#hauntingly beautiful doom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cillivnz · 1 year

Text

MISS A SPOT, HIT THE SPOT [lord dimitrescu]

pairing. LORD DIMITRESCU x MAID!READER (dub!con turned consensual)

initial, DIMITRESCU SONS x READER (very dubious consent)

word count. 3072

warnings. AFAB!reader, cursing, misogynistic themes, animal cruelty (using gator-skin on furniture; don’t call PETA on me, i’m sorry), groping, a little bit of exhibitionism, dub!con, fingering, reader is pinned against the wall, reader’s family has been serving the Dimitrescus, large age-gap, oral sex (both receiving), throat-fucking, tongue-fucking, clit play, pyromania, dacryphilia, extreme degradation, belittling, spitting, penetrative sex (p! in v!), squirting, multiple & forced orgasms, extreme breast/nipple play, reader’s just being used by the family, reader is called maid as well as a pet name in Romanian, unprotected sex, creampie.

listening to. ‘Enslaved’ by Diva Destruction

notes. Y/L — Your Last Name, Y/F/N — Your Father’s Name, căprița mea mică — my little doe

A regular day in an abysmal castle.

Your ancestry were sworn servants of the Dimitrescu royals, and ensuing your father’s demise after leading a devoted life to the Lord, it was your turn.

You managed to avoid his acknowledge, as well as his sons’; something you thanked your stars for. You were still at a tender age; early twenties yet unexposed to the worldly works, courtesy of your conservative father. You loved the old man, despite him giving you constant reminders that your birth doomed him— how you should’ve been a son to continue his legacy, not a fragile, worthless woman. But those words only came out of his mouth like venom when he was made to overwork or worse— punished.

And like any other day you were dusting the halls. Except it wasn’t every other day you felt your skirt lift up fervently by two strong hands who also pinned you against the wall. An heir. Another, holding you down, while one tugged at your blouse. Alas, the Dimitrescu boys had found you.

“Well, well, the silhouette comes to life.” The one pining you spoke. He had a raspy voice with some baritone to it. “Sire, please leave me be—” you beseeched, but before you could even beg, you choked on your own words as your thong was pushed to the side. “She wants to leave, yet you roam about our land dressed like a whore.” This erupted demonic laughter from all three. “You thought we ought not to catch on?” The one below spoke, his face so close to your cunt, you felt heat radiate off of him with every syllable he dragged. “Your scent lingers— hauntingly— how we’ve chased after your ghost.” “But you were always too fast, little doe.”

“Always teasing us — where were you hiding this beauty? Hm?” One teased, his stone cold lips grazing your bare shoulder. “Moreover where had you been hiding this ass of yours?”

You jolted when a harsh slap landed on your ass, your not-so-subtle moan eliciting evil laughter from the men harassing you.

The one gripping your ass began to spread it, you writhed like a worm in their vice-like embrace, begging and praying for the abuse to be over; in a way it was.

The minute you felt something stroke your folds, prodding at your entrance, a demonic thunder struck. “What do you have here, boys?” They froze, as did you. This is the most cooperation you four have shown, as if unsaid, yet understood that if you hold your breath and close your eyes, the Lord can’t hurt you.

But slowly, as if puppies caught creating chaos by their master, did the boys move away from you. Bright yellow eyes ablaze in the monotonous dark of his castle. His eyes darted from your glassy eyes staring at him, the fear in them, to your rosy cheeks, blood-red lips, and straight to your skirt; your ass was out since a Dimitrescu brother hiked it up, the same heir, on realising what his father’s hungry eyes were doting upon, made a feeble attempt to fix your skirt, but before his fingers, barely tainted with your slick wetness, could touch the fabric of your skirt, let alone fix it, his father ordered. “Don’t you dare lay hands on her, more than you have already.” The Lord spoke with utmost calmness, and that’s what terrified the four of you, you especially, the most.

Reluctantly but obediently they stepped away from you. You were still clinging to the wall, frozen in place. “Come on over,” You saw his gloved hand motion towards him, “My chambers need cleaning.” An ominously mischievous tone and provocative smirk tugged at his lips.

The walk to the Lord’s chambers was awkward and fearful. He had insisted you walked in front of him, and you could feel eyes ripping through your flesh, your predator ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

You were making feeble steps towards his chambers, almost there, when he interrupted you, “Halt,” he said, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, but you dare not look back at him. “Clean my study firstly.” He ordered, and waited by the door for you to turn around.

Once you turned, you were met by calculating amber eyes that peered down at you from a head held high. He stood by the doorframe, and on seeing you make weak, yet progressive steps towards him, his thunderous strides entered the chamber. He was seated on a leather chair by the time you entered, as if he’d been there the entire time. ‘Gator skin,’ you heard a rumour the one time you cleaned the Lord’s study before. ‘He tore it apart with his bare hands, and had it skinned into a chair as a trophy.’ You hadn’t believed the chamberlain until you’d seen it yourself.

On the left of it was an ablaze fireplace, and in front, was a library; not colossal, yet extreme in number. Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display.

“Do you fancy reading?” You almost jumped when his ravenous voice broke the eerie silence you were just growing accustomed to. “Yes, my Lord.” You seemed to pique his interest when he hummed after a short pause, surprised within yourself at the sudden confidence. It was clear, you preferred the father’s company to his sons’. Perhaps, you felt safe knowing he is the leash on his sons— the fear of your fears.

“Well, if your cleaning is satisfactory, perhaps… I’ll let you take some.” the Lord proposed, but somehow you knew this reward wasn’t for cleaning but something else he wanted to deem satisfactory.

You dare not utter another word and got to cleaning.

Dusting away, between books, underneath books; wiping away at the large mirror by the shelves. “What do they call you?” He asked with authority.

“Y/N Y/L, my Lord,” you hesitantly revealed. “Y/L!” He exclaimed, “You’re Y/F/N Y/L’s daughter,” he concluded in a wicked tone. With each wipe, he grew closer and closer and the horrid smile on his face grew wider and more sinister, forcing you to look back at him at a neck-snapping speed, only to catch him, still seated, gazing at you innocently.

“Mop the floors,” he requested, before adding “Maid.” As if asking your revelation of your identity fell on deaf ears that never demanded it. Without muttering, you dampen the mop and began cleaning.

This was just cruel.

You thought your saviour actually required your services, yet the man had you in the same position as his sons, except voluntarily, for you had to bend on all fours and stretch not to miss a spot, after all you were cleaning your master’s land, at his request. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ you sighed, only daring to think of it.

You heard fervent movement behind you, and the next thing you feel is your thong being pulled down till your ankles. It happened all too fast, you barely registered anything until his large hands spread you open to him. “They were right about you,” He spoke, intrigued, “Such exemplary beauty, căprița mea mică. Utterly pristine.”

Noticing your haltered movements, he quirked a brow. “Did I permit you to stop?” You choked a gasp, feeling his left hand trace your curves, making its way to squeeze your throat, while his right hand fiddled with your glistening folds. “No sir,” you breathed a sigh at the pleasure he was making you feel. “Fucking continue then.” He ordered and you did.

Maybe not a regular day in an abysmal castle. Your 9’6 Lord and Master, the fearsome and notorious, the head of the dreaded Dimitrescu family, Lord Dimitrescu himself, kneeling behind you while you wipe his floors, fingers stroking your lips, not yet penetrating, just— “Oh!” You moaned when a long, thick, wet something slithered about your pussy. Prodding at the places his very fingers grazed, now wiggling inside you.

You began panting, about to look back and begin your pleads when a strong hand grabbed your skull and forced it in place.

You were terrified; just a bit more coaxing and he could crack open your skull. You were less than half his size and half his age. What was more frightening to you was that it was just the tip of his tongue inside you. Your eyes rolled back and damn-near saw your brain as he began pushing more of it in.

Still, obediently, you wiped.

This pleased the Lord as he wrapped an arm over your waist to your legs and brought his thumb to your clit. The circular motions of figure-eights on your clit were frantic, causing an excruciating jolt of pleasure to run down your lower half, his anomaly of a tongue amplifying the feel.

You bit you lip, nearly drawing blood as the knot in your core grew unbearable. Feeling you clench around his tongue, Lord Dimitrescu replaced the oral attack with two of his fingers, stretching you so bittersweetly. The assault on your cunt was aching. He’d graze your g-spot oh-so-softly, slowly driving you to the edge yet deliberately prolonging the high tide. “You are making a mess, căprița mea mică,” he sighed, eyeing the slick dripping down your thighs, drenching you in all, and the wooden floor beneath you. “Allow me to help.” It was more imperative than offering, so it was but natural you grimaced in pain when he pulled out his fingers, moments before you were coming undone, only to spread your aching hole and spit into it.

You moaned; shamelessly, you let out a filthy, degraded moan, and the sound travelled straight to the Lord’s cock. “There, there,” he rubbed his spit on your folds, your swollen clit bathed in it, “All better — nice and clean.” He chuckled, causing goosebumps to arise on your spine and your breath to get caught in your throat when he shoved not two but three fingers smoothly into your weeping cunt.

You clenched at the sudden attack, bewildered at how easily you were being made to cum for your master yet again. He rose from his position to whisper in your ear, “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” At that moment, he had you unravelling with a curl on his fingers inside you.

You screaming a string of curses, the Lord greatly amused by your sailor’s tongue.

He stood up, without a word or move. “Clean the mess you made.” He gestured down at your juices that he flowed out of your cunt. “And while you’re down there…” He unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock that sprang free, a demonic thing, it was; certainly, not pleasurable to accommodate inside, unless…

“Don’t be afraid, maid.” His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring.

“It can’t hurt you, unless I want it to.” His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you. You wavered off the uneasiness, still eager to please your master. Grabbing his colossal cock, you began to work out the large vein on the underside of it. He hissed when you applied pressure, using both your hands in an attempt to hold it; in vain it went. You licked the tip, before slowly taking it in your mouth.

“That’s it. Show me you’re an all-rounder, maid; not just for wiping floors, show me that’s not all you can do bent over.” He chuckled, something so sinister about how his own vulgarity was so amusing to him. However, you weren’t opposed to it. After all, orders were orders; that’s one thing your father did teach you, if ordered directly, orders are orders, even if they’re fatal.

You gagged on less-than half the length, but your quick save by jacking off the inches unabsorbed by your mouth was much appreciated by the man above you. His large palm resting atop your head, slowly caressing your messed up hair into place. The gesture nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

“You take it like it was made for you.” He cooed. You couldn’t help but put your guard down, making it unknowingly advantageous to the Lord who grabbed the same head he was caressing, as support to fuck your throat. He only chuckled at the stream of years flowing through your glassy eyes. Your flushed face tainted with tears was now red with lack of oxygen. His cock was slamming past your uvula; the bell tolls, as if he were morally obligated to.

“So young, yet you suck cock like you’ve been a whore all your life.” He chuckled to himself, before thrusting in deeply, and cumming inside your mouth. You swallowed his ichor without being told, when you stuck out your tongue to show him, he groaned, face contorted in some form of arousal, as he lifted your frame to his, kissing you with neediness. His lips were surprisingly tender, beard teasing your face while his tongue, one that swept your insides clean, forced entry into your mouth, which you hesitantly permitted.

“Dust by the fireplace, better get to it.” He said, pulling away from you. You grabbed the supplies and moved towards the said place. You hadn’t noticed when the flames became blazing, a conflagration, either way, you dipped the mop in the bucket beside you, and began wiping.

You couldn’t get much done, however, for from underneath your skirt, you felt something big prod your entrance. Rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, Lord Dimitrescu positioned himself behind you, before shoving the whole of it in. You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure. “My…-my Lord!” You moaned, trying to form an actual sentence, “This is highly inap…-inappropriate!” You managed to muster. “Really now?” He questioned, you don’t know if it was a scoff or a laugh following his amused tone. “Who,” he paused, pushing you forward. You were now a stone’s throw away from the fire, every thrust into you pulled you back, which, despite the burn of the stretch, made you grateful for you were pulled back from the fireplace. “Do you think,” he continued, thrusting into you harder each time; the heat of the fire threatening to melt you whole, grazing your face, delicately. “You are.” He finished, slamming into you so hard, you began to cum, but before you could unravel before him, he pulled out, causing your pussy to spasm around the eerie nothingness of the room.

You were reduced to a whining mess, no words coming out of your abused mouth. “What’s the matter, maid? You want to cum?” he questioned, gripping your curvy hips. “Even when you’ve missed a spot?” One of his arms snaked on your waist, the other roamed about your spine, laying you down, before pulling your head up by your hair.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he groaned, cock pressing against your slit, it’s new home, yet not in. He grabbed the bucket of freshwater besides you, pouring it all on the floor. “Let’s get that spot, shall we?” He said, before doing something so degrading, you felt disgusted in your own skin for enjoying.

Your hot body was used to wipe the floors of Lord Dimitrescu’s study. Ripping your blouse into shreds, he groped your breasts that had sprang free, before positioning your chest on the wet floor, and swaying you left to right.

This man, your ancestry’s master, was balls deep inside your abused pussy, fucking away the life in you, while using your tits as a mop. You moaned as your burning skin made contact with the icy puddle. “That’s how you wipe, căprița mea mică, so much better.” He grunted, the pace, the size, the girth, the sheer brutality of his sex was like a punch to the gut, nonetheless your poor cunt made feeble attempts to get accustomed to the ongoing torture. Your cunt clenched around his cock while your breasts swayed from side to side, the carpet had soupçons of water, courtesy of the fervency with which you “wiped”, which it soaked up instantly.

“My Lord, I’m going to- oh!” You yelped when he pulled out, shoving his fingers inside you and curling them. You hadn’t anticipated this, body reacting on sheer adrenaline junk that’s been coaxed out of you since the incident with this man’s sons in the halls of his castle.

Then, as fate would have it, mocking your misery, you squirted all over the floor. The juices gushing out your cunt, drowning the man that coaxed them out. He giggled, like a fucking teenager, while you fought for consciousness. Sure, you’d had sex before, he was a chef in this very place who mysteriously disappeared, but a man Lord Dimitrescu’s size? You had never held your head high around the family, avoiding their gaze like a thief, and now he’s fucking you like a stinging reminder of why you should’ve stayed in the shadows— remained a silhouette.

You were sore from the previous two orgasms, yet the man made it look easy to coax your third. The hostility your cunt displaying, clenching around the wanted, yet unmanageable penetration, was enough to unravel Lord Dimitrescu, you following with pornographic screams.

His grip on your hip and scalp was tormenting, but it soon loosened when he pumped into you one last time, pussy milked dry, filled with his overflowing load. He exhaled sharply, pulling up your panties, tapping your ass lightly. “You have been amazing — definitely considering promoting you.” He seemed very proud of his joke. Leaning down to catch your ear where you’d nearly passed out on the ground, he whispered in your ear. “Now, clean up.”

He left a moment after, stopping at the doorway to catch a glimpse of your sexy, worn out body. “My room’s next.” He said, leaving you alone with a shit load of mess to clean.

Your mess.

main masterlist. more from “resident evil: village”.

#lord dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu genderbent #lady dimitrescu #genderbent #lord dimitrescu smut #lord dimitrescu x reader #lord dimitrescu x reader smut #size difference #resident evil #resident evil village #dimitrescu #monster smut #vampire smut #lord dimitrescu sons #dimitrescu family #resident evil dimitrescu #maid dress #slutty maid

1K notes · View notes

luxurijh · 1 year

Text

jaehyun fanfics recommendation.

last update: 25 dec 2022 (merry xmas!)

disclaimer! these works belong to the respective authors and are not mine. i will continously update this post as i found more and more gems (read: jae fic) on the internet).

warning! most of the works are containing smut aka not safe for work aka explicit sexual contents, so minors PLEASE do not engage.

some of fics are in indonesian (i'll give it a note).

you're welcome to message me if you have any jaehyun fics recommendation (i'll put them here if i like it).

here we go!

One-shots.

all these years. by @domjaehyun. jaehyun x female reader. fluff, angst, smut, slowburn. college!au. childhood friend to lover!au. how does your relationship with jaehyun stand the test of time? note: i LOVE this soooo much! the slowburn drives me nuts but jaehyun is SO fucking flirty i wanna punch his face.

domaine de la romanée. by @heartau. jaehyun x female reader. angst, smut, slowburn. richkid!au. warning: very, very, very explicit sexual content. even the most pure become tainted when their eyes meet his. this was doomed from the start; you knew it was dangerous, you knew it was bad - but all those thoughts left your mind the second he made you feel good.

dive. by @yougotthatbilly. jaehyun x female reader. smut. fratboy!au, college!au. warning: oiud smoking.

sleep well, princess. by @anashins. jaehyun x female reader. ft. big brother!taeyong. fluff, angst, romance, smut, slow burn. big brother's bestfriend!au, childhood friend-to-lover!au.

hot girl bummer. by @domjaehyun. jaehyun x female reader. smut. tw: dubcon, potentially triggering. you hate your brother's bestfriend.

team captain. by @smileysuh. jaehyun x female reader. smut, crack. fratboy!au, college!au. jaehyun is a notorious lady killer, everyone wants him. except for you, yuta's bestfriend.

mr.jung. by @domjaehyun. jaehyun x female reader. smut. ceo!jaehyun. secretary!reader.

kating ganteng. by lanlunanit. jaehyun x female oc. fluff, angst. college!au. tw: car crash, potentially triggering. written in indonesian. fics in chat format.

wine, vinyls, and flannels. by teenfinite123. jaehyun x rose. nctpink. angst. romance. leaving a friend's crowded apartment party, playing vinyls, and drinking cheap wine at 1 am.

please stay. by Diana_1203. jaehyun x rose. nctpink. angst, romance. for she was just a mere princess who was head over heels for the brave warrior.

Chaptered.

Completed.

ethereal. by @celestialmark. jaehyun x female reader. fluff, slice of life, slow burns. he was the living definition of ethereal, and his beauty shone the most on the inside.

aurora. sequel of ethereal by @celestialmark. jaehyun x female reader. fluff, angst, slice of life, slow burns. even when you were in the middle of breaking his heart, he still made the conscious decision to see the best in you. note: i love this masterpiece SOOOOO fucking much! so much feeling that's wrecking my heart (i'm SO glad it has a happy ending). i hate how jaehyun is so surreal, too beautiful to be true. wishing we have this kind of jaehyun at least one in our live.

On-going.

secrets of the hill. by @baobaojng. jaehyun x female reader. angst, fluff. 1800's jaehyun!au, arranged marriage!au. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6? inactive. in the present day you are confused; you do not know who you are and you find yourself on an impossible quest to find out— until you wake up in the 1800’s, engaged to a hauntingly beautiful and uptight man who tries to figure out why the girl he’s been betrothed to has drastically changed. note: i love this fic sooooooooo much and it makes me sad the last time the author updated this fic was back then in 2020 ;;

619 notes · View notes

liaromancewriter · 4 months

Text

Falling in Love

Premise: Cassie knows protecting her heart from Ethan is a lost cause. Set after the opera scene in book 1, chapter 12.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst Trope: Pining Words: 910

A/N: Submission to @choicesfebruary2024 Eros. I'm also using @choicesflashfics week 70, prompt 2 and @creativepromptsforwriting prompt 1065. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills.

Cassie Valentine was falling in love with the tall, dark, handsome man beside her. Ethan Ramsey had enthralled her from the first moment she laid eyes on him.

What about him made her heart yearn for love so powerful it conquered all? The kind poets waxed melodically about. One that lasted for a lifetime and beyond.

Light from a street lamp cut a swath through the windshield, momentarily brightening the close quarters of the front seats of Ethan’s luxury sedan. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan’s fingers grip and flex around the steering wheel as he took a right turn at the intersection.

The low sound of a classical concerto drifted from the speakers. The melody was hauntingly beautiful and sad, reminiscent of the doomed romance in the opera they’d just attended. It reminded her that not everything was written in the stars.

Alessandra and Damarion weren’t the only ones condemned to a life of loneliness, never to realize their love because pride and circumstances kept them apart. Some relationships just weren’t meant to be, no matter how much one could wish otherwise.

And yet, every time she bounced back, he pulled her back down.

Before that night in Miami, she made a promise to herself to move on with her life. But the longing in his blue eyes and the ache in his gruff voice whenever he let his guard down was her undoing. And, in a single moment, with the sound of waves crashing in the background and the feel of his arms tightening around her, she fell all over again.

Tonight was no different. Cassie remembered how he held her hand during the performance, quietly comforting her when she needed it. The way he gently wiped a tear from her cheek, his breath catching at the sparks rising where skin touched skin.

No matter how much Ethan said otherwise, she knew they weren’t wrong for each other. She might have initiated the kiss in Miami and tonight, but he wasn’t immune to the attraction between them despite his denials.

“You know how complicated this is,” he said from behind her as she stared holes into the patterned wall of the private box.

Cassie turned around because hiding her emotions made her feel like a coward. His eyes pleaded with her to understand, but she couldn’t pretend anymore.

“It’s not complicated, Ethan. Not for me.”

When he raised a hand to brush a lingering tear from the corner of her eye, she leaned into it, savoring the feel of his touch. That was all it took to break through his barriers. With a curse, he pulled her into his arms. His stubble was rough against her skin, but the kiss was soft and tender.

She heard the groan deep in his throat as he closed the distance between them. His hands ran through her hair, and her arms circled around his waist. Their bodies fit together like they always were intended to become one.

And then the house lights came on, chasing away the shadows where their hunger for each other thrived, replaced by the stark light of reality.

The distance from the opera house to her apartment building was short, prolonged only by his measured adherence to the speed limit and traffic lights conspiring to keep them together for a while longer.

Cassie’s heart sank as the ride came to an end. He pulled up outside her building, the engine running as he switched the gear to park. She felt his eyes on her, the poignant silence stretching in the darkness, and wondered if he regretted the kiss tonight, just like he had all those months ago in Miami.

And she knew it would break her heart if he said the words that confirmed her worst fears. So, she wouldn’t let him, she told herself resolutely, and opened the car door.

“We are so much more than you let us be,” Cassie whispered morosely, unable to let it go as she exited the car.

A wave of longing crashed over him at hearing his innermost thoughts coming from her lips. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, frozen as denial and apprehension resurfaced. The slamming of the passenger door shook him out of his daze.

“Cassie, wait!” Ethan called out urgently, reaching to open the driver’s side door. But he was too late.

Stricken at the moment lost forever, he watched dejectedly as she jogged up the steps, stopping only to unlock the street door, and disappeared inside.

He stared into the darkness, wishing for her to return, but he knew it was pointless. He checked the rearview and side mirrors and pulled out into the light traffic on the quiet residential street.

Ethan told himself it was better this way. He was an attending. She was an intern. Unsavory gossip aside, he couldn’t be the reason she failed to become the amazing doctor he knew she had the potential to be.

When he stopped at the next red light, he inhaled deeply, and the lingering scent of her floral perfume hit his senses. For a lone second, Ethan asked himself who he was kidding. He was sinking deep, and there was no rescue in sight.

Then the light turned green, the driver behind him honked impatiently, and that solitary reflection of surrendering to what could be vanished into the darkness as if it had never been.

-----------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @lucy-268 @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate @zealouscanonindeer

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart choices #choices fic writers creations #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #cfwc fics of the week #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

48 notes · View notes

trahald-the-burrower · 8 months

Text

Thoughts on "The Destruction of the Ring" (featured in "The End of All Things" on the Return of the King sountrack), sung in Sindarin by Renee Flemming.

I found myself wondering what on Middle-Earth was being sung in elvish when Gollum reclaims the Ring in Mount Doom; the music is hauntingly beautiful.

This part. (Lookit my boy, I love him. He be like <:D)

I've been researching this for quite a while. You can find the supposed lyrics and translation online, but I've come to realize that it's not entirely accurate, so I'm struggling a little bit (I'm not a linguist, here, and I struggle just comprehending English words in music without looking at the lyrics, nevermind Sindarin).

But this is what the lyrics are/translation is said to be:

Mi naurath Orodruin (Into the fires of Orodruin) Boe hedi i Vin (The One must be cast) Han i vangad i moe ben bango (This is the price that must be paid) Sin eriol natha tûr în úgarnen (Only thus its power will be undone) Sin eriol um beleg úgannen (Only thus a great evil unmade) Ú cilith 'war (There is no other choice) Ú men 'war (There is no other way) Boe vin mebi (One of you must take it) Boe vin bango (One of you must pay)

But as I'm watching the scene and listening to the soundtrack, it's not in this order at all. And not only that, but some of the Sindarin words don't sound correct -- I was looking through the Sindarin dictionary, and some of these words aren't even IN it. Probably just misspellings. But, based on what I was able to translate myself using the dictionary, it does seem to be at least close enough to what's shown above. (For example, Mi naurath Orodruin seems actually to be Mi naur nautha, which basically means "Into the fires from whence it came/was conceived", so it amounts to the same thing but the word Orodruin was not actually used.)

Anyway, this part of the song begins when Frodo decides to keep the Ring (though the lyrics might be misspelled/slightly incorrect, I'll still use them)...

Sin eriol natha tur in ugarnen (Only thus its power will be undone)

When Gollum gets it back: Sin eriol um beleg úgannen (Only thus a great evil unmade)

Ú cilith 'war (There is no other choice)

Boe vin mebi (One of you must take it)

Boe vin bango (One of you must pay)

And that's about what I could make out that definitely seemed to match. And it's quite sad. Poor Sméagol.

I do like, though, that it says "ONE of you", as if it could have gone either way.

#gollum #sméagol #the lord of the rings #smeagol #lord of the rings #smeagolsfriend #andy serkis #peter jackson #lotr #sindarin #renee flemming #elijah wood #frodo baggins #howard shore #the return of the king #rotk

61 notes · View notes

cliozaur · 3 months

Text

It’s a gut-wrenching chapter, in which Hugo argues that misery, hunger, destitution and like drive women to become societal slaves (sex workers). However, later in the book, when it’s not just misery but someone else (Thenardier) exploiting his daughters, Hugo only slightly alludes to this situation (which is in fact much worse) without delving into it.

“It weighs upon the woman, that is to say, upon grace, weakness, beauty, maternity. This is not one of the least of man’s disgraces.” Is Hugo perhaps referencing his own experience with "society's slaves"? I’m not sure, but he could.

Ah, the parallel between Fantine and Enjolras in this chapter! Both turning into marble towards the end. The entire subsequent paragraph is hauntingly beautiful. Sometimes, death seems a preferable option to such an existence. Hugo appears to have given up on society's capacity to solve these problems, turning to God as the sole source of hope and solution. From this we can conclude that Fantine is doomed.

#les mis letters #lm 1.5.11 #les miserables #fantine #thenardier #enjolras

26 notes · View notes

heartcasebullet · 2 years

Text

enid made a mistake going outside.

its 2 in the morning, and wednesday decided to indulge in a cello concerto. enid lies awake in bed as the vibration of the string's friction makes its first notes--high, dipping down then climbing back up; a fickle dance, a premonition of doom. often, enid doesn't recognize any of the songs amongst wednesday's library, however, enid's head perks up upon realizing that, for once, she does recognize the melody.

admittedly, yes, it was a nice rendition of the piece. but it's 2 in the fucking morning.

so, begrudgingly, enid got out from under her covers and dragged herself outside, bringing along a blanket to combat the night's air. her feet stomp outside as she huffs in frustration, deafened by the crescendo that wednesday leans into. enid bears her teeth at how this– this stupid oversized violin acts as her 2 am alarm.

when wednesday finishes playing, enid will give her a piece of her mind and a lecture about not holding a concert for the field's spiders while people are sleeping.

as enid sat back, she soaked in the scene in front of her. fronting the moonlight, wednesday played to an audience of none; none, except enid, to bear witness to the hauntingly beautiful concerto. none to view wednesday at this angle except her, none to witness how wednesday slid and pulled the bow with the precision of a butcher and the grace of a murder.

has wednesday always looked this perfect in the moonlight? did the light always bounce and illuminate the curves of her nose? was her skin always this smooth, or was it just the moonlight playing cruel tricks on her?

once wednesday finishes, enid forgets about scolding her and blurts out the first thought in her mind.

"swan lake? i didn't know you were into that kind of stuff."

wednesday responds—a minuscule flinch before answering, her voice slightly breathless. "there's a lot you don't know about me."

wednesday began to take apart her cello and slot it back into the case, the nimble fingers of herself and thing unaffected by the cold. enid watches with eyebrows raised at the mechanical-like process, wondering just how many times had wednesday repeated this very action. how many times did she wake neighbors with her nightly performance? how many ballads had she missed?

then, like a ghost, she walks into the dorm, paying no attention to the werewolf on the balcony, muttering softly as she passes. "i prefer to keep it that way."

enid waits until wednesday is inside to release the sigh she unknowingly held. "you dummy. i want to know everything about you."

#wenclair #the 'wednesday plays swan lake' agenda #wednesdayaddams #enid x wednesday #enidsinclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday netflix #sapphic #wlw #ficlet

253 notes · View notes

hypocriticaltypwriter · 2 months

Note

More questions upon ye!!!

So is this bride in the au! Is that supposed to be Crysta/Cheri or someone else?

Did Michael go out and find a random bride, or did the boys pick her specifically?

Are the four of them fighting for her affection or are they trying to split the love equally with her?

Question in relation to the Billy Idol song: it has plenty of references to virginity loss and pregnancy out of wedlock. In this au do the boys plan on consummating the marriage~? And back on the question I had before about them fighting over her, are they also fighting over who gives her a baby first?

Does she even love the boys at all (maybe got some Stockholm Syndrome) or is she doomed to be trapped and unhappy forever?

Thank you 💜

SQUEEEEE IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO GET TO YOUR ASK LAV!! Thank you so so so much for the questions! I loved spending my freetime this past week thinking of some good answers! As well as developing the AU a little more, so thank you truly! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

The bride is Chrysta, yes! Though, the AU itself is for my own self indulgence in my weird addiction for strange dramatic vampire ideas/dreams, but I want the AU to be for everyone! So honestly, anyone can imagine the bride to be whoever they want! An X reader, insert, OC, go ahead and imagine your own story and take on the boys I don't mind!

Did Michael just find a rando for the boys, or did they choose her specifically? Well... Yes AND no. Like in just the Lost Boys in general with Chrysta, she helped out with Grandpa Emerson or stopped by with some meals her aunt made, so she knew Mister Emerson well. In the AU, the only difference is that she knows all of the Emersons well and visits to bring by some flowers for the Church's garden!

She had become an offer after one late night when her curiosity about the holy grounds got the best of her late one night and she went exploring, finding some rather pretty flowers and picking some to possibly take home or give to the Emersons, when she found the almost hauntingly beautiful red and white roses she'd ever seen climbing up a wall and gate she just had to steal a few! But as she went to take some, a noise startled her, and her finger caught a nasty thorn, leaving a good injury that stained the thorn and petals in her blood. The sound was Michael, who quickly told her to get away from there and hurry back home before she got into any more trouble.

So, the boys hadn't exactly seen or found her, but it was her blood they were immediately drawn to like moths to a flame. And it didn't take long for Michael to know exactly who they were demanding for either as he had a recollection of that night he caught a very curious and blissfully unaware Chrysta getting a little too close to the vampires domain...

The boys try and do their best to share their love for their new coven member! But sometimes they get a bit over protective and territorial. Especially Marko and Paul, they aren't big fans of sharing when they don't feel like it..

Ah, yes... Their was supposed to be a little Honeymooning lovin after they had got their hands on her... But consummation to a bride who's pretty much horrified of you and your very being isn't exactly easy - and they weren't going to force her or harm her, of course not! They wanted their new pet to like them. They needed their pretty little creature to fall for them as hard as they did for her.

And baby bats in the future are still in consideration... There would probably be a fight for who gets a baby first, but without a doubt it'd be David. He always has the first say when it comes to the vampires.

And FINALLY... Does she fall for the boys? Im... Still figuring this out- CAUSE ON ONE HAND SOME SORT OF BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ESQUE LOVE STORY HAS ME IN A CHOKE HOLD DONT GET ME WRONG...

But I'm just... There's something about a tragic doomed ending that just has me even more by the throat - something like Phantom Of The Opera or even Labyrinth that has this... Creature in desperate need of love but the way they try to achieve it through cruelty and harming others just to keep the very thing they want like a treasure to own rather than a person is something I can't help but love. It's so wrong but oh my GOD the way is written or seen on the big screen feels so right. 😭

It's just a guilty pleasure. I'd REALLY love to touch on it more with this AU.. 👀

#cherry rambles #🦇🤍White Wedding AU🤍🦇#fruitbats🦇🍒#the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #selfship #self ship community #self ship #fictional other

14 notes · View notes

sonicphobia0601 · 2 months

Text

Siren Barnaby Headcanons!

Oops.

*He is a siren, NOT a mermaid. Gets annoyed when he gets confused for one.

*His singing voice is hauntingly beautiful and lures anyone to their doom.

*Asexuals and aroaces are not safe from him. He would genuinely get excited about singing about something they desire. Like garlic bread.

*Writers are definitely not safe! He would sing "A Million Gruesome Ways to Die" to lure them in. And add a few deaths that were not included, such as being shocked by eels or being suffocated by an octopus.

*He swims REALLY FAST.

*His pupils are slits, so when he is on land, he wears contacts to hide his siren eyes.

I'll add more later.

#bbu barnaby #billie bust up #siren #headcanon

15 notes · View notes

vaguely-concerned · 2 years

Text

the previews of nona the ninth have started a full on brainworm rave within my cranium by just like... laser focusing in on my mercymorn & augustine feels. and since I have several of their main scenes bookmarked on my audio book app (I am normal), I started going over some of them again and like... wow they’re fucking me up from their very first scene together.

what really stood out to me this time is that augustine goes up to hold the eulogy for cytherea specifically to lessen john’s pain; in response to god’s grief augustine takes on the task/responsibility of easing it as he doesn’t for either mercy’s or his own. while mercy talks he mostly just listens, respectfully, even (for the first and last time don’t worry lol). I think he probably did care about cytherea in herself too, as much as his motheaten hollowed-out heart allows for at this point (he seems to be quite upset by someone messing around with her body, even aside from thinking it’s mercy doing it), but when you read how the scene goes down augustine only takes an active part in response to john’s distress. he rests his hand on john’s shoulder in comfort and he gets up ‘like it hurts’ to say the words for cytherea. this pattern they apparently set up from the very beginning where mercy confronts john with the harsh truths he doesn’t want to acknowledge -- “There they go, John“, “She said, ‘We had the choice to stop’” -- and augustine smoothes things over in the wake of it, removes discomforts; still does the board meetings he hates for him, as it were.

like. holy shit. imagine having eldest daughter trauma (gender neutral) with god himself for ten thousand years. “Come, swear your loyalty, my son—my brother—beloved—Lyctor—saint.” no boundaries buddy you can only be something in relation to me!!! ‘he could have gone anywhere, but he stuck with me’. what a mess! what an absolute mess, especially knowing it’s been like that right from the beginning. he gave john (and john’s dreams -- his empire) everything: his life, his time, his loyalty, his brother, and john took it. john took it all, including mercy at the end, like she was just another... thing no one would miss. what a brilliant dark mirror of what gideon thinks she wants harrow to do to her but which a) harrow has the soul and sense not to do or want and b) would doom them both if it actually happened. the subtexual/implicit mirrors of the process of lyctorhood just aaaaallll over this empire john has built around him, even & especially with those closest to him. NO normal vibes on this haunted fucking space station I’m going to create an interpersonal dynamic that is so incredibly toxic and insidious it takes you thousands of years to figure out something’s very very off and by then it’s waaaaay too late, we’ve all got rivers of blood on our hands by now and no clean water left anywhere

(also “Ten thousand years, and I never heard her say an unkind word, except when it was very funny. She loved us unguardedly, all of us, which showed both her patience and her enormous capacity.”

the ‘my bones will rest easy next to your bones’ speech deservedly gets a lot of recognition but I’m always struck by the dry mundane loveliness of that description, the resigned rotted fondness. and he immediately undercuts it by kind of dunking on loveday too which is soooo... *tirls hair around my finger* ahaha nooo stop you’re such a shitty human being you’ll make me completely obsessed with you ;) )

augustine will be like... *turns up to not be the worst person in the room only because john and mercy are also in said room and they’ve got a pretty level playing field going now after all these years, has a moment where after a whole book of a sort of glib mean-spirited ennui he suddenly says something so hauntingly beautiful and profound you get dizzy, goes back to being the worst person in the room again like nothing ever happened* and then you just have to live with ‘Bury me next to you in that unmarked grave, Joy’ forevermore.

augustine and mercy praying only for their own cessation at the end and not even getting that. their best friend and dad and spouse and boss and king and god... is god. and they couldn’t even get that unmarked grave together. I just. hello darkness my old friend etc.

tl;dr: someone on the internet had to be an augustine stan by sheer law of averages and I am devastated again and again to find that it is me. I am that person.

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #harrow the ninth #augustine the first #mercymorn the first #john gaius #please understand that I am unhinged about this #seeing the john prologue and being like 'hm. have I misjudged him?'#and then looking alllllllll around him for how he affects those he 'loves' and going 'no. no probably not' lmao #I cannot explain to you the strange surge of joy I got just seeing mercy's dialogue in the preview. you could feel the... herness of it all #just from that #god why did I have to get attached to the horrible old war criminals there's not going to be anything good for anyone here fhksjdas

364 notes · View notes

arthistoriansdiary · 4 months

Text

Ophelia

Sarah Bernhardt, Ophelia (n.d.). White marble in a wood frame, 70 x 59 cm. Private collection, Normandy, France.

In the realm of art and literature, few scenes are as hauntingly captivating as Ophelia's tragic demise in William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Sarah Bernhardt, celebrated for her unparalleled prowess on the stage, extends her artistic expression into the medium of sculpture with her rendition of Ophelia. This piece, a rare surviving work signed by Bernhardt, offers a unique visual exploration of one of literature's most poignant figures.

A Fusion of Art and Tragedy:

Bernhardt's Ophelia is not merely a sculptural representation; it is a narrative frozen in marble. Inspired by Shakespeare's vivid depiction of Ophelia's final moments, Bernhardt captures the essence of the character's tragic end through the medium of high relief. The sculpture portrays Ophelia in a bust form, her head elegantly turned, eyes closed, as if in peaceful resignation to her fate.

The Garland of Flowers:

Adorned with a garland of flowers, the sculpture's Ophelia is enveloped by water that seamlessly merges with her tresses. Bernhardt’s attention to detail is manifest in the intricately carved flowers and the delicate waves of the 'glassy stream', creating a texture that contrasts strikingly with the smooth, bulging form of Ophelia's exposed breast. This duality of texture highlights the sculpture's technical mastery and artistic depth.

A Moment Between Life and Death:

Though depicted at the moment of her death, Bernhardt's Ophelia exudes an undeniable eroticism through her sensuous open-mouthed expression, overt nudity, and languid pose. This portrayal suggests not despair but an ecstatic consummation, presenting death not as a moment of loss but as a profound, albeit tragic, fulfillment. It's a bold interpretation that challenges traditional readings of Ophelia's character, suggesting a deeper, perhaps more complex relationship between the heroine and her fate.

Bernhardt's Artistic Legacy:

Sarah Bernhardt's Ophelia stands as a testament to her multifaceted talent and her ability to traverse the worlds of acting and sculpture with equal finesse. The sculpture serves not only as a memorial to Ophelia's tragic story but also as a reflection of Bernhardt's own interpretive genius and her capacity to imbue marble with the breath of life and emotion.

Reflecting on Ophelia:

In Bernhardt's Ophelia, we are invited to reconsider the narrative of the doomed heroine, seeing her not as a victim of circumstance but as a figure of complex emotional and existential depth. The sculpture asks us to ponder the thin line between life and death, the beauty found in the tragic end, and the eternal resonance of Shakespeare's work through the lens of Bernhardt's sculptural vision.

Your Perspective:

How does Sarah Bernhardt's sculptural interpretation of Ophelia challenge or enrich your understanding of the character? Does this portrayal alter your perception of Ophelia's final moments as an act of despair or an embrace of the inevitable?

#SarahBernhardt #Ophelia #SculptureArt #Hamlet #ShakespeareArt #MarbleSculpture #ArtHistory #FrenchArtists #TheatreAndArt #LiteraryArt #TragicHeroine #RenaissanceArt #ClassicLiterature #ArtisticExpression #WomenInArt #Sculptors #ArtBloggers #VisualNarratives #ArtAndLiterature

7 notes · View notes

waffelteufel · 2 years

Text

Unrelated random Thelyss family headcanons i put on twitter a long time ago that I still like:

Despite Verin's golden retriever attitude at first glance he is actually a genius strategist and leader type who is able to make excellent tough decisions. He also beats Essek at chess every single time and Essek hates it.

Essek always cheats in every game he plays with Verin during family reunions so Verin wouldn't be surprised to hear of the treason lmfao.

Deirta probably figured out Essek stole the beacons almost immediately, but he is still her son whom she does love, contrary to Essek's belief. She is aware she is far from being a perfect mother despite being deemed a perfect soul, especially with how distant she's been and how much pressure she's put on her sons. There's some heavy psychological stuff going on. One of the reasons Essek went unnoticed for 3+ years? Deirta noticed where he got sloppy and secretly covered for him. On one hand she can't have her den suffer such a scandal, on the other hand she doesn't want her stupid unconsecuted son to be executed. She might think herself a terrible mother but she would never admit it out of shame. Essek refused consecution so she feels like he doomed himself with no chance of recovering. He was a difficult child but she still sees herself when she looks at him and it's killing her.

She is basically committing treason every time she keeps HIS treason a secret and it feels like she dug herself a hole even though Essek's already lying in his. Their relationship is worsening with each passing year.

The Thelyss family is actually unusually tall and lanky for drow standards and Verin is the tallest out of all of them. Someone had to compensate for Essek stealing all of the brains.

Unusually and very out of character, Essek played matchmaker for Verin and a crush of Verin's once for the hell of it, and it worked and he honest to god believes he must have peaked socially in that moment because it all went downhill ever since lmao.

Essek's father had a beautiful singing voice and Essek's most treasured memory of him is his father singing him to sleep with hauntingly beautiful (and forbidden lolthian) lullabies when he couldn't trance yet. Essek still remembers the tunes too.

Essek and Verin have dozens of siblings that aren't related to them by blood, because they are their mother's children from past lifes. The family is so big that you lose track of everything, and neither Essek nor Verin are particularly close to those other siblings because of the disconnect that consecution causes within a family.

Deirta gave birth to her sons outside the range of a beacon on purpose, because she is tired of "losing" her kids after they start remembering their past lifes. After Essek found out he became enraged, because of all the pressure it had put on him and his brother during their entire youth once it was clear they weren't old souls. In the end, we are but selfish creatures.

Deirta and Essek would forgive each other in an instant, if they just gave each other the chance. Everybody in the family still cares for each other but they are all so fucking dysfunctional that nobody believes it to be true.

#essek thelyss #deirta thelyss #verin thelyss #critical role #i talk sometimes

89 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 1 month

Note

I like concept of unsettling siren!reader

Big doll eyes that stares at you emptyly fast silent moving creature

Shiny scales with bright colors that is cold to touch

Full pluned pinkish lips hiding behind them very sharp teeth

Such alien thing makes you wanna getting closer he looks so pretty from afar but you doomed to getting closer

Hauntingly beautiful siren reader. Big, beautiful, black eyes that look empty when you stare into them for too long. Full lips that hide fangs behind them, claw-like nails and shimmering scales, a body draped in strings of pearls, sea weed handing off of them, hair long and black against their brown skin. They're beautiful but their something so obviously off about them that it's obvious they aren't human.

#{eye's inbox}#{👁️ inbox}

5 notes · View notes

love4heejayke · 10 months

Text

SYNOPSIS: Born from the full moon's light, Y/N is sent by her witch aunt on a secret mission to Decilis Academy, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of the obscure energy that hovers under the Silver Millennium. However, when she saves her roomate Sooha from the attack of dark creatures with the power to fortify themselves from the energy of nightmares and discovers her secret identity, she promises not to tell her friends, but everything changes once she falls for Lee Heli, one of Decelis' star students and posibily, her past life's lover.

TAGLIST #1: (closed) @enhacolor @amarillyis @ckline35 @fairycheol @jeanbobean @heejakegf @axartia @ineedcoffeeandtherapy @rosie-is-everywhere @prdxinvade @heedeungieluvbot @jungwonnnnnnnnnnnn @bambisgirl @yebin14 @m4r1eluvs (can't tag you bae, sorry)

TAGLIST #2: (open) [comment or send ask] @bluemanifesto @ineedaherosavemeenow @ahnneyong @jiawji @aki1e @yjjungwon @vatterie @captivq @enhastolemyheart @jaxavance @dimplewonie @talia02 @cherriegyu @l1lac-dreamer @beechmoons @niki7flwoie (can't tag you all, sorry)

previous • masterlist • next

7 - The New Moon Malachites

On the border between the warm Eldorado Empire ruled by the sun and the mystical Silver Millennium veiled by the moon, stands Obsidian, the realm of dark magic and torment, emerges from the shadows with an eerie and foreboding presence. The very air is saturated with the essence of the New Moon, casting a perpetual gloom over the land. The sky above is a tapestry of twisted, swirling clouds, tinged with a sickly green hue that reflects the malevolence that permeates this realm.

The architecture of Obsidian is a fusion of haunting beauty and unsettling decay. Towers and spires, constructed of obsidian stone, reach towards the heavens like skeletal fingers, their sharp edges glinting with an unnatural sheen. The city streets are labyrinthine, lined with dilapidated buildings, their walls adorned with faded murals depicting grotesque scenes of despair and suffering.

Its flora reflects the macabre nature of the realm. Thorny vines snake along the ground, their blossoms exuding a sickly sweet scent that lures unsuspecting victims deeper into the clutches of darkness. Trees with gnarled branches reach skyward, their leaves a lifeless shade of black, rustling ominously with the whisperings of ancient curses.

The atmosphere itself feels heavy and suffocating, as if the very fabric of reality is tainted by the maleficence that thrives within this realm. Shadows dance and writhe, seemingly alive with sinister intent, their elongated forms stretching and contorting in eerie patterns across the desolate landscape.

As one ventures deeper into its heart, the true horrors of the New Moon's corruption come to light. Specters of tormented souls, twisted and contorted, wander the streets with vacant eyes and mournful cries that pierce the silence. These lost souls are the remnants of those consumed by the dark magic of the New Moon, forever trapped in a state of anguish and torment.

In this land, where the moon's corruption reigns supreme, every step forward is accompanied by a sense of impending doom. It is a realm of twisted desires, shattered hopes, and eternal suffering—a place where the boundaries between life and death, light and darkness, are blurred and distorted, leaving all who venture here forever marked by its macabre aura.

Inside the Placídium of the New Moon, where darkness weaves its web and despair reigns, a transmogrified dream parasite takes flight, now transformed into a raven of shadows. Its ebony feathers possess an ethereal iridescence, shimmering with hints of violet and midnight blue, as if infused with the essence of the night itself.

With each beat of its wings, the raven glides through the vast halls of the palace, navigating a labyrinth of gothic furnishings and hauntingly beautiful tapestries. The air is heavy with a sense of foreboding, and the walls are adorned with mirrors that reflect twisted images, distorting reality and playing tricks on the mind.

The creature's movements are graceful and calculated, as it weaves effortlessly through the treacherous maze of mirrors. Its wings, elongated and silhouetted against the dim light, possess an ethereal beauty that belies the darkness within.

With every swoop and turn, it seems to absorb the very essence of the New Moon's corruption, drawing strength from the malevolence that permeates the palace. Its presence is both mesmerizing and unsettling, a reminder of the enigmatic power that Nyx wields within her prison of mirrors.

As the raven's caw echoes through the hallowed halls, the air seems to grow colder, the shadows deepen, and an aura of mystique envelops the Placídium. It is a sight that evokes a sense of both fascination and trepidation—a symbol of the twisted magic and dark secrets that dwell within the heart of the New Moon Witch's domain.

Nyx, the Psychic Moon, is imprisoned in the dark and enigmatic mirror walls of the Placidium of the New Moon. Its ethereal and immaterial being seems to merge with the very darkness that surrounds it, giving it a presence that is both enigmatic and captivating.

Her body is surrounded by a myriad of malachite chains, tied around her waist, tangible symbols of her imprisonment and the limitation of her powers. Each chain is adorned with intricate runes, exuding a mysterious and ancient aura. The malachite, a deep and intense green, gleams in the dim light that penetrates through the gaps in the mirrors.

Nyx's hair is an ebony cascade, like the darkest shadows in the night, flowing around her pale, serene face. Her eyes, deep wells of mystery, glow with a greenish luminosity, as if they contain an infinite sea of dark secrets and knowledge.

Dressed in a dark cloak that blends in with the shadows themselves, every fold and every movement seems choreographed by the melancholy that permeates her existence.

As she walks through the infinite passages of the Mirror Dimension, her presence exudes an aura of power and mystery. Each step is calculated and wrapped in a stillness that reveals the depth of her thoughts and the strength of her will.

She notices the raven of darkness traversing her passages and smirks. Stretching her arm in the air, she forcefully crushes the parasite with her hand, the creature grunts and flaps its wings restlessly, but Nyx grins and laughs slyly as she watches the creature writhe in pain from the dream mana it it stole flowing from her fingers as she drove her long black nails into his heart and straight into his blood.

Though euphoric from fortifying herself from the life energy of mortal desires, she is still unsatisfied. The sound of the chains that became adornments on her cloak constantly reminded her of the painful betrayal she had suffered in her life, so with what little New Moon mana she could use, she turned her index finger in circles, invoking with a whisper, an illusion spell.

Praesentia in speculo, sorores lux et tenebrae.

(Presence in the mirror, sisters of light and darkness.)

There, she saw her sisters, Selene and Hecate, the radiant figures of the Silver Millennium, manifesting themselves in the illusion created by Nyx within her mirror prison. Selene, her eldest sister and the majestic queen of the Lunar Realm, radiates a silvery luminosity and transcendental serenity. Her long silver hair cascades over her shoulders, reflecting the light of the full moon that shines in her presence. Her eyes, bright as stars, emanate age-old wisdom and deep compassion. She's been training with Eugene and other Corona Plateada soldiers, teaching them stealth strikes and immobilizing techniques to use against fast-moving enemies.

Then she saw Hecate, the middle sister and mysterious priestess and guardian of the mysteries of magic. Her countenance is enigmatic and her piercing gaze seems to probe the darkest secrets of existence. Dressed in a dark robe, she is the embodiment of power and connection to the hidden realms. Her night-black hair falls in wavy strands over her shoulders, while her eyes shine with a haunting intensity. She is in the Prayer Chamber with Taho, teaching her to channel her magic through meditation.

Selene and Hecate represent opposing forces, but inextricably linked, personifying light and darkness, order and chaos, knowledge and mystery.

As Nyx gazes at the images of her sisters, fury rises in her heart, fueled by the bitterness of separation and confinement. She touched her pale hand to the mirror in an unsuccessful attempt to escape her prison, but her chains delivered a painful shock, temporarily immobilizing her. She longs for freedom and revenge, vowing to break the shackles that bind her and make darkness and chaos reign in Elysium once more, but to do so, she must, bit by bit, recruit lost allies to reclaim her ancient clan: The New Moon Malachites. The first were 6 witches who corrupted the souls of 6 humans, from this day forward, Nyx welcomed them into her clan as her daughters, summoning them to steal mana and spread her darkness far and wide, until now.

"Daughters!"

From the shadows emerged 4 witches: Melanis, The Evil Singer, Katarktia, the Kiss of Ruin, Hypateia, The Herald of Illusions and Kallosia, The Parasite of Beauty. They bow to their knees before the imposing beauty and power of their leader.

"Mother, we have arrived," said Kallosia.

"For 1500 years, thy mother hath denied thee the right to live, deeming us 'impure' and 'unworthy' of mercy, yet they!" she reflected, the images of Selene and Hecate in her mirror, "They revel in thy hypocritical light and enjoy an undeserved freedom after decimating our people!"

"Traitorous fairies!" exclaimed Katarktia. "Because of them, we are doomed to share our spirits with these insignificant mortals!"

"How long shall we bear this curse, Mother?" asked Mellanis, stamping her feet. "I can scarcely wait to vanquish this body and leave this pitiful world at my feet!"

"Patience, my daughter. All things have their time; it avails not to attack with brutality ere we first devise a plan."

"Furthermore, our sister is returning from her mission. Pray that she bringeth good tidings to us," exclaimed Hypateia.

But unfortunately for the witches, Melinoe had returned in a deplorable state: her cloak was torn and dusty with sand, her hair, once silky and shiny, was dull, messy and brittle, and the malachite in her ring was cracked, causing that she staggered with each step she took in the corridor, revealing her appearance half mortal, half shadow, yet she had the strength to bow before the wide and gigantic silver mirror in which her "mother" was imprisoned.

"Mother, sisters, I have returned."

"Melinoe, I see thou hast returned unharmed, yet without victory, as always. Art thou here to recount yet another humiliating defeat?" mocked Mellanis.

"Spare me thy sarcasm! Aye, I faced Selene, the elf Soule, and the paladin Eugene, the so-called 'Boys of Destiny,' and I was defeated! But what of thee? What have thee achieved, victorious for thy mother?"

"Once again, these wretches adopted by the Full Moon, sister?" Kallosia frowned. "How did they prevail against thy power?"

"Soule proved skillful with his mystical arrows, foreseeing all my moves, whilst Eugene fiercely defended the others. Moreover, he wields the sacred sword of Artemis, the Warrior Moon. And Selene, in turn, turned my Full Moon magic against me, nullifying my spells."

"Then these 'Boys of Destiny' are not to be underestimated. Especially now that they are blessed by this fraudulent 'Mother Moon'," Katarktia exclaimed. "What shall we do, Mother?"

The Psychic Moon was about to answer her daughter, however she was stunned by 7 beams of light suddenly summoned from her glass. Although she suffered a strong impact, that didn't stop her from getting up with her chains and casting yet another spell.

Imagines lux in speculum surgant

(Let the images of light arise in the mirror)

Ut sciant veritatem et memoriam teneant

(So they may know the truth and hold the memory)

Imago vestra splendebit ante oculos eorum.

(Your image shall shine before their eyes.)

Thus, the images of 7 vampires, dressed in princely clothes in blue gold and white tones, emerged from those lights, faces which the young witches did not fail to recognize.

"There they are! Our cowardly siblings," Hypateia exclaimed with an acidic disdain in her voice.

"I do not understand, mother. What do they have to do with me?"

"Thou shalt soon find out, my dear. Draw near and bring forth thy jewel."

In slow steps, Melinoe approached the captivity of her firstborn, guided by curiosity and insecurity about her fate. She placed her open palm, containing the broken ring, and Nyx placed her hand under the broken malachite. With her magic of darkness, she reversed all damage to the gemstone, putting all the pieces together and firming it up, making it more resistant. But when the queen used her hemomancy to implant the most darkness in her blood, she moaned in pain and squeezed her eyes, feeling her body and mind increasingly dominated by her, but in the end, she sighed in relief, showing off to her sisters how imposing and beautiful she was, but with that, the sorceress warned:

"Melinoe, although thy defeat is disappointing, I shall grant thee a chance of redemption. My magic sensed that the keys to the rebirth of thy clan lie within the Decelis Academy, in Riverfield. Take my darkness to this school, awaken thy darkest nightmares, and bring them to thy side."

"And if the Boys of Destiny attack again, mother?" Katarktia questioned.

"They shall not, if thou wouldst see what thy middle sister has prepared for the mission."

When the dark fairy dismissed her "daughters", she took one last look at her sisters' likeness. Her irises glowed in shades of green, reflecting contempt and dislike for them. She gently ran her hand over the reflection and murmured:

"Ye may revel in thy petty little lives, traitors, but thy time is running out. Once free from this pathetic prison, nothing shall stop me from claiming what is rightfully mine."

With one last strike, she summoned a thick green smoke of darkness from her mirror, traversing the entire dimension of her prison. From large to small mirrors, straight to curved, the mist moved through all existing mirrors in ELYSIUM, until it split into 3, passing through 3 mirrors in the rooms of the Decelis Academy. The first was round and golden, the second, a wide silver one and the other, embedded in the door of a noble wooden wardrobe. 3 students were sleeping peacefully, but as they inhaled the evil mists, they penetrated into their bloods and ran through their subconscious and in this way, they saw their worst nightmares.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

In the recesses of Placídium of the New Moon, lies the meditation chamber of Oneria, The Nightmare Weaver. Enveloped in an air of mystery and charm, its walls, painted in a deep purple and green tone, seem to emanate a soft luminescence, creating an ethereal atmosphere in the environment. Intricate designs, depicting intertwined dreams and nightmares, adorn the walls, as if taking on a life of their own in the dim light.

A shag, dark rug covers the floor, absorbing the footsteps in a conspiratorial silence. In the center of the room stands a small ebony altar, where black scented candles flicker in a seductive dance, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Ancient runes are inscribed on the candles, an invitation to the deepest secrets of the subconscious.

Around the space, black velvet cushions invite rest and introspection. Heavy black velvet curtains are pulled back like an enigmatic veil, blocking outside light from entering the room, maintaining Oneria's mystery and privacy.

In the center of the vaulted ceiling, a subtly sparkling chandelier in silver tones, with pendant malachite, bathes the room in a mystical and soft light, casting mysterious reflections on the walls. The aroma of sandalwood and lavender incense permeates the air, providing a sense of calm and tranquility, inviting a deep immersion in the recesses of the mind.

In their quiet enclosure, the Mellanis sisters, Melinoe, Katarktia, Kallosia and Hypateia cautiously approach. The atmosphere is dense, charged with the energy of darkness and mystery that envelops Oneria in her moment of weaving dark threads.

Mellanis steps forward, breaking Oneria's concentration. With a serious tone, she begins to speak:

"Onéria, we bear tidings of import to share with thee. Thy mother..."

"Hast thou been given the mission to assail the Academy Decelis, I presume?"

"How didst thou find out...?" Kallosia asked in shock.

"Thou shouldst trust more in my offspring," she said, weaving yet another small dream parasite with her threads of darkness. "When tamed by the right hands, they skulk in shadows and move everywhere, acting as mine eyes and ears betwixt us and mortals. So, if thou canst, sister, beseech thy mother to cease her assaults upon them, on my behalf."

"Of course," Katarkatia exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "So, what sayest thou to me?"

"I shall go," the young witch nodded. "I am famished for new dreams to parasitize. By the way, sisters, feast thine eyes on this."

With 5 strands of dark purple mana embodied from the nightmares of a shadowborn vampire, the weaver wove 5 sturdy apples of darkness. As they sank their teeth into this forbidden yet powerful fruit, they tasted the dream mana absorbed and woven by the middle sister.

"A dream from a Child of the Night! Thank thee, sister," Kallosia thanked.

"I thought tormenting thy siblings to be amusing, but savoring their dreams is truly a banquet."

"This, my sisters, is but the beginning of Eclipsium Circle's vengeance. Little by little, thou shalt strike together at their weak spots, and when they least expect it, they shall pay for their slights against our clan."

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Night was falling over Estival, and a Blood Moon hung overhead, casting an eerie red glow over the dense forest. Solon, in his full werewolf form, ran desperately through the trees, his heart racing and his senses heightened.

As he leapt from branches and bushes, his blue fur ruffled in the wind, as if he were floating. Due to the power the Blood Moon gave him under him and the adrenaline rushing through his blood, he dodged and jumped faster and more agile.

The hunters, skilled and ruthless, pursued him relentlessly, firing their silver bullet guns, determined to capture him or worse, kill him. Solon fought his own nature, trying to contain his wild instincts, but the magnitude of that macabre night distorted his conscience and drove the ferocity within him.

Fear and rage swirl together as he runs through the woods, dodging bullets that slice through the air.

With each step back, darkness consumed him, and savagery took over his being. Its body curves into an attack position, its sharp claws ready to defend its life. He tries to scream, to alert the hunters that he is one of their own, but his growls and howls ring out only as threats.

Upon entering a dense forest, Solon found himself cornered, surrounded by his enemies. The adrenaline in his blood boiled, and he could no longer control his inner beast. In a moment of uncontrolled fury, he lunged at the hunters, his claws sharp as blades.

The werewolf's sharp claws lashed out, and the hunters fell one by one, lost in the shadows of the forest. The bloody sight, though involuntary, was macabre and distressing. As the Blood Moon lost its grip on him, the metamorphosis gradually ceased, and he thus reverted to his human form. However, a feeling of horror hit him as he looked down at his bloodied hands and saw the evidence of his rage.

When it ceased completely, he looked at his feet, now human again, and felt the shock invade his chest when he saw a familiar face unconscious, with a scratched and bloody throat and his clothes dirty with dirt and blood. He had short platinum hair, a thin face and a defined athletic build. With his eyes wide open in full terror and panic, he soon recognized that this was Jaan, his best friend, murdered by his fatal brutality. A choked cry escaped his lips, and he fell to his knees, overcome with pain and guilt.

"No... it can't be..." Solon stammered, falling to his knees next to the bodies. Silver tears ran down her cheeks, her claws trembling with remorse and regret. "I... I didn't want to... I never wanted to..."

Guilt and despair hit him like an overwhelming wave. He wasn't the same anymore. The Blood Moon's influence had turned him into something dark and ruthless, something he feared and didn't understand.

With a heavy heart and a restless mind, Solon awoke from the nightmare, but the impact of what he saw continued to echo in his soul, like the whispers of a woman in the wind. As he lifted his arm, he noticed that blue fur covered his pale vampire skin, then he knew something was wrong. In the entire past year that Solon had been alongside Sooha and her siblings to fight Dardan and his army of New Moon vampires, he had never had trouble controlling his werewolf half, however this was a different reality, something was awakening his werewolf form against his will and it threatened to take over his consciousness with an extraordinary rage, so he knew that he needed to face this internal battle and find a way to reconcile the beast within him with his humanity, before the darkness swallowed him completely. .

A/N: For starters:

Sowon as Mellinoe, The Shadow Caller

Yerin as Katarktia, the Kiss of Ruin

Eunha as Onería, The Nightmare Weaver

Yuju as Melanis, The Evil Singer

SinB as Kallosia, The Parasite of Beauty

and Umji as Hypateia, The Herald of Illusions

Together they are the Coven of Eclipsium Circle, Nyx's young "daughters" and the NEW elite witches of The New Moon Malachites cause their old brothers, The Childs of the Night…

It's now up to comment on your best theories about what happened to them!

16 notes · View notes