#countvdracula

[killmebutneverinsultme]

He should have known better than to trust sea witches. In fact, he did know better, but when seeking a means to immortality sometimes a smidgeon of trust was worth the risk. Having got separated from the crew of the Black Pearl, Captain Sparrow and his questionably-ranked associate, James Norrington, had gone on an adventure of their own. Jack had paid this witch in various trinkets and she had led them to a magical well where she instructed them to jump. Naturally, he had tested that there was water in it before they started, and it looked mystical enough rather than somewhere she let idiots drown.

The enchanted waters had deposited them in the grounds of an ancient, uninviting castle in a much colder place than he would have liked. It could have been worse. The trouble was, he had no idea how they were going to get back and he wasn’t about to tell James that.

“Come along, commodore,” he snipped, checking his compass as he picked his way out of the overgrown garden. “Might as well see where we’re at.”

@norringtxn (next) + @count-v-dracula

[qceensofkings]

@count-v-dracula​ asked:  ❛ why are you avoiding me? ❜

“Well, it’s safe to assume it’s nothing personal considering I’ve been avoiding a lot of people lately, hmm?” Isabelle muses as she appears around the corner, a glass of whiskey in her hand.

“Figured I’d do a little revamp, clear the cobwebs and whatnot.”

[elvira-macabre]

🐶📕🎧

Munday asks!

🐶 — any pets?

I had a cat and a dwarf rabbit when I was a child. I'd love to have a cat in my apartment now as well, but it isn't big enough...

📕 — favorite book/series?

That's hard, because I love so many books! Since I can't specify certain books have my favorite authors instead😅: Stephen King (for obvious reasons), John Katzenbach (he writes great thrillers), Lydia Benecke (is a forensic psychologist and writes books about her job) 

🎧 — do you write while listening to music/podcasts/videos/etc, or do you need total silence?

That depends on my mood and my level of concentration. When my concentration is low I need total silence but most times I'm listening to metal/rock music or have a movie playing in the background - or some Elvira clips on Youtube.

[fanatiquee]

👫 [ Golden Years and 80s reunion!! ]

send '👫' for FOUR relationship headcanons. ; OPEN

Because you said BOTH I'm going to cheat and do EIGHT. <3 they got a little bit spicy but that's Vlouis for you I guess.

❣ 𝓖𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼

1. Because Louis has greater need of the blood than Vlad, but prefers to hunt alone, they are often forced to part at the beginning of the evening, unless Louis is in a period of self-deprivation. More often than not, this means Vlad will be minding his own business in the parlour, or wandering the streets of the nearest town, when he is set upon by Louis, freshly blooming with blood, and invigorated by his feeding, and feeling Big for his Boots as he does occasionally. Sometimes Vlad even knows Louis is coming, and pretends to be ignorant of his lover's little hunt. Whatever the case may be, they both enjoy the ripe, full taste of the bloodied kiss that follows.

2. This is a well-known headcanon of ours but it MUST be repeated, that often Louis and Vlad recite poetry to one another. This habits of theirs often ends on the plush rug before the fire, dressed down. They may not have begun with the intention of inciting one another with their readings, but it has certainly ended up that way. In some ways, it's a competition of composure, seeing who will withhold the longest. Louis will spend hours choosing the perfect poem, only to fall to Vlad before he has even had a chance to read to him.

3. Louis has never cared about his manner of dressing, and so Vlad chooses all his clothes. If Louis were left to his own devices, he would be in muddy boots and riding breeches more often than not, but because Vlad has superior fine taste, they carefully dress each evening, and often, dress one another. Louis is an unmitigated disaster any time they are at the opera because he invariably loses a glove. Vlad is constantly replacing his gloves.

4. Speaking of gloves, Louis has taken to peeling down the cuff of Vlad's glove to kiss and mouth at his inner-wrist, just to rile him.

☾ 𝖗𝖊𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖔𝖓

1. Louis has listened to every single one of Vlad's songs so often that he has worn out multiple tapes. When Vlad is especially distant, Louis listens to them almost obsessively, as if to make up for his physical absence. He has spent hours sunk in the listening booth at record stores just listening, when tapes are sold out.

2. Louis has burned fan letters in a fit of impulsive jealousy, more than once. Especially when Vlad is especially inattentive. He bitterly regrets how weak he believes it makes him look, but he can't resist the urge.

3. When Vlad takes Louis on the back of his motorcycle, he puts his jacket on Louis, even though if they were to crash they'd both survive, Louis feels the cold more than Vlad does. Louis loves the motorcycle, both because it gives him an excuse to cling to Vlad, and because he loves the blur of the lights when they rocket through the city. They've parked more than once, in abandoned places, and had their wicked ways. The leather jacket is the only thing that stays on.

4. Louis appeared briefly in one of Vlad's music videos as a 'human' sacrifice. It took a lot of coaxing, and he was only convinced in the end because... obviously he can't refuse Vlad anything. He has never watched it, but is occasionally recognised at concerts, though he always denies it.

[necrcmance]

 @count-v-dracula​​  noted:    ❝ I savor bitterness –– it is born of experience. it is the privilege of one who has truly lived. ❞

there is a persuasiveness to the words that makes them slither sensually through your head, making you want to believe them ( perhaps it is all in the tone of voice, or the –however light— finality with which they are spoken ). yet still, in spite of it, something about them rings false. it’s an itch that Malcolm cannot quite place ( the words slither just beneath his skin, making it crawl ) and his mind rejects them violently. on principle, perhaps.

             bitterness, bitterness. . . . .   ….    . . 

he closes his eyes ( no; correction: he wishes to close his eyes, the desire rippling through him, but he does not. he is not fool enough to give into such an impulse. not now. and certainly not in the present company. one does not fall willingly into a knife unless they want their throat cut or to be fully eviscerated. Malcolm may not cling to life, but he certainly doesn’t see the point in throwing it away. ) and attempts to reconcile the idea of living for centuries whilst escaping the vicious claws of bitterness ( he cannot, he cannot, he cannot ; it accumulates constantly in the corners, like the yellowing of wallpaper with time, like mercury into the flesh. seeps into the very marrow of bones, poisoning everything. )

still. bitterness is but a reaction. and in its own way, a choice. it is not a given. it is not the inevitability of experience. ( perhaps it is the inevitability of  experiencing the world and people. both brutal, in their ways. but it is not the inevitability of living. or of fate. )  

still. bitterness is but a reaction. sometimes, an irreversible chemical process in the brain. destruction. Malcolm has drunk enough from the cup of bitterness to have woken up one morning to the realization that he has lost everything that was beautiful. he refuses to disclose this. at the present time, most of all. instead, his eyes focus on the other, darkening to amethyst, indicative of a peculiar mood. if he were to take the words at face value ( questionable ), they would mean something. and he cannot help but wonder if the Count meant to disclose such intimate workings of his mind to him. he doubted that it would not be intentional. he also doubted whether it was genuine. oh. well, that might be it.

           “ hm. a privilege. is that so? ” a curse of time, all of its own, Malcolm means to say, but refrains. instead, he hums politely, the sound noncommittal ( meaning to say more. saying much less. ) 

you’re also known to lie, Count. ( we all are. )

 the air is cold, and it curves around the nape of his neck and his cheekbones, cradling his face ( which looks not a day older than his mid-twenties, when time had stopped for him physically ), sharpening his senses, whetting them like the blade of a knife. the count’s presence here is disquieting. not in the manner of a threat, certainly, but like that of an impending storm, gathering across the skies, threatening to split them open as easily as cracking a nut. ( Malcolm is wary. not for the sake of his own being ––– but certainly for the sake of the quietude of the city, and the general predictability that his life has come to know. )

             “ Count. what brings you here? ” he says it as if he’s objecting, even if the words are mild, and his posture holds none of the tension that would betray either unease or a will to do something about any such objection. “ are you chasing after your bitterness, or are you here to chase it away? ”

[bloodcrave]

[ SEEN ] for receiver to find sender after they’ve killed someone. 

BLOOD RELATED PROMPTS

          THOUGH STOMACH WAS PRESENTLY spared of clawing, flesh craving starvation ( a full meal had been acquired just two weeks prior ), that didn’t mean the desire wasn’t ever present.  scent of blood filled her, a sensation like placing honey upon the tongue.  sweetness and decadence, an after flavor of rich wine.  lips DREW into a curious smile as she pressed forward after the trail.  when alina would come to the sight, there held no judgement to her case, and fingers twitched at her sides.  holding herself b a c k, holding herself present from wanting to have a bite.

     harder to feel pity or even remorse when the death didn’t fall on her shoulders.  no, now it was a matter of just wanting the body to not go to waste.  at least not fully...  there were certain things that didn’t quite meet her tastebuds.

              yet, strzyga could tell there was competition.  maybe even a reason for the death, and that she wasn’t the only one vying for a possible snack.  attention would slide over the form of who was still b r e a t h i n g, grasping her companion’s being quite easily.  smile would falter, annoyance the next inhale, producing a sharper noise than she intended.  forced ease, finally allowing lips to produce inquiry.

                          “for a meal?  or an accident?  or both?  i could help you with either...”  with a solution that was the same, really.  but that didn’t need to be discussed right off the bat.

@count-v-dracula

[maidencfdeath-a]

@count-v-dracula​:  ‘  am  i  foolish  for  wanting  this ?  it  will  end  in  flames .  it  always  does .  ’    

          “I don’t think so. I think it’s…normal to want something, even if you know it will end poorly.”   Human nature,  she almost said,  though that didn’t apply to either of them.  The reaper tilted her head,  her eyes far away in thought.   “I guess you just have to ask yourself if it’s worth it.”   Her gaze focused back on him,  the smallest hint of a smile visible on her lips.   “Or maybe I’m just a fool as well.”

[murderousbitch]

@count-v-dracula​ did the thing and liked for a thing.

                         Brows arch as what could only be described as a childlike grin curled her lips. It was followed with a laugh as she shook her head at the other, sighing after a moment once the laughter died down. “Sorry, sorry,” she breathed, waving a hand as the other rested on her stomach. “I just, ya see, you’re like the seventh Dracula I’ve ran across an’ it never fails to make me fuckin’ laugh,” the slayer chuckled, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Let me guess, you had a lame ass name as a human like Barry or Hubert so you thought what the hell, lets go with a classic an’ here we are?”

[whsprhouse]

@count-v-dracula​     /       starter call .

            THERE’D BEEN A LITTLE RUMOR going around that the club had a special guest tonight. laszlo, busy preparing backstage with colin for the early part of the evening, hadn’t yet had a chance to investigate himself. but as soon as the boy finishes his final number, takes his bow to a roaring && appreciative audience, && scurries off the stage to resume his video games or whatever the fuck he’s up to these days, laszlo stands from the piano bench && half-hops half-jogs down the small set up stairs back to the floor. he weaves through the crowd until he spots him, elbowing aside a small gaggle of vampires stumbling around, drunk on blood liquor. “move, move — ah. your excellency.” laszlo smiles, charming && warm, small fangs poking out. “laszlo cravensworth, husband to the lady nadja of antipaxos, the owner of this establishment. we are honored to have you here, on staten island.” 

[terreur]

“you will suffer horribly.”

{ the picture of dorian gray starters / open! }

The enormous bed lay chaste by the window, its covers untouched and unwrinkled, though whether this was abstinence or the work of the hotel's maids, Lestat did not know and would not ask. The large window itself was just as pure, unsullied, and with the heavy curtains pulled back to the full complement of the night sky, of the mortal world sprawled below. It was this Lestat looked to now, and it was in the clear reflection it offered, stark against the long-fallen darkness, that he saw himself laugh, propped against the impressive table, the wood richly dark and polished until it glowed. He could not deny Dracula's taste; the rooms here were extravagant and handsome, and in that much perhaps betrayed the older vampire's age, and perhaps, too, Lestat's.

The arrogance in Lestat had done away with any due caution, in coming here, though where it concerned Louis there had rarely been any caution, on his part. "Not at all," Lestat promised, his voice brightening around the brag. At last, he turned his head, the golden curls swinging around his jaw, to find Dracula once more, morbid in his aspect, swallowing the light around him. He drummed his fingers where they curled around the table's edge, watching, defiant.

"Certainly not quite so horribly as you. You see, there is something between Louis and I that cannot be severed," he went on, though he lost some of that levity as he went. "I loved him before you ever laid eyes upon him, old man, and he myself. You must know it, unless you are more fool than you look to me, now. Louis cannot help but return to me. It will always be this way between us."

[killmebutneverinsultme]

As if things couldn’t get any worse than being kept as possibly future dinner for Count Dracula, now it seemed Jack had earned the attention of one of the count’s brides. His stupid body thought this was a marvellous idea, being manhandled by a gorgeous young woman, but his brain was screaming about all the things that could go wrong. Firstly, she might decide to eat him. Secondly, she’d not asked permission to pinch him from where he had been kept, which sounded like a terrible idea. Thirdly, strongly related to secondly, he feared how Dracula would react to whatever she had in mind.

“Look, love, I think it would be highly in your interests to let me go. Your master, husband, whatever he is to you, surely ain’t going to be pleased to find me here instead of where he left me. Why don’t you protect yourself, let me slip out the back, and it’ll be all my fault that I got away? What d’you say?”

He inhaled sharply as her fingernails traipsed down the opening of his shirt.

@vyrulent​ (next!) + @count-v-dracula​

[qceensofkings]

@count-v-dracula asked: ❝  careful there,  someone might think you’re actually starting to care.  ❞

Isabelle glances over at him, the hint of a smile dancing on her lips in amusement, "Mm, but I've still got a soul. Half mortal, remember? Kinda ingrained in us, hmm?" She muses though she doesn't fault him for giving her shit, "You know the truth is I've always cared... I think you know that better than anyone else."

"So tell me, what's your excuse, hmm?" She asks softly, "You once told me you won't lose me to a family spat... what will you lose me to? Anything to do with that plan you mentioned ages ago that you never elaborated on?"

[qceensofkings-a]

@count-v-dracula asked: 🥂 Send “🥂” for our muses to fake-date one another.

Not that it took much pride to swallow but she's grateful when he agrees to attend the ball with her. She can't stand the idea of going without an escort, if only because she knows that if she does, she'll be at risk of finding herself in some rather undesirable company and/or starting a fight. And the last thing her brother needs tonight is for the Princess of the Underworld to start anything with any of their guests, immortal or otherwise.

"Have I mentioned I definitely owe you for this?" Isabelle murmurs to him as they walk into the palace in the cover of the dimly lit night sky that hangs over their heads. Naturally, the palace is warded so that no uninvited guests - namely wandering mortals - find their way into the party.

Her heels click on the stone path and the staff bow as they approach, as they should, before opening the door for them. She's half tempted to tell the herald not to bother with announcing them when green hues land on him but she watches him take the breath and decides it best not to.

"The Princess Isabelle Elizabeth Jade Purefoy and her escort Count Vladislas Dracula."

Isabelle rolls her eyes a little as she walks with Vlad, their arms linked still, her dress kissing the ground with each step.

"I can already sense him," She mutters, her nose scrunching as her eyes scan the crowd. Her brother is the first to approach them but she knows it is not him that she senses but another Death God. "Castor," Isabelle's demeanor shifts and she offers her brother a smile, releasing her date so that she can properly hug him.

Castor returns the favor and wraps his arms around his baby sister, "Isa," A kiss is pressed to the top of her head before he turns his attention to her companion. "You must be the infamous Count I hear about so often. Welcome to Charybdis." Castor offers his hand to Vlad to shake.

[fanatiquee]

𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙! 𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙. 𝑣𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

 I just wanted to make a little appreciation post for an rp partner of mine who has been down recently, for many reasons. @count-v-dracula, I know it’s been tough for you lately, but just know that the world we have built around Vlad and Louis is so cherished by me, and every response to a prompt or thread from you fills me with excitement, and inevitably, agony (these angsty vamps!!!). thank you for your patience, your friendship and for sharing your creativity! I had no idea when we began writing together that we’d end up creating a ship that would utterly possess me! (and Louis!). thank you for all the laughter, and the many tears. 

[scornedscales-a]

@count-v-dracula​ gets a random starter.

SHE SUCCEEDED captors dragged her into the middle of the woods and tried to rid themselves of said evil and drive her back to Hell, where she supposedly belonged, however, the only people who met their maker that night was the ten unfortunate souls that thought it was wise to try and kill such a creature. Her dragon scales were on spots over her olive skin, blood stained her dark blue jeans, black shirt, and her lips all the way down past her throat and into her shirt. There was a low growl in the bottom of her throat, smoke could be seen huffing out from her nose but her steps soon came to a slow stop, all black orbs focusing on the energy around her before finally speaking,

      ❝I can feel you--❞ She spoke lowly, knowing whoever and whatever she could sense and smell was nearby.

[malumxsubest]

ᴮᵉᵃˢᵗ ᴸⁱᵉˢ ᵂⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ ᴬ ᴮᵉᵃᵘᵗʸ

     It was quite the struggle being human especially a human with two younglings gripping the woman’s legs so fiercly. It seemed they feared either they or her will fade from one another. The faired woman wished she knew how to assuage their fears properly but even she knew not what to begin to say... She’s unfortunately mortal. However, it was the price to pay in order to bring her dear sons from the depths of the underworld. The devil mocked her and it filled her with such ire that a creature such as him was able to subdue her, a primordial entity, and strip her abilities and identity away from her precious vessel. 

     Amelia recalled being startled awake with a gasp; a heart beat fluttering anxiously within her chest as she stood within a clearing near a remote village in Transylvania. But then she took note of her once deep mahogany red hair was now silver white instead. The only other time it was that coloured when she first came into being millenia ago... 

     However, when her current wisteria coloured orbs met the unsconcious forms of her sons a few feet away from her. She remembered stumbling towards them, her limbs felt heavy to her, only to crash onto her knees in shock due to sheer fact that her sons were no longer their olderselves. But rather, Elijah and Ruvik were young boys again -- nearly the same age when she adopted them. Amelia felt sick, her heart felt as though it collided into the pits of her intestines as she reached a lithe and pale hand towards her children only for them to awaken from their slumber; steel blue eyes met her disbelieved ones. Do they remember her? The petite woman asked herself only to almost burst out crying when they embraced her all while calling her mother. 

     That took place several years ago... 

     Amelia and her children settled in the village that they were near when they had awoken. And with the aid of Princess Anna, they had a home. It was quaint and simple, unalike her extravagent castle of her own. The woman vaguely wondered if their old home was still intack and protected by her servants... And yet she cannot dwell on it currently, Amelia must tend to her children as any mother should.

     Unfortunately, appearing vastly distincted from the villagers, her little family were often gazed upon with scrutiny and wariness with occasional sneers by many. It brought forth such wrath to her very { human } heart; her knuckles clenched firmly with her nails cutting cresents into the flesh of her palms. Often times, she would daydream of burning the village down to the ground and take her children elsewhere. But it would be fair for the Princess who showed her kindness. 

     Thankfully after showing interest of knowledge, the Princess opened up a part of her home where her and her family have plethora of literature and scrolls for her and children to enjoy. And Amelia used that to her advantage in order to gather information about anything and everything about such sacrifice of resurrecting dead loved ones. She needed to be what she was again. It was unbearable being human. Amelia often times forgotten to take of herself after tending to her children and their quaint little home that her poor children fret over her fallen form one day from over exertion and dehydration. 

     The woman merely needed more knowledge how to revert back to her original form. That was all she craved. She loathed feeling powerless and not being able to protect her children properly. It was driving her MAD!  But it seemed dear fate finally took pity on her and lead her to a clue of her yearnings in a hidden scroll that Amelia was able to find within the library.       Pale wisteria orbs glided upon the parchment, longing for an answer until she felt a small mechanism of the scroll’s metal casing which opened a compartment that revealed a small folded up parchment... With furrowed brows, the pale woman settled the scroll and casing with ease before unfolding the parchment with haste only for her eyes to widen when they met a drawing of a castle with a tiny inscriptions on how to find a particular way to venture there.       Quickly memorizing every detail of the drawing and directions, Amelia immediately placed everything back to where it was and set off to her home in order to prep for her journey. However the moment she shut the door behind her, her back met the wooden floor, a faint oof escaped passed her lips, with her children embracing her tightly to their small frames. A faint chuckle, Amelia embraced her children with equal fervor before steadily standing to her full height. They quickly spoke to her about their day in which she grinned wholeheartedly before quietly telling them to get ready for a small journey ahead of them. At first the pale twins were confused but their hesitancy faded by her words of reassurance. In all actuality, they knew their mother was perfectly fine protecting them. They witnessed her hunting and butcher game with such finese plenty of times when they accompanied her whenever their mother wanted to teach them how to fend for themselves as a precaution. 

     Besides, Amelia will NOT leave her children by themselves in a village who disliked them. alone. She made sure they had few satchels with food and waterskins of boiled ( then cooled ) water along with extra clothing, bedrolls, flint and steel and finally healing salves. The petite woman used her skills of hunting and scavenging in order to secure safe areas for rest and a roaring fire for warmth. During their journey, she also brought a couple of blades to slay beasts and her beloved bow and quiver filled with arrows. The silver haired woman always came prepared ever since she became mortal. However that did not stopped several wolves raiding the camp.       A choked cry lodged deep within her throat in shock before quickly forced her sons on their only horse and told them to follow the riverbank leading to the village.  At first they refused, their tear stricken face turned defiant before she bellowed at them to flee. The ten year old twins rode on their horse as they heeded their mother’s words. But not too far considering they came to a screeching halt and gazed back when they heard a pained shriek before complete silence; the snow covered forest eerie. Elijah and Ruvik stared at one another before swallowing their fear and ventured back only for them to bare witness blood and corpses of the dead wolves with their mother ontop of one, panting heavily.       Amelia was able to fend off the wolves with such struggle it left few wounds on her body, particularly on her chest where a deep gash bled profusely when she rolled onto her back to catch her breath. Was this karma for all the deaths she had caused when she was an evil, wretched vampire being with no heart? The wounded woman steadily sat up, her children launching themselves off the horse to her aid where she mumbled the precise directions of the very castle she needed to visit. Elijah, the older one out of the two, nodded vigorously as he helped his brother wrapping her wounds.

     She shuddered heavily as they ventured off once more only this time they had finally made it to the castle. Amelia felt ill and she wanted to cry, to apologize to her children for being so weak and so human along with the trauma they had just endured for her pathetic pursuit of answers. The poor woman wanted to puke up her sick and pass out from the shock and blindsearing pain. Ruvik scrambled off from the horse and banged on the door, pleading for anyone to help his mother all while outright sobbing. The young lad rubbing his own pale face against the sleeves of his shirt, pleaing to whatever God that would heed his urgent prayers.

@count-v-dracula​