@fiulnoapte asked for an aesthetic. dynamic! accepting ! “ so don’t hate me when your blood stains my skin. ”
seen from Australia
seen from Norway

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from China

seen from South Africa

seen from Norway

seen from T1
seen from South Africa
seen from China

seen from South Africa

seen from Russia

seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from United States

seen from Hungary

seen from Saudi Arabia

seen from Czechia
seen from Germany
seen from Japan
@fiulnoapte asked for an aesthetic. dynamic! accepting ! “ so don’t hate me when your blood stains my skin. ”
DRACULA WAS dead, he could sense it in the air; like a choking hold on both he and the villagers had been released. The uneasiness remained, knowing that the creatures contained within the castle walls no longer had a master to guide them –– his own people included –– but it would disperse with time.
HE hoped.
PERCHED on the top of the tavern roof like a ghoulish ornament, his eyes remained locked on the road leading out of the village; the twisting road leading to the husk of what remained of Castlevania. Despite the settling darkness, it took the Mahjarrat no trouble to see a figure moving through the shadows of the woods outside. A straggler perhaps? Some sort of foolish creature that decided to attempt a raid? Whatever it was, it would be cut down. In a flash, he was off; tearing through the dense underbrush on all fours until he stood before the strange figure.
LIKE an animal, he raised his head and sniffed the air, eyes widening upon the realization that this was in fact NOT a beast from the castle depths, but something far more menacing.
A vampire.
❝ IT’S BRAVE of you to come alone, considering the circumstances. I know you can sense it too, Dracula’s defeat. I thought your kind would be hiding, knowing that a vampire killer has breached your little fortress, ❞ Wahisietel hissed, back spines visibly flexing under the thin fabric of his tunic, ❝ or perhaps looking for one last meal? I hate to disappoint you, but this village is already spoken for. ❞
@fiulnoapte Not-so-surprise starter
FROM THE DARKNESS, a wretched soul observes this heroe's every move, drawn by the familiar scent of an ancient blood. He watches him waltz through the ruins of his domain, like a spectre haunting those never ending corridors ( but he's the only ghost here, vicious and voracious ).
—— The last of the Țepeș... “ DISEMBODIED VOICES MERGE AS ONE, purring and growling as they echo against the old stones of the castle. —— I can only wonder what brings you here, child, far from the shelter of your burrow. “ Mocking, his words only preach the truth that he believes : dhampires are but nature's mistake, weak creatures who only take after their human genitors ( a waste of vampiric powers ). Small predators, they're no match for the fangs of a wolf.
@FIULNOAPTE - has entered the castle
@fiulnoapte
“...It has been some time,” says a gentle voice alight with haunting pensiveness, but joined by kind, wise eyes as blue as the dawn that oh so faintly crease at their corners with a smile. “Or so I think that it has. Time is not the same to me, anymore.” Years are minutes, centuries only hours, the passing of time never quite alike or the same--but Leon thinks it nonetheless a very long time since anyone had stood at the other side of the glass, seen him, heard him. Knew him, even. And it is with an old, bittersweet nostalgia that he swears he might know this boy too, somehow. “But I do know my kinsmen have failed to notice I were here, after a certain time...” Thoughtfully drawls from the reflection’s mouth, a hand poised to his side of the glass where cracks run it through--not felt from this end, but seen, pondered over as Leon looks back to the stranger behind them. “It would not surprise me if they neglected to tell such a thing then to you, either.”
@fiulnoapte meowed for a starter.
he’s here! the vaping master. last time he got away through his sheer vaping powers. but it seems that cute flyer she designed was bringing costumers in! immediately, she went over to greet him at the hostess stand. ‘ hello, and welcome to cafe a la mode! --table for one today? would you like a seat at a booth or table? ’
the kitten chirped, as she took a menu from behind the stand. he came at a great time, it wasn’t too busy. there were other girls attending to other guests. --he can see that they offer more than just food service! some of the girls are seen playing card games with costumers, or taking photos which they print out here. photos and cameras unauthorized by the cafe staff are forbidden!
🌹🌹🌹
put “🌹” in my inbox to send my muse some roses! » @fiulnoapte
❝ For me? But why?... ❞ Wasn’t it the stranger he had met only a few days ago? Charles couldn’t think of a reason why the man would give him flowers. To cheer him up perhaps? He had certainly been in a bad mood, when they had met. Whatever the reason was, though, Charles appreciated it.
❝ Thank you, monsieur. ❞
—— He's... Dead ? “ AS IF HE HAD NEVER BELIEVED IN THIS RUMOR , reality suddenly hits him through this revelation. Gone from this world, one of the greatest mind that could have been now burns in Hell as a monster. How it pains him, to see such a potential wasted, such a soul sacrificed for the greater good ( but truth be told, he was dead long before Hector even met him ). It is on his benefactor's passing that he cries, not for the vengence-hungry beast.
FINGERS CURL IN A FIST, a vice that strangulate his own emotions. Blue eyes answering to his golden gaze, tears are not bluring his winter irises , but sadness resides here nonetheless. HOW CAN HE BLAME A SON FOR THE NEEDED DEATH OF HIS GENITOR ? Understanding ô so well the threat that Dracula was to this world, to his kind, he can only pity the poor man for making such a choice, sharring his woe while anger and frustration silently creep in. —— Was there no way for him to be saved ? “ STANDING LIKE A STATUE, the prodigal son of a terrible legend reminds him of those heroes from his childhood : Aeneas victorious, he could also pose as Perseus, holding the head of Medusa. But even if songs might bless his deeds, Hector is not quite sure he will sing them - for there is no greater tragedy than parricide.
@FIULNOAPTE
and one for the best boy tbh
@fiulnoapte