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ms-scarletwings · 5 months

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Aberrant Fish

The first hint many an angler will get of the dark, insidious secrets these waters hold,

and yet, they are the first thing to be accepted as only another flavor of mundane.

The game text calls them grotesque. The fishmonger calls them corrupted. You get to call them a bonus. Rather than fear and revile them, tradesmen will pay a shiny extra penny to add them into their stock. They are gestured to and spoken of, but never truly elaborated on by the townsfolk. They have probably been here long before most of them, and so will be here long after they are gone. They were certainly here before you. Maybe you don’t need their answers, and yet if you are like me, you still witlessly question and keep dredging for more.

Like many things pulled from those cursed depths, they whisper flecks of madness from an impossible voice. What messages do they carry, and what forces do they play vessel to? Are they the lingering embers from a long-extinguished calamity, or are they harbingers of the next one to come?

I believe we have already seen signs of fire with our own eyes- impossible, great beasts that prowl the four (now five) coasts, the dying cult, gibbering fog…. That damned book. These tortured creatures are but another form of the same smoke.

To the question of where they came from, if your fisherman pokes around enough and braves the darkness, he may have already found a response in one of the many obelisks scattered around the map. Specifically, I refer to this.

This would suggest the aberrants themselves are what leaked in through the cracks that the largest of all monsters wants to rend apart? Not entirely, but in part. For the researcher at the Stellar Basin came to her own conclusion I want to factor in.

Her words give credence to the possibility that it is actually those greater beasts themselves at the heart of the corruption. I think she was half onto something, because what if these twisted forms, both large and small, were blooms along the same set of festering roots?

The more dark stones you disturb in the frenzy of your own madness, the more you learn about the age before your arrival, about the islands, and especially about their current guardians. The Mindsuckers- carrion puppet masters given a home, the Basin creature- a spore that miraculously survived its dive to the abyss, and the Serpent- lifeless stone made animate and malicious, all had their creation remembered in great detail by the obelisks. Some hints point that their emergence was rather recent, relative to even more powerful beings, such as the leviathan.

Maybe there are even more unseen horrors far below, blessedly out of our reach, for now. My view is that the malformed beasts are the aimless children of that unfathomable thing which waits beyond the veil. With them came its influence, and its corruption, and from them it continues to spread to all life surrounding. The smaller rifts were always a transformative disease upon the harbor’s fish, but with the rise of the new monsters, the sickness runs farther and less avoidably than ever. Whether these aberrant spawn are a gift to the worthy, or another deceptive evil that leads to madness remains left to be seen.

I will be giving a spotlight to each of these fascinating specimens at the back of Dredge’s encyclopedia, including those found in the Pale Reach, for further comment and appreciation. Updating the list below as we go along!

[#79-84]

[#85-90]

[#91-96]

[#97-102]

[#103-108]

[#109-114]

[#115-120]

[#121-126]

[#127-132]

[#133-138]

[#139-144]

[#145-150]

[#163-168]

[#169-174]

[Bonus I. Night Angler]

[Bonus II. Serpent]

[Bonus III. Basin Creature]

[Bonus IV. Mindsuckers]

[Bonus V. Unseeing Mother]

[Bonus VI. “Narwhal”]

#dredge game #dredge #dredge analysis #aberrant fish #grotesque fish #dredge spoilers #scarlet talks about things

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ironclark · 6 months

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The Halloween set of Keyblades is done! This time featuring the classic Fatal Frame franchise! Fatal Frame 1 - 5 along with the 3DS Spirit Camera!

PHOTOSHOOT -

A Keyblade modeled after the ghost-filled mansion of Fatal Frame! This Keybkade increases the amount of health dropped by enemies. The hilt of the keyblade is designed in combination of Miku's Camera Obscura and the Himuro Mansion. The shaft of the blade is designed after the various torches seen throughout the mansion, with one being present in the center. The teeth of the blade is formed from the blue fire that is left behind when Miku exorcises a spirit with her camera. The keychain is designed after the hanging ropes found in the mansion with the Token being that of the Type-90 Film, the strongest film in the game. The World Logo is the infamous Himuro Mansion where Miku is trapped in. The name comes from when you have several photos taken in a location.

TWIN WINGS-

A Keyblade designed after the butterfly motif from Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly! This Keyblade is designed to double the damage of your attacks! The hilt of the Keyblade is designed after Mio Amakura's Camera Obscura and Spirit Stone Radio with the cross guard having the first set of crimson butterfly wings. The shaft of the keyblade is made of twin pillars holding the saving lamp. The teeth is formed with a second crimson butterfly. The keychain is made of Spirit Stones with the token being Mayu's Charm. The World Logo is that of the hidden village that Mio and Mayu are trapped in. The name comes from the dual themology of twins and butterflies.

SLEEPING SERPENT-

A Keyblade designed after the tattooed motifs of Fatal Frame III: The Tormented! This keyblade is designed to inflict sleep on targets. The hilt and along the saft of the keyblade eventually forming the teeth is that of a blue snake, representing the blue snake tattoo that Rei Kurosawa gets throughout the game. Along this snake is several holly flowers representing the tattoo that Miku gets. The handle and shaft of the blade is formed with the Puryfiying Light candle. The token is that of the Echo Stone Earrings of the Kuze family. The World Logo is the Manor of Sleep, a sleeping world that traps those with the Tattoo curse. The name comes from the sleeping and snake motifs in the game.

WANING MEMORIES-

A Keyblade modeled after the moon motif in Fatal Frame IV: Mask of the Lunar Eclipse! This Keyblade is designed to have stronger Aero attacks! The guard and shaft of the blade is designed after stylized clouds found in the title screen. The crossguard has the titular Mask of the Lunar Eclipse. The hilt of the blade is that of the Spirit Stone Flashlight. The keychain is made up of the Spirit Orb charges with the Token being that of the Hozuki Doll collectables. The World Logo is the cursed island that the came takes place on. The name comes from the fact that all the protagonists suffer from amensia as well as the phases of the moon.

TAINTED WATERS-

A Keyblade modeled after the waters in Fatal Frame V: Maiden of the Black Water! This keyblade is designed to increase the power of Water spells! The guard, shaft and teeth of the blade are designed after classical depictions of water in Japanese paintings. The crossgaurd features one of the headdresses of the Maidens. The pommel is the head of a Reliquary key, with the hilt and keychain token being inspired by it as well. The token is the flower of the titual Maiden of the Black Water. The World Logo is the mountain in which all the tragedies related to the Maidens take place. The name comes from the fact that the once pure waters are now tainted by black.

RECORDS OF BONDS-

A Keyblade modeled after the haunting book from Spirit Camera: The Cursed Memoir! This Keyblade is designed to have a combo increaser! The hilt of the keyblade is designed after this game's Camera Obscura with the handle being inspired by Maya's design. The shaft of the blade is formed from the ghostly essence from the Purple Diary. The Teeth is formed like a hand from the ghostly essence. The token is the amulet found within the diary. The World Logo is the infamous book. The name comes from a synonym of "Book" and "Tome" as well as the bonds of Maya.

#Kingdom Hearts #Keyblades #Crossovers #Fatal Frame #Fatal Frame II #Fatal Frame 2 #Fatal Frame III #Fatal Frame 3 #Fatal Frame IV #Fatal Frame 4 #Fatal Frame V #Fatal Frame 5 #Spirit Camera

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lya-dustin · 5 months

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The Dornish Princess

(Part ii of the Dornish Princess)

Cw: mentions of sex, fantasizing of murder, attempted murder via drowning

Fool.

That is the new name he was given.

Fool.

Fool for trusting you, for believing your words and a worse fool for loving you.

He cannot chase you and kill you for your betrayal, he was the regent and he must deal with the fall out of his own fucking foolishness.

With his brother at the Stranger’s door and no money to continue the war, his campaign into the Riverlands is postponed.

Postponed being a nicer word for it.

They are to surrender to his whore sister and bastard heirs and beg for mercy.

The negotiations had begun and Aemond has requested exile over death. He would never set foot in Westeros for as long as Rhaenyra lives.

No matter, after he gets his hands on you, it will he worth it.

Aliandra Martell offered her hand in marriage should he bring her your head.

Prince Consort of Dorne is good consolation reward.

His exile isn’t the terrible thing his mother thinks it is, his change of scenery matters not when he hunts you down.

He will enjoy killing you, he dreams of seeing the life leave your indigo eyes as he avenges his honor.

Aemond follows your trail even when he takes up the occupation of sword fro hire as Daemon once did. He hears how you defrauded a Braavosi key holder, how you robbed Sharako Lohar blind and just recently, drove the Rogares of Lys to complete and utter ruin.

Word had come from the spymasters that you lived in Volantis in a manse behind the Black Wall. You’d overstay your welcome once the lord you flatter with your serpent’s tongue and poison him with kisses as sweet as honey.

Where would you go from then? You weren’t welcome anywhere anymore.

You could never go home just as he can’t either.

He disguises himself as a servant, a slave rather. The Valyrian looks so coveted in Westeros were as common as horse shit in Essos. Even slaves had silver hair and purple eyes.

Something he’d learned to exploit as he earned his pay with blood.

Something he’ll exploit to finally end you.

You aren’t Y/N Sand nor Coryanne Martell here. You are merely a wealthy widow enjoying the fruits of your labor.

He stalks into your bath quietly, you assuming it is another servant carrying your hot flowery water pay no mind to him.

You are far more beautiful than he remembered, you grew into your looks just as he went from youth to man these years past.

Five years ago, you ruined his life and made damn sure you would never be forgotten.

“I will wash my own hair tonight.” You say as he takes your dark braid in his hands. Within a heart beat he’s holding your face under the water as he fulfills every fantasy he’s had these five long years.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he asks taunting you when he lets you come up for air.

“Not as much as you did, husband.” You gasp and sputter with a laugh. As if you’d known he’d come. “Took you long enough, Aemond the Fool.”

He narrowed his eye and wished he could just drown you in your tub and be done with it. But he doesn’t. He is still the fool he was at nineteen at twenty-four.

“Join me, you reek of dragon.” You say as you gather your bearings and pretend nothing had happened.

He could kill you later, hot water was a luxury even in this warm winter. A good fuck and a hot bath seemed like a better send off you deserved, but Aemond has stopped being so picky with whores these years.

“You need me for a scheme don’t you?” he concludes aa you wash his body with the same soaps you had used. You had done this before, back when he loved you and you ensnared him in your trap.

You had felt divine then, your soft caresses, your sweet lips and the oh so tight cunny you sheathed his cock with.

You haunted him till this fucking day, even after trying to forget you with every willing woman he could find. Not even the Red Priestess with her knowledge of the seven sighs couldn’t erase you out of his mind.

“A final one, an apology from me to you.” You say coming close enough to kiss him stupid.

He’d let you, only if your scheme is good enough for him.

“As if I’d believe anything that comes from your mouth, y/n.” he scoffed and yet snaked his arms around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

He'll discard of you once he is sated, your pretty head was worth as much as this manse. A place close to home too.

“Oh trust me, what I will show you will speak for itself, my sweet prince.” You whisper before leaving the bath all together.

The sight waiting for him in your rooms leaves him without words.

Sharing a room and the distinctive looks of House Targaryen, a boy of five and a boy of eight hold on to plush dragons. The younger a green as Vhagar and the other as red as Caraxes.

His child and Rhaenyra’s lost son, presumably.

“Lysandro bought Viserys from his captors and sought to ransom him back to your family along with my son. I don’t bite unless I have to, dearest husband.” You admit with a hard edge to your soft voice. Somehow he believes you.

“What do you want?” Aemond cannot do anything but stare at the boys, his more than his nephew.

His hair is silver and sleek as his is, a faint smattering of freckles like the ones he had as a boy and his mother’s wicked mouth pouting in his sleep.

“That you recognize Aelyx as trueborn, we were married in truth and he shouldn’t carry the stain of bastardry when he is innocent.” You speak honestly, as if you knew your luck had run out. “Take Viserys and my wealth and negotiate your return to your home. It should be more than what I stole from you.”

If you knew he hadn’t thought of killing you since you showed him his son, you’d think your hold on him was as strong as it was then.

Perhaps it was.

Damn you. Damn you to the seven hells for making a fool out of him.

The following morning he writes home saying he’d found his errant wife and a treasure greater than all the gold in Volantis.

If Rhaenyra lifted his exile, he’d personally deliver Viserys to her.

Aemond the Kinslayer gets a hero’s welcome despite being foolish enough to forgive you and wed you in truth.

But you are not content with just being his wife and the wealth you amassed. No, you like your husband were cursed with ambition.

“Have you ever considered conquering Dorne, your grace?” you ask Queen Rhaenyra who owes you the life of her youngest son even if Aemond took the life of her second born.

#aemond targaryen x dornish!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x you #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader

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riseofamoonycake · 5 months

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What could I love more than art? Women, goddesses and female hearts in art.

Ladies in Blue, fresco detail (Minoan art)

John William Waterhouse, A Mermaid

Fresco detail of Villa dei Misteri, Pompeii (Roman art)

Pablo Picasso, Portrait of Dora Maar

Louis Chalon, Circe

Remedios Varo, Mujer saliendo del psicoanalista

Marc Chagall, Lovers in Pink

Gustav Klimt, Water Serpents II

#marc chagall #john william waterhouse #pompeii #remedios varo #gustav klimt #louis chalon #pablo picasso #minoan art

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cherubispunk · 6 months

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ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part ii // blood.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: this was meant to be posted earlier and it was also meant to be longer but ive been through so much these past few weeks i couldnt bring myself to write much more. for those waiting on dealer!Joel, its coming. it might just take me a little while. thank you all for your patience. i love you all, look after yourselves.

playlist

wc: 1692 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to , cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eatin, oral sex - m receiving, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

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You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite. — Madeline Miller ‘Circe’

‘Strangle me with Aphrodite’s very pearls. What a beautiful creation. Funny how we will all die but seek love for a pitiful salvation.’ Words engraved, etched into the gravestone of…this. This creation of torture. Of serpents’ forked tongues and gnashing lions teeth. Silence so large and gaping it made your heart dare to beat only in the ricochet of the shiver down your spine. He was the sharp blade of a knife, you were the wetstone he used to perfect its slide of slice. Bleed ichor from your veins while he grazes blunt teeth over the shallow skin upon your collarbone.

You didn't care. ‘Give me that pointed, glimmering blade’, you thought, its vermillion stain now smeared too with gold. ‘Give me that blade. Some things are worth bloodshed.’

He was a killer. And his bounty was set on your spirit. Your calm. Your superiority over him. In his field, he was a master of his art. His armour gleamed as a trophy for his succession of rank. His clan– Here…he was a novice once again. Knew not a drop of knowledge of your craft, nor the whispering properties of each flower bud, fruit pit and herb stem in your garden. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme were nothing but cooking materials to him. And even that was a stretch to his mind.

You wished to be Anothny’s Cleopatra to him. Not a wicked witch of the western tides. Toughened beauty, once black coals under pressure, now gleaming in diamond and its own giant covalent structure. Him swooning over your flesh for months and his tongue speaking within your mouth. There was no turquoise over your eyes, nor the stain of the madder root over your lips to paint him with. His face was still an image that belonged to your mind. Not the reality you lived now with him tangled in your sheets. Rippled muscled under a tapestry of scars and skin.

He did some things. Mainly doted care to the child whom you sense properties in. A magic akin to your own, yet not all the same. His was one of energy, a flowing combination of entities, living a breathing through you, him, the mandalorian and each living being on this island. Mauve further. It was a balance that even you did not know the tipping point of nor the origin of its birth. It was shaking. It crumbled under the erosion of water to salt pillars until its foundations skimmed to their very bare bones.

It took with it the light of your sanctuary and morphed into Tartarus, so your soul may burn in forged cast iron chains. They were white hot in the black soot tinders. Glowing violently in your corneas while they singed sight. Scorched touch. Seared taste. The battle of yours and the child's power.

You watched in awe one night, the lights out, but a single sliver of silver from Artemis’s glow caught the sharpened tip of a knife you know strapped to your thigh under the skirts of your dress. Would his blood sizzle when it touched the blade, as you only imagined it ran hot and thick with the brazen burn of his anger. Ichor? No. He was no god. But his touch was of divinity. And left a tingle of power in its bone cramping wake. Wailing for more.

Only just the night before you had dropped to your knees in the doorframe of your chambers. Took off his armour beforehand in wordless undoing. Your tragic hero ending. And then gave him your mouth. Not words. Nor cunt. Just the mouth. Tip of the tongue, the lips and teeth. The stretch of his cock still wrung out your throat. Slick and wanting while it mimicked the way your cunt hugged the tip so well. Tased of salt and something more. Something forbidden or taboo. And he took his time with slow shallow thrusts at first, a large gloved hand cradling the curve of the jaw that went slack to let him buck deeper.

This morning was one of the first times you lamented over the now restricted motion in your jaw. The ache still nagged into the later hours, when The Mandalorian returned from your gardens, the bloody and mangled caracas of a rabbit thumping down on the table. He sat at the head of the table opposite you, cleaning the blood from his knife on his cape. You thought if you saw his eyes — be it hickory, azure, or pine — you would have crystallised in that very moment and that very form. Cured oak table under your fingertips, feet planted into the terracotta floor. His irises setting your thrumming heart dead still.

This was the man you let into your bed.

He remained there, sat still in his chair while the child babbled in the kitchen with you. You took that rabbit. Skinned it. Dressed it. And roasted the meat in a marinade of white wine and spices from the edge of your fenced garden. Later you would hang the pelt and let it air — make something for the child. Mittens maybe.

For now, you took your time circling the table to place each plate down: cheese, seasoned greens, a cup for the vessel of wine to his side. The silverware gleamed menacing in dim candlelight while he awaited each plate, unmoving in his armour while each delicacy was gifted to him upon his high table. And when you retired to your seat, the child had taken his too and started his feast, sticky plum jam smeared over his lips as he dribbled innocently and unaware over his rabbit leg.

But upon your silver plate was a single strip of black cloth, folded over twice on itself.

Your eyes lifted to meet him, wide in wondering question. Only to hit a barrier of beskar when you see his visor still covers his face. Not a scrap of food had been helped onto his plate by his still gloved hands. His boots that traipsed dirt through your door were still on his feet, caked in mud on the soles.

“What’s this?” Nothing. Not a word past his lips. “Am I to figure it out for myself?” He cleared his throat, raising his head so his chin jutted out towards you. “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.”

You pouted, pressing your tongue to the flesh on the inside of your cheek, then kissed your teeth.

“You mean to dictate my freedom in my own home.” You scoffed and slung your arms across your chest, crossing them. “At my own table? You are sick in your own head, Mandalorian, if you think I am one to bend my will to the whims of others. Especially in my own house.” And he repeated,

while his shoulders drew taught under his pauldrons with the armour gleaming in the silver glare of Selene’s chariot. And he planted a seed in your stomach, turned in it, and made you feel sick. You preferred him between your legs, his name between your teeth and tongue.

“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.”

Eyes fell to the plate, that cloth once more. Would it be poisoned? The fabric snared with nettle to sting your eyes. Here you had two choices. Stay, blind yourself, yield to him somewhere other than your chambers. Or stand and leave. Either way, it was an act of submission.

You did neither. Instead, you stood, kicking your chair back behind you before swanning over to the seat next to him, taking the other leg of rabbit and sinking your teeth into its cooked flesh, all the while your eyes on him. To tartarus with xenia, he outstayed his welcome long after he passed the threshold of your home. Helios could come and smite you for all you cared, the fates could snip your golden immortal line of yarn. No horror could compare to the satisfaction you had as you stuffed your face with food you'd slaved over for him. His refusal was your gain and soon you moved onto the plumbs, sticky sweet juice dribbling down your demented smile.

You wafted the half chewn and mangled fleshy bone in his face, smirking with your mouth full.

“Go on, Madalorian.” You crooned, “have a bite. Give in a little.”

His hand snatched your wrist the moment the words left your stained lips, gloved fingertips making something click in your bones. You bit down the pain with a swallow, smirk remaining triumphant across your features.

“Put it down.” He grimaced, curling his helmet covered lip at the state of you. Unkempt and wild, shrewish in your dignity.

“Or what?”

He let go. Sat back, pushed out a huff through his nostrils.

Then he stood. You watched unphased and delighted with yourself as he took the child who cooed up at him. And listened out for his heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairs to his and the child’s room. Then silence. All the while you tossed the stripped bone to his plate and licked your fingers.

You didn’t know what you would rather prefer. Him to come back down. Or stay and retire to bed. Regardless, he’d take you eventually. Here or up in your bed chambers. Unlace your corset or nightgown. Use you as his nightcap before slipping off. Without getting a look upon him. Not a sliver of his visage to hold to in sleep.

He did come down. And with a heavy hand bent you over the head of the table, a gloved palm pressing your face into the wood.

Physically you were here. Mentally, you were back against the silver birch. His cock splitting you in two once again while you smiled sadistically in candlelight. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you.

Between your thighs where he belonged.

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1-1sundial · 9 months

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one of my favorite things is the live chat replay for the ultrakill act II full ost premiere.

things get interest around when The Abyss and The Serpent plays, the track for when you're fighting the leviathan:

at around 37:26, a user types ⚠ LEVIATHAN ACTIVITY ⚠ twice in quick succession. an innocuous enough message.

someone decides to copy-paste it a few seconds later.

hakita, lead dev and composer, posts a comment regarding that track, as he had been doing for every track thus far.

meanwhile the first signs of infection are present.

⚠ GOOBER ⚠ is a reference to a gif, which ⚠ LEVIATHAN ACTIVITY ⚠ presumably was inspired by.

the levels of ⚠ LEVIATHAN ACTIVITY ⚠ continued to increase.

believe it or not, it had yet to reach full strength. hakita continues to commentate but finds his insight into the production of the music juxtaposed against the spam:

at some select moments, you could find the entire chat window to be nothing but warnings of ⚠ leviathan activity ⚠.

hakita, as much as he is a queer shitposter with his finger on the pulse of the retro FPS community, has yet to acknowledge the ⚠ activity of the leviathan ⚠, instead ignoring it and providing more commentary. on the bright side, this meant the message wasn't being forbidden, although it would be excessive to employ such moderation measures against a pre-recorded premiere stream anyway. hakita is not anti-fun; if the ⚠ leviathan was active ⚠ and you wanted to post about it, you were allowed to.

the song ends. the leviathan is no longer active. the spam seems to die down as Chord of the Crooked Saints begins to play.

it seems to be dead. not only is the leviathan no longer active, the entire tone of the ost has shifted. The Abyss and The Serpent was the last track of the wrath layer, a water-themed layer nearly the polar opposite of the next layer, the heresy layer.

and yet from the ashes, a new type of ⚠ activity ⚠ rises. you see, Chord of the Crooked Saints is a drone. it has no melody or percussion, it is simply a continuous sound which is played as soon as you enter heresy, which has quite possibly the most metal and badass introduction to any layer. Chord of the Crooked Saints is infamous because it is part of what made the introduction to heresy so jarring and memorable.

of course, the law of the internet states that the better something is and the harder it goes, the more likely people are to be silly about it.

going forward, this would be the entire stream, for what little music there was left in the OST:

hakita could no longer withstand the levels of ⚠ activity ⚠.

a reference to a weird fucking creature thing named "armboy" that hakita hid as an easter egg out of bounds in heresy.

and this is how the stream would continue. various new types of ⚠ activity ⚠ would be detected and posted about en masse, ad nauseum. it was glorious.

#silly #ultrakill #⚠ULTRAKILL POST⚠

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