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silksinging · 6 months

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A list of things I’d suggest to make Lenore Loomington’s design work better:

1. Since she’s a ghost, I think it would be only right for her to be translucent. She even has the eyeband makeup from Haunted! It baffles me that she isn’t translucent already.

2. Either add some painted detail to the plastic accessories, OR make them glow in the dark. Personally, I’m leaning towards the second. I think thematically, since she’s supposed to be an eerie ghost walking through a garden at night holding a lantern, it would only make sense for there to be glow in the dark details. (It even looks like some parts already might be but?? Since they’re not making a show of it I’m presuming they don’t actually)

3. Please put her hair up. Not only would it help sell the Victorian vibes they’re going for, it would also better complement her headpiece (which, let’s be honest, looks kinda silly on its own) . Also it would make her stand out more! As it is she looks like someone just put her on the default settings…

4. This is the sort of thing that might be easier to draw than to explain but…. I think the plastic chest piece would be better if it covered less area. As it is, it completely obscure the top part of her dress, and it overall makes her look very messy and formless. I’m thinking something like a spiderweb-shaped under bust corset would’ve left more room for the dress to shine, and been a bit more flattering. Tbh just cutting off the top half of the current design might work.

5. I think something’s off about the stock pictures ngl. The fabric of the dress is So Dark, which obviously isn’t bad in itself, but, especially since the lighting itself is pretty dark, it means most of the details of the dress are completely obscured. Alternatively, they could’ve used a more reflective satiny material, so the texture difference would make printed on detail pop more.

6. Finally, and perhaps most importantly… her face up. I think there was an opportunity sorely missed in not making her look sad. Edgar Allan Poe’s poem is a tragic one! Make her look like a tragic figure! Give her sad brows, like how the Rochelle face ups have! Give her downturned eyes! The glitter tears are a solid idea and probably my fave detail, but I think it could’ve gone harder! Make them run down her cheeks!! Maybe even make them darker, so they really stand out!!! Honestly I genuinely think just changing her brows would make such a huge difference, it would make her seem more like a character with a personality and with whom you can relate to…. Which is especially important because she is this brand new character that no one has an emotional connection with. Make! Me! Care!!!

So yeah that’s my take.

#monster high #Lenore loomington #soli soliloquies #if you’ve got any other ideas add them to this post tbh I’m curious how others would approach this #I’m also not a huge fan of the magenta they threw in there seemingly at random #but I’d have to play around with it visually to see what works best #I wish I had the time to draw this out so it’s easier to see what I mean #but I’m a BUSY uni student with a job so. unfortunately the list will have to do.#what makes her so frustrating to me is she’s SO CLOSE to being something I would trip over myself to get #but she’s just…. too much and not enough at the same time #for that price…. I shouldn’t WANT to turn her into a custom to ‘fix’ her #especially considering haunt couture spectra was the same price and SO much more cohesive in comparison- whatever I’m rambling #good NIGHT

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taybatwo2 · 6 months

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Lenore Loomington Doll Review Part 2 of 2

Let’s finally take a look at her dress (the post before this one looked at her accessories and in box photos)! Ugh, that belt thing just keeps getting in the way of everything and will NOT sit well on her torso.

Lets remove the offending piece to actually look at her dress…

Much better (I was so afraid of breaking her clip, I had her hanging from her neck for many of my photos). I love that the cut of the dress is WAY different to any other Monster High dolls I’ve seen, and I like the idea (I assume) behind it: looking at silhouettes of plants and animals on a night sky.

Buuuuut I feel like it could have been elevated a bit more for such an expensive doll. Give us some glow in the dark/sparkly dots acting as stars going up her skirt, finish her sleeves and dress train with some lace, oh, or maybe sew some “vine like” ribbon/fabric hanging off of the train or sleeves. Oh! And I feel like her short black lacy piece is kinda a second thought, I’d have made it longer in the back or give it a more ragged cut (so it’s not so reminiscent of a tutu or petticoat). I say this all, because both the color and the cut was honestly better executed by:

The one you got vs the one you ordered. Yeahhh, it very closely resembles Moonlight B.B’s dress (shirt/skirt), but feels like a poor rip off due too MGA’s looking a lot more tailored (and use of multiple fabrics) and a more expensive clothing piece. more review and doll comparisons under the cut:

Aaaand here it is off the doll:

The dress is not hemmed around the bottom of the dress or sleeves, but I don’t see them fraying any time soon. I like how thin and flow-y the fabric is it makes it look a bit ethereal. And oh? But what’s this?? A secret secondary dress/slip??

What a cute little surprise. It’s fully hemmed, has a little lace on the bottom, and has a bit of a stretch to it. Also, Lenora’s arms are wrapped in plastic to prevent staining.

Here it is off the doll. Be forewarned, I low key struggled redressing her. That larger dress didn’t want to nicely slide back over her smaller dress.

Let’s finally take a look at Lenore’s face.

My Lenore’s eyes are printed up a bit too high and her lipstick is both smudged and incorrectly filled in in the top left side. 😬 At least a little bit of acrylic paint can fix her lips….

Her glitter tears are really pretty and seem pretty well attached and her “ghost mask” is a lovely addition to her face (it’s a nice gradient).

It took me awhile to notice she has cute little pink eyelashes mixed in with her black ones.

Her side profile and lightly pointed ears (by the way, the back of her head is marked as 2023). I do wish her eyebrows were a bit darker and looked like Rochelle’s worried ones (@mistyxxart’s, on instagram, drawing of Lenore is what I WISH her eyebrows looked like).

This artwork is fangtastic and has given me so many fun ideas on how I want to upgrade my Lenore.

Lenore is pretty well covered now; let’s look at how she compares to come other ghouls (I apologize for many of these photos being a bit blown out - the lighting in my kitchen is kinda sucky).

The OG Spectra!!! Two very different ghostie ghouls. Monster High’s oldest vs MH’s newest. Spectra has clear body parts, no ghost mask, and colored sclera. She also has kanekalon hair vs Lenore’s saran. I think they stand on their own as pretty different characters honestly.

Let’s let a few more come across the veil.

So many ghosts!!! Ari, Ari, what are you looking at?!? Sweetie. Stop longingly staring at Spectra.

Okay, so they actually don’t seem to have very much in common with Lenore either. Ari has a milky/shimmery body (much more akin to the Haunted releases of ghosts) and Lenore has a shimmery body without looking like she has milky skin. Her shimmer has more of a blue tinge than the yellow tinge that Ari’s has.

The Create a Monster Ghost (I always forget how hard they went on her outfit: skulls amassed behind a fence with a blood-dripping belt; I love it when MH sneaks in stuff like that), has the ghost eye mask (I don’t like hers as much as Lenore’s) and uncolored sclera like Lenore, but her pupils are black - like Ari’s. Both CAM ghost and Spectra have clear limbs.

There is something these ghouls all share in common:

Mother of PINK! The Monster World must have very limited shoe material that ghosts can wear and it’s all in similar shades of pink and magenta.

I wonder how she compares to the Haunted dolls…? POOF!

Ask and you shall receive! Technically River is a grim reaper and Kiyomi is the daughter of a noppera-bō, so not just comparing “ghost ghosts,”but why not throw them in here too?? Porter, Vandala and Kiyomi all have very milky skin, Lenore’s plastic is very opaque in comparison with that pearl/shimmer finish.

~shimmer shimmer~ Porter has colored sclera like Spectra and Vandala doesn’t have black pupils, like Lenore. I wonder if there is a reason for some ghosts to have colored/regular sclera and pupils. Maybe it’s a ghost genetic trait like attached ear lobes….

River was wondering what all the hubbub was about in comparing them to this new ghost. Well, until I told River how much Lenore cost compared to them. River couldn’t say much, but just proudly showed off her clear limbs: “I cost less than a third of that and I have clear limbs!” ….I wonder how she’ll react when I tell her the ghoul that received her original head sculpt idea cost double Lenore’s price.

And POOF!

What a lovely menagerie of MH ghosts (pretend like my Symphanee got here quick enough to also be in the photos).

Perfect! Can’t even tell….

Oh! And Vandala brought her girlfriend Sirena along so I could compare Sirena’s skin tone to Lenore’s. Her skin glitter is not as fine as Lenore’s and she has a yellow tint to her skin….I wonder if Ari’s and Sirena’s is due to age.

Hand splat in face.

Before I wrap up, let’s compare Lenore to some MH dolls that look like the main ingredients they blended up to create Lenore.

Your progenitors!!! (my G1 Twyla has been de-glued with LA’s Totally Awesome, but her bangs are discolored and are waiting to be retrobrighted this summer). Hmmm, a dash Twyla’s skin color, a major helping of Vandala’s face mold and monster type, and an inspirational sprinkle of Amanita’s outfit and pieces.

I can see the comparisons with G1 Twyla (more in person than in a photo). Lenore’s skin has a purple hue from the pearly finish. Also, Lenore’s hair streaks are more baby blue than the minty green of Twyla’s hair color. They both have pink eyes, and wear dark colored clothing.

Now, Lenors and Amanita, look like they could have been in the same line (when I actually have Lenore fully dressed). Amanita believes that she would have still been the only deluxe, store exclusive of the line. “Maybe you could have been like the Big Lots or CVS exclusive to Gloom and Bloom.” Amanita! That is uncalled for! “You’re right, how about a K-Mart exclusive because they’re as dead as she is.” Lenore thinks this is one plant she doesn’t want in her garden.

They both have long wavy hair, flower shoe clips (but Amanita’s is sculpted to be a lot more three dimensional and it’s painted).

Both have extra make-up around the eyes, a hair decoration/accessory, and a thin, slightly see through dress covering a surprise mini dress (I still feel like Amanita’s has more detail, but that pleather portion will rot off someday).

Yeah, she is more than welcome to pose. I think that Amanita might have pulled off the look a bit better…. :/

And a face comparison!

Similar, but Amanita’s/CAM Vampire Girl’s head sculpt is not the same.

Avast ye!! We might have a match! Vandala’s face does look closely the same (I should have taken out Vandala’s earring for all of these photos)…

Hmmm…..

Hmmmmmmm…..

HMMMM, Lenore’s ear looks a little bit more defined (when I don’t have the light GLARING right ONTO it).

Man, Vandala, I need to de-glue your head whenever I get more LA’s Totally Awesome in. You are a grease ball!

Well, Lenore might have used Vandala’s head sculpt base, but they went in and refined some parts…like her chin being a bit blunter, her nose and ears being a bit more defined, her lips might be a bit bigger (or they were just over painted).

Whelp anyways….Lenore…Lenore….I am glad I bought her, as she has some cute surprises, a lovely face, soft hair, but she’s very overpriced from the get-go and would have (in my opinion) not gotten such backlash had she been released to stores and Mattel creations as a 40-55 dollar G1 release and if she had not been SO HYPED UP!!

What are your thoughts? Would you buy her? What would you change?? Do you think Mattel has a huge wheel in their board room to spin and assign value to their dolls? Should I double check pictures to make sure they turned out alright before I put all my dolls away?? (Yes, yes I should).

#monster high #aleta’s toys #doll collecting #monster high doll #dollbr #monster high dolls #doll collector #lenore loomington #monster high skullector #monster high g1 #doll review

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campgender · 4 months

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from “Muscles of the Mind” by Dorothy Allison, published in Trash (1988, reprinted 2002)

image description under the cut. content warning: anti-Romani racism (g slur) at the top of the 2nd image (first full page), ableist c slur at the top of the 4th image (third full page)

At the concert last week, I kept walking back to Cass and the little bottle of Jack Daniel’s she had in her coat pocket. “Have a drink, darling. It’ll open your eyes,” she’d say, her pupils hidden behind half-closed lids. I shook my head no and gave her a quick lick on the neck that made her cheeks flash pink and her eyes open wide. All the women near us, most of them Cass’s friends from work or the pool hall, had their own bottles. I tried to get Cass to keep her little bottle down in the shadows. The crowd kept pushing past, their eyes hooded with too much dope and skin sour with cigarettes—women in party clothes: loose trousers, velvet vests, hats, high-heeled boots, glittering necklaces, and elaborate hoops dangling from their ears. Most of them looked like they belonged to the same gypsy troupe, their tribe indicated by the slogan-bearing buttons pinned to their collars and jackets. I saw Anna go by with her new girlfriend, Gayle, and then three of the women from the house—Judy, Paula, and Lenore. But none of them seemed to have seen us, and they all quickly disappeared into the audience. I felt Cass slip her hands around my waist and turned my face into the shelter of her neck.

“Where do they all come from?” I was only half serious. There were more women in the audience than I’d seen at any demonstration up at the capitol building.

“Oh, these only come out for the music,” Cass laughed. “Just like me.”

“You know, culture, women’s culture.” Cass’s friend Billy leaned over us, her hand sliding past my butt on its way to the bottle in Cass’s pocket. “An’t you heard about women’s culture?” I looked down at the black ink tattoos standing out all over her forearms. Billy was wearing her usual uniform—jeans so old and worn they looked like gray sky over the ocean at dawn, and a denim vest buttoned up tight to flatten her breasts. Her arms were bare, and every time she stretched her hand out, I could see white flash under her armpit from skin that was never exposed to the sun.

“You mean to tell me we an’t here to listen to rock and roll?” Cass slapped Billy’s shoulder and giggled. It had taken two weeks of teasing and arguing before Cass had agreed to come to this event, and she’d insisted on getting Billy and her girlfriend Roxanne to come, too. “Got to have somebody to talk to,” she’d insisted.

Billy had thought the whole notion a hoot. “They don’t know how to dress,” she kept saying, “but some of these chicks an’t bad-looking.”

Roxanne just kept biting the lipstick off her lips and kicking her heels against the wall behind us. “I don’t see nothing here anybody’d want to take home with ’em.” She lit a cigarette and gave me a look of pure malevolence. I wondered if she had seen Billy’s hand on my ass. I leaned back into Cass’s embrace and tried to look happily innocent of any interest in Roxanne’s woman. That wasn’t too hard. Cass was just about the sexiest woman in the crowd, big and rough-looking in her worn denim jacket with her black hair cut close around her ears, but with soft brown eyes and a quick smile. She was a good-natured woman who liked me more than she was sure she wanted to. More important, she didn’t seem to feel the need to push her girlfriends around that Billy did. I loved having a woman in my life who prowled like a big old tiger, yet cuddled me close like a kitten licking mama’s ears. Billy talked about Roxanne as if the woman was a not quite bright child, and clearly had decided I had to have some special hidden sexual talent if Cass was so ready to put up with my sass. Part of what kept me seeing Cass was her casual acceptance of my temper and habits, and her grinning dismissal of Billy’s half-serious flirting with me. Cass was also nearly as tall as Billy and had told me frankly that they had become friends only after everybody they knew kept pushing them to fight each other.

“We was supposed to do the fight of the week or something, and let everybody know who was butcher than who, you know. But providing that kind of free entertainment just an’t my style. Billy and I put them all through some changes when we took up with each other, I’ll tell you.”

Two women I had met at the Women’s Center wiggled past us. One of them looked me in the eye and then up over my head into Cass’s face. I could feel Cass’s grin in the way her hands wiggled on me. The woman looked away quickly.

“Did you hear about Angie?” her friend asked.

“Yeah, I heard.” The woman pushed away from us hurriedly. “Don’t talk about her here.”

“Did you see her face?” Roxanne spoke with her cigarette held between her teeth. “That woman needs to reconsider going without makeup.”

I felt the heat come up in my face and didn’t know for a moment if I was angry or ashamed. I watched the expressions on the faces of the women who filed past us, then felt the skin at the back of my neck pull tight. We could have been animals in a cage from the way they looked at us. I kept going from indignant anger to shame with no pause between. The anger felt healthy but wouldn’t stay with me, while the shame was continuous and crippling. I wanted to be proud of Cass’s hands on my hips, to glare back coldly at the women who frowned at her. I was proud of her, but my pride wasn’t holding any better than my anger. I wished I didn’t care what anybody thought, but I did. Beside me Roxanne kept getting her mirror out and pulling a few curls forward down over her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her makeup streaking on her neck where sweat was trailing down. For a moment, she looked like my little sister looking up at me, wanting my help but unable to ask. I could have cried. Instead, I took deep breaths trying to calm myself and finally just gave it up and took a couple of pulls from Cass’s bottle.

Cass hugged me again, her eyes watching me closely. “We can always leave.” She didn’t look as if the idea bothered her at all.

“The music hasn’t even started.” I drank again, concentrating on feeling angry rather than self-conscious or ashamed. The last of the audience was milling past us while a piano chord sounded from the front of the hall. A little group of men and women passed us, the women defiant in silky skirts and the men holding the women close to them. One of the women stared at Billy and giggled when Billy grinned at her. The man with her looked nervous and impatient, but the woman didn’t seem to want to head for her seat. Like a pigeon transfixed by a snake, she was pinned to the far wall by Billy’s green-eyed stare. I almost laughed out loud.

“I don’t care who they sleep with,” I whispered to Cass, “I just wish they wouldn’t tell so many lies about it.”

“Mean bitch,” Cass quipped, not meaning it at all.

Roxanne looked over at me strangely, her face working as if she were making up her mind about something. She looked up at Billy, who was still watching the woman against the far wall. “Hell,” Roxanne said, “these days I can’t tell who’s lying and who is just passing time.”

“Passing time,” I repeated. I ignored Cass’s offer of another drink. Instead I turned and put my arm around Roxanne’s shoulders, watching with her as the audience settled down and Cass and Billy whispered behind us. I watched the way the women moved, the muscles that stood out in their necks, the way their eyes went from dark to light in the changing light. My teeth clenched, but I just held on to Roxanne, and kept my hip pressed close to Cass’s long legs.

#butch/femme #dorothy allison #trash #quotes #image described #everything goes back to femme #they are our stigmata #mac’s bookshelf #alcohol #g slur #c slur

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alittlefirebirdtoldme · 11 months

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The glittering electric lights bouncing off ancient, crystal chandeliers that hung above a glorious, rambunctious party told one all one could hope to know about Lord and Lady Coldstones. Theirs had been quite a scandalous marriage. It must have been some fifty years ago when a charming rancher from Sturmovia won the heart of the wild and flighty lady knight. Of course, no one knew the whole story, and neither would tell the same tale twice.

Among their guests, both Lord and Lady Coldstones shone. Neither had aged a day in those fifty years. He was painted in earthen tones, warm browns and ambers, that contrasted with the blade-like cut of his cheekbones and jawline. He smiled easily and spoke in a soft drawl, an old accent he'd never shaken, even if he now forewent the cowboy hat that had once made him the talk of every party. She, meanwhile, was ethereally pale, save for the fiery red of her lips and hair and eyes, which gleamed in the bright light. She laughed often, but there was something hungry in the way her eyes roved over the crowd. She seemed to dine on the occasional, pretty bauble of society, but her husband was unto her a lavish feast to be devoured. The electric hum of the new wiring was nothing compared to the buzz between them.

Tonight, they played a game. It was a simple objective: bed the prettiest human. The stakes, too, were simple, but intensely private. Every game between them was, even if every guest in the manor knew they were pawns in an elaborate marital chess game. No one cared too much, except as part of their curiosity. So this was what a couple with eternity to spare would do? Did it matter, so long as the spirits kept flowing and the dance floor stayed hot? They hired the best bands and had the best booze.

And those who had been fortunate enough to become their playthings said they had the best bedroom etiquette too.

But Lenore Davenport-Coldstones was dreadfully bored tonight. The humans were fine things to admire. But how often did she and Cedric play this little game? It was time to change the rules. She approached him from behind, raking her nails up his chest and nuzzling his neck with her soft lips. She nipped right below his ear and shuddered with delighted anticipation.

"What if we agreed on a single human tonight?" she asked. "I want to share a new toy with you or not share you at all tonight. Is that really such a losing situation?"

Cedric inhaled sharply as Lenore's nails grazed his skin, letting his eyes flutter closed and head loll backward as she nipped at the lobe of his ear and the soft of his neck. Sweet Seldraine, he knew how to play the game. He could pick out the prettiest of part-goers and pull from them the most satisfying noises as they rose in chorus to the same down the hall. He could dance through a crowd and smile that crooked smile over a glass of elven wine or dwarvish brandy, letting the drawl fall over his lips like honey to lure in the willing. He could play at devotion, or at least a good time, in a way that left him with no complaints and more than a few friends. But nothing ever captured his attention, made him burn so deeply and so long as his own wife. He'd made it his mission to please her as best he could for as long as he lived, and regardless of how things progressed, whenever she pierced his skin or moaned his name in pleasure he was sure he was absolutely robbing her blind. How could it ever feel fair, he wondered, when she brought him so much joy? How could he ever feel as if he didn't owe her for simply allowing him to love her?

"Lenore, ma'am, you know I couldn't refuse you even if I wanted to." Cedric sighed and turned in her arms, pulling her hand up to his lips for a kiss that was slow and lavish, if slightly ungentlemanly. "To be yours, all yours, only yours for the night is an invitation that has never left me disappointed. Who on this green earth could consider it losing to be allowed to worship you?"

His soft, warm eyes made contact with hers over her knuckles, and he bowed in a way that seemed far out of modern fashions but would always seem at home with the way he adored this woman. He'd leave the party at her word, lower himself shamelessly to his knees to make her smile even here in front of these now suddenly unwanted guests.

"Will you have me to yourself tonight? I promise to do my best to serve Your Excellency as she sees fit."

#walkingshcdow

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

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Fandom: Castlevania

Pairings: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha, Hector/Lenore

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula’s castle to seek Alucard’s help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires’ court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 11: Where Shadows Dwell is up! Hector and Lenore have an important conversation, while Trevor, Adrian and Sypha spend a cosy morning in bed 🥰

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

There is a faint breeze blowing through the gardens. The fabric of Hector's cloak whispers about his feet with every gust of wind, his skin prickling. He gathers his cloak tighter about him, stealing glances at Lenore beside him.

Swaths of dark blue fabric peek through the folds of her white fur coat. Moonlight glitters on her porcelain skin, swims in the blood-red cascades of her hair. Her perfume reaches him every time the wind blows: jasmine and cherry wine, and something else, that's just her.

"You're quiet, Hector," she says softly, and her voice glides down his spine like a caress. "Is something on your mind?"

Hector huffs a dry laugh. Is something not on his mind? He can't stop his mind from tirelessly working when he's with her. It's as if it's working at a million miles an hour to prevent any oncoming disaster.

Will it be enough? he wonders.

"Not much," he replies. "I was simply remembering that the last time we walked together, I was wearing a collar. It's hard not to think of that, in fact."

He expects Lenore to flinch or get angry at him. But she only laughs. "Well, I'd call this an improvement, wouldn't you?"

No, Hector wants to say, but he holds his tongue. The leash he's wearing now is impossible to break, not without destroying himself in the process.

They walk together through the snow-tipped trees of the garden, close but not quite close enough, their arms brushing every so often when they move.

When he remains quiet after that, it's Lenore that speaks again. She tells him about her work, the letters she's had to send that day, the gold and resources she's tried to secure. Morana and Striga are still on the road, securing the surrounding countryside closest to their castle. After the first bases have been established, their plan will be set in full motion.

Hector listens silently, unease coiling in his stomach at the thought. If the sisters are so close to implementing their plan, then they will soon be needing the undead armies he'll be making for them. He will soon need to finish creating his hammer. He's stalled long enough, but he knows it's only a matter of time until he's incapable of doing that anymore.

Truth is, he's not entirely sure why he's stalling. His life would have been easier if he went along with everything the sisters wanted of him, if he gave them everything they asked for. But something within him withers at the prospect. He doesn't want all those people to be killed or used as mindlessly as he has been, by his hand or his creations'. There was a time when he hardly cared how many humans were killed in Dracula's war, as long as they were not brutally savaged. But things are different now. Vampires are no better than humans in their cruelty, he's learnt that well. And he feels compelled to resist them, even if he ends up getting hurt in the process.

More than anything, he wants Carmilla to fall and eat fucking dirt. His entire being rebels at the thought of helping her do anything. He'd rather burn in the flames of Hell for eternity rather than do that.

"Morana keeps calling me through her transmission mirror from the field to whine about her aching feet and the lack of proper baths," Lenore chuckles beside him, oblivious to the storm that's raging within Hector's mind. "In truth, I'm surprised she's even lasted that long. I don't know what she expected: she loves luxury, but there's none to be had when you're on the road with Striga. I've found out the hard way once or twice. But there's no prying those two apart." She shakes her head, and a fond smile appears on her lips. The low heels of her dainty black shoes click on the hard stone floor. "I envy that, sometimes," she says softly.

"Being on the road with Striga?" Hector asks flatly, shivering a little when the wind whips through his hair again.

"Not quite." Lenore laughs, glancing up at him through her thick lashes. "No. At least, not exactly."

Hector follows her up the wide marble steps at the edge of the garden, then on the wide balcony they lead on to. Lenore leans against the railing with a soft sigh, gazing out into the valley below. Snow and ice stretch as far as the eye can see, glittering like diamond dust in the moonlight.

"There are times when… I envy their companionship," she whispers, her voice almost carried away by the rustling of the night wind. "No matter what happens, they have each other."

Hector's fingers curl around the railing beside her. He can feel the frozen marble through the leather of his gloves. "I thought that this was the case with all four of you," he says. "That you crafted those rings so that you would always be together. Is that not so?"

"Yes. We'll always be there for one another; I know my sisters would give their life for me, if needed and I would do the same. But Striga and Morana are sworn to each other in a way they are not to Carmilla or myself. They care about each other. They love each other. What they have is different from friendship or sisterhood, it's… deeper." She glanced up at him with her sanguine eyes. "Don't you think?"

Hector gazes into those eyes for a moment longer than perhaps he should. "I wouldn't know," he says. He looks away, focusing on the expanse of snow below. "No one's ever cared about me this much. And I have never been this close with anyone."

He speaks to her in earnest, but he can't quite help the bitterness that rises with it. Hector has never really known love. His own mother thought him a monster; to his father he was worse than a dog. He's learnt from a young age to care for himself, to rely only on himself. It hasn't always worked, obviously —if it did, he wouldn't be here now, in this predicament— but the sentiment is there all the same.

Trusting others is as good as signing his own death sentence. Hector doesn't know much, but he knows this.

Lenore stays silent beside him for a long while. When she speaks, her voice is almost carried away by a sharp gale. "You don't really believe that," she says, "do you?"

Read the rest on AO3!

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #trephacard #alucard x trevor x sypha #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #alucard tepes #alucard #hector #lenore #hector x lenore #lenector #johaerys writes #where blood roses bloom

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tabletopmayhem · 3 years

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I feel like I should post my notes on this new batch of NPCs for our Vampire game so you can see how b a d my notes generally are. Anyways here they are.

they are all changelings

Corelleon C. Cree- Lord of Japes, Mischief, and Lies- Their Majesty’s Lawyer (CC by Hummingbird, Trip by Xochitl)

Tall, thin, cadaverous, in a burgundy velvet suit with a black tie. Slicked back black hair with a widow’s peak, looks more like a vampire than you guys do (kind of like the guy from the munsters but a lawyer)

Bimpenny Jones- Steward and Keeper of the Bees (boggin)

Short, round, friendly. Giant dimples, graying hair like a haystack- in her formal overalls. THEY ARE FORMAL OVERALLS. (there are actual bees and there are keys to the bees the bee keys)

Hummingbird Cotswallow- Lady Hummingbird of Blackberry Briar Manor, Office Manager

Long, thin dreadlocks twisted into an elaborate bun with a net of black faceted gems and silver. Wearing a long black dress, and an absolutely glorious gossamer shawl in colors of iridescent blue, purple, and green. warm and friendly but above all professional lots of greetings.

Xochitl of the Poppy Fields- Lady of the Everbloom, The Neverfading, The Gilded Sunblessed Scion, Stylist

Floor-length black hair, as she moves her dark bronze skin glitters and gleams, she’s COVERED head to toe in a gold body glitter- iridescent shimmer. Bright orange mini dress and gold heels. KNOWS PEOPLE. on tuesdays we wear pink lol. but actually seriously.

Every Day- Intern (boggin w/delusions of grandeur)

Big brown eyes, stubbed nose, looks like an early 2000s popstar type, bleach blonde with brown roots, cropped velvet sweatpants and hooded top like early 2000s christina aguilera cosplay but she’s too cute and round for it. Pakistani

‘Coffee? Coffee?’ they’re vampires! Go find blood!

How do I find blood?!

You’re the intern, you figure it out!

Paul ‘Paulie’ Petrovich (satyr)- Acquisitions, owns a rental place for inflatables. Wacky Waving Inflatable Tube Men, Bouncy Castles, Ball Pits, Seasonal Decor, Dunk Tanks, Carnival Games of the inflatable variety, ofc. Weird terrible man that likes being drunk and also everyone else being drunk but is cute. dirty blond friendly big feelings not big man.

terrible sorry

Winsome- Branch Manager- literally her job is to train the trees and vines that make up the living throneroom and the gardens. It’s a pun lol (boggin)

small silvery hair dark skin big brown eyes bad 2000s boho fashion minus awkward bindis but definitely that one brown skirt u had

Gavin- Prince Consort Gavin (gavin), Roamer of the Endless Night, the Rawgabbit- gossip columnist (sidhe)

announces themselves in the third person at all times when entering a room. Tall, attractive, big nose, long brown hair, leather pants, doesn’t know how to keep his shirt closed. lol a dumbass

an attractive dumbass. Knows People.

Ives the Salish (pooka, otter)

Canadian fanboy. v fanboy. tall long dark hair high cheekbones earnest nonsense. Super into Lenore. Super into feeling his feelings. Blog boy. A Nice Fellow (sort of he is fairy)

Their Majesty x x x x all the titles go here (sidhe)

Kind of deer-like. Knows Everyone. [redacted for spoilers]

#vampire the requiem #secutura #NPCs #my notes are always terrible #they just are

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 4 years

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Fangs, Horns and Halos: Part 1

Fandom: Castlevania Type of Fic: Continuation from end of Season 3, with some OCs. Contains: Angst, fluff, smut, violence all the good Castlevania stuff. Will attempts be made maintain cannon characterisation? Yes. Will I feel the need to Karen because I’m a purist? If you have to ask this question then the answer is a definite, yes. This is my fic and I’ll do what I like - you don’t have to agree, but I’m not interested in your haircut or your nastiness. Can I, or an OC of mine be in it? It’s possible, I write my friends’ OCs into stories all the time. Maybe you should drop me a note and say hi!

Should I comment and reblog? Um, yeah, because that’s what keeps my interest and inspiration high and continuing writing. I’m also open to ‘wonderings’ and ‘suggestions’ so by all means, talk to me!

If you would like a tag, just let me know.

<3 B

@loverofdeath666

_____________________________________

Hector was used to the monstrosities his gift created - after all, one could not expect dead flesh imbued with a hell-soul to resemble perfection. That is why he now found himself paralysed, staring at the creature on the stone slab before him.

Not twisted.

Not teeth and claw and scale.

Not slime and acid and brimstone.

She laid in perfect proportion, not a single blemish upon her naked skin, with a crown of mahogany waves draped about her head. The generous round of her breasts rose and fell with steady breath, and though her eyes remained closed her long, dark eyelashes trembled with the suggestion of dreams.

When her fingers twitched he scuttled back, his Forgemaster’s hammer held in a bloodless grip.

It didn’t make sense, but there it was.

In a growing panic, he looked to the door, expecting Lenore to appear. She would sway across the room, disapproval if not rage hidden beneath the pale of her face and demand to know the meaning of such a creation.

This was not a warrior, a machine of war; how could he possibly explain the presence of this vision?

Destroy it?

Again he considered his hammer, but in this next moment of pause the woman sat, and blinked, her lips slowly parting.

“Say nothing,” he told her in a sudden fluster.

If he had forged her, she was bound to him, bound to loyalty and obedience as he was to Lenore.

“What is this?” she asked, demanded, her tone quiet yet somehow enraged.

Without waiting for him to respond, she swung her legs to the floor - but they seemed to lack strength and she wobbled.

The moment Hector’s fingers came into contact with her skin - a reflexive attempt to prevent her from falling - he was struck with an almost overwhelming sense of ecstatic dread.

Paradoxical joy and impending doom.

She was not cold or clammy like the death he knew, nor torrid and feverish as he knew Hell could be; no, her temperature was mild and pleasant, that of any woman waking from a pleasant nap.

Except she was obviously not any woman.

“What is that?” Lenore’s voice cracked from the foundry door, her normally placid expression a sharp reflection of venom.

“Ah,” Hector fumbled, his palm still flat against the woman’s hip, his grasp lightly holding her forearm. “I just…”

Before he could make a sentence resembling comprehensible, the unclothed woman pulled ree and stepped away from him, a little closer to Lenore.

“Did you forge this thing?” Lenore barked, peering through to Hector as if the brunette was transparent.

“This thing is unimpressed by your demeanour,” the woman announced, coldly glaring at the haughty vampire.

Not at all used to being reprimanded, let alone by a night creature - however it looked - Lenore blinked in shock: shock that a night creature bound to Hector, who was bound to her, could even be so insolent.

With all the speed of her ilk, Lenore lashed out, pointed fingernails going for the throat; but she let out an unflattering and most undignified cry, she found her wrist caught.

As if in slow motion - so unfathomable was what occured next- Hector watched Lenore be flung across the foundry like a spineless ragdoll. Awkwardly, she crashed into the stab, her head cracking solidly against the bloody stone as she cartwheeled over its gorey surface.

A panic exploded in Hector’s chest, though his thoughts remained his own on that matter of what Lenore deserved, he was compelled to fly to her assistance. Not that she really needed it.

With an inhuman shriek, she sprang toward her foe, a flash of heavy cloth across Hector’s field of view that…

… suddenly stopped…

… and dangled…

… in the grip of the woman, awe inspiring and majestic with the wide spread of black-tipped white feather wings spread out behind her.

“Wretched,” she growled into Lenore’s face, dark eyes flashing with terrible promise, “and accursed.”

Though astonished, Hector’s body was compelled toward Lenore, but he could not reach her before an impressive spray of blood painted nearby walls. A strangled croak emerged from Lenore’s crushed throat, ribbons of vitae winding down the naked woman’s arm until she tossed the vampire to the side.

“Bu… how?” Hector panted, his pallor more blanched than usual as he drew Lenore’s gasping body into his lap.

No answer was forthcoming.

The angelic woman darted for the window and did not pause; she leapt through the glass, a spray of glittering shards against the stormy night sky.

Then she was gone.

It was a long night.

Though Alucard told himself, over and over, he was better off alone because people simply could not be trusted, the betrayal by Sumi and Taka truly left him more lonely than ever.

As dawn extinguished the stars, he made his way out of the dilapidated castle and wandered through the forest with a fishing rod over his shoulder. Light began to filter through the trees, and animals awoke to provide a peaceful accompaniment to his morning trek to the river.

Upon reaching the gently sloping bank, however, his attention was drawn to the nearby growl of wolves and the harsh caw of crows. Against the green and grey, a white figure laid face down and half submerged - headless, no, head obscured by a tangle of hair and leaves.

The animals looked to Alucard’s first step in their direction, then fled the superior predator by his second. It seemed an unlikely place for a corpse to wash ashore, but Alucard noted the beginnings of a beaver dam had altered the river’s flow: but even over the water’s soft chatter, he could hear the faint sound of something not belonging to the forest. It might have been voices, or chimes, a choir in full song in a language he could not understand; it was beautiful, incomprehensibly divine and yet every now and then the Devil’s chord struck out a sinister whisper.

This caused him to hesitate, to be furtive and suspicious, but he could not deny the curiosity that eventually drew him within arm’s reach. It had the form of a woman, but Alucard had known enough monsters in his time to understand that shape alone meant nothing.

On high guard, he carefully crouched and touched against her shoulder blade.

He gasped, filling his lungs almost to the point of bursting.

With significantly greater urgency, he rolled the figure over and her limbs limply followed. She did not open her eyes, but now he could see the slow movement of her bare breasts - amid scratches and bruises, bite-marks and gashes. The map of her skin told him she had faced many attackers, and traces of congealed filth beneath her fingernails suggested monsters had been her foes; and yet she was still alive.

Silently, Alucard fought with himself.

The last people he had welcomed into his home had turned on him. Their skeletons - now picked clean by birds, insects and time - still adorned the steps of his castle.

But his mother flickered in his mind’s eye, looked out at the dishevelled woman, and he knew he could not just leave her here to die of her wounds or exposure.

That didn’t mean he was going to lay her upon a bed of roses nor give her the run of his abode. No.

With great caution he settled her in a room with slender windows - too narrow for a person to squeeze through - one with a fortified door. It was not quite a cell, it was not in the dungeon, but it was secure enough Alucard believed he would not have to worry about being unexpectedly pounced in his own bed.

Diligently, he tended to her wounds, then tucked her beneath warm blankets - always with the call to his sword on the very edge of his consciousness. During the whole process she did not stir, but the soft, compelling sound that lingered around her like an aura, became stronger, more certain.

“But no heartbeat,” he thought, though she was definitely not a vampire.

There were other things in the world.

As he sat by her bedside he contemplated what he’d do when she woke. Of course this depended on what and who she was, but even then the question remained whether he should send her on her way immediately.

But the ridiculous little effigies of Trevor and Sypha he’d made, reminded him how there was a part of himself that needed others now - if he was not to become like his father. He was not stupid, not blind to the traps laid out before him by loneliness.

Those that Dracula had fallen into.

“I ferried him to Hell,” a voice declared, soft but sure, and Alucard focused back in on his ‘guest’.

“Who?” Alucard frowned, his muscles tensing in readiness for confrontation.

“Your father,” she replied, peering up at him with eyes that cast back only his reflection.

Finally she blinked, and as if released from a spell, Alucard rose slowly from his seat.

“Who are you?” he questioned, tone edged with warning, but the woman remained still.

“I… don’t have a name,” she answered, frowning in consternation. “I am just one of many… and yet…”

Her frown became a scowl and she seemed to be in some pain.

“Perhaps you remember what you were doing naked fighting night creatures?” he offered, not moving to offer her sympathy or assistance.

“Fighting back,” she corrected through her teeth, then threw back the blanket. “And nudity is such a… human concept.”

In line with her statement, she didn’t seem the slightest bit abashed at her unclothed state, and was on her feet to inspect the bandages wrapped around her torso and one thigh.

“Hmm, I suppose I should thank you,” she murmured, flexing her fingers, watching them curl toward her palm and then extend again. “You’re the first to not try to kill me since I…”

She scowled again and massaged her temples, eyes half closed.

“Ugh, this body is so… so…”

Alucard bit his tongue to withhold the way he would have finished her sentence.

“No thanks needed,” he said instead. “I try not to kill everyone I come across.”

Her movements were graceful, she had a distinct poise and yet, she was studying herself like she was confused.

“Well that’s reassuring to kno…”

The end of her sentence broke off, her expression one of significant affliction.

As she crumpled, Alucard lurched forward to offer support before easing her back onto the bed.

“Why can’t they hear me?” she cried out, as pain ripped through her skull.

“Who?” Alucard prompted, half-couched before her with his hands at her elbows.

“My brothers. My sisters! Why don’t they come for me?”

Frustrated, Alucard found himself no more knowledgeable of the woman or her circumstances than when he’d found her - everything she uttered was only part of a whole, and he couldn’t fill in the blanks alone.

“I cannot answer that,” he admitted, softening his tone in an attempt to mitigate her distress. “But you are safe here.”

“Am I?” she exhaled, her following inhale slow, like she feared the expansion of her lungs. “Everything is in chaos,” she expounded. “My thoughts, my memories, not meant to be contained by this… this mortal flesh.”

“If not mortal flesh, then what?” he urged, and again she planted her gaze in his, a stare from which he could not look away.

“Death,” she answered, and as she spoke the word that inexplicably melodious choir thrummed in Alucard’s ears. “Souls conveyed to Heaven, souls condemned to Hell.”

“You said you’d ferried my father to Hell,” Alucard recalled.

“Yes,” she answered, her chin dropping a little. “For all the carnage wrought upon the world, born from his insatiable hatred,” she elaborated. “As you drove a stake through his chest. The fall of his head to the Belmont’s blade. The combustion of his body in the Speaker’s fire. I was there, Alucard, to judge his life, sentence his soul and escort him hence.”

Alucard’s eyes widened.

Of course the specifics of Dracula’s demise was not public record, nor had he shared his name with her - but she recounted his father’s death just as it happened.

“Are you suggesting you’re an angel?” he queried, and his hands fell away as she moved to stand once more.

“I was an angel,” she spat, a disgusted sound accompanied by the stretching rustle of wings.

Unfurled, they spanned the entire length of the room, brushing the brickwork with their dusky tips.

“Now… I....” she stammered, her eyes welling. “The Forgemaster has bound me to this plane… how?”

“Forgemaster?” Alucard repeated, his expression darkening, and the woman’s wings slumped, forming a cloak of sorts that seemed to hang from her shoulders.

“He keeps reaching out,” she sneered thickly. “I feel him, pulling at me, desperate to bend my will to his.”

“Forgemasters draw souls from Hell into dead flesh,” Alucard pointed out.

“I know what they do!” she shouted, her body pulsing with a suddenly light that caused the half-vampire to back away. “But here I am! And everything is so… so… broken!”

#Caslevania netflix #Castlevania #Castlevania fanfic #Hector #Alucard #Lenore #Forgemaster #Carmilla is a bitch and Lenore is a skanky whorebag

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Nightbooks: A Kids Movie That’s Too Scary?

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

I’m not quite sure who Nightbooks is for. As marketed, the latest Netflix original film appears to be a fantasy-driven horror film for kids and tweens. But the movie itself, which deals with themes of child abuse and features some objectively terrifying monsters, may be too dark for that demographic. This can be an issue with book-to-film adaptations. What works for kids in a literary format can sometimes be too scary once brought to life on-screen. That being said, for adults and kids who have a high tolerance for horror, the Sam Raimi-produced Nightbooks is definitely worth a watch. A gorgeously rendered horror world with a character-driven mystery at its heart, director David Yarovesky’s adaptation of J.A. White’s 2018 middle grade story is a truly rewarding spooky season experience that’ll appeal to adults and kids who are willing to delve into its secrets.

Nightbooks doesn’t waste time throwing its protagonist, kid writer Alex (Winslow Fegley, in giant spectacles), into a scary situation. The movie begins with Alex in distress, driven from the safety of his Brooklyn apartment by his own overwhelming emotions. We won’t learn why Alex is so upset until the film’s climax, one of a few mysteries at the heart of Nightbooks that will keep viewers emotionally engaged through the terrors that follow. At first, all we know is what happens next: Alex is lured into a magical apartment by evil witch Natacha, played by a terrifying and unpredictable Krysten Ritter. Natacha easily makes the decision to dispose of Alex until he convinces her of his value: He can write scary stories. Natacha stays her magical hand, and Alex lives on one condition: he must tell Natacha a new scary story each night.

Alex isn’t the only prisoner of Natacha’s (honestly gorgeous) apartment. There is Yasmin (Lidya Jewett), a slightly older girl who has been left understandably jaded from her much longer tenure as Natacha’s plaything. Yasmin, who has a penchant for science and magical botany, tends to Natacha’s plants and does other chores around the massive apartment, which cannot only expand to hold anything Natacha might need or want, but also can travel anywhere in the world—kind of like an evil TARDIS. Finally, there’s Lenore, a figuratively prickly cat who can literally turn invisible at will. The cat probably has the best character arc in the entire film, which is not to say that the film doesn’t do interesting things with its characters, just that Lenore’s journey is the most complex and unexpected. Overall, Nightbooks keeps its cast of characters small, which lends itself to a story that is not as interested in creating complex dynamics as it is unfurling the mystery of each characters’ individual psychology.

If this movie were bad—which it is not—it would still be worth watching for Ritter’s performance alone. Natacha is the perfect encapsulation of an evil witch for the millennial generation: donning blue hair and immaculate makeup, Natacha struts into each scene with some of the coolest and most refreshing witch looks this side of 2018’s A Wrinkle in Time. Girlish and pretty, Natacha’s enviable costuming and makeup informs her characterization, as the film’s antagonist can turn from bored to wrathful in the blink of a glittered eye. In a movie that features spider-like creatures with claws that try to poke characters’ eyes out, and psychedelic candy that turns our heroes into mindless gluttons, Natacha is still the scariest part.

If some of these descriptions sound familiar, that is because Nightbooks is actively engaging with some classic stories and fairy tales—interestingly, not the ones we usually categorize as horror, but that are truly horrific when you start to dwell on them. While the many foundational texts are obvious, Nightbooks uses its classic literary framework in clever ways, never leaning so far into the been-there-done-that plot points of 1,001 Arabian Nights or Hansel and Gretel to sacrifice its originality. It helps that much of the film’s uniqueness comes not from the story itself but from the excellent art direction, production design, and costuming. While Natacha may be the character who best exemplifies this rich world-building, it is integrated into the world she inhabits and controls.

I hope this film finds an audience. Kids need horror movies too. Being a kid—being a human—can be a terrifying experience. And, in the end, the edges of this cinematic experience may be enough to give some children the kind of catharsis only the horror genre can offer. After all, in movies, kids always defeat the monsters in the end.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Nightbooks: A Kids Movie That’s Too Scary? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

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Blood Roses In The Snow

Fandom: Castlevania

Pairing: Hector/Lenore

My new Lenector fic is up! A deep dive into Hector's and Lenore's relationship from the beginning until the end of S03, and a prequel to my ongoing post-s03 Trephacard/Lenector fic Where Blood Roses Bloom (can be read as a stand-alone!)

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: Your Dead Little Heart

"Move, worm."

Hector’s chain is gripped by a gauntleted hand; the words are accompanied by a sharp tug and a curse. Hector winces at the pain, but complies. It’s been days since he learned that resistance is futile.

About a month, give or take.

Day after day he trudges through endless snow. Every muscle in his body aches, and he's sure a couple ribs are broken. He can't feel his toes anymore. The icy wind slithers through the many tears in his clothes, freezing him to the bone, but Hector is grateful, for now. As soon as he stops feeling the cold, it will be too late.

The night sky looms above him, the stars glittering in the dark. He doesn't remember the last time he saw the light of day. They march all night, and during the few hours left in the day he has trouble keeping his eyes open. His world is in shades of grey and white, of ash and snow; it has shrunk to the cage he sleeps in when they're resting, and the tether around his neck when they're moving.

There's no room for other thoughts, no use. Only putting one foot in front of the other, and breathing. For now.

Dracula's war has been lost. Everything is lost. His work, his forge, his creations: all of them gone, swept by the tide that rushed over Braila, obliterating everything in its path.

All of it, crushed under the heel of Carmilla's boot.

Her snow white hair reflects the silver moonlight as she walks ahead. She is tired and weakened, but not broken. Oh, there's not much in this world that could break Carmilla. Like the scourges of this earth, she will be the last thing standing while everything else rots apart.

Anger boils within Hector slowly, simmering, like hot tar. It clings to his throat and brings tears to his eyes, this fury. It's the only thing keeping him breathing, keeping going. He wants to see her crushed, he wants to see her dead, like he's sure Dracula and Isaac are because of her. Because of him, too.

He doesn't know how much longer he'll last, but he wants to last long enough to see this through.

Another sharp tug reminds him that he's let his muddled, angry thoughts obscure his vision, and he almost trips over his own frozen, log-like feet. The vampire soldier Carmilla has handed his chain to lifts the rod he's holding, and brings it down hard upon Hector's back.

The pain blinds him, it cuts his air. He loses his balance and falls to his knees, and for once he does not know if he has the strength to pick himself back up.

Terror grips him when the soldiers before him stop, then part to let Carmilla through. She is raging, features twisted in fury, eyes gleaming in the dark like a valkyrie's. She grabs at the chain and yanks him on his feet, ignoring the pressure on his throat that makes him wheeze and cough.

"Listen to me, you sorry bag of shit," she hisses, bringing her face close to his own. "I am this close to reaching the castle, and I swear I will gut you right here if you don't pick up your legs and move."

She lets him go and Hector sways. He gazes down at his feet, his heart beating a frantic rhythm in his chest with the sound of her voice ringing in his ear. As soon as she’s far enough, he looks up.

The castle of Styria looms far above them, on the top of the snow-capped hill, cold and cruel and resplendent. His new home.

His new prison.

***

The procession of the army can be seen from miles away. From the warmth of her study, standing behind the tall, arched windows, Lenore watches as they draw closer.

Carmilla will be fuming by the time she arrives. That much Lenore knows.

Her defeat was monumental. The bulk of their army has been lost, and by the way Striga has been mulling over it for days, Lenore has an inkling just how difficult those troops will be to replace. Striga has always looked after her armies like a mother goose, training them and rewarding them and toughening them up and tossing back ale with them. She is nothing without her soldiers— or at least, she’s very little.

Lenore sighs. Striga is her sister, and she loves her. Carmilla is her sister, and she loves her, too. They’ve been together through thick and thin, and Lenore wouldn’t have it any other way, but it sometimes gets tiring hearing the same things several times over. But she knows that people who have lived for several hundreds of years are set in their ways, as she is set in hers, and she doesn’t begrudge them that much. It would have been worse for her, far worse, if she were on her own. She knows this too, all too well.

She grabs her fox fur cloak and tosses it over her shoulders. The cold outside will be stinging, and there is a blizzard about to break out soon. In all her ill-luck, Carmilla is lucky in that, at least: had the disaster at Braila taken place a week later, she would have been snowed in somewhere off the west of Wallachia for a good part of the winter.

Striga is watching the army through the wide windows of her room, her brow creased in a deep frown, while Morana is giving clipped orders to the servants that are coming and going through the quarters, preparing for the arrival of the troops, and that of Carmilla, of course. The poor servants are pale with dread; none of them want to be near when Carmilla’s temper explodes, as it is wont to do.

“Striga, Lenore, you go meet the troops,” Morana tells them. “I have more work to do here.”

Read the rest on AO3!

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #hector #lenore #lenector #hector x lenore #blood roses in the snow #johaerys writes

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

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Fandom: Castlevania

Pairings: Trevor/Sypha/Alucard, Hector/Lenore

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 13: From The Search To The Hurt, is up! Trephacard fluff and feels, and a visit to the Belmont Hold that leads to an important decision.

Read on AO3! Read from the beginning

“Pass me the sugar, will you?”

Trevor glances around him. There’s a hundred different cupboards in that kitchen, and each of those holds approximately a thousand different containers and utensils that he has never before seen in his life.

“And where am I supposed to find that?”

“It tends to be in a jar with the label ‘Sugar’ on it.”

Trevor rolls his eyes. “And where am I supposed to find that?”

He doesn’t even need to look over his shoulder to see the smirk on Adrian’s lips. “It’s in the cupboard in front of you. To the left. Your other left. A little bit more in that direction. Yes, that’s it.” His spatula gently scrapes the bottom of his dainty porcelain mixing bowl as he hums, “Your navigation skills are getting better by the day, Belmont. Soon you might actually be able to find your way around the castle.”

Trevor grits his teeth as he searches through the multitude of containers. Eventually, he finds it; he doesn’t tell Adrian it was right before his eyes, though. He won’t give the bastard the satisfaction—

“What took you so long?” Sypha says as he passes her by to bring it to Adrian. She’s sitting on the countertop beside him, her feet dangling over the floor as she watches the dhampir vigorously stir what looks like softened butter in a fluffy cream. “It’s usually the first jar you see as soon as you open the cupboard.”

Trevor frowns at her. “Why didn’t you go and get it then? It’s not like you’re doing anything.”

“Oh, I can’t leave now. The frosting is just about done— I don’t want to miss it.” She grins when Trevor frowns even more, and pulls him closer. “Come here, you silly grump.”

Trevor tries hard to suppress his laughter as she wraps her long, slender legs around his waist and peppers his face with kisses, while Adrian laughs under his breath beside them. He pours some of the sugar Trevor brought into the bowl, then continues mixing the butter until it’s soft and creamy. Trevor can’t wait to try the frosting on the cupcakes Adrian pulled out of the oven earlier, and that are now cooling on the rack on the table.

Cupcakes with frosting, hot and fragrant coffee, freshly-picked berries on the side, from their forage earlier that morning. When did Trevor’s tastes get so sophisticated?

He laughs softly, leaning into Sypha’s touch, his arm coming around her waist as they both watch Adrian pour some more powdered sugar in the bowl, its tiny white granules glittering like pearl dust in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The spacious kitchen is filled with the heady smell of fresh food, the bright sound of their laughter. It’s so warm and comfortable there. It feels like home.

The thought startles him for a quick moment, as it usually does every time it crosses his mind. Which happens more and more every day, the more time they all spend there together. It’s been more or less a week, and Trevor can’t get enough of it. Enough of them.

“See how well he does it?” Sypha whispers in his ear, her grin pressed against his skin. “You might learn a thing or two if you watch closely.”

“Want me to start baking you pies now? Are my stews and burned toast not enough for you?”

“We could never ask so much of you,” Adrian says smoothly, setting his utensils to the side. His golden hair is tied back with a piece of leather string, leaving his neck exposed. There is a smudge of flour on his temples, and tiny baby hairs are curling around his face with the heat from the oven, but other than that his appearance is impeccable. “I’m afraid the cooking will have to remain my responsibility, lest we all perish from food poisoning.”

“All the more pies and cakes for me, then!” Sypha says excitedly. "A fit outcome."

She grabs Adrian’s hand as soon as he wipes it on a towel, and pulls him close. She cackles in delight and wraps her legs —and arms— around them both, until they’re both smushed against the other, with Trevor in the middle.

“Sypha, for God’s sake—” he huffs, squeezed between them.

“Shush, you love it,” Sypha retorts, leaning over Trevor’s shoulder to press a smacking kiss to Adrian’s lips, who is staring at them both wide-eyed.

It’s so tight in there, in the middle of this sandwich, that Trevor can scarcely breathe, but he doesn’t care. He laughs as the dhampir blushes and makes a mock attempt to escape her clutches, making her hug him even closer. Damn, she might be slender, but there’s no breaking free from the arms and legs that wrap around them like tentacles.

“You aren’t getting away, mate,” Trevor chuckles, and pats him on the shoulder, his voice muffled against Adrian’s hair. “So you’d better give up the fight.”

Sypha presses at least five more kisses on each of their cheeks before her iron-like grip on them goes slack.

“I’m only letting you go because I can’t wait to try those cupcakes,” she says, her eyes glinting with mischief and delight. “Otherwise I’d keep you both between my legs all morning.”

A deep, cherry blush is on Adrian's cheeks when he disentangles himself, returning to his mixing bowl. A few strands have escaped his ponytail, his face is flushed from laughter and Sypha’s kisses. “Unfortunately, someone has to prepare the meals around here,” he says fixing his hair in place. He looks once more the perfect picture of cool and composure, but Trevor can see the grin that he’s trying very hard to suppress. “Trevor, will you get me the creme fraiche ? Preferably before the frosting curdles.”

Trevor squints. “The what now?”

Adrian hums an amused laugh and gives a small shake of his head as he picks up his mixing spoon. “It looks like heavy cream, only thicker.”

“Why couldn’t you say that in the first place?” He rolls his eyes. “Where can I find that thing?”

“It’s in the larder. Under the cabinet. Next to the door.”

Trevor follows his directions —to the very last detail, may he add— but it’s still impossible to find what he’s looking for. He starts opening and closing cupboards at random while Sypha tells Adrian a story about that one time she and her Speaker clan found themselves at a dairy farm, and ended up staying there for a week to help the farmers.

“The cows there used to love me,” she says with a bright smile. “They would always perk up when they saw me, and nuzzle my pockets for treats. I always kept apples and oranges there, and after a day or two they all learned to expect that. They’re very sweet and playful, you know, and very intelligent. It was such a shame we had to leave— I would have gladly stayed there for a year or two.”

“You, staying in the same place for a year?” Trevor scoffs. “I find that hard to believe. Usually, after a week in the same place you’re pestering me about the next great adventure.”

Sypha laughs softly. “Not anymore, I don’t.” She reaches out to tuck a stray strand behind Adrian’s ear. “I’m rather happy where I am, thank you very much.”

Trevor watches over his shoulder as Adrian’s usual cool and placid expression softens, as his aureate eyes gleam with fondness, locked on Sypha’s. They’re so beautiful together, so obviously in love, that Trevor’s heart aches. He yearns for them both, even though he’s right there, even though he’s theirs.

That’s the thing, though. Trevor’s never had anything like this, and it scares him. This quiet routine they’ve fallen into, this gentle domesticity. Falling asleep and waking up in the same bed, breaking their fast together, bickering and laughing over bubbling pots and steaming cups of tea. He’s never known it, and he doesn’t know how long it’ll last. Nothing good in his life has ever lasted before, why should this be any different?

Trevor lets out a soft sigh as he tears his eyes away from them. He prays that this, at least, will last.

“Under the cabinet, you say?” He squints at the interior of the cupboard he opens, which seems full of bags of beans and rice. “Doesn’t look like somewhere you’d keep cream and such.”

“Yes. Because you’re looking at the wrong cabinet.”

“Well, how many cabinets could one person need in a single bloody kitchen?” Trevor grumbles under his breath. He’s just about to close it when something catches his eye.

It’s small and dusty and looks like a bundle of rags. It’s too structured to be a cleaning cloth, and the colours are off —too vibrant, too clean— and he can almost see the tell-tale sign of stitches on it.

Curiosity makes him reach for it— and he pulls out two rag dolls.

“What the…” he starts, staring at the… things in his hand in increasing confusion.

They’re dolls, like children’s toys, but the clothes and the hair are vaguely familiar. One of the two has short, strawberry blonde hair, like Sypha’s, and is dressed in something that looks like blue robes, just like Sypha’s; the other has dark hair, the bangs falling over its eyes, and the tunic it wears is eerily similar to his own. It’s almost like…

Like someone made a small replica of Sypha, and one of him.

“Don’t look at those.”

He turns around to see Adrian staring at him, and the dolls in his hand. His eyes are cold and hard and his features completely expressionless, and that alone is enough to send a jolt of alarm through Trevor.

“What are they?” he asks, standing up. Sypha is staring at them too, now, and from her expression it’s easy to see that she’s having the same thoughts that Trevor does right now.

Adrian sets his mixing utensils down and approaches him in purposeful strides. He snatches the dolls from Trevor’s hand, then brushes past him as he walks back to the cabinet Trevor took them from. “They’re nothing.”

“But… they look like us,” Sypha says quietly. All her merriment and amusement from before is gone.

Adrian stops where he is. The line of his shoulders is tense, his back straight and rigid. “They’re dolls,” he says quietly. “Just dolls. Something I made when… when you weren’t here. It's just a silly thing and— it doesn't matter.” His fingers tighten for a breath about the dolls in his hands, before he lets out a slow, controlled breath. Then, he stoops down and stuffs them back where they were.

Sypha shifts slightly on the countertop. “Adrian…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He opens a cabinet to the right and retrieves a bowl of cream covered by muslin cloth, then returns to his frosting without a word.

Trevor and Sypha exchange a glance, too shocked to say a word. Trevor’s stomach is suddenly tight in knots, and the air doesn’t smell quite as sweet as it did before. The thought of Adrian making these dolls after they left, perhaps something to keep him company on those long days and nights that he spent alone in this castle —this pit of doom— is too much to bear.

God, why did the stubborn bastard choose not to come with them back then, if he needed them so much? Why did he never ask them to stay?

He swallows and shifts his feet uneasily as he watches Adrian beat the frosting, then transfer the bowl to the table. He spreads a generous amount over each cupcake before placing them carefully on plates. “Shall we?” he asks flatly, and pulls out a chair.

He doesn’t quite manage to do that, before Sypha hops off the countertop and walks up to him. Then, she wraps her arms around his middle tightly enough for Adrian to huff a small, surprised ‘ooph.’

“We’re here now,” she murmurs, not letting go, pressing her cheek to his chest. It’s almost as if she’s saying it to herself, rather than Adrian. “We’re right here.”

Adrian stares down at her in quiet astonishment for a moment. He looks so shocked and out of place, the impervious mask that was only there a moment ago slipping away. Even though it’s been days since Trevor saw it, it’s always a surprise to see the vulnerability that’s hiding underneath it.

Slowly, Adrian’s arms lift from his sides to come around her, gentle like a dove’s wings.

“I know,” he whispers against the top of her head.

Trevor simply stands there, watching the motes of dust that dance on the beams of sunlight that fall around them, gilding their entangled forms. They’re so good together, he thinks, and he doesn’t know why the thought makes his heart swell and clench at the same time. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that he’s part of this now, that he can easily join their hug if he wants to, partake of both of their warmth, the safety of their presence. And he does, often enough, but Sypha’s effortless displays of affection still elude him somewhat, and there are moments when the echoes of Adrian’s sadness scare him a little, no matter how hard he tries to pretend that they don’t.

In the end, after Sypha pulls away, Trevor clears his throat and takes a step towards them, clapping Adrian on the back.

“You’re alright,” he tells him, a bit too gruffly, and gives his shoulder a small squeeze.

Adrian blinks at him, somewhat startled, before he bows his head in silent agreement. “Such eloquence,” he muses teasingly, some of the fondness and amusement returning to his voice. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

“Shut up.” Trevor rolls his eyes and sits across from him. "Let’s eat before this gets cold, eh?”

Adrian’s frown isn’t quite as deep as it was before but he’s still a little tense, not meeting their eyes. He pushes each of their plates in front of them, and makes sure there’s enough berry jam and coffee for everyone before he sits down to eat. A brief, awkward silence settles among them, heavy with all the things none of them are saying, things they haven’t yet found the heart to address.

But when has Trevor ever let that stop him?

“Now, those are some great bloody cupcakes,” Trevor says, mouth-full, and Sypha’s startled peal of laughter promptly fills the quiet kitchen. “I call dibs on the rest of the tray— no one touch it or I’m biting their finger off.”

Adrian glances up at him, his cupcake hovering before his mouth. Then, his lips curl in a soft slow smile. “You have frosting on your nose, Belmont,” he hums, and takes a large bite.

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#castlevania #trephacard #alucard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #trevor/sypha/alucard #lenector #where blood roses bloom #johaerys writes

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