic. But the fact you were definitely hallucinating was bad, really bad. Like maybe you could call an ambulance bad. Did you call ambulances for hallucinations? Suddenly this seemed far more serious. And why this? Why some sort of bloody demon woman?

She looked up and you winced, her hollow clawed-out eye sockets somehow still seemed to observe you. She slowly moved closer, the only way to describe her movements was wrong.

Oh, you really didn't like that.

It was oddly fascinating. Such a strange thing for your brain to make up. You had never seen this… character before, she was of your own imagination. She was oddly beautiful, the strange perfection the dead were sometimes thought to have.

She was right behind you now. You didn’t move. Logically it wasn't real but your thundering panicked heart didn't agree quite so much. Actually, you weren't remotely calm, just too distracted by logistics to notice the whole being frozen by fear thing.

Weird.

She leaned past you, bringing a talon dripping with blood to the mirror’s surface. You could swear you could almost feel her dress brushing against you. You watched with fascination as she wrote in her own blood.

Droplets of blood trailed down the mirror, you reached out to wipe them but… they were on the other side. Not that that was possible, but…

“What…” you muttered to yourself.

The message appeared on the mirror the right way round in beautiful cursive.

“You called?”

[darielivalyen]

Eldritch Tales: Inheritance [WIP]

Eldritch Tales: Inheritance is a game that blends elements of psychological, supernatural, and cosmic horror with a good dose of drama, investigation, and romance. You and your high school friends are reunited after five years by a mysterious letter, and through this letter, you inherit an old Gothic manor and a substantial fortune.

There is only one condition: you must live in the manor together.

As you arrive at Blackthorn Manor, strange, unsettling events begin to unfold. Shadows move on their own, nights are unnaturally dark, and the atmosphere grows increasingly tense. The manor is full of secrets, and the more you learn, the less you seem to understand.

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Customize your appearance, personality, and sexuality.

Romance or befriend a wealthy and carefree playboy, a no-nonsense scientist, a disciplined and protective ex-soldier, or a sweet and free-spirited artist.

Manage your relationships, or face unforeseen consequences.

Pay attention to your sanity and health, or…don’t.

Search for clues, solve puzzles, and learn the truth behind your inheritance.

Discover hidden rooms, secret passages, and eldritch artifacts.

Confront moral dilemmas, and be careful as they may have far-reaching consequences.

Face randomized events that will keep each playthrough unique.

Experience multiple endings based on your choices and actions.

What darkness does Blackthorn Manor conceal, and how will it affect your fate? Can you uncover the truth and survive, or will the manor’s sinister influence consume you all?

TYLER REYNOLDS

Background: Born into wealth, Tyler has always enjoyed privilege and opulence. While his party-going ways have quieted recently, he still likes to boast about his family’s status.

Personality: Tyler has a confident, carefree spirit that can be both alluring and unnerving. He enjoys living in the now and isn’t too concerned with the future.

Physical description: Tyler is tall and lean with an athletic build. He has dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a preppy yet sophisticated style. He is fond of loafers and owns over two hundred pairs.

Smell: Blend of citrus and sage.

CALEB MITCHELL

Background: A former soldier, Caleb has spent the last couple of years doing different security jobs. He’s very protective of his younger sister Julia, with whom he shares a close bond.

Personality: Caleb is disciplined and protective, with a dry sense of humor shaped by his military background. Despite his rugged exterior, he dreams of a peaceful life.

Physical description: Caleb is tall and muscular, and has an overall rugged appearance. He has a dark brown undercut, deep brown eyes, and a bit of stubble. His style is mostly casual.

Smell: Cedarwood with hints of amber.

JULIA MITCHELL

Background: Julia has a deep passion for science; she excels in engineering and physics. Her career and research define most of what her life is about.

Personality: Julia is a no-nonsense individual who values efficiency and clarity. She’s methodical in her approach to problems but can get puzzled in overly emotional moments.

Physical description: Julia is of medium height with a lean physique. She has neck-long black hair, deep brown eyes, and wears stylish glasses. Her style is Parisian chic.

Smell: Paper and ink, with hints of lavender.

LUNA HARPER

Background: An artist first and foremost, Luna’s whole world revolves around her paintbrush and palette. She embraces all forms and aspects of spirituality and loves crystals.

Personality: Luna is a free spirit, and her vibrant personality is reflected in her artwork. Her optimism is infectious, her humor innocent, and her soul seems to be untouched by cynicism.

Physical description: Luna is petite and has an ethereal presence. She has long platinum-blonde hair with pink highlights, green eyes, and loves the bohemian style.

Smell: Patchouli and sandalwood.

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[tawked]

Conan the Barbarian: The Tower of the Elephant, Marvel, (very slightly) edited.

[witchofthemidlands]

until further notice i shall be of the belief that this is all gearing up to the trickster's big comeback, in this essay i will…

[slytherintothedms]

watching ‘the exorcism of claire nunez’ and picked up on the fact that morgana called jim a “trollish whelp” - cute little bit of foreshadowing from the all-knowing morgana

[see-arcane]

Eggers' seems to like his vampires as very visibly walking corpses. That of course wouldn't really fit with the Carmilla story for a whole number of reasons.

Other than that she does actually have a lot of the "folk vampire" aspects he likes.

She does! But she's also a very distinct kind of monster compared to Dracula/Orlok in how she operates. Almost on the same level of Lord Ruthven of "The Vampyre," ala the MO of befriending and/or seducing innocents specifically to kill them. With Laura she seems to show signs of 'serial killer got too attached to the victim,' cue Millie getting into fixated vampire lover territory. But other than that, she has less of Eggers' preferred visceral threat and jagged edges than he seems to prefer with his villains.

[mamaangiwine]

Honestly? I think there should be more folk horror cinema inspired by The Bible. This shit is so eldritch and it goes hard.

[deconstructthesoup]

The stepmother can do what now

[eldritchpotato]

The Hunt

You’re running through the woods, doing your absolute best to escape from the creature hunting you. Unfortunately, you’re outmatched and the huntress has no intention of letting her prize get away.

Content Warning: female reader, primal play, alien smut, alien anatomy and rough sex.

Your heart is drumming in your chest. You know she is out there. The occasional click and growl. The rustling of branches. You can’t see her, not that sprinting through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you remotely helps with that, but that primal part of your lizard brain knows you're still being pursued.

You duck behind a tree, gasping for air as you try to compose yourself. You’re making so much noise, but your chest is spasming so much you couldn’t slow your breathing if you tried.

You can’t hear her footsteps, she’s too skilled for that. Peering around the tree you manage to make out the faint shimmer. Thank the heavens for the rain or you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of spotting her through her active camouflage.

Her form stops moving and you know you’ve been spotted. An amused thrill emerges from the massive shape before she rushes you. How something so big can move so fast you have no idea.

You scramble to your feet, slipping in the mud. Your clothes have been long since ruined but you have far bigger problems.

The tree behind you explodes, large invisible blades splintering the trunk. You would scream, but you still haven’t caught your breath.

There’s no point in turning to look behind you. If you could even see her you would just realize how utterly fucked you were.

Your only option is to keep going. At some point going down the hill becomes sliding, then tumbling. Banging against a rock and scratching yourself on a branch as you claw your way up the other side of the ditch.

All is silent. At least you can’t make out anything over your heavy breathing. You’re alone now, or at least you have a moment of respite. There’s no way she isn’t still watching you. She’s an expert hunter, a predator, your odds of escaping are virtually none. But you have to try.

A growl emerges from the woods around you. You spin on shaky legs, struggling to pinpoint the origin. You’re so slippery caked in mud, you can barely stay on your feet. Sure it helps to hide your heat signature but your exertion increases your body temperature far too much for it to be of any use.

Your own attempts to flee only make your position more obvious. A branch snaps above you, she’s in the trees. It’s enough to give away her position though.

You turn and run.

It’s easy enough to realize your mistake before you even can process why. The thing flies directly at you, your own panicked brain sending you right where she wanted you.

One moment you're turning, the next your legs are being pulled out from under you, the bola tying you up as you roll down the slope through the mud.

By the time the pain subsides and you manage to start to untangle yourself you hear her thump to the ground. Footprints appear in the mud as the invisible figure stalks towards you. The rain is blocked by the trees here but the occasional droplet makes her form spark into existence.

Crawling is futile, you’ll never get away without the use of your legs. But she’s towering over you before that could ever be an option. Her hulking figure appears. Her silver featureless mask, her writhing tendrils of hair, her toned and muscular body.

She reaches down and grabs you up by your jacket. Her other hand reaches up to unclasp her mask, her mandibles flare as she lets out a roar of triumph.

You’ve lost.

Tossing her mask to the side she picks you up with both arms, pinning you to the tree effortlessly. Her claws tear off your cheap clothing already long ruined by blood. You're covered in bumps and scratches, tomorrow you’re going to be extremely sore.

She’s saying something, without your translator you're at a disadvantage but you’ve spent enough time in her company to recognize the clicking gruff gloating of victory.

No reason to make it easy. Unfortunately, she knows you too well, your brief attempt at struggling doesn’t remotely budge her. When she slips her claws between your legs in response you can’t help but tense.

She laughs then, unbuckling her belt and tugging off the rest of her armour. With one arm less to keep you in place you can wiggle, not that it gets you very far, the tree bark digging into your back.

She clicks at you in warning before tugging you against her broad chest. The tentacles between her legs are already grasping at you, sucking to your thighs and trying to wiggle between your legs.

You kick at her, petulant more than anything. A large hand wraps around your throat, gently restricting airflow as she lets out a pleased growl.

She’s always liked this. She’s a hunter after all, what fun is it if the prey surrenders?

Whispering something in your ear you feel her forked tongue trail down your neck. She holds you with one arm and spreads your legs with the other.

You’re utterly soaked, as to be expected, but she would still be teasing you about it if she wasn't busy slipping her tentacles inside you. They sucker your bodies together and hold you in place as much as they can.

You know how sensitive they are, just like her hair tendrils. Unfortunately with your hands pinned you’re at her mercy and can hardly tease her.

You groan as they fill you up, wiggling deeper.

She lets out a purr, licking at your neck as she fucks you, her clit rubbing against yours.

The breath you had only started to recover is forced from your lungs. When her grip starts to falter she presses you against the tree, manhandling you so she can fuck you properly.

As whine leaves you as you clench around her, her tentacles never leave you though, only burrowing and wiggling even deeper, attaching you wide.

That would be enough to make you cum, but her heat sliding against you is just too much. You’ve never been particularly vocal, but she always manages to fuck you hard enough that you lose control of yourself.

Your fingers dig into her leathery skin, your cunt fluttering as your orgasm approaches. You can’t take it, too much to be pleasurable, too rough not to be painful. She’s using your body, claiming her reward.

But you’re cumming regardless, your muscles spasming, if she wasn’t pinning you against the tree you would have lost your grip. Your head falls back against the bark, your eyes tightly shut as you clench your teeth. Your vision has gone white, cumming so you can’t feel anything else, but she’s not done yet.

Your muscles can’t keep up anymore, too exhausted to not just clench down. Your gushing, drenching her tentacles and cunt as she keeps fucking you. You’ve lost any control of yourself, you can’t even breathe.

She howls, her crest slamming into the tree inches away from you as her mandibles nip at your shoulder. She cums, her weight crashing into you and nearly smothering you as she tenses. Her own wetness mixed with yours.

She’s got no eggs to fill you with at this time of year, not that you were a male that could fertilize them but that only makes it more fun. But quite honestly considering you’ve been cumming for a solid minute you think that might break you.

When she finally releases you she takes you into her arms rather than letting you slump to the middle ground. Cheap clothes are one thing, you’re far too precious.

“Fuck,” is all you can croak, your pussy still thrumming with overstimulation even as her tentacles gently and lovingly ease themselves out of you.

She presses a kiss to your forehead, her fangs ticking your foreheads. 

“F-hmm,” you groan.

She laughs weakly and gathers her things.

Your vision is still spinning as she carries you back to her ship. She’s going to spend the next week panicked about every scratch and bruise she gave you but it would be so worth it for this.

Weakly you promise yourself that next time you’ll manage to escape. Even if you know that definitely won’t be the case.

[darielivalyen]

Just read Eldritch Tales and it was so intriguing! Well paced, cool characters, very spooky. Excited for more. :)

Hi there! Thank you so so so much for your kind words! I'm glad you enjoyed the story so far, and I assure you more is coming. I meant to upload much more frequently (and I used to do so with previous projects), but I've been struggling a bit with my health.

I write whenever I can, but it's still not as often and as much as I'd like to. Things seem to be getting better, though, so I hope this changes soon! Thanks again! 💚

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[grokebaby]

Lore notes - sayings and lingo of the afterlife realm (Not sins but tragedies)

HELL

- Oh Satan! Is a common curse, or a way to express shock and frustration in the Pride district. This district tends to be aware of human culture and it's own history, and thus Satan is something of a pop culture figure to them. Not real, of course, but it's developed from an ironic inside joke to a common reference. Other variations of this saying include cursing to Satan's body parts, such as horns, for example. This saying is used in place of "Oh my god", which is seen as a controversial sentence (to varying degrees, depending on area and company)

- (By/For/All of) heaven and earth! Is another way to curse, or express exasperation. This isn't a region specific saying and can be heard in most districts. It is often connected into some other sentence to intensify the sense of annoyance, ridiculousness, or grandness the speaker wants to instill. For example "By heaven and earth, you better listen closely right now!", or "For heaven and earth, you two are gonna be in big trouble!" or "You could hit em over the head with it and they still wouldn't care, for heaven and earth!". The saying has a similar energy to "Oh for cryin outloud!", and historically refers to a sentiment by olden angels, which they used to express a sense of superior meaning by excluding hell from the equation. It has been adopted by demons since.

HEAVEN

- A throne's rotation is a way of saying something would take so long, or such intense effort that it's near impossible. This saying is very old fashioned, and it refers to the fact that God's throne is so cosmically heavy, and bound tightly to space and time, that it'd be near impossible to rotate or lodge out of place without causing huge danger. For example, someone may say: "It'd take a throne's rotation to gather all grains of sand from all of earth!" or "What a mess! It'll be a throne's rotation before it's all cleaned up again!". Technical nerds though, can be quick to point out that the saying might also refer to the waves of energy that God's throne cycles ("rotates") in and out of itself at a near constant rate, so really, the phrase 'should' mean the complete opposite. However there's been arguments over the true origin of the saying, and realistically, it could mean either one. The saying has fallen largely out of fashion due to this.

- Oh/By the/Dear Throne is essentially the angels' way of using any "God" sayings. (Oh dear God / oh my god / by God ect) this is of course, due to the highest Angel being God's throne, and not 'really' having a The God™ figure aside from it. Hence, someone saying Oh my god, instead of Oh Throne, would come across strange and foreign. They're also very averse to adding "My" to any throne related sayings, as it comes across as creepy and abnormal at best, and downright heretical at worst. Even mother Ngah, an angel knownly enamored with the throne, would find adding 'My' very disrespectful towards it. To say such is to imply ownership and to attempt to deny the throne it's vastness and meaning. This aversion may also be an attempt to dissuade angels from developing unhealthy relationships or views with and towards God's throne.

[super-paper]

afotaro is the elephant's foot of toxic old man yaoi but that's not gonna stop me from memeing on it, y'know, as a coping mechanism.

[tawked]

Conan: The Tower of the Elephant & Other Stories, Dark Horse.

As Conan came forward, his eyes fixed on the motionless idol, the eyes of the thing opened suddenly! The Cimmerian froze in his tracks. It was no image - it was a living thing, and he was trapped in its chamber! That he did not instantly explode in a burst of murderous frenzy is a fact that measures his horror, which paralyzed him where he stood. A civilized man in his position would have sought doubtful refuge in the conclusion that he was insane; it did not occur to the Cimmerian to doubt his senses. He knew he was face t o face with a demon of the Elder World, and the realization robbed him of all his faculties except sight. The truck of the horror was lifted and quested about, the topaz eyes stared unseeingly, and Conan knew the monster was blind. With the thought came a thawing of his frozen nerves, and he began to back silently toward the door. But the creature heard. The sensitive trunk stretched toward him, and Conan's horror froze him again when the being spoke, in a strange, stammering voice that never changed its key or timbre. The Cimmerian knew that those jaws were never built or intended for human speech. "Who is here? Have you come to torture me again, Yara? Will you never be done? Oh, Yag-kosha, is there no end to agony?" Tears rolled from the sightless eyes, and Conan's gaze strayed to the limbs stretched on the marble couch. And he knew the monster would not rise to attack him. He knew the marks of the rack, and the searing brand of the flame, and tough-souled as he was, he stood aghast at the ruined deformities which his reason told him had once been limbs as comely as his own. And suddenly all fear and repulsion went from him, to be replaced by a great pity. What this monster was, Conan could not know, but the evidenc es of its suffering were so terrible and pathetic that a strange sadness came over the Cimmerian, and he knew not why. He only felt that he was looking upon a cosmic tragedy, and he shrank with shame, as if the guilt of a whole race were laid upon him. "I am not Yara," he said. "I am only a thief. I will not harm you." "Come near that I may touch you," the creature faltered, and Conan came near unfearingly, his sword hanging forgotten in his hand. The sensitive trunk came out and groped over his face and shoulders, as a blind man gropes, and its touch was light as a girl's hand. "You are not of Yara's race of devils," sighed the creature. "The clean, lean fierceness of the wastelands marks you. I know your people from of old, whom I knew by another name in the long, long ago when another world lifted its jeweled spires to the stars. There is blood on your fingers."

— The Tower of the Elephant, Robert E. Howard, originally published in Weird Tales Magazine March 1933, this version from "The Complete Chronicles of Conan," Gollancz, 2006.

The subtext of compassion for a profoundly disabled person - a literal elephant man no less, perhaps inspired by Joseph Merrick upon whom the famous film was based and who lived from 1862 - 1890 - is something I personally always found profound in Robert E. Howard's work.

You must understand, at the time freak shows and human zoos were common, as were institutions which would house disabled children more or less from their birth to their often not-too-far-off deaths as a matter of cultural protocol. Fear of infection regarding physical deformities was a fact of Howard's life, so there is a perhaps an intentional violation of taboo in the use of physical human contact here. Regardless, compassion for the disabled was not common. That Conan, here characterized in an almost Hobbesian sense as a true reflection of human nature without the influences of civilization, reacts immediately with kindness and sympathy.

[vangold]

Kind of a warm up now that October is slowly approaching and with it upcoming Inktober. Actually I already decided for this year's theme. I'm planning to do an entire Inktober - or better said Creeptober - Lovecraft-themed. Really looking forward for it. Was in the mood lately anyway to do more stuff into that direction.

However until than don't mind me giving His Yellowness some more well deserved screen time here.

L̴̬͌ơ̴̖n̷̼̏g̵̩̀ ̸͚̈l̶��̢i̴̗̊f̷̯̆e̶̪̚ ̷̭̊t̴͖̃ḥ̸͋ë̸̪ ̸̥̕K̵̖̎i̴̾ͅn̵͉̉g̵̜͊

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[metatomatoes]

So I'm not into MTG but I do like collecting things so I bought a few booster packs a while ago just to check out the art. Finally got around to opening them and promptly FREAKED OUT because LOOOK they did Eldritch Elrond!

Elrond, Lord of Rivendell by Anato Finnstark for Wizards of the Coast/Lord of the Rings Tales of Middle-Earth 2023.

[jely-pringle]

E3 is a Multiversal consuming monstrosity hellbent to make anything and anyone his plaything~ :3

My biggest art piece so far. Took me around 12h+ working on it

E3 as the Owl is simply a shell he uses to interact with people

Shedding that skin reveals the Eldritch “Godlike”Body underneath sculpted for devotion and faith as a religious symbol of sort.

And going past that all the way up we get the Celestial. A Swarm of all kinds of universes melded together fueling this universe eating furnace as it spreads the influence throughout the multiverse devouring worlds on the regular.

The purest form of his Instinctive need to devour symbolized as this huge towering behemoth of worlds, stars etc.