#Mystic Theatre

[jillianroses]

🌟

[rollinlandscape]

[666candies]

[mystic-maniac]

For five more minutes... we're SIX!

This musical has been my only personality trait for the past week im sorry

But hey you get this cool thing out of it soooo

This took me 5 hours and my back is making me feel like an old man but I'm pretty proud of this so I think it was worth it

[pastelsapphy]

I'm losing my mind he actually drew his rat tail on a rock AND ✨️ pretty boy sparkles ✨️ around it. zen i love you

[cronennerd]

Favorite first watches of October:

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970), dir. Jaromil Jires

Lemora: A Child's Tale of the Supernatural (1973), dir. Richard Blackburn

Theatre of Blood (1973), dir. Douglas Hickox

Killer of Dolls (1975), dir. Miguel Madrid

The House by the Cemetery (1981), dir. Lucio Fulci

Mystics in Bali (1981), dir. H. Tjut Djalil

Dracula: Pages from a Virgin's Diary (2002), dir. Guy Maddin

Hagazussa (2017), dir. Lukas Feigelfeld

In Fabric (2018), dir. Peter Strickland

Exhuma (2024), dir. Jang Jae-hyun

Lists of my 31 days of horror watches: 2024, 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020

[mrs-han]

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY <3

Can I request something fluffy with Jumin? I love how you write him being soft and fluffy, it's adorable!

Thank you <333

HEYO, DEARIE!!

Omo, another legend has graced my lil blog, I am just LLFLLBLBLB ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Thank you so much for waiting, Star!!

“What do you wanna watch?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t you want to see that new horror anthology series?”

“Yes.”

“So why can’t we watch that!”

Jumin pursed his lips — then very slowly looked at you.

“What!” You smiled, wiggling your toes in anticipation. “What was it called so I can look it up?”

Jumin said nothing, his eyes still staring into yours.

“What!!” You giggled, pressing your heel into his thigh.

“… Hm. Fifteen minutes.” Taking the remote from your hand, Jumin began to type in the name of the show.”

“Fifteen min — what are you talking about?” You sat up and hugged your knees.

Focused on the screen, Jumin’s hands affectionately stroked your calves. “Now, mmm, twenty-five minutes. Give or take.”

“… Okay, you’re being really creepy right now.”

Jumin turned his head, winked at you, and scrolled to the show’s icon. “Ready?”

“Wait, fifteen minutes for what? Twenty-five minutes for what!” Impatient, you reached over and pinched Jumin’s earlobe.

“Ow.”

“I’ll let go when you tell me what you’re talking about!”

“I can’t, mousseline. I’m conducting an experiment, and if I tell you what I’m doing, the results will be tainted.”

“Oh, so, you’re… conducting an experiment on me?!”

“And you are my first subject.” Bopping your nose, Jumin scrunched his nose impishly. “Congratulations.”

You scrunched your nose in retaliation. “Okay, what if I decide to not be around you! How about that!”

“Then, I would be a very sad man. Is that what you want?” Leaning on you, Jumin tried to get his lower lip to wobble. Tried. “Do you want me to be a very sad man?”

“… No,” you sighed, bunching your blankets and throwing them over Jumin and yourself.

“Back to my original hypothesis of fifteen minutes,” Jumin hummed, leaning into the couch.

“Play the stupid…!” You reached over, yanking the remote from Jumin’s (stupid) hands.

Jumin’s sonorous chuckle was that much harder to ignore.

The Japanese horror anthology kept you on edge. With each episode about three to five minutes long, you and Jumin would take the time to understand what the more vague episodes meant.

And then, you started yawning.

Jumin glanced at you. “Are you tired, dear?”

“Nah, let’s keep going.” You played the next episode, scooting closer to your husband. “Maybe we can finish the first season and…” you yawned. “… haah… jump right into the third!”

“Maybe,” Jumin whispered, brushing your hair from your face and wrapping an arm around you. “Comfortable?”

“Very,” you nodded, still keeping your side of the blanket at eye level.

One episode went by. You grumpily insisted that analysis was unnecessary because the episode was fairly cut and dry.

Another episode went by. Your head felt heavier against Jumin’s shoulder; he pulled you into his lap, embracing you closely.

In the middle of the first season, you had gone totally silent. Your head lulled back as Jumin shifted; he lightly tapped your cheek. “Darling? Are you still with me?”

Your snore answered his question. Carrying you to the bed and tucking you in, Jumin chuckled. “Only you can fall asleep during Japanese horror.”

Your mouth fell open, jaw slack from the ease sleep brought. Hand moving over your jaw, Jumin kissed you, grinning against your lips.

“I was wrong… fifteen minutes was way too much time. How you managed to fall asleep in twelve minutes is baffling.” Swiping the drool coursing from your mouth, Jumin couldn’t help but laugh. “Now you see why watching a movie with you is near impossible.”

[vilevexedvixen]

Mark Immortell is who we'd get if Tetch was a theatre kid and not a STEM girlie.

Also I can imagine him quoting the theatrical dialogue of the characters, especially this line: "Men struggle in nooses, yet puppets walk free!"

Classic HD Mark's voice sounds more similar to Tetch, but the english translation in 2 is (I feel) more fitting for Tetch.

[imjustnotsus]

Ask me anything✨

I will gladly talk and info dump about any of these topics below💜

Also give me art ideas for topics below please

Most musicals in general

Honkai Star Rail

Genshin Impact

Mystic Messenger

Obey me!

The Cruel Prince

X-Men first class + Wolverine & Deadpool

[fentanyl-rabbits]

הדיבוק

Vilner Trupe plays "Der dibek" (The Dybbuk), Poland, 1920s.

[mystmesstolemysoul]

I'm gonna give Zens route my all, and he is sweet... But I am already not enjoying it as much as Yoosung's route.

To put it frankly, I feel like I have to play dumb and needy to get hearts with Zen. And I noticed this intensely at like 3am in a chat with seven and I was picking nearly every answer that I didn't want to and kept getting grey hearts 😭

[anthonyspage]

🎭🕰🎩☕️🐱♣️♦️♥️🌺🐇⏰👩♠️💂‍♂️♥️💂‍♂️

[666candies]

golden horns (1972)

[dndsettingsinfo]

Harmony's Haven by Mystic Maps

[magnifiedmajorworld]

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[merakiui]

perverse phantasmagoria: a tentacular theatre for the timid.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, mentions of death/murder, obsession note - something short to satisfy the craving for shadow monster azul.

The monster under your bed is a marvelous magician.

Most marvelous indeed—for he can ensorcell with all manner of fantastical tricks! In flickering candlelight, shapes shift in shadow—a rabbit hopping to and fro or a bird taking flight in a flurry of feathers. A ship sinking in a sinister sea or a worm wriggling through soil. Illusions waltz upon your wall in a graceful ballet, a comforting distraction meant to soothe you to sleep when you grow somnolent.

You are the only one to witness the magnificence of this tentacular theatre. It is confined within the cubic space that is your bedroom, a nightly display projected onto the walls and ceiling, just beyond the curtains of your creaky four-poster bed. He entertains until you’re properly heavy-eyed, slipping through the slivers of reality into fruitful slumber.

While cradled in a sea of sheets, buoyed by curious, curling limbs, you dream of devilish pleasures—of treacherous temptations so visceral they would certainly scandalize the sisters at the church.

The monster under your bed never utters a word, but you know he is there.

He is cold and calm like Death, yet merciful and mystical like an angel. He carries with him odors of the ocean, enveloping you in his briny embrace every night. Tentacles loop gently around your body, sliding beneath silken nightwear, and he plays in the same skillful way he manipulates shadow. You’re strung along the highs and lows of bodily bliss, rocked gently by a creature who dwells in the darkness.

The monster under your bed does not possess a true form, but he holds bright shallows in his eyes.

Shapeless and transient, wavering through dozens of features, he mesmerizes with his stunning hues. They blink at you in the darkness, twin beacons set into a towering lighthouse. You reach for him, pushing past pitch-black phantasmagoria, and beg to see his face. He swallows all light sources, so you will never truly know if there is anything more to those beautiful blues.

The monster under your bed does not have a name, so you call him Azul. Much like his eyes when they pin you to the bed, the name sticks.

A terrible tempest rages outside, rattling the windows in their frames, battering the glass like bullets, and howling through the trees in a most fearsome gale. You lie in your bed, wide-awake and disturbed, and gaze at the canopy. Lightning cracks across the sky in a violent arc, brightening your room for a single second. The thunder follows, rumbling in deep, foreboding notes. With a shiver, you pull your duvet up to your chin. Fear is encroaching. You steel yourself, steady your pounding heart, and inhale sharply.

The monster under your bed is gentle.

He has never hurt you and you suspect he never will. But he is vindictive, a dangerous force who lurks in forgotten corridors and corners during the day. Though he remains out of light’s reach, avoiding the sun’s fingers as they spill in from windows with parted curtains, nothing escapes his glance. He is always watching. You can feel it.

The monster under your bed is brilliant pest control.

He rids the manor of rats and insects alike, swabs the ceilings of cobwebs. He feasts on venomous spiders and snakes, blood drained from carcasses small and large. Trespassers wander far enough to find themselves tangled in the tendrils of a beast. Skeletons snap and shatter in his grasp, so startlingly fast and brutal. There isn’t a scream. No tears. He does not grant them the permission to confess last words.

Flesh rots away, stripped clean from the bone. There is no distinction to be made here. Suitors are trespassers. Thieves are trespassers. Trespassers are trespassers, and they will die as such.

The monster under your bed has a sweet tooth, a discovery you’ve only recently determined. You plate pastries and slide them under your bed, and the porcelain china is returned by morning, licked clean of crumbs.

For all of his mysterious qualities, the monster under your bed is your paramour.

“Azul,” you whisper, your voice much louder in disconcerting quiet. “Are you there, Azul?”

Shadows slither up the expanse of your mattress, crawling over wrinkled linens, to meet you in the gloom. The tip of a tentacle nudges your cheek. The monster—your monster—is here.

“A detective came by today…” Blue meets you in the dark, snapped open at once. “To inquire about a select few.”

He blinks, offering silence as his stubborn reply.

“Missing lords and ladies. They say my manor is cursed and that it is these very disappearances that keep the grounds so lush. An immature accusation.” You search the shadows for a response. “You mustn’t send them to their graves, Azul.”

Another tentacle peels the duvet back to find your hand. It fits into your palm, wrapped tight like a bow on a present. Slowly and slyly, more appendages rise from the space beneath your bed to coil around your person. They massage soothing circles into your skin, exploring eagerly and peppering your flesh in frigid kisses. The effect is soporific. You slacken against the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmh… Azul, I’m quite serious…” You close your hand around the tentacle. “You mustn’t—oh!” Your legs are yanked apart then, and a thick tentacle presses up between your thighs. You peer into his narrowed eyes. If you could see his mouth, you’re certain it’d be turned down in a petulant pout. “Won’t you listen to me?”

The tentacles curled around your thighs constrict. He teases your special spot, fine-tuning your body to sing the sweetest of songs. Two more attach to your chest like lecherous leeches, tweaking your nipples under soft suckers. You sigh, pent-up emotions unfurling from their ravel. Lightning flashes again, the rain insistent, and so he drapes a tentacle over your eyes.

“There’s no need to do that.” You run your fingers over it, but you don’t pull it off. “I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. Tell me—” you whine in relief when he pushes in, your anatomy accustomed to his size after months of midnight whimsy— “Let me… Oh, won’t you speak to me, Azul? Tell me—promise me you won’t act so callous the next time I welcome visitors.”

“Intruders,” he finally answers. Despite the malice shot through those three syllables, it is a musical intonation. His voice is deep and dulcet, tickling your ears in the best way.

“You’re being rather unfair in your narrow-minded assessment.”

“And you are not narrow-minded enough,” comes his rumbling reply, synced flawlessly with the thunder just outside. “I shall protect you and this property for as long as I continue to exist. That is my priority.”

Your lips part in a retort, but all that comes out is a shuddering sigh.

“Visitors are not villains,” you manage after you’ve found your voice. “P-Please—aah—be kind… You mustn’t hurt them. They’re—haa—only visitors. I promise you I’m safe.”

“Visitors are the same as intruders. They’re unwanted. Unnecessary. Nuisances. Pests.”

Azul rocks the tentacle deeper inside you. Your nails dig into the one in your hand, and you heave a wobbly sort of groan.

“I won’t arg—ooh—won’t argue with you. I only ask that you understand. They are not dangers.”

“They are,” he snaps, pistoning roughly. You cry out when he pierces a specific spot nestled within. “They will take you away from me. Poison your head with foolish ideas. Destroy our home…”

“T-That will never happen. Not if I can help it.”

Another beat of lightning. Thunder follows suit. Gingerly, he lifts the tentacle veiling your visage. Blue blinks back at you.

“Promise.”

His whisper is broken and sad. Strangely, your heart aches.

“Only if you promise to cease your slaughter. It’s not—” A tentacle presses against your mouth, silencing you. When it draws away to give you another chance, you sigh, knowing just what to say. “Thank you…for protecting me, Azul.”

Satisfied with your submission, he smooths his pace out into slow, sensual lovemaking. You ride the waves of mutual merriment alongside him, no longer fearing the raging storm beyond your room. The world shrinks down to fit inside your bedroom, where paradise is found in the sheets, and nothing else matters here. Swathed safely in shadow, wrapped around the monster under your bed, you drift off into sleepy delirium.

He remains, ever-present like a parasite, the sole actor standing on the stage in this thrilling, tentacular theatre.