#tumblr post stories ARE THE BEST

[mandalor-the-caffeinated]

You bet I’m reading & rereading all of these

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

[midnightclover]

Summon Night: Swordcraft Story (ATLUS, 2003)

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Me possessed by a triangle

The joke is that I would act normal possessed

@frayedcircus thanks for wanting to see this! Lamo hope ya like it<3

[booplesnotts-art]

Added colour quickly between work

I have been SO busy lately it’s the worst- there’s my girl again though cause wow I did not expect my previous post of her to get so much attention- hopefully I can push out something new soon🖤

Lucille desc + a little more info below the cut:

Lucille is supposed to be a taller woman with light hair and some sort of green motifs to her, mainly her dress. She’s usually pretty pale, almost sickly pale, because she just doesn’t take care of herself properly, and normally appears tired/like she’s been through some shit (cause she really has). She was supposed to be in her 40s/late 40s (subject to change) but looks older because of her weathered appearance.

Lucille is also usually decently well put together, but working in castle dimitrescu and doing the things she does definitely comes with the price of getting blood on everything (and I also just like to make her bloody). Not that she always particularly minds the blood; in fact, she might even enjoy getting blood on her a little too much. She’s much more clean and pristine in her og story; she’s a lovely lady’s maid, aside from all the murder and overall insanely unhinged things she does in general.

She’s just very… very into her job (and her lady)

Lucille’s also usually a very stoic woman. She’s cold and aloof toward literally anyone but her lady (in re it would be lady d and her daughters). However, there is another side of Lucille that she keeps hidden; the true side of her that is a sick, perverse, obsessed, deranged woman who is somehow even worse than the personality she displays outwardly— which is wild because normal Lucille is already absolutely horrible.

She also likes spiders. That’s all.

[ksksksrahrah]

[spasikonik]

hii this is my first post i've never used tumblr before !!!

[sainz100]

some Jack moments for anon!! 💞

[youredreamingofroo]

^ due to tumblr hating me, i cant upload the last gif and to combat that, i've linked the discord link for it in this last pic. this is the only way I can feasibly post this gif. Usually I wouldn't do this, but tumblr is annoying :) ^

You feel it too, right? The eyes

I lost the way back And I was swallowed in the night I felt drawn in Like a moth to candlelight An awful feeling Started creepin' over me And what I saw was like no horror I had seen Following eyes A sound in the night

↓ an hour before this... ↓

[voltttmeter]

updated refs for these two..! theyre a hot-shot athlete couple by day, and a pair of criminals by night

[iwillwringyourneck]

[cryptidclownz]

updated ref of my oc naryn!

no bg + scarred alternate

i tried my hand at writing a little scene of the whole naryn/lamb backstory!! im not super proud of it but i dont usually share my writing so i figured i might as well!

—

Another crusade through Darkwood gave the lamb time to think. To unwind. Slaughtering beasts and heretics was a favorite pastime of theirs, but their followers grew ever needy. Demanding. They dreaded a request for materials that would be better spent on medicine and worship, but the scolding their god would give them if they refused was just as infuriating. A leader must provide, he would tell them. Your followers will dissent without proper care. Coddling, more like. Lambert was not a gentle leader, and they had no intention to be one. As much as they wished they could toss their flock to the wolves and go on about their life, The Lamb knew Narinder was right. Their flock would be rewarded for hard work and good behavior, any recruits would find their new life comfortable as long as they behaved. If they didn’t, The One Who Waits had no issue if a follower appeared in his realm in the middle of the night now and then.

Although they were out to gather camellias for a follower desperate to win one of their disciple’s affection, Lambert felt right at home in the dungeons. They handled heretics and monsters with relative ease, well acquainted with the tricks enemy cultists thought would fool them.

The Lamb walked, bored, through another few clearings, only sometimes remembering their original task and picking a few flowers to toss into the crown’s infinite storage. A soft rustling in the trees, the telling shuffling of feet on the ground. The Lamb’s sword was drawn before the ambush had even landed around them.

Boring. Predictable.

They went after the boldest attacker first; a smaller hooded figure than the others who carried an unproportionately large axe. It swung at them, but the weight of the axe slowed it down. The blade of The Lamb’s sword hit the axe’s hilt, slamming it down just inches away from their hooves with unexpected power. The heretic wasn’t given the time to pry its weapon out of the dirt before the Lamb swung at its neck, slicing past muscle and bone with a sickening slap.

The Lamb didn’t behead it, leaving the near-dead heretic to scream in agony for a few moments before it finally died. They were unphased by the rest of the troop storming toward them, having learned by now that heretics don’t take the time to mourn their fallen.

The sword almost seemed to move on its own; slicing through the throats of some and gutting others. Lambert cast a curse in the direction of the two remaining, though the tentacles that rose from the ground only caught one. The Lamb didn’t mind. They preferred to do the work themselves, anyway.

They gripped the handle of the crown’s sword tightly, taking chase after the last remaining heretic. The Lamb moved with powerful, calculated steps, letting the runner think it had a chance to get away. It wasn’t every day that an attacker would try to run, after all.

–

The heretic bolted.

He ran with all of his might, adrenaline willing his trembling body forward despite the gash in his side and the blood of his troop that stained his person. The uniformed hood he wore fell back with every desperate leap forward, and the cold air that rushed past his fur made the tips of his ears burn. He didn’t dare look back, too afraid to see the figure of that monster behind him. The heretic hardly noticed the tears that whipped past his cheeks, wet and sticky like the rest of the blood that coated him. Not his blood. He was alive, even if his friends weren’t. Gods, they were gone, weren’t they? They were-

His foot caught on a slippery root. The cat was flat on the ground before he could feel the sharp sting of pain from his ankle.

“No,�� He choked out, voice hoarse. “No, no, no, no-”

Slow, heavy footsteps cut off his thoughts. The heretic kicked and clawed desperately at the dirt beneath him, but his movements were frantic and uncoordinated. The Lamb would have found it funny if they weren’t irritated by the sticky residue coating their arms and fleece. They approached the hooded figure so slowly it was cruel, listening to the panicked breaths and gasps that came from it.

“Rise, heretic,” Their voice was horrifyingly level, and the hooded figure could spot the glint of their sword out of the corner of his eye as they lifted it towards him. He was going to die.

“P-Please,” The voice that sounded from the heretic was quiet and shaky, but his limbs trembled more violently as he propped himself up on his forearms and cautiously turned. With his ankle still caught on the root, the cat was forced to twist his body to look up. His hood slowly fell from his ears, no longer casting any shadows on his face. He was going to die. “Please, spare me.”

The Lamb froze.

They stared down at the heretic before them, eyes widening in a state of shock that was entirely foreign to them.

A black cat stared back, the dark amber of his tear-filled eyes glinting red in the sparse lighting of the Darkwood forest. His long, pointed ears pinned back against his skull, the tips nearly pressing together. His fur was blood-splattered and matting in the direction of the drying redness, but the Lamb could still see that perfect black beneath it. Their eyes shifted to the heretic’s forehead, where a discolored splatter of blood stained the fur. At least, that’s what they thought it was.

Their eyes narrowed.

The Lamb moved closer, stepping over the root that the cowardly heretic was trapped underneath. They stood in front of him, sword lowered but still pointed near the cat’s head. Unsatisfied by what they saw, the Lamb lowered to a squat, causing him to gasp and flinch back. His eyes screwed shut, awaiting the same agonizing pain that he’d just witnessed his troop suffer.

And yet, it never came. Instead, he felt a hand on the top of his head, firmly planted but not suggesting any malice. The Lamb took a moment to feel his fur. Soft, they realized. Such a familiar texture.

Their hand moved further down, landing on the red blood on the heretic’s forehead. They pressed down and slid their hand to the side, expecting it to smear or crumble off entirely. When that didn’t happen, their breath quickened. The cat didn’t know why. He pried his eyes slowly open, pupils dilated about as far as they would go. He searched the Lamb’s expression warily, but he was about as lost as they were. It was hard to distinguish exactly what this was. Excitement? Fear? Confusion? Maybe it was a mix of everything. The source of their confliction, however, was no question.

This heretic was the spitting image of The One Who Waits, down to the most subtle stripes in his fur and the red in his eyes. The red mark on his forehead was distinctly eye-shaped, like some sort of mimic of their god’s divine features. It was almost revolting, the fact that a lowly heretic would be blessed with such features–- such mockery. The Lamb’s expression hardened, and the heretic noticed. He wanted to pull away, to scream, to plead for his life, but the heretic’s throat ran dry. He could only watch as the Lamb continued to inspect him as if they were searching for just one inconsistency; one reason to kill the vile mimic that tried to fool them. There were none.

“You...” The Lamb began, dropping their hand to the underside of his jaw and jerking his head up. There was no telling what went on in their head, even as their sword warped back into the shape of a crown and sat atop their head. Their glare seemed to soften a moment later. “Where have you been?”

[thearchmanofgreenfield]

They Who Hide Under Top Hats be like:

How it started:

how it's going:

Help AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, what in the name of semi-decent writing happened?

tagline for community members: @harleyacoincidence, @autism-purgatory, @rivenantiqnerd, @sm-writes-chaos, @hellothere2009, , @shin-soumisa

[befickleforever]

Imagine being a victim of sexual assault by a very famous author, making the choice to come forward despite all fears, and then seeing people online decide that you’ve lied or there’s ’more to the story’ because they love the author so ‘believe victims’ doesn’t apply in this scenario. Then imagine having to live with that.

[detroit-become-moomin]

Hey there! Completely forgot to post about this here, but - charity project for trans kids!!

POINTY THINGS, a folk horror collection written by me, illustrated by @ehlihr, and edited by @nimagine is now available for purchase online through Pride 2024. All revenue raised during the upcoming year will go to LGBT+ mutual aid orgs defending trans youth! In this collection you'll find:

55 pages & 22k+ words of story

unsettling megafauna

a trans take on red riding hood

fun facts about 16th-century beheading practices!

deeply unsexy vampirism

haunting-as-dysphoria

3/5 stories brought to life in spooky, atmospheric detail by elisar's illustrations!

The charities we'll be donating proceeds to include Equality Texas and the Transgender Education Network, but I'm also keeping an eye out for other mutual aid orgs defending the rights of trans youth in the American Southwest.

🩸PURCHASE HERE (GUMROAD) 🩸

🩸 OR HERE (KO-FI)🩸

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

Shadowheart, in the style of "The Sorrowing Soul Between Doubt and Faith" by Elihu Vedder (aka one of my absolute favorite paintings)

Other Classical Tadfools: Lae'zel, Wyll

[gojooooo]

man i love open endings. the fact that thanks to yuuji there might indeed be the next time sukuna talks about in case some idiot decides to eat a finger again. and we need fics where yuuji is that idiot