#malefikant

[cursedfortune]

Can you list a few words that have the vibe of Mortem? It can be objects, phrases, descriptors, metaphors. I gotta know the symbolism you got in your head for her

@malefikant

To be honest, it gets summed up in Witch. And that's really just specific to my canon and what witches are in it. Despite some grounding similarities people have with witches, I've learned over the years it's very personally perceived what that word means and how it takes shape. I have two friends with witches, them and I all have a lot of similarities and agreements on what it means. But we also have differences in the presentation. Whether that's due to different narratives or different perspectives.

So everything about Mortem is just summed up in Witch. It encapsulates her species, her purpose/duties, her beliefs, her everything.

But because I feel like that's kind of a lame or vague answer, since it means more to me and is hard to explain my perspective on. I'll just like, list some stuff I've drawn in relation to her specifically. Or repeatedly draw attention to.

Readmore because long and an unpleasant mention of things.

Objects/Descriptors?

A shattered sword, kept in a box and regularly taken out to meticulously clean. Only to be sealed back up and rarely see the light of day.

A bag of holding. A shade of blue like the night, with an ever-changing embroidery so none can ever give a description of it.

A lock of dirty blonde hair, tied off in the middle with a black ribbon. From her mother. It sits high in a box atop her kitchen cabinets, along with other personal mementos that belonged to her. As if to watch over this homestead when Mortem is there and especially when she isn't.

An unusual wand from an unusual and broken fae. She never uses it, but she carries it until the day he feels well enough to reclaim it.

The beautifully embroidered tunic of a boy she saw become a king, only to be slain before his prime.

A full set of armor. Fixed up as well as it could be but still it bears the markings of fire. Faintly some claw and sword marks, as well.

Potion bottles hand crafted in the desert she called home for a little while, made by her dear friend at the time. A fellow witch and alchemist.

While it is not in her possession, she remembers still the weight of a golden crown. It wasn't cursed by magic, but by duty. From the first elf to the last of the true elves. She recalls staring into the infant eyes of dragons seated within the crown, like gemstones. It was meant to honor but it instead became a burden upon the one who'd reshape the world as all knew it.

Phrases/Metaphors?

The Love Song by J. Alfred Prurock I draw a lot of inspiration from over the years. I got attached to it as a kid. Some parts of it fits some other stories in this same shared universe as Mortem, but there is a consistent theme of this one passage that affects everyone in my story:

Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Mortem is one of the main background characters. You actually don't see a lot of her. In the arc of the story that takes place on her world, she's nearly mute and intentionally doesn't draw attention to herself until it's forcibly found out. Which is when she's convicted of treason and exiled. If you want to look for messages in her character, her role would be: Find purpose in life because time won't slow down for you. She has only her purpose, and when everyone else rejects her for it and she's left in isolation for 40k years roughly, she still has to continue and be unyielding to that. The story she is a part of doesn't need to be analyzed as having a message or assigning such roles. I intended for it to just be a story that can be enjoyed as it is. But the concept that started it came from the various forms of suicide ideation and the overarching villain and main protagonist both embody that. Which makes Mortem stand in opposition of both of them and why she tends to be aggressive towards Nestor (protag). The potential of life, life prospering to its fullest, life eventually returning to the cycle of death and whatever comes for them after is her whole deal. The overarching villain feels like a concept she can't understand fully and Nestor has so much fine potential but sets her off repeatedly lmao

When it comes to phrases and metaphors, I just kind of take in things like cycles, spirals, duality, unending forest, feet submerged in shallow water upon the beach - staring out into the ocean, threads and storms (and other natural events) into account. They have a lot of meaning for Mortem and in general, within a lot of history. Even if that's history that's lost on her by the time of her birth. Flowers are also very important. Funnily enough, not lavender. I mentioned it once on the blog as a scent she likes but it seems a lot of people associate her purple hair with it. Mort is just SIGHING. I love it though, I feel like it's a running gag now.

Beyond that, I take in a lot of inspiration from music I associate with her. Which... I need to update her list lmao. So I'll just link the posts I can find of her main jams. I also have the /tunes zone where I send them to, to rot.

Here. Here. Here.

I hope this answer suffices on what you were asking for. It's always nightmare mode to try to explain this even when I see it clearly all the associations I have with her. Thanks for inquiring, tho. <3

[cantuscorvi]

What is something Raum takes pride in? How does he express that pride?

@malefikant

Oh, everything. Raum is a man who lives and dies by his pride, no matter the occasion. A side effect — or even a cause of — his narcissism, it bleeds into everything he does.

Raum takes pride in himself, as a whole. That is expressed in his utter self-centredness. Every thought and action he takes is measured against what benefit it has to him.

His thought process is always beating along to his own drum — Me, me, me!

On one hand, this makes him seem brilliant. He has charisma and confidence, he projects authority, energy and self-discipline. Like he can hold the world in his palm. It draws people in.

On the other, it makes him stubborn and dominant, arrogant, ruthless. He won’t give you an inch, and he doesn’t care how it affects you. It creates a wall, and it pushes people away.

A few examples —

Raum takes pride in his confidence and his strength of character. He expresses that liberally. He has a commanding, authoritative nature. He has a tendency to steamroll people who are timid or struggle to express themselves. He is intense. If he is not careful, he rubs people the wrong way.

He takes pride in his rationality, his drive, his determination. He is optimistic, and ambitious. He believes he can achieve anything he sets his mind to, even if it hurts, he doesn’t give up. He holds himself to an impossibly high standard, and it can be perfectionistic, to his detriment.

Raum takes pride in his appearance and status. He expresses that by indulging himself with fine things, nothing is ‘too good’ for him to experience or to own. He doesn’t know the meaning of too rich for one’s blood. He believes he deserves the best. It makes him look pretentious, picky or snobbish.

He takes pride in his intelligence and willpower. His ability to plan ahead and solve problems. Combined with his relentless self interest, it makes him secretive and manipulative. He is a liar and a pretender.

[yellowfingcr]

What is the worst thing Heysel has ever done with magic?

// Sometimes you’re a darkwalker knighted by the onyx lord who taught you in first place how to pull and weave magic to access the interstices between realities, in-betweens in which lies just an endless nothing less than nothing fundamentally averse to the concept of you existing in any manner and so being, and so having things like a body, or a mind, or time, or history, or any shred no matter how small of proof that in fact could provide an answer to the question who are you, all in the name (at its most basic use) of traversing long spaces very very quick. Sometimes the crux of the entire spell is less about cutting the skin of the world to access this horrible place and far more about cloaking yourself in spell so that preservation of information can happen, even when it shouldn’t, and so permitting to darkwalk, and be like an astronaut who walks past the event horizon’s edge and emerges unscathed. Sometimes you know that so this is about the possibility for conversation, not certainty of successful persuasion. The void might yet try to argue you are never to leave this place for you are not a thing that is real. But at least you have made yourself a fine padding of math and sorcery and all the resources a darkwalker like yourself has, and so you might yet state that you are real, and you wish to go. 

Sometimes you know that to excise that armor component from the spell means that the astronaut goes past the event horizon and the black hole swallows them without ifs or buts to be raised. Enter the portal naked of magic like that and no conversation will happen at all, and you won’t happen again. And sometimes you may think about the spectacular cruelty of it. Every layer of you just pointed at and told no and no and no, no to your flesh, no to the atomic bonds of you, no to your history, and no to you. Just a final last no, total and indifferent to your pleas and proof. Then silence. 

But sometimes you think that someone deserves this, and you grasp them bodily like wounded deer and drag them towards the portal open and sighing with magic, and blood draws a steady path along their passage like an inverse carpet for kings, unrolling not in welcome but for leaving. They are Tarnished, aren’t they? They will come back by divine want. But does the voice of god reach where not one thing exists? Does anyone yet know?

Sometimes your name is Heysel, who was Goldfinch, and you excise that part of the spell, and throw the body inside the portal. 

[meadowlarksabove]

What was the first important life lesson he learned? How did he learn it? Was it a kind lesson or a difficult one? Does he still remember it now, or has his worldview changed?

Questions! ( Always Open )

“En guerra avisada, no muere gente”

The more you know about something or someone, the more likely you are to outmaneuver them. Gabban learned this as a very young boy in the war camps, struggling to keep up with the rest the children and satisfy the growing demands of his masters. His body was weak then, but he found that his strengths laid in careful observation. If he kept his eyes peeled, if he spied, if he knew things, he’d never be caught off guard.

A child shouldn’t feel like they have to look over their shoulder, paranoid of every shadow. But he did- and perhaps in some sick, twisted way, that helped him survive until his health improved and he looked strong enough not to be messed with.

He’s never outgrown the paranoia, and to this day he’s never been able to fully let his guard down. Gabban believes that if he does, something bad will happen to him again.

[distortedkilling]

Humans may be members of the class Mammalia and may belong to the animal phylum known as chordates because we have a backbone, yet... That does not mean you can just. Keep one as a pet, you know?

@malefikant

"..."

Processing. Processing. Processing. He understood where this one was coming from but...

"Oh! You're trying to tell me what to do?"

"I get it. You either find what I'm doing distasteful or... you're jealous and want to be a human pet, too?" The problem here was, if it was the prior he'd antagonize the situation more. And if it was the latter? He'd do the exact same. The only solution for this really was to drag the man by the throat deep into the sewers.

The curse perked up, clapping together his hands but once as he decided upon what to do. "You're putting human limitations and rules on me. I'll just show you why that's stupid to do~!"

[hisgrief]

@malefikant sent “ don’t ever let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you are . ”

his  attempts  to  befriend  the  other  patrons  have  been  unsuccessful.  woefully  so.  it  seems  everyone  is  running  from  something,  but  only  he's  the  type  to  seek  out  company.  sue  him  for  needing  that  connection.  even  a  quicky  against  a  dirty  bathroom  wall  would  be  better  than  him wallowing  in  the  cruelty  of  his  thoughts.  he's  on  the  prowl  for  something  careless.  something  blunt  and  harmful.  something  to  replace  the  pain  with  a  new  ache.  he  has  pills  in  his  pocket  and  a  metaphorical  clock  ticking  down  to  the  next  full  moon.  if  he  can't  find  comfort  here,  he'll  find  it  elsewhere. 

he's  nursing  wounded  pride  and  a  double  shot  of  liquor,  having  once  again  been  told  to  fuck  off,  when  the  bloke  he's  been  avoiding  all  night  says  something  that  gives  him  pause.  don't  be  ashamed,  eh?  the  grunt  of  laughter  he  chokes  out  lacks  humour.  he  doesn't  want  to  be  a  prick.  sober  him  is  always  so  embarrassed  by  how  he  acts  when  he's  drunk.  he's  not  the  gaz  that  claire  fell  in  love  with.  he's  some  disgusting,  broken  imitation. 

“i'd  have  to  fist  fight  meself  for that  before  anyone  else,  mate.”  he  chugs  back  the  rest  of  his  drink,  shakes  off  the  burn,  and  squints  at  his  company.  fuckin'  pretty  boy.  gaz  is  bitterly  surprised  that  he's  deigned  to  acknowledge  him  at  all.  all  put  together  and  shit.  in  contrast,  gaz  is  unkempt and  developing  an  tangled scruff  along  his  jaw. 

maybe  that's  why  no  one  wants  him.  claire  had  always  preferred  him  to  be  clean-shaven  too. 

"cheers for the advice, though. it's not like bein' lectured by a bloody model at all."

[dernarrleid]

TELEGRAM FROM @malefikant READS: How does Wolfgang deal with loneliness? Has he ever felt completely alone before? Does he act differently when there is no one around to see him?

Depends on how old he is. Wolfgang currently deals with loneliness well! He's not especially wanting for a companion, but he keeps himself sane practicing daily interaction with kindness. When he was a child and put through the Kinderheim program it was by design a place for which he could find no solace. Some of his only memories involved another boy he was friends with, but after a few years of brainwashing and strict authoritarian discipline, he never sought to make anymore. It was mostly about how useful he was to the organization (and by extension the government).

Around early 20's, late 30's he had a family and a child, but wasn't necessarily attached to them in the moment. They were apart of his job and a large role he had was to make everything as convincing as possible so he wasn't snuffed out. He has a huge complex surrounding his emotions and whether or not he's exhibiting proper social cues because he's capable or if he's still employing the same tactics of his past self. Wolfgang doesn't act all that differently when he's by himself either! He's been pushed to his Steiner persona a few times after his unofficial retirement, however it's nearly impossible to do so alone without any variables. He is quite alert when he's found a place to lodge for a length of time; those heightened senses will likely never go away.

[rxgalbullxt]

“How is it that one match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box of matches to start a campfire?” He is a little frustrated. Actually, a lot but there is no way he will show that.

He holds one large hand out, beckoning silently for what is left of the matches after that last failed attempt. It's miserable out. The kind of cold that gets deep into your bones and makes you feel damp long after the sun comes back.

High above them the trees offer some shelter from the downpour. Though the steady drip of water everywhere you turn is a rather miserable sign of the long night ahead.

"Just bad luck." He concludes calmly.

Only because he doesn't wish to go on a longer tangent about the circumstances, the poor timing, the sheer impatience of it all. Instead he merely shrugs. There is much worse they could contend with. There's a lot more he's had to tolerate than just rain.

"Cold night ahead."

[pupil-of-law]

List a few words that have the vibe of Sebastian? It can be objects, phrases, descriptors, metaphors. Just the little things that have a connection to him

antidisestablishmentarianism

[cursedfortune]

Feel free to delete this asks if you have already answered that question BUT I remember you mentioning that there was a time Mortem actually wore armor. What did it look like? What color? Any noticable detail that was distinctive to only her?

@malefikant

This was initially the first closest comparison, specifically for the elbows. For the High Queen's guard of her native country, the circular elbow guards (elbow cop) was distinct.

It was a light grey, full plate style armor. Covered front to back. A closed knight helm with the pointed tipped boots native to her homeland.

Her main weapon was a generic longsword. Her secondary weapon was an ahlspiess style pike due to the importance a thrust motion carried against the enemy horde. It's not a version of a polearm she uses as often these days, favoring cutting or winged spears more-so. But the weapons she utilized were of the desert nation to the west she had been living in during the first war/period when she'd don armor.

It was utilized for the final battle of the first war and severely damaged due to her fae patron setting her on fire for the second half of the battle (that lasted about forty minutes). Her armor suffered through the first half of the battle against large, brutal foes, followed by being set ablaze by fae fire, all before she had to rip the armor off herself whilst being on fire.

It has since been repaired as much as it could have been, though it still shows damages that couldn't be fully fixed. The armor of her homeland and the weapons of the desert nation she called a second home for centuries now stands, retired, within her cabin beside the fireplace.

Note: The longsword she used in battle is not the same one that was shattered by her enemy of that time. That sword sits in a locked box that she typically keeps in her bag of holding most of the time. It's also the same sword that's tattooed down her spine. (It was shattered by the enemy in the assault on the desert kingdom that came just before the final battle).

Someday I'll finish drawing her full set of armor, lmao. But yeah, she's a mashup of the two countries. Her homeland, where the majority of the war takes place, she wears her armor from. Her weapons come from the desert nation due to the Warden's fortress having taught her the majority of what she knows about combat. Both hold important meaning which she manifested into serving a tangible purpose - which only served to strengthen herself come battle. Until her fae patron arrived. Then the usual rules of war disappeared.

[cantuscorvi]

☕ ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿He heard Raf coffee and was summoned. Cheers from the far back. Such an incredible taste. What a gentleman. You go Raum.

@malefikant

Finally someone appreciates him and his culture exactly how they should.

[yellowfingcr]

List things, phrases, words, objects, metaphors ( all of the above? ) that you associate with Heysel! Just the little things that have a connection to her, thank you!

// oh! this is very cute I love it. I'm treating this ask like a request for a box of trinkets if I may

opening with the classics! yellow flowers! goldenrod and dandelions and buttercup, yellow hibiscus, sunflower;

sea-glass, sea-shells, and shells of animals, and molted skins;

friendship bracelets;

stringed instruments played by strumming;

autotomy in animals;

deception in animals;

from chatti's deluge:

mosaics and pointillism in art;

tricksters and clown society;

mary oliver - hummingbirds;

citrine;

curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back;

mimic octopus;

summer middays;

spontaneous laughter with friends- you know when it starts and it just finds new ways of refueling itself with any small even not that funny thing-

the color brown and its countless shades of warmth;

wetland ecosystems and all its denizens;

this post on history;

commedia dell'arte masks and costumes;

skipping stones;

this:

[meadowlarksabove]

What about self-love, Gabban? Is it not blasphemous of you, giving yourself up like that?

Questions! ( Always Open )

“Self love? Don't make me laugh. I’m not about to fight against something the world’s already shown me to be true. Just because something stands on two legs doesn’t make it a person, and it certainly doesn’t make it worthy of love.”

[wiinestories]

[ UNDERCOVER ] : for your muse to approach mine while undercover + [ MUSUEM ] : for our muses to meet at a museum / (because I think it would fit nicely together). for Alexander and John or Zane maybe? Could be working together or against one another, I am open for both!

In a world where betrayal lurked around every corner and danger loomed over every decision, John moved with utmost caution. He knew all too well that there were those willing to sell information about his whereabouts for the right price. It felt as though the entire world was against him, with a bounty placed on his head, driving him to be constantly vigilant and wary of his surroundings. With his distinct features recognizable to many, John knew the importance of remaining inconspicuous. Fortunately, his anonymity outside certain circles granted him a degree of freedom. Disguising himself as a museum worker seemed like a suitable cover for the time being. He had a contact within the museum who could assist him, and they were scheduled to meet today for a rendezvous.

"This is what I could bring about," John remarked to his now partner, gesturing to his attire—a white shirt paired with a black tie that complemented the jersey above, along with trousers and shoes to match. Every detail exuded a sense of formality and professionalism. His back straightened while they were in one of the offices within the museum, awaiting the beginning of the shift. "Do you have any information on the Russians?"

[dernarrleid]

⸻ TELEGRAM FROM @malefikant READS ‘ I know you think you're pretty clever with this plan to drink me under the table , but there's two problems ... you're not , .. & you can't . ’ (for Wolfgang)

A Russian and German walk into a bar; the German sits down, carrying the weight of the day's woes on his back knowing there isn't much time between then and his next excursion. His duffel bag, dusty and tattered toward the bottom from being dragged across more than a few concrete havens was overflowing with photocopies of journals from the local bookstore. He calls himself a freelance journalist half the time, since some of the job doesn't require him to lie completely to himself. The information gathering aspect is always nostalgic; the feeling ramps up when in a situation where the number of resources nearly outclass him as a human being. Of course technology provides an assist, but it's never the kind of accuracy Wolfgang needs, now is it?

Wolfgang taps the counter, sighing a request for two glasses of water and smooth scotch. He'd give anything for a nice wine and cheese pairing, a bed perhaps and a few recreational items that may ease the tension of laying awake knowing the moment he closes his eyes the nightmares will rope him in. It always happened when his body is a touch too overworked, the heaviness in his eyes hurts by then and the spiral doesn't stop until he hears a knock on the door or a barrage of noise from the young once school is out. The bartender slides the three glasses down the table— and Wolfgang catches them with ease despite every joint in his body fighting against it. At the third gulp of his second glass, the water sitting in his gut and his throat quenched enough to speak properly, he turns to the man beside him. Their build is the same, which... isn't strange but he's never met one that so obviously looks like his work doesn't lend to the normal working class.

Wolfgang had his fair share of private businesses, maintaining identities for the sake of other identities, it gets monotonous. Not necessarily dull; the primary skill that made him exceptional was the absolute, unwavering acceptance of the mundane. If a spy was bored he'd find something else to occupy his time which meant certain death if one reverted back to a quirk or habit at the wrong time. No, it was safer to pretend your past self didn't exist at all. Perhaps that carries over every life he tries to live. The old him didn't touch alcohol if not for the purpose of gaining trust and weakening the enemy; the current doesn't mind sharing a drink or two. Freelance work is never done, as they say.

[...]"I've been wrong before, of course. But you don't look like the kind of guy who'd indulge that much to have developed the tolerance... Unless it's the Russian in you?" Wolfgang's smiles wide in a gesture of good faith. He hopes the man isn't crazy enough to follow through. However in the event he is— "Now what kind of plan would that be? S'far as I'm concerned I see you and I, arm to arm with bottle of scotch and no where to be!" He looks from toe to forehead at his form, admiring how well put he seemed in comparison. The urge to chide himself bubbles at the realization he's done it so openly without even noting the man's name.

[akrepblog]

Malefik ve Benefik Gezegenler - Hangi Konularda Nasıl Etkilerler?

Malefik ve Benefik Gezegenler - Hangi Konularda Nasıl Etkilerler?

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Malefik ve Benefik Gezegenler