pininghermit

[pininghermit]

that selkie fic is so fucking cute im foamjng at the mouth

Aww thank you so much!! Here is another snippet I had in mind but did not add. Hopefully I can make some more parts of this dynamic because I love the dynamic so much 😭

The nest was comfortable. Unfairly so.

Adrian hated how well he fit into it. Or perhaps it was the songs you sang ,low and ancient, ocean-laced melodies that lulled him into sleep against his will.

He lay with his head resting on your chest, arms tucked beneath your shared weight, listening to the gentle hum vibrating through your body.

Your pelt draped over him, soft beyond reason. You had shaped it into scarves and coats and ridiculous winter hats, all for him, despite his insistence that cold never bothered him.

You never listened.

Your fingers trailed over the old scars on his chest pale reminders of past, half-faded into his skin.

“Human hurt you?” you asked softly, your Western tongue still a little clumsy, each word carefully chosen.

He blinked up at you, eyes still heavy with the pull of your song. “Some did,” he said after a pause.

You frowned, fingertips pausing over a particularly ragged scar. “Why?”

Adrian exhaled through his nose. “Because I was… my father hurt them.”

You tilted your head, confused. “Why hurt you? Your father is not you.”

He smiled faintly. “They did not see it that way.”

You looked at him for a long time, eyes luminous and full of a quiet sorrow.

“Foolish humans,” you whispered.

And Adrian didn’t correct you.

Because, in that moment, curled in a nest of salt-scented blankets, your pelt over his shoulders, your heartbeat beneath his ear, he almost believed it too.

[pininghermit]

Brine Coated

AN: Obsessed with Selkie lore today. Gotta write something for LaDs as well.

Genre: fluff/ Accidental Spouse Acquisition

Pairing(s): Alucard x gn Selkie Reader

Summary: You beamed. “It’s old magic. Very sacred. Selkies don’t give away their pelts unless they’re ready. But when someone gives it back, willingly, without being asked, it means they’re kind. Good. Worthy.”

These days, a shadow followed Adrian.

Pattering feet. Bare, salt-kissed. A presence at his heels as he carried wood, hammered windowsills, or visited the coastal village for supplies.

Castle Dracula had moved, far from its misty northern lands to the sunlit shores of the South. A ridiculous notion, really. But then again, so were you.

And now? Adrian had no intention of ever leaving. He couldn’t. Not unless he wished to condemn you to the icy lakes of the North, and he wasn’t quite cruel enough for that.

Ah, yes. You.

The literal tsunami that had brought both chaos and wonder into his life.

When had it started?

A month ago, maybe. The day he met you.

It struck Adrian a second too late, the significance of what he was handing you.

Just a cloak, or so he thought. A soft, shimmering thing, faintly damp and fragrant with salt. He’d found it discarded on the shore while walking alone, post-hunt. Something precious, clearly, but odd. Carefully folded, bound in sea-silk cord.

He’d picked it up and offered it out. “Is this yours?”

You turned, eyes wide. And then your expression shifted, parted lips, breath caught, awe blooming across your face like sunrise.

Then: joy.

“I accept,” you gasped, clutching the pelt to your chest like a heartbeat. “I accept it. I accept it a thousand times over!”

Before he could speak, you flung your arms around his neck.

Adrian staggered back, startled. His arms moved on instinct, catching you, steadying you. You burrowed your face against his collarbone, sighing in utter peace.

He blinked, thoroughly confused. “...What exactly are you accepting?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brow furrowed in gentle confusion. “The bond,” you said, as if it were obvious. “You returned my skin to me. That makes you mine. And me yours.”

His mouth opened. Closed. “I’m sorry—the what now?”

You beamed. “It’s old magic. Very sacred. Selkies don’t give away their pelts unless they’re ready. But when someone gives it back, willingly, without being asked, it means they’re kind. Good. Worthy.”

He stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

“I was just... returning something I found in the sand,” he muttered. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“You were,” you said sweetly. “The greatest favor.”

He groaned under his breath. “And now I’m what? Married to a sea spirit?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Is that what humans call it?” You brightened. “Then yes. That.”

Adrian stepped back, holding you gently at arm’s length, holding you by the scruff and you almost purred. “Do you even know what that means?” he asked hesitantly.

You frowned. “It means we belong to each other now. I’ll take care of you. You’ll stay with me. I’ll braid kelp in your hair when the tide’s kind.”

He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly. “That’s... not quite what marriage is.”

You blinked. “Is there more?”

He hesitated. You stared at him, full of awe and unshakable trust. No calculation, no demand. Just wonder. And it unraveled something in him.

“Where I’m from,” you whispered, brushing a fleck of blood from his cheek, “we gamble our pelts hoping they’ll find good hands. Hoping someone will be gentle. That they’ll understand what they hold. Most never do. They keep it. Hide it. Use us.”

Adrian’s chest tightened.

“But you gave it back,” you said softly. “And that means everything.” Then you leaned forward. And innocently pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Adrian froze.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For choosing me.”

You tucked your face against his shoulder again, pelt clutched tightly to your chest like a sacred relic. Already settled. Already his.

Adrian stared at the sky. “…I need a drink.”

You hummed in agreement. “Will we share one now? Is that part of bonding too?”

He didn’t answer.

You smiled brightly. “I shall follow you now.”

“I was afraid of that.” Adrian turned, fully intending to walk back to the village and pretend none of this had happened. But then he heard the gentle padding of your bare feet behind him, utterly content to trail after him like an obedient cat.

“Do you eat fish?” you asked, conversational.

“No.”

“Do you eat anything?”

“Unfortunately.”

You paused. “Do you have a nest prepared?”

He stopped walking. “What?”

“For us,” you said. “Soft things. Feathers. Kelp. You’ll need to start collecting.”

Adrian turned, very slowly, to stare out at the ocean. He took a long, suffering breath, the kind that rattled all the way down to his ribs, and muttered a curse into the laughing wind.

You repeated it, bright and curious. Perfectly pronounced.

He groaned. “Don’t say that.”

“But you said it.”

“Yes. That was a mistake.”

You grinned. “Like giving me back my pelt?”

Adrian didn’t answer. Just kept walking.

You followed, humming. Planning the nest.

[pininghermit]

2:58 am

Reader POV

You spot Adrian Tepes, perched beside his father’s throne. His golden hair coils into perfect ringlets. His skin is porcelain-pale, untouched by time or sun, and his features are so finely cut they border on cruel, cheekbones like carved marble, a sharp jaw softened only slightly by youth. His lips, full and unsmiling. His sharp nose tilts with the haughty pride of a prince born untouchable.

He meets your gaze briefly, lifting his chalice in casual amusement as you run your sword through another of his personal guards. The blade lodges deep in a shoulder before you twist and lunge again. Behind you, the wet thump of severed flesh echoes like a drumbeat.

Through sweat-slick lashes, you catch glimpses of the crowd. Some cheer. Some sneer. Some rise, weapons in hand, debating whether to join in.

You don’t care.

You will win.

You will claim their untouchable prince.

And then, before the eyes of this blood-drenched court, you will break him. Break his pride, his poise, his pretense.

Vlad Dracula will witness what mortal rage looks like. He will watch as you drive your sword through his only son’s heart.

And the queen, traitor to her kin, will see it too.

You’ve seen their eyes, these gilded immortals. Hungry. Hollow. They covet the warmth in your blood, deeming it wasted on their precious dhampir prince. Greed and power rot in their bones like old wine turned sour.

Greed to take what was never theirs.

You think of the prince. Young, by their standards. Foolish enough to allow mortals into the betrothal trials. Perhaps he believed it would pacify the restive lands. Perhaps he never expected one of you to survive this far.

But you did.

And he will learn.

They’ve forgotten. Forgotten the injustice, the rage, the ruin they left behind. Forgotten what it cost your people. Forgotten how it burns in your blood even now.

But you remember.

And he, Adrian Tepes, will never forget again.

Bathed in rotten blood, laughter tears from your throat. Your arms ache. Your vision blurs. But you keep moving. Keep fighting. Because you have a court to battle.

And a prince to shatter.

Adrian POV

You make a mess of everything.

Blood on the marble. Screaming in the rafters. Another corpse topples.

Adrian sighs through his nose, annoyed at the spectacle, not because of the deaths, but because of the sheer vulgarity of it all. This was supposed to be a pageant, not a butchering. A ceremonial test.

Instead, it’s become artless carnage.

He shifts in his seat beside the throne, the golden filigree of his rings catching the firelight as he lazily rolls the stem of his goblet between pale fingers. The wine inside is older than your family line.

A mortal, angry and wild-eyed, tearing through trained vampires like they’re little more than meat.

The court is watching.

They cheer. They gasp. They wager.

But Adrian watches with a different lens. Detached. Clinical. He sees the twitch in your shoulder. Notes the fatigue hidden beneath your fury. A cracked rib, likely. Maybe two.

You won't last much longer. And when you finally collapse, bleeding and pitiful at the foot of his dais, he’ll offer you a slow death. Something poetic. Something merciful enough to make the court sigh with admiration, but brutal enough to remind them why he is still Vlad’s son.

He’ll feed your story to the bards. Glorify it. Immortalize it in art. Your rage will become a sonnet.

Adrian sips his wine and smiles faintly.

The poor mortal, really thought you had a chance.

Trevor POV

He stands in the third rank, armor doused in blood not his own.

No one notices the trembling in his hand. No one asks why his sword remains clean. His helm hides his eyes well enough, eyes not locked on the prince, but on the feral mortal.

You're still alive.

Gods, you made it this far.

He told you not to come. Told you they would eat you alive. Told you the court would never accept you, a mortal.

But you came anyway.

Now he watches you cleave through another vampire, your sword dragging slightly from the weight. Your back is slick with sweat. Your mouth trembles from exhaustion.

But you keep going.

He can see Adrian watching too, perched like a cat on a velvet altar. Preening at the admiration showered his way.

His jaw tightens beneath his helm.

He came here with a plan. A blade hidden, a signal memorized, a route burned into his mind. But the timing had to be perfect. One wrong move and you die before the throne ever enters your reach.

Not yet.

Not yet.

He breathes slowly. Counts your heartbeats from across the chamber like a prayer.

Let you make it to the foot of the dais.

Let him look you in the eye.

Let the crown believe you're alone.

Then the blade will sing.

And the court will know what betrayal feels like from within its own ranks.

[pininghermit]

11:23 pm

"You were loved, Adrian," you whisper softly to his cheek, cupped in your palm. "Both Lisa and Vlad loved you dearly. Even a fall from grace could not erase that love." You close your eyes.

"Then was it love that pushed my father's sword to my heart?" he counters fiercely, his eyes blazing with defiance. His vigor out of place in the tender moment.

"No," you shake your head. "No, Adrian. It was love that stopped it in its path. It was its presence that brought peace to the world. I would know it. I would know the absence of such love. I have carried it within me for years."

That silences him. It does not convince him, but Adrian will not prod at the chasm that lies in your heart.

"I do not place my ache above yours, but I will not have you live bitter and blind to love. Not if it strips you of the joy of being alive." You tilt his chin to face you, to look into your eyes.

He won't ask.

You won't tell.

Why fond memories of Adrian and Vlad leave you wistful. Why you never speak of home. Why loud voices make you flinch and bring tears to your eyes.

He will not ask. He dare not. For he fears he will know the truth, know how unloved you were left before him. He will know it, and he would be unable to mend it. He would come to realize how incapable he is of healing that ache.

At a loss for words, he comforts you in the only way that does not require them. He presses his lips to yours.

His breath careful, his fingers wrapping around your nape, kissing away the ache.

Making it known, loud and clear, that love had found you. That you, too, were loved.

By a broken dhampir, but it was love nonetheless.

[pininghermit]

A Face of Past

AN: I haven't written for Adrian in eons, so this is my attempt to get writing again. Not the best but goofy enough to be a motivator. This is for the one anon, who so kindly request me to write Adrian once again.

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): Alucard x gn Reader

Summary: “You walked into my graveyard, uninvited,” he said, voice low and velvet-dark. “Sat at my gate. Spoke with my dead.”

He found you outside his castle just past midnight, bathed in moonlight and audacity.

You stood before the front gates, in front of the rotting corpses impaled on iron, still fresh with the stench of cruelty. A warning. A promise. A line not meant to be crossed.

And there you were, sitting right in front of them, talking to their bones like they were old friends.

He stepped out, unarmed, not that it mattered. His claws ached beneath his gloves. He would’ve torn out your heart before you could scream.

But you didn’t scream.

You didn’t even flinch.

Instead, you scowled into a rattling satchel of bones and relics at your side. “No. Absolutely not,” you muttered. “I’m not raising you. I told you already. I’m not dragging you across dimensions just so you can stab your cousin again.”

You paused. Sighed. Pulled out a cracked amulet and flicked it like a disappointed teacher.

“No, I will not be bribed.”

He narrowed his eyes. You… were human. Or close enough.

But no human acted like this. No mortal in their right mind sat among his victims and argued with ghosts like they were bickering siblings.

Then you turned, and screeched, hands flailing like you’d just been caught stealing from a god.

“Oh. Oh no. Right. Right, yes, you did tell me someone was watching.” You looked back at one of the corpses. “You could’ve been more specific about the giant vampire lord part.”

Your eyes flicked up to him. Embarrassment bloomed on your face, color blooming across your cheeks like spilled wine. “Hi,” you said, voice strained and breathless. “This is… awkward.”

He didn’t move.

You smiled nervously and tucked a stray bone into your bag. “So, um. These corpses kind of… called me. It happens sometimes. Restless dead, unfinished business, all that. They were asking for revenge and I just… came before they attracted someone who’d actually go through with it.”

You fidgeted with your hands. “I’m a necromancer, by the way.” You offered your hand. Held it out a second too long. Then yanked it back like you’d touched fire. “Oops. Force of habit. People don’t usually like that. The handshake thing, I mean. But, like, I have hands, so sometimes it just...”

"Enough." His voice cut through the night like a blade through fog.

Your mouth shut.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, eyes glowing like coals beneath the weight of centuries. “You walked into my graveyard, uninvited,” he said, voice low and velvet-dark. “Sat at my gate. Spoke with my dead.”

You swallowed. “...Technically, they spoke first.”

“And yet, here you are. Whole.”

You forced a small smile. “I mean… temporarily.”

He stared at you for a moment too long. Then, unexpectedly, he huffed. Almost a laugh. More breath than sound. “You are either very stupid,” he said, “or very dangerous.”

“Can’t I be both?” you said brightly. Then winced. “Sorry. I get sarcastic when I’m scared.”

He said nothing. Just… watched.

And something in you knew, you weren’t being hunted. You were being considered.

You looked at the dhampir. Surrounded by ghosts of past. It was a wonder, his spirit had not blended with that of the castle, like many others.

Frail yet fierce. You noted the claws, dreadful claws.

The gutted merchant on the spike reached for your robes...or his alteast his bones called for you.

Urging you to raise him in order to avenge himself by killing the dhampir.

Alucard, they call called him. Whined and groaned into the cold mist.

"You should not be living here..." you offer your obligatory free advice. "This place is brimming with resentment that is settling into your soul, my lord."

You gesture toward the wall behind him, where the name Dracul was carved deep and angry into the stone. "It’s clinging to you. Even ghosts know when it’s time to move on."

He doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens.

You shift your weight, brushing ash from your coat. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

His jaw tenses. Slightly. But enough.

“You presume much,” he says.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, your gaze drifts past him, up toward the dark spires of the castle, to the wind curling through the bones on their pikes. Your voice softens.

“I’ve walked through enough places like this to know when someone’s soul is trying to leave before the body does.”

Silence. He doesn’t blink.

You look back at him. Not afraid. Not amused. Something older than both. “You’re not the first one to wear that face,” you say.

He freezes.

Slowly, you reach into your satchel. Deliberate. Careful. No sudden movements. You pull out a pendant. Blackened, broken, humming softly with something old and unfinished. It pulses faintly in the dark, as if recognizing the air it was forged to die in.

You don’t offer it. You simply hold it between your fingers, like you’re reminding the night of its own memory. When you speak, your voice is quiet. Not angry. Not accusing. “You left this in me last time.”

His eyes lock on the charm. Unmoving.

You tilt your head. Your lips quirk in something too soft to be a smile. “Right before you killed me.”

[pininghermit]

I miss you. Please come back! 🥺

You are so sweet. I promise, to return soon for you 😭💗 (I was having too much fun writing Love and Deepspace)

[pininghermit]

I hope you are doing well 💗

How do i find the other tropovania fics? There's no link on the master list. 😅

I am doing great, thank you for asking!

I'm so sorry but I suck at updating masterlist :( You could try searching them by the tag- Tropesvania.

That said this is a good call for me to finally update it 🤝

[pininghermit]

A Rite of Life

AN: Not my best work I seriously missed writing Adrian today. Thanks for requesting :) 👑 for anon who loves angst as much as I do.

Request: Hello!!! 🥺 Can i please request something angsty? In order to save the reader's life Adrian leaves her. The ending is upto you. 🙏😭

Genre: angst

Pairing(s): Alucard x gn Reader

Word Count: LONG (for tumblr rookie numbers for ao3)

Summary: His hand brushes your face. His touch is trembling. His voice is barely a whisper. “Then you’ll die.”

"Don't leave." You clutch his hand, your voice breaking. "Don't go. Please."

His hand stiffens beneath yours. Then he pulls away.

His eyes darken as he steps back. His heart aches at the weak grasp your fist still has on the edge of his cloak.

"No…" You stumble forward, collapsing to your knees. "Adrian, just listen."

He doesn’t look at you. His hands curl into trembling fists at his sides. His breath is shallow.

"I love you," you say, your voice thin and desperate. "I truly do. It doesn’t matter..."

He spins toward you so fast you barely register the movement before his hands are gripping your shoulders, hard enough to bruise.

"It does." His voice cracks as he screams it. His eyes burn with something sharp and jagged. "It absolutely does."

"I am cursed." His hands shake on your skin. "I am to be unloved. Do you not see what I did to them? And last night…"

He falters. His eyes wide in hysteria.

You know what he’s remembering.

His hand around your throat. The bruises blooming beneath his fingers. The gash at your ribs where the dagger had nearly gone too deep. He had been so close.

He’s breathing too fast now. His hands slip away from you as though touching you any longer might break him.

"It is my fate." His voice drops into something hollow. "The blood on my hands will not allow a peaceful end."

His head lowers. His hair falls into his face, shadowing his eyes. He will not look at you. He will not put you back in bed.

Not when leaving you is already tearing him apart.

"Do I not get a choice?" Your voice trembles. You push yourself to your feet even though the pain in your side screams through you. "What about my wish?"

His breath hitches.

You take a shaky step toward him. "You promised." A tear slides down your cheek. "You cannot leave. Keep your word, Adrian."

His jaw tightens. He looks away.

The wound beneath your ribs pulls at its seams, threatening to open. Perhaps that’s why everything hurts so much.

Or perhaps it’s just him.

How cruel of him, to make you beg.

No. You refuse to be abandoned.

"I will follow you."

You take a step. Then another. Your legs tremble beneath you.

He could leave you behind. He could run, and you would not make it far. But what other choice did he leave you?

"I am coming with you."

Adrian stops mid-step. His shoulders tense beneath his cloak.

A long silence stretches between you.

"No," he says. His voice is quiet. Flat.

You swallow. "Yes."

His gaze sharpens. "You don’t understand what you’re saying."

"Then explain it to me.

He doesn’t move. His hands are shaking.

“Adrian…” You reach for him.

His head snaps up.

For a brief moment, you freeze. His eyes turn black.

“Don’t.” His voice drops, low and cold. Too cold. “Stay back.”

You hesitate. “Adrian?”

He presses the heel of his palm to his temple, as though trying to crush something inside his skull. His breath grows ragged.

“It’s happening again.” His voice fractures.

A low chuckle bubbles from his throat but his lips don’t move.

“Ah. Poor Adrian.” A voice that isn’t his snakes through the air, smooth and sharp as glass. “Still pretending he has control.”

Ice creeps down your spine. “Who… who is that?”

Adrian’s mouth curves, not his usual tired smile, but a razor’s edge of cruelty. His head tilts toward you, his eyes foreign.

“You don’t know me?” The voice purrs. Adrian’s hand rises toward you, fingers flexing. His body tenses, like he’s trying to pull back, but his hand continues toward your throat.

“Stop,” Adrian rasps. His eyes flicker back to amber. His hand trembles in the air. “Don’t—”

But the dark sheen creeps back over his irises. His hand tightens, brushing your neck.

“How long will you fight me?” The dark voice murmurs. “You’re already losing.”

Adrian’s hand drops away. He stumbles back, clutching his head. “Run.”

“No.” You step toward him.

He lurches forward so fast you don’t have time to scream. His hand slams against the wall beside your head. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot, sharp. His eyes flash black.

“Run,” he growls. “Before I kill you.”

Your hand rises to his face. You cradle his cheek. His body shudders at the touch.

“Adrian.” Your voice is soft. “Come back to me.”

A flicker of amber flashes in his eyes. His breath stutters. His hand lowers.

"You’re a fool.” The dark voice ripples through his mouth, colder this time. “Because he can’t save you.”

You feel it before you see it.

His other hand shoots toward your side, fast and sharp. A dagger in his palm.

Your breath catches. He stops the blade an inch from your ribs, his arm trembling violently.

His hand shakes. His eyes flash again. Pain bursts across his face. “No...”

“Yes.”

The blade slips lower. Slowly, deliberately.

“Adrian, stop!”

His eyes meet yours. A flicker of anguish beneath the dark glimmer. His mouth opens. “I… can’t…”

And then he jerks away from you, hurling the blade to the floor. It clatters to the stone beneath you.

Adrian drops to his knees. His breath is ragged. His hands dig into his hair. “I’m losing.”

You kneel beside him, clutching his face between your hands. “Then let me help you.”

His eyes again, fragile and desperate, rise to meet yours.

“You can’t.” His voice cracks. “Because if you stay… I won’t be able to stop him next time.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw trembling. “That’s why I have to leave.”

Your heart shatters.

“But I can’t let you go. Not like this. Not alone with this.”

His hand brushes your face. His touch is trembling. His voice is barely a whisper.

“Then you’ll die.”

You shake your head. “Not without you.”

His hand falls away. His breath unsteady. “Then he’ll take you too.”

You freeze. “What?”

Adrian’s lips press into a thin line. “He wants you.”

And then his head tilts back. His lips curl into a sharp, dark smile.

“Oh, yes.”

The voice slithers out of his throat, slick and intimate. “I’ve wanted you from the beginning.”

Your breath falters.

“Adrian?”

You step back.

Adrian’s hand rises toward your throat again.

His body shudders. His mouth opens. A breathless sound, a choked plea beneath the entity’s voice.

“Run.”

You stand your ground.

The dark smile widens. “Oh… that’s why I like you.”

Adrian lunges toward the dagger at his side but I’m faster. His hand twists beneath mine, the blade gleaming between his fingers.

"No—"

The knife rises toward your side, swift and inevitable. Adrian screams beneath me, fighting tooth and nail for control. His mind is a storm of resistance, but his body obeys me.

"STOP!"

The things I could do to you.

I could make him watch.

I could make him listen to the sound of your breath stuttering beneath the blade.

But not yet.

Your breath shudders against the air. Your hand rises toward Adrian’s cheek, trembling.

"Adrian."

Adrian’s mind fractures beneath the weight of that single word. His resistance falters.

Disgusting.

I push back hard, snapping Adrian’s consciousness like a bone. His body jerks as I slip back into control. My hand slides toward the back of your neck.

"Do you think you can save him?" My voice is soft. A mockery of Adrian's lovelorn whispers.

Your eyes meet mine, wide and burning.

Ah, yes delightfully defiant.

[pininghermit]

Never heard of a ship event before so exciting!

Hobbies: drawing, writing, walking, swimming, petting cats, messing with people

Interests: history (fashions, habits, social hierarchy, gadgets etc), the ocean, psychology, classical books

Physical: Undercut but long dark brown hair, brown skin of all shades because I don't tan evenly nor do I bother to, brown eyes too God made sure I had the entire range of brown, strong build but I am really short, I have strong thick thighs to make up for my average ass arms

Traits/Quirks: I apologize every time I accidentally kick a frog into the air I genuinely didn't want to do that but they always jump in the middle of me walking, I greet trees because it's polite and you never know if there's a fairy about to fuck you up. I would lie if I think it's going to be hilarious, it's connected with my habit of wanting to mess with people. My family thinks I'm possessed by an animal spirit but it's really just autism and ADHD. I'm a yapper if the person I'm with is silent but I do the opposite if I'm with someone very energetic. I spout random facts I learn the more disturbing/disgusting/shocking the better. In general don't tell me if you are afraid of spiders/snakes I would use it against you for my entertainment.

Hello changeling 🙋🏻‍♀️, it is great to see diversity like this in my inbox. I love your gremlin nature. The perfect balance of messing with everyone but respecting nature is god tier behavior.

I believe you will just the right amount of chaos that can cheer this certain moping dhampir. I ship you with none other than the main character of my blog- Adrian Tepes

He is broody and you can talk to the end of times. I spot a perfect pairing.

"Ah yes, Adrian has just mastered sleeping upside down, so celebrations are in order."

You announce this with the proudest tone imaginable.

The room falls into stunned silence. Every pair of eyes locks onto you in pure disbelief.

Behind you, Adrian rests a hand on your shoulder, sighing dramatically.

"It was incredibly difficult to master as a dhampir," he laments, dead serious. "I simply cannot do it with the ease my father did. It made me feel closer to him."

Adrian wipes away a nonexistent tear.

You picture Dracula hanging upside down like a bat and nearly lose it.

Trevor groans, dragging a hand down his face in exhausted resignation.

The rest of the group hesitates, awkwardly nodding, their expressions twisting in at least ten different shades of confusion.

One by one, they fall into the trap.

You and Adrian exchange the faintest smirk.

"Congratulations," some poor guy shuffles awkwardly, trying to be supportive.

After all, this is a support group for coping humans, or part-humans, one you and Adrian were forcefully dragged to by Sypha.

Coming was mandatory.

Not having fun?

Not mentioned anywhere in Sypha’s instructions.

And if you had to be here…

You were going to enjoy every second of it.

[pininghermit]

Hi! May I ask what are your other blogs? :)

@a-hermit-pining is my other blog where I just started posting about Love and Deepspace.

Other ones are a secret shhh🤭

[pininghermit]

Abel!💖 Jackpot! He's so cute! I'd sure love to carry him like a delicate princess that he is.

I just looked it up and he is 143 pounds which is not a lot for such a tall guy. Doable 💪haha

Thank you for taking the time to write for me💖

Wow! You go and lift that crusnik. I am so proud of you (cries is 0 upper body strength)

[pininghermit]

Morning! I got so excited when I saw your post you have no idea. No choice of fandom? Good! I love them all

Hobbies: weight lifting, computer games, cooking, singing(that does not mean I sing well mind you but I do enjoy it regardless so ha)

Don't have many interests but I do enjoy deep sea creatures. I also have pet crabs and they are so cute and always up to no good.

Wavy carmel blond hair, blue eyes, pale, tall, on the slim side but working hard at buliding muscles

Character traits: pragmaric, independent, loyal, self-disciplined, friendly, curious, sometimes awkward, overthinker, stubborn

Thank you for doing the event!

I am a fan of you for lifting as I type this with noodle arms. You are the cool, mysterious character I and all the bubbly ones fall for.

Given how interesting and diverse your hobbies are, I ship you with the chaotic Abel Nightroad (he is part of the bubbly gang)

Thank you for sending in a request :3

Abel flails in your arms.

He did not expect this. By the heavens...he was blushing. Could a Crusnik even do that?

"AAHhhh—you're going to drop me!" He clings to you tighter, trying desperately to push away any improper thoughts about the way you’re holding him. "Put me down!" he protests, eyes scrunched shut, yet making no actual effort to escape.

Slowly, he peeks one eye open… only to find your face alarmingly close to his.

Hope of hiding the flush on his cheeks? Gone.

And then he sees it, your grin.

Oh no.

He is positively whipped.

Does he blame it on the lack of his usual 20 cubes of sugar-laced coffee? Yes. Does it help? Not in the slightest.

But now, a new thought creeps in.

When did you get so strong?

Your arms… he could feel them.

He had never realized that being carried could be such a divine experience. No wonder you enjoyed it so much.

And now…

He gets to enjoy it too.

[pininghermit]

I am bored and doing a ship event for my another blog. So why not extend the curtsey to my immortal vampire/dhampir/crusnik folks?

Send in a physical/intellectual/crackhead description of yourself- including but not limited to- hobbies, fun facts, interests and I will ship you with one of the creatures of this blog. Do you get to choose the fandom? No. But you do get a blurb 200-300 words.

No take backs because. I'm right, you're wrong.

[pininghermit]

A God's Worship

Request: I hope you are doing well 💗 I love the new Adrian x dutchess reader story. I got the prompt, 'Psyco'. I was wondering if you could write a Adrian Tepes x female reader story where the reader is a bit unhinged. But he is madly in love with her. Like a dark, twisted tale. 😁

AN: Hello anon, thank you for reading my work! Here is your request. I hope you enjoy this. Unhinged but madly in love readers are my fav. I tried something new by writing this one poetically.

Genre: drama & angst ig

Pairing(s): Alucard x gn Reader

Summary: His breath hitches. His heartbeat slows. His eyes flutter shut beneath your touch. And the world falls apart.

Some sacrifice love for good. Some burn the world for love. Some light it up. And some… create a new one.

This story is for those who become God to worship their love.

"It is not real!"

Adrian clutches Lisa’s hand, his golden eyes wide, trembling with frantic terror.

"You're dead!"

His body, shrouded in blankets, wracks with shivers as he points a shaking finger at his father.

"And you… I killed you. Why are you here?"

He flinches from their touch, ignoring the gentle hands trying to soothe him, to press a cup of medicine to his lips.

"My dear," Lisa whispers, cupping his damp cheeks. "It is a dream. We are here with you."

She pulls him into her arms, a mother’s warmth, he remember it well. Her warmth, the scent of herbs and ink...his mother.

"A nightmare of the past. Your father and I live. We are alive."

But her words are hollow, empty as the castle halls.

Adrian presses his hands over his ears.

"This is a lie… a spell, a dream, an illusion." His voice wavers, a fragile thing on the brink of breaking. Sweat drips from his temple, strands of pale hair clinging to his nape.

Then—

"Shhh."

A voice silences the storm in his mind.

A whisper, just by his ear. Lips brushing his skin.

"You are safe."

His breath hitches. His heartbeat slows. His eyes flutter shut beneath your touch.

And the world falls apart.

Adrian links his arm through yours.

It takes effort, his gaze refuses to leave you tonight.

The winter ball of the Fae glows with silver light, a kingdom sculpted from frost and moonbeams. Next to him, you are a wonder, robes spun from the midnight sky, glimmering with woken stars. Your hair cascades down your back, untamed, luminous with crystals of ice braided in.

The court is frozen in time, statues carved by the careful hands of devoted brownies.

His mother and father are lost in a sea of dancers, their laughter carried by the wind, lost among masked dancers.

Adrian rubs his thumb over your palm.

"You look beautiful, my love."

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"Dance with me?"

At your nod, he whisks you onto the floor.

His arms around you. Yours around him. Closer than ever.

He dances with the same effortless grace as his father.

Dracula, after all, had taught him the waltz of the Unseelie Court.

Sun-spun hair rests beneath your fingers. He smiles, laughter spilling from his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

His steps creak—

Not against polished marble, but against worn wooden floors.

Dust shifts beneath his shoes, months of neglect disturbed with each movement.

Yet his smile remains.

His eyes remain lost in the illusion of your faraway court.

Perhaps it would be easier to let him stay here.

If it brings him joy, you would leave Dracula’s crumbling castle in a heartbeat.

"Do you like it here?" You nod to the marvelous sights of your court that your beloved revels in.

Your fingers weave into his hair, cradling the warmth of his head against your palm.

"Why not stay longer?"

The question is light, effortless. Crafted with delicate precision to mask the quiet desperation curling inside you.

What you would not do to have him here, in your world.

To drape him in silks, to spoil him with the everlasting luxuries of your court.

Adrian frowns.

Hesitation lays itself bare upon his face, a fragile thing for you to pluck away at first sight.

Spells make it easier to read him.

"No… please, no." His fingers tighten around your sleeve, his grip trembling. "I cannot leave home."

His steps falter. His eyes clear, gold sharpening through the mist of illusion. "Must stay with mother...and father," he whimpers.

The edges of your glamour wither, fragile as the first frost beneath morning light.

"Alright, beloved."

You pull him into your embrace, his breath shaky against your shoulder.

"No more. We won’t leave. We shall stay where you wish"

With a mere thought, the phantom forms of his parents step closer.

"We shall stay with your parents."

A reassurance. A spell. A carefully woven promise.

You usher him back into the comfort of his dream. The world you have made for him.

Your beloved is happy there. Fulfilled.

Who are you to deny him?

Here, the castle stands untouched, as it had in the past.

Here, the bodies of traitorous friends do not rot in the woods.

Here, the church has never burned.

Here, the humans still live.

Here, you have given him the world he desires.

And in return, Adrian chooses life.

Next to you. Here.

You twirl him in your arms, guiding him through another waltz beneath the dream-lit sky.

He dances with you, laughter slipping through his lips, until exhaustion drapes over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

His body leans into yours. He tires more easily now. Agitation wears at him faster, the strain of his soul bound to your spell pressing upon his fragile form.

It had been his fading soul that led you to this.

By the time you found him, it was already too late.

Broken by grief, your beloved had been lost to the cold corridors of his misery, wasting away within the crumbling bones of his father’s castle.

But you refused to let go of him.

Your love, your passion, your despair, your grief, it was all his.

But mercy?

No.

You refused to grant him that.

You refused to let his soul wander where you could not follow.

So, you made him a world.

Seared his soul to yours.

Even death would not take him. Not at the cost of him.

You yawn, feigning drowsiness.

"Shall we retire?"

Adrian blinks up at you, bleary-eyed, nodding without question.

You lead him to his room, guiding him to the bed with a gentleness neither of you deserve.

He does not question the sudden shift in scenery.

Does not question the way his vision wavers, as if some part of him knows.

He simply settles into your arms, his face buried against your neck, breathing softly.

And you hold him closer, knowing he will never wake from this dream.

[pininghermit]

On Your Toes

Request: Hi (* ´ ▽ ` *) I hope you are still accepting spin the wheel requests. I got , fan and idol as a prompt. If you aren't too busy at the moment, can you please write a story for Adrian Tepes x Idol!reader? Like he pretends to dislike her music but finds her voice soothing, secretly admires her and... loves her. 🫣🙃

AN: Thanks for requesting! This is slightly different from you request but I seriously had to write it to escape my writer's block (partially due to Love and Deep Space wrecking my life) Also ik Ballerino is Italian but can we roll with this please because danseurs sounds mad pretentious.

Genre: Idol/Ballet au

Pairing(s): Alucard x GN Reader

Summary: You were the rat when Adrian became Hans-Peter in The Nutcracker. The infamous mirror on the wall when he played Prince Charming. Yorick to his brooding Hamlet. The clapping monkey to his moping Phantom of the Opera.

"I'm sure 14-year-olds love your so called 'art'," Adrian says, rolling his eyes with a huff as he leans back against the windowsill. "Is it worth leaving years of hard work?"

Crouching in front of him, you rest his feet on your thigh and begin unlacing the bloodied pointe shoe, which clings stubbornly to the oozing callouses on his skin.

"You forgot your ointment again?" You sigh, already reaching for the travel-sized tube you always carry. That habit has never left you, from the past to now.

With gentle hands, you apply the cool gel to his raw soles. Above you, Adrian sucks in a sharp breath, his toes curling at the sudden sting of relief.

"I missed you." You stand up after wrapping his feet in bandages and pulling on mismatched warm socks, socks he never had a complete pair of. "And I worry too. Now that I’m here, I know I have a good reason to fret." Your gaze lingers on his sunken cheeks.

"I do not require your pity!" Adrian huffs, turning his back to you. "Go back to your glamorous life. Aren't you above ballet now? Too good for it?" His words cut deep into your heart.

It has been three years. Three long years since he refused to answer your calls, moved out of the home you once shared, leaving behind nothing but a lonely ring.

He, who is in the lyrics of your every song, the muse for your art, he has left you. Or perhaps, you pushed him away.

Eighteen years ago, at the age of seven, you first met him. In that ballet class, when you both let go of your weary parents’ hands and walked into a room where you became the best of friends.

It was no less than a wedding pyre, where your blood, sweat, and endless hours bound you both into something more.

Adrian loved ballet. His feet never faltered, his arms refused to tremble, even in the swiftest lifts. He was most beautiful in his dance.

You, on the other hand, could never find solid ground beneath your feet while lost in staring at him.

To some extent, you enjoyed the sway of music that came in waves. You relished the closeness it offered, the bond it allowed between you and your friend.

Music, you loved. Just as Adrian loved ballet. Music taught you how to love.

From the scrawled notes on your notebook covers to your cheap GarageBand subscription, you loved losing yourself to the sounds of the world around you.

But all that had to wait, tucked away in the tiny pockets of your time, the ones spared beyond ballet.

You loved music, but you loved him more.

For years, you did.

You were the rat when Adrian became Hans-Peter in The Nutcracker. The infamous mirror on the wall when he played Prince Charming. Yorick to his brooding Hamlet. The clapping monkey to his moping Phantom of the Opera.

You grasped at pieces, but all that remained were shadows. Ballet was never your calling.

It was the old SoundCloud rap that thrust you into the shoes that were made for you.

From a small re-release, to album deals, to company contracts, your world pulled you closer.

And no matter how hard you tried to cling to the ballet studio, your heart reached for the keys of your keyboard.

Productions rarely ever kept you, and with a distracted mind, roles slipped through your fingers.

Weeks later, Adrian found himself alone on the stage. Broken from the reverie of his practice, he searched for you. Backstage. The costume room. The tech booth.

You were gone.

And then he saw the script.

Your name wasn’t there.

You had left him. Alone. Lost in his dance.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

Was he to blame? Had he kept you from your passion?

Wrath. Hurt. Guilt. Heartbreak. They flooded him all at once.

That day, for the first time, his feet ached. Not from exhaustion, not from relentless training, but from something deeper. Never before had he cared about pain over his dance. Yet, in that moment, it hurt more than anything.

So he left. Just as you had. Without a word, he walked away—from your home, your ring, everything.

He abandoned you.

He refused to love this version of you. He refused to be the one left behind. So he left first.

This was your penance, and his.

Never again did his feet tire. Never again did his smile falter. He poured himself into his craft, drowning in movement, in rhythm, in perfection.

But who could resist a siren’s call?

Even as he spun through daring choreography, even as he lost himself in dance, his ears could not escape your music.

That brash, loud, jarring music, the very thing that had torn you apart.

Songs that were all about him. Words that glided with melody like his body through motion.

He knew how much it meant to you.

Music, to you, was what ballet had become to him.

And much to his dismay, he understood that far too well.

After all these years, after countless lovers taken just to spite you, he had not expected this.

For the idol so many cherished to kneel beside him as you once did. For you to be so gentle, so familiar in your every action.

For you to still carry the ointment, the one none of the dancers could afford. You had bought it for him back then, and you hadn’t stopped now.

He had not expected you to ignore all the hurt and continue loving him.

It was unfair. Unbearably cruel. To be so good to him.

His heart protested, curling in on itself at the sight.

He let you slip warm socks over his feet, trying his damnedest to hold back the tears.

But you were his friend. His adorable rat. His beloved.

How could he have wronged you? When he knew the answer too well.

The thing about love is that it cannot be held back. It cannot be unfelt.

Like a stubborn stream of water, it finds a way, seeping through the cracks of even the hardest heart.

And after all these years, it had never ceased to exist.

[pininghermit]

Duchess' Consort

Request: Loving your Tropovenia stories ❤️ I got, 'Against Parents'. Would you please write something about Adrian and modern reader with that prompt? 🥺

AN: Hello anon, I am glad you're enjoying my silly little event! I loved writing this and would have loved to add more bg but this event is for short stories so I tried my best. I hope you like it :)

Genre: drama & royalty au ish??

Pairing(s): Alucard x female Reader

Summary: “You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

“He’s a vampire!” your father roars, his face flushing red. It’s a familiar sight, one that mirrors your own anger. Apparently, temper ran strong in the family.

“And he’s a dhampir!” you snap back, marching toward him with equal fury.

The latest argument about your relationship had now passed the two-hour mark. You were both too stubborn to yield, two sides of the same damn coin. Exhaustion tugged at your shoulders, but neither of you would back down. Not yet.

With a huff of defeat, your father finally lowers himself into his chair, rubbing his temples. “You can’t just marry the son of Dracula,” he says, his voice weary but still carrying an edge of authority. “He’s no match for you.”

“We’re in love!” You slam a glass of water back, trying to swallow both the drink and your frustration. “And it’s not like I’m abandoning my duties. I’m still here. I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to. Isn’t that enough?”

Your father shakes his head slowly. “And what?” he retorts, his tone bitter. “Sully our bloodline with a half-vampire? You’d ruin everything. Do not make me regret not seeking another heir when I had the chance. Perhaps I should have remarried, like everyone insisted...”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and stinging. They lodge deep in your gut, twisting until your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall. You grit your teeth, clenching the glass in your hand so tightly you fear it might shatter.

“Worry not, Father,” you bite out through clenched teeth, your voice trembling with controlled rage. “I’ll be sure to have plenty of children with Adrian. Enough that I never have to suffer the same regrets you do!”

The room falls silent, your words hanging heavy in the air.

Your father glares up at you, his eyes hard but not without pain. He didn’t mean it, you know he didn’t. He loves you. He’s just afraid, trapped by his grief and his fears. You are all he has left of your mother, and her betrayal has carved a gaping void between the two of you. Making a weak man out of your father. One afraid of any and all gentleness.

“I will not give up on him,” you say quietly but firmly. “The duchy can deal with it. And if you can’t, Father…”

You take a deep breath, standing tall despite the tremor in your voice.

“Then I’m sure Uncle will be more than happy to step up as your heir.”

Your father’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of his brother, and you see the flash of panic before he quickly masks it with a glare. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he’s too proud to admit it. The two of you stare each other down, both unwilling to break first.

The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, your father sighs, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of years has finally caught up to him. "You’re just like your mother," he mutters under his breath.

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, turning on your heel. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You turn to leave the room before he can see the tears threatening to fall.

Once, being compared to your mother had cut deep. A wound to your pride, an insult whispered in the shadows of your childhood. The woman who abandoned her title, her duty, for the fleeting fantasy of love. The scandal had clung to you like a curse. A  constant reminder of your supposed weakness.

But not anymore.

“There are conditions.”

Your father’s voice cuts through your thoughts, halting you mid-step. His tone is cold, measured, calculated like a final move in a losing game.

“For him to be with you, there are rules he must obey.”

You turn back to face him, your heart tightening. His gaze is hard, filled with the last fragments of control he refuses to relinquish. This is his last attempt to bind you to his authority, to play his final pawn.

And yet, you stand straighter. You are not the child he once manipulated with fear and duty. Whatever terms he lays out, you will not falter.

“I’m listening,” you say evenly, crossing your arms as you meet his stare. You will not cower. Not for him, not for anyone.

“You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

Your voice remains steady, though each word feels like a blade against your heart. You stand with your back to him, your eyes fixed on the blooming garden outside the window.

“It is a terrible fate,” you continue quietly. “And I have nothing to give you. But I promise, should you take this foolish gamble, I will always be on your side. We will be equals beyond titles. Our children will grow up listening to your stories, to the tales of your people. Your lands will be cared for and passed on to our second-born, who shall inherit them.”

You pause, your thoughts momentarily drifting to a dream you dare not linger on too long. It’s easy, too easy, to imagine this future with Adrian. Despite your father’s endless demands, the vision takes root deep within you.

You can see it clearly: traveling to Castle Dracula with your children. Spending Yule together in the estates of your duchy. The dream feels achingly familiar, a warmth you are afraid to grasp.

Still, you steel your resolve, pushing the dream aside as you turn to face him.

“I cannot abandon my duties,” you say, the words final yet heavy with sorrow. “But you can leave. This life... it doesn’t have to be a fate you endure, Adrian.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. It stretches out like a chasm, each second a reminder of how deeply you’ve laid bare your vulnerability. You resist the urge to take the words back, to deny him the choice, to ease his decision with false comforts.

But no. A marriage built on lies and half-truths could not survive a harsh winter, let alone the storms your future would bring. He deserves the truth, as bitter as it is. You were prepared to lose him.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

You had rehearsed this moment countless times, steeling your heart for the inevitable. You imagined his hesitation, the disappointment clouding his eyes, and perhaps even a polite, resigned farewell. You had told yourself that you would understand. You had promised yourself you would let him go if that was his choice.

But now, as the silence stretches and your heart pounds louder than reason, you realize you were lying to yourself. You weren’t prepared. You never could be. The very thought of Adrian turning away feels like a blade pressing deep into your ribs, and you hold your breath, bracing for the worst.

Then he speaks, his voice so soft you almost miss it.

“My mother’s maiden name,” he says, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup of tea in his hands. He does not look at you, as though he needs the space to steady himself. “I want one of our children to carry it as their middle name.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Before you can respond, he continues.

“I do not care for titles,” he says, his voice firmer now, each word deliberate. “All I ask is that you do not take other partners. And that you allow me time... time to learn the ways of the household. I would hate to be anything less than worthy of you.”

He sets the teacup down with a quiet clink and steps toward you. His presence is steady as he takes your hands gently in his.

At last, Adrian lifts his gaze, and you see the depth of his conviction shining in his eyes. “I have no doubt that you will not let me be wronged,” he says softly. “My fate with yours will be one of happiness. And I would be the most foolish dhampir to ever walk this earth if I gave that up for anything else.”

A sharp breath escapes you, half-relief, half disbelief. His words fill the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, and for a moment, the dream you’d been holding at bay no longer feels so distant.

“Adrian...” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

“I have made my choice,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles. “And I will make it every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Tears blur your vision, but this time, you don’t try to hide them. Instead, you squeeze his hands tightly and offer him a smile that holds all the love and gratitude you cannot yet put into words.

One thing you know for certain: with Adrian by your side, you’ll be better parents than either of you ever had. With him, the weight of your duties will feel lighter. Together, you will make something beautiful out of all the broken pieces you were given.

“You are a miraculous idiot,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you throw your arms around him. You cling to him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Adrian lets out a warm chuckle, his chest vibrating gently against yours. “Marry me, maybe?” he teases softly, his arms pulling you even closer, as if he never intends to let go.

You laugh through your tears, swatting at his shoulder. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

[pininghermit]

Source of Chaos

Request: Hi, I just saw that you had this Tropesvania dynamic and I wanted to try it. My request would be for the witch dynamic, I don't know if you're still taking requests but I wanted to try. It could be Alucard x female reader ^_^

AN: Thanks for requesting! I hope you enjoy this :)

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): Alucard x Witch Reader

Summary: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shoots up from the chair, stepping back as if distance alone can save him from the nightmare unfolding before him. “You cannot mean that! Surely there’s another way!”

“Witch.”

“Dhampir.”

You both stare at each other. Or at least you try to.

Your eyes flit anywhere but his face, and Alucard resolutely looks away, his eyes darting to the far corner of the room. Both of you are steadfast in ignoring the very obvious elephant in the room.

Or rather, the bright red mane.

Alucard fidgets, his hand twitching as if to pull his hood back up, but he resists. He has to endure this shame if he wants to find a cure. Still, his fingers itch with every passing second, and the weight of your silence is becoming unbearable.

On the other hand, you can barely summon the strength to keep yourself from bursting into laughter. Habanero, your mind screams at you. No, that doesn’t quite fit. Tomatoes. He looks like a giant, sulking tomato.

“How did you...get hexed this badly?” you ask, turning your back to him under the guise of gathering ingredients from your shelves. In truth, you’re trying to compose yourself, furiously pressing your lips together to suppress the laughter bubbling inside you. The mental image of a soaking-wet, bright-red-haired Adrian is burned into your mind.

Behind you, Alucard narrows his eyes, watching your shoulders shake with barely concealed mirth. His jaw tightens, but cornered as he is, he reluctantly answers.

“I... may have pissed off a druid,” he admits, his voice clipped and forced. He folds his arms across his chest in an attempt to preserve the last shreds of his dignity. “Can you undo this?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and it’s a mistake. A catastrophic mistake. The stark contrast of his usually demeanor with his ridiculous hair is too much. Your lips twitch dangerously.

“A druid?” you repeat, trying and failing to keep your voice neutral. “What exactly did you do to make them this angry?”

“That,” he replies stiffly, “is irrelevant.”

“Oh, I think it’s very relevant,” you counter, turning back fully now, your grin barely held in check. You’re holding a sprig of rosemary and a jar of salt, you are dangerously close to losing the precious herbs to the fit of laughter knocking on your doorstep.

Alucard sighs heavily, running a hand through his absurdly red hair, the crimson strands glowing obnoxiously in the lamplight. “Trevor pissed on their grove and blamed it on me,” he huffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And now I’m stuck with this monstrosity.”

You freeze. “Trevor… what?” you manage, your voice trembling.

“They assumed it was me!” Adrian snaps, pacing now, restless and agitated. “And apparently, this,” he gestures furiously at his hair, “is their idea of retribution.”

“Oh, dear,” you mutter, stepping closer to inspect the damage. You lean in, catching a faint whiff of something that makes you recoil instantly. “Oh, no. They even cursed the scent? Adrian, your hair smells like… rotting onions.”

Adrian stiffens, his scowl deepening as his cheeks color faintly, matching the cursed shade of his hair. “Do you intend to help me or mock me?” he bites out.

“Both,” you admit cheerfully, wiping at your eyes as tears of laughter threaten to spill. “But mostly help. Unfortunately, this magic is twisted into a riddle… and I’m pretty sure there’s only one way to undo it.”

Adrian slumps into a chair, fingers rubbing his temples. “And what is that?” he asks, his voice already laced with dread.

You hesitate, pursing your lips as you brace for his inevitable reaction. “To undo the spell,” you begin cautiously, “we’ll need the very thing that caused it in the first place.”

Adrian blinks at you, the confusion etched on his face almost endearing. But then the meaning of your words dawns on him, and his entire body goes rigid.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shoots up from the chair, stepping back as if distance alone can save him from the nightmare unfolding before him. “You cannot mean that! Surely there’s another way!”

You shake your head in resignation, though the corners of your lips twitch despite yourself. “There’s not, Adrian. I’ve checked twice. We’re going to need…” You pause, biting back a laugh before finishing. “Trevor’s urine sample to brew the counter-spell.”

For a moment, the room is silent except for the howling wind outside your cottage. Adrian stares at you, wide-eyed, as if the very idea has physically wounded him. “You’re joking,” he says flatly, though the note of desperation in his voice betrays him.

“I wish I were,” you reply, holding up the jar of salt like it’s somehow relevant to your case. “But magic like this is annoyingly stubborn. The spell was triggered by an offense, and we need to balance it out by using the, uh… offending source.”

Adrian groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I refuse. I refuse to beg that idiot for… for…” He can’t even finish the sentence, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his predicament settles fully on him.

“Well,” you say lightly, “If you’d prefer to keep the hair and the smell…”

“Enough!” Adrian snaps, his voice louder than intended, though the tips of his ears burn with humiliation. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. “Fine. But you’re the one asking him.”

“Of course,” you agree, smiling far too sweetly for his liking. “I’m sure he’s heard me ask for weirder things.”

Adrian arches a brow at that but says nothing, letting your words hang in the air.

“We’ll make this better,” you promise softly, cupping his cheeks and squishing them between your palms. “I promise, darling.”

You lean in slightly, but the pungent scent hits your nose with renewed vigor, and you scrunch your face, pulling back with a wince.

Adrian doesn’t let you escape so easily. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tugs you back into his embrace, holding you close in a tight grasp. “Why yes,” he murmurs, his deep voice practically dripping with mock sincerity. “I would love some affection after this long.”

Before you can react, he purposefully rubs his cursed red hair into your cheek.

“Adrian!” you yelp, flailing against him as the acrid scent of onions assaults your senses. You hold back a gag reflex, though it takes considerable effort.

“Revenge,” he states simply, his smirk widening as you push against his chest in protest.

“First of all,” you grumble, finally pulling back and holding him at arm’s length by his shoulders, “you smell awful. And second, I believe procuring ingredients is in order before I suffocate.”

Adrian chuckles softly, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Fine. But you’re still the one asking Trevor. I’ll wait, far away from him.”

“Gladly,” you shoot back, wrinkling your nose as you grab your bag of supplies. “But if you rub your head on me again, I’m letting you keep the hair.”

His laughter follows you as you stride toward the door. No wonder the druid cursed him.