#slavic folk stories

[cha-mij]

Obviously a lot of the monsters found in the world of the Witcher are based on Slavic folk tales/mythology.

But also Elder Speech/Hen Llinge is heavily based on Welsh and Irish.

I'm trying to figure out if the Grrnichora/Gvaern Ichaer is based on any pre-existing myth, or was it devised by CDPR for Throne breaker?

Anyone know?

[mauzeart]

Perun and Dodola. I think they look good together. Their relationship is such that with her he's a lovely bunny and with others he's a fierce beast. Hmm. Love them))

[thebowlercapfairy]

Killing Koschei the Deathless always involves an egg. You have to break an egg & the means of killing him is hidden inside. I will never be over the imagery of the seed of death being found within the seed of life. Mortality wrapped up in rebirth.

[kapyushonchan]

They adapted "Чур меня!" "as "Begone!" in English trasnaltion of "And the Haze will take us". -_________________________-

It is not that it is comepletely wrong, it is simply... bland. Chur menya! is a spell/hex for protection from dark forces, according to some sources it's a call to ancestors for protection, but I suppose historians and linguists can argue about that. Well, and translation of Lada's hex against her sister trying to break out of the other world in the forest - no, just no, magic of the words is just gone.

Scratch that, they translated Volkhv as Magus, lmaooooo. AGAIN, it's not wrong, but it's super bland. It's like "Let's find a synonym or equivalent for any obscure word from Slavic languages, why broaden people's horizons".

While people are fighting over inclusivity in the Haze, I'm dying on the hill that English is too bland for translation from Slavic languages, proven by The Witcher games.

[zaireetoo-draws]

Veles, the god of Underworld and harvest

Accompanying piece to a Veles video I did (:

You can watch it HERE if u were interested :D

[romanceyourdemons]

when i was a kid, every collection of books—large or small, public or private—had at least one small grubby volume called “fifty japanese fairy tales” “african folk tales” “who’s a-knockin at my door and other scary stories” “haunting mysteries of the sea” “golden threads: slavic fairy stories” “the unabridged grimm’s fairy tales,” and that book would contain at least one short story bizarre and haunting enough to permanently rewire your brain. and babey i was a fucking bloodhound hunting them down

[krizantema]

This beautiful photo reminded me of the folk beliefs of (South) Slavs in which fairies borrow horses during the night and braid their manes. It was said that these braids should not be untied.

[gorjee-art]

I love your COTL art! I was wondering, what are your design inspirations for the Lamb’s clothing, if you have any off the top of your head? It’s gorgeous!

Oh I've been waiting for this question. Ok! Design Inspo time! I like clothing that represents the character, and Lamb (mine at least) is a person who came from a folk culture. I think of Slavic clothing: Belarus, Czech, Serbia etc. etc. You get the point. I grew up with Slav fairytales and drooled over these illustrations when I was younger.

I wanted to capture the spirit of these illustrations cause I thought it's a perfect fit for my vision of the story in "Cult of the Lamb". Now, Slavic clothing is a BIG inspo for their clothing but it's not only, It's also Indian, Moroccan, Swiss, Greek, Balkan, and Swedish even, it's an eclectic mess of everything.

What all of these clothing have in clothing have in common is ornate patterns, big flowing comfortable cloth, and bright colors. Which for me fits perfectly with Lamb's white wool.

[lesinquietes]

Summary: Stoker never gave any indication that his story was real. Besides, even if it was based on true accounts, what are the odds that a Transylvanian vampire has somehow found his way into your house? Then again, what were the odds that you would move into a rural home with a resident nightstalker at all?

Pairing: Yandere!Alucard x AFAB!Reader

Warning: 18+ (minors, don't interact), angst, dark content, horror, misogyny (a sprinkle), sexual themes, violence

Previous l Next

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

a lot of alu x reader interaction here that I’m proud of :’) he’s getting more n more smitten by her — maybe it’ll be his undoing?

The Basement's Monster III

After Ericson and Cree check the basement, there’s peace in the house for another few weeks. The weather gets crisper. There’s a bite in the frosty air. The region’s first snowfall occurs on December 11th.

You focus on work and research. In the daytime, you do your job and earn the money you need to survive. At night, you study vampirism and its deterrents, searching for any piece of info that proposes absolution.

Cognizant of what's dwelling beneath you, your guard never lowers. From experience, you know he attacks in waves. Your theory is that he garners strength between his physical disruptions by resting. He can only manifest when he's manifested enough power. He’s weak, and that’s what’s been sparing you from the full brunt of his wrath. The question is, when will he be rejuvenated permanently?

Bram Stoker’s Dracula teaches you a lot. It context is what prompts you to study Romanian lore. Fascinatingly, exploring Slavic texts is what leads you to recognize the language in your dream. Although you don’t recall what the sign said, you noticed the characters you found on the Internet appeared to mimic what you saw. The vampire must be tied to Romania.

In the fictional novel, Dracula is a nobleman from that country. He's also the main antagonist of the story, and winds up slaying multiple innocent people; all while remaining elusive to the great Van Helsing and the naive Jonathan Harker. Is this— no. Stoker never gave any indication that his story was real. Besides, even if it was based on true accounts, what are the odds that a Transylvanian vampire has somehow found his way into your house?

Then again, what were the odds that you would move into a rural home with a resident nightstalker at all?

You recount the novel's plot. Jonathan Harker sets out with the intention to aid a man wishing to immigrate. England is heralded as a land with vast opportunity and an air of peacefulness. Count Dracula emphasized his desire to integrate into its wealth of culture. Jonathan visits his castle and notices several strange things about both the mighty building and the Count. Eventually, he happens across Dracula’s harem of brides, and just as he’s about to be finitely drained, he escapes. He awakens in a hospital, unable to contact friends or family until much later. By that time his nemesis has already fled on a ship destined for English shores.

You swallow. Allegedly, this is just a tale. But perhaps the book was his way of warning humanity about the horrors lurking in dense forests, old castles, and rickety passage ships. How would the monster react if you called him by his ancient alias?

Cree doesn't believe the creature is a vampire at all; on the contrary, he thinks it's a type of witch. In his tribe, kinfolk have shared experiences with an entity which could torment the living and shapeshift. He declined to spill any other details, including identifying information, for fear that it would summon the monster. You haven't been able to find anything else on the concept. Most Indigenous folks who replied to curious discussion threads posited that these tales are forbidden to be disclosed to outsiders.

Whether you have a name for it or not, you can be positive of what you went through. Disembodied voices and footsteps ease the anxious part of you that wishes to gaslight. What you heard and saw were real. You know this because Cree heard the noises in Nelly's room, as well; spectral sobbing can't be brushed off as a mere coincidence.

You close your laptop with a laborious sigh. It’s half past noon. You should get something to eat.

You leave your bedroom and rush downstairs. It’s quiet today. You don't recall the last time everyone was home together. Nelly works weekdays. Cree works evenings and weekends.

You reach the bottom landing and stride toward the kitchen. In the doorway, you grind to a halt. Ericson is sitting near the window, nursing a cup of coffee. She’s staring at the grandiose yard. The leaves have fallen off the trees by now. Winter has arrived, and the landscape doesn’t look much different than the one in your nightmare. There's a light dusting of snow on the ground, with more forecasted to roll in over the weekend.

The sensation you get is peculiar. It's thick, immediate, and uncomfortable. You feel like you should run.

As it on cue, the brunette notices you in the window's reflection. Craning her neck, she offers a short smile and a thin greeting. It's precisely what you were expecting.

"Hey."

You return her gesture, uneasy.

"Hey, E."

You linger momentarily. She must be in a poor mood. There's no other purpose for the energy she's exuding.

Robotically, you tread over to the kitchen counter, intent on fixing yourself a meal. You don't speak while you gather the ingredients. Her pupils bore into you, burning through your form as she observes your actions. You can tell there's something she wants to say. It emerges when you're grabbing a box from the cupboard.

"Sleep well last night?"

You pause mid reach. The question seems obscure. She seldom asks about your rest. She's not much for small talk unless she's trying to sus you out.

"Yeah." You regard her over your shoulder. "You?"

There are dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is messy and tangled. It looks like she hasn't gotten the chance to wash up just, having dragged herself out of bed recently.

"No."

You stop arranging your lunch to give her your undivided attention. There's something wrong; you can sense it from her tone. The look she's casting you isn't too friendly, either.

"Are you okay?"

“I heard you stomping around all night.”

You're taken aback. That's impossible. You were in bed by eleven o'clock. You only got up once to use the washroom.

“Me?”

"Well, the pacing was right outside your door, so I figured it was you."

This is not the news you wanted to hear. You're freaking out. You thought things were quiet because he retreated to draw strength; you had no idea he was still lurking around your home, hovering just beneath your conscious awareness.

“I wasn’t pacing.” You insist. “I was asleep.”

Ericson casts you an incredulous stare.

“Really.”

“I’m serious!”

You don’t know what you can do to convince her. There’s no one who can corroborate your side of the story. All you have is your word... oh!

“Wait.”

You take your phone out of your pocket. There’s the messages you sent Cree last night. You both turned in at the same time. You don’t know if he got to sleep afterwards, but you did. It doesn’t guarantee that you didn’t get up in the following hours, but it’s something.

“Look.”

You twist your screen around and walk over to show her the evidence. She squints.

She takes her time scrolling through. Cree might be able to attest later on, if that’ll help absolve you and ease her temper. You know what it’s like to be kept up; you’d be pissed, too. But you’re not who she should be directing her blame towards.

When she nods, you pull the device back. She stares through you for a minute. She comes to before long, fixating on your visage again. Gently, she mumbles.

“It wasn’t you?”

“No.” You shake your head to underscore your innocence. “I swear.”

She hums nervously, shifting her gaze. She wears an anxious expression. The colour has vacated her cheeks, accentuating her horror. You thought she wasn’t going to believe you, but it appears there are other notions playing through her head.

“E.” You grasp her forearm. “You okay?”

Taking time to collect herself, she doesn’t answer you. She's preoccupied, wondering how she’s going to explain the events of last night. You extend patience with adamancy.

“Ana.” You evoke her, using her first name as a last ditch effort to activate her. “Tell me what happened.”

Shockingly, it's effective.

“I heard someone walking around in the hallway above.” She mutters mechanically. “Back and forth, back and forth.”

Her glare, lowered, carries significant distress. Her lips quiver when she pauses between sentences. The retelling of this event is difficult for her. You suppose it’s because the existence of supernatural creatures explicitly challenges her core beliefs. You don’t blame her for grappling with that. Hell, you’re still coming around to the concept of a vampire cohabitating with you. Imagine if she knew what he truly was.

“It didn’t really bother me. I couldn’t get to sleep last night ‘cause I was wired on coffee, so I was just texting a friend. But then…”

She gulps. Now, both of you understand the terror of being at the mercy of this monster. It feels surreal to share this experience with another person.

“I heard someone come downstairs. And I didn’t hear anything else until—“

Tears form in her doe-like orbs. Miraculously, they don’t fall; her pride doesn’t let them. You rush over to wrap her into a tight embrace, anyway. Your compassion opens the floodgates.

“—until my door handle moved.”

Ericson sobs in your arms. She’s taking this hard. As she did for you, so will you do for her. You console her petrified spirit.

“This is the shit I was talking about.” You remind her, rubbing her back gingerly. “Weird sounds, seeing things — you’re not insane.”

In a twisted way, it feels good to clear your name. It’s different than when you and Cree heard the same noises in Nelly’s closet, though; unlike him, Ericson was victimized by the devious cryptid. Your mixed feelings are amplified as you cradle her vibrating form.

Finally, she pulls back to finish her tale. Her voice cracks and shatters the composure she's built. All you can do is clasp her arms, hoping it's enough to stabilize her.

“I pretended to be asleep until it stopped knocking, but I was so fucking creeped out.” Her brown orbs make contact with yours. “And now that you’re telling me it wasn’t you, I’m like, what the fuck?”

She must have thought you were playing a prank, perhaps in an effort to teach her a lesson. She didn’t believe what you experienced was real until she was affected by its daunting presence. But you aren’t the type of person to do that; not when there’s an impending threat. She must have sensed your honesty.

“What time did you hear the footsteps?” You ask.

“Past 1 AM.” She asserts.

“And how long did they last?”

“Hours, dude.”

“Until the doorknob thing?”

“Yeah.”

You ponder. Does the time of night have anything to do with his prowess? During your research, you reviewed speculations that three in the morning is a period of peak strength for supernatural beings. Ericson isn't aware of the exact time, so you have nothing concrete to go on. There's more to explore.

“And after it tried your door, did you hear anything else?”

“No.” She denies. “But I couldn’t get to sleep until sunrise.”

You withdraw from the half-embrace and stand upright. This is the first time a confrontation between her and the vampire has occurred. If it wasn’t, she would have said something sooner. You know Ericson; she’s the type to vent her grievances rather openly.

“Do you know what’s going on?” She inquires.

“I honestly don’t.” You admit. “But I think this thing lives in the basement.”

“What is it?”

“It told me it’s a vampire.”

“Oh, no way.” She clutches her skull. “I could’ve accepted a demon, but vampires are pure fucking fiction.”

You had a similar reaction. The vampire was popularized by Bram Stoker, but the concept of a bloodsucking nightstalker has been around for centuries upon centuries. In Anno Domini, civilians placed blame on these beings for illnesses related to cleanliness — a value that was discarded by many people due to its perceived insignificance. Rabies and pellagra were diseases hypothesized to have caused humans in early times to fear sunlight and water, act in the throes of delusion, and rip out the flesh of their peers and loved ones. Alas, maybe those conclusions aren’t accurate. How are we to know what transpired back then? The undead may have roamed this earth in the form of vampires, who all but died with the coming of modernization.

This bastard beneath you could be the final one in existence.

“I’m literally repeating to you what it told me.”

“Whatever it is.” She sniffs. “What do we do about it?”

“If it were up to me, I’d get us the fuck out of here.” Your confession is earnest. “But we’d have to convince Cree and Nelly to move.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her head back in utter anguish. “No, I really can’t afford to move again.”

That’s fair. You’re recovering from the moving costs alongside her and Cree. Only Nelly has been able to completely pay hers off. As much as you hate to say it, you’re stuck here until you can save up enough to consider looking elsewhere. Your last resort is subletting, and even then, you'd have to find a new home.

“As a short-term solution, do you want to sleep upstairs for now?” You offer. “You can stay with one of us.”

Power in numbers. Cree would be willing to room with her, as would you. Nelly, you’re not certain. She enjoys her solitary space. And, to your knowledge, she hasn’t experienced supernatural occurrences this house has to queued for you yet.

But Ericson isn’t on board.

“No.” She decides resolutely. “I’m gonna go out and buy a few things for protection later.”

You raise a brow. You almost didn't catch that; her energy changed. It's disquieted. What just happened?

Jaw clenched, she gets up from her seat. She bobs her head back and forth, as though in disbelief. There’s an urgency to her movements. It’s impossible to know where she’s at if she doesn't communicate.

“Actually, I’m gonna call a taxi and grab them now.”

She pulls out her phone and begins sifting through it.

"Don't you want to wash up first?"

You don't mean it as an insult. You want her to slow down. She doesn't share your sentiment.

"Nah. When I get back."

You realize that there's no convincing her otherwise. It's your cue to depart. There are tasks on your mind, too.

"Okay, well... I'm a text away, okay?"

"Thanks, (f/n)."

You walk across the kitchen and head towards the doorway. You've lost your appetite. You'll eat at dinner tonight.

As you rush out, Ericson calls after you.

"Hey, you and Cree aren't dating, right?"

You laugh, trotting back upstairs.

"Not a chance!"

The brunette hums knowingly into the empty space. There’s a playful flutter in her voice. Her orbs don't leave her screen.

“Heh. Yeah. Sure.”

Ericson left ten minutes ago. You watched her get into the taxi and wave at you through the window. It's likely she'll be gone for a good few hours. Nelly will be home in thirty, but until then, you're in solitude. It's just you and the vampire.

You stand outside the basement door. You recognize that disengaging the locks would be suicide. Don’t vampires need to be invited inside? You don’t wish to be a willing victim this time. If he's going to act belligerently, he can do so without your condolences. You won't open the door. This will be a good test to determine the bounds of his strength.

You press your palm against the wooden panels in front of you and close your eyes. Clearing your throat, you speak.

“Monster.” You brazenly address him. “Can you hear me?”

Below, Alucard is intrigued. Yes, he’s listening; he’s been listening since you awakened. He can’t see what you’re doing on that laptop of yours, but it’s apparent that you’re dedicated to your work. He was hoping you would come downstairs so he could get a better glimpse of you. Now, you want to talk.

“I’m not going to let you fuck with my friends.” You declare. “Leave us be.”

The demand is valiant. You’re in no place to be commanding an otherworldly being. He must know this.

And he does. A king cannot bend his knee to one who is undoubtedly more frail than he. You must know this, as well.

The silence that fills the corridor is particularly aggressive. You don’t think the house has ever been this quiet. Yet, you’re not alone. Fine. If he won’t communicate, you’ll force him to react.

“Dracula.” You swallow. “Stop ignoring me.”

Promptly, the lightbulb in the hallway snaps. Your eyes snap open. Glass pours over you like rain, causing you to flinch on impact. Thankfully, none of the pieces draw blood.

“Continue to involve them, and they will die.” A sinister voice growls.

Your breath hitches. Time feels as though it’s standing still. Gradually, the room cools down. The small hairs decorating your skin stand on edge, denoting your dread. He’s here. For all you know, he could be on the opposite side of the door, grinning at your helpless form.

“You should fear your own fate, pretty mortal.”

You can practically see his predator-like simper. It has your gut gurgling with nausea. You want so badly to flee. The front door is over there. You can make it, but you don’t try; your purpose is to persist.

“Stay away from them.” You repeat adamantly. “And me.”

Alucard is salivating. He’s never wanted you more. He loves a woman who can stand up for herself — even if she’ll be easily overpowered. Where did this fire come from?

“You feign as though you have control.” He cackles cruelly. “You don’t. I can smell your anxiety, sweet little thing.”

But he can't access your thoughts with the same simplicity with which he used previously. You have a mental barrier that restricts his ingress. He's growing increasingly impressed. The mastery you're possessing over your functioning is uncommon for mortals.

"I do have control." You contend. "Because you aren't at your best, are you?"

Alucard ponders. He should have been keeping a closer eye on you. It appears as though you've been doing a healthy amount of reading. First, you call him by his ancient moniker; then, you acknowledge his sickliness. Where did you learn this information?

"It matters not." He drawls solemnly. "I won't remain this way forever."

Ericson has his amulet. He has been whispering to her in dreams, coaxing her to carry the amulet with her. She awakens, unrestful, with induced amnesia. The subliminal messaging will work more effectively soon. She’ll want to protect herself now that he’s made an appearance. He was content to hear how terrified his visit made her, as she confided in you earlier.

"What can you do to stop me?"

The question isn't as innocent as he makes it sound. It's layered in horror and misconception. Can he be stopped? Or, better yet, can you stop him? You've never considered yourself the Van Helsing type.

"We’ll leave.”

He smirks.

"Will you?"

He must have overheard your discussion with Ericson. Moving is a long-term plan; it won't aid you in the meantime. You revise your thought, refusing to back down.

“It might take time, but we can."

If worst comes to worst, subletting is on the table. Leaving your friends wouldn't feel phenomenal, but if it comes to keeping your life or discarding it, you will have to face the ultimate sacrifice. Hopefully, they'll have the sense to trust your words and bolt alongside you.

"Even if you could, I wouldn't let you."

Why do you delude yourself? It could be that he hasn’t proven his prowess. That’s an acceptable excuse, given his diminished state. If that's the case, he'll show you.

"I wonder how you'll react when I start to pick your friends off, one by one?" He snickers. "You can't protect them all."

He's hungry for violence; hungry for his innate compulsion to revel in the anguish of the unworthy. He projects this feeling outwards, afflicting you with his morbid thirst. It settles onto your body like dust — invisible, and unpleasantly capable of choking you.

Rage washes over you upon listening to his menacing remark. It implores your legs to kick and your arms to punch. It wills you to scream until your throat is hoarse. The heat that rushes through you is enough to have you gasping for air on the porch. You wouldn't be shocked if your head was steaming from the surplus of pressure.

"You think they're stupid?" You scoff. "Or do you plan to be cowardly in how you pick them off, as you say?"

Abruptly, another lightbulb shatters. It's the one above the front door. Your comment got to him.

Consciously, you haven't a clue where this courage stemmed from. A moment ago, you were frightened he would smash through the wood and abduct your wrist. Unconsciously, you're aware that white hot anger is your vehicle. It's been months of this beast pushing you around. A part of you screams no more.

"Cowardly!" He barks, laughing viciously. "You have nerve calling me this, while you hide behind a locked door.”

"Using the defenses I have against a foe who doesn't play fair seems more strategic to me."

Alucard thrums. You're intelligent to a degree he didn't presume prior to this argument. You're fortunate he likes a bit of spice in his mates. Other vampires would have decapitated you to achieve a rewarding silence.

"Tell me, what would you do if you woke from your slumber to my shadow over your bed?"

It's rhetorical. You wouldn't do anything because you would be dead. Few humans can attain the upper hand with him. But you don't buy into the fantasy he's selling. Instead, you smile thinly.

“I’d drive a stake through your heart, vampire.”

Upstairs, a flurry of lightbulbs puncture. Their noise — quick and shrill — cascades like dominoes. You follow them through the ceiling with witless orbs. The bathroom blows first, then Cree's room, yours, and Nelly's. The bulb at the top of the stairs is the only one which remains intact.

Of all his years existing, Alucard can't recall feeling such a potent arrow of indignation shoot through him. You've tested him enough. He’s going to use what strength he has to teach you an eighth of his wrath.

And he thinks, with a devilish playfulness — the kind that's dipped in fury — oh, how intrepid you’re acting; how intrepid and foolish.

Your jaw unhinges. He’s walking down the steps. Was he upstairs this whole time? A more horrible notion enters your mind: was he in your bedroom? You tremble. That would mean he’s been next to you all morning, deadly and untraceable.

The floorboards behind you creak. You hiss, back stiffening. The room carries an unusual weight to it. It’s as though he’s present with you, hovering over your shoulder — a mere footfall away if you dared to step backward.

You don’t. You can’t. It’s impossible for you to face him when you’re unable to move.

“My dear.”

His tone is sharp and dominant. The playfulness is gone, indicating that his pride has been wounded. You can sense his exasperation. He’s simmering like a pot of soup over a moderate flame.

“You excite me as much as you infuriate me.”

You gulp. His voice is so clear. He really is here with you.

He hasn’t touched you. You don’t know how you’ll react if he does. Will his hands feel as cold as you imagine? Will his nails feel like razors, raking along your skin? Will he kill you where you stand, dragging your mangled body to the basement before Nelly arrives?

“Still, as much as I love that fiery tongue of yours, I won’t be spoken to this way by a disobedient mate.”

Your heart drops. You wait. And wait. And wait for him to grasp you; to show you precisely how he’s destroyed the wills of various others. He doesn’t.

“Trandafir.” He purrs. “During my reign in Wallachia, I believed in strict punishment for poor behaviour. Back then, even my women were not immune to my cruelty.”

Wallachia? Vaguely, the location is familiar. You don’t know why. And what did he call you, again? Tra—tranf—trand…afir…? You’ll have to look these terms up when you get out of this mess. He’s dropping hints. You’ll play his game if it means deciphering clues in your favour.

“My primary mode of execution for traitors was a slow death by impalement. I happily watched as defiers and enemies bled out across hours, sometimes days.”

His family made sadism seem normal. Of them all, though, his father was a compelling example of psychopathy. He invigorated him, at a young age, to dominate. As a king, he honed that trait.

“Even as a mortal, I had an acquired taste for human blood.” He laments darkly. “It was a delicious dip for breads and pastries.”

He truly savoured his enemies’ suffering. That wasn’t anything he was taught; he dedicated himself to the cryptic deed of his own volition. Sometimes, he wonders if that’s why he was capable of rising from the grave. Not all are.

“If I had half my strength, I would not hesitate to impale all of your friends, and force you to bathe in their blood.”

He would have them draw a circle of worship. You would sit in the centre. Sitting in a triangle on the outskirts of the sigil, he would appear behind them and slice their throats.

He imagines snatching Nelly by her thin braids and yanking her head back. A sharp claw would do the trick. Ericson would befall a similar fate. Cree would be decapitated. Your role, once the blood started to spurt, would be to open your mouth and absorb their lives. How pitiful and tantalizing you would look, painted with the loss of your loved ones.

He would keep them alive and under his influence long enough to make them stab themselves. Maybe he’d give the women a swift end, but Cree would inevitably suffer. It’s the tax he must pay for standing in Alucard’s path, attempting to steal you for himself.

He beams, brain shifting into predator mode. The hunger is coming up. If he’s not careful, he’ll transform his threat into a reality before he’s ready.

“And if I had my full strength, I would sink my fangs into your neck and drain you, my sweet.”

Bloodlust fills the air. Your fight or flight kicks in. He’s too close. You shove yourself forward, seemingly stumbling away from his grip. Wasting no time, you whip around to confront him. He’s not there. In a single snapshot, you feel like a zealot who lost his god. Where did He go? Is He still here with me? Or was He ever here at all?

You stand motionless in the dead air. Disoriented, you examine the locks on the basement door. None of them are out of place. Earlier, he alluded to the mechanisms impeding him, cutting you out to be a coward for inserting a barrier between the two of you. He lied. A reinforced piece of wood made no difference.

As you inspect the door, you notice small wood chippings on the floor. Upon closer inspection, you identify that they’re being blown in by a draft under the door. It almost looks like… something was clawing the opposite side of the door, desperately peeling the paint with every crooked scratch.

[elenamegan14]

Yandere One Piece - Irish/Nordic Fae Folk Myth X F!Reader - Prologue

It's a spooky season, and I have yet to see any Yandere One Piece reader fics based on Slavic myths and legends! Blame me for being too invested in Bramble: the Mountain King game.

---

Once, there was a childless couple who lived in a quaint village. Although the village is rich in tradition and harvest, it was also a fearsome place. Not far from them lies a great forest called the Grand Line, a home of every fae folks, each more astounding and nightmarish than man had ever known. 

But that was where our story began. 

One night, on a full moon during a winter’s eve, the couple is visited by a frail, old woman. They immediately brought her in, warmed her, and fed her. When all is done, she transforms into a beautiful fairy. A member of the fairy monarchy, Rogue. 

To thank the couple, Rogue rewarded them with something they had yearned for years: a child. And so, on the first day of Spring, a healthy baby girl was born. 

Alas, even the fairy world has it;s own rules, and the rule is crueler than the rules of mankind. A baby who is granted life by the fairy must be returned back by the ripe age of thirteen. Rogue did not want her work to go to waste, so she told the couple that they must move the child away from the village, never to enter any fairy rings at any cost, and give their child a pair of special earrings made of iron to protect them. 

Thus, the family evaded the pursuit of the fae folks beyond the age of thirteen. In retaliation, the fae folks began to terrorize the villagers - they would not stop to torment them until the child was given to them. Furious at the fleeing family for putting them into this bedlam, the villagers set up a trap to return the child back to the Grand Line. 

Eighteen years have passed, and the child grew up in the Kingdom of Goa. With each passing day, the blessings from Rogue had made the child cunning, wise, and attractive. The child was a curious oddity amongst her peers, but there was one person who despised her existence more so than the others. 

Sarie is the daughter of a notorious monarchy in the Goa Kingdom. Although she has everything in the palm of her hand, she is wicked jealous of the child’s charm and beauty. Her opportunity stuck when a vengeful villager asked her to cooperate to rid of the child’s existence in the mortal world. 

Soon after, Sarie begged her fiancee, Sterry, to arrange a special trip only for his classmates, the child included, straight to the child’s original village. Sterry and his cohorts lured the child to the edge of the forest, right before the entrance of Grand Line. Once there, Sarie threw her scarf into the middle of the fairy ring and asked the child to pick it up for her. 

The child is confused. Why should she follow such a petty instruction? Also, the child pleaded that she was not supposed to enter the fairy ring at any cost. However, Sterry and their classmates loudly demanded her to do so. 

When the child reluctantly tried to enter the fairy ring, Sterry once again ordered the child to take off the child’s iron earrings for Sarie. She tried to refuse but Sterry warned her that if she disobeyed, he would make sure that she became the enemy of Goa. 

The child had always wanted to be accepted by Sterry and Sarie - she did not understand what she had done wrong to receive his ire. The child also knew that Sarie and Sterry’s family had more power than her family did. She hastily took off her earrings and gave them to Sarie. With a heavy heart, she entered the fairy ring. 

Sterry and Sarie’s deception became light once she turned around inside the fairy ring, only to find herself alone in a strange forest. She ran back and forth, calling for her classmates. 

None answered. 

Alone, terrified, and confused, the child trekked into the woods of Grand Line on her own, in hoping to find her way home… not knowing that she had fulfilled her promise…

And break the village’s curse. 

---

You are wandering around the fogged oath, unable to see what's beyond. Suddenly, you heard footsteps. Behind you, in front of you, everywhere! You barely have a moment's rest when a mischievous-looking human-like creature appears before your very eyes. Shrieking, you fall back behind, astounded by what you see.

"Shishishi! Did I scare you?" The creature grinned hugely, enhancing his unique shaggy features with a stitched scar underneath his left eye.

Monkey D. Luffy, the Pookah, has arrived. Next

[playa-pariah]

I recently completed a front and back cover for this story :)

from my recent uni project- Baba Yaga and the Little Brother

[olderthannetfic]

Here's a random observation I made recently about dumb buzzword salad in trad publishing. And another reason I have a big fucking beef with how lazy and copy paste trad publishing is, and how little of a shit they actually give about properly representing their talents and the talents experience.

My local bookstore has a section which is basically just the "written by diaspora" corner. If you're "diaspora"-(insert other country) your book will probably end up there. It's a bit weird but makes sense when you consider the community in my town and surrounding area.

I saw a book that was a "(Asian) reimagining of a (Western) story" Here's where the buzz-description came in. The blurb on the back praised the author for combining their own heritage, with that of a "Western" story. This is a fake example to not put any negative attention on the book: Dealing with being Asian in the UK. The focus of the blurb was 100% on them being a diaspora and how that affected their writing. If you've seen one of these blurbs you basically know all of them.

The thing is, the story they reimagined had absolutely nothing to do with the "UK" UK culture, folk lore or anything else. Let's pretend it was Baba Yaga. Nothing else implied that they had any other connection to the the culture Baba Yaga comes from. Yes it's a reimagining, but how does reimagining a story with absolutely no ties to your life count as fusing your specific experience of being diaspora and living the UK?

Once again, the example isn't real, and just to explain the basics of it: If a Chinese-British person wrote a book reimagining the story of Baba Yaga with a "Chinese twist." You can do that, could even be super fun. But a British person, Chinese heritage or not, Baba Yaga isn't "your culture". The UK and Russia are not interchangeable, neither is Chinese and Russian. So why does trad publishing treat it like the Chinese-British writer is just conflating the two? Why not make the focus on the Chinese-British writer having a passion for Slavic folk tales, specifically Baba Yaga? No, instead they do this copy paste fusion bullshit, that doesn't even match the experience.

It just makes it so painfully obvious how little trad publishing cares about the writers works. And I've seen this several times, some times with more obvious examples. Some times titling the Western story with a general wording, so it isn't too blatantly obvious that the story's from the completely wrong country and culture.

It's be just as silly if a European, Idk Swedish lived their whole life in Thailand, and then in order to "deal with being a Thai-Swede" wrote a book reimagining Indian folktales with a Swedish twist. "UK and Russian" isn't interchangeable. Thai and Indian isn't interchangeable. So why does trad publishing have the guts?

--

[mirjam-writes]

Good Midsummer Omens: A Rec list

A rec list of Good Omens fics celebrating the Summer Solstice of the northern hemisphere! Feel ree to reblog with additions!

Happy Summer Solstice, everyone! 🔥

The Feast of Fairies by MM2022

Aziraphale & Crowley, G, 1.2k, fairy & human AU, Celebration of Litha (Germanic Neopagan celebration of summer solstice)

Marriage of Fire and Water by KissMyAsthma

Aziraphale/Crowley, G, 2.4k, Celebration of Kupala Night (Slavic folk holiday for summer solstice).

On nights like this anything is possible by shanimalew

Aziraphale/Crowley, T, 2.3k, AU, Kupala Night celebration in 10th century Poland.

Choose Wisely by JoyAndOtherStories

Aziraphale/Crowley, T, 6.6k, A Choose your Own Adventure story with a brief visit to a midsummer festival at Externsteine, Germany.

Be Still My Soul: The Romance by Mirjam

Aziraphale/Crowley, Explixit, 25.4k, Human AU with the climax set in Finnish Midsummer in 1917.

Beloved by Ack_Emma

Aziraphale/Crowley, Explicit, 40.9k, Elizabethan human au with Midsummer celebrations on chapter 8! Mind the tags!

Midsummer Canoodling by Quefish

Aziraphale/Crowley, Explicit, 1.4k, Swedish Midsummer

[draconesmundi]

Asking for both writing my own stories and also special interest: what are some of the best sources you’ve found for more obscure dragons? I’ve studied so much dragon folklore that it’s been getting really difficult to find new stuff…

So for very obscure things, asking people from other countries is the best bet - folklore, lore from the folk, means asking folk. Sometimes people have access to books with no English translation with local folklore, sometimes there are stories passed by word-of-mouth ("our town has a local legend about a dragon"). It's not a peer reviewed academic textbook, but asking questions will get you some obscure dragons! The internet means you can ask people all over the world :)

Second bit of advice; GET CURIOUS! Photos of statues of dragons often have a story behind them. Is this a statue of Saint George and the Dragon as an allegory on a World War 2 monument, or is this Vahagn the Dragon Slayer showing off local legends and heritage? Is this 'made in Indonesia wooden charm' linked to more Indonesian mythology or just something for tourists? A lot of statues and artifacts can be connected to mythology too!

Third bit of advice; keep an open mind on definitions of dragons and the language used to describe dragons: searching '[country] dragon mythology' into a search engine turns up fewer results than '[country] serpent mythology', and the best results are usually '[country] [local word for serpent/dragon] mythology'.

Finally, region-specific dragon folklore is easiest to find in region-specific sources: a book like an Encyclopedia of Russian & Slavic Myth and Legend by Mike Dixon-Kennedy will have more highly specific Russian and Slavic dragons than a book focused solely on dragons. To learn more about dragons you really have to generalize and read about mythology as a whole!

For a more concrete answer:

Giants, Monsters and Dragons by Carol Rose, as this has a themed index section where you can look up things like 'wolf monsters' or 'things that drink blood', so obviously has a 'dragon' and 'serpent' index section too

Te Ara online encyclopedia is good for Aotearoan/New Zealand folklore: https://teara.govt.nz/en/taniwha

Native Languages website for Native American Folklore is pretty great: http://www.native-languages.org/legends-serpents.htm

A Book of Creatures website from @a-book-of-creatures has a source list on each entry (reading list for learning even more folklore!) and an extensive tagging and organizational system.

[sombredancer]

Recent visually beautiful and generally watchable Russian fantasy movies

(because I start forgetting they exist at all) Ironically, all of them are adaptations of books/comics.

I Am Dragon / Он — дракон (2015) This movie is a very free adaptation of the novel "The Rite" / "Ритуал" by Maryna and Serhiy Dyachenko (Марина и Сергей Дяченко). It's a reinterpreting of an ancient tale about a maiden, a hero and a dragon. I don`t like the novel because it's very postmodern, wracks the typical fairytale plot and hurts my escapist feelings by ugly reality, but the movie is pretty fairytale-ish and nice. Firstly, it is visually beautiful and represent Slavic pseudo-medieval lore the way it should have always been in Slavic fantasy.

Secondly, as a love story between a monster and a maiden, it has got A PLENTY of tropes I'm usually looking for in Chinese dramas, so I understand very well why it was pretty popular in Asia.

Thirdly, when I said it's visually beautiful I wasn't joking. The main hero is played not by an actor, but by a male model, who is shirtless all the time (and sometimes pantless) and has a very fit and good-looking body. It's something unbelievable that someone in Russia made a movie to please women's eyes! Really, it's insane!

The folk-rock band Мельница wrote an insanely beautiful song "Обряд" (The Rite) for this movie (more matched to the book plot, though), but it was never used as OST, which is a shame. The song is about a black sheep girl, who is denied by society and asks a dragon to come for her and to take her away, because the dragon is denied by this world just like her. You can listen to it here. The band also has a song "Змей" (The Wyrm) (based on Lev Gumilev's poem), which is more accurate to the plot of the movie: the wyrm kidnaps maidens to make them its wives, but they are all dying during the flight; at the end of the song a hero-knight is ready to shoot it in order to stop it. Listen to it here.

It ends with HE, which is better than the book's obscure ending, so it is pleasure for me to rewatch it till these days.

Major Grom: Plague Doctor / Майор Гром: Чумной Доктор (2021)

It is an adaptation of Russian comic series "Major Grom" by Bubble comics. I am traditionally not very happy with the source material, but it is very good reworked to be the screen play of this movie.

It's very beautifully made in terms of director's, cameraman's and screenwriter's work, which is a rare thing for Russian movies. Also, the actors are young and handsome, especially the villain, which is a rare thing not only for Russian movies, but for the current Western movies, too. It has got a lot of allusions to Russian reality and a lot of beautiful views of Saint Petersburg, the second capital of Russia and one of the most beautiful Russian cities. And it has got some unusual visual solutions that turn it into a comic it should be.

The plot revolves around a mysterious serial killer (kinda bad Batman), a black sheep police officer and Russian Mark Zuckerberg (kind of). Mark Zuckerberg is the best guy of this movie and I like him a lot! Серёёёёжа! 🧡🧡🧡

This movie wasn't popular in Russia because of political situation in the country by the moment of its release (the both sides found out in there something insulting for them and banned it), but even if it has something like that, I honestly didn't pay attention to it. It's just a nice blockbuster with a tragic and handsome villain. The villain also has got his own BL-drama (in the comics they are really lovers, it`s as obvious as it could be shown in a Russian comic).

By the way, the villain is hot, insane, ruthless, sensitive and suffering. How does he contain all of this character treats in one personality? you may ask. He doesn`t. He has dissociative identity disorder, I would answer.

I don`t know if it works by now, but some time ago you could watch this lovely movie on Netflix.

The Master and Margarita / Мастер и Маргарита (2024) This is a loose adaptation of Russian classical novel "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov. I genuinely hate this book, but the adaptation reinterprets it, divides it into very interesting layers and makes it understandable and beautiful.

It`s layered, so it will probably be hard to understand what layer are we currently on if you are not familiar with the original story. The first layer is an ugly Soviet reality, the second layer is a plot of the novel that the main hero is writing, a story within a story. The third layer is the insane intertwining of the first two layers. On the reality layer the Master loses his job and freedom because of friend's denunciation and becomes star-crossed lovers with a married woman. On the novel level he meets devil, who visits Moscow by chance, and the devil gives him and his woman opportunity to live their lives being free from everything that usually tortures people IRL. Somewhere among those layers is a little plot about Jesus and Pontius Pilate.

The movie is visually beautiful. Although it feels pretty anti-Soviet, Soviet visuals of the movie are gorgeous. There were used the Stalin-times concepts of Moscow of the Future, the CGI buildings in frame came from the real architecture projects of those times. The Stalin Empire architecture style and views are typical for Moscow (but as I know, ironically, this all was shot in Saint Petersburg). It seems to me that this movie is heavily stuffed with visual allusions to the Western works: devil's escort looks like bunch of Pennywises, Margarita is Enchantress from Suicide Squad I, the scene of blood dripping is from Blade I etc. Usually, when I see it in Russian movies, it feels like plagiarism because I can recognize the reference but there is nothing except for these references . But here we have got the plot, so the allusions work as allusions and don`t irritate me.

The movie is dark, disturbing, uncomfortable. It really makes you feel as if you watch devil and his escort marching around you; they ravage, kill and destroy everything and you can only breathlessly, helplessly and in fear watch them. The German actor playing devil is insanely good. He stole the movie and I understand why it should have been named Woland (the devil's name) instead of the current movie's name. You may want to watch it, because it's very unusual in terms of plot and visuals experience, especially when you are not familiar with the book.

[zaireetoo-draws]

Slavic vampires?? In this economy??

I made a new video! Feel free to check it out :D