The sun is probably the closest thing we’ll ever have to a true Eldritch Abomination. Hear me out here-
Older than recorded history; was here longer than any of us and will be here long after we leave. Has a finite beginning and end but is still incomprehensibly ancient
Burns itself into your vision instantly and can blind you if you look for too long
Further prolonged exposure can cause cancerous growths
Non-humanoid shape floating through space; colossal flaming tentacles angrily lash out on occasion
Sort of just appeared one day and is now surrounded by the corpses of its stillborn children
People used to sacrifice other people to appease it
After Lucifer was kicked out of Heaven, he decided to make his own paradise. Both compete to have the best afterlife, sadly you lived a sin-free life and got sent to Heaven. God is throwing a very boring, sin-free party. You spend your time trying to get kicked out so you can go to Hell.
Concept: That scene in every 90s high school movie where someone shows the new kid around the cafeteria (”that table is the nerds, those are the jocks, the goths, the cheerleeders” etc) except it’s a medieval tavern and each table has a different d&d class.
Tired: Plant based characters and creatures who refuses to eat meat cause they are “one with nature” and as a result are exclusively vegetarian
Wired: Plant based characters who are so one with plants they refuse to eat them and exclusively eat animal flesh as a result
Woke: They eat dirt
Going to Get You Thrown Out Of the RPG: Your plant character is mostly photosynthetic and is therefore pointedly naked all the time and keeps “romantically” offering people flowers which is cute until they tell the other PCs to “Pollinate Me, Bitch”
The royal family employs no bodyguards. A would-be assassin discovers why.
“Please?” the crown prince said hopefully.
The assassin hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”
“Come on, you’re doing great. Just one stab, it’ll be easy-peasy.” The prince spread his arms wide, leaving his throat and chest vulnerable.
“Look, I’m going to level with you,” the assassin said. “I took this contract on the assumption that you were a bad dude. Usually when a country goes bankrupt this fast, it’s because whoever’s in charge is raiding the treasury. But once I infiltrated the guard, I actually had to spend time around you, and you’re just.” The assassin threw her hands up in disgust. “You’re a really nice person! There’s no getting around it! So I’m not super on board with murdering you now. Nothing personal.”
“But if you don’t, my sisters won’t get the life insurance payout, and the country will be in debt for the next century!”
“I’m pretty sure arranging for your own assassination is insurance fraud.”
“Your whole job is to commit murder,” the prince said, “and now you’re worried about a little insurance fraud?”
The assassin pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, let’s back up and think about this rationally. Have you considered faking your own death?”
This was not what I was expecting, and it is glorious.
“I’m pretty sure arranging for your own assassination is insurance fraud” is the best sentence I have ever read in my life
all right. so. this is a Harry Potter AU, in rambly and abbreviated form.
this is a version of events where, on the morning of November 1st, 1981, the police are called to a house in Surrey.
when they arrive, a large man with a red face and a moustache is waiting for them, brandishing a baby.
to be more accurate: he is brandishing a basket. the basket contains a baby.
he tells the police that his wife found the basket on their doorstep that morning. “Gave her the shock of her life,” he says, with a chuckle that does not seem the least bit sincere.
the police officers have a lot of questions about this, but the man does not have any useful answers. his wife, he tells them, is not in any shape to be interviewed. “she’s been poorly,” he says, “and we’ve got a baby of our own to worry about, keeping us up at all hours.”
the baby in the basket seems to be about a year old. he is cheerful, seems healthy aside from a cut on his forehead, with a crooked sticking plaster on it. he has startlingly green eyes.
there is no identifying information in the basket, except for a torn scrap of paper with ‘his name is Harry’ on it in a delicate hand.
there is nothing else to be done, it seems. the officers take baby Harry, and leave.
one of them comes back a few days later for a follow-up interview with the woman who found the baby. she seems a little fragile, and her own baby, in the next room, keeps up a constant shrieking tantrum the whole time the officer is there. “I’m sorry,” the woman says, with a brittle smile. “this has all been a bit much. I recently lost my sister, you see.”
thisacelovesheadcanons 