I know everyone loves ghouls now because of Coop but do you like Ghouls like Rotface, Harland, Gob, Charon, Edward Deegan and - obviously - my man, Hancock?
Hancock is my husband, Coop is my new serious boyfriend but the rest of these cute boys are either casual sex buddies or drinking/cuddling buds 🥹🥓❤️ ✨ Polyghoulamous ✨
Why are ghouls so freaking adorable though?
*Ps. I know Harold is technicalllllyyy not a ghoul but I still see him as my OG boy so he gets bundled with the cutie pies 🥧
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Barking Harker Cast Snapshot 1: A Pretty Girl in Piccadilly
I have regretted her more than once, and I regret her still. My soul’s peace has been very dearly bought. The love of God was not too much to replace such a love as hers. And this, brother, is the story of my youth. Never gaze upon a woman, and walk abroad only with eyes ever fixed upon the ground; for however chaste and watchful one may be, the error of a single moment is enough to make one lose eternity. –Romuald, “La Morte Amoureuse,” or, “Clarimonde”
I was looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Giuliano’s, when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his breath: "My God!" I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to him quickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.
He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us. [...] The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a hansom. –Mina Harker, Dracula
Oh, pretty girl in Piccadilly, I don’t believe you’re a native of England. Nor are you so young as you look. Stoker never brings her back into the light as the novel goes on. Neither a revealing diary entry nor newspaper clipping of import is shown. She slips through the cracks like a wisp of smoke. Which is to be expected; a dead woman needs only so many funerals announced per century. It has been some while since her last one. Far longer since she kept company with certain unsavory undead parties whose state of living death robbed them of shadow and reflection while her own remain voluptuously intact. One of whom she thought left behind in the cold of the Carpathians.
But no. The Count is abroad and—what rare coincidence!—has happened upon her latest terrain. He would scarcely forgive himself if he did not catch up with his old friend. Much to her frank displeasure. She could almost celebrate when he flees first Piccadilly, then England altogether come October.
…An exit that seems far too tame for the voivode she remembers. She tells herself it is merely one of his old games. Another round of playing with his food. But she wonders.
About him. About the vanished hunting party. About whether it’s worth it to put her latest resurrection’s bounty of hedonism on pause to do more than wonder, and begin to worry. She sincerely hopes not. The last time she cared too deeply about anything beyond herself resulted in nothing but grief. No, no, she will not bother herself with whatever hobby Dracula is indulging in now. Not at all.*
*(Clarimonde is nothing if not a fine actress. So talented she can still fool herself.)
More to come. 👁
Barking Harker details here.
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SANS NOOOOOOOOON TU AURAIS PAS PU FAIRE PLUS ATTENTION 😭😭
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Mort. In his winter PJ’s. Clearly annoyed at whoever is bothering him at this hour. (It’s Toten. It’s always Toten. Who I should probably draw again before the year ends, the poor lad lol.)
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