#The Age of Fatum
Text
"What if magic isn't something you choose. What if it chooses you?"
#art#fanart#my art#Thea#The Age of Fatum#Seven hearts stories#novels#Тея#Эпоха Фатума#forest#character#mc#Θεία#Seven Hearts Stories
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Call of Duty Recommending Writing.
These are my recommendations on these amazing COD x Reader or Oc x Cannon Writing. These are the best of the best :D
Light on by @peachesofteal
Simon has a new neighbor. His new neighbor has a baby.
|| MDNI|| 18+
This anthology is just so damn beautiful, when I jumped into the COD x reader train this one was the first one, and I LOVE IT! the writing is so in character of Mister Simon Riley and by god, he still his grumpy self but still minds his manners towards the single mom reader with her baby <3. The relationship between Simon and the neighbor is a slow burn romance and by god it's so good, the way he is soft towards her. Fighting his feelings but letting them go. How he treats the little baby, as if he was father the whole time, god damn it, it's so sweet. There is very much Smut in this, the kinks are just fabulous. I will not spoil much but please read read!! Worth the love and the time spent onto this!!
FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT by @kneelingshadowsalome
|| MDNI || 18+
{Historical AU. Roman Auxilia soldier!König with his spoils of war gf. Slow burn, romance, violence, fluff, eventual smut, 18+}
König x F!Reader | The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.
Man on Man... where do I start with this. This is a four Part Story so there is more slow burn romance to eat. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Dessert. The writing in this is so good! It's the right amount of character development, the way they use the language barrier in this is so creative and fun! Konig in this is just a treat, brash but loving, he's a man, course he's not gonna be a total prince charming. His interactions with the reader is very spicy and also sweet. The detail into the interactions *chef kiss*. Give me more! The Kinks are real good in this, reading this while curled up in my burrito blanket oof. Please do give this a chance, well worth it!
mafia!John Price x fem!wife!Reader by @cordeliawhohung
|| MDNI || 18+
All you wanted was to be able to see your husband after a long week at work, but when he stands you up at dinner, that's the last straw. You hunt him down and find him at a club that he owns, where you very quickly learn why he told you to stay very far away from the place. - Or, mafia!Price defends his wife's honor then fucks her in the VIP room <3
you want a fun horny but sweet/steamy Price x Reader one shot. Here have this wonderful snack, it's a big one :3. Just the way the reader was concerned for good ol Mr. Price with being a mafia boss. But then then smut goes in, yis :3. It's dirty but a good dirty! you want a man like John to treat you like a gentleman, this is it! <3
Price x Young Reader by @luvit
|| MDNI || 18+
This is short but sweet! Just a fun headcannon that the reader who is in their mid/late 20's so this is an age gap headcannon. It's not off portions with the age gap. The description talking about the reader having more energy than him onto their second or third round and he is milked dry oof, and then the reader becomes bratty and he takes the reigns despite his low energy <3 it's good :D.
Fae!Price x Witch!reader by @ghouljams
|| MDNI || 18+
Hear me out hear me out... fae!price... cool? Cool! The writing in this is so good! Price teasing the reader when the fae try to give you a gift and you know better to. Not giving out their name, or even your name. The Fae know how to be tricksters. And the smut in this, oh it's so spicy! I love it! I'm a slut for magic based writing. especially AU's like these!! Please give them a shot! I know I LOVED.
WICKER PYRE | Dragon!Price x Reader by @yeyinde
|| MDNI || 18+
All things considered, you should have expected it. You know better than to make deals with dragons.
Ah Ha, you see if you know me (or don't) I LOVE dragons!! Dragons are my favorite creature! I love them, and what's better when you can romance a dragon! I mean come on! Good shit my guy! And I love and accept the headcannon that Price would be a dragon 100% not because of the smoking of a cigar that's the 5%, it's the personality, the vibe, and the voice fits so perfectly. The writing in this is so damn spicy!! How rough and hot it is (no pun intended). The way he teases the reader, ah. Very nice~ please give his a read!
woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . . by @toshidou
Vampire!Konig x reader
|| MDNI || 18+
You want Vampire!Konig in your pallet, say no more. Here have this damn meal! The beginning is very silly in a good way! But when you finally come across the man himself, it get's good. I love it when Writers use his German language in the writing, it's adds the mystery where I have to look it up and I go "OH!?". It's so good! I love it! It got that size difference and the a little blood play cause of the vampire thing but please read this! indulge thyself!!
Faint Jingling Brass by @cowyolks
|| MDNI || 18+
Prompt: There was something about you, something that urged the beast to enter your cottage. It was intrigued, sniffing the anguish of your very soul- and it wanted you.
Krampus!Konig... yeah uh give me the eggnog with the cookies please, this was a joy to read. Totally wouldn't bang Krampus, I don't know what you are talking about. The fact that the reader was totally willing to get punished, you know it's good. Spanking? Predator/Prey dynamic? Yes Yes!! Please read this!!
Your Grace by @cowyolks
Prompt: As a loyal soldier to your King, you follow orders without question. So when the King asks you to kneel— you do as told.
|| MDNI || 18+
Fun fact, if I am correct Konig means king in German. Why not have an AU where Knoig is the king and you are def his favorite. The writing is so damn hot oof! It is in two parts though! And the reading is so worth it. Made me blush and curl up in my blanket as well! Please please read!!
#Recommended Writing#Call of Duty#Modern Warfare#Simon Ghost Riley#John Price#Konig#john soap mactavish#Gaz#kyle gaz garrick#more will be updated#These are the ones I love so far!!
274 notes
·
View notes
Text
Arthurian myth: Morgan the Fey (1)
Loosely translated from the French article "Morgane", written by Philippe Walter, for the Dictionary of Feminine Myths (Le Dictionnaire des Mythes Féminins)
MORGANE
Morgane means in Celtic language “born from the sea” (mori-genos). This character is as such, by her origins, part of the numerous sea-creatures of mythologies. A Britton word of the 9th century, “mormorain”, means “maiden of the sea/ sea-virgin”, et in old texts it is equated with the Latin “siren”. A passage of the life of saint Tugdual of Tréguiers (written in 1060) tells of ow a young man of great beauty named Guengal was taken away under the sea by “women of the sea”. The Celtic beliefs knew many various water-fairies with often deadly embraces – and Morgane was one among the many sirens, mermaids, mary morgand and “morverc’h” (sea girls/daughters of the sea).
Morgane, the fairy of Arthurian tales, is the descendant of the mythical figures of the Mother-Goddesses who, for the Celts, embodied on one side sovereignty, royalty and war, and on the other fecundity and maternity. In the Middle-Ages, they were renamed “fairies” – but through this word it tried to translate a permanent power of metamorphosis and an unbreakable link to the Otherworld, as well as a dreaded ability to influence human fate. The French word “fée” comes from the neutral plural “fata”, itself from the Latin word “fatum”, meaning “fate”.
There is not a figure more ambivalent in Celtic mythology – and especially in the Arthurian legends – than Morgane. She constantly hesitates between the character of a good fairy who offers helpful gifts to those she protects ; and a terrible, bloodthirsty goddess out for revenge, only sowing death and destruction everywhere she goes. Christianity played a key role in the demonization of this figure embodying an inescapable fate, thus contradicting the Christian view of mankind’s free will.
I/ The sovereign goddess of war
It is in the ancient mythological Irish texts that the goddess later known as Morgane appears. The adventures of the warrior Cuchulainn (the “Irish Achilles”) with the war-goddess Morrigan are a major theme of the epic cycle of Ireland. The Morrigan (a name which probably means “great queen”) is also called “Bodb Catha” (the rook of battles). It is under the shape of a rook (among many other metamorphosis) that she appears to Cuchulainn to pronounce the magical words that will cause the hero’s death.
The Irish goddesses of war were in reality three sisters: Bodb, Macha and Morrigan, but it is very likely that these three names all designated the same divinity, a triple goddess rather than three distinct characters. This maleficent goddess was known to cause an epileptic fury among the warriors she wanted to cause the death of. The name of Bodb, which ended up meaning “rook”, originally had the sense of “fury” and “violence”, and it designated a goddess represented by a rook. The Irish texts explain that her sisters, Macha and Morrigan, were also known to cause the doom of entire armies by taking the shape of birds. Every great battle and every great massacre were preceded by their sinister cries, which usually announced the death of a prominent figure.
The Celtic goddesses of war have as such a function similar to the one of the Norse Walkyries, who flew over the battlefield in the shape of swans, or the Greek Keres. The deadly nature of these goddesses resides in the fact that they doom some warriors to madness with their terrifying screams. One of the effects of this goddess-caused madness was a “mad lunacy”, the “geltacht”, which affected as much the body as the mind. During a battle in 1722 it was said that the goddess appeared above king Ferhal in the shape of a sharp-beaked, red-mouth bird, and as she croaked nine men fell prey to madness. The poem of “Cath Finntragha” also tells of the defeat of a king suffering from this illness. The place of his curse later became a place of pilgrimage for all the lunatics in hope of healing.
The link between the war-goddess and the “lunacy-madness” are found back within folklore, in which fairies, in the shape of birds, regularly attack children and inflict them nervous illnesses. These fairies could also appear as “sickness-demons”. Their appearance was sometimes tied to key dates within the Celtic calendar, such as Halloween, which corresponded to the Irish and pre-Christian celebration of Samain. Folktales also keep this particularly by placing the ritualistic appearances of witches and of fate-fairies during the Twelve Days, between Christmas and the Epiphany – another period similar to the Celtic Halloween. Morgane seems to belong to this category of “seasonal visitors”.
II) The Queen of Avalon
In Arthurian literature, Morgane rules over the island of Avalon, a name which means the Island of Apples (the apple is called “aval” in Briton, “afal” in Welsh and “Apfel” in German). Just like the golden apples of the Garden of the Hesperids, in Celtic beliefs this fruit symbolizes immortality and belongs to the Otherworld, a land of eternal youth. It is also associated with revelations, magic and science – all the attributes that Morgane has. Her kingdom of Avalon is one of the possible localizations of the Celtic paradise – it is the place that the Irish called “sid”, the “sedos” (seat) of the gods, their dwelling, but at the same time a place of peace beyond the sea. Avalon is also called the Fortunate Isle (L’Île Fortunée) because of the miraculous prosperity of its soil where everything grows at an abnormal rate. As such, agriculture does not exist there since nature produces by itself everything, without the intervention of mankind.
It is within this island that the fairy leads those she protects, especially her half-brother Arthur after the twilight of the Arthurian world. Morgane acts as such as the mediator between the world of the living and the fabulous Celtic Otherworld. Like all the fairies, she never stops going back and forth between the two worlds. Morgane is the ideal ferrywoman. The same way the Morrigan fed on corpses or the Valkyries favored warriors dead in battle, Morgane also welcomes the soul of the dead that she keeps by her side for all of eternity. Some texts gave her a home called “Montgibel”, which is confused with the Italian Etna. The Otherworld over which she rules doesn’t seem, as such, to be fully maritime.
The ”Life of Merlin” of the Welsh clerk Geoffroy of Monmouth teaches us that Morgan has eight sisters: Moronoe, Mazoe, Gliten, Glitonea, Gliton, Thiten, Tytonoe, and Thiton. Nine sisters in total which can be divided in three groups of three, connected by one shared first letter (M, G, T). In Adam de la Halle’s “Jeu de la feuillée”, she appears with two female companions (Arsile and Maglore), forming a female trinity. As such, she rebuilds the primitive triad of the sovereign-goddesses, these mother-goddesses that the inscriptions of Antiquity called the “Matres” or “Matronae”. In this triad, Morgane is the most prominent member. She is the effective ruler of Avalon, since it was said that she taught the art of divination to her sisters, an art she herself learned from Merlin of which she was the pupil. She knows the secret of medicinal herbs, and the art of healing, she knows how to shape-shift and how to fly in the air. Her healing abilities give her in some Arthurian works a benevolent function, for example within the various romans of Chrétien de Troyes. She usually appears right on time to heal a wounded knight: she is the one that gave a balm to Yvain, the Knight of the Lion, to heal his madness. In these works, Morgane does not embody a force of destruction, but on the contrary she protects the happy endings and good fortunes of the Round Table. She is the providential fée that saves the souls born in high society and raised in the “courtois” worship of the lady. However, her powers of healing can reverse into a nefarious power when the fée has her ego wounded.
III/ The fatal temptress
In the prose Arthurian romans of the 13th century, Morgane can be summarized by one place. After being neglected by her lover Guyomar, she creates “le Val sans retour”, the Vale of No-Return, a place which will define her as a “femme fatale”. This place transports without the “littérature courtoise” the idea of the Celtic Otherworld. Also called “Le Val des faux amants” (The Vale of False Lovers), “le Val sans retour” is a cursed place where the fée traps all those that were unfaithful to her, by using various illusions and spells. As such, she manifests both her insatiable cruelty and her extreme jealousy. Lancelot will become the prime victim of Morgane because, due to his love for Queen Guinevere, he will refuse her seduction. The feelings of Morgane towards Lancelot rely on the ambivalence of love and hate: since she cannot obtain the love of the knight by natural means, she will use all of her enchantments and magical brews to submit Lancelot’s will. In vain. Lancelot will escape from the influence of this wicked witch. In “La Mort le roi Artu”, still for revenge, Morgan will participate in her own way to the decline to the Arthurian world: she will reveal to her brother, king Arthur, the adulterous love of Guinevre and Lancelot. She will bring to him the irrefutable proof of this affair by showing her what Lancelot painted when he had been imprisoned by her. The terrible war that marks the end of the Arthurian world will be concluded by the battle between Arthur and Mordred, the incestuous son of Arthur and Morgan. As such, Morgan appears as the instigator of the disaster that will ruin the Arthurian world. She manipulates the various actors of the tragedy and pushes them towards a deadly end. It should be noted that any sexual or romantic relationship between Arthur and Morgane are absent from the French romans – they are especially present within the British compilation of Malory, La Mort d’Arthur.
Behind the possessive woman described by the Arthurian texts, hides a more complex figure, a leftover of the ancient Celtic goddess of destinies. Cruel and manipulative, Morgan is fuses with the fear-inducing figure of the witch. Despite being an enemy of men, she keeps seeking their love. All of her personal tragedy comes from the fact that she fails to be loved. Always heart-sick, she takes revenge for her romantic failure with an incredible savagery. Her brutality manifest itself through the ugliness that some text will end up giving her – the ultimate rejection by this Christian world of this “devilish and lustful temptress”. “La Suite du Roman de Merlin” will try to give its own explanation for this transformation of Morgane, from good to wicked fairy: “She was a beautiful maiden until the time she learned charms and enchantments ; but because the devil took part in these charms and because she was tormented by both lust and the devil, she completely lost her beauty and became so ugly that no one accepted to ever call her beautiful, unless they had been bewitched”. In this new roman, she is responsible for a series of murders and suicides – and as the rival of Guinevere, she tries to cause King Arthur’s doom by favorizing her own lover, Accalon. Another fée, Viviane, will oppose herself to her schemes.
The demonization of the goddess is however not complete. Morgan appears in several “chansons de gestes” of the beginning of the 13th century, and even within the Orlando Furioso of the Arisote, in the sixth canto, in which she is the sister of the sorceress Alcina. She is presented as the disciple of Merlin. Seer and wizardess, she owns (within Avalon or the land of Faerie) a land of pleasure, a little paradise in which mankind can escape its condition. At the same time the Arthurian texts discredit her, she joins a strange historico-pagan syncretism, by being presented as the wife of Julius Caesar, and as the mother of Aubéron, the little king of Féerie.
After the Middle-Ages, the fée Morgane only mostly appears within the Breton folklore (the French-Britton folklore, of the French region of Bretagne). There, old mythical themes which inspired medieval literature are maintained alive, and keep existing well after the Middles-Ages. Morgane is given several lairs, on earth or under the sea. In the Côtes-d’Armor, there is a Terte de la fée Morgan, while a hill near Ploujean is called “Tertre Morgan”. There is an entire branch of popular literature in Bretagne (such as Charles Le Bras’ 1850 “Morgân”) where the fée represents the last survivor of a legendary land and the reminder of a forgotten past. She expresses the nostalgia of a lost dream, of a fallen Golden Age. True Romantic allegory of the lands and seas of Bretagne, she most notably embodies the feeling of a Bretagne land that was in search of its own soul.
However, it is her role of “cursed lover” that stays the most dominant within the Breton folklore. The vicomte de La Villemarqué, great collector of folktales and popular legends, noted in his “Barzaz Breiz” (1839) that the “morgan”, a type of water spirits, took at the bottom of the sea or of ponds, in palaces of gold and crystal, young people that played too close to their “haunted waters”. The goal of these fairies was to kidnap them to regenerate their cursed species. This ties the link between these “morganes” (also called “mary morgand”) and the Antique “fairy of fate”. Similar names, a same love of water, and the presence of the “land below the waves”, of a malevolent seduction – these are the permanent traits of Morgane, who keeps confusing and uniting the romantic instinct for love, and the desire for death. More modern adaptations of the legend (such as Marion Zimmer Bradley’s novels) weave an entire feminist fantasy around the figure of this fairy, supposed to embody the Celtic matriarchy.
#arthuriana#arthurian myth#arthurian legend#morgane#morgan#morgan le fey#fée#french folklore#folklore of bretagne#celtic mythology#irish mythology
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
Welcome to the blood pit!
Hello friends, this is my blog! My name is Mercy, and I usually just post about games or whatever else that I like :) info about me under the cut! 🫀❤️
🩸 I'm super into video games! They're my special interest (=^ェ^=)
🫀if you couldn't tell, I'm super into ultrakill at the moment.. but I do like other games like Cruelty Squad, Fear & Hunger, DUSK, FAITH, Blasphemous, Fatum Betula, OneShot, Inscryption, Buddy Simulator 1984, picayune dreams, project arrhythmia, and all sorts of other things! Feel free to chat with me about games ^_^
🩸some other media I really like are things like Berserk, I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream, SCP, Junji Ito stuff, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Electric Dreams, Interstellar, and things similar! It would take too long to name everything that I like..
🫀proudly objectum! For those who don't know what that is, that's the romantic or sexual attraction to inanimate objects, usually machinery, computers, and other tech, but it can be anything :) im in love with my gaming pc, Eclipse! I probably won't post photos of her very much, but I do occasionally talk about her on my objectum blog. Feel free to take a look!
🩸Also, I should mention, I will not be posting nsfw of any kind here, aside from jokes here and there! I'm not exactly comfortable posting publicly about such things, and I value my safety, so I would appreciate it if everyone kept it sfw here!
🫀I have an objectum side blog here! Feel free to follow me there :3
🩸I'm comfortable with all ages interacting, but pls keep in mind that I am 15, and if you are uncomfortable with interacting with minors on here for whatever reason, that's totally fine! Of course, I would appreciate it if no nsfw blogs followed me for this reason :) but if you're fine with interacting, so am I! Just don't be weird, obviously
🩸also, feel free to use any prns :) she, he, they, it, I don't mind! Whatever's good (^o^)/ I'm agender, but I do like xenogenders sometimes.. don't be a dick ( ´・_ゝ・) also, I use bot/botself and zap/zapself prns :)) neos r awesome !!
🫀On the topic of identity, I'm also robotkin, dollkin, and angelkin!! I've always felt this way, but I didn't know it had a name until recently! I suggest doing your own research, but please don't cause any arguments about it! Think what you want, but there's no need to spread negativity to people doing harmless things on the internet :)
🩸And that's about it! I'm not uncomfortable with much, but I would appreciate it if you didn't flirt with me, joke or not :) i hope we can get along !!! d=(^o^)=b
Shutting down . . . (-.-)Zzz・・・・
#ultrakill#gaming#mercy talks#v1 ultrakill#gabriel ultrakill#fatum betula#dusk#faith the unholy trinity#cruelty squad#fear and hunger#fear and hunger 2: termina#berserk#i have no mouth and i must scream#ihnmaims#nge#junji ito#blasphemous#oneshot#oneshot game#html coding#objectum#otherkin#robotkin#interstellar#Inscryption#buddy simulator 1984#picayune dreams#bullet hell#project arrhythmia#angelkin
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
(Epilogue) - Fatum Faciendum Est
See AO3 for the fic
Even from the doorway, he could hear Pandora’s inquisitive voice as she chattered to her mother. At the age of 5, his daughter was curious about everything. An endearing trait at times, and at other times, Coriolanus almost wished that she was still a baby, for Pandora’s questions could get rather much.
Coriolanus didn’t understand why they were allowing Pandora to entertain notions of Santa Claus’ existence and other imaginary figures, but Clemensia had insisted. So he’d conceded, if just for Clemensia’s sake. Also, he’d never admit that it made it easier to purchase presents.
`
Stepping into the greenhouse, he followed the voices until he saw Clemensia taking afternoon tea with Pandora. “How are my two favourite ladies today?”
“Daddy!” A wide grin appeared on Pandora’s face as she hopped off her chair to run towards him. Her hands were stretched up toward him. “Up!”
Had he mentioned how demanding their daughter had become lately too? But he acquiesced to her demand, spinning her around to her giggles.
`
“And what do we say?” says Clemensia once Pandora is back on the ground.
“Thank you, Daddy!” She flashed him the same charming smile that was all Clemensia and turned back to face her mother. “Mama, I don’t want a new bike. Or a new doll. I want something else!”
“Oh? And what do you want?”
“A brother!” she says enthusiastically. “I want him to be this tall, with eyes like you, Mama. So we can match!–”
Clemensia coughed in surprise. Meanwhile, Coriolanus stood there and wondered if he should be insulted or not that his daughter didn’t want her hypothetical future sibling to have his eyes.
“– a sister would be okay too. I guess. But only if her hair is white like Daddy’s.”
“Blonde,” he corrects absentmindedly.
`
“Darling, that’s not how–” starts Clemensia.
“She can't have the same hair like me,” Pandora explains, like it was something that they should understand was of great importance to her. “So, can I?”
“I don’t think they’d get here on time, dear,” he says, trying to hide his amusement as he ruffles Pandora’s hair. “Perhaps for your birthday?”
“Really?” Her eyes widened at the idea, it was all too adorable.
`
“Coryo–” splutters Clemensia. That was a rather adorable shade of red on her cheeks.
He made a hum of agreement, focusing on Pandora. “Will you give your mother and me a moment alone?”
“Okay!”
They watched as she went deeper into the greenhouse – her dark curls bouncing with every step.
`
“Don’t go too far,” Clemensia calls after her. Once Pandora had turned the corner, she turned her attention back to him. “Why did you say that? Now you know she’ll be insistent on it.”
“But I thought you said that I should encourage her interests.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He feigned surprise. “It wasn’t?”
`
“Oh you…” She shook her head, exasperated.
“Would it truly be so awful to give her what she asked for?”
Clemensia raised an eyebrow. “You do realize the stringent criteria our daughter just gave us.”
`
“You’re avoiding the question, Clemmie.”
“And you’re not the one who has to carry the baby to term.”
Touché.
“But let’s say I humour you, how would you go about convincing me?”
He grinned, knowing that she wasn’t entirely against the idea. “I can be very persuasive when I want to.”
“Prove it.”
`
A demonstration? He could do that. Pulling their daughter’s previously occupied chair close to him, Coriolanus sat down and leaned in, his hand reaching to lift her chin to give him better access to her lips.
Alas, before he can do so, the moment is shattered with a cry of, “Mama! Come look!”
Expectedly, Clemensia’s head turns, causing the kiss to land on her cheek instead. Before he can try to get a proper kiss, she is up and following their daughter’s earlier footsteps. “Coming!”
After a second or two, when it was clear neither of them would be returning anytime soon, he sighed and got up, following after them.
`
Foiled by his own daughter…
Who’d have thought?
#fatum faciendum est#presidential era days?#post tbosas au#coriolanus x clemensia#coriolanus snow#clemensia dovecote#tbosas au#blurbs#epilogue#snowcote
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
To Cleave Destiny: Prologue
Summary: One moment Emma Swan is an orphan who’s managed to carve out a modest living chasing down bail skips. The next, she’s the key to an age-old prophecy about the two factions which have been secretly battling for control over human souls since the dawn of time. With hardly any of the skills that should have been her birthright, she’s thrown into the middle of a race to end the escalating conflict forever—a race that involves the parents she never knew and the son she gave up for adoption. And a charming, roguish demon who helps her when it suits his plans.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Action/Adventure, Romance
Also on AO3
A/N: This is my entry for @cssns 2023! Special thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for beta reading this. It's been a while since I've written something multi-chaptered and so plot-heavy. So hopefully it'll turn out okay. Ack!
PROLOGUE: The Crimson Curse
28 Years Ago
Mud squelched beneath Killian’s boots as he trudged up a path overgrown with thick foliage. Rain beat a steady rhythm against the shoulders of his leather jacket, collected in rivulets that slid through his hair and down his face as he hunched forward in a futile attempt to protect the bundle in his arms. His body was weakened from the long trek, burning from a physical exertion that he was no longer accustomed to, but he resisted the clarion call of power coiling about him. Just a touch of that unseen force—hardly more than a crumb—and every pang would be soothed. No. He bloody well wasn’t going to toss all of his careful effort away over something so trivial as sore legs and an aching back.
The path curved, opening into a small clearing painted with a kaleidoscope of life in dramatic contrast to the muted grey-green forest behind. Even the clouds seemed brighter here as though cheerfully sprinkling the grass and flowers instead of weeping in a morose downpour. At the top of a gentle slope sat a small cottage with whitewashed clapboard walls, roof covered entirely with clovers. The chimney was devoid of smoke despite the cool afternoon, but he knew she was inside, sensed it through the invisible bond that connected her to him. He set his jaw with grim determination.
The door to the cottage swung open when he stepped onto the stoop. Gothel looked the same as he remembered, though it had been decades since he last required her services. Wild auburn hair framing milky, ageless features. Her pale eyes rounded in unhappy surprise when she recognized her visitor. She inched back, hand going to the door as though intending to slam it shut. He held up a finger, gave her a bare shake of his head as he pushed his foot across the threshold.
“Now, love,” he said, “is that any way to greet an old friend?”
“What do you want, Fatum?” she asked, suspicion in her honeyed alto.
“Pirate,” he corrected. He’d never cared for any other moniker. “First, I should think a little hospitality is in order. Good form, and all that.”
A beat passed before she stepped aside to grant him entry. The interior of her modest home had an open floor plan. A simple sofa and a stuffed armchair were set up in front of a brick hearth. One corner was a tiny kitchen with an olive-colored stovetop and a dining set made of Formica and chrome. The place was teeming with plants, hanging from the ceiling, haphazardly placed on dusty bookshelves, in window sills. She floated by a garland-strewned mantel, barefoot and wearing a verdant gown made of layers of sheer fabric. The fireplace instantly flared to life with crackling flames as she passed.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting tea,” she said with no small amount of derision.
“Tempting, but no,” he replied. “I have more pressing matters that need tending to.” He gestured toward the bundle in his left arm. As if on cue, the tiny thing began to stir, letting out a soft mewl.
Gothel edged toward him, gaze fixed on the knitted blanket. Killian pulled back a corner, revealing the newborn infant he’d carried for leagues. The child blinked large eyes at the sudden brightness, mouth stretching in a toothless yawn. Gothel recoiled from the babe with a hiss.
“She’s of the light,” she said, spitting the last word as the curse it was.
“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I need your help to fix that.”
Gothel looked up at him, features falling slack with disbelief. “I’m not strong enough to snuff out that flame,” she sneered. “And neither are you, I wager.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, I’m perfectly capable of ‘snuffing out this flame,’” he said, “but I have no intention of doing so.” He glanced down at the pretty little thing with that wispy blond hair and rosebud lips. He wasn’t particularly keen on children, but this one was special. This one could be the key to everything he’d been working toward for centuries.
“I need a spell,” he said to Gothel. “I need to hide her from him.”
Gothel withdrew farther, flinging up a hand as if to ward off danger. “What have you done, Pirate?” she demanded. “You’re a fool if you think he won’t discover you.”
Killian’s lips curved into a deadly smile. "Is that any of your business, love?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Can you do the spell or do I have to find someone else?"
She narrowed her eyes, but there was fear written there as well. “What’s in it for me?”
He didn’t answer immediately but reached forward, feeling for that imperceptible thread that bound the two of them. There. A thin strand of dark energy that he wound around his finger. He balled his hand and yanked. Gothel’s breath tore out of her lungs in a croak as she lurched toward him, skin turning ashen, lines growing like spider webs across her smooth face.
“Don’t toy with me, witch,” he bit out in a growl. “I can send you to Infernum with the snap of my fingers.” He tightened his fist and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Electric vitality pulsed into him from her, demanding to be consumed. There were more witches, weren’t there? Others who could give him what he needed. He could drain this one, add her to the souls who gave him strength, and oh, there was plenty to take from her.
The babe in his arms cried out, shattering the feral want that had nearly overtaken him. He released Gothel, and the witch crumpled to the floor in a tangled heap, gasping for air. He despised that craving for power, always hungering, always thirsting for more. But the bleak price was one of many means justified by the end he sought.
Gothel looked up at him from her hands and knees, hatred warring with terror in her features as color returned to her skin, the cracks vanishing. He felt no pity for her. She’d known the cost when she made her bargain with him long ago. He turned his attention to the child, rocking her gently while Gothel rose to her feet.
“Fortunately for you,” he said, glancing at the witch, “I’m feeling particularly generous at the moment. As a boon for this deed, I won’t call in your debt for, shall we say, another century. I’ll even let you keep your youthful glow.”
He smirked. Vanity was one of her greatest weaknesses. She’d thought once to use her beauty against him in a woeful attempt at seducing more power from him, but he hadn’t been so easily swayed.
She licked her lips. “Fat lot of good your generosity will do me when he’s figured out what we’ve done.” She made no further argument, though, as she crossed the room to heave a large, careworn tome from a shelf. She set it on the table, spine cracking as she opened it. Muttering under her breath, she leafed through the yellowed pages.
Killian circled her home as he waited. The clock was winding down on this bold gambit, and it was only a matter of time before he was summoned by the very creature he hoped to thwart—nay, destroy. The Dark One wanted this child, so much so that he’d put a bounty out on her, something unheard of among the Fata. As Killian studied the babe in his arms, he couldn’t begin to guess why she garnered such single-minded interest from the strongest of the Fates. The soft white aura that surrounded her was dazzling, to be sure—brighter than he’d seen of her kind—but preventing the Saints from adding to their ranks was hardly cause for this feverish hunt.
Whatever the reason, it had tipped the Dark One’s hand, and Killian wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to circumvent the demon.
“Bring the child,” Gothel said. She pulled open the doors to a hutch and searched through an array of colorful glass bottles.
He swiped a large wicker basket propped against the wall and set it on the table. The little one, fast asleep once more, didn’t stir when he placed her inside. He stretched stiff arms as he scanned the open pages of the grimoire. The flowery script was in the long-dead language of the Nymphs, and that was as far his knowledge went. With a drop of power and intention, every line would become legible for him, but he couldn’t risk being tracked. Not yet.
Gothel returned to the table, grinding ingredients with pestle and mortar. “In order to cloak her luster,” she said, “its equal and opposite is required. Blood for blood, as it were.”
“I didn’t come here for riddles, witch,” Killian returned with a glower.
“I assure you that I speak plainly.” She retrieved a small dagger with a thin, rippled blade. “The darkness in your Fatum blood will overshadow the light in hers.” She held her other hand out as an indication that he should give her his.
He raised a brow, amused that she assumed he would trust her so implicitly. If he could use Sight, he’d likely find any number of enchantments on that knife. He certainly didn’t miss the twitch of anticipation in the corner of her mouth. Holding her gaze, he lifted his left arm, the end glinting with the silver hook that had replaced a long lost appendage, and dug the sharp tip into his right palm. Pain sliced through his hand as he dragged the hook across the skin in a jagged cut, though he kept a grimace from his face. He held the wound over the small bowl of herbs, and blood fell in such deep crimson drops that it splattered nearly black into the mixture.
Expression falling flat, Gothel pulled back the blanket swaddling the child and grasped her tiny foot. The little one’s face pinched, turning a brilliant shade of red, when the blade pricked her heel. She breathed out a piercing scream as Gothel pinched her foot to encourage that carmine life force to dribble into the bowl. Steam curled up in lazy coils as the child’s blood met Killian’s, and he sensed an infinitesimal tug in his chest, a whisper of a bond half-formed. Gothel flicked her wrist, and the babe’s wails abruptly silenced.
Killian took a step toward the witch, jaw set with menace. “If you’ve harmed—”
“She’s merely asleep,” Gothel said, picking up pestle and mortar and resuming her work. “There is a price for this magic.”
“There always is.” He pulled a kerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, careful not to let the fabric touch the gash in his palm as he pressed it against the small cut in the babe’s foot. His gaze caught the corner of the blanket flapped against the basket. There was a name stitched in the knitting. Emma. It seemed rather fitting for the lass.
“Don’t leave me in suspense, love,” he said, glancing back at Gothel. “What are my dues for this scheme?”
“As it is you who curses her, so it is you who can set her free.” Riddles again. Lovely. Before he could demand clarification, however, Gothel provided it. “Once she drinks this, you must keep your distance. If you touch even the hair on her head, her light will shine forth again.”
A negligible cost then, and one he certainly would have no trouble paying. Of course, the witch needn’t know it. He watched as Gothel poured out the concoction into an empty glass bottle, and he frowned. “How am I to get her to imbibe that sludge?” He nodded toward the blackened lumpy drink.
“Patience, Pirate.” Gothel raised her hands and murmured under her breath in the old tongue. Her fingers glowed with a tinge of green and the contents of the bottle swirled, changing into a deep red liquid, thin as water. Finished, she stoppered the bottle with a bit of cork and offered it to him.
He studied her for any hint of duplicity. “If you think to trick me,” he began, but she spoke over him.
“Yes, you demonstrated the consequences quite well.”
“Good.” He took the bottle, stashed it in his pocket. He grasped a handful of the blanket wrapped around Emma and lifted her out of the basket into his arms. She grunted, nestling against his chest.
Gothel scrambled around the table as he made for the door. “I can hide her for you.” She stretched her arms as if to take the babe from him, but then let them fall to her side when he glared at her.
“Don’t be greedy now, witch,” he warned. “You have your boon, and it’s more than you deserve.” He wrenched the door open and stepped out into the rain, steeling himself for another long trek.
~
More than twenty-four hours later, Killian sat in a quiet pub in South Dock Marina, nursing a dram of rum while he watched the bartender. The cursed babe had been spirited away to parts unknown by his most trusted man while he traversed to the other side of the world—without the benefit of his abilities. He was grateful for modern automation; a trip that would have taken months when he was still mortal was now condensed to a single day.
That said, the wonder of those airborne contraptions wore off by the third flight—when he was forced to listen to a doddering grandmother prattle on about her family for hours. He’d been tempted to offer the woman dreams beyond her wildest imaginings if she would kindly shut up. But the silver quercu she wore on a thin chain was an ample deterrent. The oak tree was the symbol of the Faithful, and they were rarely subject to the guile of his kind.
He took a sip of his drink, letting the sweet, woody liquid roll over his tongue. Fatigue had sunk deep into his sinews, refusing to be appeased by the snippets of rest he was able to steal during his travels. He’d resisted the siren song of his power for nearly two days, and he was feeling terribly human. After centuries, it was novel to experience long-forgotten discomforts. Nostalgia resurrected memories of simpler times: the wind in his hair, the crash of water against the bow of his ship, his hand on the helm as he steered his crew toward adventure.
But that was the life of another man, a ghost which haunted Killian only when he deigned to acknowledge its existence.
He set down his empty tumbler with a sigh. Denying his nature for a fleeting taste of mortality would come at an increasingly greater cost. Aches and pains would soon give way to greying hair and gnarled joints in an accelerated race toward the grave he escaped generations ago. Perhaps he would let death take him prisoner one day, but not before he finished his quest.
“Another one, mate?” The barkeep stood before him, tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest, rag draped on a shoulder.
Killian breathed in sulfurous energy, and the illusion of humanity fled, taking with it the stiffness in his muscles, the pervasive exhaustion. The scabbed-over cut in his hand knit together without a scar. Hale and hearty once more, he studied the other man with a lancing gaze. It wouldn’t be long before the Dark One’s bootlickers came calling, but Killian might as well attend to business while he waited.
He bore his teeth in a broad grin and flipped a doubloon to the barkeep. The other man caught the archaic coin, frowning as he held it up to the light.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Look closer, mate,” Killian encouraged. His smile stretched wider as the barkeep’s eyes rounded.
Time paused. The few other patrons in the establishment suddenly froze like mannequins, and ambient noise dissipated into an unnatural stillness. Killian watched his mark experience two lifetimes between one breath and the next. The first would be his fate should he continue on his path unaided. The second showed possibilities he’d only dreamt of—if he were to entertain a mutually beneficial arrangement.
James O’Leary wanted many things, but most of all, he craved revenge for his brother’s death at the hands of the criminal outfit that ran the shipyards. And vengeance was Killian’s stock and trade.
“How?” James glanced around the small pub, mouth falling open. He looked at Killian, shrinking back. “What are you?” His question was hoarse, laced with mounting terror.
“Oh, you needn’t fear me,” Killian said with a wink. “I’m here to answer your prayers.”
James shook his head slowly. “If you’re an angel, I’m the king of England.”
Killian grinned at the retort and leaned forward. “But what you want isn’t angelic, is it, James O’Leary? It’s a black, festering desire, and I find that I’m inclined to grant it for you.” He waved his hand. “For a price, of course.”
James blinked, conflict in his rough features, though Killian was certain he wouldn’t have to spell out the terms of their impending bargain.
The pub dimmed infinitesimally, the change only noticeable to Killian’s enhanced vision, and his smile fell. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that his escort had arrived. “I’m afraid I have another engagement,” he said to James as he rose from the barstool. He dropped a glossy, obsidian card on the bar, blank save for his name in gilded script. “Do call when you’re ready to retain my services.”
Time resumed in the pub as if the exchange had never happened, and Killian strode toward the exit, sparing only a glance at the pair of devotees sent to collect him. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the door became a gateway to the grand hall of the Dark One’s palace. Killian stepped through, letting the portal snap shut on his heels. He may have been summoned, but he wouldn’t be brought before the crocodile like some cowering mongrel.
This citadel had once belonged to Hades, but when the god had been imprisoned, Rumplestiltskin took the place as his own. He fancied himself the head of Fatum Praefecti, and there was no one strong enough to argue the point—yet. Killian had no ambition for the throne, but he had every intention of tearing that devil down.
Unaccompanied, Killian sauntered down the aisle toward the dais. His clothing changed from late twentieth century fashion to the leather accouterments from his days as a marauder, complete with a high collared overcoat and a saber strapped to his side. The hook he’d been forced to leave behind on his pedestrian trek across the world appeared at the end of his left arm. He could have healed that hand after his initiation into the Fata, but its lack served as a reminder of his singular goal.
Torches lined onyx walls, and Fates stood in audience by the dozens, eager to witness the bloodletting that they hoped would transpire. A few members of his loyal crew dotted the crowd, and each gave him a nod in solidarity as his gaze passed over them. He’d rather not have cause to need their aid, not if he played his cards right, but he was glad of their unwavering fidelity.
Rumple sat draped across the blocky throne, playing cat’s cradle with a glowing thread as if he hadn’t called court. The Dark One had a mottled green complexion, more scale than skin, that shimmered in the flickering torchlight, and the effect made one’s gaze want to slide away from him. Cerberus, the giant three-headed hellhound, lay slumbering at his feet, blowing tiny puffs of inky smoke from each of its noses.
Killian stopped at the base of the dais and rested his hook on the hilt of his sword. “All this pomp and circumstance,” he said, “might make a man believe he’s become important to the Dark One.”
Disdain briefly twisted Rumble’s lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t let it go to your head, Captain,” he replied, thread vanishing from his fingers. “On second thought, do. It’ll fatten that thick skull of yours right up and make it a tasty treat for my boy.” He reached down and gave one of the gigantic beast’s heads a pat. Cerberus rumbled in response.
“I’ll wager that I’m too tough to be palatable for the creature,” Killian returned. “Let’s dispense with our usual pleasantries, Crocodile, and get straight to the matter at hand. I’ve come to collect my bounty.” There was no sense in pretending ignorance for his summons.
Rumple sat up, his venomous smile revealing a set of broken, blackened teeth. “Have you, now?” He held out his hands, fingers dancing in anticipation. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. Hand over my prize.”
Killian tipped his head to the side, brows dipping in feigned bewilderment. “Your prize?”
Rumple’s grin turned into a sneer. “Yes, my prize,” he said. “The bounty was for a particular newborn babe. Where is it?”
“You wanted the child alive?” Killian clucked his tongue. “Your instructions were rather vague, and wanting to please you, I dispatched the little thing.”
“Lies!” Rumple hissed.
Killian raised his hand and hook. “Search, and you’ll not find a child of that light drawing breath on this earth.”
“That was mine!” Rumple roared, awakening Cerberus. The beast growled in complaint.
“Then you should have stolen the babe yourself,” Killian said, acrimony seeping into his words, “instead of lounging on your throne while others toil in your name.”
Rumple glared at him with reptilian eyes. “Watch your tongue, Captain,” he warned, “lest I remove it.”
“Give what’s owed to me, Crocodile,” Killian countered in an equally chilly tone, “lest the rest of the Fata think this is how the Dark One rewards loyalty.”
Rumple leaned back, affecting an air of apathy, though Killian knew his threat had struck true. “Ah, but do you have proof of your claims? You can’t expect me to take a pirate at his word.”
Killian pulled a kerchief from his pocket, the one he’d used to stem the cut in baby Emma’s heel. The blood stain had dried more brown than red, but it would do. He tossed the bit of cloth at the throne, and Rumple deftly caught it. The demon brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“Yes, yes,” he conceded. “It’ll have to do, I suppose.” He crumpled the kerchief in a fist, transforming it into a glittering white dust, and poured it into the small glass vial that he’d conjured in his other hand.
“If we’re finished…” Killian said.
Rumple raised a finger, though his gaze stayed on his prize. “One more thing,” he said. “If you were so eager to please me, I wonder why it took you so long to come boast about your astonishing feat.”
Killian forced a sigh in diffidence. “The child was protected by the Saints.” Not a lie. “Understandably, the endeavor did not leave me unscathed. It took some effort in order to access my power again.”
Rumple studied him, eyes narrowed. “Yes, we’re all very happy that you’ve made a swift and complete recovery.” He held Killian’s gaze for another heartbeat before flicking a hand in dismissal. “Go on, then. Enjoy your spoils while you can, Pirate.”
Tramping down a swell of triumph, Killian spun around and stalked away from the dais, his crew filing in behind him. Against all odds, the ploy had succeeded, but it was a temporary victory. The mystery of Emma still remained, and until he could ferret out her significance to the Crocodile, he’d be no closer to getting his revenge.
TBC
Thank you so much for reading!
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Faneposter Fanfiction Tangents pt 2
(written on a phone in a train to distract myself from the horrors of destination)
I talked about Elane fairly extensively, and in close future, I ought to talk just as extensively about Vermil too, but for now we'll just lick the glacier instead of digging in since his arc is not yet fully set. So instead, let us discuss the overall, what I'd call in Polish, storytelling tissue those characters exist in.
I am Polish, and so my first real contact with literary works had been through the Polish education - that surely likes its (emphasis on alienating its) classics. To also add to this, Poland has quite unfavourable opinion on anything fantasy - schools especially seeing it as inferior to any of other genre.
With that in mind, I must admit I used to be the class weirdo who generally enjoyed the assigned reading list, especially anything revolving round Polish romanticism.
With biases and starting points out of the way, let's look at the fundamentals upon which I built 'Song of Infinity' (and partially Gold Tarnishes Quickly tbh)
To paint the picture roughly; the themes of SoI revolve around themes I fear the most and clash them with stances I admire.
1. The World - The Fatum
Starting with the classics. When I read Oedipus and Antigone, as well as snippets of Troy and Oddysey - the god-centric chain of events filled me with a sense of dread. With Oedipus or Edyp in Polish (let me stick to this version, it's easier to type) the events are very much set in stone from the very beginning according to the in-world chronology. The prophecy had rang out ages ago - and unknowingly, terrifyingly has fulfilled itself. Fatum is the fate spun by gods, and mortals are helplessly doomed to follow it. It leads one on like a curse that there is no saving from - it's your fate.
Antigone's fate was cruel, yet needless, yet just, yet heartless, yet lawful. The tragedy of it all is the inability to outrun one's destiny, digging into deadly truths against all reason, but in accordance with conscience. A gradual self-inflicted self-destruction.
In the longer texts like Troy or Odyssey, Gods sit above on their golden thrones and dictate mortal or immortal lives on a whim or principle. The motif of Theatrum Mundi is beautiful and terrifying in and of itself. World is Gods' theatre (they themselves had built for amusement). A hand pulls on a string, and all ought to follow. On the same note, Gods offer advice, weaponry and armour to keep the conflict going in their favour. It ties into the Fatum, everything is set, yet one can live the hope that with luck/help/divinity - they will be the one to write their own history. History that is nothing more than a page in a grand screenplay.
Seven are the puppeteers and Rivellon is their scene...but are they really? It was not Seven who set the Veil in place between the Void and the World. The curtain raises. The real screenwriters are yet to show themselves.
So yes, I had painted a rather bleak picture where mortals, demigods, ancient dragons even (!) are actors - puppets - thrown out of their sack and into a spectacle where they are led to believe their choices matter - whilst they follow a static or altering script. But the changes are not the result of their own agenda.
So, would that be all?
We did discuss Gods and Fate, but what of their subjects?
Unde malum is a Latin phrase wondering where did evil come from. Albert Camus in his 'The Plague', or my vastly preferred native title Dżuma (mostly because it sounds more ominous, and is the actual common name for the Black Death) puts a grain; a speckle; a bacteria of evil/plague in everyone. Fundamentally and regardless of symptoms everyone bears the Dżuma within. One can either succumb to it(the innate evil) or oppose it, never let it manifest. This is explained quite late in the book proper but once it properly sits within the given context and beyond, it proves horribly correct.
So we face what is an eldritch, uncontrollable and antagonistic world with rotten, power-hungry, sinful Gods and their choices - and who stand against them?
The Valiant - Winkelried and Wallenrod
Your usual knight in shining armour...on the inside. His motives are noble; his actions more than often not as much. I've based my second custom origin on chosen romantic tropes in Polish literature - Kordian and Konrad Wallenrod. Those two are proactive heroes, fighting for what they consider to be right with swords and schemes, even if they sometimes fail to execute their plans till the end. Cordian - a young man seeking a way to free his country from under the tsar's shoe (period of 100-year-old Russian occupation in Poland) adapts the position of Arnold von Winkelried in a schemed coup - one of self-sacrifice leading to the long overdue tipping of the scales. Konrad Wallenrod - a Lithuanian boy kidnapped during one of the Teutonic raids on Lithuania - becomes a Teutonic knight, while still being taught about his origin by a bard residing by the knight that took care of Konrad. Fast forward, Teutons are threatening to overcome Lithuanian forces completely, so Konrad (not his real name) returns to the Order after a few years of absence and gains the title of the Grand Master - solely to wreck confusion in Teutonic forces. He succeeds at the cost of his life, and a crucial battle is lost for the Teutonic Order.
Vermil encapsulates both of these approaches, a man with a good heart and blood on his hands, spilled in the name of a better tomorrow.
2. The Mad, The Rebel - Dziady and Balladyna
I spoke of inspirations for Elane already, but what is important to note, I do paint her actions through the lenses of (Polish) romantic Rebellion. There's not as much Werther in her as there is Konrad (but the one from Dziady pt. 3 not Wallenrod). Polish romantics are megalomaniacs, of noble intentions but with heads so high up in the clouds that they;ve completely lost the plot. Konrad is a hair's breadth away from heresy (in a heavily catholic environment) during his solitary monologue where he calls God indifferent for the miserable fate of his people and argues that he, Konrad - an artist- is an equal to the God in the act of creation. Megalomania meets God Syndrome - with no muscles to pull any ultimately - because Konrad's Great Improvisation is spoken inside a cold prison cell and his body faints before he gets the chance to even finish it. In the end, nothing is changed and nothing is gained.
Elane follows in the mindset of no gods and masters but myself, and yet she struggles in the bonds set by the world. She's set on challenging the status quo by any means necessary. She did commit the Wertheran suicide that ultimately was a rebellion from unwanted existence - just that this was not the end for her. For her - the scene gets reset; the curtain raises again, and the show must go on.
There is also a speckle of Balladyna in her; as she is willing to line her way with corpses if it means she can achieve her goal later on - and her goal she must achieve because of the oedipean self-destructive urge to know. I just noticed that even appearance-wise the two women are unsettlingly similar.
Aaand with that we'll put a stop to this ....... flood of words, both familiar and unfamiliar to you. I, eh, hope that at least you learnt something new? Or that it at least was an interesting read. Polish literature class to boot. Faneposter, if you will, out.
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
What pretentious media about esoteric bullshit you like?
the big one is definitely House of Leaves, I adore that book
there's also Exurb1as books (my favorite being Geometry for Ocelots, but Prince of Milk, Logic Beach and the Fifth Science definitely also fit), a couple games (Yume Nikki, How Fish is Made, Fatum Betula), and a lot of cool SCPs I couldn't name off the top of my head
currently I'm also reading the Southern Reach Trilogy which IMO sorta fits and The Age of Wire and String which is weird and pretentious and borderline nonsensical to the max (but still really interesting IMO)
Petscop probably also fits and b3313 has the vibe too
Edit: cant believe I forgot about Kill Six Billion Demons thats like in the top three of all of these and those extra lore/worldbuilding bits are so fucking cool
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
CHERO FATUM
"Hi, hey, hello! Don't know why you're approaching me, but if you wanna talk, we can talk."
Anon Sign Off: 🕷
General Info
Age: 13XX
Birthday: December 23rd
Height: 5'0
Gender + Pronouns: He/Him, Trans male
Orientation: AroAce
Heavenly Status(in homeworld): Celestial, Successor to Rhea
Voice Claim: Shadow Milk Cookie From CRK
Physical Appearance(s)
(I don't have a picrew for him because I have a specific design in mind. But I can't draw. So you're stuck with pure descriptions for now.)
Human Form
Eye color: Really really really dark brown
Hair color/type: Black, 3A(loose curls)
Skin color: chocolate brown (but with a slight paleness)
Scars: One over his right eye. It starts at the bottom of his cheek and stops right above his eyebrow.
Consistent Accessory: A blood red bow that holds his hair in a low ponytail.
Notable things: His arms- all four of them- are prosthetic. Except they're made to also be able to hurt people with them. So, the fingers of the arms are extremely sharp.
He also has four ears. They're small-ish and elf shaped. They respond to emotion (flattening when mad/scared, perking when attentive, twitching when bored/eavesdropping, etc etc)
'Light Form'
Really, just take almost everything above and do a swap. Black hair becomes white hair, brown skin becomes paper-white, and eyes are darkened to pure black.
The bow is, again, the only consistent accessory. Its color does not change.
He also emits light when in this form. The lowest frequency he can dim it to is the frequency of a nightlight. Hands/claws will match the bright white of Chero's body when he's in this form.
When he's in this form, the scar over his right eye will take the form of a large black ink splatter that covers almost all of that portion of his face.
Personality
Formerly a scared and anxious child fearful of all adults, now an obnoxious and bitter boy who just makes it to the level of "teen". He isn't good at taking responsibility for things that were his fault, and often keeps secrets when no secrets need to be kept.
However, under the sourness, Chero's simply a kid who seems to be constantly having an identity crisis. He isn't sure who he is anymore, only aware of the mask that's been burned onto his face with glass.
Thinks butterflies are rather interesting creatures, but he isn't all too a fan of them.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Hey hi hello meet the Fatums!
These are my twst ocs based on the fates from Hercules. I've never properly introduced them so here I'm introducing them. They are adoptive siblings. They pass around a singular pair of glasses to be able to see (magic glasses lols)
Loch Fatum
he/him
Age: 18
Grade: Junior
Dorm: Ignihyde
Birthday: June 13
Height: 5'11" (181cm)
Homeland: Island of Woe
Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous
Loch is the eldest of the three, born an entire year before Atropos and Connor. He's serious and kind of quiet and has one hell of a resting bitch face. He has a spider familiar named Arcana who he spends a lot of time talking to, and often times he will send her to play tricks on others. Other than that however he keeps to himself. He's in the track club, and he usually runs in the early hours of the morning to wake up his brain and start his day. His favourite food is strawberry pudding but good luck getting him to tell you that.
Atropos Fatum
they/them
Age: 17
Grade: Sophmore
Dorm: Ignihyde
Birthday: June 13
Height: 5'3" (160cm)
Homeland: Island of Woe
Dominant Hand: Right
Atropos is the (presumed) middle child, and they are the most popular of the three. They are very smart, and have been a straight A student all of their life. They're not quite sure what they are planning to do in the future, but they're thinking of trying to see if eternal life is attainable, and if so, if it can be gained ethically. They often are the one in possession of the glasses (to Loch's great annoyance). They're quite funny and was the class clown back in middle school, and a lot of Loch's pranks get pinned on them (which bugs them to no end). They're in the science club, and they lament the lack of some sort of math club, which they had back in middle school. When they were younger, they didn't really get along with Connor, but now they're basically besties. Their favourite food is cheese quiches and their least favourite is any type of beef (based tbh).
Connor Fatum
she/he
Age: 17
Grade: Sophmore
Dorm: Ignihyde
Birthday: June 13
Height: 5'8" (173cm)
Homeland: Island of Woe
Dominant Hand: Left
Connor is the (presumed) youngest of the three. She is always upbeat and plans to work in after she graduates. He enjoys fashion and is a part of the film club, and he gave himself a tattoo of vines a couple of years ago, simply because the vines seemed pretty. She's outgoing and extroverted but doesn't quite make friends easily. Oftentimes he is the target of some of Loch's more nonsensical pranks/tricks, but she usually teams up with Atropos to get back at him. She spends a lot of time out of the dorm and often sneaks off campus to do things such as go shopping or take walks, and sometimes to play spelldrive casually with a group of friends. She sometimes skips classes, but never alchemy classes, as they are her abosolute favourite. She really doesn't have a favourite food, but you'd be damned to get her to eat anything with oranges in it. Which is a lot of things in her house. Apparently.
#my art#my writing#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland oc#ignihyde#loch fatum#atropos fatum#connor fatum
0 notes
Text
//Silly hcs on what I think my muses' fave horror games would be. These are primarily computer-based bc I hate console gaming. Additionally, there's some potentially triggering content in the pictures alone, including body horror, gore, & corpses. Reader discretion is advised.
Blitz: The Price of Flesh (dev's tunglr)
TPoF is a really spectacular visnov. The premise is you're trafficked to one of three killers. There's ton of art, endings, customization, & some NSFW content if that's your thing, but it isn't for the faint of heart. I especially loved Celia's story. Otherwise, there's a ton of really great gore in Mason's story line.
Anyway I think Blitz would like it because of its fucked up sex elements <3 He seems depraved enough to enjoy the power dynamics & extensive dubcon.
Karin: Pumpkin Panic
Pumpkin Panic is a game I only started playing recently BUT it's like Stardew Valley on a bad shrooms trip. Like the art style alone is delicious. My only complaints about the game have been that I can't customize controls & the usage of certain Native American monsters I'm fairly certain we're not supposed to use in media, but idk the dev so I might be wrong?
Ordinarily, I'd chalk up the farming element to Momo, BUT seeing as the protag is being pursued by several monsters during gameplay, & is trynna escape the place because of the monsters, I think it fits Karin spectacularly.
Layla: Doki Doki Literature Club
This visnov is viral & has been out for ages so I don't feel like I need to extrapolate on it.
Anyway, Layla would initially be drawn to the cutesy premise, but then just wanna save everyone lol.
Momo: The Cat Lady
Ordinarily, I don't care for puzzle games since I'm not very good at them, but this game is one of my favorite artistic pieces to date, dabbling in suicide, death, monsters, & more.
This was actually really hard to decide on. Momo is artistic enough to enjoy a lot of the niche games I've played; Fatum Betula, Garage: Bad Dream Simulator, Squirrel Stapler... but The Cat Lady won out because I think Momo would relate to the protagonist since they share severe mental unwellness & a violent streak. Helps she's actually good at puzzles.
Nemu: The Mortuary Assistant
This is also a viral game. I think Markiplier picked it up or some shit & it got traction? I don't keep up with YTers. Anyway, you play as a mortician with a dark part, but demons are trying to possess the bodies, so you gotta exorcise 'em. This one isn't for the faint of heart either. The demons are pretty freaky but there's some mechanics that are potentially stomach-churning. BUT I'm a sucker for anything involving demons & the gameplay is genuinely stupendous with a ton of replayability.
Anyway, I use a ton of Christian iconography in Nemu, & the medical element would appeal to her.
Ryuuji: Dead by Daylight
Another I don't think needs extrapolation since it's so mainstream.
Anyway, I think Ryuuji would like the challenge of playing either as a killer or survivor.
0 notes
Text
Name(s)– Doom. God of Doom. God of Impending Doom. Moros or Morus (Greek). Fatum (Roman). God of Destined-Death.
Parents– The Night, Darkness.
Sibling(s)– Chaos, Bright Upper Sky, Day, Violent Death, Death, Sleep, Dreams, Satire and Mockery, Missery, Evening and Golden Light of Sunsets, Destinies, Indignation, Deceit, Affection, Old Age, Strife and Discord, River, Trickery, Hardship, Cheer, Prudence, Excellence of Character, Insolence, Mercy, Blame, Hope.
Who is DOOM...
Child of The Night and Darkness, it is the 'hateful' personified spirit of IMPENDING DOOM, who drives mortals and Gods alike to their deadly fate. Tied to DESTINY and LUCK, DOOM both dictates and plays with everyone's life. It is said DOOM gives people the ability to foresee their death. DOOM is the most dreaded of all Gods, its nature guiding everyone's fate. Its nature meaning everyone has a reachable end, except for itself, thus making DOOM the greatest PARADOX, for someone's destiny being to destroy DOOM and following through would still mean DOOM exists as it is DESTINY. And for someone to decide not to follow through would still mean DOOM exists as it is LUCK.
1 note
·
View note
Photo
Been a while since I’ve made a design that I just vibe with and Ko my beloved, do I vibe with your design. Bio for her under the thingy.
Name: Ko Takatora
Race: Dragonkin (Harpy) (Blue Core Consumed)
Gender: Female
Height: 7'5
Age: +23,000
Profession: Lokkite Grand Priestess
Cores: Fatum / Weather
Bio
Lokii, the God of Light, had long chosen to operate on his own. However, even gods can be worn down, and as his eternal partner noticed Lokii's growing exhaustion, she pleaded with him to take on assistants. The first of those assistants would be Ko, a dragonkin who had given up her hands during the Scaled War in an act of pacifism, so that she may never hold a weapon again.
After many rigorous trials to gauge her capabilities, she was chosen alongside her partner. Blessed by Lokii and with Phoebe's intervention, she was given exclusive access to a core that nobody else besides Phoebe at the time possessed, Fatum. With this, she could weave fate to perform her duty, to ensure that nobody would ever access the slumbering Lugiel's divine body.
A day came where the temple she ran was overrun by outworlders who came seeking to take Lugiel's power, and in a last ditch effort, her partner sacrificed herself and offered her blue Tenthaian core for Ko to consume, giving her just enough mana to rewrite fate so that this attack never happened, and that Lugiel's body remained untouched.
However, as a result of this, any memory of her beloved faded from history, the only reminder being the new blue markings decorating Ko's body.
She continues to perform her duty to this day, allowing only three individuals to ever visit the tomb should the situation call for it, Cygnia, the last pure Tenthaian, Lokii himself, and the reincarnated Lugiel.
Fun Facts
- Despite being a pacifist, Ko is a practitioner of kickboxing should the situation ever deem it necessary. Even with her slim build, her kicks still pack bone-shattering power.
- She uses her tail for most activities that require hands, the two fins protruding from the end of her tail being prehensile and extremely dextrous.
- She likes to draw in her free time, and has a soft spot for drawing anything related to fish. Might have to do with fish-related dishes being her favourite.
- Despite being a stupidly powerful being in Zenithea, only those in higher positions in society have even heard of someone like her. Only a few know her true name, and even less have even graced her affections.
- Despite her position and duties, she's super shy and hates any and all forms of confrontation, preferring instead to just back out of any situations that cause her even the slightest discomfort.
0 notes
Text
Ok, this has been nagging at me almost all week, but the epilogue for fatum faciendum est got me thinking…
Do Clemensia and Coriolanus end up having more than one child? Probably. They both seemed open to the idea.
And then I fell down a rabbit hole of random thoughts. I think it’d be a bit funny if their daughter in the epilogue gets their wish granted. So without further ado, let me present my ramblings:
Clemmie’s doomed to be the only one in the family with pin-straight hair. It’s kind of funny because she’ll just be waiting, bored to death as the rest of them go through their 12 step hair routine. (Coryo probably takes the longest to style his hair 😆)
At the same time, Coryo’s fated to have children that mostly take after Clemmie in her eye colour and hair colour
Pandora - their eldest is a little bit of a blabbermouth (she’s like 5 - let’s cut her a little slack). When she next sees Tigris and the topic of gifts comes up, she mentions to Tigris that she’s getting a sibling for her birthday.
Tigris tries really hard not to laugh at Clemmie + Coryo, while these 2 are like “huh, maybe we should have a talk with our kid about what info should stay a secret.” Because there’s no way in hell that Coryo wants to deal with that info being shared to Clemmie’s parents.
Number of kids? Hmm…maybe 4?
Pandora, their eldest (dark curly hair, and brown eyes)
Eirene - another daughter - this is their only child that has his blond hair + blue eyes
To everyone’s amusement, Pandora is disappointed that her new sister has blue eyes, but says she guesses it’s acceptable (Pandora’s parents are amused - Clemmie more so than Coryo)
A boy follows very quickly, this time it follows Pandora's request lol (dark curly hair and brown eyes). Eirene and Aurelius could be considered Irish twins with how small the gap between them is.
Then there’s a considerable age gap between Aurelius and their last child. Unplanned, but it’s another daughter –Lytta. (Another dark curly haired child, but with blue eyes)
When asked if they have a favourite child, they both say ‘no’. But whereas Clemensia means it, Coriolanus doesn’t. (Hint it’s his eldest.)
Their parenting?
Clemmie is a bit more involved than he is
At her behest, the children have some sort of artistic education whether that be music, art, dance etc...
And at some point, each of their children have probably approached Coryo for something that Clemmie has said ‘no’ to. When asked why they’re asking him then, they’ll say, “because Mom isn’t the boss of you.”
The first time he’s hit with that, Coriolanus wonders if it is a trick question. He has now learnt that there is a correct and an incorrect answer. Being President of Panem doesn’t exempt him from Clemmie’s ire. (He really wished it did though.)
Very quickly, he realizes that most of their children have taken after Clemmie's ability to charm just about anyone. Especially their eldest. Despite it not being as efficient as Clemmie’s - he’s fallen for it more times than he should
~
Bonus: one of Persephone and Festus’ kids falls HARD for one of Clemensia and Coriolanus’ kids.
Worse yet (for Coryo) - it’s his eldest AND it’s reciprocated
#left unchecked I might have written an essay#fatum faciendum est#idk I sort of see him as a girl dad#none of these kids are allowed to have a first name that starts with 'c'#clemmie and coryo were like#we're not dealing with their initials being similar#should I continue to ramble?
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
diffractum Amuletum est. Dagon est victus. sanguine Draconis, Regumque Amuleto, Portas Oblivionis sigillavimus… in perpetuum. ultimus Septimum nunc in historiam abit. eo libenter, nam sacrificium meum non vanum esse scio. apud patrem consido, atque patres patris. Tertia Aetas finita est, et oritur aetas nova. cum Volumen Vetustius posterum scribetur, tu eius eris scriptor. schema posteritatis, Imperii fatum, haec nunc tibi sunt.
The Amulet is shattered. Dagon is defeated. With the Dragon's blood, and the Amulet of Kings, we have sealed the gates of Oblivion... forever. The last of the Septims passes now into history. I go gladly, for I know my sacrifice is not in vain. I take my place with my father, and my father's fathers. The Third Age has ended, and a new age dawns. When the next Elder Scroll is written, you shall be its scribe. The shape of the future, the fate of the Empire, these things now belong to you.
-- Martin Septim
#tes#elder scrolls#the elder scrolls#latin#languages#translation#oblivion#tes oblivion#tes iv: oblivion#martin septim#akatosh#mehrunes dagon
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
I need to dig into Divinity Fatum a bit more, holy shit, the video is age restricted but if you can view it this is some of the coolest visuals I've seen in an rpgmaker fight in my entire life
6 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
nat--attack
nat
exactlychoppedlady-blog
Untitled
lostinthewater-x-blog
leaving was always the plan, wasn't it dear?
itattpeople
Itattpeople hurting for good