#dance with me (music to write by)

[averlym]

fairest of the fair

[damnation-if]

hey!! can i ask for a color palatte description for the ro's? like what their hair/eye colors are?

hope you're having a good week 💙💙💙

Hi!

I spent a long time putting together a graphic for this before I realised that you asked for just a description haha... oops. well. here is the graphic anyway XD

If you're looking for a link to the page with more general descriptions, there are some on the RO's page.

Very sorry for the delay in replying! My life is. hectic. smdnfgbsfgf

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I know it’s been talked about ad nauseam, but I think one of the things that got lost in the discourse about TTPD and the muses and whatnot is how one of, if not the core trigger points of the album is the yearning for commitment and perhaps even more poignantly, motherhood.

The reason she was so susceptible to falling for the “conman’s get love quick schemes” is because she was grieving that imagined life with the person she had long assumed would be the one to give her that. What has been beyond clear in several albums, let alone interviews etc, is that those plans for building a family were very much real and top of mind for years, and she kept holding on and shifting her world in service of making that happen. And when whatever happened happened that pulled that rug out from under her, it left her bereft not just for the relationship that had once been her world but also the imagined family she had been hoping for and sticking out the hard times for.

And that’s likely why she was swayed by and trusting of the promises of someone who knew her history and knew how unmooring that loss was to her. It may have been partially about the person himself or lust or whatever, but the core issue was the pain of giving up the dream, and sublimating that dream into this new opportunity in front of her, because she was so desperate to hold onto the last scraps of that imagined life she wanted so badly. (And I don’t mean desperate as in pathetic or negative, I mean as in fighting within the last ounce of energy and hope she had.) It wasn’t rational and it wasn’t love, it was grief, not just for a relationship but even more so for the family it represented.

So to me the core issue of TTPD isn’t just the Joe vs. Matty or whoever of it all: it’s Taylor and her yearning. She wanted a family badly and a life that was theirs and was processing losing that in all kinds of ways. It’s all over the album in overt and subtle lyrics. It may not have been grieving a literal death but I’d bet it felt pretty darn close.

And I’d also bet that’s why we’re seeing… what we’re seeing now.

(I have so many more thoughts about womanhood and motherhood on TTPD but that is another post being worked on piecemeal in my drafts… this is just a little Saturday morning post-zoomies reflection)

[viperwhispered]

If you're still thinking of making a playlist, feel free to add "Be Mine" by Ofenbach and "Kick up Your Heels" by Jessica Mauboy ft.Pitbull.

Context: During the early 20th century, alcohol was prohibited in the United States. This lead to uncontrolled secret distribution of alcohol and secret bars everywhere (fun fact: it was alcohol dealing that made Al Capone so powerful). The most iconic of these bars were speakeasies: secret illegal clubs that sold good alcohol while playing jazz (fun fact: these bars went a long way to pushing gender and racial equality by having everyone being able to dance & drink together).

Which brings me to this scenario: Jamil sneaking out of weekends to dance the night away and enjoy precious moments of freedom without Kalim. During these escapades, he meets the reader and the two get closer of months of several encounters. At some point they meet outside of the bar, but they pretend to be aquaintances at most. They get so into each other that they start subtly flirting even outside the bar.

Eventually we get to the moment that ecompases the songs (Be Mine is Jamil's perspective and Kick up Your Heels is the reader's). After weeks of subtle flirting, the two are finally tipsy enough to flirt more openly. Jamil goes in first and the reader playfully flirts back. They dance the night away and end up leaving together back to reader's apartment (don't worry Jamil has the weekend off and Najma owes him so she'll cover for him).

Cue adorable morning after with kisses, cuddles, Jamil making breakfeat, and the reader wearing his clothes.

(Boy if the music video for the Ofenbach song doesn’t look like it was made for total wish fulfillment for the artists, lol. Song's a total banger, tho (after listening to it a lot while working on this).)

I’m also gonna add Shut Up and Dance by Walk The Moon to the list because the vibes totally fit (and I’ve definitely thought of it in regards to Jamil before).

I do love the idea of reader meeting Jamil in an environment where he can be more free. Just, how different of an experience is it, when the dance floor is your first impression of him, rather than the Jamil at NRC or the Asim estate? When he’s actually letting go, being himself and just having a good time.

Plus like, presumably in the Scalding Sands Jamil’s job is not so 24/7 anyway, since there’s other servants around too to look after Kalim. So yay for actual free time.

And because I totally vibe with this & have thought of something similar before, I wanted to turn this into a bit of fic.

Post-NRC, Jamil x reader, written with a fem reader in mind, nsfw

The club, 22:30

You surveyed the club, your eyes insisting on looking for one person in particular, but to no avail.

No matter. Whether or not your favorite dance partner - or your acquaintance, or your crush, or whatever the hell he was to you - would turn up tonight, you could still have fun.

So, when a good song came on, you slid to the dancefloor, determined to dance the night away one way or another. You still had the whole night ahead of you, after all.

Not that you would have minded the company.

The club, 23:12

While you were queueing up for a drink, Jamil was the one who found you.

“I was wondering if you’d turn up,” you said with a grin, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

“And miss you? No way.”

You laughed and shook your head. It really was unfortunate how attractive that cocky grin was on Jamil.

“Wouldn’t have been the first night I’ve had to make do without you,” you said lightly.

“Well, tonight I can be all yours,” Jamil replied, his hand ghosting at the small of your back.

You grinned - you had to admit, you quite liked the sound of that.

The club, 23:27

Over the past few months there had been times when you caught Jamil looking at you as if he was evaluating you, measuring you. Yet, whenever he actually got close to you, that was all gone, replaced by pleasantries and barely concealed playfulness.

Today, however, there was a particular determination to him, one that had him shamelessly inching closer to you as you were talking over your drinks - as much as one could have a meaningful conversation talking over the thudding music.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” you said, looking at Jamil from under your lashes while you sipped your drink.

“Well… I’ve been thinking that I wouldn’t mind sharing more than a dance with you,” Jamil said, his own drink nearly forgotten in his hands.

“Oh? What are you thinking?” you asked, stirring the remains of your drink with your straw, trying to affect a casual air despite your curiosity.

Jamil got close enough that you thought you could feel his breath on your skin.

“That I want to get to know you much better,” Jamil replied, an unmistakable sultry undercurrent to his tone. His hand had found its way to your arm, tracing light patterns on your skin.

Your eyes widened, a surprised laugh bubbling to your lips. My, what had gotten Jamil so bold tonight?

“Oh, and here I was just looking forward to some dancing,” you said with a playful grin.

Jamil might have gotten your heart to flutter, an unmistakable heat rising to your cheeks, but that didn’t mean you’d be that easily charmed.

“Just be prepared that once I get hold of you, I might not let go,” he said, lightly squeezing your arm.

“Dance with me, and then we’ll see,” you said with an amused shake of your head.

“Let’s start the show, then.”

With a laugh you grabbed Jamil’s hand, dragging him to the dancefloor, the beating of your heart rivaling the thud of the music.

There was such confidence to him, like Jamil had already ensured he’d get what he wanted and was just biding his time.

And you had to admit, you kinda liked it.

The club, 23:51

The song was one of your favorites and you couldn’t help singing along, moving your body to the beat. People were trickling in, but there was still space for both you and Jamil to let loose.

It was its own kind of delight, seeing how well you two could synchronize your movements. Stepping back and forth, circling each other, claiming a part of the dance floor all to yourselves. You grinned, watching the way Jamil leaned to the side, shrugging his shoulder, and you copied the move to the other direction, adding your own flourish with the snap of your hips.

After a few repeats there was a stutter in the music and you leaned forward, Jamil coming in to meet you, chest to chest. You lingered there for the briefest moment, your eye meeting, noses nearly brushing, before you pulled back and threw your hands up in the air for the chorus. You sang out the lyrics, let your body move as it wished, full-heartedly just enjoying yourself - and your company.

Sure, there was a part of you curious to find out just what Jamil could offer. But you’d come out here to have fun, and have fun you would.

Whatever would come later, would come later.

The club, 01:25

You were sweaty, your feet sore, your hair undoubtedly a mess at this point. Yet, you couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop relishing your time with Jamil.

Jamil’s hands were on your hips, following your movements, his chest flush to your back.

You had to admit, you loved the feeling of his body against yours, the way you swayed together. 

You also delighted in teasing him like this, feeling the hardness of his arousal when you ground your ass on him.

“I want you to be mine,” Jamil mouthed the lyrics of the song, his breath hot by your ear.

He brushed his lips by your skin, something akin to a kiss, and you could feel the warmth of it shoot straight to your core.

Idly, you wondered if Jamil would be able to hear your soft groan over the music as you leaned back, your hand fumbling in his hair to pull him even closer. That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, his mouth now more insistent on the corner of your jaw.

At this point, it was getting harder and harder to remember all the other people around you, your decency slipping from your hands.

Oh, you had a good enough idea of how Jamil’s body fit against you, how it felt under your hands.

But it was not enough.

You wanted to see Jamil, every bit that was hidden under those clothes, wanted to pull his hair loose - or just pull it in general. Wanted to see how he’d look beneath you, above you, between your legs…

Just the thought of Jamil unraveling with you had warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

And the thought of his touch on you, unobstructed…

He really was such a temptation, one that you might not even want to resist at this point.

Your apartment, 01:44

You were not prepared for the hungry way Jamil devoured your lips, how firmly his hands pulled you flush against him.

Or the way he groaned into your mouth, the sound shooting straight to your core.

Oh, you needed more of that. Much more of that.

Your hands shot up, gripping onto him tightly, just as unwilling to let him go. You sought out that hair tie that had been taunting you all evening, your tongue sloppily meeting Jamil’s as you pressed yourself as close to him as you possibly could.

There were so many places you wanted to touch, so many spots you wanted to unveil, your hands racing all over Jamil in a desperate attempt to fulfill all your desires at once.

Jamil’s lips were so wonderfully kiss-swollen, his hair hanging loose and his shirt halfway off him. If you hadn’t been so eager for more, you would’ve stopped to admire the sight and commit it to memory.

Instead, your greedy hands slipped under his top, relishing in the skin to skin contact while Jamil was busy with getting you to a similar state of undress, his eyes burning as his lips descended upon you again, stealing your breath away.

Your apartment, 2:20

You rolled your hips, slowly, your palms resting on Jamil’s chest. He did indeed look absolutely ravishing beneath you, his tongue slightly sticking out through his parted lips, his gorgeous hair spilled over your pillows. Jamil’s hands on your ass were helping you move, urging you to take his cock even deeper.

You’d yield to him soon enough, but first you wanted to savor this. The hungry look Jamil bestowed upon you, the needy way his hands kept on mapping your body, the way his hips bucked beneath you.

At this point, simply calling Jamil your favorite dance partner certainly didn’t do him justice.

No, you’d love to have so much more of him, wanted to find out just how far you two could go.

You leaned down, your lips meeting once again. You braced your arms against the bed as you began to move in earnest. Your efforts were rewarded by Jamil’s needy groan, the way his grip tightened on you. He seemed to be just as drunk on you as you were on him, and just that fact was enough to make your head spin.

Your apartment, 9:40

It was a slow realization, remembering that you had company over, only to find the other side of your bed empty. However, as your senses slowly roused, you soon caught the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen.

Of course he had to be perfect enough to even cook for you, you mused with some amusement.

With a stretch you willed yourself to leave the comfort of your bed, freshening yourself up quickly before padding your way to the kitchen.

You kind of hoped you���d been the one to wake up first. At least you could’ve cleared some of the mess.

It was such a domestic sight, Jamil busying himself at your stove, and you unexpectedly felt your throat tighten with the impact of it.

“I’m amazed you found something to work with,” you said, your words somewhere between apologetic and joking.

“It’s not how I’d keep my own kitchen, but it’s workable,” Jamil said matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help a snort. What a way to sugarcoat your messy counters and sparse cupboards.

“Well. I’m glad it didn’t drive you off, at least,” you said with dry amusement.

You walked past Jamil to the sink, letting your fingers trace along his back and upper arm as you passed him by, conscious of not bothering his work.

Jamil, however, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close, making you yelp in surprise.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

All you could do was melt against him.

Bonus scene which didn’t really seem to fit the flow but I had to do something with these lyrics, too. A flashback to another night, maybe?

Jamil certainly knew how to move. Yet, there was still something carefully controlled about him.

You’d seen him, sometimes, when the night was late, how he really could let go and get swept up in the music.

Then again, you supposed you still hadn’t quite warmed up yourself, hadn’t forgotten about the way his eyes were on you.

Would another drink be a terrible idea?

Still, seeing the way Jamil was looking around, checking the crowds, made you frown. You tugged on his hand, turning his attention back on you.

"Oh, don't you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me."

“You’re holding back, yourself,” Jamil said with a knowing look.

“Shut up and dance with me,” you said, smiling even as you rolled your eyes. 

Ngl, I’ve not done much song fics and it was fun weaving in bits of the lyrics and vibes in here - even if I chose to be a silly goose and use 3 songs at once.

Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@perilous-pasta @twstgo

Do let me know if you'd like to be tagged for my future works!

[thatlittlesentientfox]

art will save you. art will save you, art will save you art will save you art will save you

[saw5]

SOPHIE was one of the most talented people of her decade idgaf

[free-for-all-fics]

Tanz der Vampire/Dance of the Vampires and Dracula Musical Prompts! These are written with the German productions in mind, but really any adaptation could work. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! ❤️🩸

1. You’re Count Dracula’s daughter/son and Graf von Krolock’s wife/husband. Describe what your immortal life and marriage is like. You may have been addressed as Countess/Count Dracula while you were still unmarried and later Countess/Count von Krolock after your marriage, but as the biological daughter/son of Count Dracula, you’re still technically a Princess/Prince. Your father was a Prince of Wallachia in his mortal life and later became the King of Vampires, after all. You’re vampire royalty; your beauty, charm, family name, etc. made you highly sought after by men and monsters alike. But there was no better a match for you than Graf von Krolock. He’s a handsome and charismatic nobleman with a flair for dramatics. He’s technically lower in status than you, but you don’t care. You love him for reasons far more important than rank, so you’re not too bothered with the fact that you married down.

In all your centuries together, you’ve never for a moment regretted your choice to take him as your husband and eternal mate. Moving from Castle Dracula to Castle Krolock was easy since it immediately felt like home. You’re no stranger to acting as Mistress/Master of the Castle; you loved making Krolock Castle your own and adding your own personal touches, whether it be the interior of the castle or the garden/cemetery outside. Maybe it’s because you wished to have a son or daughter that your husband later turned Herbert and adopted him as yours and his son. If you wanted an heir, he would kidnap anyone of your choosing from a human village and turn them at your request. Herbert may not be yours by blood, but he would be your son in every other sense.

2. Beauty and the Beast AU: You’re Sarah’s sibling and Graf von Krolock is fixated on you instead of her because he believes you to be the reincarnation of his beloved husband/wife/lover. You look and act exactly the same, it’s uncanny. He kidnaps you, maybe half mad with grief and delusional from his centuries of black melancholy and loneliness. While you’re technically a prisoner in his castle, he doesn’t treat you like one. The castle is your home now so he lets you explore freely. You may go anywhere you wish, except for one locked door. That room is forbidden. You can’t leave the castle grounds or go beyond the garden/cemetery. He won’t let you. If he’s not watching you, there’s always another vampire or servant who is.

“What’s the story with the locked room upstairs?”

“It belongs to the late Graf/Grafin. We don’t go in there.”

“It might help me figure out what’s going on if I could take a look inside.”

“Best of luck. That door locked itself up tight the day of his/her funeral. There’s not a key in this world that’ll open it. Many have tried - myself included, I regret to say. If you’re really going to try opening that cursed door, if you’re really going to try breaking in to explore the late Master’s/Mistress’s room, the only advice I can offer you is this: Don’t let the Master catch you. Do you understand? Don’t let him catch you.”

During your captivity, you’re haunted by nightmares of lying dead on a stone bench deep within the castle’s chambers. The chamber can be accessed only through the window, set high in Krolock’s castle wall. A large bat flies in and hovers over the bench, regurgitating blood onto your dormant body. Your corpse starts to interact and bond with the dripped blood. Within seconds, you’re once more resurrected as a vampire. You wake up in a cold sweat from these night terrors. You either wander the castle halls in the dark and get lost, only to later be found by Kukol or Krolock himself. Or the Count is either lingering in your doorway or leering at you from over your bed, watching over you and waiting for you to awaken.

He lets you partake in the annual Dance of the Vampires, a celebration when the undead come to life in the cemetery and the castle again lives its former glory for one night only. He gifts you a beautiful suit/dress and protects you from the other vampires. He’s made it more than clear that only he or Herbert are allowed to dance with you. Are you truly his long lost love reincarnated or has the Count‘s mind succumbed to madness from centuries of existential pessimism? Are you truly a flickering light of hope in his shroud of black melancholy? Whether you remember your past life or not, could you ever find it in your still beating heart to love him despite him being your captor? Would you let him damn your soul and give you his vampire kiss so you can join him in eternity and save him from this inhabitable hell of loneliness?

3. Graf von Krolock was once deeply in love with you, Dracula’s daughter/son. You were his beloved wife/husband and eternal mate, but something happened where you were either killed by vampire hunters or died tragically. Your father was devastated by your untimely death. In his grief, he blamed your husband. Count Dracula and/or Graf von Krolock may have avenged you by hunting down, brutally killing and sucking the blood of the humans that took you away from them, but it didn’t make either vampire feel any better. They were still hollow. Even if your death wasn’t murder and was an accident, they’d still set fire to the villages and instill fear in the humans for what was done to you. Blood was spilled and heads rolled. No man, woman, or child was safe from their wrath.

Your father and husband never reconciled their relationship following your death. No matter how drawn out or excruciatingly painful they made the deaths of the hunters that slayed you or how many centuries passed, nothing could numb the pain your absence brought upon them. Your husband has never remarried; no mortal nor vampire could fill the void you left behind. No matter how beautiful, smart, etc., no one could ever hope to take your place. You were his mate, his one true love. Your old bedroom doubled as your personal study and it was one of your favorite rooms in the entire castle. It’s still exactly as you left it. Torn apart with grief, Krolock either keeps it locked up tight and has Kukol hide the key out of his sight so he’s never tempted to step foot in your room ever again. Or he’s the only one who’s permitted to hold the key and enter. He personally sees to keeping it clean and orderly, free of any dust or signs of decay. You wouldn’t want your favorite room to be neglected and left to rot away with time, so he keeps it pristine for you. He knows you’ll never step foot in this room or his castle again, but cleaning keeps his mind busy and helps him cope with your loss. This room brings back once happy memories of you now marred by tragedy, but it makes him believe for a few fleeting hours that you’ll come home.

“What’s the story with the locked room upstairs?”

“It belongs to the late Graf/Grafin. We don’t go in there. Ever. Only the Master would be allowed to go in and out. It’s best not to ask questions or go poking around.”

“It might help me figure out what’s going on if I could take a look inside.”

“Best of luck. That door locked itself up tight the day of his/her funeral. There’s not a key in this world that’ll open it. The Master likely carries it on him or keeps it somewhere hidden. I wouldn’t even try, if I were you. You’d be dead the second he caught you snooping around in places you weren’t supposed to be.”

To this day, Count Dracula refuses to have anything more to do with Krolock, citing what he believes is your husband’s failure to protect you. They haven’t spoken since the day of your funeral. Dracula is unyielding in his belief that Krolock could’ve or should’ve done more and that your death is your husband’s fault, even if it’s not actually true. You were his only surviving child and heir, and he only wanted the best for you. He didn’t approve of your choice in husband. If you had listened to him and never married Krolock, maybe you’d still be here. But you went against his wishes and married him anyway, and now you’re gone.

The King of all Vampires has held onto his grudge against your husband for centuries and isn’t going to ever let go of it unless, by some miracle, you’re brought back. Speaking of which, a group of humans are spending the night in the abandoned ruins where you supposedly died. They’re here to tell scary stories and urban legends, but get much more than they bargained for after they inadvertently resurrect you with their blood. The first thing you do upon awakening is kill and feed from the humans closest to you. You’re so weak and feel like you’ve been starving for centuries. You can’t be bothered to chase the others while they scream and flee in horror upon realizing you’re more than just a legend. First, you want to find and reunite with your father and husband. What happens next?

4. You’re Graf von Krolock’s beautiful and enchanting daughter, but have no interest in men. While Herbert has fallen in love with Alfred, you’ve been trying to claim Sarah’s heart. Neither you nor your brother understand subtlety; it’s in neither of your vocabularies. You’re both laying your seductions on thick, uncaring if your approach makes Alfred or Sarah feel awkward and uncomfortable. Awww, they’re both so cute! Herbert is very playful and fun. He loves playing games and chases Alfred all over the castle. The poor man is scared half to death as he tries in vain to run away and escape your flamboyant brother. Once Herbert finally catches Alfred, he holds him tightly in his strong embrace and carries him off to his bedroom, where he will read him poetry and tease him all night. He wants to take his sweet time seducing the boy before he bites him. He wants to make love to Alfred first. He wants Alfred to want him, to give in and reciprocate his love.

Meanwhile, you’re obsessed with Sarah and constantly interrupting her many baths to spoil her with extravagant gifts such as a beautiful red dress and matching red boots. You’d love nothing more than to join her in that tub and explore her naked body. You can tell she’s been sheltered her entire life and has never experienced the touch of a man nor a woman. You doubt she’s ever touched herself and would love to show her how to do it. She’s so innocent and naive; you want to corrupt her so bad and show her the sins of the flesh, just as Herbert wants to do with Alfred. But you’ll be patient for now and turn up the vampire charm once she arrives at the Vampire Ball, wearing your gifts. You’ll dance with her all night and you’ll bite her to turn her into your heart’s companion. She’ll be your mate, your lover for all eternity.

Krolock either steps back and lets you and your brother handle it, or he actively encourages you both to pursue your romances but leaves you to bite your lovers yourselves. He’s too wrapped up in the Vampire Ball or his own existential pessimism to watch over you or your brother’s activities. There comes a time when each vampire must turn their first human, and there’s no better time to learn than now. Either way he’s not going to come between his children and their newfound paramours. Despite your differences and his serious disposition, your father loves you and Herbert more than anything. He’s just too fucking exhausted all the time, wrapped up in the festivities or crushed by his own black melancholy. He can’t be bothered to always get involved with your and your brother’s whims or…whatever this is. He’s raised you both well enough over the centuries that he trusts you know what you’re doing.

5. You’re just trying to donate blood but your lovers/husbands, Count Dracula and Graf von Krolock, are acting like total weirdos. They’re both leering over you the whole time and have no concept of personal space. If you have a fear of needles, they’re running their long fingers through your hair and scratching your scalp with their long nails as they kiss your forehead to comfort you. They’re making sure you have plenty of snacks and water so you don’t pass out. But they’re both eager to taste that sweet, sweet blood. You knew you should’ve left them at the castle, but they were stubborn and insisted on coming with you. Bringing vampires to a blood drive is like bringing them to an all-you-can-eat buffet. If they leave your side, it’s because they’re bothering the other nurses trying to take blood, insisting that it shouldn’t be that hard to find a vein. They’re asking inappropriate questions about where the blood is stored and if they could have a bag or two to go. No, they can’t have any blood bags. This blood isn’t for them, it’s for the countless humans that need it. The poor patients and nurses look nervous and probably think the vampires are going to eat them.

You knew being a human and having two vampire lovers/husbands was going to be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable, but they seriously have no chill when it comes to blood. Even after their centuries of vampirism, you have to bribe them to behave with promises of letting them bite and drink from you once you fully recover and your blood replenishes. If your arm wasn’t stiff from having a needle or tube in it, you’d face palm so hard. This is the last time you’re bringing them with you when you donate blood. These Counts are lucky they’re so handsome, charismatic, and amazing lovers in bed. Sometimes you don’t know what you’d do with them otherwise. They love having you sandwiched between them every night so they can lay their heads on your chest and listen to your heartbeat. It’s like music to their ears. They can almost dance to the beat. It’s one of their favorite sounds, apart from the noises you make when they make love to you. Hopefully when they finally turn you into a vampire, life with them will be less chaotic. Spoiler alert: Eternal life with them is even more chaotic than it was when you were mortal.

6. Dracula didn’t kill Van Helsing’s wife, Roseanne. Instead he turned her into a vampire and put her under his thrall, either as revenge against Van Helsing or because he was in love with her too and felt spurned when she decided to marry Abraham.

7. Underworld AU: Roseanne was a vampire and Dracula’s biological daughter. She fell in love with Abraham Van Helsing, a human man. Even though it was against vampire law, she and Van Helsing continued their secret love affair, whether or not he ever knew she was a vampire. They eloped and Roseanne later became pregnant with a Dhampir child. Upon discovering her pregnancy, Dracula killed his own daughter. He loved her, but the abomination growing in her womb was a betrayal of him and the entire vampire race. He did what he had to do to protect the species. Since his wife’s murder, Van Helsing has sworn revenge on Dracula and has dedicated his life to vampire hunting, determined to slay the Vampire King himself.

8. You’re Professor Abronsius’ grandchild and either Krolock or Herbert are in love with you. Instead of Sarah, you’re the one who gets seduced and kidnapped by vampires. Your grandfather is so busy with taking his notes or exploring the Count’s library that he gets easily distracted and sometimes forgets what he’s doing. Wait, why is he in this castle again? Oh yeah! To rescue you from the bloodthirsty vampires. Right, right. He loves you, never doubt that. The moment he realized you were gone, he was desperately searching for you. But it’s no surprise you were kidnapped right from under his nose in the first place. Even if you had kicked and screamed, he was probably deaf to your cries for help, having blocked out all noises. He often forgets the world around him.

When he does finally come to rescue you, he’ll probably ward off the vampires by lecturing and admonishing them. Poor Abronsius never even realizes it, but it’s already too late for you. Krolock or Herbert has already bitten you. By dragging the newly transformed you out of the castle, your grandfather didn't exactly save mankind from the vampire plague. You can’t return home with him. Krolock’s castle is your home now. The Count and/or his son will come after you to bring you back. Your grandfather walks off singing about his "victory” while you’re starving. That young assistant of his looks so appetizing. Just one bite won’t hurt.

9. Count Von Krolock spends a lonely and melancholy life in his old castle in the mountains, in the company of his son Herbert and his servant Koukol. Krolock has never been the same ever since he lost you, the love of his mortal and/or immortal life, to an unforeseen tragedy. Your untimely demise was so long ago that the Count has lost track of time and can no longer remember when exactly you died. Your body has since been laid to rest in a beautiful mausoleum near his castle cemetery. He’s given you only the best. The most beautiful coffin/casket, flowers from his garden, etc. The epitaph on your grave has worn down with time and is practically illegible. But he still remembers the words he had lovingly engraved underneath your name. Ever since your death, The numbness and loneliness of his existence is interrupted only at the annual Dance of the Vampires when the undead come to life in the cemetery and the castle lives again, for one night, its former glory.

You’re not a vampire, but you rise from your grave with the rest of the undead. For one night only, your body is magically restored and you become flesh. You’re just as beautiful as you were the last time Krolock saw you alive, before you were taken from him. Your voice is the same, your hair is the same, your scent is the same, etc. You and your beloved Count make the most out of the few hours you have together. You dance the night away in each other’s arms before the Count escorts you back to your beautiful resting place. He holds your hand as he helps you climb back into your coffin/casket and gives you one final kiss before you return to your annual slumber. He closes the lid just before the night ends. Just before sunrise, your body decays once more. He can never bear to watch you change back. But he can still hear it. It’s just as unbearable, or maybe even worse. He retreats back into the castle before the sun can burn him.

“Until next year, my love.”

[dreamnotnapss]

man this clip represents snf's dynamic so well :') Sapnap asking for affection from George, George baiting him into thinking he's getting it, Sapnap inevitably falling for it bc he thinks this is one of those moments that George will give it to him, George juking him, Sapnap not taking that for an answer and touching his hand anyway, and George being displeased that Sapnap got his way and ripping his hand away. and then they both turn away, Sapnap with a satisfied and soft smile, and George with a miffed smile

that classic back and forth of trying to get the upper hand... that's them your honor

[lookedlikethebins]

filling a producer george prompt (👀❕) but i cannot tell you the last time i was in a club so i'm trying to get into the Spirit with charli's Lightning (on repeat) and this picture:

[drivemysoul]

i need literally anything to distract me from overthinking and nothings helping

[adventureofthedancinggirl]

Me: *ready to focus* I'm gonna finish the edits on this section of SYA tonight.

Horikoshi Xmas sketch: This is 2 days late, but...

My brain: Here's a new tdbk fic idea ⸜( ˶'ᵕ'˶)⸝♡ Me: (¯―¯٥)

[somanywords]

irving berlin’s “let’s face the music and dance” is a familiar and classic older love song, full of swing influence and 1930s jazz syncopation. the titular lyric in question is used to suggest that while there may be trouble ahead, right now, the lovers are here together--so they’ll face the music and dance. HOWEVER, without context, the lyric could be taken with a slightly darker tone, the phrase about facing the music turns into the common saying at the end of a story where the criminal finally gets his due. but then to dance. to dance to the music and police waiting for you, to face the consequences of previous actions, to go out with a song. in this essay i will--

[hellothepixel]

"high school musical" <<< "high school musical but it's the gay remake in my head"

[potter-pavlikovsky-popchyk]

listen and think of them pls

[avocado-frog]

Happy STS. Okay, hear me out. Your story becomes a musical. *grandly presents you with the opportunity to turn this into literally whatever you want* (Who knows all the choreography? Who is pissed? Who somehow escapes singing?) (What scene has the best song? What your story's musical sound like? Does it being a musical make any sense at all?)

I am HEARING you out. happy sts

I'm not sure about the others, but all I know is Leo gets a very theatrical disney villain type song. They would still be very branch trolls or eugene fitzherbert tangled core. I am Not singing and you Can't make me (someone will) (jaxon most likely) (poor leo)

Jaxon is THRILLED. He sings wherever he goes anyways. He knows all the choreography. He makes everyone else join. Same with Sam and probably Lily

Logan and Cass are secretly really good singers in my head. I feel like they would both have a sort of lullaby song. something soft

Dylan gets out of it. "ohh sorry guys. i didn't realize it was a musical :| my bad you guys have fun though" Ryan also gets out of it. Elliot TRIES but he falls victim to Jaxon making him

[after-witch]

I humbly request yandere Smiling Man dancing with the object of his affections before he takes her away (whether she wants to dance or he is manipulating her like a puppet on his strings is up to you!).

Title: When I Want to Dance [Yandere Smiling Man x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re not sure when the Smiling Man decided to stop pressuring you into making a bargain and simply decided he wanted to take you into the world behind the mist. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Because you lost, and he’s going to take you there shortly. 

Word count: 1658

notes: yandere, reader gets kidnapped, dancin' with the devil in the pale moonlight (in a manner of speaking)

“You like to dance,” he says, voice composed. He’s stating a fact, not an assumption. He knows you like dancing because he knows everything. Not just about you, but about the world. About everyone he sees and tricks and… whatever it is, exactly, he’s planning to do with you.

You’ll find out soon enough, you suppose, so you decide not to dwell on it until you absolutely have to.

“I do,” you reply, trying to keep your voice measured. But there’s a shakiness to it. How could there not be? He finally won. He finally beat you. You’re finally bound to go to the world-behind-the-mist and do whatever it is the man before you has planned.

“But?” His voice is leading, and you know exactly where he wants to take you. To a place where he can pick you apart and see what you’ll do, see what you’ll say. It’s infuriating, in the way everything about him is infuriating.

To anyone watching the scene, the pair of you would look like two friends--two lovers, maybe, if they were in the habit of assuming such things--standing in the fading light under a streetlamp. Having a conversation. Ending a date. Perhaps talking about something serious--perhaps a bit of a spat, given y our posture.

Because it looks innocent enough, on the surface. Normal enough. The man in front of you is standing with his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes simply watching as you stand, arms crossed tight over your chest, and avoid looking him in the eye as much as possible.

But if they were to dig a little deeper, they’d find something else entirely. They’d find someone who was about to be taken to some unknowable part of the world forever. They’d find someone who accidentally bumped heads with a supernatural entity that decided he wanted them. They’d find someone who, after years of dodging and running and winning by the thinnest margin, finally lost.

They’d find someone whose life is about to change forever.

“But,” you repeat his words, voice taking on a tinge of bitterness. “I don’t exactly feel like dancing right before I’m about to be kidnapped for the rest of my life.” You frown. “However long that is, anyway.” You think about people who have disappeared because of him. People whose souls became nothing but dust. How long would it be before you were like them?

He tilts his head slightly. The gesture is strangely innocent, strangely human, and it makes something in you curdle.

“You’re not going to die,” he says. Patient. Like he’s talking to a child. “Whatever do you take me for?”

You press your lips together. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

He laughs, tilting his head down, revealing a boyish grin.

And then he looks back up at you, still smiling, but there’s something sober in it that gives you pause.

“I do mean my offer genuinely. If you’d like, we can dance one more time. Like we did that first night.” There’s nostalgia in his voice, which surprises you.  You didn’t know he was capable of such an emotion.

That first night... When you thought he was a human being, just some stranger passing through town who happened into the local pub on a Friday night. When he smiled at you from across the room and you, a bit tipsy on alcohol and the high of the end of the workweek, grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor. 

He smiled. He laughed. He had the most infectious smiles that you’d ever seen in your life, and those few hours you spent laughing, twirling, even holding each other for a slow dance or two… magical in the way that only dancing with a stranger until the wee hours of the morning can be.

And after that, he was gone. And it wasn’t a big deal, really, because that was what happened when you danced with a stranger on a Friday night. You had your fun and that was that.

Only it wasn’t the end of things.

Only he came back. But it wasn’t to dance. It was to tell you about the deepest wish of your heart and lay out a bargain for it, naked and raw on the table.  You were tempted. You would never say that you weren’t sorely, horribly tempted. But the price was too high and you resisted. That time… and the next time… and the next.

You can’t remember exactly when he went from trying to push you into making a deal with him into simply making you come with him. When his bargains disappeared and his terrible games came in, games in which you had to fight to keep your sanity, keep your freedom.

You won. Sometimes barely. Sometimes others were lost along the way. But you still won. You still escaped. You still managed to keep your feet planted firmly in this world--the sunshine world, he called it sometimes--for another few weeks or months.

Until you didn’t win. Until now.

“That was a long time ago,” you finally say, breaking away from your memories. “I didn’t know who you were then, anyway.” You can’t imagine dancing with him like that now. Carefree. Not now, when you know what he is.

Not now, when you’ve spent so long running--moving from place to place, changing your looks, changing your name. Spending so long looking over your shoulder, fearing that anything and everything might be an accidental gateway into one of his sick games. A mirror in the hotel room. A quiet library. He had his tricks, and he always used them when you least expected it.

He’s not the same person you saw him as that night. And you’re not the same person you were then, either. You wonder if he cares.

He’s watching you while you think. Analyzing, evaluating. You don’t think he can read your thoughts exactly, but he can perhaps get an impression of your feelings.

“Well,” he says, and he almost sounds disappointed. “If you wouldn’t like one last dance here, we can always dance later.” His eyes almost seem faraway and remote now. As if he’s thinking about some distant future that you aren’t privy to. “When we’re behind the mist. There will be plenty of time.”

“It won’t be the same,” you murmur, tightening your arms against your chest, thinking of what little you know of the world behind the mist. The realm where he dwells and returns to, again and again, after doing his errands here.

“No,” he concedes, voice not unkind but practical and conceding. “It won’t.”

Something about the finality in his words makes you feel sick. Sick and sad and maybe, then, something in your chest blooms wide--low and aching. You’re never going to come back here. Not fully. There is going to be a stark, white line between Before and After, and you’re about to cross it.

“I guess one dance wouldn’t hurt.” Your voice is a whisper, almost hoarse with emotion.

One dance, you think. Your last dance as yourself, truly and completely. Your last dance in a world that makes sense. Your last dance in the sunshine world, where things are right and normal.

He smiles. It’s the same kind of smile that drew you in that night. But now you now there’s something else behind it.

Somewhere, the soft sound of an old-fashioned music box begins to play. The thought occurs to you that it’s perhaps coming from behind the mist.

It's slow music for a slow dance. Of course.

He approaches, and slowly, you let your arms fall to your sides. You can’t look him in the eyes, so you stare at his waist, at the perfectly ordinary white dress shirt he’s wearing.

He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you as he did that night you met. His arms are warm, just as they were then. It’s wrong, you think. He shouldn’t be warm. He shouldn’t feel so human. But he is, and he does, and it hurts to think about.

So you stop thinking about it. You lift your own arms up and rest them lightly on his shoulders, listening to the music, focusing on the soft tinkling that’s coming from somewhere impossible.

Your legs shuffle to the music, stepping in time with his. Again, you think about someone else watching the scene, separating yourself from it as if it might make it easier to swallow. Anyone watching would think this is romantic. Quaint. Charming.

“What will it be like? When we… go behind the mist?” You refuse to do more than glance at him, eyes darting away when you see his smile.

His arm wraps tighter around your waist, and your stomach thrills a little when he spins you. It’s the type of move that made you feel all giddy that first night. Your stomach flips now, as it did then, but for a completely different reason.

“It will be different,” he says. You force yourself to look at him. He’s smiling, but it’s softer, more serious. And again, there’s that remote quality to his words and expression. “You’ll see things. Do things. Wonderful and terrible.”

He pulls you closer, and he smells just like anyone else. Soft cologne and the slight scent of sweat, of a body, just a regular human body.

“Different,” he repeats.

You’re terrified. You wish you could break away from him and run. But what good would it do? You wouldn’t get far, and that’s assuming you can break his hold on you.

So you nod, and if you let your head rest a little on his shoulder, can you blame yourself? You need something to ground your aching heart. Something to focus on. So you focus on the solid weight of his body, the warmth of his arms. And the music box chiming softly, still playing somewhere behind the mist.

You’ll be there soon enough.