Dross The Fish

This blog is mainly art and fandom focused and I am always looking for inspiration so feel free to send art requests or suggestions and I might draw you something nice. My ask box is always open.

Fair warning, if you have a blank blog and I'm unable to confirm you are human you run the risk of being blocked.

18+ side blog for sending your more nsfw asks and requests

Feed the fish please!: Ko-fi

Ok.

....

“How is it that Theo retains her sanity?” Mina asked as she watched Dr Jekyll prep her arm for an injection. She grimaced at the wicked-looking needle in his left hand. Jekyll swabbed her skin, then pinched it slightly. He flicked the syringe and carefully inserted it. She was seated at his desk in his quarters. A fire crackled softly, and the good doctor had set out a tray of tea and an assortment of biscuits. It was pleasant and cozy despite the clinical nature of her visit.

A few minutes after the liquid entered her system, her hunger began to dull, and with it came relief.

“Theo’s sire has no interest in controlling her, if he even can,” he said as he scrawled in a neat and efficient shorthand.

“Who is her sire?”

“All we know is his name is Varney. He was only with her a short while and didnae strike her as particularly powerful… or intelligent,” he added as he tapped the end of his pen on his teeth. He made one final note and tucked the paper away.

“Is Dracula unusual for a vampire?” Mina asked.

“You are full of questions,” replied Jekyll; a smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

“Does my curiosity bother you?” Against her better judgment, she smiled back.

“On the contrary. There are few qualities more worthy than curiosity. When paired with intelligence, it is a marvelous treat to encounter in another.”

“I can’t disagree,” said Mina.

He looked at her fondly for a moment, then cleared his throat, a faint pink on his cheeks.

“Unusual assumes there’s a usual to begin with. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that vampires are a wide spectrum. Dracula is the founder of his brood and the primary vampire. He got his powers directly from Hell. Carmilla began her life as a fledgling, but her sire died, and now she is the matriarch of her bloodline.”

As he spoke, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small slate and a stick of chalk and began to draw a crude chart.

“Vampires, as I have discovered, are highly similar to certain types of insects. There can only be one primary vampire at a time.”

The chalk squeaked as he drew a line with forking branches extending from it. “When the first one dies-” he crossed out the first line and circled one of the branches; “-their eldest childe becomes the next in line and gains control over all thralls and fledglings. Dracula is unique in the sheer size of his brood. Most vampire broods have between ten and twenty, but Dracula’s brood numbers in the hundreds and it’s still growing.”

“He’s building an army,” said Mina grimly, her hands folded under her chin as she squinted at the lines of chalk. A shadow crossed her face. “What is the purpose of a bride? Dracula had three.”

“Vampires have human urges, and in some cases a desire to have a mate. Carmilla has one bride, her Laura. Dracula keeps a harem. His reasons have naught to do with his curse and everything to do with his preferences as a man. I don’t doubt in life he was the sort of king who kept mistresses or consorts for his pleasure,” Jekyll rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Is that something you would do if you were a vampire? Dr. Jekyll?” Mina asked.

Jekyll laughed, “Hardly, I dinnae even want one wife, much less a wife and multiple mistresses. I have determined that I shall die a bachelor.”

“Even if there was no Hyde?”

Jekyll’s eyelids dropped a little. An unsettling glint twinkled beneath them. “Even so,” he said. There was a coldness in his voice.

Mina smiled disarmingly to try and warm it away, “Even if you met someone who was curious and intelligent?”

Guilt seized her. The atmosphere in the room changed. Jekyll’s expression had taken on a hint of slyness. The way his gaze lingered was beyond the bounds of courtesy. Blackened hair spread along his sharpening jawline.

“I may no’ wish tae keep a wife, but if a woman were curious and intelligent, her having a husband wouldnae deter me from takin’ an interest.” He leaned forward, one broad hand planted on the desk, until he was quite close.

Then, Jekyll seemed to catch himself briefly. He scratched at a thick sideburn until it lightened and receded back into his cheek. 

“Suddenly the questions have stopped,” he remarked almost cheerfully.

“They have,” replied Mina. He was so close she could smell his soap and remnants of cologne he’d applied that morning. Hyde was not slovenly, per se, but Jekyll was quite fastidious. As if carefully applied pomade and a dab of fragrance could cover the familiar smell of expensive cigars and smoke from the motorcar Hyde drove at dangerous speeds. He’d offered her a ride the other day, and she'd almost taken it. Seized by a strange and wicked impulse.

Hyde could tempt wickedness from a nun. Mina had no understanding of how or why, only that there was an allure there.

His nose was nearly brushing hers.

Vividly in her mind's eye, she saw Satan holding out an apple. She whipped her head away so Jekyll's lips grazed her cheek. Rising so quickly she nearly lost her balance, she thanked him hastily and walked out the door. Mina did not look at him. She didn’t know if the man she’d see was Jekyll or Hyde but she was certain if she turned and looked back now she’d be lost. Like Lot’s poor wife.

It is the curse. Nothing more. These thoughts are not mine. They are the vampire’s wanton cravings.

Most of them are. Some can hold their liquor better than others. Edward has a very high metabolism so he can hold it the best. Larry is a lightweight.

Here is a quick drabble I wrote on my lunch for you.

.....

The room they’d rented at the bordello was cramped and a little damp, and Adam was certain he’d heard rats in the walls. It bothered him little; he’d hidden in worse places. The worst thing about it was that he couldn’t stand upright without hitting his head on the ceiling, that and the sickly sweet perfume in the air.

Through the thin walls Adam could hear the sound of the women at work and the occasional bangs and crashes. It set him on edge. Hyde was sprawled out on a maroon chaise lounge, taking up the entire thing with his legs stretched out. Theo was sitting at a small table amusing herself with a deck of cards.

This was the worst part of spying on someone. The long hours of boredom, staring out of a window and waiting for them to do something interesting. Adam had no taste for it. A loud pop behind him nearly had him jumping out of his skin.

Edward had found a bottle of whiskey.

“That’s not yours,” said Adam.

“Tis mine if I pay fer the room, which I did, and twice what a hovel like this is worth,” Edward snarled.

“Dr. Watson said you aren’t to drink or have cocaine while you work with us.”

“Come over here then and take it from me!” Teeth were bared, and the bottle was raised. Edward guzzled loudly.

Theo watched longingly as the amber liquid drained from the bottle. “I miss liquor." She folded her cards and stacked them. She could tell it was cheap stuff by the smell. Probably burned like hell going down. It didn’t stop her from feeling envious.

Adam stooped and shuffled over, snatching the bottle from Edward, not caring that some of the contents spilled on him. He pointed a finger at the diminutive fiend.

“No.”

Edward shot to his feet and began to kick Adam in his bent knees, a stream of obscenities falling from his lips with dribbles of liquid.

Fending him off with one hand and holding the bottle out of reach, Adam sighed and called to Theo, “Please help.”

“As long as there’s drink here, he’s going to want it. I’d just give it to him,” Theo replied most unhelpfully.

Adam threw her a sour look, then looked back at Edward. She wasn’t wrong. The only way to stop Edward was to remove the temptation. In a flash of spite he raised the bottle to his own lips, making sure Hyde could see what he was about to do.

Edward stilled, “You wouldn’t! Not the whole bottle!”

Adam grinned. He would. He did. And once he’d finished he coughed and nearly retched. It was vile. His throat felt as if it had caught fire. He suppressed his gagging long enough to give Edward a woozy grin.

“Oh you’re gonnae regret that,” Edward said with grudging admiration.

“We’ll see!” Adam shoved the empty bottle back at him.

Sure!

......

Theo tasted blood. Thick and coppery, mixed with mucus, it coated her mouth until she spat it into her handkerchief.

There wasn’t much time left. The consumption was eating her from the inside. She thought she’d feel despair when the time came. She’d been so afraid at the first sign of red droplets on her pillow. That first taste of blood on her tongue. She had cried, and then she’d screamed all her anger and hot indignation.

She couldn’t have screamed now even if she’d wanted to. The infection in her lungs had crawled up her throat, stealing her voice from her like one of the fair folk from her old Nan’s stories.

“Where’s my faerie gift in exchange, eh, Nan?” she rasped, every word costing her more of her precious little strength.

Theo was too tired to perform anymore these days. With no voice left to sing, she’d been turned out of the music hall. With no place left to go and the damp, cold night air settling in, she knew she wouldn’t see morning.

It was so cold now. The gas lamps were turning on, and the streets were clearing of people, all except the ladies of the night and the ragged workmen who came out at night to light the lamps, sweep the streets, catch the rats, and make the world soft and clean for the creatures who inhabited the day.

She passed a chimney sweep’s apprentice curled up by the stoop of a house he’d either freshly cleaned or was waiting to be let in. A small boy of no more than six, he was sleeping black as workers of his profession often did, with his dirty soot bag clutched to his chest. Theo wouldn’t have minded going to sleep herself. A heavy weight had begun to set in her limbs, and her breath was becoming more labored. She fished into her thin trouser pocket and pulled out a few coins. It had been meant to buy her one more supper, but she wasn’t hungry. Would never be again, she figured. She dropped them next to the child without waking him.

Theo walked on for no reason other than to stay on her feet for as long as she was still able. At length the leaden feeling in her limbs slowed her, and another wave of bloody sputum worked its way out of her aching body. She sank down until her cheek pressed against rough cobblestones. The lamplight overhead flickered against a looming shape over her. As everything began to fade to darkness it looked like an orange halo framing the head of a kneeling figure.

How funny, she thought.

Then she was gone.

…..

it's making me appreciate short kings who smoke cigars

may I possibly request more swan art, if possible no stress

A sex scene is same as a fight scene, a dance scene, or any scene of intense activity characters might do together. How much point it has and how much you get out of it is going to depend on what the genre is and how much attention to character development the writers are giving. There is no inherent lack of purpose to a sex scene that you couldn't argue for any other type of activity scene in a film.

Even as an ace person I don't get NOTHING out of a sex scene if it's well written and I am invested in how the characters interact with each other. There is a lot of trust, vulnerability, tenderness or violence that can go on in an intimate scene that you can't really get with the same magnitude in a different context. It's not just about being horny. I may not ever feel horny but I can feel other things in scenes of intimacy that are cathartic, intriguing, or even relatable.

The point of art, any art, is to evoke emotions in the audience. That doesn't mean you're going to feel everything that an artist or writer is trying to convey. It's not even required that you be horny to be able to enjoy or contemplate a sex scene.

The only time a sex scene exists with no purpose other than to sexually stimulate you as a viewer is in porn and I could make an argument that porn isn't even without merit as an artform or that we cannot have academic or philosophical conversations about it and what the kind of porn we consume says about our culture and society. I can also make an argument that we don't HAVE to have academic or philosophical conversations because it's perfectly ok just to want to feel horny just like it's ok to want to feel sad or scared. There is a catharsis and a relief to be found in the intensity of certain genres.

This doesn't mean every sex scene works or does something important for the plot. It doesn't mean a movie or book isn't handling it badly. There are plenty of bad or poorly written scenes that are just the director putting his fetish on the screen to the detriment of their characters and story. But that isn't a ubiquitous truth and it's no worse than when any other type of scene fails. I've seen pointless sports montages, dumb fight scenes that went on way to long, and unsatisfying slasher kills across plenty of genres but no one is getting their panties in a twist over those.

I think it would benefit more people to take a neutral perspective on sex and its place in art because, whether we participate in it ourselves or not, it is a fundamental part of the human condition and it can be provocative, insightful and even beautiful in the hands of a strong writer.