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see-arcane · 4 days

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It's a special day in Dracula!

Jonathan experiences a flashback to the Horrors, Mina experiences bisexuality in the wild, and the poor nameless Pretty Girl in Piccadilly rides out of the story, parcel in hand and chic cartwheel hat on, oblivious to the Count stalking after her. In honor of the anonymous young lady who proves for a third time that Dracula and Mina have literally the exact same taste—Jonathan, Lucy, random beauties on the street—I wanted to take a crack at giving her an identity.

But I am also indecisive as hell, so she can be one of a number of pretty persons of note. For example…

Miss Piccadilly #1: Clarimonde

My original favorite choice, if only because I love the idea of Clarimonde still cruising around after the heartbreak she left behind in her own story, “La Morte Amoureuse” (The Dead Woman in Love), aka “Clarimonde.” She is now and always the undead Parisian party queen of my heart, but I could see her traveling around to dabble in hedonism in other corners of the world. Naturally she has to go and catch the attention of the local aristos. Human or otherwise.

But, of course, she is psychic and can read Dracula like a bloodstained book. Keep walking, bat bastard. Her vampiric voluptuousness is reserved for VIPs. (Maybe that fetching mourning couple she saw gawking in the park…)

Miss Piccadilly #2: Helen Vaughan

Oh, Helen Vaughan, elegant hostess and demigoddess horror supreme. I don’t care what Arthur Machen says, your story did not end with the conclusion of The Great God Pan. You were life and death and human and beast and all the hideous realities in-between and a mortal end could never keep you down. Especially not when you have so many paramours left to entertain! So many secrets profane and maddening to share! One of these days you’ll catch one who won’t dissolve into madness and self-destruction after a little innocent eldritch chit-chat.

Like this charming Count here! Count? Count, where are you going? Count, she just wants you to meet her dad—why are you running? Why are you running?

Miss Piccadilly #3: Luna Blue

What’s this? An OC?

Well, of course. No one’s actually naming their child Luna Blue in the late 1800s; that’s just her professional pseudonym. It’s amazing how well the spiritualist movement can work out for a girl with a knack for shuffling painted cards or chatting with the night sky and the occasional planchette. She can even boast something more than showmanship behind her skill. The sort of ‘something’ that worried Transylvanians might whisper about in fear on a certain haunted date while a likewise worried solicitor breaks out the polyglot dictionary.

She recognizes Dracula for what he is as surely as he recognizes her. No, she is not interested, voivode. Even if she was, she’d be out a benefactor within—a hard look at him here; cold and far—oh dear. Scarcely more than a month. At least by her guess. But oh, there is good news in his future too! He shall cross paths with an old friend soon! How lovely. She’s certain these things are not connected. Don’t even worry about it.

Miss Piccadilly #4: Cosette Marchand

The fourth and final young lady in the roster is one more original character and she deserves absolutely none of the horror coming her way. This is Miss Cosette Marchand, an artist by hobby and profession. The parcel received from the jeweler’s was a commissioned necklace and earrings she designed herself. A glittering birthday gift for her mother who will chide her for such an extravagance, Cosy, she has no place to wear such things! But they are lovely…

She’s so lost in her daydreaming that she doesn’t realize the hansom behind her has been following the victoria since leaving Piccadilly Square. All the way home. Home, where there are no bloodletting suitors, no wise professors, no divine or diabolic powers to forestall the natural progression of things between predator and prey. There is only a nightmare waiting for her, unobstructed.

…By anything other than my own bleeding heart. I’m too attached. She has to make it.

So.

How does Miss Marchand’s story go?

Turns out, her mother has some experience in these matters. Her mother being one Laura Marchand, who left a thirsty terror of her own behind twenty years ago. One she has mourned as much as feared in the time between the love of a husband eaten by war and the sharper kisses of a girl far more than a friend or living being. She recognizes the sour reflection of Carmilla’s eagerness in the Thing pretending to be a nobleman at the door. She still has General Spielsdorf’s axe. She has kept the steel sharp. Tonight she will whet it sharper still, from dusk until dawn.

You see all that yellow in her dress. It’s recently become one of her favorite colors, owing to a most diverting play she happened to read. Such lush storytelling! What decadent inspiration! She simply had to design something fine in honor of it. She does hope her mother will appreciate the artful way the gold was wrought, twisting in echo of the Sign. A mother who has gone so strangely still since she happened to glance at the second act of the play. Still and cold. Perhaps she will be cheered by her gift and their guests. There is a nobleman at the door, Mother! And there, see, leaking from the yellow damask wall is His Tattered Majesty—oh. Where has their visitor gone? He shall miss the masquerade! Ah, well. His loss.

Scheherazade…2! In which Miss Marchand pulls a Jonathan by stalling via playing to charm and utility. She wears many hats beside the cartwheel when it comes to the arts. Portraiture, fashion in fabric and ornaments. Surely the Count can savor the spider-and-fly game a little longer for that and some pretty panicked smiles. Look how much patience and frustration he burned on Lucy! Yes, yes, a little while longer to draw things out, play at flirtation between artist and patron, isn’t this nice? Ha ha. (Please don’t drink me please don’t drink me please don’t drink me.)

Well. She got drinked. And maybe succumbed to death before the Count could get slain. But the bat bastard does get put down eventually and she still gets to pop back up! Good news: She’s not under the Count’s thrall! She can think and act for herself! Nice! Bad news: Vampire. At least she can drink her problems* away. (*Problems with names like Atherton, Wotton, Gray…)

Her neighbors are the other three Piccadilly girls. Dracula makes his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster—

Werewolf free space.

#I just want to play with this lovely dangling thread of a character so baddddd #pretty girl in piccadilly #clarimonde #helen vaughan #the great god pan #the king in yellow #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily #my art #my writing #carmilla

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darlingpwease · 1 year

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I wonder if Can you write Yandere Omega Seth (from Ennead) if you okay with it

I'll find you

hide as much as you can // I'll find you

♡ fictional mythology, unhealthy behaviour, lovehate dynamic (love -> lovehate), animalistic behaviour, pet names, power exchange, mention of bloodletting (seth), hints of incestuous relationships?; beta!reader -> alpha!reader, heqet/khnum!reader implied

♡ rough treatment, mild blood kink, mild scent kink, heavy petting, dubious consent -> consensual, unprotected sex / breeding, bondage by sand, power imbalance -> power exchange; word 'womb' used once for Seth

𓂀 Contacting this omega is not the best solution — you realized when you first met him, while coming out of the Nile, the keeper of the floods of which you were.

Of course, it's not that you were obliged to communicate with any of them or even be interested in your distant relatives, who were no more than the seventh water on the jelly, but you needed to come out of the depths of the Nile at least from time to time — and when you finally come out, for the first time you meet an unusually red shade, burning like a torch against the background of burning golden sand and the sky blue as the waters of the Nile.

He was like a creature that was born from the spilled blood of all the fallen warriors who did not find their way home, but took refuge in your waters, sprinkling your waters over and over again until the river turns red like the sunset.

His name was 'SETH', he was the god of war and the desert, his parents were Geb and Nut — and when your gaze first crossed, it was as if you were hit on the head with something; almost a low cry of 'YOU WERE NOTICED' so loud that if you were human, you would turn away and run away, — under the sand, under the ground, under the water, no matter where, — but you are not a human and, even if you were weaker than him, you would not run away.

After all, who is the 'God of War and the Desert' against the Deity who keeps the Nile?

“Don't you dare look at me like that anymore.”

wolf cub.

You can guess that his behavior is probably an attempt to attract, as a fertile young omega provokes a fertile young alpha to get angry and chase after him, showing everything they can, just to prove that they are good enough to fill the womb. You know all this. After all, you were the one who created the figures of people who were illuminated by Ra, and you were more than able to watch these playtimes when the lovers went too far in their games and fell together into the coastal waters after a long chase.

And you more than know the brilliance of those eyes — and react faster than realize, like water, which acts intuitively, not relying on reason, to survive. They say that betas have a stronger intuition with understanding of the world — it's not for nothing that you are one of those gods who prefer maximum detachment, 'spirituality', achieved through refusing to accept the role of omega or alpha.

And you let your instincts dictate.

Before his cheeky mouth has time to say anything, you just have to make a wave so that the waters of the Nile aim at him like a beast that has found prey — and break against a strong, slender figure, without causing severe pain, but forcing him to take steps back, no longer bursting into your space.

SETH'S hair, dripping and darkened from the water, sticks to body — but before he has time to resist you in any way, calling to himself the sands of the desert, submissive to him like a tamed pet, you dissolve into the water, returning to your native current...

“I'll find you!”

... The waters of the Nile easily take you into themselves as a natural part, hiding you from the outside world, dissolving like everything that falls into the water abyss and stays here; it's not for nothing that people say that it was water that gave birth to life, and that water is necessary for life.

And although you are not a water Deity, you are also worth something.

𓂀 You know that this is not Ra — although the method of summoning is the same, Ra would rather strangle herself than summon you, especially so soon after the last arrival. Even if you had a... good relationship, — you both contributed to the appearance of 'humans' — it was obvious that you were still different.

Your clay figurines needed a bright fire to come to life, just as she craved worship and followers — it was an interchange where mortals became what brought you closer and pushed you away from each other.

However, SETH was looking for you for other reasons, quite different from 'worshippers'.

Although you are used to being summoned in other ways, such as sacrifices and festivals, you must admit that you clearly underestimated the son of Nut and Geb, who were no better than any of them — but at least they were smart enough not to try to find out from Ra a way to summon you without having to wait at Nila.

Because more than herself and power, Ra loved only to have fun — and sometimes you wondered if she was looking for power just to have fun.

“... Heh.”

When he looks down at you, like a child who has found a gift hidden from him, his scarlet lips stretch in a cheeky smile.

If most gods and goddesses somehow have more alpha and omega traits, then SETH looks like there are too many of these traits in him, like an omega-like alpha or alpha-like omega than beta.

“It turns out that this is the only way you can be summoned? I thought to the last that she was lying...”

The scarlet spot spreads across the water surface of the unusually calm Nile, dissolving in the streams of water that carry the particles with them, absorbing a new part of itself into its course. If people knew how much Nile water contains particles of their children, parents, friends, spouses, enemies, detractors, traitors — would they drink it?

If they knew that the same water absorbs the blood of the gods they worship, what would they look like, scooping up water like the purest gold — the same as he controls, the God of the Desert, smelling of sand dust, dry grass and heat?

“I don't care. You're here, so it was worth it.”

You don't think that the blood of God should be used for such things, like simply calling you from the river bottom, but don't say anything, giving someone to continue — and SETH continues without hearing an answer.

And although he, in fact, created a trap for you, filling the entire stone floor with his sand to make sure that you don't run away anywhere, you feel more like in the paws of a small puppy than in the cave of a mature wolf.

Wasn't it really an exaggeration to be afraid of him?

... Apparently, you have been under water for so long, absorbing the blood of warriors and animals, that you have become too sensitive to any danger...

“I promised you I'd find you.”

𓂀 SETH smells of freedom — not the freedom that has no limits or restrictions, only dead bodies that float along the Nile can have such freedom, but the freedom that is like the hot breath of the desert during the day and the icy whisper of the desert at night; it smells of heat, dry grass, the blood of soldiers and treasures captured with the help of weapons.

You pretend that you don't notice when treasures fall to the bottom of the Nile, and that, moreover, don't understand who gives you them; but it's hard for you to deny that you don't like the look of them. After all, the Nile is not just a 'river' or 'your home', but your temple and refuge, and the sight of expensive and precious things sheltering the once bare, dreary bottom undoubtedly improves the view and your mood; especially when the current of the river carries you further, and gold, like a lighthouse, shines; sprinkling the dark bottom is like the moon shining on the darkest desert night.

SETH is hot and fervent, like burning blood flowing out of him until you hand an object that can immediately contact you, instead of flooding waters, as if out of spite spending more than really needed, as if the more blood, the faster you will rise to the surface.

(in a sense, it is, but for other reasons...)

You can understand that this relationship is frowned upon, at least by his brother, but there's not much you can do — the waters of the Nile are all-encompassing and almost omnipresent, and the way SETH regularly calls you is almost charming if it wasn't so intense, as if every time he struggles with himself in the desire to devour you or to drag away, but at the same time I have to give up this need, which is close to the human need to drink water. You don't need to ask him about it to know — the way he looks at you, as if wanting to sink his teeth into your skin and take you to his cave, is more than eloquent, and even the way his smell intensifies, silently shouting that he is a strong, healthy and fertile omega, in itself is an obvious sign.

And the fact that you are just as quiet and calm, like serene dark waters, untouched by gusts of sandy wind, only further inflames his burning passion and desire, which he himself cannot describe in any way except as 'mine'.

Mine.

Mine mine mine — you give life, carry life, no matter in a running stream or standing water, watching as the surface is filled with bodies and blood, dirt and tears, bodies entwined in passion and love embraces. It doesn't matter — everything will be dissolved in your current and carried away until it becomes no more than another drop in billions of the same, carrying information that only you know.

SETH, on the other hand, carries with him the smell of something wild, giving life, — but also ruthlessly taking it for himself, strewing everything with the red-hot gold of the desert, which becomes more and more every time you rise, noticing how the waters that used to caress the fertile lands now nourish the sand.

And you know what will happen next — SETH has never been a secretive type, even if his method of hunting was closer to big cats hiding until they get close enough to bite into the throat and gnaw, taking them to their hideout. SETH is the same cat — big, red and strong, smelling of mature omega when he notices that you are more responsive to this fragrance.

SETH is not at all deeply interested in the topic of "let's mate" — are you sure that he is attracted not at all to your physical data or smell, but to how comfortable and safe he is next to you, letting him finally relax, looking for comfort in your waters, and that if he decided that you would be his, then you will be his.

He will always find you.

𓂀 SETH is persistent, stubborn and aggressive. Even if his emotions are a sphere that is easy to push and cause pain, you understand perfectly well that he is the god who will break rather than bend.

But when he asks you what happens to the bodies of those soldiers that he led to war, when they find themselves in the Nile, like bags full of blood, breathing and thinking recently, at first you don't know what to answer — not because you can't share his silent pain, looking like a scorpion that suddenly bared you have a soft vulnerable tummy, but because you have nothing to answer.

What happens to the bodies? The Nile absorbs them — everything that was dumped into the waters finds itself in the stomachs of animals or in water particles, carrying with it such an amount of memory that nothing else can contain.

“... If I die one day, will you promise that my memory will be preserved in your waters?”

You no longer know if you are talking about the waters of the Nile or something else — but you know that you will probably never find SETH like this again.

Unusually fragile, as if really an ordinary omega who just wants to have a family, a common nest and puppies. To have you as an alpha, to be in the same nest with you and to have children together.

What can you say other than consent? No matter what happens, he will always remain in your memory — as a special memory that will never be erased.

“... Thank you. I'll never forget you either. And I won't let go.”

His eyes are burning just like the sunset on the background.

“We'll be together. Always. Because I chose you and I won't let you go.”

𓂀 His power becomes stronger, and when you meet him again, you have nothing to oppose when the sand from the land and the bottom rises to grab you.

Undoubtedly, it wasn't something that you 'didn't expect' — SETH was never the type who tried to hide what intentions he had if he saw that it would affect your attitude, and even if he found comfort in your touches and hugs, covering him like a blanket from the whole world, he never had this safe habit of 'being content with little'. His intentions were obvious from the first meeting and did not change at all — you were perfect, from head to toe, the only one with whom he would like to spend one heat and then make you spend thousands more, finally feeling complete, finished.

He, the god of the Desert and War, with you, Deity of the Nile flood — is not the best couple that can be?

'No'?

... Ha, does someone think that things like "imperfect couple" or "more worthy" or "more accessible" or "morally wrong" or something else will stop him?

Does he need permission? If he wants it — he will get it. And nothing can stop him.

Even if you are a beta, you smell fertile, pleasant, sweet — you smell of life, sex, from which children are born, absorbing the spilled blood and creating from it what brings birth and fertility, and SETH has always been more than gambling and ready to put everything on the line.

And you knew it.

Even if you are safe in the water, once you get out, nothing can save you — especially when you step on the sand, which immediately becomes your cage, locking you in. The waters immediately splash out of the Nile, crushing on him, but now SETH moves only a couple of steps, becoming much more powerful — and when palms grab by the wrists while teeth close on neck, everything inside you starts screaming again that you need to run right now.

Now the sand turns out to be decorated with spots of the deity's blood.

His mark pulsates on never-marked neck — and although it is not the same among deities as among people, you clearly see that for him it was not at all 'just a bite' or a 'mating mark', but a sign of possession, while the pupils in the blood-red iris, the shade of red-hot metal, expand, and a nimble pink tongue licks the blood from scarlet lips.

Red.

RED RED RED.

Nails are no worse than the claws of a wolf, and even fangs look like they can easily tear apart a dozen other people who decide to intervene.

The sand squeezes your feet so tightly that you can't even twitch.

This is all completely wrong.

You cowardly escape into the waters — betas are not capable of mating, are not created for this, closer to 'asexual beings' who do not have a biological task in the form of giving birth, much closer to the primordial asexual matter than to the omegas and alphas giving birth, but for some reason a mark with an imprint burns on his neck which didn't exist before.

Was it you? Or was it the part of you that you denied? You didn't know. It is easier to plunge into the native waters than to try to figure out why for the first time its fragrance was so dizzying, or why you went for something like this. You're not like that at all — not like that at all. It's not normal.

But you'll have to get out soon anyway.

You don't want your omega to get hurt while calling you, right, alpha?

Interlude

“I'm surprised you decided to step in anyway, dear.”

When the sand almost gently wraps around your hands, you realize that the biggest stupidity you can do is to try to escape.

Even if there is water in things like vases in the room, this is too little to create the necessary amount — and even to make sand soft and heavy, such a meager amount is not enough, except to pour it on him and break a vase on this face.

“Wasn't it you who liked to be constantly huddled in your little shell? Hiding there from any danger and thinking that it will help you?”

His hands are not the same as before — slightly rough, wide palms that easily slide over your cool skin, leaving warm traces, slightly scratching with sharp nails, as if hinting that you should not do rash things; if he did not smell like a blooming omega, you would think that he was alpha or alpha-like beta.

“But it turns out that if it's not me, but someone else, then you're ready to help them! No matter how much blood I shed, you didn't come out — but as soon as it was Isis, you immediately got out to help.”

His mark on your neck has not been pulsating for a long time, but when his fingers touch your neck, he freezes for a moment, assessing the scar left, which is almost impossible to notice — and from something, your body again feels this soreness, fettering for a moment from the realization of what happened before the brain began to work feverishly.

Then.

Now you are experiencing phantom pain until you realize that it is not 'phantom' — SETH shamelessly licks your blood from his fingers when he realizes that he scratched the old mark.

“This is wrong.”

Even when blood drips down from the shoulder, you know that's not what you need to worry about — his body is hot as the desert during the day, especially when his hips easily sit on top of yours, taking care that the sand does not let go of your hands.

“I promised you I'd always be there for you; although it was you who avoided me all these years, not appearing even when the corpses filled the entire Nile, while the other gods were terrified of what was happening — but I understand. A lot to do, yes? You've always been busy and strict, ever since our first meeting, when you doused me like some kind of animal.”

The thick scent of omega is so strong that you are not sure if it smells from him or if it is something else — the same thing that made you bite his neck then; your bite is also still burning on his skin, although it looks much more noticeable on him, although you are sure that you bit weaker than him.

The sweet bloody fragrance makes you dizzy.

“And when I saw you, I realized that you didn't live well either; after all, who but me could take care of a hermit like you?”

His hands, in spite of everything, are omeganine soft and pleasant, even if he uses them to look even more wrongly charming, as if he did not sneak into your bedroom — in which you were definitely expecting this meeting — to "talk heart to heart" while his hot wet slippery thighs touch your hips,

obviously.

“I was doing the wrong thing. I gave you the 'right to choose', thinking that this is what lovers should do — but, you know, people around me explained to me what I did wrong. By own example. And I'm ready to show you what I should have done back then, instead of this idiotic thought that you'd think it over and make a nest with me...”

He purrs — deep in his throat, like a big cat, when a strong flexible hand gently rests on your chest while the second one uses the surface behind as a support, rubs against your thighs, leaving sticky wet traces of juice on your bare skin, from touching which your skin burns, and you don't look at him, making sure not to do anything you might regret,

“Look at your omega.”

but it's hard to do when his hand moves from your chest to your throat, not squeezing, but feeling quite threatening, even if you are sure that it will not cause any harm.

“Don't you dare take your eyes off me or I'll scratch them out. You can only look at me and see only me. No one else and nothing else.”

The way he hovers feels almost the same as when he was able to summon you for the first time — his hair hangs down freely, like the flames of candles burning around you, and the same abnormally bright glow burns in his eyes, like the eyes of a cat. Or a wolf.

An abandoned, starved wolf.

“... Like I said, no one cares about you but me — you can fight this idea all you want, but we both know it's true.”

It's wet, wet, hot, sticky, tight between SETH'S thighs — you didn't consider yourself a 'virgin', but when the smell gets stronger and sharper, even you need time to get rid of the veil of excitement that covers eyes in the basest way, looking at his strong thighs while red hair falls over his shoulders, revealing a view of the most handsome omega in your life.

“Therefore...”

His lips are scarlet, thin, beautiful, and when he bends over you, you can't feel the inarticulate delight and the misunderstanding that follows it, associated with the simultaneous desire to pull away from repeated unusual stimulation and the desire to take this stimulation, grab by the hair and breed until it becomes clear that you will need a joint nest, in which he will keep the puppies while you fill him again and again.

Over and over, until his belly is rounded.

This is wrong.

His legs are slender and strong, ideal so that you don't have to do anything while SETH is able to at least move his knees — but you are sure that if you just wrap your hands around his hips and squeeze, you will get much more pleasure and delight, hammering into him with the basest this is wrong in a way.

It's the smell of omega. Definitely the smell of omega.

You yourself can't feel like this for him — for omega, who first marked you, then pursued you for many years and now, finally getting a chance, immediately pounced like an overexcited wolf, to such an extent that you can see the juice flowing down his thighs, although you are sure that even he does not realize it himself, considering it nothing more than a 'punishment'.

“... let me take care of–”

Of course you will.

Everything happens in the blink of an eye — the water, the sand, astonished expression on his face and how it takes you no more than a couple of minutes to find yourself in a deliciously tight heat, from which his claws immediately scratch your hands holding him on his back until it bleed, but nothing in him tries to escape, even if SETH growls mixed with purring, choking on words as you snuggle tighter, allowing something more animal, dirty to take control.

You smell of life, passion, sex — 'the very sex from which children are born', the very life that gave rise to mortals, and you know that you have something to fill this womb with.

When his cheeks are covered with a bright blush, reminiscent of the shade of his eyes and hair; you can't help but reach out to burrow into his neck, not caring about the sand that is wrapped around your ankle — and not caring about the aggressive imperiousness with which SETH squeezes you while sharp fangs bite your lips almost to the point of blood, greedily kissing, almost devouring.

If you leave me again, I'll find you and kill you.

#.spicy♡#❖.my jewelry #🥮 — ennead #✉.seth #🧸.yandere au #🧸.omegaverse au #🧸.unhealthy #🧸.blood play #gender neutral reader #cw dark content #seth x reader #top reader #ennead smut

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