Victorian Vampires - Tumblr Posts

Ooh okay so I’ve been thinking, and hear me out. I know Spike has adapted and become pretty thoroughly modern and Punk Rock and all that, but never forget that, as a human, he was a Victorian gentleman. So, I like to imagine that every once in a while, he does these random little Victorian things, like sending Buffy a truly weird Christmas card like one of the above or wanting to tell a spooky Christmas Eve ghost story. 

Granted, in life, proper little aspiring Romantic Poet* William said he didn’t like to discuss “dark, ugly business”^ such as the “rash of disappearances” that had been going around town (spoiler alert: the ones caused by the vampires that were soon to turn him, but I digress) so maybe that suggests he wasn’t the biggest fan of the Christmas Eve ghost story before his turning--although it’s also possible he simply wasn’t big on true crime (nor the people telling it, since they often made fun of his poetry) but he was still down for a spooky story enchantingly spun on a dark night by the fireplace; I know we don’t get a ton of pre-turn William--but either way, after becoming a vampire and thus becoming into Dark, Edgy Things, I’m convinced he would have loved a scary Christmas Eve ghost story, and I like to imagine he carried that forward with him even after getting into the Ramones and Nirvana and hair dye. And whatever Passions is; I should really look that up. Huh, I guess it’s basically just a soap opera. But in any case, we know the guy likes to tell a good spooky story, like that time when Dawn comes to visit him and he’s regaling her with his own gruesome exploits, so we know he has a talent for suspenseful tale-telling. Even after getting his soul back, I don’t think that storyteller aspect of him goes away (although he probably prefers fictional stories to his personal history now). 

So, one year, Buffy gets a Christmas card with an illustration of Santa stuffing a kid into his sack or frogs falling on ice, and on the back there’s an invitation to Christmas Eve ghost stories in Spike’s crypt (does he move back into a crypt? I’m just into season 7 now and he’s living at Xander’s at the moment but I do still picture him in his crypt) and anyways I miiight have to write this fic now if I can get around to it. As much as I love punk rock Spike, I still want him to be a little Victorian sometimes :)  

*I know he’s technically from after the Romantic Era proper--he was born shortly after it ended if you take Wikipedia’s end date of 1850 and consider that he was I think 26 when he was turned in 1880 (which is firmly in the Victorian era)--but I still feel like Romantic Poet is what he was aspiring to be.

^I looked up a transcript for the quotes; thanks go to this site

P.S. Along these lines, I’ve also been thinking about whether Spike would go Christmas Caroling. I do very much doubt that soulless vampire Spike ever would, but I’m fairly confident that pre-turn William would do it happily; so, my question is, would now-reensouled Spike be willing to go caroling, or would he still be too Edgy? These are the real questions about Buffy’s soul lore we should be asking, haha. 

Victorian Christmas cards were bonkers

The more I think about Victorian Christmas traditions and Spike, the more I wonder whether this may’ve been a Christmas party. It probably isn’t, given the lack of Christmas decorations, and I suppose there are plenty of other occasions for which Victorians might throw a party, but I still enjoyed the thought of it being one as I imagined it yesterday. (Also, even if it isn’t one, I’m quite sure Mr. William Pratt would’ve also gone to Christmas parties, and they probably would’ve looked a lot like this but perhaps with a few more pine boughs and red ribbons.)

I also recently discovered this podcast from the Weird Christmas blog, which has fit well with the cravings for Victorian Christmas traditions Spike's awakened in me. I already talked about Spike and Christmas ghost stories, in this post and a bit more in my tags on my reblogs of that podcast on blagueofchaos, but another thing mentioned in that podcast was Victorians playing hide and go seek at a Christmas party. I would just like you to join me in imagining sweet little William the Bloody playing hide and go seek at a fancy Victorian high society Christmas party. 

I just... I really love pre-turn Spike and thinking about him and Victorian-ness and Christmas things. 

William “Spike” Pratt | Fool for Love (5.7)

Flash Fiction Friday:

Prompt: The Devil You Forgot.

@flashfictionfridayofficial, @lassiesandiego, @writernopal, @lyutenw, @rickie-the-storyteller, @writeblrcafe

Snippet from my Gothic Victorian Fantasy WIP - Enchanted Illusions.

“The Devil You Forgot:”

The trio was surrounded, in that decrepit old mansion’s library, there was little place to hide, much less, from this man. Silas Holloway, the most powerful vampire lord currently living - the first to strike down his Maker in order to ascend into power, and he was out for blood of the heir to the Van Sterlling family. 

The night was eerily silent, almost artificially cold. Silently, Clarence looked for a way out, though from chosen every path, a new vampire seemed to emerge from the shadows just before they could walk any further. Behind him, Evangeline grabbed a book from a shelf, as if it would be any good against a mob of vampires, and Thaddeus reached for his gun, knowing the lead bullets would just bounce off of any of his targets. They crouched together behind a sturdy bookshelf, careful not to make a sound as they watched shadows flicker on the faint moonlight from across the other aisles, and the creaking floors gave away their enemies approach. There was no way out. 

“You know, your father tried to do this too, a few centuries ago” A sharp, male voice echoed throughout the vast room, as if all around them. A strangled noise of fear left Clarence’s throat, but he quickly silenced himself with a hand over his mouth. Evangeline placed an arm around his shoulder as the man continued. “Thought he could escape me. He was smart, very smart. Quite a lot like you - even managed to betray me and escape unharmed.” A chuckle echoed across the dark room, and Clarence struggled not to hyperventilate, knowing it would only give away their compromised hiding spot. Thaddeus all but growled, gripping his pistol harder as he tried to see where the older vampire was talking from. “Of course, I found him, eventually. But I couldn’t catch him, and he slipped right through my fingers once more.” The man’s voice reeked with hatred behind his sarcastic facade “I would have tore this earth apart to bring that traitor to justice, but then I realized how kind the Makers can be, as he left me something far more valuable than his life, the one thing that he loved more than spiting my line of work” Silas paused, and the trio realized, with a pang, where the vampire had been standing. “A son.”

That word cut like a thousand blades as the other vampire towered over them. 

At the same moment, all of the other vampires emerged from the shadows, forming a circle behind Silas and crushing any hopes of escape under the soles of their boots. In the darkness of the library, Silas’ cruel smile shone a sickly white glow. Clarence stands on shaky feet, trying to stare down the vampire and defend the last bit of honor his House has. But all that he can do is look fearfully ahead, his eyes not nearly as unmoved as he would’ve liked. He notices Thaddeus moving his pistol upwards from the corner of his eyes, and swiftly catches his friend’s arm with one hand. That’s just going to make things worse, he shakes his head quickly, never once looking away from Silas. With less confidence than he would have liked, he steps forward, placing himself so that the weight of the Vampire Lord’s wrath falls solely on him, and not in his human friends. 

“What do you want with me?” Clarence asks, voice far shakier than he would have liked. He stiffles a wince when Silas chuckles, a cruel sound. To his terror, Clarence suddenly becomes aware of the distinct, horrid smell of silver. 

“To collect what I am owed” Silas says through gritted teeth, and before any of the three can say anything, he has a hand to the young vampire’s throat, keeping him from running and lifting him off the ground. A silver ring sizzles his way into the younger vampire’s skin in an agonizing burn, but the Vampire Lord just laughs, unmoved even though the silver ring is upon his own skin. Behind them, his allies move to restrain the two humans, who had tried to defend their friend valiantly. Silas smirks as Clarence uselessly tries to thrash his way out of his grip, bringing him closer and lowering his voice. “After all, your father seems to have well forgotten that the price of treason is blood.”

Enchanted Illusions: (Victorian Gothic Fantasy) Valentine Concordium's Journal Entries (part 1)

Valentine Concordium, Year 53 After the Great Dawn, October 20, nighttime.

The mansion is too quiet tonight, it … bothers me. Makes me restless, unruly thoughts stubbornly resurfacing again. So, I walked to the woods today, hoping that the night’s fresh air might give me some respite. There was a dead deer near the mansion, and the still-bloodied dire wolves that killed her were not far away. I hope I was able to scare them off for good. Being a fanged creature of the night has its perks, I will admit. But it so seems that only when it comes to being a source of fear. Strange.  

At least there were no holy Hunters this time. They haven’t come for me in a month now, maybe they’ve finally given up! I don’t want to fight them anymore, but I don’t want to die either. I wish Sebastian were still here. I miss him a lot. It’s lonely, living by myself in these wide halls - there’s so much history here but so much sorrow too. My sibling always had something to say, even if trivial, about anything and everything. It seemed foolish, at the time. Now I would give anything to hear all of that again.

I still have yet to get used to the silence. 

But alas… I wonder what has happened in the cities, it’s been a while since I last paid them a visit. It's strange, getting used to this new peace treaty, even though it was established over fifty years ago, even though that’s what my family always fought for. It feels, almost, unreal. But I rather like it. Bloodshed is pointless, and I’ve seen my fair share of it to want to banish such violence from my life forevermore. I was too young when the wars started, but in a way, I wish I had been more naive. I wish I could have been more naive, but that was never my choice to make, it seems.

I don’t know what has gotten me thinking about all of this again. Maybe it was the unbearable silence, or seeing the dead deer and its… bloody insides. I do not know. And I do not like it. 

In a more positive discovery: I hear there is a train station being built down at Griffin’s Port. I might as well pay it a visit, if that city ever becomes less… dangerous. I’m curious, honestly, about how such contraptions work. I’ve seen trains in books but I’ve never quite been near one, much less gotten to enjoy such mode of travel. It’ll be a new, perhaps enlightening experience - and I hope it might be fun, even. Few things are, nowadays, but I want to feel that joy again.

I’ve spent far too much of my recent time cooped up in the study, surrounded by old specimen books and my - admittedly morbid - childhood butterfly collection, and the cobwebs on the ceiling that have yet to be cleaned - which I still have yet to figure out how to do. Transfiguring into a bat while holding a mop proved, well, disastrous, to say the least. Maybe it's time that I … try to do something new. See the world outside this walls, and far from this forest.

But the Hunters are always there. Waiting. Just like they waited for Sebastian. I’m tired of hiding, but I’ll also not lie and say that I am not scared of what is to come. Things were never quite so uncertain before, and well, I was never quite so alone, before. 

I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what comes next, and hope that it is not quite as disastrous and bloody as everything seems to make it seem. Maybe there’s still something nice, about this world. Maybe. I don’t really know anymore. 

It is getting late. Or should I say early? Either way, maybe I should try and get some rest, clear my head of… all of this. Of whatever this is. “There’s always a new night to come”, Father always said. But that thought never seemed quite so burdensome before as it does now - what good is a new night, if it’ll be just as haunting and boredom filled as it’s predecessor?

I’ll wait, and sleep, maybe I’ll know the answer tomorrow. Likely not, though.

Enchanted Illusions: (Victorian Gothic Fantasy) Valentine Concordium Journal Entries (part 2)

Valentine Concordium, Year 53 After the Great Dawn, December 3, dusk.

Ever discover a new place in the very house you grew up in, a place that you had no idea was even a part of your house until you found it? Well, I believe I just did. At least that's something new, even if it's strange. After nearly 200 years of living in this mansion, I guess it still has its secrets to unravel. Just the distraction I was in dire need of.

Puzzling, but not ... unwelcome, I think.

I found the crypt hidden in the manor's woods, yesterday night during one of my many midnight strolls. It's always more difficult at night when my mind is clear and my thoughts so loud. But regardless, I digress. I guess I must've gotten lost, or walked further than I intended to, because, before I knew it, I was in a part of the forest I had never been to - something I would never have thought possible fifteen minutes prior. And there it was, the crypt, or what I guess was a crypt.

Curiosity - and a desperate sense of loneliness - got the better of me, and I decided to explore this new discovery.

It was as one might expect. Covered in centuries of dust, cobwebs, and many kinds of debris, but there was more to it. The further I walked, the more that became clear to me. To begin with, this was a crypt with no coffins. Among the piles of dust on tilted tables were stacks of ancient literature, carefully placed as if by a scholar's hand. The handwriting was vampiric, though the symbols that littered the leftmost corner of the pages were illegible, or at least unknown.

Every room and chamber of the crypt was like this, and the walls were decorated with torn silk banners with the faded outline of my family crest. The strangest place I ever visited had been within my grasp all this time, and I didn't even know it.

I spent hours walking around there.

My wandering led me to the furthest chamber of this crypt. It was chiefly empty, but not quite. There was a trapdoor on the floor, front and center. And pulling it open - though it took, admittedly, a remarkable amount of effort, even for a vampire - revealed a journal.

A familiar journal. Dusty and covered in cobwebs, but I would recognize that journal anywhere. Under the cover, there was a Hunter's silver locket, stained with dried blood. It almost burned my hand, almost. I was quicker.

Sebastian's journal, locked away in a crypt I didn't even know about until a few meager hours prior, with a Hunter's locket hidden within its cover. My brother had been studying something about the Hunters, judging by the contents of the unfinished journal. Something he shouldn't have discovered. The Hunters killed him for it.

Nothing about any of this makes sense, but yet... it does. In a strange, twisted way. Remarkable.

I wished to keep investigating, but had to leave before the first rays of the sun began to rise, not wanting to spend the next day stuck in a crypt I did not know. Still, I need those answers - it's not like there's anything better to do with my time, and the questions will keep eating away at me until I know the truth.

Tonight, I am going to go back there, to the crypt. This time, more prepared - and well-armed, I suppose. And will, I hope, discover what my family has to do with it, and why did they keep this secret from me. We'll see.

Taglist (ask to be -/+): @cabbojage