#cuz Quincey’s their baby

[ibrithir-was-here]

Was thinking about Quincey Harker having to live through the horrors of WW1, and read some angsty stuff of Jonathan escaping the castle, and had a little plot bunny of time slipping, war traumatized Quincey stumbling into the wild woods of Transylvania, and finding vampire traumatized Jonathan , and the now the same-aged father and son have to survive together and escape back to civilization

Does Quincey even recognize his wreck of a father, who can barely remember his own name at this point? Is Jonathan traumatized more by his strange rescuer’s hints of eldritchness? (Kid was born from two almost vampires he’s definitely got some). They can try and figure that stuff out once they make it past the wolves…

Edit: Comic starts here

[babybirbb]

[ladywynneoutlander]

Hi guys. So I am writing a little story for the holiday season. It is very fluff-tastic, mostly family and love with a minimum of plot. I very much hope someone enjoys it!

Heart’s Abundance

Part 1 - Giving Thanks

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6

Bree and I are sitting in the kitchen, enjoying my own special blend of “Liberty Tea,” a mixture of dried strawberry leaves, lemon balm, and chamomile. It is hot, fragrant, and delicious. As we sip, the afternoon sun warms the whole room, giving the feeling of a golden cocoon in the midst of a particularly cold November day. Adso is with us, basking in a windowsill, and we are all practically purring with contentment. Then the sound of dried leaves crackling underfoot reaches our ears. We have visitors. Brianna and I sigh slightly but smile at each other. She opens the door while I take a honey cake from the cupboard.  

It is Young Ian and Rachel. I smile warmly at them. Ian is dressed in particular native splendor today, owing to a visit from a group of prominent Mohawks passing through. His head is freshly plucked and spiked, with metal ornaments and turkey feathers hanging from the back.  Over his pink calico shirt is a vest decorated with astonishing beadwork, and his buckskin trousers are fringed. Next to him Rachel’s Quaker attire is a contrast. She is in a gray wool dress with plain white cap and kerchief. As she enters the sunny room, she unwraps her shawl to reveal the newest Murray, snuggled in a sling against his mother.

Brianna closes the door behind them, then her face lights with a smile, “Why, you look like a Thanksgiving pageant!”

The couple look at each other in incomprehension. “A what, cuz?” Ian inquires.

“You know! When the Pilgrims and Indians ate together. At Plymouth? It was a long time ago…” Her voice becomes more hesitant as the faces of our guests remain blank.

I understand the difficulty. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated now, even though the famous harvest meal happened more than one hundred years before. I’m struggling to salvage this time-travel faux pas when Jamie steps through the door leading to the front of the house. He bends to kiss my cheek then crosses to wiggle a finger at the newly freed baby. “And what’s that then?” he says, turning to Brianna. “Is thanksgiving not something you do, no a meal?”

“Well…” she hesitates, then boldly rushes on. “Where I grew up, in Boston, some people take a day near the end of November to give thanks for their blessings. They celebrate with a feast and invite close friends and family.”

“It sounds lovely,” Rachel says kindly, “though oughtn’t we to give thanks every day?”

“Of course,” Brianna agrees, ‘it’s just nice to take a special moment for it now and then.” She looks wistfully at me. “Right Mama?”

Suddenly I recall craft-paper feathers, Macy’s parade on the television, and the taste of a cranberry jello salad in perfect vividness. I move to stand by Brianna and take her arm, smiling softly in understanding. “Yes, darling. It is.”

Jamie looks at us and his own face grows tender. Rachel still looks confused, but Ian, who has been watching carefully exclaims, “Sounds like a fine idea! We should have our own thanks meal, aye?”

I look at Ian gratefully, thankful indeed for his enthusiastic spirit. I also see Jamie’s face. It is creasing slowly into a smile. “Aye. We should.”

Brianna’s hand tightens on my arm in excitement. “Great! We’ll have Thanksgiving on the Ridge!”

-o0OOO0o-

A few days later I pull Brianna’s turkey out of the oven and baste it well with drippings, butter, and thyme before pushing it back inside for another half hour. It is nearly time to eat and the bounty of the Ridge is spread throughout the kitchen. It will be a delicious meal (if I do say so myself). The smell is heaven, and by the discreet peeking and increasingly frequent visits of men and small children, they think so too.

Jamie and Brianna brought down this large tom the day before. Even with ten people there would be plenty to go around. I had also dug the last of the fresh vegetables and emptied the pantry. Fanny had spent the entire prior afternoon baking. It would be a feast indeed.

The table is set and festooned with colorful dried leaves and pinecones. Roger even wove a clever cornucopia from twigs and filled it with gourds. Perfect. The turkey has a chestnut mushroom stuffing. There are also yams and brussels sprouts and onion gravy, and (elegance indeed!) yeast dinner rolls rather than corn bread. Crocks of butter and honey and jam round out the meal. My mouth waters just setting it all out.

Soon everyone gathers and we ceremoniously present the pièce de résistance on a platter. Looking from face to face around our large farm table I see Fanny’s eyes widen and smile happily to myself. We are all here, Brianna, Roger, Jem, and Mandy. Germain and Fanny. Jenny and Ian and Rachel with the baby sleeping peacefully in a basket. Jamie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then leans over and whispers, “I often think your time strange, Sassenach, but this is fine, aye?” He kisses my lips softly.

The others, used to us, are chattering away. Jamie straightens, clears his throat and waits for quiet, then looks to the end of the table, saying formally, “Ieremiah, an toireadh tu taing?“

Jem, sensitive to the honor thus bestowed, sits up straight as an arrow, “Aye, sir.” He folds his hands before him and I am suddenly reminded of my first dinner at Leoch, when young Hamish said grace. Jem has the same red hair. I add Hamish to my prayers as we all bow our heads together.

“Dear Holy Father. Thank ye for the food before us. Thank ye for our family and friends. Bless us, O Lord, and help us to do good always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” the table echoes.  

Jemmy peaks at his father, and at Roger’s nod of approval relaxes happily in his chair. Jamie carves and wafts of fragrant steam are released. The table makes noises of appreciation all around. We fill our plates and enjoy the meal.

“You know,” Roger says, buttering a roll. Since we are giving thanks today, maybe we should each say something we’re thankful for. I believe that’s something they do in Boston, aye Brianna?” He smiles at his wife and she nods.

“Oh yes, it’s a tradition.” When no one volunteers she goes on, and looking directly at Jamie and I, “I’m thankful to be home.” Brianna then turns to Mandy on her right. “And what about you sweetheart? What are you thankful for?”

Mandy turns up a honey-smeared face and smiles. “I thankful for Esmeralda!”

Everyone chuckles and Roger goes next. “I’m thankful for family, for my wife and bairns.”

Jem says, “I’m thankful for Grandda. And Grandma,” he adds hastily.

Germain is next. “I’m thankful for my friends.” He smiles at Fanny and Jem.

Fanny answers in a small voice, “I’m thankful to Mr. and Mrs. Fraser for keeping me.”

“Oh Fanny,” I say gently, “We want to.” She blinks quickly and gives a small smile and we continue.

Jenny, Ian, and Rachel take their turns.

“I’m thankful for our new wee bairn.”

“I’m thankful to have my mam here, and my wife.”

“I’m thankful for the peace we enjoy here.”

Jamie says simply, “I’m thankful for ye, Sassenach.”

I look around the table slowly and finally turn my face up to Jamie, the man who is my heart, “I’m thankful for each of us. For love and family. For every moment.”

“Amen,” he says, and kisses me.

-o0OOO0o-

Soon afterward the table is cleared, and dessert brought out. We have apple tansey, clootie dumpling, and for Brianna, pumpkin pie. There is also custard and sweet cream. I am just setting coffee to boil when a solid thump sounds on the front door. Everyone freezes in surprise for a heartbeat. Visitors are nearly unheard-of this time of year. Then, just as chaos breaks out, Jamie rises. He walks to the front of the house, myself close behind. He seems unhurried and calm, but I notice he carries the carving knife in his left hand.

Jamie opens the door, letting in a blast of frigid November air. What greets us looks like nothing so much as a bear covered in deer hide. Albeit a bear with merry blue eyes glinting above his beard.

“Myers!” Jamie greets the mountain man warmly, discreetly passing the knife to me. I stash it in my deep pocket. “Welcome! What brings ye here so late in the year?”

The bristles part with Myers’ grin. “Well, I’ll tell ‘ee sir. I’ve come wi’ company. Found ‘im near frozen on his way up from Cross Creek.” He steps aside to reveal a second figure in the dooryard, just as tall, but more solidly built.

Peering around Jamie’s shoulder my mouth falls open in shock. The last person I ever expected to see on the Ridge is the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere.

For once I recover more quickly than Jamie, and step around my husband. “William!” I say in sincere pleasure.

The young man looks up a bit uncertainly, then seeing my happiness recovers himself. “Mother Claire.” He might have said more but is prevented by a blur of yellow homespun that comes hurtling through the door and crashes into his middle. William teeters precariously at the impact before coming solidly back to his feet, Frances Pocock clinging to him in perfect imitation of a baby opossum on its mother’s back.

“William! Oh William! I thought I might never th-, see you again!”

William gingerly pats the capped head. “It’s good to see you again too, Fanny.” He smiles gently down, a slight shadow passing briefly in the depths of his slanted eyes. He gently disentangled Fanny and turns to Jamie. “I hope our arrival isn’t a cause of inconvenience to you sir. I…”

Seeing him hesitate I break in as politely as I can. “Of course not! You are both most welcome! Come in and warm up. We are just about to have dessert.”

I usher the newcomers and the gaping crowd back into the kitchen. In a few moments of flurried activity William and John Quincey are greeted by all and settled at the table, the children relocated to stools.

“We had a fine harvest this year so we’re having a wee meal to celebrate and give thanks for it,” Jamie explains, smiling.

“Judging from this bounty, indeed you have!” Myers exclaims as he unabashedly fills his plate with apple tansey, sweet cream, and one of the remaining rolls covered in honey and jam. Jem and Germain looking on in fascination.

I pour him coffee, hiding a smile. “We’re pleased to share it with you.”

William eats more sedately, but with evident pleasure. Watching him, Fanny on one side and Brianna on the other, I wonder suddenly why he has come. Then I look at Jamie. He is watching the boy as well, and though his face is expressionless, to me his eyes reveal the joy he takes in the sight. No. The reason doesn’t matter. I slide my arm around Jamie’s and lean against him, expressing without words my own joy in his happiness.

[airmidtheawakened]

Sharp, Pointy Things, Part 2

Saki wonders why I asked him to write the first part of this chapter in our lives. Well let me tell you: It’s because misery loves company. If my cabal had to suffer through the rest of this goddamn murder mystery then so do you. And that means endearing our precious Acanthus to you so the events hit you just as hard as they did us.

Me, petty? Whatever do you mean. I’m just aiming for emotional authenticity here. You should be thankful I’m so dedicated to realism.

I believe Saki left off when he and Sisi dragged me away from Mr. Dreamboat Vampire. And after the description of it that Saki gave, I feel I must defend myself. You have to understand that I’m from a rural town in the middle of Nowhere, Vermont. There is NO ONE to bang. NO ONE. I’ve known them all since childhood and that’s just weird, you know? Plus my dad was suuuuuuper protective the entire time, so it wasn’t like I could head out to the city for some fun or anything. I love my dad but he can be… smothering… when he gets worried.

Anyways.

We went back to En’s to rest up for the next day of investigating. When we got back Fisher told us a friend of of the victim had been killed too, apparently by a large wild animal. Or at least that’s what people assumed when they found him shredded to bits in his backyard. Of course you and I and everyone else who’s clued into the supernatural would think “werewolf.” Except what’s the likelihood of vampire AND a werewolf fatalities in the same city within 24 hours of each other? Not very high.

I thought that maybe someone was staging the deaths to draw attention to Quincey’s supernatural community. The others seemed to think it was a good idea. Lipsy decided to spend the rest of the night researching other possibilities. I actually joined him, and through our combined efforts we eliminated some possibilities and found others that were more plausible. Lipsy found out that through a combination of the Prime and Matter arcana someone could make tangible illusions, which was as good a thought as any to work off of.

The next day we headed off to the home of the most recently deceased to see what was up. We couldn’t find much with our mage sights, but then the house was in a tidy little culdesac and we couldn’t actually get close without raising suspicions. We had a hard enough time pulling the “group of friends out for a walk with their dog” image we were using as a cover. One of the dead guy’s friends actually showed up and called us out. We managed to avoid a confrontation. Barely. So instead of scoping out the house, we took a side road that went behind the houses so Lipsy could works some magic of his.

Lipsy did the same thing here that he had with Dead Big Bro’s ghost: used some funky death arcana ritual to summon it and make it talk. Lipsy had no trouble with this one; he spilled the beans about his woefully short life pretty quick. Apparently he, Dead Big Bro, and the friend we met outside the house were all part of the same meth ring. If that doesn’t scream “reason someone might off you” I don’t know what does. It didn’t get us any closer to the killer, but it was finally a solid angle to work.

Seeing as we’d heard what we needed to from the ghost, Edgar decided to have it for lunch. Apparently that’s how he sustains himself. Eating souls, I mean. It’s creepy, right? Not that I’m judging or anything. Edgar is a good boy (even if he hates that phrase), and he does right by Lipsy. I think the two of them worked out something where Edgar only eats the really evil souls. I don’t know for sure though, since it’s not something that’s really polite to ask about.

Our next order of business was tracking down the rest of Dead Big Bro’s meth slinging friends. After some stellar e-stalking on Lipsy’s we managed to find pictures of them all. He also found out where they all like to hang out - a sports bar in a busier neighborhood of Quincey - so we headed there to try and pry more information out of ‘em.

Seriously, Lipsy is a fucking champ. We’d be lost without our precious little anger baby. He wasn’t feeling so hot after all that though. Apparently Edgar eating the dude’s soul really took him by surprise. I honestly thought he’d stay back at En’s place, but Saki managed to talk him into coming with us.

So to the bar we went. And here, friends, is where things went totally south.

First of all, the place was packed to all hell and back. We decided to split up to look for the meth dealers. This was our first mistake. We couldn’t really keep an eye on each other. I managed to find one of the guys we were looking for. We’ll call him Dave cuz I can’t remember his actual name. So I’m there with eyes on Dave, trying to find the best moment to approach him. Meanwhile, Lipsy and Sisi are on the opposite side of the bar, where who should appear but Mr. Dreamboat vampire. He started getting all flirty with Lipsy, so SiSi stepped in to tell him to back off. I managed to notice and went to check on them both. Lipsy was fine.

So I’m sure you’re thinking “What about Saki?”

What about Saki indeed.

SiSi tried to scry for him. She saw him in the bar’s basement, with a dark haired man in a white suit stalking behind him. The vision only lasted a second. We made a break for the door to the basement. I wish I could describe the fear that we all felt in those moments. It would pale, though, in comparison to what we felt when he burst into the basement to find Saki gone. There was nothing in the room but a few specks of fresh blood and one of Saki’s tarot cards. Sisi tried scrying again. She couldn’t find him. It was like he’d vanished not just from the room, but from our plain of existence entirely.

I don’t know if any of you have ever lost family like that. Suddenly, with no warning or reason. I hope you never do. You know it occurs to me I was complaining earlier about my dad being overprotective when I went back home…I probably shouldn’t have said that. Hindsight, I guess.

The worst part is that we didn’t have time to search for him. A fight broke out upstairs. We ran to see what it was about and found a motherfucking mummy strangling Dave to death. It was like something out of an old horror flick. I leaped at the thing and gave it a good, solid punch. It flew backwards and crumbled to dust when it hit the floor. I had no clue what was going on. Next order of business was bringing Dave back to consciousness to find out. I must have caught him just before he snuffed it for good. Thank god for healing magic, man. That stuff’s the shit.

When Dave came too he was staring behind me, totally freaked out. Which was fair. I mean, I’d be freaked out to if a giant bandaged corpse tried to crush my windpipe. But he wasn’t looking at the mummy. The mummy was gone. I turned to see what he was actually looking at, and standing there in the crowd of screaming bar patrons was the fucking little kid. Sam was there, glaring at Dave and me. After a few seconds he booked it. I sent Lipsy after him, but he got away. Slippery little brat.

Talk about a shit show. The kid we were trying to protect, trying to help, was out trying to off people with some sorta magic. Saki was missing. All we had was a half dead meth dealer who was too scared out of his mind to be anything resembling coherent.

So yeah. Things were looking pretty bad. They didn’t get much better, either. But that’s a story for another night. Remembering this makes me all sorts of depressed and I think I could use a drink.

Peace out, friends. See ya next time.

[ibrithir-was-here]

You've drawn Baby Quincey and Adorable Toddler Quincey and Heartthrob Adult Quincey - do you have a design for Obnoxious Teenager Quincey? What does teenage rebellion and self discovery look like when you're a super sheltered vampire in a genuinely loving family? What's his equivalent of "kids on their phones these days"?

Ok! None of these actually did turn out very "rebellious" as such, cuz, well yeah he's really a chill kid in a surprisingly supportive family and for actual sneaking out shenanigans he has regular little secret adventures outside the Castle with Papa 😅, but I did do a few doodles

(His growing out his hair as a teenager was inspired by all my brothers having a long-ish hair phase--and maybe a little bit of experimenting with the very... unique views he has on what would constitute "gender norms" for his upbringing)

I do thing he goes through a light angsty teenage phase which is really less angst and more just... feeling a bit lonely for company of his own age

[yallemagne]

#I've never seen a dracula adaption #and at this point I'm not sure if I should #cuz like lucy is such a sweetheart in the book #and what happens to her is so heartbreaking #she just wanted to get married and hang out with mina and be happy #she's a young girl whos in love and has so much hope and admiration for the people in her life #even when she rejected Quincey and Jack she was sad for breaking their hearts and wanted to still be friends with them #where the hell does the idea that shes a Slut™ come from? cuz it sure as hell not from the book (rabbit-hearted-girl)

Yeah, just don't. I mean, not to tell you what to do or anything. In my experience, the only movie that did a decent job of actually adapting the original story into a movie (ya know, the purpose of an adaptation) is the 1977 version. It's truncated, of course. But even though it does not assassinate Lucy's character, she's unfortunately still left at the wayside since they can't linger too long on her before having to rush through the rest of the plot (which is just my issue with movies in general).

You know how we got a Renfield movie and now the Demeter? I wish there could be a Dracula movie that could spotlight Lucy specifically (of course, it wouldn't really have a happy wrapped-up ending, but I don't think Demeter will have one either so??). So much of the sympathy and tension of her arc is erased because movies treat it like just one of the plot beats we need to get through.

Unfortunately, Lucy could be a literal baby and they'd still cast her as an awful vapid "slut" *glances at all awful depictions of Dolores from Lolita adaptations*. There's some weird moralizing in a lot of stories where, if a woman faces hardship, it's supposedly a consequence of being a bad person (and "bad person" as a label when applied to women translates into being a sexually promiscuous individual... because a woman's morality is somehow directly tied to her sexuality and nothing else). Meanwhile like, men get to see wild fantasies about being a murderous raping bastard with no consequences play out on the big screen.

These directors and writers look at the story in bad faith, seeing a young girl be proposed to by three different men and claiming: "Well! That wouldn't happen unless she were leading them all on!! The bitch!!" and so they reframe her assault by Dracula as her being promiscuous and her mercy-kill by Arthur as vengeance against her for being too sexy.

Also the good girl vs bad girl dynamic every movie thinks it needs. The Madonna vs Whore complex. Though Mina is undeniably more experienced in her relationship with Jonathan than Lucy is with Arthur, Lucy's innocence is written out because... "wait what do you mean rape and femicide is bad?? this is Hollywood!! only "bad women" get raped and killed so it's fine!!"

Then, too, Lucy, although she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of walking in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and we have decided that I am to lock the door of our room every night. Mrs. Westenra has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place. Poor dear, she is naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me that her husband, Lucy's father, had the same habit; that he would get up in the night and dress himself and go out, if he were not stopped. Lucy is to be married in the autumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how her house is to be arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try to make both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood—he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only son of Lord Godalming—is coming up here very shortly—as soon as he can leave town, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy is counting the moments till he comes. She wants to take him up to the seat on the churchyard cliff and show him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting which disturbs her; she will be all right when he arrives.

Lucy has inherited sleepwalking from her late father. She has sleepwalked before now, it is an old habit of hers. Dracula is nowhere near the coast of Whitby nor does he know who the fuck Lucy is.

THE SLEEPWALKING IS NOT CAUSED BY FUCKING DRACULA.

Stop, that's literally the excuse used by shitty adaptation writers who shorten the story down for the sake of convenience. And you may ask them, well, why is Dracula trying to make Lucy, a young lady he doesn't even know, sleepwalk to him from so far away, adaptation writers? THE ANSWER THEY ALWAYS GIVE IS "well, she's a slut, he can sense that she's a slut, he's trying to get at her to punish her for her transgressions and get to his pure reincarnated wife uwu."

IN THE BOOK SHE IS LITERALLY JUST A SLEEPWALKER IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH DRACULA RIGHT NOW.

Do you think that when she sleepwalked years ago as a child that was also Dracula??? Was her father sleepwalking to Dracula as well?? She is stressed about the future and her restlessness has caused her to start sleepwalking again. She dreams of showing Arthur the view from the churchyard, so she tries to go there in her sleep.

Please I swear to god when you lean into the whole "Dracula has a vendetta against Lucy and has made her a sleepwalker in order to hunt her down and punish her", it's victim-blaming and doesn't even make sense in the context of the novel.

sorry if this comes off aggressive, but I'm just like grrr I'm like rrr no fuck you Coppola get off my dick.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Oooh I didn't realize Mina is sidecar-ing mist form to Jonathan I love that!

Oh goodness Cloud Form as time out/cool down time xD

Honestly its probably good Mina (and even Dracula in this one small instance) has such a thing about control so as to make sure Baby Quincey doesn't just giggly float away 😅

Cuz you know there's nothing poor Jonathan could do about that situation but try and like, fan him into the direction he wants xD

TIL the Scholomance was run by the devil. Students would learn the speech of animals and spells, and the devil would choose one of the few students there to control the weather. So Dracula was very special since he had weather powers.

Mina in this au learning how to use lightning is as if she's studied there too, because the student had to not see the light of day for three years, so as a vampire she must have done so. at least at first. Also she pretty much lives and studies with the devil, Jonathan had called Dracula and the three sisters "the devil and his children". Except it's to use his powers against him zap zap

Oh my gosh anon, come off of anon so I can shake your hand for this brilliant reworking of the folklore!!!

Thats so clever!!!

👏👏👏👏