#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? ”

[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.”

[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."

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[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. 

[sadistxcangel]

@count-v-dracula​ for a sc

he had heard stories from max about the ancients... about the prince of all. he loved the stories but he thought them just that--- stories. even if they did come from the mouth of his maker. 

so when the youngest lost boy came face to face with a story- he almost didn’t believe it. the description of him-- the pull he felt towards him. it caught the young vampire off. damn. the prince of all was hot. was that normal? smoothing out the white crop top, he tried his best to look decent. did he bow-- or?? “so you aren’t just a story?” an excited giggle and an innocent smile graced his young features.

[intervieweird]

@count-v-dracula​ asked: “👁‍🗨”

send 👁‍🗨 for my my muse’s first impression of yours

Yeah, he knows. He knows the fucking trope about a reporter’s gut, but some things aren’t taught. Some things fist themselves inside you and tug right below the navel, and you know. You know the way Daniel knows, the way the fine blond hairs on his arms and at the short crop at the back of his neck prickle, the way his skin rises and the lower part of his brain stem coils with primal alarm. Some things are out there, man. 

And Daniel’s always chased them as much as he’s run.

Hell, he’s got the instinct to know better, but not the wisdom. And Jesus, but he knows that thing isn’t human. Daniel feels like Dorothy peeking behind the curtain - now that he’s seen Oz, he knows the tricks. He knows the way these things move, the way they mime humanity like a pantomime, a fucked-up Punch and Judy played out large. Everybody just pretending they’re real. But the joke’s flatter than lukewarm soda, and Daniel’s done pretending. 

He wonders how he might’ve gone his whole life with the scales over his eyes, how animal intuition got buried under centuries of sensibility and science. Monsters are just the collective mythology of human consciousness, making meaning out of natural phenomena they didn’t have the tools to understand. Bullshit. Call the nice men in the white suits down from upstate. The truth is out there. He’s seen it. And now that he’s seen it, he can pick them out of anywhere: an upturned face glittering across the theatre mezzanine, eyes impossibly reflective; a waxy hand resolving out of the darkness. A dark-haired man, well dressed, handsome, black on black on black. Daniel can’t look away. He knows he should try, he knows he should turn on his heel and catch the next bus going anywhere, as long as it was away, as long as he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t. 

He’s come to understand that magnetism seems to come naturally for vampires. Maybe it’s their nature, the way mice sometimes freeze in front of a cobra. He can fucking sympathize. But he’s learned vampires inhabit their power differently - and how he’s come to recognize it. There’s a heaviness around him, this familiar stranger - the weight of age that so often brings a self-confidence in their own skin. And maybe it was something of the kind of people they’d been, how they become only more completely themselves.

God, he wants it.

He wants to be that. And he wants to penetrate it, this impossible world he slams against. He can see it, see them, their lives, but can’t reach them, can’t do more than peer vainly from the outside, glimpsed in filthy backstreets and fever dreams. He wants to prise it open with his hands, want to take this man by his sleek jacket and say I see you! I know! Let me in! It’d almost be worth it, he thinks, to die. If only he was seen back.

[hxllion]

@deromanum​​ , @count-v-dracula​​ I SEE YOU LOVEBIRDS, THERE.