#Also a moment where he is like “Omg uncle Arthur! There is a pretty girl with a white dress behind you! :D”

[immediatebreakfast]

I do have to start this by saying that I fucking despise that literary theory of "Oooooh WhAt iF QuInCey Is AcTuALly dRaCuLa'S sOn 👀👀👀👀" because not only it's not possible in the canon of the book, and it undermines all of the efforts put by our protagonists to end the bastard, but also I personally think it's only pushed by academics that are simply too deep in the (ugh) "Dracula is the only Alpha Male" juice along with being weirdly obsessed against Jonathan's whole character.

But what if, thanks to Jonathan's subtle supernatural changes and Mina's slow transformation, little Quincey Harker ends up being... A little liminal? Not enough to say supernatural, but just enough to go huh? And double check to see if you got confused.

Maybe Quincey's eyes shine a night when the room is completely dark. Sometimes Jonathan and Mina can't keep up with him when he runs despite being pretty young themselves. What if one day someone finds Quincey climbing a wall then falling after being discovered. He always knows where mom is, he is so good at hide and seek. Quincey tells Mina of a pretty lady walking around their home, and sitting on the sofa to simply see them, and her clothes are stained with blood. He sleeps like a rock, yet he immediatly wakes up at the slightest sound. Quincey has the little habit of climbing his dad's back with pure agility since he learned how to walk.

Just a little Quincey that is the king of games with his friends, but always receives double stares by some adults around him.

[blustersquall]

OMG how about "Tickle" for Isabel and Arthur?

This got a little... sad towards the end? I think. Unintentionally. But... yeah, see what you think.

@rdr-oc-appreciation @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

Arthur could hear the laughter coming from the lake shore all the way from where Juno was hitched. Isabel was with Karen, Uncle was standing over them and the cause for their laughter. While Karen chuckled into her beer bottle, Isabel was on her back, clutching her stomach and her laughter was loud. It didn’t take a genius to know she was drunk... though the several empty bottles of beers beside her would have been an excellent hint to someone not so astute. 

“What have you done to them?” asked Arthur, walking passed Uncle while he strolled back towards the campfire. 

“Just a little ol’ tale to lighten the spirits... Though Miss Ashwood’s don’t seem to need lightenin’ none.” Uncle chuckled to himself and shrugged. “She ain’t no light-weight that one.”

Shaking his head, Arthur approached the two women on the shore. Karen’s cheeks were a ruddy scarlet colour, and Isabel was still lying back on the ground. Her face was bright red, and there were tears streaks on her cheeks. When she saw Arthur, she lifted both arms. “Join ush Arthur~!” Her words slurred together, only making her giggle even more. 

“Yeah, c’mon Arthur, join us!” Karen was coherent, but she could also drink a lot. Arthur didn’t know how high Isabel’s tolerance was - no where near as high as Karen’s, even Arthur struggled to keep up with her. 

“I won’t, thank you.” Arthur replied, tipping his hat back as he peered down at Isabel. “You’re a mess.”

“Oh, pft.” Isabel snorted, “I ain’t doin’ nothin wrong!”

“You’re gonna regret it in the mornin’.”

She made a face and pushed herself to sit up. Arthur watched her struggle to balance, tilting forward and then back. He grabbed her by the upper arms when it looked like she was going to fall to the side. Karen guffawed into the neck of her beer bottle. “She ain’t gonna feel this good t’morrow.”

“How’d this happen?” asked Arthur, noticing then that Isabel was snuggling against the sleeve of his jacket, suddenly tired.

“She looked pissed when she came back t’camp.” Karen explained with a nonchalant shrug. “I suggested she have a drink t’take ‘er mind offa things and...” A brief gesture to Isabel was all Arthur needed.

“Right.” With a brief grunt, Arthur adjusted Isabel enough that he could hook his arms beneath her legs and around her back. He hoisted her up. “Best place for you is bed.”

“I want yer hat.” Isabel snatched it from his head and placed it on her own, beaming and swinging her legs while he carried her across the camp to where her tent was set up near where Karen and the other women slept. In any other situation, Arthur doubted Isabel would have been particularly heavy.. but in her inebriated state, she seemed to be putting all her weight into the parts of her he was carrying, and she squirmed like a worm on a hook. 

“Stay still,” grumbled Arthur, hoisting Isabel towards him for a better grip. A fit of giggles burst out of her, and she grabbed his hand where it rest behind her knee.

“Don’t squeeze there, I’m ticklish!” 

Rolling his eyes, Arthur adjusted his grip and hurried across the camp. Once outside Isabel’s tent, he eased her onto the ground. “Good night, Miss Ashwood.” He decided to leave his hat with her for now. “Sleep it off.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Isabel gripped his right forearm in her hands, “why don’t you come in w’me and I’ll show you were else I’m ticklish.” She smiled at him and she swayed on the spot, unable to stay upright with the alcohol flooding her body. She kept blinking, hard, and gave his arm a light pull. “C’mon...”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur gently pulled his arm away and took a purposeful step back. “You need to get some sleep.”

Isabel snorted, “bet you’d do it if I was some high society lady.” She pushed her tent flap aside as she entered. “Bet if I was some pretty high born lady with rich clothes you’d be curious.” She flopped on her cot front-first and toed her boots off.

Arthur stood at the mouth of her tent, stunned and confused for a moment. HIgh society lady? High born lady? What the hell was she talking about? “What?” he asked, his voice flat. “Why would it matter if you was some high society lady?”

“Cause that’s who you like...” Isabel mumbled. She had her arms crossed beneath her pillow, her voice growing heavier. “Like that picture of the girl in your tent.” Arthur’s body went cold. She was talking about Mary’s picture. “Bet you’d like me if I looked like her...”

Her voice trailed into a deep breath. Arthur wasn’t sure if she was definitely asleep, or just pretending - but he also didn’t care. He rubbed his chin with his hand, scratching his stubble. He was confused... angry... a little conflicted... and a little embarrassed. His heart was racing for some reason, and the coldness in his body was now replaced by a heat sweeping through him. He tried to reason the sensation of... shame now flooding him. 

He was ashamed... Why? Mary... he loved Mary. It wouldn’t have mattered if Isabel was a high society lady, or not - he still loved Mary, and nothing would ever change that. Maybe he was more ashamed with himself because of what Isabel admitted to him, in a way. That she was interested in him... That she wanted him to be interested in her. And he wasn’t. At least... not in that way. 

That was what he told himself every time he caught himself watching her with a stupid smile on his face. That was what he told himself each time he overheard her talking nonsense to Valkyrie. That was what he told himself each time her shooting skills impressed him. That was what he told himself whenever his chest tightened when they were in close proximity to each other, or they happened to touch in passing. 

Groaning to himself, Arthur rubbed his face in both hands and gave a long sigh. Isabel snored softly and turned her head, causing Arthur’s hat to fall from her head to the ground. He debated entering to fetch it, but chose not to. Instead, he gave her one last departing look, before turning and letting the tent flap close behind him.