#I am one dracula years old

[anddreadful]

full thoughts on frank wildhorn’s dracula having re-watched it in its entirety for the first time in many years:

- I watched a recent upload of an (american) community theater production, specifically because a) its sound quality was surprisingly good and b) my recent interest is because a local theater is putting it on, so given the opportunity, I wanted to see whatever version of the show is currently available for north american licensing

- the production was charming but the community theater (technically dinner theater! I went on a google hunt to find the theater and it’s only two hours from me lmao) was community-ing so I can’t really write home about the acting. or the singing although mina had a nice voice

- the one place I will dunk on the production is how hilariously chaste mina and dracula were. the biting scene was notably stiff and un-suggestive of sex despite taking place on a bed. maybe one of the actors wasn’t comfortable with doing anything more, but they had only one kiss, and it was so late in the show and such a teeny little dry peck on the lips that I hollered. at that point just don’t do it and pretend theirs is an ~intellectual connection or something

- dracula did do a creepy hair-petting thing to both renfield and Mina that I was a big fan of

- “if loving you keeps me alive, then how can leaving me be right?” is such a funny lyric. dirtbag manipulative boyfriend dracula

- I knew not all the songs were on the studio cast recording, but I had forgotten HOW MANY songs aren’t on it. where is How Do You Choose? If I Could Fly? It’s Over????? I had fully forgotten there was a life after life reprise. I was obsessed with the studio cast recording in high school and I know all those songs by heart (except for a perfect life because I think it’s bad) and now i’m like. why was I gatekept from so many of the songs!! why is there no professional english recording of Its Over!! answer me frank!!!!!

- this is not a new thought per se but a) I so love that all the suitors are present and themselves b) this show squanders them. jack has no personality whatsoever (I would trade TWO mina ballads for a jack song please I beg), arthur gets needlessly dunked on, and quincey is delightful and incredible and also narratively extraneous given that he doesn’t kill dracula or die at the end

- on that note, though, I cannot believe they included quincey being the first person to promise mina to kill her if the time comes in a book-accurate version of that scene. even the 1992 version doesn’t do that!!!! and this is basically just an adaptation of that movie!!!!! is this the ONLY dracula adaptation to include that detail? it’s a top five book moment for me so I very literally love to see it

- I understand that we had to beef up van helsing as a character SOMEHOW but was a dead wife song really the best we could come up with

- there are too many sad slow songs in this show for what it’s trying to accomplish! some of them immediately on top of each other! and some of the songs distinctly go on for just one too many verses 😭

- does the mina/ dracula romance make any sense? no. does the show make any effort whatsoever to make it? no. am I into it anyway? yeah. fuck it. I have terrible taste and so i think dracula as a disembodied voice like HI? HELLO? DON’T IGNORE ME? and mina being like “unfortunately, i’m into it” rocks

- “She Devil, Nosferatu” and “the lady in white” from that other dracula concept album are both so superior to “undead one, surrender” I almost feel bad for Frank and co there, but “the master’s song”, “life after life”, and “deep in the darkest night” still fucking slap

- the train hypnotism scene was soooo good except for the part where mina did dracula’s accent. not sure if that’s standard but I wish we hadn’t done that

- i’m not THAT well versed in musical theater as an art form and also all art is derivative etc but i do know that wildhorn has been historically criticized for derivativeness and…… yeah! you can tell where he mimics sondheim, and it doesn’t work because you can’t casually mimic sondheim and get out alive. i can’t think of the moment but there was some bit of music I could have sworn was out of Phantom, and it’s obviously a big general inspiration. not to be Boss Baby Guy but I see a lot of Les Mis DNA in it too (what is It’s Over if not The Confrontation in a goth hat)

- the dialogue between songs is serviceable at absolute best, and it’s a shame that it’s so consistently sacrificed at the altar of moving the plot the fuck along. for the most part, only mina and dracula meaningfully connect via song, so it would be nice to use the dialogue to flesh out relationships more often. lucy and mina being besties is a highlight!!!

- ultimately i had a blast but it must needs be said: the show is not good. the best possible execution of “literally just the novel dracula but dracula and mina are having a secret tragic love affair” is probably what we get in the 1992 dracula movie, and if there’s a way to translate that to stage well, it’s not this shallow, silly speedrun. but again. this trash is my trash. the painted cardboard castle of bad dracula adaptations is where i live.

- I actually think it would be really interesting to be involved in a production only because to make these characters function in terms of acting, I think you’d have to invent and extrapolate a lot in terms of motivation and characterization to supplement the text. which would be fun for me, a person who thinks about versions of dracula characters all the time already

[draculasweedsmokinggirlfriend]

Tumblr when Lucy jokes about wanting to marry all her suitors:

Omg Lucy is so cute and so funny

Tumblr when Lucy in that very same letter makes jokes about how shes a woman and isnt good enough for any of the suitors:

Omg Lucy hates women wtf

[percentstardust]

anyways, WATCH ABIGAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[chibishortdeath]

I doodled this when I was replaying the game once. There really isn’t enough humor (memes? Shitposting? Idk what the correct word is for it, but all of those) for the older games, which is a damn shame since they have a lot of opportunities for it.

[bones-sprouts]

thinking about all the books im gonna read when its not summer anymore and the mental block that stops me from reading during the summer is gone

[alpaca-clouds]

Some historical context for Olrox

Okay, let me prephase this with one important message: Castlevania Nocturne made me really happy by making the plot all about colonialism, as colonialism and its fallout and how it influences us to this day is a topic that I am very passionate about. We do not talk enough about it. The US does not talk enough about it because it could make white people feel uncomfortable. And here in Germany we do not talk about it, because we act as if this had nothing to do with us at all.

But the show talks about it and I love it.

And I honestly also gotta say that I love that the BI_PoC character have a concrete cultural heritage. Olrox is Aztec, Annette is Yoruba, and Drolta is Egyptian. Other shows: Please take notes!

But let's talk Olrox, because he is so fucking interesting and amazing!

We know about him that he is Aztec and also that he is 250 years old. Or roughly that old by the time he kills Julia. Which would put either his birth or his turning somewhere around 1530.

Now, the fall of the Aztec Empire has a very exact date: August 13th, 1521. But you should keep in mind that this does not mean that on that day the Aztec's are extinct. To this day there is still 1,5 million people speaking Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and preserving some of the Aztec cultural traditions. It was just that on that day the empire construct fell to Cortez and the Spaniad conquistadors and a lot of Aztecs went into exile to flee the genocide that Cortez was bringing upon them.

The question of course is: Was Olrox still human at this time or was he already a vampire? From his dialogue it is clear that he was at least alive and grown enough to remember the fall of the empire and the distruction Cortez and his men brought upon them. But you can bet it was very traumatic.

I also am assuming he was turned by a white man. Because so far my assumption is that vampirism is an old world thing that got brought to the new world through colonialism. (Mostly because in Dracula's court we do not see any new world vampires.)

Now, the other interesting thing is what he says about his dead lover. The one Julia killed. So, first the "town in Massachusetts" he speaks about is clearly Stockbridge. Which was the town in which many Mohicans have settled during the colonial times, as well as other people from the Iroquois Nations. Now, it should be noted that the Mohicans were not part of the Iroquois alliance and in fact went to war with the Iroquois, but by the time colonialism really geared up there was some cooperation between the Mohicans and Iroquois.

Due to this they were in an alliance with the Oneida (who were part of the Iroquois) by the time of the Revolutionary war. Now, the Revolutionary War created a lot of conflict between the Iroquois nations, because they did not agree which side they should fight on. Of course both sides promised that they could keep their land, but the Mohawk, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Seneca did not trust the colonists and hence sided with the British, while the Oneida and Tuscarora (and through them also the Mohicans) sided with the Colonists.

And the dead lover clearly was among those siding with the colonists. Now, a quick refresher for the non-Americans (and the Americans who slept to history class, which is understandable). The Revolutionary War lasted from April 19, 1775 to September 3, 1783 (which, yes, also means that Julia and Richter probably were in the US during the war the entire time and the "evil" Julia was fighting probably was linked to it). And of course we all know how it ended for the Indigenous people: The colonists won, countless Indigenous folks died on both sides, only to get booted of their land soon after. The Oneida und Mohicans were made to move westwards not soon after the war ended. So, yes, Olrox would have seen that happen.

Now, an interesting thing in his dialogue was when Erzebet said: "We will create a new world." To which he replies: "I have heard that one before." And she says: "This time we are going to make it to last."

And the big question is to what this is refering. Is it refering to the colonialization or is it refering to the revolutionary war? Or something entirely different. In both cases it would be possible. And yes, the American Revolution definitely were claiming to create a new world. But was it that what he refered to or something else?

Well, never the less: Interesting character. Really good writing.

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: can u guys tell im not working rn with the amount uploading! also currently working on ch 4! if you guys have any ideas feel free to send me stuff!! i <3 vampire!reader and wanna write more about her :3... also sorry if pacing is weird lol

ch 3

warnings: SMUT!!! fingering, erotic blood drinking, angst lol, prob like cussing lol, im sure there is more so just be warned in general, mdni lol

previous -- next

~~~~~

The proposition weighed heavily on your mind. A chance to return where it all started? You couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to ask Logan what he thought. He always knew what to say. You couldn’t dwell on it now, another task was at hand. You smoothed out your denim skirt for the millionth time and stared at your reflection. Nothing seemed appropriate enough. Nothing seemed right when it came to talking about your past. Two hundred and seventy-five years old and this was most nerve racking thing you’ve ever done.

talk in front of teenagers. 

Sighing you turned back to your closest when the door of your room slowly opened.

“y/n? Are you ready yet? My class is waiting” Storm entered your room. “Damn you look good! Honestly expected a full Bela Lugosi get up.”

“Very funny, but I am not a vampire.” You said, turning to her. 

“Okay yeah, and I don’t control the weather.” She snickered at you. She held out her hand and you grabbed it tightly, allowing yourself to be pulled through the halls of the mansion as the two of you giggled and talked friday night plans. 

The two of you reached her classroom and it seemed fuller than normal. You glanced around the room and noticed Logan standing near one of the walls closer to where you’d be presenting. You shot him a smile smile and he nodded back at you, causing your heart to race. You approached the desk at the front of the room and took a deep breath in. You could not only hear your heart pumping, but also every single person in that room. 

Turning around you smiled at everyone and sat sheepishly on the desk. You felt Logan’s eyes on you as you listened to Storm start her lecture. You glanced towards him and watched as he sent you a silent message.

You’ll be okay bub. I’m right here.

You turned back to the class and scanned the crowd. It seemed as though every single person was there, even though it was physically impossible. Your eyes zeroed in on Scott and Alex. Alex. Your mind wandered back to what Charles asked of you the previous night.

“I know you don’t do missions since the incident, but you could really benefit Alex.”

“I dedicated my life to medicine, and helping others. I cannot just leave that.”

“Just think about it okay? Its London afterall. Don’t think I don’t know about what the two of you did there”

You quickly glanced away and turned your full attention back to Storm. She was just about finished with her recap of the lesson plan. Her eyes met yours and she winked down at you. 

“Now that we have finished Dracula, I thought as a treat instead of a movie, we could hear about the real events from the person who inspired the book herself. This is y/n, your school nurse.” A small round of applause broke out as you stood up from the desk.

“Hi everyone! So yes I inspired Dracula, so please ask me any questions.” Immediately questions rang out towards you. Are you a vampire? How come you don’t sparkle? I thought vampires drink blood!

Typical questions that you usually got from new students that visited your office. You quickly answered them without even thinking about it. Alex raised his hand jokingly before asking you the question you dreaded the most.

“How exactly did you inspire the book?” You paused, silently remembering the events of the night. You felt a knot in your throat before you began.

“In 1895, I met Bram Stoker in a pub. He was strange but endearing. A flirt really, and I knew I was done for. In 1896 I confessed to him my mutation and how at that point I was twenty-five for fifty years at that point. He didn’t believe me of course and when I showed him my true nature, the book was born.” You paused, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “The dedication was for me, and one of the brides had my name at the time and my description. I left Ireland and headed for London after the town found out about it. That’s actually where I met Logan.” 

The rest of the class period was full of laughter and more questions about your life in general, but you easily avoided those. As your presentation ended, you thanked Storm for the chance she gave you and promised to get drinks in the future. She walked away from you as Logan approached, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Good job bub. I knew you could do it.” You pushed his arm jokingly as the two of you started to walk out of the room, as Alex walked up to the two of you. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened.

“To my ever lasting beauty, an ageless angel, my queen of the dark. A book for your life. Wow you really made an impression on this dude. I didn’t realize you only dated what? Tall, dark and handsome. I’ll dye my hair ya know”

“Watch it Alex” Logan muttered, his claws starting to breach his knuckles.

“Woah big guy, I am just teasin. Anyways, y/n I heard the professor talked to you about Europe. What did ya think?” You made a face as you heard Logan’s blood race faster.

“I’m not too sure yet. I am still thinking about everything.” He nodded at your words before wishing you well and ignoring Logan. The two of you watched him walk away. 

“What the hell is he talking about?” Logan looked down at you, his face mixing into anger and confusion. 

“Lets go to my room okay?”

___

“What the hell do you mean a mission to London? And with him!” Logan snarled at you. You stared him down, not afraid of what he would do to you. 

“Calm down Logan! Its not a big deal I haven’t even decided yet!”

“Yeah I’m deciding for you. NO” He paced the left side of the bed as he muttered to himself.

“You don’t control me! I am my own person and I can’t die! Why don’t you trust me?” You felt your fangs push downwards in anger. If you weren’t careful you weren’t sure what would happen. 

“I don’t trust him. You won’t go and thats final.” His claws started to extend as he turned towards you. Fuck it.

The two of you lunged at each other and embraced as a tangle of limbs. Your lips crashed onto every piece of skin it met before you finally met his lips. He held you close to his chest and he messily made out with you, somehow managing to rip off your shirt, leaving in just the skirt and bra. His breath reeked of alcohol and his cologne filled your nose. The tobacco residue from an earlier cigar danced on his tongue as you deepened the kiss. You turned to straddle his lap, you pushed him down on the bed and, without thinking, you leaned down and sunk your fangs into his neck.

The warmth of his blood entered your mouth and the taste was euphoric. You continued your frenzy as you started to grind down on his growing erection. He groaned and panted as you nuzzled deeper into his vein. Your hot breath created a layer of pleasure to the holes in his neck and you pushed down harder on his clothed cock. 

“Please, fuck, don’t stop.” He choked out, moaning the last word. You didn’t think you could if you even wanted too. The taste of his blood made you whine in his ears as you picked up the pace of your hips, desperate for friction. His hand snaked down to your pussy, fingers slipping into your underwear and onto your clit. Your fangs sunk in deeper as he rubbed circles. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He picked up the pace making you squeal from pleasure.

“Pl-ee-se-” You couldn’t think. The friction, his fingers, his blood. Without warning, you came hard on his fingers, allowing yourself to get lost in the heat of the moment.

Eyes half lidded you removed your fang from his neck and you looked down at the mess created. Blood stained the sheets, pillows, his shirt, and most likely everything else on the bed. Your mouth and neck was covered in a sheer layer of his blood. 

You snapped back to reality and realized what you had done. 

“Logan I’m- I can’t. I have to go.” Quickly you threw on a random shirt and left as quickly as you came, leaving Logan in the mess.

His neck already healing, his lifted his pants to stare at the mess left. Cuming in his pants was so middle school, but it wouldn’t be the first time this happened. Before being forced into the weapon x program, you fed on him regularly. Back then, your insatiable bloodlust wasn’t controlled, and he loved it. 

Trapped in the trance of euphoria, he didn’t realize you had gone. Slowly succumbing to sleep, Logan wouldn’t realize until the morning that you had gone. He ran through the mansion praying you’d still be in the confines of the walls. It was too late when he finally reached you. 

Watching as you left with Alex Summers to a mission to Europe. 

~~~~~

tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: omg the drama!! also thank yall so much for ur support :3

[see-arcane]

The trains go only so quick

The weather’s only so calm

For the people are all out

For celebration’s a balm

Our good friend sighs in shelter

Barred from revelry and fear

A storied local greets him

As a thunderhead draws near

Preface: For maximum effect, give, “Dracula’s Guest,” a read before proceeding.

The PDF version of the preview is here.

2

Walpurgisnacht

Munich held onto him longer than he would have liked. Had he been marooned in the place as a mere visitor he would never have opted to haunt the station rather than milling around through the celebrating streets. There was as much reveling as reverence at work due to the holiday. The far end of it, anyway. Jonathan had tucked a note on it in his schedule. Celebration meant delays even in the most sedate locales and there was every chance that this one’s might postpone his conveyance. He smiled tiredly at the shorthand, if only so he did not torture himself with looking at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

‘Walpurgisnacht. Walpurgis Night. A holy day held in respect to Saint Walpurga, the 8th century abbess who warred with illness, pestilence, witchcraft and grim spirits. A time of grave superstition by dark and relieved gaiety by sunup with the witches and the dead all banished. The date has a predecessor in the form of the May Day festivals of old, making the time one of bonfires and fear, beauty and feasting.’ And apparently keeping the trains held up so that any wandering spirits cannot flee too far from the cemeteries.

Jonathan tucked the note away with the rest and battled with himself over whether he dared to stray from the platform or not. His train was meant to arrive at seven o’ clock, which meant that for safety’s sake he ought to be ready and waiting by six, even if the train was more likely to appear closer to eight. But the hour was now half-past five and he had taken his lunch early that day. He was down to rationing mints from their tin lest he give in to hunger and try to elbow his way through the crowded streets to find a restaurant. One that he would not even have time to truly enjoy, needing to eat speedily and flee back to the tracks. His stomach pinched him in protest. He held a fist against it to muffle a growl.

“You can wait.” He could. If there was no dining on the train, he would still make time for breakfast in Vienna. Or if not breakfast, lunch in Klausenburgh. Or… “Or I could just break and get a room for the night.” The words were a sigh. He had spied a hotel sitting in a picturesque spot near a spread of wild greenery that bled into woodlands. What was the name? “Quatre Saisons, I think,” he said under his breath. This, like the rest of his murmured commentary, was meant for no ears but his own. The festivities had left the station remarkably barren. Everyone who had traveled to or from the area wouldn’t be packing up until at least the next morning. So it came as a surprise when he heard a voice behind his head:

“You are an Englishman?”

Jonathan turned to see a man almost as young as himself peering down at him. A cluster of wild roses at his breast was the only flourish to his apparel. His expression was unreadable apart from an angle of suspicion to the brows.

“I am,” Jonathan allowed, grateful that he didn’t need to strain his tongue or the man’s ears with his fragmented German.

“You have come from the Quatre Saisons?” The suspecting angle deepened.

“No, but I was thinking I may have to book a room if the train comes too late.”

The man’s face softened at this, his posture relaxing an increment as he insisted, “The train will come late. Not too late, but still late. You must not bother with the Quatre Saisons either way.”

“Is it full?”

“Most rooms always fill in advance of these days. Inns and hotels shall all be swarmed from now until the seventh of May. But Herr Delbrück’s Quatre Saisons must not be tried. The place is not well this time of year.”

“I do not quite follow,” Jonathan said, his nose just catching the whiff of past toasts to the date on his companion’s breath. “How is it not well?”

“The land it sits with. It is bad to be near it, even after Walpurgisnacht has been and gone. There are…” the man seemed to catch himself on a word before pressing on, “…wild dogs that roam the forest and its valley. Strange souls who would take after the devils of last night, even as we light the fires against them. No, you must not stay there until at least the thick of summer. Better to try in the city’s heart if you must have a room.”

The rooms that were full of visitors already, according to the young man himself. Either way it still relied on Jonathan potentially spoiling the entirety of the client’s route as laid out and paid for from his own account. The idea of taking a room and gambling on a morning train was only a daydream. Jonathan almost said as much.

Instead, “I do not need a room, really. I can hardly risk missing the evening’s train by a minute. But I thank you for the advice, sir.” The young man frowned at Jonathan then, his eyes roaming the length of him in a searching way. “Are you waiting on the train as well?”

“I just purchased my ticket for the morning. It is better to travel by day. And to eat by it too.” He nodded at Jonathan. “You have not been in the city itself? You have partaken of nothing?”

“Sadly no. If I were here on my own account I should have liked to see more, but—,”

“The train will not come any earlier if you sit and starve.”

“Likely not. But I cannot risk wandering too far.” He regarded his luggage drearily. No, he dared not even risk a restaurant. Even the next stop would allow him only a glimpse of the city as he rushed from one point to the next. Perhaps he could find some time to wander when he reached the hotel, but not before. He clenched his belly against another snarl and popped another mint in his mouth. Only three left, but, “Would you care for one?”

The young man whispered something in his homeland’s tongue—it sounded to Jonathan like, “Better to have the leaves,”—but in English said, “I would. Thank you.” He laid it on his tongue as if it were a medicine pill. “But it is still not a supper. Take yourself away for a meal at least, Herr Englishman.”

So saying, the young man departed, perhaps for his own plate or hotel. Jonathan swallowed a sigh and put the tin away. Looking around he saw he really was the last one on the platform apart from one dozing woman playing chaperone to her family’s luggage. Her husband had taken the two sulking children back out into the streets to burn off some energy. With the surly toddlers and the brief conversationalist departed, the space felt oddly like an island. Even the clamor that leaked in from the mouth of the tracks was muted. Jonathan tried to bury himself in a book, but gave up as the text swam before his eyes.

What rest he had gotten was as thin as his last meal was distant. If he could only lay down and sleep through the hunger he might be satisfied, but that risked drowsing through the train whistle itself. He tucked the book away and took himself to the closest opening which showed the beginnings of twilight oozing over the tracks. His hand went again to the neglected journal at his heart and thought another apology at its pages. So far he’d only managed to jot his name within the cover.

“I am sorry,” he told the air. “My head is in no state for you yet.”

A sudden cold gust blew his words back. There was a rise of distraught voices from outside as the breeze whipped through. In the next moment there was a shift in the palette of the sky as a weighty cloud rolled over the last of the sun, plunging the outdoors into early dusk. After that came the pattering of hail. The last festive sounds turned to a disgruntled din before their noise was drowned entirely by the hammering on the station’s roof. Jonathan pulled his coat tight around him and wished luck out to the revelers.

Between one blink and the next, one of the latter manifested at the threshold below. She wore what would have been an immaculate costume of a bygone age if not for the burns that had assailed the fine old dress. Though perhaps that was merely a desired effect. She was likely going around as some witch or spirit who had escaped the bonfires’ efforts during the night. Between the platform’s glow and the outdoors’ new gloom she certainly possessed the half-lit look of a ghost.

The sort of ghost meant for a stage, he added to himself. She has an actress’ face.

Yes, an actress powdered and dressed to be a dead beauty. Her mouth was a full and somber curl of red against a carcass’ pallor. She carved it into a smile as she stared up at him, seemingly oblivious to the cold and hail at her back.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his stilted German. The woman only kept her faded eyes upon him. They had a pull to them that Jonathan couldn’t place. He found himself approaching the tracks’ edge before he realized his feet were moving. “Do you need help?” he added, wondering if the trouble was just a matter of shelter. The tracks were set deep and it would be a hassle to hoist oneself up to the platform’s edge.

“He tries again,” said the woman on the tracks. Possibly. Her German was almost as fractured as his own, albeit with a different inflection. “Another sent for. Another to travel with. Fast, fast, fast.” The sky growled at her words. A stage’s effects could do no better. With the thought in mind, he wondered:

Is this a performance?

Before he could ask, his stomach spoke for him. It was mortifyingly loud and the thunder’s next peal did not do enough to cover it. The woman’s expression cracked on a wider smile. She recited:

“Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father

Knows surely that he loves his child:

The bread and wine from the hand divine

Shall make thy tempered grief less wild.”

Jonathan smiled back, glad to recall the verse. He and Mina had gone over it in the original text and the English for practice and preference’s sake. Lenore’s lines fell from him:

“Oh! mother dear mother! the wine and the bread

Will not soften the anguish that bows down my head;

For bread and for wine it will yet be as late

That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave’s gate.”  

The woman’s grin now bared teeth. They were brilliantly white against the crimson of her lips.

“Are you meant to be Lenore?” Jonathan asked.

“Lenore sought her lover. I sought only death.” Her hand rose toward him. “Will you help me find it?”

Thunder boomed as a new wind rolled through the station like a howl. The woman’s ruined dress and hanging hair danced wildly on her, though she seemed not to notice. Jonathan went toward her, deciding whatever act she adhered to would be better performed out of the elements’ reach. His hand reached down to hers. There was a moment when their fingers brushed and Jonathan felt sick at how frozen she felt even through his glove.

In the same instant he saw the dancing of lightning without. The bolts seemed almost like a great weaving animal, snapping in closer and closer bolts along the blackened sky. Intuition tightened in his chest. Suspicion leapt to certainty. There was no time to speak—

Get off get off the tracks it’s going to—

—only to grab for her hand.

But not fast enough. Another gale of wind rushed through, this time angled in such a way that it seized and flung him back against the floor. Lightning struck in the same instant. Noise blasted his ears. It was a nigh deafening din made from the crackle of electricity dancing on the tracks and the rattling roar of a thunderclap. Under it, he swore he heard the woman scream.

God oh God oh God hospital what is the word for hospital I need the dictionary I need—

He scrambled to his feet and back to the platform’s edge. His breath stayed trapped in his chest until he looked down.

And saw nothing.

There was no woman, alive or dead. He gawped for almost a minute at the bare tracks. The hail thinned away as he stared and the thunder softened to a grumble.

How..?

“You are hurt?”

Jonathan looked up and found the dozing mother had left her heap of baggage to check on him.

“No, no, not hurt. But there was someone…” He gestured at the tracks and limped through a few lines of German before she shooed his words away with her hand, switching briskly to English. He explained the scene in full and the mother nodded with something between grave intensity and a sprightly eagerness.

“Yes, there would still be some who wander late. Walpurgisnacht is night and day. Probably she is drifting back to her tomb, sulking that she did not get company for her bier. If you had your gloves off and showed your ring she may have not bothered. Lovers who die before the wedding day, they are the greediest souls on these nights.”

This she said with great authority and Jonathan had no desire to mention that he wore no ring as yet. No more than he had any urge to voice his suspicion that the woman had been very much alive and somehow made it away from the station’s threshold before the lightning could do any damage.

The other explanation is that the woman was, in fact, a roaming ghost come to collect a new member for the graveyard. It is the time of year for such things.  

A call from the other end of the station turned the mother’s head. Father and children had come in from the storm, as had a smattering of other travelers. The train whistle bayed not long after. Jonathan looked to the tracks again as if the woman might suddenly rematerialize in the locomotive’s path. The only body that he could see was the outline of some animal at the edge of the platform’s glow. It looked like a large dog posed beside the tracks, tail still and eyes lambent. Jonathan held its stare for a moment. Then it was gone, loping off into the night.  

This. This is worth writing about.

And it was. At least once his seat had him in it and a wonderfully dense meal sat in him. He brought out his stationery pages for the cause, jotting the entirety of his time in the station up to the arrival of the train. These loose sheets were reserved specifically for storytelling and recipe preservation, the better to possibly be scrapbooked away at home. The journal still drowsed in his pocket.

Hold out for the hotel room. Almost there.

Jonathan cupped a hand to his eyes to keep out the glare as he watched the world go by in the window. The storm was left behind now and the sky was all stars above rooftops and treetops alike. A brilliant wedge of a moon shined out at him. He was still admiring the view when the steward came along to tap his shoulder. There was a smile on his face but a glimmer of anxiety in his eye.

“Herr Harker, yes?”

“Yes,” Jonathan managed before the steward produced a telegram.

“For you. Will you have another drink?”

“No, thank you.” But the glass was already stolen away and refilled before he could finish the sentence. The steward vanished in nearly the same instant, looking as if he meant to finish the bottle himself. Jonathan puzzled over this a moment before turning his attention to the telegram.

BISTRITZ.

My friend, I send all apologies to you on account of the trains and the time. We arranged our meeting during the heart of much fervor, and such will always meddle with travel. I send this in anticipation of your own frustrations with the hindered hours and my gratitude for your steadfastness. I hope it shall please you to know that the Hotel Royale has its finest suite reserved and waiting for you, and so too for the Golden Krone of Bistritz after them. May their hospitality be a balm against the troubles of a passenger at the mercy of fickle clocks. —Dracula

Jonathan marveled at the message. It was a rarity in itself to have a client who made no fuss when it came to snags that the firm had no control over. To have one who foresaw said snags and went out of his way to apologize to the solicitor himself was unheard of. And from a noble?

He added the telegram to his memoranda with a smile. 

[ellastone-olsen]

The Legend of Sleepy Valley - Wanda Maximoff (part 1)

★Pairing: Vampire!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: no one had ever seen the family members living in the huge estate nearby. maybe this is not just the case and they are hiding something. legends surround this place and soon you will find out for yourself where is the truth and where is the lies. this is the first time a vampire will not kill her victim.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+ (in future parts), dark au, blood, stalking, mentions of murders, nightmares, slowburn

★Word count: 2.6k

★AN: I decided to re-read Dracula and an idea came to me. this is my first series fic and the first part is preparation for the most interesting things. maybe there will be one or two more parts, I don’t know how much my imagination will suffice.

The small village of less than one hundred fifty people could not boast of special wealth, but as they say, human blood is not water, this is the true wealth that these people had. If only they knew about it.

Away from the crowd of dilapidated houses stood the old estate of the Maximoff family, whose history dates back to ancient times. No one could say exactly how long ago they settled, but every generation of people who lived here knew who lived in the ancient “castle” as the locals called it. Family members did not often catch the eye of the village residents, preferring a secluded life without “good neighbors” nearby. All you knew about them was information gleaned from the legends that parents told their children, passing on these terrible stories from generation to generation.

One of them said that it was the Maximoff family that was behind the disappearance and fatal diseases of ordinary peasants who lived in these parts. If someone’s livestock died, it means that people’s turn will soon come. No one could explain exactly how they were involved in this, which is why they were legends. Some said that all the troubles began with the arrival of the first ancestor - Konstantin Maximoff. As soon as this man set foot on the dead, poor soil of these regions, terrible things began to happen.

But who are you to believe in stupid old legends? Now is not the time when people rely on fairy tales. This was the age of computer technology and the Internet, so you could read horror stories on Google. It’s a shame that the stories turned out to be true, what’s even worse is that you learned this from your own experience.

“Why did you kill me? Why did you kill me?" You looked in horror at the doorway in which stood a man... no, a child, judging by his height, about 7 years old, but his face was not visible. Only glowing beady pupils and a dark silhouette, that’s what you could make out in the pitch darkness of the tiny room. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill you.” You tried to move, but it was all in vain. The body froze like a heavy marble stone. The brain was already awake, but the limbs were stuck to the mattress of the bed. Heart beat out a fast, ragged rhythm, threatening to jump out through ribs. No one would come to the rescue, you knew. “Why why did you kill me.” The hallucination repeated these words like a prayer in the temple of the Lord God, to which you were ready to go any minute. What to do, what to do, probably the same as always. Scream.

An eardrum-breaking screech escaped from your chest, maybe someone will hear it? But absolutely everything that happened was only in your head. Together with the scream, flashing flashes began to hit eyes, a good sign that the method was working. If anyone had heard the screeching, they would probably have gone deaf.

You suddenly sit up in bed, breathing as if you had run a marathon and won. It was all over, but the fear remained. Sleep paralysis was never limited only to the state of paralysis itself; even after them, anxiety was with you, sticking to the subcortex of consciousness like soft molasses. You turned on the light in the room and picked up the phone. The clock showed 3:42 am, if you are lucky, within an hour you will fall asleep again. Your finger clicked on the messenger icon and you entered a chat created specifically for communication between people living in your village and surrounding area.

Your eyes quickly scanned hundreds of messages and ads for old junk when photos of the scene caught your attention. It was talking about another cattle killing of one of your neighbors. People, as always, wrote that these were wolves or pumas, which often live in these parts. At least the claw marks were definitely not left by a human. A terrible bloody mess, what more can you say. Soon panic will sweep the village again, because everyone knows that this will be followed by the death of one of the residents. Damn it, sitting at home all day long again was the first thing your sleepy brain generated. Well, let it be, but you will get some sleep for the first time in the last couple of months.

The phone slowly fell from your hand onto the soft, fresh sheets and your lead-filled eyelids fell into your eyes. Finally the long-awaited dream. You saw your past, but more exaggerated. Winter frost, a scarf that covers half of your face and you don’t know where to go. The picture changed and you found yourself on the red carpet, walking towards the door at the end of a hundred-meter corridor. There are white walls and camera flashes all around. You didn't know where you were going, but it seemed like a good place. The door opened revealing a round room with a bunch of people and animals. A ginger cat similar to yours came up to you and you extended your hand to pet him, but the animal grabbed you with its teeth, biting over and over again. The claws passed along your forearm, leaving red droplets of blood, the wonderful dream again became a nightmare and you opened your eyes.

Your room again. The lights were off. It's strange, you didn't seem to turn it off. Perhaps mom woke up and walked past the room. Your gaze could not focus on anything, you looked around, blinked a couple of times and looked into the doorway. Someone was standing there again. A woman with long hair, you would think it was your mother, but she had short shoulder length hair. Again, hallucination is the first thing that came to your mind. You tried to bend your leg to make sure that this was the case, but the movement was easy and you sat down in fear. The figure was still standing in place and eyes accustomed to the darkness could discern clothing in the form of a knee-length dress, boots and a jacket, it seems? The head of the unknown woman in your room tilted to the side, she was also looking at you. She studied, as if deciding what to do next. It seemed that being noticed was not part of her plans.

"Who are you?" the vocal cords did not produce anything louder than a whisper. And only now did you notice a strange pain in your hand, in the same place where the cat scratched you in your sleep. You grabbed the forearm of your left hand, feeling the moisture under your palm and lifted it to get a better look. You couldn’t see anything in the darkness and you licked your palm to feel the metallic taste. Liquid scarlet blood was streaked and still leaking from the scratches, not deep enough to leave scars.

In response to your action, the stranger loudly sniffed air and seemed to... growl. But people don't know how to make SUCH sounds. “Did you do this?” you extended your palm to her, but instead of answering, the dark figure disappeared outside your bedroom. You wanted to catch up with her, but got tangled in the blanket and fell to the floor, cursing under your breath. When you went into the common room, no one was there anymore. Not a trace of anyone else's presence.

The morning greeted with the rays of the sun, which lay softly on your face. The smell of homemade pancakes wafted from the kitchen, the recently returned birds chirped on the tree branches as if they were wound up.

The phone was still lying next to you and the clock on the screen showed noon. Among hundreds of notifications overnight, you found a message from your friend Lily, which read: “I’ll pick you up at one o’clock in the afternoon.” Well, at least you had an hour to get ready. Surely, after those messages about the murder, your parents would lock you at home, and you wanted to have time to take a walk in the first days of spring.

While you were sitting in the kitchen and looking at one point, while finishing breakfast, your thoughts returned to this night. There was no doubt that the first thing that happened to you was sleep paralysis, but what happened then? How could someone sneak into your family home so silently and without a trace, why did this woman need to watch you, and even more so... You could write off the incident as another nightmare, but your forearm still stung. Raising your hand, you saw scratches that were already covered with a blood crust and were in the process of healing. Oh no, it wasn’t definitely a hallucination. When you got out of bed, the first thing you did was check your room for missing valuables, but everything was there. Apparently the only thing this strange woman touched was you. Today before going to bed you need to check all the locks in the house, all the windows and make an impregnable fortress out of it.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” The question hung in the warm spring air. Your friend was dragging you by the hand to the so-called Sleepy Valley. The children of your village were not allowed to go there, firstly because flocks of sheep usually grazed there, and secondly...

“Y/N, do you know why this place is called that way?.” Of the two of you, you knew more about local folklore, so you easily found the desired legend in the memory archives. The legend of the Sleepy Valley.

“My mother told me that there were always sheep grazing there, but one day a shepherd came into the valley and the whole flock was lying on the grass. It looked like someone had thrown cotton balls around. It looked as if the animals were simply asleep, but when the man approached one of the sheep, he realized that it was dead. They were all dead. Some maniac or animal ripped out the throats of the poor animals. This is where the name comes from.” You finished the story and were walking through the wild forest when you saw an opening. Perhaps there were such stories around this place, but there was no other place for walking cattle in the vicinity.

As the tall trees retreated, a majestic field stretched around, with a herd of fluffy white sheep as usual. Lily pulled you by the arms a little away from the animals to sit on the fresh green grass looking up at the sky. The two of you just lay there and listened to the chirping of tits, voluminous white clouds rushed above you, forming bizarre shapes. Life seemed unreal at that moment.

Only in the forest from where you came out it was watching you. Red eyes scanned everything that was happening, and acute inhuman hearing caught your conversation even at a distance of twenty meters. Your night visitor did not miss the chance to follow the first person whom she, for some reason unknown to her, did not kill during close contact. Wanda was patient, even too patient, and something about you caught her attention that night. Maybe your peace of mind or... No, it’s too early to think about that. In any case, she spent the rest of the night waiting for you to wake up and leave the house.

For so many years that she lived on this sinful earth, the daughter of the Maximoff family could tell a lot from a person’s blood. She drank dozens of people dry and each was unique in their own way, from the first sips one could understand what kind of life a person lived and what it was like, blood for her was a thing in which the essence of human nature was hidden. None of her victims had aroused an iota of interest or compassion in her, until that day.

Once every few months, Wanda’s family could afford such a delicacy as a few people from the village for whom no one would grieve. She liked to stretch out the pleasure and start with cattle, leaving human lives for dessert. Then she decided to watch the future victims and find the most tasty morsel in her opinion; in the end, her choice fell on a young beautiful girl like you. When life is in full swing, taking it away is many times more pleasant and sweeter.

That night, her plans included killing you, drinking to the last drop like everyone else before, but standing right next to you, she froze. Something was wrong. Why were your eyes open but you didn't move? She heard your heart that was ready to jump out, but it was not because of her. It seemed like you saw something that she didn’t see and she became curious. The woman walked into the darkness of the room, to the farthest corner, and watched. So you woke up, jumped out of bed and nervously turned on the light. Wanda sensed your fear, but did not understand what it was connected with.

Waiting for you to fall back into the world of dreams, she turned off the light that was blinding her and came closer, running her sharp nails along your arm to collect a small portion of blood for testing. When the first drops touched her tongue, her pupils dilated, covering the irises of the vampire's red eyes. The blood was saturated with adrenaline and was even sweeter than she expected and your personal taste. There was something about it that she couldn't place, something familiar. She took a closer look at your calm face, noticing what a cute little thing you were in her hands. No, killing you was too great a loss, she turned on her heels to hide as quietly as she appeared, but a rustling was heard behind her.

Wanda stood in the doorway and watched as you woke up for the second time that night. It’s surprising how you didn’t notice her right away, but when she saw your wet, rough tongue running over your palm, licking the scarlet substance, something clicked in her. “Did you do this?” your voice, hoarse from sleep, has long since become a spring deep inside her being. She needed to leave right now if she didn't want to kill you or take you by force.

The woman silently left the house and sat down nearby in the wild raspberry bushes. "She was beautiful, but who the hell was that?" Thoughts were heard in her head, but they were not hers. She heard your thoughts and her eyes widened, remembering what her stepmother told her many decades ago. If her memory did not deceive her, and it did not deceive her, then when sampling a person’s blood, if they arent killed, she will be able to hear all the thoughts associated with her. Then, being a recently converted vampire, Wanda did not attach any importance to this, because she did not think that something would happen that she would not complete the job. Apparently this was very arrogant on her part.

But since this has happened, why not entertain yourself for the first time in the last two hundred and ninety-seven years. From that moment on, she had her own personal human.

Part 2?

[kayesfanfics]

Belmont! Reader with a hint of x Alucard

You and your brother could be a lot alike; brash, sometimes arrogant, cocky, sometimes lazy. You were less sarcastic and rude to other people and usually saved that for banter with him, as Trevor would %1000 start fights with his siblings no matter how old he was, he’s always going to be somewhat of a man child. You were always the more mature one even if you were only a year or two older than him, you often had to save his ass from people or vampires he pissed off. You enjoyed traveling with Sypha as the two of you could gang up on him and give him a taste of his own medicine

After joining Alucard in the mission to kill Dracula, you and your brother led the two to your family’s hold to find proper weapons and information to carry out said mission. You sat in the back of the wagon with Alucard while Sypha sat up front with Trevor, directing the horses and leading the way back to the Belmont estate. Alucard was often watching as the trees passed by, deep in his thoughts as you boredly tapped your foot on the wood of the wagon floor, eventually annoying him enough to send you a glare and make you stop

“So like…how can you be in the sun?”

“I am half human. Some things don’t effect me the way they do full blooded vampires.”

“Do you have to drink blood?”

“Sometimes.”

“Can you have garlic? Or is that just a myth?”

“Is there a point to all these questions?”

“I’m bored.” You shrugged, tired of listening to your brothers and Sypha’s squabbling about directions. Alucard simply raised an eyebrow at you, before continuing to answer any questions you had about his physiology and his father and the castle

Once you all stopped to make camp for the night, you collected firewood with Trevor, who immediately started bugging you

“I heard you two getting quite personal back there.”

“I heard you and Sypha getting quite personal up there.” You repeated, shoving him away from you as the two of your carried firewood back to camp

“I’m just saying, you seemed a bit too curious.”

“And? This is any of your business because?”

“Because I’m your brother! I’m supposed to look out for you!”

“I’m older than you! I can handle myself!”

“So? I’m stronger than you!”

“I’m smarter than you!”

“I’m taller than you!”

“I’m-“

“Are you two bickering again?” Sypha interrupted as you both reached camp. You both froze and cleared your throats awkwardly before setting the wood down for her. She rolled her eyes at the two of you, but mostly towards Trevor as you too rolled your eyes at him, before huffing and sitting next to Alucard, who side eyed you but didn’t say anything

After a couple days you finally reached the Belmont Estate, feeling a pang of nostalgia and grief hit you when you saw it in ruins as you left it all those years ago. You and Trevor led the speaker and the vampire down into the Hold, beginning to search for information to aid you all in battle. You watched Alucard gaze at a display of vampire skulls, including one the size of a child, before searching for books near him

You heard your brother gasp and rush over somewhere, before dragging out a large chest. Your eyes widened and you rushed over, your eyes widening in disbelief when you saw the glorious weapon inside

“The Morningstar…” You both breathed, amazed by the artifact as Trevor gave it a test swing

“It’s mine.”

“No way, I found it!”

“I’m older! It goes to me first!”

“Does not! Go find your own weapon!”

“Are you two fighting over that UGLY thing?” Sypha asked, looking at the weapon in disgust. You gasped dramatically at that, before telling her about how glorious it truly was. You bickered with your brother over it before you finally lost the argument, glaring at him before storming off to find something else to use

“That is quite childish, Belmont.”

You turned and saw Alucard flipping through a book behind you as you opened another chest of smaller weapons. You poured and ignored him, which made him chuckle at your slightly puffed out cheeks and furrowed brows

When night fell, you found a rather uncomfortable place to rest, finding a large cloak that belonged to an ancestor to curl up in next to a small fire in a lamp you made. It felt weird being back home, it was too quiet and still for it to be home, but yet it was. Alucard must’ve noticed the melancholic look on your face, as he brought his stack of books over and sat across from you, reading by the lamp light. You smiled at the gesture and sat with him in the comfortable silence, watching the fire flicker and listening to him flip the old pages of the books

“Alucard?” You finally worked up the courage to gain his attention. He didn’t look up from the pages of the book, but acknowledged you with a response.

“Please, call me Adrian.”

“…Adrian?”

“Y/N?”

“Will you be able to do it? Will you be able to…to kill your father?”

He looked up from the book, but he didn’t look angry or sad. He looked determined and deep in thought like usual, carefully searching for the right words.

“Yes, I will. It needs to be done, and I’m afraid I may be the only one that can do it.”

You looked up at him solemnly, looking into his eyes and seeing a hint of premature regret and sorrow. You could tell this would be harder for him than he was letting on, after all, just because he was a genocidal maniac, Dracula was still a father. You gently took the book from his hands, and he let you, before moving over to sit with him. You offered part of the cloak to him, to which he accepted and sat closer to you.

“I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but we’re all here to help you. I know my idiot brothers been giving you a hard time about it, but I know you can do it. Even if it’s going to be hard.”

He gave you a small smile, before quietly saying, “Thank you, Y/N.” You smiled back before resting your head on his shoulder shamelessly, feeling him stiffen up a bit but slowly relax to your touch as you began to doze off.

“Goodnight, Adrian.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[whoishotteranimepolls]

Poll analysis part 5

This one isn't so much related to fandom behavior. Overall, it's more about how certain characters or apparently where some people draw the line enough to have made a fuss in the comments or my inbox. I find it interesting where the standards are for some people and I mean I just drew the line at no sentient weapons or mechs

And when I say cause a fuss that would mean causing crap in the comments to messaging me asking me to ban characters or entire franchises because they're problematic for various reasons which I will get into. To flat out harassment of me for allowing these characters in my polls and the people who voted for whatever character they have a problem. It's the full spectrum of bad behavior. This is going to get weird

Izutsumi from Dungeon Meshi why is she the only character people are causing crap about for being 17? I have gotten so many messages about this one character. No one gives a crap about the other underage characters apparently, but the 17 year old cat girl is too much. And again, I think I would have gotten at least one message about one of the 15-year-olds but no just the underage cat girl. I am so confused why this is the line for so many people. When I say she has been a problem, she has been in two polls and she has been the source of 7 polite messages. 12 not nice messages full on harassing messages. Calling me a disgusting pervert for even allowing her in my polls. 11 comments that had to be deleted 12 tags/Reblogs that had to be hidden. All because they said something like she's 17 you perverts. I have set a new record for the amount of people I've had to block over a single character and she's been in two polls. I didn't get this much crap over the character that looked 12.

Kikuri Hiroi from Bocchi the Rock! My original problem character because of her Moe art style she looks 12. Even though she's 28, I've resorted to just putting her age in the post to avoid the things turning into a dumpster fire after that first poll.

Uncle Iroh was a character. I did not expect to cause issues because everyone loves Uncle iroh. Apparently some people find it weird that some people find him hot. Because multiple people have made a fuss in comments or in my inbox about how it's gross or weird to find him hot because he's a grandpa. Ironically, one of the people making a fuss about iroh really has a crush on Silvers Rayleigh the irony in that is hilarious.

Toji Fushiguro I've gotten a few messages about him saying he should be banned because he's a crappy father. A terrible person and anyone who finds him attractive should seek psychiatric help. People he's a villain calm down This is Tumblr. I feel like people have forgotten Loki mania where he was considered the god of Tumblr. I think Tumblr has a thing for villains. Look at the persistence longevity of the Hannibal fandom. So please calm down people it's still not a justifiable reason to ban a character from my polls.

Dracula from Castlevania because genocide and sexism once again I'm sorry people sometimes find villains hot. I'm confused about the sexism part. I think it's because of the way he treated Carmilla, But I'm still confused because that man loved his wife

Franken Stein from Soul Eater. I've gotten a message that he should be banned because he's a groomer. I watched Soul Eater and I'm also confused about this one. If any Soul Eater fans can anyone help me? I'm again so confused about this one. If anyone from Soul Eater should be banned for bad behavior, it is not Stein

Gojo, is a little bit of a headache character for me for the thousands of comments I've seen calling him the Blue-Eyed demon seriously Tumblr what has this man done to you? How did he hurt you? He is also a character I have had people message me asking me to ban because apparently he's racist. I'm so confused.

And to build upon this, someone sent an entire list of characters that should be banned because they have blonde hair and blue eyes because if they win that reinforces white centric colonial beauty standards I should have screenshotted that message. These polls are done for stupid fun and I don't think they are going to reinforce colonialism. In fact, many of you have told me they're going to kill the British monarchy and I think that's the opposite of reinforcing colonialism. That list is too long to post in its entirety here. Remember I said this was going to be a little weird.

Someone actually messaged me saying I should not put Victor from Yuri on Ice in future polls because he is not a good representation of the lgbtq+ community

I've also received similar messages about Grell Sutcliff and Yamato for the trans community

Dungeon Meshi You think would be free of criticism because it's so loved however Laios Touden should be banned because he's blonde with blue eyes and a bad representation of people with autism. I wish I was making this up. Marcelle and Falin are not safe either because some people have it out for blondes and they are also not good representation of the LGBTQ+ community

A bunch of Fullmetal Alchemist characters should be banned including Mustang, Hawkeye, Ed, Alphonse, Armstrong, Hughes basically everyone but Scar. Because those characters perpetrate and promote genocide, racism, ethnic cleansing, imperialism, the military industrial complex, colonialism, fascism, sexism, misogyny, and white supremacy. I honestly think someone missed the entire point of the show but that's just me.

Someone wants the entire Apothecary Diaries franchise banned because it's sexist, misogynistic and a poor representation of Chinese culture.

And basically any villain or abusive parent. Someone has complained about or pushed to get banned because it makes them uncomfortable. Because God forbid characters have flaws

So many One Piece characters are problematic just for being One Piece characters not for anything they've done in the story or their character arc or anything like that. It's really because I have a group of people that think I should ban the entire franchise from my polls because the one piece art style is misogynistic. Oh boy. I should have screenshotted some of the essays I received in my inbox. Some of you need to take a chill pill because if I get another essay about one piece being misogynistic because of the art style, I'm going to shame you by posting that crab publicly. Because I will admit the art style is not for everyone, but especially when it comes to the female characters. But those female characters are some of the best written you will find in all of Shonen anime. Plus if we really want to start banning anime franchises for being misogynistic, It's going to be a bloodbath. Because if One Piece is misogynistic for the art style, Naruto is misogynistic for the writing. And I could probably find something misogynistic about most Shonen anime. So again let's not even go there.

The only justifiable reason I would ever ban a character is if the fandom becomes so toxic it's no longer worth it for me to put up with the drama. Now all the blogs I have had to block have been dedicated to one of two things. Naruto or Dungeon Meshi. One of those fandoms I already refer to as my problem child fandom and the other one I hate to say is quickly becoming its twin.

So can we all just agree to calm down because if I banned everything someone had an issue with because it's sexist, misogynistic, racist, etc. There would be no characters left. So let's calm down everyone and please keep the complaints and the tantrums to a minimum. I am a fellow fan that runs this blog for fun and I'm very tired of this crap.

[neil-gaiman]

I just saw an email from Easton Press advertising a beautiful leather bound version of Sandman. It says it's annotated by someone I haven't heard of (google says he's an attorney?). I apologize for my lack of knowledge in the area, but was wondering if you would mind commenting on this edition and what sort of analysis/insight the annotation provides?

Unrelated, but my 10 year old said to tell you Fortunetly the Milk is one of the best books ever, more grownups need to keep their imagination like you did, and you're one of the reasons she wants to be an author/illustrator when she grows up 💛

The Les Klinger annotated Sandman volumes are wonderful. As is his annotated American Gods.

I am an enormous fan of his annotated Sherlock Holmes, Dracula and H.P.Lovecraft volumes as well.

I found some pages online to help you judge how it's annotated...

[thethirdromana]

Subscribing to Letters Regarding Jeeves and the Woman in White Weekly has left me preoccupied with the role of servants. So here's a bit of a ramble on servants - and particularly Dracula's servants, or lack thereof.

Jonathan comes from a time when being middle-class means having at least one live-in servant. But the number of servants per head of population in the UK was falling - from 1.38m in 1891 (4% of the population) to 1.27m in 1911 (2.8% of the population). That's why, in Jonathan's time, employing one servant means entry to the middle classes, but 30ish years later, the fabulously wealthy Bertie Wooster also has... one servant.

(To disgress: admittedly Jeeves is likely to be a lot more expensive to employ than the entry-level maid-of-all-work that a middle-class household would have, and there's also no indication that Wooster couldn't afford more servants, but I think it's still significant that he's happy with just the one. Wooster is gently snobbish about being appropriately dressed and going to the right restaurants and so on, but he doesn't see only having one servant as a problem.)

Dracula is a medieval nobleman. I don't know much about Transylvanian history but I would expect that in life, his castle would have been swarming with servants, both as a necessity (it takes a lot to keep a castle warm and clean, and its inhabitants fed), as a duty (to employ people from the surrounding area) and as a status symbol. And I would expect much the same to be true of a living nobleman on his country estate in 1890s Transylvania as well.

So why doesn't Dracula have any servants?

Well, obviously from a storytelling perspective, it's fucking creepy. I think the impact is lessened from a 21st century perspective because "there are no servants" is the default state for most of us, but this is the 1890s equivalent of being in a city and suddenly all the street noise goes silent. And I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place goes hard in any century. From Bram Stoker's perspective, I don't think this needs more justification and if I wasn't analysing every aspect of this book in the minutest detail I don't think I would give it any further thought.

The other obvious answer is that, being dead, Dracula doesn't need any servants. But I don't think that works. He may not need to eat or stay warm and presumably he doesn't produce any waste, but he still wears clothes that need washing and has horses that need to be cared for. Any old building needs an exhausting amount of maintenance just to keep it from crumbling. There's a lot of work that needs doing and I think we can assume that Dracula doesn't want to be doing it himself.

Perhaps he can't have servants. If serving at the castle means death (which presumably it does) then maybe the locals just refuse. And while Dracula has ways to pressure people, I can imagine that he would see that as beneath him just for the sake of having someone to wash his shirts. Maybe as much of that work as possible is done outside the castle, free of charge, by the terrified locals.

So then I find myself wondering, what is the state of the castle usually? Has Dracula spring-cleaned for his visitor? Has he brought the bed-hangings and linen out of ancient storage chests, replacing the moth-eaten ones that usually sit there, decaying? Has he dusted? There is an enormous amount of work involved just in getting the castle to the standard that Jonathan sees. Is there magic involved? Does Dracula usually live there like Sleeping Beauty with the castle crumbling around him? Or is the sumptuous luxury that Jonathan sees just an illusion?

[ravenqueensspecialboi]

I feel like people have heard about the time Bram Stoker sent his tinder bio to Walt Whitman but haven’t actually read the tinder bio so in honor of Dracula Daily’s return (and me finding my copy of Dracula that actually had the correspondence between Bram Stoker and Walt Whitman), here’s Bram Stoker’s pass at Walt Whitman:

I am not Shelley and you are not Godwin and so I will only hope that sometime I may meet you face to face and perhaps shake hands with you If I ever do it will be one of the greatest pleasures of my life. If you care to know who it is that writes this, my name is Abraham Stoker (Junior). My friends call me Bram. I live at 43 Harcourt St, Dublin. I am a clerk in the service of the Crown on a small salary. [’How did I get the impression that he was still in college?’] I am twenty-four years old. Have been champion at our athletic sports (Trinity College, Dublin) and have won about a dozen cups. I have also been President of the College Philosophical Society and an art and theatrical critic of a daily paper. I am six feet two inches high and twelve stone weight naked and used to be forty-one or forty-two inches round the chest. I am ugly but strong and determined and have a large bump over my eyebrows. I have a heavy jaw and a big mouth and thick lips - sensitive nostrils - a snubnose and straight hair. I am equal in temper and cool in disposition and have a large amount of self control and am naturally secretive to the world. I take a delight in letting people I don’t like - people of mean or cruel or sneaking or cowardly disposition - see the worst side of me. I have a large number of acquaintances and some five or six friends - all of which latter body care much for me. Now I have told you all I know about myself. [’And a mighty graphic picture it is too: I seem to see you not as in a glass darkly but as in the broad day lightly: I do, I do!’]

Bram Stoker originally penned this in 1872, but only sent it to Walt Whitman along with a second letter in 1876 after attending a meeting at Dublin’s Fortnightly Club, where he had, in his words, participated in a “hot debate” over Whitman’s poetic “genius”

[2kyo7]

♱ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘 ♱ | ACT 1

pairing ; adrian tepes , trevor belmont , sypha belnades x female reader

ཐི ➥ summary ; As the world begins to pay the toll of Dracula's rage, four unlikely heroes must band together and defeat him--no matter the price.

warnings ; swearing

notes ; this looks better on wattpad💔

"A VAMPIRE HUNTER & A MAGICIAN..." Alucard declared, slowly retracting his own body away from both Trevor and the silver blade he held which pierced through his pale—nearly porcelain like skin. "YOU'LL DO." Standing to his full height, Trevor watched bewildered at Alucard's sudden change in demeanor, once a deadly threatening foe now a sort of peace-making pacifist. "I am Adrian Tepes, son of Vlad Dracula Tepes."

Alucard then spoke of his year long slumber beneath Gresit to heal the wounds dealt after fatally attempting to battle Dracula. "So you are the sleeping soldier." Sypha confirmed her suspicions, a sense of relief and gratification washing over her, overzealous after finally completing the mission which placed her life at stake. "I know the stories—I also know Speaker's consider the story to be information from the future." He turns to look at her, "Though...do you know the whole story?" Sypha blushes with uncertainty, "Yes?"

Simply veering his sight elsewhere, Alucard proceeds to reiterate the tale he'd heard beforehand as if it was old as time—"The sleeping soldier will be met by a hunter, and a scholar," Belmont intervened with a tone which could only be described as defeat. "No one told me that."

"Why do you think my grandfather tried everything to make you stay?" Sypha now too interjecting the story, that was now starting to sound more like a conversation. "and they shall seek the eyes of true blood." Both Sypha along with Trevor looked to Alucard in deep confusion. "True blood?" They say in perfect union. Alucard walks to his casket, searching out a long black coat to wrap around his slender shoulders. "Meaning we must search for a pure blooded vampire willing enough to join to our merry trio," Alucard walks past both his newly formed teammates, "unfortunately I know just where to acquire her."

"Come again?" Trevor stomped his way towards Alucard, stopping him from walking without any further explanation. "You're telling me that we have to recruit a full bloody vampire—to kill other vampires? Tch...some goddamn messiah you are."

"I'm sorry to hear the prophecy doesn't quite suit your taste, Belmont. But I assure you that I am any more excited about such fate." He looks to Trevor with a look of certain distaste, grabbing both his sheath and metal sword. "So, what now?" Sypha's brows knit together, taken aback by new prophecy. They begin journeying towards the nearest exit, Trevor leading in front as Sypha and Alucard neared close behind. "Now we travel to Lavatris, in findings of our little true blood."

[theholmwoodfoundation]

Q: I must ask you, Ms Harker, how did Bram Stoker’s story of Dracula get published? Is it true you and your friends were the inspiration?

[MINA LAUGHS] Oh, my dear Bram! I remember when we first met in Cruden Bay in Scotland for a trip and we got on so well. I then invited him to visit me in Whitby, which is where I moved to support Arthur’s new venture after the Carpathians. Bram was very curious about our story,  and we…well, I suppose one thing led to another, and he was anxious to tell a version of it, mostly fabricated you understand, of his very own. To incorporate it into a tale of horror he was already writing. I must admit I was sceptical at first, but the idea intrigued me. Of course, in our real-world story, there was no monstrous being known as Count Dracula, no vampires, and no magic. Just a group of unlikely individuals and a rather terrible set of circumstances. But Arthur convinced me it would aid us in establishing the Foundation, and nothing in the world meant more to us than that. So we gave Bram permission to use our likenesses, and he even studied our writings and manners to ensure he could capture us on the page. I remember discussing with Arthur if we should have changed our names, changed who we were, but the release of the story, outrageous and horrifying as some of the details were, did introduce more people to the importance of blood and blood work. We were able to find many patrons to support us due to the release of Dracula, and while it has certainly made my life much stranger than it could have been, I was never truly upset by the book's legacy. I know Abraham - Professor Van Helsing's – nieces and nephews love to see how their uncle is presented as this dramatic vampire hunter! Sometimes, I wish Bram hadn’t changed so many details, particularly the ending, but I am not myself a writer, so I had faith in his words. Given the loss of my dear husband, Jonathan, at just 24 years old, I sometimes feel that a part of him lives on, caught like a pressed flower between the pages of that book. All I know for sure is that I have faith in what Arthur, Abraham, Jack, and I have created. We are honoured to work with the public to save lives, as we have done for the last 40 years.

-Transcript from BBC National Programme Radio Interview with Dame Mina Harker, Pub 1930