#but if Dracula can have his Count DeVille

[see-arcane]

Barking Harker Cast Snapshot 2: A White ‘Lady’ of Whitby Abbey

“Accursed misbirth of hell! I understand your hatred of the food of mankind. You get your sustenance out of the burying-ground, damnable creature that you are!”

As soon as those words had passed his lips, the Countess flew at him, uttering a sound between a snarl and a howl, and bit him on the breast with the fury of a hyena. He dashed her from him on to the ground, raving fiercely as she was, and she gave up the ghost in the most terrible convulsions. —“Aurelia; or, The Tale of a Ghoul”

Right over the town is the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene of part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the wall. It is a most noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits; there is a legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it and the town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones. […] They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this; he is coming this way.... […]

He is, I am afraid, a very skeptical person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady at the abbey he said very brusquely:—

"I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all wore out.” —Mina Harker, Mr. Swales, Dracula

She is not the Lady, whoever that pale wraith is meant to be. She is neither a walled-in maiden nor a dead holy woman stalking the ruins. Frankly, she’s not even at the Abbey the whole of her year. Merely visiting with all the other tourists. She comes for the view and the cuisine alike.

The only trouble with the place of late was that mess following the Demeter. Some uniquely dead codgers and their unhappy spirits, which was fine. A dead dog, which was not. A certain Black Dog roaming, which was worse. And a dog that was not a dog, but one of those cheating dead; the walking, talking, blood-burgling sorts who went around mucking up the natural order of things. ‘Natural’ here meaning ‘supper stays in its damn dirt box.’ So she tells him. He informs her in turn that she doesn’t know who she speaks to.

On the contrary, Count Cadaver. She can smell the dead legions on him. The screaming innocents who died in toil or twitching on pikes. The babes. The sailors. The codgers. Yes, he’s positively rancid with death and power and et cetera. Duly impressed, she is. But not as much as she is annoyed at this new grisly wrinkle in her routine. And she is not even half as annoyed as she is hungry. For she is of the living that consumes the dead. It should be said that her bite lasts on a corpse, no matter how puffed up or well-dressed he is. He might kill her if he’s quick about it, true. But he will have to get close.

And she imagines he’ll have a hell of a time enjoying England with a necrotized hole where his face should be.

Count Cadaver makes his exit and she doesn’t see those fair maidens in their nighties at the Abbey again—bittersweet, that—and time marches. Other cemeteries call. She digs and dines. Until one night she lets herself into a fine tomb in the Hampstead area. Westenra is engraved on the stone and a familiar fair face waits inside.

(Not the one in the coffin; too staked and sliced and delectably decayed for that. But the face of the fair maiden in the corner, neither resting nor at peace…)

Barking Harker details here.

[dancing-crystals]

The innkeeper and his wife, the coachman, they were expecting a middle-aged businessman, too arrogant to listen, too cynical to even believe the warnings are well-meant, too confident in his own science and religion to listen to anyone else. Someone with enough worldly experience that he might recognize Dracula as a threat even if he doesn't understand the nature of the threat. Someone important and well-connected enough that he's too risky to kill, old and dull enough not to be interesting enough to toy with.

It was a comfort, to know there was no way to save him. Another comfort, that he would be useful and boring enough to be spared, and canny enough to spot the danger.

Then Jonathon Harker shows up, young and earnest and innocent. He praises the food and asks for recipes for his young bride-to-be back home, and they can see in his face how in love he is. They see too his enthusiasm, his fascination. He blushes when he looks at the women and averts his eyes, he consults his phrase book so he can better give compliments.

He's young enough to be their son. Maybe the innkeeper has a child close to Jonathon's age--a son just starting his own life, a daughter a little younger peeking through the door and sighing at the handsome traveler. Or maybe their child would have been Jonathon's age, if only--but no, they must not think that.

But they do think it, and so the innkeeper's wife begs him to take the rosary "for your mother's sake" and it's not really Jonathon she's talking to. The innkeeper whispers to his friends and customers and old gossips, and they pass it to the passengers on the coach. The coachman is taken back too, the money the Count sent weighing heavily in his pocket. To refuse to drive him means death, to warn him is pointless.

Everyone on the couch is older than Jonathon, old enough to know what the devil in the castle does to the young and earnest and innocent. They all carry their own protections, and one by one they offer them to this poor fool who doesn't understand and wouldn't believe, but he's too polite to refuse and kind enough to see their concern and be touched by it.

The coachman drives his horses like he is fleeing from the devil instead of to him, and they all hope, pray, it will be enough.

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 4

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.6k

(CW: general vampirism, very light descriptions of injury)

Summary:

Astarion’s cold hand reaches out to catch your own as you move to drop it back to your side and he presses your palm against his cheek. His skin is like silk and you can hardly stop yourself from softly running your thumb over his beautiful cheekbone.

He leans in closer, lips just a breath away from yours. You hope he will lean down and kiss you. That he will wrap you in his arms and never let you go. You close your eyes and tilt your head up in anticipation.

Instead, you feel him pull away, your hand dropping limply back to your side. It stings your heart.

“Sleep well, wife,” Astarion says, before he’s turning on his heel and walking swiftly down the hallway.

Read on ao3 here

“What are you reading?” Astarion asks, flopping himself onto the settee next to you.

You lift the book up so he can see the cover. Bram Stroker’s Dracula. “I’m doing research on vampires.”

“Very funny,” Astarion says with a sour face. It makes you giggle as you turn back to your book.

Astarion watches you for a moment before he lets out a frustrated huff that you know is meant to draw your attention back to him.

“Why are you spending all your time surrounded by dusty old books when you could ask me, a real vampire?” He does a self-important flourish with his hand that causes you to snort out another laugh.

It seems too harsh to say ‘because I still don’t know if I can trust a word that comes out of your mouth.’ And really, you do mostly trust him now. You just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something bigger going on around here. 

You see Astarion whispering with Shadowheart and Gale in dark corners. You see the weird visitors- the giant, friendly woman, the stern looking warrior-woman, and the man with two different colored eyes- that Astarion always immediately rushes into his study. You had tried listening at the door the last time they came, but you still couldn’t hear anything.

Astarion couldn’t necessarily be called paranoid because, yeah, you were listening at the door. But to be fair, his actions were definitely suspicious. And what were you supposed to do- not try to solve this puzzle which had so wonderfully presented itself to you?

“Come, little flower, ask me anything. I promise there’s plenty of juicy details that are far too scandalous for your books to mention,” Astarion lightly pulls your attention back to him when he notices you chewing on your lip as you think. 

He’s hooked you there and he knows it- you never could resist the opportunity to indulge your curiosity. You curl up your feet so Astarion can settle more comfortably next to you and he slings his arm over the back of the settee. Perhaps you imagined it, but you could swear you caught his eyes darting down to your bare calf when you shifted, before you could adjust your skirts to cover yourself. 

“What happens if you come into contact with garlic?” 

“Aside from bad breath?” Astarion wrinkles his nose. “It’s not deadly or anything, it just reeks. No sane vampire would ever go near the stuff.”

“What about silver?”

“A very pretty metal, though I’m partial to gold,” He answers, gesturing down to his waistcoat, which is made of a shimmery golden silk with swirling floral patterns. Your husband never was one for minimalism. 

“What about running water?” You ask, practically having to rip your eyes away from his waistcoat. For under his waistcoat, lay his chest. And the idea of that lovely expanse of alabaster skin had quickly become an image which plagued you in the dark of night. 

“Should I be growing concerned about this line of questioning? You seem to only want to know about things that can harm me. I thought your questions would be much more fun.”

You smirk at him. “Please. If I wanted to hurt you, I already would have.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all, you feisty little devil,” Astarion says with a wicked grin. His red eyes flicker dangerously, like fire. “As for running water- I do love a bath. Though, it would be all the more delightful if you decided to join me. I could make it… very worth your while.”

His eyes rake over you and you struggle in vain to ignore the familiar flames of heat licking at your cheeks. You can’t decide if the cause is embarrassment or arousal, or both. 

“Do you remember what color your eyes were?” You ask, figuring you’ve teased him enough with your initial questions.. Astarion looks genuinely shocked for a moment before his forehead creases a bit. “You know, I’m not sure I do. It’s been so long.”

“How long?” you ask cautiously, like you’re approaching a wild animal. You expect him to skitter away at this line of questioning. Astarion doesn’t like deeply personal questions. He likes wordplay and teasing and, occasionally, dropping the odd fact about himself if you listened closely enough. 

“A couple hundred years,” he answers. It breaks your heart to hear that. To know he’s spent so long like this. He couldn’t have been older than his thirties when he was turned, which means he had been a vampire many lifetimes longer than he was alive. Does he even remember what it was like?

“I think they were gray. Or maybe green?” Astarion is still thinking, lost in his own little world. He sits for another moment. “Whatever. You have to admit that the red suits me, doesn’t it, darling?”

He shoots you a wink, said red eyes glinting playfully. You almost have whiplash from how quickly he was able to fall back into his flirtatious performance. By now, you have spent enough time with Astarion to know this act is what he reverts back to when he wants to reestablish control in a conversation, when he wants to stop himself from settling into uncomfortable emotions.

“Your eyes were blue,” you tell him and he looks at you warily. “I ran across the portrait of your family one day. You looked so much like your mother.”

You don’t tell him of all the hours you had spent studying the painting, turning the image over and over in your mind trying to figure out how this piece fit into the puzzle.

“Why would you tell me that?” 

And to your surprise, he’s angry at your words. You note this reaction in your mind- that bringing up his past will warrant anger and leave you without any useful information.

“So you could reclaim a part of yourself that was either stolen from you or that you forgot,” you say softly. Astarion’s eyebrows bunch together and he looks deep in thought. It’s making the room too heavy, his thoughts seem too dark. 

“How were you turned?” You ask, trying to distract him while also trying to get more of your questions answered. 

When he speaks, his tone seems too measured, too rehearsed. “Someone is turned when a vampire drains them dry and buries their body. It’s a rite of passage to dig yourself out of your grave. Of course, the body has to be buried almost immediately or the ritual won’t work and the person will just be dead. It’s a… delicate balance.”

He technically did answer your question, but the story of his turning is noticeably missing.

“Have you ever turned someone?” 

“No, I didn’t have that ability for a long time. And now, I don’t really care to.” He’s trying to feign nonchalance, but you see the way his fist is clenched so tightly in his lap that his nails are digging painfully into his palms. He’s hiding something. 

“But you’re a vampire?” Your own brow furrows in confusion, because it doesn’t make sense that he would be a vampire but not be able to turn someone.

“Am I?” Astarion asks sarcastically, examining his skin. “I hadn’t noticed. Thank you for that astute observation.”

You nudge him with your foot. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes, but it’s just so fun to tease you, pet. I simply can’t resist.” 

He’s trying to get himself out of this line of questioning by baiting you with teasing. But the way he’s still holding his shoulders so tightly, you know there’s still valuable information to be gained.

“So, you’re not a ‘real’ vampire?” you ask again, trying to coax him back on track.

“Now I am.” Astarion takes a deep breath in and out. “For a long time, I was just a vampire spawn.”

“How’s that any different?” You had read a bit about vampires and vampire spawn while doing your vampire research in the library, but the accounts were so varied that it was hard to discern what was true or false. From what you could gather, a vampire spawn serves a vampire lord. And it is rather strange that Astarion doesn’t seem to have any running around the manor.

Astarion is still quiet, so you rephrase the question. “What’s the story behind how you were turned, then?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” Astarion finally snaps, shooting you a glare.

“You said I could ask you anything.” You remind him, sure to keep your tone calm and measured.

“I said you could ask, I didn’t say that I would answer,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s so tense, jaw tight and shoulders nearly up to his ears.

You pout and he softens a bit, lowering his arm from the back of the settee to graze his fingertips gently over the back of your hand.

“There are some stories that only serve to harm when they are told, little flower,” he says quietly and the pained look on his face sends a twinge to your heart that makes you drop the subject entirely.

In moments like this, you must remind yourself that his beauty is a shield- a defense mechanism meant to amplify his pain and provoke a response from you. Even though you are aware of this, the way Astarion looks when he’s in pain has you nearly falling to your knees and begging forgiveness for ever daring to hurt him..

“What happens if you drink the blood of someone who’s drunk?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood after the heavy turn. 

You know he’ll welcome a silly question like that. And the radiant smile that lights up Astarion’s face is worth dropping your real line of question. You could ask another time. Right now, you would do just about anything to keep him smiling like this in front of you.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! You can get drunk from them, but you have to drink a lot and the effects fade far too quickly. I much prefer wine for a quick buzz.”

“Makes sense with that cellar I found downstairs,” you tease. Though, cellar was a bit of an understatement. Grand network of caverns filled with more wine than you could ever conceive of existing was a more apt description.

“Darling, you should know by now that I collect and cherish the things I enjoy,” Astarion says in a deep, husky voice, eyes looking up at you sinfully from underneath his pale lashes. 

The image of him cherishing you fills your mind and sets your face aflame. It would be so easy for his hand to reach out, to tilt your chin up and present your face to his. All he would have to do is lean over, just a little bit closer, and his pretty pink lips would press against yours. They would be soft and cool against your burning skin. 

No. Stay focused. This was the time for getting some much needed answers out of Astarion, not the time for silly romantic fantasies.

“Do you like being a vampire?” you ask after clearing your throat. You take great care to keep your voice as calm as possible, afraid you might again be leading Astarion into tumultuous waters.

Astarion takes a moment before he speaks and you can watch his thoughts play out on his face. The slight frown when he first processes your question, the way his eyes dart around the room as if he will think up some witty response to distract you, the gentle furrow in his brow as he tries to think of a genuine response. 

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that.” He’s trying hard to keep his own voice measured and controlled when he speaks. “It’s… complicated. I certainly don’t regret being turned. Not anymore, at least.”

Not anymore. So, he did regret being turned at some point. But why? What horrors has he witnessed that were so unspeakable? Was his turning really that traumatic?

Perhaps he had been in a war? You had read many stories that portrayed war as the worst of what humanity could do to one another. But no, that’s ridiculous. Astarion is nobility, he practiced law. And Astarion isn’t the type to involve himself in other’s petty squabbles, anyway.

But the faraway, pained look in Astarion’s eye has you thinking that whatever he had suffered must have been akin to the worst of war. 

“Would you ever want to be a vampire?” He surprises you by turning the question back on you. You curl your arms around your knees, pulling them closer to your chest. Your reaction isn’t an immediate no, which surprises you a bit. 

“I don’t know. Depends on the circumstances, I think,” you tell him.

What you really mean is that it depends on if eternity would look like this. If eternity would involve reading in the gardens or Astarion and you sitting next to each other on a settee and talking. Those might be terms you could agree to. 

“I think I would really miss the sunlight,” you give Astarion a sad smile. 

No sunlight means no gardens during the day, no talking strolls in the forest, no swimming in a river and sunbathing on a rock to dry yourself off. The life of a vampire is cold and dark and lonely. Only, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so lonely for you?

“A small price to pay for eternal life,” Astarion says with what you have come to understand is his hollow performance voice. Meant to dazzle an audience and distract people from the fact that his real feelings contradict what he is saying. 

You watch him carefully as he settles deeper into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to tamper whatever melancholy had been brewing inside him. 

“Come on then, darling, read to me,” he says, giving you a wicked grin, “I can tell you what they got wrong in your little book.”

You read aloud and Astarion chimes in with little quips like ‘that’s not right,’ and ‘what do you think about me taking two more brides like this Dracula fellow, pet?’ and ‘good gods, just skip over the parts about Renfield, he’s a disgusting, pathetic character.’ 

But as you continue to read, Astarion slowly lets his head rest against the back of the couch and his eyes grow heavy before they eventually fall closed. The frequency of his interruptions slows until he’s just giving little hums of acknowledgement when you read something especially shocking or profound. 

When you make it over two pages without a single interruption, you pause to look over at him. His deep, even breaths lead you to think he might have fallen asleep. With a smile, you turn back to the book and keep reading, perfectly content to never let this moment end, even if the number of remaining pages was starting to dwindle. 

—---------

The longer you spent around Astarion, the more you realize that he did occasionally sprinkle the truth into his words- for even the best charlatans use truth to make their facades seem more real. Astarion wasn’t unique in that regard.

As such, you were determined to find the flakes of truth in Astarion’s story, determined to piece together the puzzle of the man you called your husband. It would be your most challenging and most rewarding prize yet. 

So, you study him. You watch and you learn every tiny expression on his face. Astarion might be a masterful performer, but there were involuntary reactions even he could not control- a slight furrow of the brow, an inhale, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. And sometimes, there were flashes of something in his eyes- joy, wonder, terror, despair- so quick that a lesser trained eye might have missed them completely. 

You notice these details because they are important to your cause. And yet, they stick around in your head for hours, repeating like some terribly wonderful time loop. 

And you find yourself craving his company. You tell yourself that it’s not because you particularly enjoy his presence, but because every interaction gives you more information, gets you one step closer to discovering the truth beneath the mask. And yes, he was beautiful and wonderful to look at, but you only gazed upon him so often because you were collecting valuable data. 

Though… it was remarkable how he seemingly had no bad angles. How the candlelight bent to his whim, following him around and dancing against his skin. 

And gods damn him, Astarion can be funny, when he wants to be. He’s well-read and full of little tales and salacious secrets about the other nobles and their ancestors. In another life, you would have thought the gods crafted him especially for you- your perfect conversation partner.

Although Astarion will never love you, never desire you in the way that you secretly know you will always want him, you think he has come to find some enjoyment in your companionship, too. Some of his smiles seem a bit too real, some of his laughs a little too wild to be rehearsed. You imagine he regards you as a sort of… pet. Or, if you really dare to dream, perhaps a friend.  

You must constantly remind yourself that his flirtations are empty, practiced phrases that are meant to disarm you. They do not show you he cares for you or that he wants you. You try to ignore that deep, viscous part of you that calls out to him, that wants him to think of you fondly, that hopes that you are driving him as mad with your presence as he drives you. 

Over the past month, you’ve become semi-nocturnal. You find Astarion is much more active once the sun has gone down and the later you stay awake, the more time you get to spend with him. It’s unsettling how naturally your life seems to shift to accommodate him. 

When you do make your way out to the garden in the late afternoons, Halsin happily congratulates you in his friendly, over-the-top way on the state of your marriage and how you and Astarion have managed to grow together despite your initial difficulties. You know he means it sincerely, but the words leave you a stuttering, embarrassed mess. You didn’t think you were being so obvious about your growing… affection for Astarion. 

So, you start reading in the library more often than the garden, now that the air has started to turn crisp in the autumn nights. 

Or at least, you’ve convinced yourself that’s the reason why and not because you secretly hope that Astarion will come join you.

And he does join you, some days. He’ll stride in with a book or some papers and take up residence on the couch across from you. On the really good days, he’ll sit on the couch beside you and ask you to read aloud and you get to lean against him while you read to him.

Tonight, he decided to accompany you to the library after dinner. He’s sitting in a chair across from your favorite settee and he’s only wearing a flowing white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You keep sneaking peeks up at him, mesmerized by the blue veins in his arms and how the lean muscles move when he turns a page. You’re trying really hard to be subtle- only letting yourself glance up for a moment every couple of minutes. 

But, gods, it’s so difficult to focus on the words in front of you with that expanse of skin teasing you. 

“You haven’t turned a page in a very long time, darling,” Astarion says without even looking up from his own book. 

“And how attentive are you to your own reading if you’ve been listening for me to turn the page?” You shoot back.

“Oh, I’ve been finished for ages. I just couldn’t stand to leave you.” He gives you that devilish, tantalizing grin where one corner of his mouth curves up more than the other. It sends your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your chest.  

“Well,” you sigh, shutting your book and attempting to act casual, as if your formerly self-declared enemy hadn’t just caught you gawking at his forearms. “I suppose I’m not going to get any more of this finished tonight.”

“I apologize, I know my presence is entirely too distracting,” Astarion says, and the arrogant look on his face makes you roll your eyes. He’s not wrong, but he'd be entirely too pleased with himself the rest of the evening if you admitted it out loud. 

“Yes, how does anyone get anything done with you around?” you say sarcastically instead.

“I haven’t the faintest idea how,” Astarion lets out a suffering sigh, as if his beauty is too much for the world to handle (it is). You can’t let yourself think about it too long or you’ll devolve in idle fantasies about what it might feel like to trace those beautiful veins in his arms all the way up to his chest.

You snap your book shut, “Want to join me on a walk around the gardens?” 

You need to get out of here, where the stifling air and Astarion’s flowy white shirt are clouding your mind. But you don’t want this night to end yet. Not just yet. In truth, you gladly and greedily take as much time as Astarion’s willing to give you.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be in the world.” 

He says it with that easy, flirtatious tone and you know he probably doesn’t really mean it. But that deep part of you that feeds on Astarion’s praise still preens. 

The cool air is refreshing when you step outside and your head finally begins to clear. Astarion holds his arm out for you and you let your fingers brush against the skin of his forearm as you tuck yourself into his side. 

When you turn to look at him, he’s practically luminescent. The moonlight was made for him, bouncing off his white curls and casting a gentle glow over his pale skin. As the moon reflected the sun’s light, Astarion seemed to reflect the moon’s. You were simply lucky to bask in his presence.

Arm in arm, you wander through the garden, pointing out your favorite flowers to Astarion and checking in on the blooms. It’s reached that part of autumn where some perennials have started to sleep, ready to reawaken in the spring. The sunflowers, always one of your favorites, are drooping for the night, waiting to chase after the sun again tomorrow, and you frown a bit when you see them. 

“It’s a shame you never get to see the gardens during the day. The colors, the blooming flowers. It’s truly one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say, as you and Astarion move into the rose garden. Everything new you find out about vampirism makes it sound like an isolating, dreary existence. You make a mental note that Astarion could use some cut flowers in his study every now and then, though it feels like a poor substitute for the splendor of the full gardens. 

Because it is your mission to study Astarion, you don’t miss the fleeting, pained look that passes over his face, the look he always gets when you dig a bit too close to a truth he’d rather keep buried. 

You used to push him on these, but you quickly found that got you nowhere. No, Astarion responded far better to a gentle touch rather than provocation and name calling. You were coming to realize that he would tell you in time, in his own way. And you had started to find that you didn’t mind waiting for answers if it kept you in his company that much longer.

And oh, how rewarding those answers were when he gifted them to you in the dark of the night, offering up little pieces of himself like Tara delivering you a dead mouse. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prattling on- '' you try to backtrack, to apologize for the sadness that you have caused to enter his eyes. 

You sometimes wonder what his eyes would look like if they were still blue- would they be pale blue like soft ocean waves or rich and deep like the blue flowers in the garden? 

With his red eyes in front of you, his sadness is akin to pain, all blood and gore and unspoken horrors. No, you decide, if Astarion had blue eyes they must look like dark rain clouds when he is sad. For if Astarion weeped, would the heavens themselves not cry for him?

“Nonsense,” Astarion cuts you off and you’re acutely aware of how your husband has been studying you just as intently as you were watching him. Admittedly, the two of you were remarkably similar underneath it all. All sharp teeth and claws masking scared and fragile hearts. 

He gives your hand a little squeeze where it rests on his forearm. “It’s wonderful to see the world through your eyes.”

He says it so casually, like he hasn’t caused your knees to buckle and your soul to leave your body. Occasionally, he slips in sentiments like that, with no regard for your poor heart. You’re dangerously close to having hope that he actually means them. 

But no, you remind yourself. There was no way Astarion’s words could be trusted. He said things, he did things to get a reaction out of you because he grew bored and because he knew how badly you wanted him, how badly everyone wanted him. There was no reason to hope. He had entertained you at the ball because he was hungry, he had married you to tie up loose ends, and he spent time with you now because he had very little other company up here in his lonely manor. 

You do not mean as much to him as he does to you. 

You distract yourself from that thought spiral by talking, amazed at how easy and willing you are to offer up information to him now, “I used to have a book with flowers drawn in it as a little girl that I would stare at all day. There were so many that I’d never thought I’d get to see in real life, until I came here. And there were some flowers that I didn’t even know existed until I saw them here for the first time. These gardens are everything I could have ever dreamed of.”

Astarion gives you a smile that lights up his whole face and he seems so proud, like the whole purpose of his life is to make you happy. Your heart sings again and you shush her immediately. 

Astarion’s beauty was not something you would ever grow used to. And in the lighting tonight, his profile sent a cold shock through your body. You had never felt so alive. You had never yearned for death more. 

“My mother used to love the gardens here. She used to always try to get me to help her plant things. I wish…” He trails off, reaching out to stroke a delicate rose petal with his fingers. “Well, I wish I would have appreciated that more when I was younger. You never realize as a child how precious those memories will one day become.”

“And I wish you could have seen it then,” he says, letting out a wistful sigh. “You would have loved it. The gardens were even grander and more vast than what they are now. When I returned, they were in such disrepair that it pained me to look at them for ages. I hired Halsin to help restore them and he did a wonderful job, of course, but it’s just…”

He continues to stare at the flower he holds in his hand, unable to find the words to finish his sentence.

“Not the same?” you complete the thought for him and he nods.

And although his words fill you with a deep sadness, you rejoice for a moment. Astarion offers up information about himself so rarely that his words tonight are practically a feast. You tuck away that little piece of his backstory in your mind to analyze later. Though, as usual, he leaves you with more questions than answers. 

Where had he returned from? Where was it that he had spent most of his vampiric life? And you still don’t know the circumstances of how he was turned into a vampire or how that plays into creating the man standing before you.

You let your fingers rub in circles against his forearm as you think.

Astarion’s rests his hand over yours. “Your hands are cold, little flower. And we both know a pretty thing like you blooms better in the daytime. I think it’s time to get you back inside.”

You try to protest but a yawn escapes you and Astarion gives you a knowing look that forces you to roll your eyes and allow him to start guiding you back toward the manor. His footsteps are slow, as if he’s trying to prolong your time together.

“Thank you, Astarion,” you say quietly, when you reach your room. 

Facing him, the low, flowing neckline on his shirt has the lines of his collarbone perfectly in your sight and you’re scared you won’t be able to resist reaching out and touching them if you have to look at that for much longer. 

Astarion seems unable to resist touching you, either, and his hand reaches out to tug on the chain of your necklace which holds your wedding ring. It must have snaked its way out from under the collar of your dress at some point during the night. He rolls the gold band between his fingers, his expression unreadable. 

“You’re wearing your ring,” Astarion states the obvious, his voice low and husky with some emotion you can’t decipher. 

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not embarrassing, per say, but it does feel a bit like Astarion has broken his way past your ribcage and is staring directly at your beating heart.

“When did you start doing that?”

He tilts his head and one, single white curl dislodges itself from his meticulously styled hair. You watch it fall gently, like a feather floating through the air. 

“About a week after…” you trail off. It was still weird to admit it out loud. About a week after you were married. It had been a couple months since that day and everything after has felt like a feverish dream. 

You can’t focus when Astarion is looking at you like this- eyes all warm and rich and red like the fading embers of a fire. And the loose curl that caresses the skin of his ear is just taunting you so sweetly. Your hand moves almost of its own accord, reaching out to brush it back into place and ghosting over the shell of Astarion’s ear. You catch his slight shiver. 

Astarion’s cold hand reaches out to catch your own as you move to drop it back to your side and he presses your palm against his cheek. His skin is like silk and you can hardly stop yourself from softly running your thumb over his beautiful cheekbone.

He leans in closer, lips just a breath away from yours. You hope he will lean down and kiss you. That he will wrap you in his arms and never let you go. You close your eyes and tilt your head up in anticipation.

Instead, you feel him pull away, your hand dropping limply back to your side. It stings your heart.

“Sleep well, wife,” Astarion says, before he’s turning on his heel and walking swiftly down the hallway. 

Wife.

He called you that so rarely and combined with the rosemary and bergamot lingering in the air after him, you feel a bit dizzy.

Oh, it’s the first time he’s called you that without a hint of teasing or sarcasm. No, tonight he said it almost with reverence- as if you were a gift to him. He had said it like a true husband might. That silly sense of hope thrums again in your veins. 

But hope for what? That this marriage built on deception and hatred might turn itself around into something based in love? You chastise yourself for feeding into girlish fantasies. You needed to stop reading so many romance books. 

No, you were just relieved that Astarion and you had managed to grow into something that could be considered a friendship. That he respected you enough to give you back the control that so many husbands wielded viciously over their wives. You were content since you were safe, and never pressured into uncomfortable circumstances, and spent your days doing whatever you wished.

You did not really want Astarion to kiss you. 

It is the baser, lonely part of you that wants him to kiss you, that wants to hold him, that cries out for his touch. You would want to kiss anyone after taking a midnight stroll in a romantic garden. Astarion just happened to make it especially confusing by being the most beautiful man in the world. 

And yet, you still yearn for his attention, you long for his smiles like a flower chases after the sun. And was his smile not capable of rivaling the sun? The pure joy, the pure energy surging beneath the surface. 

No, when Astarion smiled, the sun itself bowed her head in surrender to his beauty. 

—------------------

Gale might have been right, though you were loath to admit it. 

You really did have a hard time sitting still for your portrait. It was only a couple hours each day in the afternoon, but all the sitting and doing nothing felt like torture. You could have done it if you had been allowed a book, but the stupid artist needed to be able to see your stupid face.

On the second afternoon, Astarion wanders in, inspecting the painting critically, eyes narrowed and a hand held up to his chin as he scrutinizes it. 

“The shade of her eyes is all wrong,” he finally says with a displeased frown. 

“I’m sorry, my lord, the painting isn’t finished yet.” The artist attempts to defend himself but you can tell he quickly sets to work correcting the ‘mistake.’

Astarion comes in the next day, and the next, and the next and just watches over the artist’s shoulder. The poor man is sweating so bad he’s creating a small puddle on the floor. It’s rather amusing. You have to refrain from laughing the whole time.

The man can’t seem to be able to paint a single detail without Astarion critiquing his choices and giving corrections. It’s a flurry of ‘see how her mouth moves up in the corner when she smiles,’ and ‘no, look again at how the candlelight moves against her skin,’ and ‘her hair doesn’t curl around her face like that, you’ve made her look like a poodle.’

You’ve come to think that Gale was wrong and perhaps Astarion is the worst kind of fine art snob who believes they could do everything better than the actual artists. And granted, he probably could- Astarion was also the annoying type of person who was preternaturally gifted at everything they tried.

When Astarion finally deigns the painting satisfactory after many, many days of nit-picking, you’re allowed to see the final product. It truly is a marvelous piece. You are sure you have never looked more beautiful- not even at the ball where you met Astarion or on your wedding night. No, in this painting, you can only be described as ethereal, a small scrap of the heavens that created Astarion.

It feels as if you are seeing yourself anew, through the eyes of someone who loves you. 

“I expect nothing less than perfection when it comes to you, my love,” Astarion says, a gentle hand on your waist as he stands behind you and keenly observes your reaction.

But the painting is not what has pulled the air from your lungs. 

My Love. 

That's new. In your time as a married woman, you had grown accustomed to the endearments that Astarion loved to dole out and had deciphered his uses for each. He seemed to have a personal vendetta against calling you by your name.

Darling was for emphasis and dramatic effect. Dearest was a bit sarcastic and typically saved for use around others. Pet was for when he really wanted to be a condescending asshole or a teasing little shit. 

Little flower was perhaps the closest thing to a real endearment that Astarion had in his vocabulary, saved for the soft moments when the mood between the two of you could perhaps be considered friendly. 

But my love was unprecedented, uncharted territory. 

And with the way Astarion is looking at you, with eyes so open that his soul is practically bleeding out of them, you wonder if for the first time he actually means what he is saying. That maybe some part of his heart does hold affection for you. It seems impossible. 

He spends the rest of the evening peppering darlings and my dears in nearly every sentence, like he’s overcompensating for the slip up earlier.

Your portrait is hung next to his in the gallery. And you do have to admit that the two of you look wonderful together. 

—----------------------

You don’t like when Astarion leaves on trips. Especially since he never wants to take you with him. Apparently, you had annoyed Astarion so much about the issue that he now resorted to not even telling you when he was going to leave. 

Instead, you awoke one afternoon to Shadowheart informing you that he was away on business for the next few days. You’re fairly certain he’s lying- that whatever he’s out doing involved those maps and papers you found on his desk when you had broken into his study.

You’re a bit peeved that he didn’t even bother to leave you a goodbye note but mostly, you want him to come back. 

You know he will arrive home with a flourish and an extravagant gift. His last trips had awarded you with a lovely new silk dress, a newly released book, and a tiara, of all things. Out of the three, the book was the only item that was really useful and you had spent a few nights reading it to Astarion while his head rested in your lap. Though, you did wear the dress and tiara to dinner after you had received each and the pleased mood it put Astarion in was worth dressing up for no reason.

This time, Astarion has been gone for two days and you feel as if you are going to lose your mind with how desperately you need him to come back.

You’re pacing the length of the drawing room, working your lip between your teeth and focusing on how you want Astarion back so you can yell at him for leaving without telling you and not because you miss the little grins he gives you when you see him in the hallway. Or the way he’s started tracing patterns on the inside of your palm when you sit together after you read. Or how he sometimes stares at you with such awe you feel as though he is looking at your very soul.

You do not miss Astarion. It just… feels wrong when he isn’t around. 

You’re still pacing and deeply rationalizing how much you definitely do not miss him when you hear the front door open. Your body begins moving before your brain could even register what you were doing.

The sight before you is a nightmare. Astarion’s arm is wrapped around a woman’s shoulder and she’s supporting most of his weight as she drags him through the door. You recognize her instantly due to her imposing frame. You had seen her around the manor from time to time when she would visit for those secret meetings that she, and the mean-looking woman, and two-color eyed man had with Astarion. 

She had always been kind to you when you had seen her around, always quick to offer up a smile. But not now. Her forehead is creased deeply with worry and you faintly register her yelling for help over the ringing in your ears. 

Astarion looks bad, which is a word you never thought could be used to describe him. His skin is already so pale, but now, he looks nearly white and there’s blood splattered across his face. His free hand is clutching at his side in a way that implies he’s been badly wounded.

You’re frozen in fear. What could you possibly do to help?

Shadowheart, who must have been on her way to bring you tea as you paced, immediately shoves the tray onto the first surface she can find. 

“What happened?” Her voice is grim and she’s rushing forward, helping to support Astarion’s weight on the other side. He lets out a pitiful groan of pain as they settle him on a couch. 

“Got ambushed on the way back. Too many of them, we couldn’t fight them off,” the tall woman answers.

But her explanation seems… off. Astarion’s carriage is grand, sure, and robbers like to target the wealthy, especially in the dead of night. But you had a hard time believing this woman would be incapable of fighting off a couple street thugs. An attack that would warrant this level of injury seems much more organized.

No. Something else is going on. What sort of business was Astarion tangled up in?

Shadowheart is a blur as she bustles around, collecting herbs, cloth bandages, and a needle and thread. You never knew she was a healer. Was everyone around here keeping secrets from you? 

And you’re just standing there, uselessly, incapable of doing anything other than watch as your own heart bleeds out in front of you. 

Your feet do manage to carry you to Astarion’s side and you try to stay out of Shadowheart’s way as she works, but all you want right now is to pull him into your arms and soothe the pain on his face. 

“Astarion?” you call his name, your shaky hand reaching out to move a stray curl away from his face. It looks all wrong- his white hair drenched with red blood. His eyes crack open and a dreamy smile spreads across his face when he sees you. 

“Come to grace your dying husband with a kiss, sweet wife?” Astarion’s eyes are hazy, but you can still detect a teasing sparkle in them. You’re relieved for a moment, because his condition surely can’t be that bad if he’s still managing to tease you. 

You let out a laugh. “Leave it to you to be flirting on your deathbed.”

Shadowheart’s worried voice breaks you out of your momentary comfort. “He needs blood, desperately.”

“We need to get someone from the village,” you say, making a motion to get up and go call for someone, but Astarion’s hand is wrapping gently around your wrist. His grip is worryingly loose and you can tell it’s all the strength he’s able to muster right now. 

“Not enough time,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her voice is fraught with anxiety and it sends a needle of ice through you. Shadowheart didn’t scare easily. “He needs blood now.”

“Can you?” you ask and she shakes her head again.

“My blood’s no good and neither is Karlach’s,” Shadowheart nods her chin up at the tall woman.

“Is there anyone here who can give him blood?” You cry out. Someone had to be able to help- Gale, Halsin, another servant. 

“Just you.”

When you look down at Astarion, there’s a cold hand squeezing at your heart and you realize that you don’t have a choice. You grab the dagger that’s strapped to Astarion’s belt- which, why did he have a dagger if he was going on a normal business trip? You glide the sharp edge along your palm, ignoring the sting of pain as you cut it open. 

His eyes are closed as you squeeze your palm shut to help the blood pool and drip onto his lips. Almost immediately, his eyes are shooting open and he’s dragging your palm to his mouth. 

It’s obscene to watch him- he lets out a groan as his soft tongue swirls and sucks against your skin. In another time, in another circumstance, there would be that familiar desire pooling deep within you as you watched him.

Suddenly, the idea of Astarion drinking anyone else’s blood ever again fills you with a jealousy so deep that you’re scared of what you might do if you get your hands on that unlucky soul.

A bit of color returns to his face and he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, seemingly as thanks. Later that night, as you sit at his bedside as he recovers, you’ll be pressing your own lips to the same spot, as if that silly act could imitate the feel of his lips against your own.

Astarion’s eyes are still hazy and unfocused as he purrs, “Delicious, of course. I can only think of one other way I could devour you that would be better than that.”

The fact that he loses consciousness immediately after saying that probably has the opposite effect than he intended. You’ll have to tease him about that after he wakes up. And he will wake up. Because you can’t bear with the thought of a life without him.

---------------

Notes:

Okay, I fully recognize that Dracula didn't come out until 1897 and I did say this was a regency AU, but we are simply ignoring inconvenient facts for the sake of a bad joke. Sorry, I get make to the rules around here!

This chapter was so much fun to write because I'm a slut for yearning but I can't even describe how excited I am to share chapter 5 next week!!!!!! It's a doozy! We finally get a peak into Astarion's smooth little brain and well… I did promise eventual smut. I hope you all know how much I appreciate everyone who reads this little story and I hope everyone is having as much fun with this as I am!

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! She is my live studio audience cheering in the comments of the absurdly long google doc where I keep this fic and, for that, I love her.

Taglist: @idkbrodontaskme @ayselluna @maruichio @fanfic-share

Just let me know in the comments or by shooting me a message if you would like to be added/removed from the taglist!

[serene-sun]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝕺𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓, 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖎𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖁𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖊

Summary: After a multitude of wrong doings at your catholic church, you and four other nuns are sent on a mysterious transfer to a ministry nobody dares speak of. On behalf of the Count Copia, you are welcomed after a suspenseful journey. Author Note: This is the first chapter to my new series based on some of my favorite movies like Dracula, The Phantom Of The Opera and Labyrinth. You might even get some references to some others as well as a few ghost lyrics. This is going to be a build up to smut, and this will be a romance one obviously but beware this is major corruption kink coming your way. If you need some help, the ghoul in this chapter is Aether, and half of this is quite literally the exact script of Dracula. You can even look it up and see! Please enjoy, all feedback in my inbox is greatly appreciated.

Chapter one of my new series, “𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘”

In a Coach in the Carpathian Mountains, a young woman reads to four passengers from a travel brochure.

“Among the rugged peaks that frown down on the Borgo Pass are found crumbling castles of a bygone age.” The woman is knocked from her seat by a bump in the dirt rural road.

“I say, driver, a bit slower!” Another woman says, her black veil crooked as she shakes in the mobile. 

“No, no! We must reach the mountain before sundown!” The driver says, a crack in his voice as the silent erie sound of the forest starts to swallow all sounds.

‘And why, pray?” One of the female passengers asks, closing the bible in her lap.

“When the sun sets the demons start evoking the mountain side like raging wolves and hyenas, desperate for any vulnerable being to feast upon!” The driver replies as they are enveloped in a cloud of fog, the steep road getting more bumpy.

You held tight onto the rosary in your hands, a charm of Jesus Christ on the cross between your palms as you listen to the man speak.

As the vehicle stops in the center of the small village on the ridge, the passengers eagerly step out of the transport and into the rich moist soil. This is a small village of three homes and one or two inns, mainly farmland and water sources as it fits in a small acre. 

A woman from the nearest inn steps out of the entrance as chickens follow, her hair is in a messy bun and there is soot smudged across her face and clothes with a few patches holes in her dress and apron.

“Oh dear, let me help with your luggage sisters.” She says, wiping her hands on her sides to rid of the grim.

“Oh do not worry madam, we are to arrive up top the mountain by tonight.” you say as she grabs a leathery bag.

“Tonight? But the sun is already half set? The gate keeper, he is afraid. Good fellow, he is. Wants me to ask if you can wait to go on after sunrise.” She says as she sets the luggage back into the trunk.

“Im dearly sorry but im afraid we have specific orders from our adviser to be there by sundown, and I fear we are already late.” You reply, hands still clasped together.

Was what the driver said true? Why would it? Perhaps he was only trying to scare the group of young women.

“And who needs you on the mountain? Who sent you faithful young holy women to the dark abbey?” The innkeeper says in disbelief, she studies the very christian and catholic constant theme on the luggage and clothes.

“Count Copia, I assure you, we are here on holy deeds.” You say, willingly ignoring the description of the abbey, surely it was not truly an unholy place, it was an abbey after all.

‘Count Copia? And to the ministry?” She hides her hands in her apron pockets with her brows knitting.

“Yes.” You nod slowly, unsure of what she means, is he not the holy man they were sent to serve? 

“No, you mustn't go there. We people of the mountains believe at the castle there are devils. Count and his ghouls!  They take the form of wolves and bats, goats and succubi. They leave their coffins at night, and they feed on the blood of the living.” She says, placing her hands on your shoulders and eagerly rushing you inside, “Look at the sun! Its already gone, come we must go indoors.”

“But thats all superstition. Why I…I cant understand why…” You try to reason as the door is slammed shut after the other nuns enter.

“But wait, I mean, just a minute. What im trying to say is that im not afraid. I've explained to the driver that its a matter of holiness and god filled right, We've explained it and we must arrive soon.” You say as she pokes at the fire, letting out a cough into her hand.

“If you must go then take this for your mothers sake,” the innkeeper hands you a small vile of blood, “This will protect you..”

‘W-what is it?” You ask, the other sisters surrounding you in curiosity.

“The blood of christ!” She says, eyes wide with fear.

For a moment you feel the need to call help for the woman, she must be a poor paranoid soul. And there is no way she of all people would have the blood of christ.

The sisters gather back into the small mobile and quickly ride upon the foggy dark mountain as the red piercing sun drowns in the horizon. 

When the car stops in the pitch black court yard, the car hurriedly drives away.

“Wait! Driver! Our luggage!” 

The groups attention is brought back to the stone path to the large entrance doors as it is lined with lit candles that come of flame. The dancing red light illuminates them to follow, you take the lead, as you seem to be the least terrified. 

You push open the large black doors and step into the Obsidian floor of the main castle. Its dark just like outside and candles suddenly egnite.

The nuns look around the room, taking in the shadowed paintings, murals, and stained glass.

A footstep spooks you as the sound comes from a taller man at the top of the main stair case.

“G-Good evening.” You bow your head slightly in respect as you can only make out his shape.

“I am…Count Copia..” He says, thick italian accent in his voice as he begins stepping down the long stairs.

“Its very good to see you. I don't know what happened to the driver and our luggage and…well…with all this..I thought I was in the wrong place.” You say, hoping to not sound rude, but there wasn't a cross in sight and the stained glass showed depictions of devilish things instead of virgin mary and jesus.

“I bid you welcome.” The count says,

Outside the large windows, there the howl of a wolf.

“Listen to them…children of the night. What music they make!” He smiles hauntingly.

The older man starts walking off down a corridor lined with paintings and candles. The hall is painted dark red with black trim. One candle stick is consumed with spider webs, it catches your attention as you follow.

“A spider spinning his web for the unwary fly. The blood…is the life, Ms…” He invited you to say your name.

“Ah of course, My name is Sister _, from the western Catholic church of god.” You say with another pleasing bow.

The man hums, his eyes darkening, “Im sure you will find this part of the ministry more inviting.” He says as he opens the doors to a larger room, it has five beds, dressers, nightstands and even an chest at the foot of every bed. Theres two couches on either side of a coffee table in the center of the room, accompanied with a vase of dead roses, a fire place, and two other chairs of black leather. What is most questionable is why the room is a circle, not one corner.

‘Oh rather! Its quite different from outside. Oh, and the fire! Its so cheerful.” You say with a smile.

“I took the liberty of having your luggage brought up. Allow me.” He says as he takes the groups wool capes, he hangs them on a coat rack.

‘Oh yes, thank you.” One of the sisters says as she sits on the neatly made bed. 

The room is painted a deep purple, black trims and wall designs. The curtains over the large windows were a pitch black, and the beds were of black steel and neatly covered with purple silk sheets and purple cotton. The room was lit with candles and a chandelier.

You pick up the letter on the bed, but you accidentally cut your finger on the sharp note card.

As a droplet of blood rolls down your finger, the man quickly turns away.

“Oh dear im sorry, its just a paper cut, I didn't know you were squeamish.” You apologize as you grab a napkin cloth and hold it.

“The infirmary is on the main hall to the left, I hope you shall never need it.” He says as he holds his hands behind his back.

“Thank you,” You smile.

‘I will have a ghoul take you there, and get a bandage.” He says with a large swallow. 

You tilt your head, “ghoul?” You ask, what is with this odd abbey?

Suddenly, out of the darkness of the room, a masked entity approaches you. His silvery devil mask shines in the candle light, through the slit shines his piercing white eyes, pupils so thin and slit like a snake your unsure if they're even there or if its the shadows playing tricks on you. Hes in a nice suit attire, a skull tie and button up pants. His dark hair is slightly wavy and is cut short at his ear and neck, he has a calming presence and you notice his ears are long and pointed. You take in the fact that this man was not infant human, but rather a demon. 

So the innkeeper was correct? About unholy ghosts here?

He leads you to the infirmary, the walk there is silent as you continue to study his form. He has a spaded tail, and his hands are a pale muted purple and his veins are visible in a lighter white color. The ghoul had long sharp claws too, as well as a thicker build. 

He opened the door to the infirmary, he lets you sit down as he gathers materials to address the minor cut.

As he comes back, he kneels in front of you and takes your hand. The pads of his fingers are rough but smooth, hes very gentle and has a calming affect to him.

You swallow, your afraid to speak.

The ghoul parts his lips, like hes about to speak but doesnt know what to say, “Your heart is racing.” he says, deep voice like a deep cave filled with echos and shadows. Its warm and heart filled, he truly means no harm.

Your hands tremble as you shiver, “w-what?”

‘Ah uh…sorry…I meant that your frightened and there is no need too be.” He quickly blurts out, like he hasn't talked to a stranger in years.,

“This is not what i was expecting..” You say as you start to ease up.

“Nobody does, don't worry, you are safe.” He says as he cleans the wound. 

“This…is not a place of god is it..?” You finally ask as he lets go to cut a piece of gauze to use.

“No. It is not.” He looks into your eyes.

You had the feeling that when your church said they were moving you, that it wasn't because you were the best sister of god there. You had started asking to many questions and you always knew that when they transferred people it was never for the better but to rather rid of the so called delinquents that questioned god. In a way you knew you would be thrown out, but not like this and to the wolves.

“Im sorry…I just…I don't want to die..” you start to tear up, ‘I don't want to burn for eternity.”

The ghoul quickly looks up at you, ‘no no no don't worry,” He chuckles, “Your not going to die here and you wont burn for eternity, I doubt god even knows you exist.” 

Your taken aback some, “But don't you eat people? Kill us for blood? Sacrifices and such?” 

“Your demonology books are far outdated…” He says as he wraps your finger.

“So….you ghouls are…kind?” You say, standing up.

He nods, “yes, everyone here is.”

You look down at your feet, “I apologize, I feel I need to introduce myself and start over.” 

The ghoul stretches his hand out, “You may call me Nameless Ghoul.”

You take his hand, “Im Sister _, I hope we can be friends.”

[muschiettistrashmouth]

The Wonder Of You - 1931!Dracula

Note: This is kind of a songfic. The song is The Wonder Of You by Elvis Presley. For the sake of the fic, let's pretend that this version of the song already existed.

Warnings: none?

Words: 584

Request: Hello! May I please request a fic of Bela Lugosi!Dracula getting married to fem!human!Reader and he turns her into a vampire during their honeymoon (she asks him to do so)?

This is the dress the reader is wearing:

When no one else can understand me

When everything I do is wrong

You give me love and consolation

You give me hope to carry on

He was the love of your life, no one ever questioned you about it. He was always so lovely with you, with everything you needed and wanted. And for him, you were the most beautiful person in the world, the one he wanted to have for the rest of his immortal life.

And now, in this beautiful altar, you were getting married to the love of your life. You were so excited, couldn't stop smiling.

The cerimony wasn't in a church, but in his castle's backyard. He had some vampire friends that went to the wedding, just as you had human friends on your side of the guests too. The backyard was so pretty, full of your favorite flowers, you were looking outside the window, from the room you were getting ready, daydreaming about what was going to happen soon.

And you're always there to lend a hand

In everything I do

That's the wonder, the wonder of you

You watched as Dracula walked from side to side in the altar, nervous, and chatting with Renfield. Probably asking if you were comming or not. He knew you were probably walking outside in a few minutes, but for him it felt like days.

"Come on, honey, let's get you ready to go." The woman that did your makeup and your hair said calmly.

You smiled back and went with her, she was guiding you outside.

When he saw you, his face lit up, like a thousand fireflies flew by him. His smile was so silly, 'Oh, she's so magnificent!' he mouthed to Renfield, that smirked beside him, proud of your relationship.

The song started and you walked towards your future husband. Your older brother was the one walking you to the altar, after all, your father didn't want to be involved in that. He said Dracula was the devil. He just didn't realise you were so deeply in love with the vampire that you didn't care.

And when you smile, the world is brighter

You touch my hand and I am a king

Your love to me is worth a fortune

Your love for me is everything

"My dear." The count held your hand delicately, kissing the back with a foolish smile on his lips.

"My count."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡

You were now husband and wife. The cerimony went on perfectly, everything you wanted now was get inside the castle with your husband and have your honeymoon. It wasn't the fanciest honeymoon ever, but you had all you wanted in that moment: him.

I guess I'll never know the reason why

You love me as you do

That's the wonder, the wonder of you

Before getting in, he lifted you in his arms, making you giggle. You were excited to the transformation, you see, he had promised you that as soon as you got married he would turn you. And he was a man of his word.

Inside the room, some time of that night after you consummated the wedding, he was kissing your neck lovingly, humming a song he used to sing to you all the time.

"I guess I'll never know the reason why you love me as you do..." A kiss on your neck. "That's wonder, the wonder of you."

That's when he bites your neck, trying hard not to hurt you.

Author's note: Man, I LOVE this song.

[immediatebreakfast]

God the viscerall hopelessness of Van Helsing combined with Mrs. Westenra's displaced smugness makes one disgusting combination of guilt, and shame that would drive anyone to point fingers at who is solely at fault for making Lucy almost die.

Was it Van Helsing who does not tell anyone about the why of his actions? Was it Mrs. Westenra who removed the garlic flowers from Lucy's room? Or... Was it Dracula who has been the constant danger to Lucy's life for weeks now?

One would say that, despite the errors of the older folk, Dracula is the one who is at fault. So why, one may ask, do we fault Mrs. Westenra and Van Helsing for Lucy's third touch with death when the only one who is causing this distress IS the Count?

To put it simply, we know that Dracula cannot be stopped out of his controlling, and now I dare to say downright petty attempts at killing Lucy so we look to what went wrong out of his mendling. He is not a force of nature, but his supernatural abilities certainly gives him a huge advantage over all of the other characters without a doubt. No one can reason with the Count because no one knows he exists yet, and even if they knew Dracula hasn't promised nor deceived anyone in his actions towards Lucy. The only thing left for Van Helsing, and (even if he doesn't know) Seward is to protect Lucy with everything they have in stock for as long as they can until the Count loses interest on this poor girl who is so protected.

We know that Dracula is the sole responsible for Lucy's state, but since Van Helsing is holding the knowledge of his theories on top of being the main doctor in the house, and Mrs. Westenra is in charge of Lucy's wellbeing as a mother, that also makes both of them responsible for Lucy almost dying again. Furthermore, it seems that our professor knows this quite well.

What have we done, what has this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate amongst us still, sent down from the pagan world of old, that such things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing, and all for the best as she think, does such thing as lose her daughter body and soul

Van Helsing knows that this his fault for not telling anyone the purpose of the garlic flowers. For believing that his simple presence as an authority figure would erase any doubts, or questions about any treatments he applied to Lucy. Van Helsing' breakdown before confronting Lucy's state was him getting together his emotions before focusing on what truly matters, and mend this horrible error which happened under his oversight. Which is why I think the good professor offers his blood today instead of letting Jack do it again.

come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.

Both as a precaution for Seward, and an apology to poor Lucy, for unwillingly putting her in danger because of his scientific secrecy.

However, the narrative (through Van Helsing) also makes it clear that Mrs. Westenra is also guilty of Lucy's state today. Not because of her worries for Lucy's wellbeing, but of her actions after seeing an unknown treatment around Lucy's room. I say treatment because that is what would a person think after knowing that two doctors are visiting your daughter. Whenever Mrs. Westenra thought that those flowers were actually bad for Lucy, or meant another kind of gestures doesn't matter, what matters is how she deliberately acted herself in clear mind regardless of Lucy's visible comfort.

Even with Dracula as the clear villain of the situation, both Van Helsing and Mrs. Westenra share guilt for thinking that they could act without considering what could happen to Lucy.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

June 30th

These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me ready.

I BELIEVE IN YOU JONATHAN

Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's room.

That man is determined.

The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in their places to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood.

HAHA WONDERFUL

He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.

Insult warranted. Please go on.

Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face.

But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror.

WELL IT WAS NICE KNOWING YOU

As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering; it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them. […] I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit!

I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this dreadful place.

And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest train! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!

At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!

YOU CAN DO IT YOU CAN DO IT I BELIEVE IN YOU MY GOOD FRIEND JONATHAN HARKER

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[yallemagne]

Everyone: "Man, how does Van Helsing know so much about Dracula and vampires?? Must be a personal connection between him and the Count."

Me: *pulling my hair out trying to rewrite the September 30 meeting scene* "IF YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING READ HIS MONOLOGUE TWENTY TIMES OVER YOU WOULD KNOW HE KNEW NONE OF THIS INFORMATION PRIOR TO THE STORY."

Maybe not none. But. Let me just. Most of the shit he says is filler. "Let me tell you, it's gonna be fucking spooky" is what he says like fifty times over in twenty words or more each time.

"Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know—nay, had I even guess at him—one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her."

Van Helsing says that if he knew all the info he's about to dump on us about vampires, they could have saved Lucy. Meaning he didn't know jack shit. He most certainly didn't know who Dracula was.

"Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never! He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand—witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create—that noble ship's captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust—as again Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small—we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door."

Then finally he starts saying things that he may have already known since he cites no specific examples: night vision, requiring invitation, no power in the daytime, the sunrise and sunset bit, etc.. He does cite an example of what "unhallowed ground" vampires can enter uninvited, but that's just to illustrate his point. But then he talks about his friend Arminius.

"I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the 'land beyond the forest.' That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as 'stregoica'—witch, 'ordog,' and 'pokol'—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as 'wampyr,' which we all understand too well."

Van Helsing is really just like me for real oh my god. He sounds like me after just having gone on a Wikipedia binge. He knew absolutely nothing about Dracula before, and he really wants to capitalize on all the new shit he just learned.

"We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace——"

*gunshots* Anyway.

More fucking fuel for the stop fucking painting him and Dracula as mortal enemies fire. He's literally just an old man who reads a lot, he's not a badass vampire hunter, Dracula didn't kill his gf or some shit, and he's probably never successfully dealt with a vampire before. Also, more ammo for my if you deny Jonathan's importance to the story one more time-- gun.

[nalyra-dreaming]

But being a vampire and living on while your children dies? We have seen that with Louis already. Now Daniel too? Would that be compelling? Daniel has no illusion of him being an intellectual. He is simply in it for the money. He was a shit father and now wants to leave something for his daughters. And he doesn't want to remain alive long enough to see her daughter's relationship coming apart. I don't know how it was for Daniel in the books, how he felt about kids, but for the show!Daniel- it seems like he is trying to make amends.

But then on the other hand you are right about RJ saying that he won't disappoint DM fans. But I am not sure. To me RJ seems to be building up on Anne's work. Giving it a depth and tweaking and playing with the themes. What is the core essence of DM? What is the theme of DM? The addicting pull of vampirism? Madness? Cycles repeating (Marius-Armand-Daniel) ? Wasn't there this character in Dracula? Someone who was almost like a pet to the Count? A man who lost his mind in service of the count...isn't DM similar only now the addiction goes both ways and mingled with love? Sorry I haven't read the books. But I have been wondering about this for a while.

Hey!

You mean Renfield (in Dracula), and yes. He lost his mind over the confrontation with and the possibility of immorality. And yes(!), there is that to it all as well, and this is part of the Devil’s Minion arc.

And it concludes with Armand capitulating, because he cannot let Daniel die.

If it’s alright, I‘d direct you to @cbrownjc‘s wonderful additions to your previous ask here - because the VC differ here in contrast to other vampire media.

In the VC it is not about the triumph of humanity ... it is about accepting the monster that they are and always will be. The last book literally gives them a means to celebrate what they are, accepting, building a community... through the Blood Communion. (And yes, that is as bloody as it sounds.)

And as per Daniel being a shit father... we actually do not know much yet. We know Daniel's memories were wiped. How? When? Why? And... maybe most interestingly - by whom? We cannot yet know what this arc means for "old man Daniel" because the "Memory is a Monster" tagline does apply to him as well. We hardly know anything yet.

What we do know that Daniel is a Pulitzer Price winner. He has written books. There are truths buried in these books, books already (as well) hinting at the "odyssey of recollection".

So. I actually think the linked reblogs put it quite well, I think that the upcoming seasons of The Devil's Minion (I think it will stretch out over several seasons) will echo the capitulation arch of both Daniel and Armand.

Against all vows to never turn someone, Armand won't be able to let Daniel die. And (old) Daniel won't be able to not accept - because he loves Armand. "And yet he loved this thing." (That's a quote^^)

The Devil's Minion is one chapter in "Queen of the Damned". It doesn't really pay much into the bigger story. I can only recommend reading it before season 2.

[beevean]

https://youtu.be/eBYlPVn9UDs?t=85

NFCV discourse be like "Isaac sucks because he's woke" VS "Isaac is the deepest character ever"

The people who criticize the shows for the stupidest reasons are straight up detestable.

"the show is against Christians! We are persecuted by the lefitst agenda :(" the show's CHURCH BAD is laughably shallow, but it's far from being the main issue with the writing. How about you go deeper into the cynical intellectualism that leads to the story lowkey taking Dracula's side when he slaughters innocent villagers for the crime of being ignorant and trusting their religious figures?

"they made Isaac into a Black character! Gingerphobia! They put a Black character in Europe for no reason!" now, it's true that there is an almost funny pattern of white redheads being turned into non-redhead black characters, but how about you point out how stupid it was to take a Devil simp with plans of purifying the world from humanity and making him Black and Muslim? No shit he woke up in S4 to become Jesus, or he would have been a straight-up jihadist!

"ewww Alucard is gay now! They ruined my childhood hero because he took it up the ass 😭" you absolute buffoon it was rape and the story makes a joke out of it! The authors revealed Alucard's attraction to men to soften the blow of his rape by deception! Focus on that goddamnit!

"Hector was a gigachad in his game but in the show he's a weakling and a retarded idiot who falls for vampire pussy (although ngl wish it was me)" I will eat you alive. See if I fucking don't.

And don't get me started on Annette, prime rage bait of the franchise for the stupidest reasons that poisoned the well too thoroughly.

(bonus: the people who agree that Hector was done dirty in S4, but because in their opinion he should have married Lenore and had tons of cute kids with her. it makes me set my own hair on fire.)

The people who have solid criticism of the show that don't fall back on "weh it's too woke" can be counted on two hands and it makes me feel sad and alienated as much as the endless love for it :(

[twistedtummies2]

Top 6 Castlevania Protagonists

It’s still May, so I’m still going on a Dracula-thon for the month. So, I guess it’s time for some more Castlevania focus!

A while back, I did a list of my Top 15 Castlevania Characters, overall. The problem with that list is that it was actually really, REALLY difficult to sort out the rankings for most of the characters involved, for lots of reasons. One of them is that the Castlevania franchise has gone through so many evolutions over the years, with no less than three separate continuities (more if you count a few of the one-off non-can games), each with its own unique cast of characters, as well as different spins on characters that pop up throughout the series as a whole. I therefore decided it was a good idea to revisit the idea, and simplify things by splitting the concept of the list into two separate, smaller lists: one for the protagonists of the series, and one for its antagonists. This is the former of those lists.

Now, when I say “protagonists,” I’m referring to the MAIN protagonists. I’ll be judging what counts as a main protagonist via the games, since that is where the franchise originated: to qualify for this list, the character must be a playable central character in at least one of the video games. This will not count characters who are just side figures, such as Saint Germain, nor will it count characters who can only be used as playable figures in a special mode, such as Julius Belmont: these two examples, and others, are certainly awesome in their own ways, but they aren’t the characters we really focus on in the Classic games primarily, and are also usually not central figures in other spin-off works.

With that said, there are still quite a lot of characters to choose from. Some of them are Belmonts, some of them are other heroic figures. Some of them wield whips and chains, while others wield swords or magic spells. All of them, however, typically share the same basic goal: to protect the world from the evils of Dracula and his children of the night. I’m keeping this list relatively brief, simply because - after a certain point - all of the characters sort of bunch up together, and it’s hard to keep track of them all and how they would rank. So, with that said, I present to you all my Top 6 Main Protagonists from Castlevania!

6. Hector.

Hector is the main character in “Curse of Darkness,” one of my favorite 3D-style Castlevania titles. He is a Devil Forgemaster: a human who has the power to summon damned souls from Hell, turning them into monstrous soldiers. Prior to the game, Hector was actually one of Dracula’s war generals: one of the few human servants the undead Count had. However, when Hector felt that the vampire’s bloodthirsty plans to destroy the entire human race had become too much for him to handle, he fled the Castle. This inadvertently helped to allow Trevor Belmont to destroy the Count. Years later, in the events of the game, Hector returns to Castle Dracula, in order to settle a score with his old rival and arch-nemesis: fellow Forgemaster, Isaac, whom Hector blames for the death of his wife. In the process, Hector discovers schemes to bring Dracula back from the grave, and thus must use the powers he once used to help the Count to defeat him before his plans can begin again. I love characters who have redemptive arcs or dark pasts they have to overcome; Hector is a great example of this, as he used to be a villain - one of Dracula’s top agents. This makes the story of his return to the Castle, his quest to stop the monster he once served, all the more interesting. Hector is one of a few characters on this countdown who was later adapted into the animated series; like many of the characters there, this version kept many of the basics of his backstory and appearance intact, but also took some unique liberties. In “Curse of Darkness,” Hector is a stoic and aggressive warrior, prone to following his heart more than his head. In the Animated Series, he’s reimagined as a more reserved, passive-aggressive, scheming character, who has a story arc of growth and maturity. Both versions are excellent and worthy of praise.

5. Trevor Belmont.

Speaking of the animated series, it’s largely BECAUSE of that continuity that this character makes it onto the list. The Castlevania series - at its core - is the story of two basic, feuding factions: Dracula vs. The Belmont Clan. The Belmonts are a family of monster hunters who have fought with Dracula time after time, across the centuries: every time he is resurrected, a Belmont is usually somewhere trying to send him back to Hell where he belongs. However, in my opinion - and this is going to be VERY controversial for Castlevania fans, I suspect - most of the actual Belmont CHARACTERS aren’t really all that interesting. When Trevor started out, he was no exception: in “Dracula’s Curse,” he is one of four playable characters, and I would argue he is one of the least interesting of the three. What little we know about him makes him pale in comparison to the likes of Alucard, Dracula’s own son with vampiric abilities, or Sypha, a sorceress with various magic spells at her fingertips. (Or even Grant, who is a stab-happy pirate.) This was in the early stages of gaming history, and back then, characters typically weren’t all that well-developed: they were mostly just avatars for the player to use to explore or fight with, and that was basically Trevor’s role. Over the years, however, as the games progressed and evolved, Trevor DID start to develop: more layers were added to his personality and his character. In the Classic games, Trevor became one of the mightiest of the Belmonts: a serious and charismatic warrior who was somewhat jaded by his battles, but could still be reasonable and recognize the good in people around him. But it was with the Animated Series that I feel Trevor really became a fully-rounded character on the whole: the series took those jaded qualities and expanded upon them, as Trevor starts off as a disillusioned soul with a tragic past. Over the course of the series, through facing increasingly bitter and brutal trials, he learns to accept his role and status as a hero. He’s easily my favorite of the "Classic" characters who bear the Belmont name, but since a big portion of that comes from the TV series more than the original games, I didn’t feel I could rank him TOO highly.

4. Jonathan Morris & Charlotte Aulin.

I was originally JUST going to give this slot to Jonathan, but after consideration, I decided to give both of the main protagonists from “Portrait of Ruin” their fair share of credit. This is largely because so much of what makes “Portrait of Ruin” great comes from the fact it DOES have two main protagonists: the gameplay relies on a sort of buddy system, with various obstacles that can only be overcome by using both characters, and with each character having their own special set of skills. However, not only is this doubling of protagonists important to the gameplay, it’s also an intrinsic part of the story. These two have a sort of “brains and brawn” relationship: Jonathan is the latter half of that equation. He is prone to anger and excitement, always itching for a fight, and tends to use his fists (or his sword, or his whip) before his head. He follows his heart and his instincts before all else, and while sometimes this serves him well, other times it gets him into trouble. Charlotte is the opposite: she is EXTREMELY smart, but also extremely kind and empathetic. However, she’s also much more cautious - sometimes to a fault - and has a habit of rambling and “geeking out” about things, which can sometimes cause problems in its own way. The two balance each other beautifully, both with their contrasting personalities, but also their abilities: Jonathan is very much a straightforward fighter, using melee-focused attacks and bodily force. Charlotte is a brilliant young mage, who uses spells and her wits to solve problems. I should also point out that Jonathan is actually a descendant of Quincey Morris, one of the main characters from the original novel of Dracula, and one of the few American main characters of the franchise: as an American myself, and as a HUGE fan of the Stoker novel, I’ve always appreciated these facts quite a lot. They definitely earn him a soft spot in my heart on their own.

3. Gabriel Belmont, a.k.a. Count Dracula.

Most Castlevania games focus on the main characters fighting Dracula…but what about a game where you play AS Dracula? This was the approach the “Lords of Shadow” series took. LoS was an attempt to reboot the game series, with its own lore and aesthetic approach, inspired by “God of War.” Fans remain mixed about the trilogy of games that came out of this trial, for a lot of reasons. Personally, while I think the reboot trilogy was flawed, I still think it was interesting and had lots of merits all its own…one of them being that instead of Dracula being the main villain of the games, in two out of three titles, Dracula is actually your main character. In the first game, “Lords of Shadow,” you play as Gabriel Belmont: the patriarch of the (weirdly Scottish now) Belmont line. It’s ultimately revealed that, after the tragedies and tribulations that occur for Gabriel in this first game, along with some later misadventures found via DLC story arcs, he actually BECAME Count Dracula. In “Lords of Shadow II,” the player now controls Dracula in full force, as he is resurrected in the present day to face old enemies in a new world. Gabriel/Dracula is the quintessential anti-hero: while he does and has done a lot of terrible things in the games, he’s not depicted as a straightforward villain. Instead, he’s a tortured soul who is struggling to figure out who he really is and what his purpose in the universe should be, and has to deal with inner demons (some literal, as well as figurative) that he cannot fully control. Top it off with the character being voiced by Robert Carlyle, and it’s pretty clear why this was such a fun ride. I know placing this character in the Top Three is going to be another controversial decision, but at the end of the day, getting to play as Mr. Gold as Dracula is all this NEEDED to make my personal highest ranks.

2. Soma Cruz.

As much as I love playing as Dracula in “Lords of Shadow” and its sequel…technically speaking, this character from the Classic era of the games did it first. Soma Cruz is the main character in “Aria of Sorrow” and its sequel, “Dawn of Sorrow.” He is a relatively normal young man from Japan, and is depicted as what might be termed a sort of "nice delinquent." He's ready to fight when it comes down to the wire, and he's not necessarily the most elegant person in the world, but he isn't a bully or a thug. (He also has an AWESOME fashion sense, and seems very proud of that.) He's protective of his friends, tries to help people in trouble, and gets flustered at the attentions of his best friend/love interest, Mina. (Hello, Stoker reference.) However, it’s eventually revealed that Soma has strange powers he never realized before: he’s naturally gifted with weapons he’s never before touched, and has the ability to consume the souls of the enemies he defeats, as well as use magical abilities like it’s second nature. It’s eventually revealed that the reason for all this is a dark one: Soma is actually the reincarnation of Dracula himself, and the Count’s evil spirit essentially lives, dormant, inside his body. If Soma isn’t careful, he could be lost to that inner darkness, and the good person he is will effectively die, with Dracula - memories and powers all intact - being reborn. The games thus become a story of Soma struggling with his own inner darkness, fighting to avoid giving in to temptation and stop himself from becoming Dracula. He has to not only face opponents who want to try and bring the Count back, but also those who would destroy him in a misguided attempt to prevent that from happening. It’s up to the player if Soma succeeds and remains the good, heroic spirit we all care about, or fails and allows himself to become the King of the Vampires. It’s a magnificent concept, which allows for all kinds of fun possibilities in terms of character, story, and gameplay alike. It’s not a surprise that Soma makes the top ranks for many people’s lists of their favorite Castlevania characters, and while he isn’t my personal number one…hey, second place ain’t half bad.

1. Alucard.

Alucard is a character who was automatically interesting from day one, just because of a simple fact: he is the Son of Dracula. The offspring of the main antagonist for the entire series, who has to fight his father to save the world. That is a compelling concept no matter which way you look at it, and since his first appearance in “Dracula’s Curse,” he has only continued to develop and become more interesting. In the Classic series, his shining moment was in “Symphony of the Night” - one of the most lauded Castlevania games, and the beginning of the “Metroidvania” approach to the series. In that game, Alucard is the main character, and the story goes into great detail about the relationship with his family and the reasons he chooses to fight against his own father. In later games, Alucard would continue to pop up, usually as a sort of guide or supporting player for other characters who needed a helping hand (such as Soma, our previous pick). Being as nigh-immortal as Dracula himself, he was just as capable of continuing the battle. In the “Lords of Shadow” series, the character was conflated with Trevor, to fit the new lore of the reboot: in that version, Trevor is Gabriel’s son, and gains the name “Alucard” when his father - not realizing who he is - transforms his son into a vampire, in order to save him from true death. The two start off as enemies, but eventually become allies. Then there’s the Animated Series, which returned to the roots of the Classic games, but took a few interesting twists: after succeeding in destroying his own father, with the help of Trevor and Sypha, Alucard ends up going on some misadventures on his own, as - much like Trevor and many other characters in the series - he is forced to try and figure out where he stands. He has no mother, no father, and is utterly alone in the universe; this causes him to start to lose his way, and it seems like he could potentially end up just as wicked as his father…but eventually, he manages to find the light and prevails as a hero once more. EVERY version of Alucard is great, in my opinion (though I personally think my favorite is the Classic version, overall), because the basic struggle he has to go through is such a simple and compelling one. The rivalry between father and son, and the way their relationship is depicted in each rendition, is ALWAYS fascinating to see, and combining that with Alucard’s rarely-meddled-with design (which is absolutely awesome) and his vampiric capabilities, he instantly becomes an intriguing figure. Alongside Soma, he’s many people’s choice for the best main character in the series, and I am of total agreement there. There’s no doubt he is My Favorite Protagonist from Castlevania.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Richter Belmont.

The main character of “Rondo of Blood” (and its remake, “Dracula X Chronicles”), as well as a secondary figure in some other games. Probably my favorite Belmont after Trevor, and for me, personally, the most visually iconic. I should point out I haven't actually watched "Castlevania: Nocturne" yet, so maybe when I get a chance to see that show, Richter might take Hector's place in the top ranks.

Leon Belmont.

In the Classic games, Leon is the progenitor of the Belmont Clan. He appears as the main character in “Lament of Innocence,” the prequel to the entire Castlevania series at that time, which tells the story of how the Belmonts’ feud with Dracula began. “Lament of Innocence” is his only proper appearance to date.

Sypha Belnades.

Much like Trevor, it’s primarily thanks to the Animated Series this character gets into the ranks. We don’t really know much about Sypha in the Classic games, and she is only briefly alluded to in the Lords of Shadow reboot. In the Animated Series, however, she is one of the main protagonists, and is just as interesting as Trevor and Alucard.

[vickyvicarious]

Seward: "Before they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any coming of the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest in peace."

Then both Van Helsing and Jack now call Dracula "the Vampire". I wonder why this name than how Jonathan used to call him the Count, or not Dracula.

And with today, we see both Mina and Jonathan added to those ranks! Well, technically Mina only writes "the Vampire" in her account of Jonathan's dialogue, and it's the same with Jack reporting what Van Helsing said. So one could argue we only know for sure it's Mina and Jack right now, but I think it's fair to attribute to the others as well, especially when Jack also used lower-case "vampire" more generally at other moments even in the same entries.

It comes back, to me, to the first mate of the Demeter:

"It is here; I know it, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on: "But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the helm." [...] "Save me! save me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said: "You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!"

He speaks of Dracula in capital letters throughout, but before he encounters him close-up, he says It. He thinks of Dracula as a creature like a man, but something inhuman in a way that implies almost a lesser status. A mindless creature, almost an object. This is echoed later on in the way Jack repeatedly calls vampire!Lucy a "foul Thing" - they are evil and dangerous but also somewhat implied to be mindless. It also sort of fits with the way Jonathan scoffs at the vampire ladies being women and calls them "devils of the Pit!" - stronger language but in a way still dehumanized on a lower level than the uppercase Devil (or de Ville) that Dracula later gets at times.

But then after the mate encounters Dracula in the hold, presumably face-to-face, his tune changes. He no longer harbors any hope of defeating this monster. He 'knows the secret'. What new secret could he have learned in such a short time? Why was Dracula an 'It' even after a knife went straight through him without harming him, and yet suddenly became Him after that encounter? I think it's because the mate realized just exactly who/what he is. That's the secret. That's the reason he despairs.

And that's the reason that later on other people start to call him Vampire instead of vampire. Van Helsing makes the switch on 3 October. Just a couple days ago he gave a long speech about general vampiric weaknesses and even this specific vampire's history, but it's not until he sees Dracula face to face - not until he sees what he did to Mina and to Jonathan - that he speaks of him in the capital letters. And every time he uses the word after then to refer to Dracula specifically, it gets the capital letter. In contrast, when he speaks of Mina potentially becoming one, he says "I can see the characteristics of the vampire coming in her face." Lowercase for her. ***

It's the same for the others; they all start calling him this after that night. Mina speaks of her dreams before waking to her attack by Dracula as being "full of vampires", then doesn't say the word again until today when she hesitates before calling Dracula "the ... the ... the ... Vampire." Jonathan says that if Mina must be a "vampire" so will he, and that "one vampire meant many" - but when he has his outburst today he exclaims, "Have you felt the Vampire's lips upon your throat?" **

Even Renfield does it, despite never saying the word 'vampire'. He always recognized Dracula's importance, calling him "Master" and capitalized "You" right from the start. But interestingly, on 3 October he actually stops doing this briefly. He goes from using "He" to "he" but only for a short time. When describing Dracula first showing up at his window, it's lowercase he, but when he starts summoning creatures it's back to capitalized He. As soon as Renfield invites him in and loses any level of leverage/control, Dracula gets the capital letters again. He also gets compared to the Moon:

"The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide—just as the Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and splendour."

I've talked about this before, but the lowercase moon and moonlight in general is associated strongly with vampires and the supernatural. So the use of the personified capital-M Moon here in direct comparison with the same He for Dracula feels significant to me.

It sums up what all this capitalizing is about. Dracula is no longer just a vampire to these people. He isn't just a creature to be hunted; nor is he an ordinary person you could oppose (even an important one like a Count). He's more than that. He is the [mild spoiler quote under the cut****], he is the ultimate vampire. Maybe the first, certainly the worst. He is almost a higher power (or should I say lower?), absolutely terrifying and the epitome of what he represents. Not just the moonlight but the Moon herself. Not just a vampire but the Vampire.

They don't exclusively call him that, of course. They do still call him Count or Dracula. But when they want to emphasize his nature, they can't return to seeing him as one of a set, even such an evil set. He is in a category all his own.

.

** I personally consider this very strong support for Dracula drinking Jonathan on the last night at the castle. It's possible that Jonathan was talking about either Mina's experience with the Count here, or about his experience with the vampire women. But I think that the way he says it fits better with it being informed by his own trauma/flashback, given the context of the statement being about the dangers of Castle Dracula. And if so, it seems odd to me for him to abruptly and only this once use that capitalization for the vampire ladies, when he never did before. Granted, he never has called Dracula that either but at least there's lots of precedent from other people. Also, the singular "the Vampire" seems more fitting for him, since the three women always appeared together as a group threat even if only one of them put her lips to Jonathan's throat.

I kind of like to think Jonathan only really remembers that Dracula has bit him too in this moment. Or at least, it's the first time he becomes so clearly/consciously aware of it (maybe not even in the middle of the scene, but in the aftermath, it finally dawns on him). I think that fits well with the scene, and also is a nice way of preserving the meaning of his willingness to throw away his own 'clean/human' soul to join Mina, when according to Van Helsing's lore a single bite would have been enough to make Jonathan turn when he died anyway. The sacrifice would lose something in that case, but if he only remembers now we kind of get to have our cake and eat it too as far as that goes.

[other footnotes below the cut for spoilers]

*** Later on, this does change for Van Helsing, and him alone. When he hunts down the vampire ladies, he repeatedly calls them Vampires throughout, and speaks of the "Vampire sleep" and "Vampire fold" sort of more generally. However, interestingly this only happens when he is alone, hunting them down in the castle after they'd already terrified him in the night. After he stakes them he writes again of the general "vampire sleep" in lowercase. So I think an argument could be made for terror informing him here as well, and leading him to apply the same level of importance/danger to them as Dracula briefly. Otherwise I admit it does kind of go against my general thesis here of Dracula being unique in this way.

**** "the King-Vampire" as Van Helsing calls him

[romaniandollar]

Hi! I noticed you’re following Dracula Daily; I’m new to it and am loving it! Is there anything about Romanian culture or geography mentioned in the book that you can elaborate on for people outside of Romania? Thanks!

Hi! I'm glad you like it!

That's a really good question, and there's actually a lot of ground to cover here.

Quick disclaimer: Dracula isn't actually that accurate a representation of Romanian culture and history, and a lot of Romanians dislike it for that reason. Also because this is the only media featuring Romania that made it big and now we're associated with vampires. 😬 But I hope the new interest in the book will inspire people to check out our country for what it really is.

First of all, Dracula himself. In the book he's heavily implied to be Vlad Țepeș (The Impaler), or Vlad Dracula as he was also known. Vlad ruled Wallachia during the 1400s and was greatly respected and feared. He punished criminals by impaling them (hence the first nickname) and crime was low during his rule because he was very harsh. 'Drac' means demon or devil, so that was his other nickname because of his severity. But all in all he was a good ruler and he wasn't a vampire, nor were there any rumors to that effect until Bram Stoker got the idea.

Castle Bran, which is commonly known as Dracula's castle now, wasn't actually Vlad's. He might have stayed there once but it was more commonly used by Queen Maria, during the early 20th century.

We do have snow in the mountains, but only in winter or the early spring max. So for it to be snowing in May doesn't make sense. 😅

Trains are still commonly late here, to the point it's a running joke about our primary train company, CFR. It's funny that Jonathan had the same issue that I do every time I take a trip to Bucharest. 😂

I mentioned this in another post, but paprika hendl is called papricaș here. It's really good, and I often make it with mămăligă at home. (You're not a proper Romanian if you don't like mămăligă, by the way. 😆 My great-grandparents would make it hard and use it instead of bread.)

Transylvania belonged to Austria-Hungary until the end of WWI, when it was taken over by Romania. They still haven't gotten over it. Point being, there are a LOT of Hungarians and Hungarian speakers in that region, so it would have made more sense for everyone to know Hungarian in the book rather than German.

Romanians are, especially in the rural areas, friendly and helpful. We look out for the others in our group, especially if they're young. So everyone that helps Jonathan until he meets the count? That would happen.

Those are the main things I can think of right now, more will probably come to me as we get farther through the book. But feel free to hit me up if you have any more questions!

[black-ak9]

do you have any hc about martha and dracs relationship?, i would love to hear abt your different ideas for them 💕

Hello! Here are some headcanons

They have a deep understanding and shared passion, their strengths and weaknesses complementing each other's. 🧩

They always try to learn from each other, and teach what they know. A couple of centuries of age are not in vain. 📚🤺⚔️🔮🌎

While one is more introverted, the other is more extroverted. But they support each other's follies without hesitation.

Martha seeks to update herself on human technology and that things, and be able to fuse them with her monstrous tastes so that Dracula adapts easily by finding his own style that suits him.

This is how they found their modern style in clothing such as gothic, punk and rock and roll.

When they started dating, they controlled themselves not to murder or hunt in front of each other so as not to be rejected. They were very much in love and had to behave, but then they understood that they shared the same "addiction" and fell even more in love. (After almost a century)

When there is a crisis involved, they sit together to contemplate the problem with a bottle of wine/blood and a cigarette 🍾🍷🚬

Your dates can range from a classic romantic candlelight dinner to a romantic bank robbery attempt. Because why not?

Martha has a collection of weapons ⚔️🏹🗡️of various types (Swords, axes, crossbows, spears) as a hobby, Drac doesn't see the point but when he can he gets her more from a few catacombs.

They almost never fight, and when they do argue they even change the language and various insults are heard in many languages.

For these were their wedding vows: "...and I will always love you, in this life and the next, in death and eternity, till the devil do us part." (I made this one inspired by a poem)❤️🖤

Their friends always believed they were the least qualified to take care of a child, and they ended up being the best. For pride and being right

Dracula is jealous of any man who approaches Martha, but she is not so jealous, on the contrary, she has fun watching them try to flirt with her count.

These were some headcanons, I don't want to go on too long but I think these are my favorites :D

[undeadqueen666]

I heard you wanted to play :-)

🚢 Why do you think you hyperfixate on the characters you hyperfixate on? What makes them interesting for you? Is there a common trait?

Hmmm. I don't know if this is going to properly answer the question but it feels like the most honest way to answer it. This might be long.

My favorite book is Bram Stoker's Dracula and the first character I used to hyper fixate on is the Count, still do.

I think the characters I hyper fixate on tend to share a similar vibe. What makes them interesting to me? They embody the ultimate fantasy.

Because they have a monstrous side, they kind of give me a pass on fantasizing on bad men. Since they are not quite human we cannot hold them to the same standards of morality that we hold each other to.

They commit atrocities and enjoy it? it is in their nature. They are sadistic creeps? Blame it on their supernatural nature!

As a vampire for Dracula or a cambion/Devil for Raphael.

Another aspect that helps my hyper fixation is that those characters, as I interpret them, tend to take away the shaming of female desire and sexuality. With Dracula he glamours his victims to bite them and it's the best sex they ever have. I see the mesmerism as a metaphor for the vampire to take away the second guessing of their targets so they get to focus on their own wants and needs without having to stress about some shaming down the line and even better, if they get judged they can delegate the fault to the bad vampire. The devil made me do it.

For Raphael he has a way to lay bare the ugly truth of yourself and of human nature and you have to deal with the consequences of your own desires/goals. He is an honest Devil, he delicately leads you all the way towards your doom, however he makes sure you are aware of it. Also the layers and contrast help my hyper fixation. He is an awful p.o.s. (affectionate) but he writes fan fiction, he is a bard and he has jingly boots! I'm all about layered freaks! Thanks for coming to my ted talk! I hope this answered the question!

[tenebris-lux]

Content/trigger warnings: talk of self-destructive behavior and suicide.

Does anyone else find the changes in Jonathan … worrying? I think that promise to not tell Mina anything about the case is part of the reason. He can’t vent to her, she can’t encourage him to talk, so he’s starting to obsess, and the obsession is getting dragged out by the wait for the Czarina Catherine.

I’ve also been rereading a paragraph from October 3:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

At first glance, one might think, “ohhh, that’s so sweet, he loves her so much….” But it’s not sweet. It’s … bad. Yes, he loves her THAT much. So much that if something were to happen to her, he’d let the same thing happen to himself. Vampires aren’t romantic creatures in this novel—they’re demonic, murdering monsters with no identifying behaviors of the person they used to be. The vampires are predators. They go after children, babies, take blood from people against their will, and sometimes enjoy their victims’ pain. Jonathan has seen this firsthand while helpless and in near-paralyzed states, has nearly been a victim of one. He knows all this. And his statement indicates he’ll willingly do that to other innocent people too if Mina turns.

As the vampire isn’t really who they were when alive, it’s not like it’ll be a comfort to each other if they both turn. For all we know, they might not have the same feelings for each other after they’re both vampires. Dracula lost all interest in Lucy once she turned. Jonathan would probably be Mina’s prime target (if she remembers; Lucy didn’t go after Arthur until he was in front of her, then she threw the child to the ground; and we knew how much he meant to her when she was alive). Harker didn’t promise to stake Mina either, so … he’d just let it happen.

Take out the word “vampire” and put in the word “zombie” or “ghoul”. It’ll amount to the same thing. She’ll bite him, he’ll turn … and then they’ll each hunt for more victims. Maybe together, maybe apart. It won’t be THEM anymore. His entries essentially say, “vampires can increase their numbers by going after their loved ones … fine. I’ll join them if it comes to that.” Become a “Devil of the Pit” like all of them. A “Thing,” as Seward called the vampire that had been Lucy.

So … to me, it sounds more like a suicide promise. He wouldn’t make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else … he’d just follow suit. Because everything else in the world? It’s not even secondary; it’s inconsequential. Mina dies or turns, he’s not going to allow himself the chance to recover. Hell, if he sticks true to his vow, he might turn on the other guys to prevent them from staking her. And that would be against Mina’s dying wish.

Preferably, he wants the Count dead and out of their lives. Then … well, he’s not thinking about afterwards, because there might not be one.

Looking at his October 4 entry and comparing it to his behavior now, there’s clear deterioration in his psyche:

“For my own part, now that his horrible danger is not face to face with us, it seems almost impossible to believe in it. Even my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seem like a long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp autumn air in the bright sunlight—

Alas! how can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye fell on the red scar on my poor darling’s white forehead. Whilst that lasts, there can be no disbelief. And afterwards the very memory of it will keep faith crystal clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we have been over all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality seems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There is something of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting. Mina says they perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It may be! I shall try to think as she does. We have never spoken to each other yet of the future….”

Since then, the very next day in fact, Mina made Jonathan promise to keep her ignorant of the plans to take out the Count.

“‘I promise!’ and as I said it, I felt that from that instant a door had been shut between us.”

Then a few days later, she asked for the assurance that she be taken down should she become a danger to anyone. Harker couldn’t promise that. But he did consent to read her the burial service. And if that fucked up Jack as we heard on the phonograph, what must that have been like for him? But even though she’s not technically dead, they’re keeping distance between them, so … he’s not doing well. His entries after the burial service have some cynical humor in them. Jack said today that Harker’s hands were like ice while they’re all just waiting for news, and he’s sharpening his blade “which he now always carries with him.”

None of these are good signs. The only future he’s thinking of at this point is the Count’s destruction, so that’s what’s defining him now.

Count Dracula may be a ways away, but he’s caused a psychic drain to happen to Harker. Again. And this time, Mina can’t help bring him back to health. He can’t open up to her, and she can’t get herself involved. They can’t balance each other or work together like they’re used to. All they can do … is just see each other. And hurt. And Jonathan’s best outlet right now is sharpening that damn knife.