#The fact that she immediatly urged him to get away from there and told him that he had endured too much

[immediatebreakfast]

"you may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad—that the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain."

The first thing that Van Helsing writes after killing the Weird Sisters on their beds. A warning to not call him mad for what he has seen, and done; to not call him mad for showing humanity to ancient ladies who had long abandoned theirs.

It's really something else to see how Van Helsing had to steel himself to kill the Sisters. How there is no rage in him to inflict upon them because they are not Dracula.

"At once I exulted and feared; for now, for good or ill, the end was near."

What does the staking of the vampire symbolizes in gothic stories? The killing of the vampire with a stake through the heart. An important organ that maintains our bodies alive, and blood pumping; so important that even in vampiric undeath it remains all centered, yet not beating.

Whenever a character stakes a vampire, it depends in the motivations for the killing. Either a victorious resolution done with a small stake that only needs a push to become efective, or a tragic task done out of pity for the undead creature still with a single stake, and a push. However, somehow (I don't know why), but somehow the narrative doesn't let these actions feel like murder.

Except for Van Helsing. Cultural default of the vampire hunter feels like a murderer at the steps of the chapel.

"I could not have endured the horrid screeching as the stake drove home; the plunging of writhing form, and lips of bloody foam."

The old professor breathes to calm himself down before starting an all bloody mission. Alone in an old chapel inside the cursed castle while Mina waits for him on the puré clean snow. There is no Jack to pray with him, nor Quincey nor Arthur to hold nor stake. Just lonesome Van Helsing with a knife, a hammer, and the same long stakes that killed Lucy.

All of this to murder the Weird Sisters, ancient ladies who were once victims of Dracula, and had now seen humanity change and change for centuries. Van Helsing holds no I'll intent for them, nor insults or curses. He tells how they can gain the upper hand on him with their powers, but still continues with his task.

Butcher's work Van Helsing called it. A horrible bloodbath done with his steady hand, and the sound of the stake and hammer piercing the tender flesh. Blood foaming down the lips, and choking the Sisters until their screams became whimpers, then silence.

Dear Lucy in heaven, are you watching this? Do you feel horrified or calm? Van Helsing couldn't stake you, he needed the help of all of your suitors to do it. He arranged everything to happen, and have Arthur the stake, and the hammer. Now Van Helsing is all alone in a cold chapel, alone with three stakes and three unbeating hearts. Alone as he walks disturbed with his mind weeping, and his hands covered in blood three times.

The act of murdering the Weird Sisters was not declared as a Holy act of retribution, nor a deserved victory against evil, it was butcher's work. The butcher doesn't listen to the cries of the cow, the pig, the chicken; the butcher just raises the knife, and closes their eyes before steeling the arm that lets the knife fall down.

Van Helsing is grateful for his nerves, for not running away from something that had to be done less Dracula had more allies at his side. Time will pass after this, yet maybe Van Helsing will never forget how his hands only trembled before, and after finishing such horrible act.

"I am at least sane. Thank God for that mercy at all events, though the proving it has been dreadful."

[ashdumpsterpile]

the beginning (is just the end)

ao3

As Mariner drags Boimler away from the bar, badgering him with useless annoying facts about Starfleet’s alumni, she feels a sense of satisfaction and something akin to smugness settle in her gut.

Somewhere between being chased by an alien creature and realizing that fucking slime was the cure-all to the ship’s recent zombie problem, she had realized that the strict, straight-edge suck up was good for something after all. And apparently that something was being her friend.

The idiot.

This wasn’t going to end well. Shit never did when Mariner was involved. She was a drunk, adrenaline junkie with no regard for rules, rule makers, regulations or—well—basically anyone who told her what to do. She was fucking good at everything else, but if you were going to survive in Starfleet you had to get with the program. People always always got hurt by her in the end, whether it took a year or twenty. 

Boimler cuts off her train of thought by sighing and then rolling his eyes at her as she stumbles drunkenly. His arm immediatly wraps around her waist, effectively breaking her fall. She blinks up at him, bemused.

Seriously, Mariner?” he mutters, eyes darting rapidly between her pursed mouth and her open collar. His cheeks pinken slightly which is fucking adorable.

Mariner grins up at him, amused. “We were just at a bar, man,” she replies, unabashed, patting at his swept back hair with one hand.

D’Vana giggles in the background, not quite as inebriated as Mariner, but well on her way. She stumbles into Mariner’s back, causing the three of them to sway slightly. Mariner throws her other arm around the Orion girl’s shoulder. Sam completes their little group by dropping an arm over Boimler’s other shoulder, shooting the two girl’s a matching grin. “Holodeck?” he suggests.

“Hoooloodeck,” D’Vana agrees in a singsong voice, batting her bedroom eyes up at Mariner, the smell of alcohol following her voice. Mariner has the sudden urge to chase it with her lips, but manages to resist the intoxicated girl currently tucked under her arm. No need to fuck shit up this early in the game.

“Holodeck!” Mariner shrills breaking into a run. Boimler squawks in protest as he’s suddenly drug into a sprint still connected to three other people.

Yeah, it’s not going to end well, but Mariner decides to enjoy it while it lasts.