@cheloneuniverse / cheloneuniverse.tumblr.com
Janet (of Tam Lin fame) is a sass master. One day I will play a Changeling concept based on this boss woman. “Oh Father, if I go with child, this much to you I tell: There’s none among your gentlemen that I would treat so well. And Father, if I go with child, I must bare the blame: There’s none among your gentleman shall give the babe his name.”
FAIRYTALE HEROINE MOODBOARD : janet, the ballad of young tam lin
and pleasant is the fairy land but an eerie tale to tell ay at the end of seven years we pay a tiend to hell
For a second I didn’t realize it meant “high” as in a stoner--I thought “High Geologist” was like a rank of geologist or something and he was insulted you would challenge him to naming stones
great poast every one👍
I have drawn him.... The High Geologist
Can’t believe he’s ace
He is now And here’s the photo evidence:
hey guys...https://twitter.com/MatthewLillard/status/1322648148364324864 so does this make it canon?
the high geologist has ascended
tired: mermaids are all women
wired: much like elves, merfolk are mistaken by sailors for being all women because they have long hair and are very pretty
inspired: merfolk actually have very different concepts of gender to humans because they’re an entirely different species with their own unique culture
marine scientist: what’s your gender?
merperson: what’s a gender
marine scientist: like, are you a man or a woman?
merperson: i’m merfolk
marine scientist: no, like, what’s in your pants?
merperson: i don’t… wear any? i don’t have legs?
It’s a biological fact that fish do indeed change their sex to keep the male/female ratio balanced in their school population. So this fluidity actually makes more sense from a scientific standpoint than the silly idea that merfolk are born with a strictly assigned sex like humans.
Merfolk are all canonically genderfluid and we love them for that
Human: (invites merfolk friend to a boat party with their friends)
Merfolk: oh man, there are a lot of women here. Haha don’t worry guys, I got this :) *changes into a man to keep a balance because that’s culturally polite for merfolk*
Human: (spits drink) what the FUCK
OH MY GOD
So in the presence of a ship with an entirely or mostly male crew, nearby mermaids would become female to keep the balance.
A Fair Return
A comic I made for the ShortBox Patreon in 2021! So so proud of this one. You can see my other work HERE
D&D story and character idea: a wizard who has a very old, very rare spell book that they found as a child and have been translating all their life, and are only just now learning to use. The language it’s written in is very old, but there are lots of obvious and confirmed signs that it belonged to an extremely powerful,well-known mage from centuries past, and the wizard is very proud of it.
Flash forward to like, maybe level twelve or thirteen, and the party somehow comes into contact with the spirit/ghost/ascended form of this mage, who, upon discovering the wizard has their old book, is absolutely horrified. “How did you get that?!? It should have been destroyed upon my death, or at least sealed away for all eternity-!!!”
And the party is, naturally, surprised, like, “Why, are there really dangerous secrets or spells in it?”
No. No there are not any really dangerous secrets or spells in it.
In fact, there aren’t any spells in it at all, because it’s not a spell book, it’s a rather saucy fanfiction the mage wrote when they were younger. “It’s not even one of my good ones, why did you have to find that one?!??”
Long story short, the wizard isn’t as good at translating as they thought they were and aren’t, in fact, a wizard at all - they’re a sorcerer who’s managed to make the activation components of their spells specific sentences from this old, mistranslated, misunderstood fanfic. And they’ve been running into battle shouting the ye olden equivalent of things like “SASUKEEEEEEE!” and “And then they banged like whoa man” in the language the book is written in.
Two identical infants lay in the cradle. “One you bore, the other is a Changeling. Choose wisely,” the Fae’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I’m taking both my children,” the mother said defiantly.
Once upon a time there was a peasant woman who was unhappy because she had no children. She was happy in all other things – her husband was kind and loving, and they owned their farm and had food and money enough. But she longed for children.
She went to church and prayed for a child every Sunday, but no child came. She went to every midwife and wise woman for miles around, and followed all their advice, but no child came.
So at last, though she knew of the dangers, she drew her brown woolen shawl over her head and on Midsummer’s Eve she went out to the forest, to a certain clearing, and dropped a copper penny and a lock of her hair into the old well there, and she wished for a child.
“You know,” a voice said behind her, a low and cunning voice, a voice that had a coax and a wheedle and a sly laugh all mixed up in it together, “that there will be a price to pay later.”
She did not turn to look at the creature. She knew better. “I know it,” she said, still staring into the well. “And I also know that I may set conditions.”
“That is true,” the creature said, after a moment, and there was less laugh in its voice now. It wasn’t pleased that she knew that. “What condition do you set? A boy child? A lucky one?”
“That the child will come to no harm,” she said, lifting her head to stare into the woods. “Whether I succeed in paying your price, or passing your test, or not, the child will not suffer. It will not die, or be hurt, or cursed with ill luck or any other thing. No harm of any kind.”
“Ahhhhh.” The sound was long and low, between a sigh and a hum. “Yes. That is a fair condition. Whatever price there is, whatever test there is, it will be for you and you alone.” A long, slender hand extended into her sight, almost human save for the skin, as pale a green as a new leaf. The hand held a pear, ripe and sweet, though the pears were nowhere ripe yet. “Eat this,” the voice said, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her eyes straight ahead. “All of it, on your way home. Before you enter your own gate, plant the core of it beside the gate, where the ground is soft and rich. You will have what you ask for.”
You’ve been sentenced to 400 years for multiple murders. It’s been 399 years and your jailers are starting to get nervous.
I was twenty… twenty-five, I think?… when I was sentenced. Four hundred years was a length of time I couldn’t even imagine. It was a length of time I don’t think anyone could imagine, even the judge. It was just a big showy number that let everyone know I’d never see the light of day again. The mages who cast the spells were dramatic about it, practically shouting the part about ‘until death claims you, or four hundred years hath passed, forsooth, thou shalt be imprisoned here’. They don’t waste that kind of magic on most prisoners, but I was special.
The Slayer, they called me then. The Monster of Sentan. I’d killed nineteen people… I remember that number because I was so furious that they stopped me so close to my goal of twenty-one. And I didn’t just kill ordinary people, no, but the Chosen of the Gods. The Great and Good. They were terrified of me. So they locked me away, to die forgotten.
It had been a little less than a hundred years when the king died without heir, and a civil war tore the country apart. When the fighting was all over, the losers were dragged down to the deepest cells under the castle, and the new king and his soldiers stopped and stared at me. “Who… who is this?” he asked, frowning. “Some victim of the usurper?”
People like cooks and jailers and scrubbers don’t change as easily as kings. The same man who’d been bringing me my meals since there was still brown in his hair and beard shuffled forward, hunched and grey now. “No, yer majesty,” he said humbly. “That be a special prisoner, from before the old king died.”
“Special? Special how?” He frowned, moving closer to my cell. “The old king died more than ten years ago. This woman must have been a child then. What could she have done to - “
“Don’t get too close, yer majesty,” the old man said sharply. “That’s the Monster of Sentan… an’ she bites.”
That was true. I do bite.
Fantasy culture where instead of bouqets or whatever, a bride carries the carved skull of one of her ancestors, inlaid with jewels, so that their spirit blesses the marriage.
For brides without a family skull, an animal skull can be substituted. Wolf and deer skulls are the most popular, but one queen started a trend of weird wedding skulls when she carried the skull of a draft horse for her wedding to her sixth consort. There were opals set into the eyes.
Bride: I know that it's tradition in our family to carry the skull of great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandma Calendilia, but my beloved pet leopard gecko Ser Augustus III recently passed and I'd like to carry his spirit with me for this momentous occasion.
Mother:
Mother: Okay but I don't know if I have jewels small enough to fit in the sockets.
Hello cursed eldrich children, I'm dad!
{Check out my comics below}
Crow being art bros~
Raven : You can't rhyme shore with shore.
Edgar Allan Poe : I invented a genre, you little punk.
Please check out Crow Time on Webtoons and my webcomic Namesake on Hiveworks ✨️
Haha babe ur so sexy~
Read more Crow Time @ crow-time.com 💙
Crow Time - Statue 1
Any setting where the elves have weaker booze than the dwarves isn't committing to the bit
I mean, we're talking about people whose lifespan is Yes.
"Oh, the weak wine? That is for children. I am two thousand years old, and I daresay one sip from this highball would knock you on your ass for a week."
Look, there's this weird thing people do with high fantasy where they want elves to be immortal/extremely long-lived snooty aristocrats and also somehow incapacitated by imagining the taste of salt too hard. "Orcs and dwarves have the hardest booze" no they don't, they have work in the morning! In any of these settings, elves would pregame harder than hobbits party and everyone else has shit to do tomorrow.
The average high elf builds up the drug tolerance of a mid-70s Hollywood producer and then spends three centuries studying alchemy. While humans seek immortality, the Immortals seek the elusive "philosopher's cocaine."
Elf Fentanyl works exactly the way cops think human fentanyl does
I like stories where a normal human child is being raised by a sinister supernatural being who is totally malevolent except when it comes to their kid. Those are so much better than the “kids are scary” changeling type horror movies.
Like a perfectly well-adjusted well-mannered friendly child that is like “This is my dad, Surazal. He comes out of the mirrors in dark rooms. He makes really good blood pudding but he’s bad at playing catch. Most people can’t see his corporal form but I can because he says I have special eyes.”
“Mom says that you can stay over but you have to promise not to leave my room between midnight and 1 am. You can play Mario Cart with me! But you have to knock on every closed door in the house before entering just because dad might be in there and if you look upon his visage without drinking the holy fruit juice, you might go crazy or something. Also dad is really excited I have a new friend and he’s going to to make hardtack and mystery stew for us! You’ll love it!”
In high school the kid gets a friend that is an amateur demonologist who initially befriends them in hopes of exorcizing their house but ends up becoming buddies with Surazal too because they crave parental affection.
Surazal stands at the end of the vast dark hallway and says “You Too Have Special Eyes, Little One. You Can See Me Without Being Taken By The Madness. Within You, I Sense Great Turmoil And Sadness. In My Younger Years, I Would Have Exploited The Sadness As Weakness In Your Very Soul. I Would Have Worn Your Skin Like A Mask And Run Through The Village Streets, Supping Blood From Every Man I Encountered. But Now I Have No Use For Woe. Perhaps You Would Like To Watch Beetlejuice In The Family Room With My Daughter While I Prepare Cupcakes. I Am Sensing You Have A Fondness for Red Velvet.”
Monsterfucking is out. Monsterparenting is in.
Why would you hide this in the tags
