#am I using all my old Vampire / dracula things for this?

[kisilinramblings]

The list of ML S6 episodes title has appeared and it feels like it is the real deal.

I know others have written about it, but here is my analysis and speculations based on the episode title down below.

Enjoy!

601 - Climatiqueen Sounds like Stormy Weather got an upgrade (her french name is Climatika). Nice little nod to the pilot of the previous arc too.

602 - Dessinatriste A nod to "le Dessinateur" (Evillustrator)? With this time the adjective "triste" (sad) included in this new name. Although, it could be a girl character as the name does sound like the feminine form (Dessinatrice).

603 - Sublimation Sublimation is the superpower name of the Rooster, so the episode might be about Marc, but it could also be the name of the olympic themed Akumatized we can see in the S6 sneak peak that was going around. The audio said she is looking for people to be the better version of themselves. Sublime is a word to qualify high morals and esthetic qualities. Could also be a kid-friendly introduction to what Sublimation is in psychanalysis if it has any value left. Sublimation is about transforming impulses into more productive behaviors.

604 - Daddycop Most probably a nod to Rogercop. An episode about Sabrina's relation with her father perhaps? On a side note, the title reminds me of the Daddy Cool song.

605 - Papys Garous Papi (or Papy, both writting are accepted) is a casual and affectionate term for someone to talk about their grandfather. So Papa-Garou (Weredad) but also involving at least Marinette's grandfather. Because Papy is plural here. Does Tom consider himself to be an old man?

606 - Princesse Syren Ondine as Syren is getting an upgrade as well.

607 - El Toro de Piedra Sounds like Ivan will be involved in that one. After all, he has the Ox Miraculous and his akumatization was called Stoneheart. Although the Spanish is new. Perhaps the akumatized will be a relative of Ivan?

608 - Vampigami I think everyone's first thought was seeing Kagami as a Vampire. Is Kagami a fan of either Dracula or the Twilight series? Considering it is canon that she read romance mangas (Glaciator 2), I wouldn't be surprised for the latter. Still, we did have an episode before that did end with "gami" but wasn't about Kagami (Optigami which was a portmanteau of Optic and Origami).

609 - Monsieur Agreste This feels like a follow up to the Gabriel Agreste episode from S4. Is someone pretending to be Gabriel? Or could it be the Adrien's grandparents episode that was hinted by Gloob? Or is Argos involved?

610 - Le Château Noir I know the speculations are about that episode being around Chat Noir, but I am not sure it is a pun with Chat due to the word Château (Castle) keeping its accent. But you know which Medieval Akumatized we had before? Le Chevalier Noir (Dark Blade).

611 - Revelator Not much to go with there. We can expect the Akumatized is a guy and that there is a risk of revealing things. Although, we did have an episode called Revelation which featured Infox (Hoaxer), but I am not sure they could be related. Again, the title doesn't give much to work with.

612 - Psyconductrice A portmanteau of the words Psycho and Conductrice which could either be a female driver or a female conductor. However, ML Paris has turned a page on cars under Mayor Bustier, so it is probably more related to music or leading people.

613 - Yaksi Gozen Obviously, we think of Ikari Gozen and Matagi Gozen (Pretension). So Tomoe will be once again akumatized. I have looked for the name Yaksi and it looks like it is a sanskrit word. The wiki page I've found said they are similar to fairies or nymphs in the hindu culture. Although, I find the use of sanskrit special for Tomoe. As far as a remember, the only other sanskrit name we got was Mayura. So, could it be that either Nathalie or the Peacock Miraculous is involved in that episode as well?

614 - Couchorak Goldorak reference spotted! The other word in that name is Couche. Which actually have several meanings. It could notably be either a diaper, a layer or a bed.

615 - La Redresseuse As a francophone, all I am thinking about is "Dresseur Pokémon" (Pokémon Trainer) ^^; Anyway, something to do with training an animal or correcting bad behaviors. If Sublimation isn't the olympic themed akumatized, then this is my best second guess.

616 - Noe At first glance, all I am thinking about is a negative Zoé. Even though Noé (with an accent) is a boy's name (the French version of Noah). So maybe a new Bourgeois family member? Another possibility, since this is the French episode list is that Noe is a dimunitive for Noël, which is the French name of Nino's little brother.

617 - La Fée de Beaux Rêves Nice little pun there. The actual sentence is "Fais de beaux rêves" (Have Sweet Dreams) but with the word Fée instead of the verb. This seems to align with Pigella's power as well.

618 - Les Crassetastrophes Portmanteau of the words Crasse (filthy, dirty, scum) and Catastrophe (disaster). This one feels like it will be very smelly and disgusting. I wouldn't be surprised if this one is about pollution and if so, Polymouse will be involved.

619 - Riginarazione So, we got the words Rigid(?), Regina (either it is the Character name or the word Queen) combined with the word ration in Italian.

620 - Renverse-coeurs Reminds me of Dislocoeur which Dark Cupid's French name. So, we could theorized that Kim would be involved here.

621 - Les Titans Chaînes This one is giving me trouble. even in French because the name isn't a natural combination. It would be more normal to write it up as "Chaînes Titans" instead. "Chaînes" could be literally chains (in the sense of shackles) but in French, the word could also refers to a series of something. Like a mountain range, a production line or food chain, but also a channel (like a TV channel or Youtube channel). I do see the pun with the word "Enchaîne" in the title which either means to align or to shackle. Wasn't there an episode confirmed about influencers? This might be that one. Especially as Titans are not only huge figures, they even had a war in the greek mythology against the Olympian Gods (Titanomachy).

622 - Lady Chaos Honestly, your guess is as good as mine here. Because the ML verse counts a few Lady Something, like Lady Wifi or Lady Dragon, so this title doesn't mean it is about Ladybug directly, but it could be related to her as it is in opposition with what Ladybug does and represents.

623 - Tristanansi Nora is akumatized again and she will be sad this time around.

624 - La Reine de Frayeurville Spooky episode in perspective. Frayeur means Fright. So literally, the Queen of Frightville.

625 - Protocole Secret Feels more like a code name to a project than an akumatized name. My money this is Tomoe's plan.

626 - Nemesis Nothing to add besides that it sounds promising. I wonder what our new Butterfly Holder has in store in that one.

[alpaca-clouds]

Some historical context for Olrox

Okay, let me prephase this with one important message: Castlevania Nocturne made me really happy by making the plot all about colonialism, as colonialism and its fallout and how it influences us to this day is a topic that I am very passionate about. We do not talk enough about it. The US does not talk enough about it because it could make white people feel uncomfortable. And here in Germany we do not talk about it, because we act as if this had nothing to do with us at all.

But the show talks about it and I love it.

And I honestly also gotta say that I love that the BI_PoC character have a concrete cultural heritage. Olrox is Aztec, Annette is Yoruba, and Drolta is Egyptian. Other shows: Please take notes!

But let's talk Olrox, because he is so fucking interesting and amazing!

We know about him that he is Aztec and also that he is 250 years old. Or roughly that old by the time he kills Julia. Which would put either his birth or his turning somewhere around 1530.

Now, the fall of the Aztec Empire has a very exact date: August 13th, 1521. But you should keep in mind that this does not mean that on that day the Aztec's are extinct. To this day there is still 1,5 million people speaking Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and preserving some of the Aztec cultural traditions. It was just that on that day the empire construct fell to Cortez and the Spaniad conquistadors and a lot of Aztecs went into exile to flee the genocide that Cortez was bringing upon them.

The question of course is: Was Olrox still human at this time or was he already a vampire? From his dialogue it is clear that he was at least alive and grown enough to remember the fall of the empire and the distruction Cortez and his men brought upon them. But you can bet it was very traumatic.

I also am assuming he was turned by a white man. Because so far my assumption is that vampirism is an old world thing that got brought to the new world through colonialism. (Mostly because in Dracula's court we do not see any new world vampires.)

Now, the other interesting thing is what he says about his dead lover. The one Julia killed. So, first the "town in Massachusetts" he speaks about is clearly Stockbridge. Which was the town in which many Mohicans have settled during the colonial times, as well as other people from the Iroquois Nations. Now, it should be noted that the Mohicans were not part of the Iroquois alliance and in fact went to war with the Iroquois, but by the time colonialism really geared up there was some cooperation between the Mohicans and Iroquois.

Due to this they were in an alliance with the Oneida (who were part of the Iroquois) by the time of the Revolutionary war. Now, the Revolutionary War created a lot of conflict between the Iroquois nations, because they did not agree which side they should fight on. Of course both sides promised that they could keep their land, but the Mohawk, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Seneca did not trust the colonists and hence sided with the British, while the Oneida and Tuscarora (and through them also the Mohicans) sided with the Colonists.

And the dead lover clearly was among those siding with the colonists. Now, a quick refresher for the non-Americans (and the Americans who slept to history class, which is understandable). The Revolutionary War lasted from April 19, 1775 to September 3, 1783 (which, yes, also means that Julia and Richter probably were in the US during the war the entire time and the "evil" Julia was fighting probably was linked to it). And of course we all know how it ended for the Indigenous people: The colonists won, countless Indigenous folks died on both sides, only to get booted of their land soon after. The Oneida und Mohicans were made to move westwards not soon after the war ended. So, yes, Olrox would have seen that happen.

Now, an interesting thing in his dialogue was when Erzebet said: "We will create a new world." To which he replies: "I have heard that one before." And she says: "This time we are going to make it to last."

And the big question is to what this is refering. Is it refering to the colonialization or is it refering to the revolutionary war? Or something entirely different. In both cases it would be possible. And yes, the American Revolution definitely were claiming to create a new world. But was it that what he refered to or something else?

Well, never the less: Interesting character. Really good writing.

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

As much as I am very much enthralled by "holiest love" propaganda, it is the time of year where I would like to once again state that I think people on here make it way way way too black and white. Like Jonathan's willingness to follow Mina into the dark is the absolute only way to exhibit true love. I don't think that's true. I see takes every year that sort of vilify the four men for being so willing to kill Lucy... Lucy is dead. Lucy is very much dead. Who knows how much of the old Lucy would have presented itself in vamp!Lucy if given the time to develop, but no matter what the new vampire Lucy would have not been anywhere close to the same person.

If you want to engage in how it works in the novel's canon, there's no such thing as a "good" vampire or "tortured" vampire or whatever. In Bram Stoker's Dracula, souls are real and you lose them when you become a vampire + you lose whatever kindness + goodness you have to become a bloodthirsty murderer.

It's not a heartless response from any of the four men to see vampire Lucy and say, "oh my God, this is not her, something has taken up residence and her corpse is being used to enact harm, we have to put an end to this because we loved her" I don't think that is an unreasonable response and I don't think that that's an unloving response either.

There are two scenarios here, one saying "I'll love you even when you're gone from yourself, I'll love you when your best parts have been taken away never to be returned, I'll love you when it will bring me nothing other than the knowledge that I love" with the counterpoint to that being "are you kidding yourself though. Is the person who you loved even still there. Who is this for?"

And the other being "I'll love you so much that I will protect and fight for the memory of your goodness and your soul. I will not shrink from whatever it takes to grant you peace and free you from this horrible curse which was itself inflicted on you through great violence" with the counterpoint to that being "tell me again how all that violent staking was so righteous + different from the vampire's attack. That's God's peace you saw on her face, right? How could you doubt it?"

You're allowed to prefer one over the other etc, but like. It's all subjective. Love is subjective. There's not one right answer. And people are going to buy into different things depending on which metaphors + subtexts we like best, what our belief systems are, etc. Let's keep the conversations open. Either one could be represented anywhere on the scale of good to bad depending on the type of story you want to tell.

[theholmwoodfoundation]

Q: I must ask you, Ms Harker, how did Bram Stoker’s story of Dracula get published? Is it true you and your friends were the inspiration?

[MINA LAUGHS] Oh, my dear Bram! I remember when we first met in Cruden Bay in Scotland for a trip and we got on so well. I then invited him to visit me in Whitby, which is where I moved to support Arthur’s new venture after the Carpathians. Bram was very curious about our story,  and we…well, I suppose one thing led to another, and he was anxious to tell a version of it, mostly fabricated you understand, of his very own. To incorporate it into a tale of horror he was already writing. I must admit I was sceptical at first, but the idea intrigued me. Of course, in our real-world story, there was no monstrous being known as Count Dracula, no vampires, and no magic. Just a group of unlikely individuals and a rather terrible set of circumstances. But Arthur convinced me it would aid us in establishing the Foundation, and nothing in the world meant more to us than that. So we gave Bram permission to use our likenesses, and he even studied our writings and manners to ensure he could capture us on the page. I remember discussing with Arthur if we should have changed our names, changed who we were, but the release of the story, outrageous and horrifying as some of the details were, did introduce more people to the importance of blood and blood work. We were able to find many patrons to support us due to the release of Dracula, and while it has certainly made my life much stranger than it could have been, I was never truly upset by the book's legacy. I know Abraham - Professor Van Helsing's – nieces and nephews love to see how their uncle is presented as this dramatic vampire hunter! Sometimes, I wish Bram hadn’t changed so many details, particularly the ending, but I am not myself a writer, so I had faith in his words. Given the loss of my dear husband, Jonathan, at just 24 years old, I sometimes feel that a part of him lives on, caught like a pressed flower between the pages of that book. All I know for sure is that I have faith in what Arthur, Abraham, Jack, and I have created. We are honoured to work with the public to save lives, as we have done for the last 40 years.

-Transcript from BBC National Programme Radio Interview with Dame Mina Harker, Pub 1930

[valeskawhore]

“Y/n Dracula?”

PART TWO!!!!

Word(s): 1.3k

Character(s)/parings: Wednesday x Fem! Vampire! Reader! (GirlxGirl)

Series/show(?): series— 2/??

*~*~*~*~*

Dark, creepy, and dead silent. Those are the words I would use to describe Nevermore. The weatherman wasn’t kidding when he explained that there was barely any sun in Jericho, vermont. It was like autumn all year round.

Everything that caught my eye was like copy and paste. It’s like the town was under some spell or trance that caused them all to be depressed at the same time. Not one smile on our way here, no one stopped to wave or say hello like usual when they saw a fancy car drive by.

They glared, as if they were offended by newcomers.

A town with this small of a population— it was to be expected that they didn’t easily accept newcomers, the town had quite the interesting history of banning outcasts.

Alec tried making small conversation here and there but gave up halfway through when it finally sunk in his mind that I was making no attempts to answer him or even care about what he had to say.

I felt a guilt bubble in my stomach, he didn’t deserve my wrath but it was the only thing on my mind so I just did my best to ignore him without trying to lash out. It wouldn't help my situation anyways. Either way, I'm going to this ridiculous school and there's nothing I can do about it.

Two things caught my eye,

One was an old antique shop, and the other was a fairly busy cafe on the corner of a T-section. It had fairly good business, something they were selling must have been good enough if it was still up and running. Though, by the looks of it, we’ll see how long that’ll even last.

I like shity cafe music… Maybe that’ll be something to do when I finally get permission to go into town.

*~*~*~*

“Hmm, Nevermore doesn't usually accept newcomers this late into the semester.” Principal Weems adjusted her glasses, skimming through my paperwork. “You’d have to do some extra classes in order to catch up on credits.”

“I don’t mind the work, that won't be a problem.” I added in.

“Well… Miss Edith, given your 4.0 GPA, that doesn't surprise me. You haven't failed a grade, never missed a day of school, your IQ level is above a 150– which is more than intelligent enough. “ she smiled, setting the paperwork to the side and giving me her full attention. “Besides,” she smiled once more, “Who am i? To turn down the one and only– Count Dracula’s only living heir. I'm surprised he enrolled you as late as he did.”

I kept my posture straight, crossing one leg over the other. “He is something.”

She laughed, “I would expect nothing less from a Dracula.”

I let out a breath of relief, smiling slightly. Her blue eyes scanned my figure, looking me up and down as if judging me right then and there. If I wasn't as sharp as I was– I'd probably say something dark was swirling around in her eyes as she smiled at me. Something felt off about this woman, I just couldn't put my finger on it just yet.

Finally, she let out the question she’d been holding in,

“You are aware of how to control yourself around others, correct? Especially normies??” she asked, “Because as you and I both know sweetie, being dracula means you’re a lot more… Different from others.”

‘Ah… that’s what she wanted to ask.’

“What all can you do exactly? Miss y/n?”

I dropped my head, suddenly feeling ashamed. She’s right, I am different. And not because I am a half-blood but because, unlike other vampires who can take medication to control themselves– I was a problem.

I was stronger than others, faster, and I craved actual blood. I couldn’t be out in the sunlight for too long on actual days when the sun was finally out.

I could glamor people to get what I wanted but in-order for that to work, I needed to be superior to them in power. In my case, that wasn’t a problem. I haven’t met someone I couldn't glamor… yet.

Every second that passed by, I felt more and more like I was being judged. She expected an answer while staring at me so intently, I thought she was going to burn holes in my skull.

I finally gave her one,

“I.. have my own personal supplies on things I need. As for power, I can't be out in the sunlight without my ring for too long, but besides that– pretty much the same for other vampires. I'm able to keep human food down long enough for it to digest, but that still doesn't stop the urges.”

She stared for a long time, scanning my face for any traces to which I'd be lying.

After a few moments, she smiled, feeling satisfied with my lie. “That’s perfect, I trust you can manage your own supplies correct?”

I nodded.

*~*~*~*~*

“Welcome to Aurora Hall! We are so excited to finally have someone new joining us!” The young girl buzzed with excitement, damn-near shaking in her boots while she held the door open.

“I’m your new roommate! My name is Abigail but my friends call me Abi! We’re friends right!? Since we’re roommates!? That definitely automatically makes us—”

“Woahhhhh honeypie, I understand you are very excited– but let’s give Edith sometime to settle in, hm?” My dorm mother explained. Marylin? I believe her name was.

Very nice women.

I smiled nervously, not really knowing what else to do. Abigail was definitely someone I'd have trouble getting along with, I realize I might have to set boundaries if I'm going to make this work.

Shrugging everything off, I picked my suitcases up from the ground and gently carried them into the room.

It was huge. The room was already divided into two separate halves and it was already obvious which one was Abigails. She specializes in terrakinesis– she had a green thumb alright, abi could make anything grow.

Her side of the room was filled with green and black vines growing up the walls with flowers blooming around every corner. They spread everywhere around her side of the room. Abi also had dozens of small plants littered around her room, growing all types of flowers– And believe me when I say, Abigail absolutely adored flowers.

DVD players and radios stacked up on one side of the room, next to her bed. Almost working as a nightstand without the drawers. She had an electric guitar also, with a microphone setup with speakers.

Maybe this chick wasn't so bad afterall.

The other side of the room, my side– was as to be expected. A queen sized mattress with a large frame reaching the ceiling sat in the corner neatly.

Definitely compliments from my father– added with two wide dark burgundy dressers to match. Everything else was completely barren, waiting and ready for me to unpack.

I gave a small smile, turning back to my dorm mother when she called my name.

“Here,” She smiled at me, holding a flower pot out. “I try to match just the right flower to all of my girls. This one is a—”

I cut her off, “Wolfsbane. Which is highly dangerous.. Also more commonly associated with werewolves, witches……. and even—”

“That's right, Vampires…I found it fitting for the one and only heir to the Dracula legacy.” She smiled widely.

I stared at her, holding the flower.

After a moment, I smiled as widely as she did, my fangs releasing from the roof of my mouth. She was taken back by how quickly they ejected,

“Thank you,” I laughed, “How very stereotypical of you.”

Marylin struggled to smile, taking a few steps back before making her way to the doorway. “Well uh,” she coughed, raising her hand to her mouth nervously, “Let me know if I can do anything for you girls.” She excited the room quickly after, shutting the door with a loud click.

I Laughed almost immediately, retracting my fangs. A skill only a dracula ascendent could master. We could almost pass off as a normie if it wasn’t for the restricted sunlight, the pasty white skin, dark red rimmed eyes and the two sets of retractable fangs.

I began to unpack my suitcases, Abigail offered to assist but I shot her down and did my best to be polite about it. Having a ‘bright’ ‘innocent’ girl like herself put away packaged bags of blood among other things was too much of a headache to have to deal with. She understood, and offered to give me space and time to unload everything.

I thanked her, nodding my head. “I’ll be faster unpacking alone.'' I threw in, not wanting to sound like an asshole. “Give me a few minutes and I'll let you assist me in grabbing my uniform and schedule.”

Abigail almost jumped out of her skin at the opportunity. “Yes!!! iI would love it too! Of course, no problem– I'll be down the hallway when you're ready!”

As soon as she left the room, I sighed.

“Father…what have you gotten me into now..?”

[yugenwrites]

∗ —— Adrian “Alucard” Tepes x D.

∗ —— Part one, part two, part three, part four ( coming soon ).

∗ —— NOTES: This story is inspired by some of the fanart that is done by tender miasma / suzannart! The worlds of Castlevania and Vampire Hunter D are connected to one and another.

“Belmont said that you have fought with his ancestors. How old are you D and now many of his ancestors have you worked alongside with?” Sypha asked the dhampyre but the man did not answer, only sighing in response. He didn't feel like striking up any type of conversation, he just wanted to get away from the three of them since they did nothing but bicker.

“He's very old,” the left hand spoke like D had done a couple of minutes ago, he had dug his nails into the face of the parasite but this time with an irritated scowl.

“Enough of your foolish antics.” D was bothered by not only his companion but the three fools behind him. “Once we are finally free from this area, I will be parting from the three of you. I did wish that it was four.” Of course he was referring to the fourth person as his hand.

“If I could leave you, I would but you would be absolutely miserable without me,” the hand exclaimed at the dhampyre who curled his fingers downward and into his palm, nails digging into the flesh for the third time. “That hurts you bastard!”

“We all need to stay together. The faster we can get to Dracula's castle the quicker we will be able to put an end to this.” Sypha took a couple of steps forward in a quick motion, now walking beside D who didn't bother to look at her.

“I work alone and the people of Wallachia will need someone to look after them before they get devoured by night creatures.”

“I'm sure that they would have some dislike towards you as well, you may be half of a human but I am sure as long as you have vampire blood or genetics, you will be seen as a monster nonetheless,” Alucard stated as D began to turn away from the trio.

“Anyone can be considered a monster whether they are human, vampyre, or a demon. Even if I am a vampyre hunter, I am aware of the many things that a mere man or even a child is capable of doing. No one in this world is truly innocent but it is enough to try to change such a thing and help those who are in need of it.”

“And what if they aren't willing to take some of your generosity? Would you still provide aid to those even when they push you away?”

“I cannot force anyone and shall not do it. Not everyone is willing to accept aid and some will look down upon it.” Alucard couldn't help but to think back. To think back how a year ago was when his mother was burned down to ashes because of her so-called witchery when the only thing she wanted to do was help those who needed it. “I'm sure that you three alone would be able to make it to the castle by yourselves without my aid. I will make sure that the creatures of the night do not come in between you or your travels.”

“So . . . You are helping us basically?” Trevor questioned.

“In a sense, yes, but it's more for the people and not for your benefit.” D had paused in his tracks and turned his head to look at Alucard, eyes narrowed and nothing but a frown worn upon his face. “You. Be wise of the choices that you decide to make.” With those words, D had continued to walk away from the trio and Alucard found himself averting his gaze.

Alucard knew that the man didn't trust him, he thought that he was going to end up like his father and become full of rage to the point where even he was going to cause destruction to Wallachia and its people. The blonde wasn't a fool, he was able to control his emotions despite being saddened and upset about his mother's death. As much as it was unfortunate, it was something that was bound to happen one day.

The only one that seemed to really believe that he had good intentions was Sypha and the other speakers who believed in the story of the sleeping soldier despite it seeming more dramatic than what it needed to be. Lost in his thoughts, he had walked away to clear his head in a secluded area while Trevor and Sypha went to meet up with her people. He would join them a little bit down the line but for now he needed some time to himself even if he had spent a whole year sleeping in a coffin. Some things needed to be planned out and organized and he wanted to do such in silence.

The night was rather cold, the fear that the people had worn on their faces was nothing but clear. D held his suspicions of Alucard. Even if he had swore that he was going to kill his father before he creates any more damage, he doesn't know what he may do afterwards or even beforehand. “Maybe you were a little too rude to him. He's just a kid,” his left hand commented despite his own rudeness to the dhampyre earlier.

“He is no child, he is a full adult. I'm sure that he is able to handle the things that will be thrown at him with the decision he has chosen to make.” Even the parasite of a hand could think that the dhampyre was rather cold towards others at times, such a thought was rare considering his own personality.

“Don't give me that shit, you could have been a little bit nicer to him and you know it.” After all, Alucard had just lost his mother a year ago and to be able to stop the upbringing madness being caused and the possible end of the existence of humans, the blonde would have to kill his own father. A soft huff escaped D’s lips, maybe he could have but he wasn't going to during all of this. There was business that needed to be taken care of.

“This is no time for mourning and treating him with sympathy. The fate of the world lies within his hands.” His eyes narrowed underneath the tip of the hat that he wore so low and his lips were curled downward into a frown.

Only a couple of hours had passed until the sun slowly began to shine within the sky, the people who were hiding in their homes soon coming out to see that they were alive. D made sure that the night creatures didn't lay a single hand on a civilian or even glanced in their direction. Not many had shown up, maybe at least seven. Most of them were killed in the horde from earlier on when night took its course. The vampire hunter walked around and tended to people's needs even though they were skeptical of him due to his vampirism.

“Ye could have fuckin' stopped this!” There was one man who pointed at the black haired hunter, poking him directly in the chest.

“No, I couldn't have. The only thing that I can provide for you right now is safety from the creatures of the night after the people decided to burn down that woman you call a witch.” The hand was swatted away and the tip of his hat was pulled downward to hide his irritated expression.

“Cause she was a bloody witch!” The man shouted, rather angrily. D fell silent upon those words. He knows well that marrying a vampyre would be more than enough to get her killed though he doesn't know the whole story. After a couple of seconds, he had found himself walking away from the male, hearing curses escape his rather vulgar mouth. Humans in Wallachia didn't seem like the best group of people, rather inappropriate and stupid; blind. Seeing that most of the people were fine, he decided to leave them be for a moment and see if there was anything that he himself had needed.

“Hunter D!” He heard a familiar voice come from behind him which made him turn his gaze.

“Speaker . . .have you grown tired of them already?” As much as it seemed like it was a joke, the tone of his voice was serious.

“Well yes and no. I left the two of them alone so I would be able to find a covered wagon and some horses for travel. We can't move as fast as we want to on bare feet, you know?”

“That didn't seem like the best idea to leave them alone with one another. Maybe they are going at each other's throats right now.”

“I wouldn't be surprised. They haven't stopped their stupid bickering.” The female would let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes in the process. “I was wondering if maybe you can tag along with us. I know that you wish to tend to the people but it will be faster if we were to all travel together, don't you think?”

“As much as that seems to be true, I do not think that I will have the patience to deal with those two and if I went off on my own and fought off those night creatures before they reached you, it would make travel much smoother.” Sypha nodded her head, that would probably be the best option and she is sure that the small dispute between him and Alucard may get worse.

“Just promise that you won't get yourself killed, alright?”

“How insulting, I am a hunter. I am only doing my job.” D turned himself away but before he could walk away, a bag of coins was tossed in Sypha's direction which was caught. “This should pay for what you need for now. Between the three of you alone, I am sure that you wouldn't have enough.”

“Thank you, I'll make sure the two idiots don't get a hold of it.” With that being said, she watched D as he began to walk away from her before leaving herself to go the opposite direction. She knew it may take some time for her to find someone who sold wagons, nonetheless horses. It was likely that the night creatures could have destroyed them to stop the people from leaving but with their journey, the trio needed one.

[the-curator1]

Oceans of Time

Vampire!Cardinal Copia x Female Reader

Author's note: This story was inspired by the amazing fic At The Mercy of Time(And Fragmented Memories of you) by @piaart. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend doing so! Additionally, this is the first fic that I am publishing on my blog, so it may have some flaws. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

AO3 Link

Summary: Copia and you love each other deeply, unconditionally. But cruel Fate decides to pull you apart from his grasp again and again. The story of two star-crossed lovers always reaching out to each other through the endless ocean of time.  (≈6300 words)

Tags:  Angst, so much angst, I put our poor Cardinal through hell, but I swear there is a happy ending (kind of), catholicism, Copia is originally a Catholic Cardinal, death, grief, loss of faith, implied smut, some depiction of graphic violence, vampirism, blood-drinking, some bits of unhinged and feral Copia, revenge, romance, some fluff, mostly Copia's POV, Shamelessly inspired by 1992 Dracula (the title ofc, a dialogue and a few elements in the story)

Vatican City, Italy, August 1677

“You cannot do such a thing.” 

The Camerlengo looked up at the Cardinal with a stern expression. His bushy eyebrows were so furrowed that they almost hid his dark eyes. The corners of his thin lips were turned up in a sneer of disgust and anger. The man had the appearance of a hawk, with his long, pointed nose and vicious, sharp gaze.

“Well, of course, I can, Cardinal. Not only can I do it, but I must." growled the Camerlengo.

Copia felt a shiver run down his spine and looked down again at his hands clasped in his lap. Shame. Anger. Fear. Worry. All these insidious feelings swirled in his mind as in a demonic waltz. But at that moment, all his thoughts were focused on you...

Oh dolcezza… Forgive me.

“You have broken your vows, Cardinal, " continued the camerlengo in a chilling tone, "Consider yourself lucky that I am not asking His Holiness to dismiss you immediately. Despite your lamentable mistake, you are still a good asset to our Church. Besides, the family of your... lover has urged us not to cause a scandal. Let's hope that this mission will help you think straight again. May God guide you back to the right path.”

Copia shot his head back towards his superior. His throat was knotted, and his heart seemed to hiccup in his chest as if it was shaking with sobs. 

No. No...

They couldn't...

They had no right to keep you apart like that! 

The Cardinal's hands tightened violently on his knees. He wished it was not his kneecaps he was squeezing between his fingers, but the neck of that old disgusting vulture. But he repressed these violent urges as well as he could. Without a word, Copia rose from his chair. Like an automaton, he bowed his head and walked towards the door.

Italy, Rome, August 1677

You looked out of your bedroom window, your hand resting against the cold glass. Mother had carefully locked the door to your balcony... she was probably afraid you would run away or jump to embrace the pavement two floors below.

Rome had never looked so foul and so fair, bathed in the glorious light of the evening. The sun cast its golden rays on the facades of the buildings bearing their bold fronts. Everything here was pompous, grandiose. Everything was too much. There was no questioning the beauty and majesty of the city... but how you hated it at that very moment. In your eyes, it was the monster of stone, marble and cobblestone that held the man you loved in its horrible clawed hands. It symbolized everything that was keeping you apart. You could have run away together… But where to go? Your family would not let you run away… never. 

Oh, if he had not been a Cardinal... 

The foolishness of your inner reflection struck you at once. If he had not been Cardinal... his beautiful green eyes would never have met yours in the first place. Your beautiful, sweet Cardinal Copia. Why did you have to be discovered? Why had Father decided to cancel his meeting and return home so soon? Why did he have to catch you and the man he had hired to be your preceptor in a passionate embrace? 

"It was bound to happen one day, amore..." whispered your Cardinal when he had come to visit you after the incident under cover of darkness. You had been able to escape the confinement of your room with the complicity of one of your maids. 

"And now, Copia? What are we going to do now?" you had asked, your eyes brimming with tears. Your forehead rested gently against that of your lover. His gloved hands rested on your face, his thumbs drawing delicate circles on your skin. 

"I don't know, my love. I don't know. But I want you to know one thing: Nothing can keep me away from you. Not even the Almighty, not even Satan below... I will always come back to you."

You had not been able to find the words... they were stuck in your throat. You had kissed your lover fervently, pouring all the love you felt for him into that kiss. The streets were quiet around you, there was only the distant shouting of drunkards mingled with the ringing of the church bells. But you could almost hear the wild beating of your broken heart.

Always. Always.

Your time had almost run out. You had untied your favourite silk scarf off your neck and slipped it into his hands. You had carefully infused the scarf with your perfume. Copia had studied your gift with his wide bright eyes. There was a consuming devotion in his eyes as if he were holding Christ's shroud in his hands. 

Your Cardinal had kissed your forehead one last time. In the darkness of the street where your secret meeting took place, you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes. He had not said anything after that.  Maybe the words were stuck in his throat too. Maybe he was afraid he could not say goodbye anymore if he had said something more.

Copia had taken a few steps back… and almost as quickly as he had arrived, Copia turned on his heels and let himself be swallowed up by the darkness of the streets. 

When you heard the stairs creak at the end of the corridor, you snapped out of your thoughts... It was them. You saw them arrive in the courtyard of your house in their austere carriage. You were not surprised. You were fully aware that, regardless of being the daughter of a powerful family, there remained only one destination to seek solace following such disgrace.

September 1677, somewhere off the coast of Italy...

Copia watched the coast disappear in the distance. The sea was calm this morning. But the gentle sound of the waves did not soothe him at all. Copia was well aware of what they must have done to you... and if he had not been so devastated he would have laughed at the irony of the situation. You, who had committed a sacrilege with a member of the clergy, were now compelled to join their ranks for the rest of your life.

He hated every moment he spent away from you and your arms. He hated every breath he took without feeling your skin against his. He hated the people who took him away from you.

Oh, how he missed you... 

How he missed your touch, how he missed burying his face into your hair, how he missed the sound of your voice. He felt like a part of him was missing, he felt like they tore a whole limb from him, he felt like they pulled his heart off his chest. 

Copia hated the boat that carried him away from the Italian coast. Away from you. 

Copia hated the red cassock he wore, it looked like it weighed thousands of pounds. The cross he wore around his neck felt like the chains of a slave

Copia hated the Church. 

Copia hated the God that separated him from the love of his life.

But in this whirlwind of hatred and resentment, Copia did not forget the promise he had made. He held the scarf up to his face to breathe in your perfect scent; it was his greatest treasure. Then he held it to his heart...

I'll be back, amore...

Italy, from Genoa to Rome, 16 February 1681 

His heart was pounding in his ribcage. It was beating faster and faster as the city of Genoa loomed on the horizon. All those years away from you had been torture. Those years spent in that alien land had been particularly trying for Copia. He had never been able to get used to India and to his mission there. How could he have preached the word of God when he no longer believed in it?

The Camerlengo had been wrong about everything. This mission had not put him back on the right track. On the contrary, all that time spent away from you had only increased his longing for you, his burning desire to be close to you.

All the thoughts that should have been for the Lord were for you. And, God, some of them were anything but righteous. He had not forgotten you, of course. The Cardinal had thought of you every minute of every day. How could he have forgotten your smile? The softness of your hair? The opal of your eyes? The melody of your voice? 

He had held your precious scarf to his face every night, breathing in your scent. Sometimes, as his mind lingered on you, he had let his hands roam over his own body. And he had felt no shame for it. Eventually, the scent of you on the scarf began to fade. It broke his heart when he noticed it. But the token was still something that had belonged to you. It had been wrapped around your neck. It had touched the skin of this part of your cherished body, a place where he liked to kiss you... and in the Cardinal’s love-struck mind, it was more than enough.

The Cardinal now had only one thing to look forward to: seeing you again, holding you in his arms and never letting go again.

It hadn't been very difficult to find out which convent your dear parents had sent you to. They were zealous and wealthy Catholics who were graciously giving money to the abbeys and convents of Rome. Especially that one.

He hoped that his authority as Cardinal would give him the right to see you, for even five minutes. His heart had not calmed down since he had got off the boat in Genoa. 

Upon returning to Rome, his heart continued to beat furiously in his chest. He did not care to go to Vatican City to announce his return first. The urge to see you was too strong. Standing before the convent gates where you had spent the past four years did little to alleviate his condition. It felt as though his heart longed to escape its confines.

As he had hoped, his red cassock had a great effect on the Mother Superior. She didn't seem suspicious when Copia told her his name. She seemed too focused on this habit to remember that it was the name of the Cardinal at the heart of a scandal within the Church a few years earlier. Even if the scandal did not blow in the eyes of the world, surely she would know about it. There were whispers, even amongst the clergy. But when he mentioned your name and asked to see you, the old woman's eyes darkened

The Cardinal's eyes were still dry when he placed his gloved hand on the tombstone engraved with your name. But he felt as if his whole being was shaking. He felt as if everything he was had been torn to shreds. 

He had not been there. 

He knelt down on the grass. The cold winter wind was biting at his skin but he did not care. He removed his gloves. His fingers delicately traced the outline of your name in the stone, but they tensed when they reached the dates engraved underneath. Your life was so short... You were too young. Far too young. And good. Far too good. Your family did not even retrieve your body. You were buried in the graveyard of the convent. 

He had not been there. 

Copia felt an awful pain searing behind his eyes as scorching tears attempted to break through his tightly closed eyelids. It seemed like the rapid beating of his heart, once intense on the boat's deck, had ceased entirely the instant the Mother Superior uttered the words.

Illness. Death.

He could not remember exactly what the old woman had said after "She is gone, Cardinal." He just remembered the feeling of a hot knife through his heart, followed by a dreadful sense of hollowness.

He pulled your scarf out of his pocket and brought it to his face. He knew that he never would be able to breathe in your scent anymore… and it killed him inside.

He had not been there. Copia leaned his forehead on the cold stone as he used to do with you. The realization that you were gone was slowly settling in. It was clawing at what remained of his heart, it was tearing his wretched soul apart.

You were gone and he had not been there for you. 

Did you think about him when you realized what was happening to you? 

When you had become too weak to do anything but lay in bed, did you hope for him to come back before it was too late? He promised after all…

Did you call out for him when the cold hands of Death seized you? 

Still leaning on your tombstone, the Cardinal began to weep. The howling of the wind blended with the sound of his sobs. After a while, Copia stopped crying. He felt like he had no tears left to cry. His sadness had faded. Now he felt a burning anger. A hot anger blazing like the fiery pit of hell. It was their fault.

Those who sent him away. Those who sent you in this wretched place. It was His fault! 

The God who had torn you away from his embrace. The God who was doing nothing but taking.

With an almost animalist cry, Copia tore the cross pendant from his neck and threw it away with force. At once, the wind gave a sharp howl, blowing its cold breath in Copia’s face. 

“Damn you” the Cardinal snarled, looking up at the sky. “I will avenge her. And not even you will be able to stop me. You will see. You will see”

With that he turned away, not sparing a glance at your tombstone.

  

The night had thrown its dark cloak upon Rome and the convent. Copia had left earlier without a word, storming out of the convent like a gust of wind. But his madness and desperation led him back there. He had removed his cassock to climb the closed gates of the convent but he had carefully put your scarf into the pocket of his trousers. He had almost impaled himself on the pickets of the fence. But that did not stop him.

The Cardinal was now standing in front of the small chapel, his chest was bare, exposed to the vicious assault of the chilling wind that was howling louder than ever. His chestnut hair was dishevelled. He looked like a madman. Maybe he was a madman. He tried to open the door of the chapel but it was locked. With a growl of rage and frustration, Copia slammed his fists against the wooden door.

Damn it.

The garden that surrounded the chapel and the abbay was plunged into darkness. But the full moon was casting a pale glow, it was enough for Copia to see around. He squinted his eyes. In the dim light cast by the moon above, he saw an axe stuck in a log of wood. The winter was cold, the nuns surely needed some wood to light their fireplace. Copia blessed the cold of winter and the nun who carelessly left this axe here. The Cardinal pulled out the axe of the log and then walked back to the chapel. Without a second thought, he lifted the sharp object in the air and struck the old wooden door with force. He struck again. 

Again. 

Again. 

He was breathing heavily. His mind was blank. It was his purpose. It was his design.

He did not care if the sound of the blade hitting the door might awaken the whole convent. Eventually, the door gave in under the Cardinal’s assault. Copia pushed the door roughly and entered the quiet chapel. He walked to the altar, still holding the sharp axe in his hand.

"What are you going to do now?!" Copia shouted in the silence of the chapel. "I told you that I would avenge her! You took her away from me. What do you have to say for yourself?"

His shaky voice echoed in the empty chapel, but there was no answer, no sign. The silence was deafening.

"Well, of course," Copia huffed.

His eyes were wide, his pupils fully blown, as an insane grin curled his lips. Hysterical laughter escaped his mouth.

"You know what, Lord?" he hissed. "I renounce you. You took away my chance to be with her... I know someone who will give me the power to avenge her."

With that, he plunged the axe into the large cross that hovered over the altar. The force of his own strength surprised him as the axe sank into the stone. Suddenly, a crack appeared, and the stone split open. A tiny carmine stream escaped the crack, swiftly rushing down the cross, growing larger and larger by seconds until it transformed into a monstrous red cascade.

The Cardinal instinctively took a step back, yet curiously, he felt no fear. His insane grin spread wider across his face as a strong metallic scent filled his nostrils. Darkness enveloped him like a cloak, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, someone answered his call.

When he opened his eyes again, he witnessed the stream of blood pouring onto the marble floor of the chapel, a sight that ignited an intense sense of thirst as if he had not drunk in ages. He licked his lips. In that instant, the carmine liquid appeared to him like the finest wine. Without hesitation, Copia lunged forward, consumed by greed, and drank voraciously.

Rome, May 1677

You erupted into laughter as your lover pressed himself against you, peppering your neck with a multitude of feather-light kisses. His moustache playfully tickled your skin, sending delightful shivers down your spine. He gently pushed you on the bed.

"Copia!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your laughter, as you wriggled beneath him. "Stop, you are tickling me!"

The Cardinal hummed on your skin, pressing you further on the bed as a low laughter rumbled in his chest. “What if that is my purpose, amore?” he purred in your ear as he planted more kisses on your neck. His teeth were gently nibbling at your delicate skin. His voice was husky and filled with desire.  “I love to make you squirm”

Your laughter dissolved into soft moans as Copia tugged the hum of your low cut to press open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He was not playing innocently anymore, his playful innocence had subsided with a burning desire for you. His warm lips seemed to leave your skin burning and aching for more. The Cardinal pressed his body up against yours, making you gasp. 

“Oh amore, you smell so good, your skin is so soft… you feel so good” he whispered as he kissed your neck and your collaborate with increasing fervor You blushed profusely, running your hands across his back. If this was so wrong, why did he feel so right? "Copia," you murmured, worry piercing in your voice, "My maid is in the next room... what if she hears us?"

Undeterred by your concerns, the Cardinal continued his delightful ministrations, his touch growing bolder as he gently lifted your dress, causing your blush to deepen.

"She will not hear us, amore... she never hears us," he murmured against your skin, his voice was carrying a playful smile. "She thinks I am a righteous Cardinal who teaches you about Roman theatre. How boring…"

You chuckled softly, throwing your head back into the pillow to let your lover devour your skin. But the worry did not leave your mind 

“But…” Copia's finger gently pressed against your lips, silencing your words

“Hush, Tesoro… I need you now. Let me love you… please” he pleaded, his gorgeous green eyes filled with longing.

As you looked into your lover’s beautiful eyes, you found that you could not resist him and his warm embrace. You wanted this. As much as him. 

But you both knew that the hardest thing to do now was to keep quiet amidst the intensity of your embrace. 

Vatican City, later in the night, 16 February 1681

Copia plunged his hands into the fountain, meticulously cleaning the blood from his face and skin. His hunger was appeased. A chilling calmness was surrounding him. Your father's life had been swiftly taken and Copia could still taste his bitter blood on his tongue. The man had consistently treated you poorly, he would yell at you, he would belittle you, and he did not care about your happiness. He had banished you to that wretched convent without remorse. He was one of the people responsible for your cruel separation and he deserved his fate. Copia was certain of it. The pathetic man had begged for his life, but Copia swiftly reduced him to silence when he snatched his throat with his teeth.

The Cardinal gazed at his own reflection in the tranquil water of the fountain, his eyes fixed on the image staring back at him. Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat as he noticed a profound change. His once vibrant green left eye had transformed, now displaying a chilling white hue. Copia stood there in shock for a moment… then a wide smile spread across his face. 

He really did answer my call, he mused, I don’t know what I am anymore… but I know I have the power to avenge my darling. 

He mused that his new gaze would look so much better with some black paint around his eye. Once he was sure that his hands were clean from the dirty blood of your father, he retrieved the silk scarf from his pocket. He held it to his face; savouring the lingering traces of your sweet fragrance. He found that he could smell those last remnants better than before.

“Do not worry, amore,” he whispered, “I will exact vengeance upon them all, and then I shall uncover a way to reunite us once more.”

With that, he put the cherished scarf back in his pocket and headed toward the clergy’s quarters. He had a Camerlengo to rip apart

Time passed slowly, the seasons changed, and the world kept turning and wavering faster. 

But Copia remained. 

Copia had found all the people responsible for your separation and he destroyed them all. But once he was done, what more could he do? He was now a creature of the night and he could not go back to who he was before. Copia harboured no desire to do so. He embraced his new existence and the power bestowed upon him by the Dark Lord. He stood there, a timeless observer. He would watch the people around him bloom and wither in the blink of his white eye and then fall into the pit of oblivion. 

But Copia remained. 

And he would not let you fall into oblivion. The world may have moved on, and Rome may have forgotten but Copia embarked this endless journey through the vast ocean of time, carrying the flame of his love for you. He would not let a day pass without mourning you. Each night under cover of darkness, he would visit you. He would lay flowers in your tomb. He would kneel beside your resting place, whispering words of love and devotion, hoping you would somehow hear them. 

You were gone.

But Copia remained. 

He remained in his loneliness, in his longing for you. The price to pay for being able to avenge you was high: He had to navigate without you. 

Copia remained.

Despair would gnaw at Copia's soul as he grappled with the cruel realization that the memory of your voice was slipping away from him.

Copia remained. 

But he did not forget his promise. He knew you were there. Somewhere.

He would sail until he finds you. 

Rome, a Garden in the Sun, April 1677

“Amore, you do really have a gift, you know that?” You smiled, feeling your lover's arms envelop you as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The soft fabric of your silk scarf gently caressed his skin. Your hand moved with precision, delicately tracing lines on the paper.

“Hush” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper “You will scare it away…” You gestured toward the small sparrow perched on a nearby branch, its cheerful chirping filling the air. Copia kissed the top of your head. The garden of your parent’s house embraced you both with its serene beauty. You were well hidden behind a massive oak. The gentle ray of sunshine caressed his skin. The scent of the blooming flowers filled his nostrils. The air was filled with the sound of chirping birds and the soft rustling sound of leaves in the breeze

He was supposed to teach you latin right now… but the weather was so beautiful and you wanted to draw. You had pleaded him to let you go outside. How could he say no to you? 

“My little artist, so perfect” he hummed contently as he held you in his arms. 

In an instant, the sparrow spread his wings and flew away, startled by the snap of a branch. Disappointment washed over you, and you let out a sigh as you set your pencil down on the sketchbook.

“Oh cara…” Copia leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. At that moment, he made a silent promise to himself. One day, you would both fly away like the little sparrow. He would whisk you away to a breathtaking place, a sanctuary filled with thousands and thousands of beautiful birds, where you could freely admire their splendour to your heart's content.

London, England, October 1808

Copia's existence was lonely, an enduring consequence of his immortality. He had to live alone. He did not want anyone besides, anyone but you. Copia had left Rome for a while now, reluctantly leaving your tomb behind him. He would go from city to city, from country to country, hoping that he would find a sign of you. 

But he had been searching for so long now and the former Cardinal started to feel hope falter within his heart. Could he ever find you again? Were you really out there? Maybe his twisted mind had been deluded. You were dead and gone. How could he ever be able to find you again? He held his hand to the pocket of his black cloak, the place where he kept your silk scarf close to his heart… time had damaged it and your scent had surely faded away now but he kept it nonetheless. 

Copia wandered in Spitalfields. It was late at night. The moon was throwing its pale light on the grey cobblestone of the street. The sound of silence filled the air only disturbed by the echoes of his heels on the pavements. The market which was usually overcrowded looked eerie at night. But none of those things aroused fear in Copia’s heart. Copia was hungry. 

Was there anyone foolish enough to go out at night in such a wretched place? Copia hoped so. But as he looked around, he saw nothing but cats and some rats. The immortal being wrinkled his nose… he had eaten rats a few times before to alleviate his unbearable hunger. But tonight, he did not want to feed on some rodents. He wanted fresh blood. He wanted to feel the thrill of sinking his teeth in someone’s neck. He had become this kind of monster after all... And he had done that many times before. Suddenly, Copia stopped. 

There she was. His prey. 

The woman was sitting on the edge of a small wall before an old statue, her hair was hiding her face. She was focused on something, blissfully unaware of the threat that was hanging over her. What was she doing out in this place at night anyway? This girl was undoubtedly looking to get herself killed! Copia licked his lips, his hunger growing. He could already taste her sweet blood on his tongue. He would...

Suddenly, the woman turned her head toward him. She gasped upon seeing him, her sketchbook dropping to the floor. In that instant, Copia's cold heart skipped a beat.

It could not be...

This woman wore your face!

Her eyes, her hair, the outline of her lips, the colour of her skin... She was your spitting image. His eyes snapped to the sketchbook on the ground. When it fell, it had opened on the page of a drawing… a sparrow. Copia felt his heart sink into his chest. His eyes widened, and his face turned paler than ever. He took a step back as the woman jumped off the wall 

"I have a knife!" the woman shouted. "I won't hesitate to cut you open if you try something!"

Copia's heart sank even further and his hunger disappeared all at once. The woman had your voice, he was certain of it. Even if he could not remember the melody of yours a moment before, he felt it was unmistakable; she was you. He had finally found you.

“I will not hurt you, bella,” Copia said eventually.

He took a step further, knowing that the darkness still concealed him from you. You pulled out a knife from your cleavage and pointed it towards him. A low chuckle escaped Copia’s lips, to his dismay, it sounded sinister. He found that he had forgotten how to laugh gleefully. But he did not let this dreadful realization hit him too hard. He had found you again. 

“Oh cara… You don’t know how long I have searched for you” In the dim moonlight, he saw you frown. A hint of confusion and terror flashed in your bright eyes.

“What…?”

Copia stood just a couple of meters away from you. Now, you could see his face.

Please remember me.

The vampire closed the distance between the two of you. You were obviously scared, trapped by the wall behind you. Frozen like a deer in headlights, you couldn't move. He knew he probably looked scary with his dissimilar eyes and the black paint around them. But slowly, and with careful movements, Copia raised his hands to your beautiful face. He was shaking with emotion, his mismatched eyes filled with love and devotion. Please remember me. 

"Please do not be scared, amore," he whispered, his voice soft like the murmur of a summer breeze.

You were still holding the knife toward him, but you never struck him. He could see that fear was gripping you, yet did not do anything to stop him from touching you. Eventually, his hands grazed your face as he cupped your cheeks tenderly. It felt like an electric shock, surpassing anything he had ever dreamed of; it was pure bliss. You were here, and he was touching you. The knife slipped from your trembling hand.

Please remember me.

He could see that you were closing your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the worst, but instead of something harmful, you only felt his gentle touch.

Please remember me. 

“I have crossed oceans of time to find you” he murmured, drawing soft circles on your skin Time seemed to stop as you opened your beautiful eyes to look at him. But when he eagerly plunged his gaze into yours, the sharp knife of sorrow pierced through Copia’s heart. You did not remember.

Your eyes were filled with confusion and intense fear. Suddenly, you shoved him away and ran. Almost sounding like a wounded animal, he called your name desperately—or the name that was your many years ago. But you did not stop. You did not turn around. You ran. And let yourself be swallowed up by the darkness of the streets.

Copia stood there for a long, stunned. He felt like his cold heart was bleeding out in his chest. With a shaky breath, he leaned to retrieve the sketchbook and the knife you had left behind in his shaking hands. They would join your silk scarf on his aching heart.

The next time Copia saw you, you were living another life, another life that he could have shared with you. Once again, he tried to reach you, only to be met with confusion and fear. His heart broke each time he tried until eventually the pieces of his heart could not be split any further.

It happened again many times after. He met you again. And again. It seemed as though the universe was trying to make up for all the years you had spent away from his eyes. However, it remained consistent in its cruelty. He would encounter you in all your lifetimes..

After a while, he decided to stop trying to get to you, to explain to you that you were his soulmate. Once he discovered you, he would simply watch you from afar most of the time. Every time you drew your last breath, he would embark on another search for you. He would watch you navigate through your lives, sometimes with a darling by your side.

How he wished he could be them...

The jealousy was hard to endure. Sometimes, he would even think of ripping these people apart out of bitter envy. But how could he blame them? You were so wonderful. And, in the end, Copia wanted you to be happy.

But as time flowed, and as he met and fell in love with you repeatedly, a cruel pattern emerged. Each time he discovered you more swiftly than before, fate seemed determined to tear you away from him just as quickly.

In this lifetime, you were a valiant nurse leaving to care for soldiers during the war. He saw you for a short moment on the platform of a train station before you climbed onto the train that would lead you to your ruin. In another, you were an ill girl of the night whom he managed to hold in his arms for one blissful night.

Every time, you were snatched away by Death with increasing haste. And always, you were robbed of your youth. The universe seemed eager to pluck you at the height of your bloom, as if unwilling to witness the slow decay of the magnificent flower you were.

But that meant you never knew a peaceful death.

That one time he attempted to spare himself the agony of finding you only to lose you again, you crossed his path unexpectedly.

The oceans of time were moody and tumultuous. You could never travel on the same boat. Each time he reached out for you, to grab you in his arms and never let go, the storm would snatch you away from him. Whatever he was trying to do, his heart ached. But he found that the pain was more intense when he could not see you...

So he would keep looking for you. Again. And again.

He would find you.

He would lose you. Again. And again.

Italy, Rome, March 1676

"Father, is this necessary?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Your father glared at you from across the room, his disapproving gaze piercing through your soul.

"Yes, it is," he hissed, his tone sending shivers down your spine. "You need a prestigious education. You are my daughter. I won't allow you to be a disgrace or a disappointment. Is that understood?"

You remained silent, you knew he did not really expect an answer. You were well aware of your father's harsh and bitter nature. He had always resented you, perhaps because you were a girl instead of the precious son he had desired. But you were his daughter nonetheless, he had to keep up appearances. You knew he would not tolerate anything that could bring shame upon the family.

Turning away, you looked out the window of the opulent living room, yearning to be in the garden, drawing and savouring the melodies of the birds as they welcomed the arrival of spring.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn't turn around. You heard your father stride towards the door and open it.

"Ah, Your Eminence... it is such a pleasure to meet you," your father greeted with feigned politeness.

"Well, the pleasure is all mine, Signore," responded an unfamiliar voice, smooth and melodious.

A shiver ran down your spine upon hearing it. The voice was as sweet as honey, soothing and enchanting. You dared not turn around. Your father called your name, his tone a bit harsh. Slowly, you pivoted to face the man who had just entered the room. Your eyes met his captivating green gaze, and for a moment, it felt as if time had frozen around you. This man was undeniably handsome. When your father mentioned a Cardinal, you had envisioned an elderly and wrinkled figure. However, this Cardinal appeared quite young and attractive.

Donned in a red cassock, a wooden cross hanging from his neck, he possessed sharp features, with a slightly pointed nose. A small mustache graced his upper lip, while sideburns descended along his cheeks. His chestnut hair peeked from beneath the crimson biretta atop his head.

"H-Hello, Signorina," the Cardinal stammered after what felt like an eternity of gazing into each other's eyes. "It's... truly a pleasure to meet you."

A smile formed on your lips. In the end, you were grateful for your father's insistence on teaching you Latin.

Los Angeles, United States, after years of wandering in the dark… 

Copia had finally started another life. Some people had reached out to him, knowing what he was, and they did not mind at all. On the contrary, he became a symbol of their faith. Their Dark Lord had heard his prayers and blessed him with the power of darkness. His immortality and power symbolized the almightiness of Satan. He no longer had to hunt for blood; they provided it for him. Copia had regained the title of Cardinal, offering a slight distraction from his pain.

Years had passed since he last encountered you in one of your many lifetimes. It seemed like the universe had finally ceased its torture, and now Copia sailed on calmer waters. But he had to endure the pain of your absence again. Yet, Copia could not help but wonder why he suddenly stopped meeting you. Was the universe preparing something? What other vicious tricks did it have in store for him?

He tried to dismiss these thoughts and focus on the tasks ahead. But for now, he wanted to make the most of his peaceful afternoon stroll in the garden. Its serene beauty and the sweet smell of the flowers gently enveloped him. The gentle ray of sunshine caressed his skin, and the birds were chirping...

"Um, hello? Cardinal?"

The voice behind him startled him for two reasons—the suddenness of the person's appearance and the oh-so-familiar melody of the voice.

Cara mia...

Copia slowly turned around.

There you stood before him, radiating beauty and sweetness. Your face, your hair, your eyes, the colour of your skin and the beautiful outline of your lips. You smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes wandered to the silk scarf you wore around your delicate neck. It looked like the one he had no stop wearing against his heart all these years. 

Of all the encounters he had with you, it was the first time you approached him on your own accord, the first time you reached out to him. A glimmer of hope shone bright in his mind. Warmth settled in his heart as he smiled back at you.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe his journey through the oceans of time had finally come to an end. Perhaps he could finally set foot ashore.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

October 11th, 2024

I think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see Mrs. Harker a little before the time of sunset. We have of late come to understand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of peculiar freedom; when her old self can be manifest without any controlling force subduing or restraining her, or inciting her to action.

Oh… Dawn and dusk have become moments of transformation for Mina as well… 🥺

"We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know, dear; I know that you will always be with me to the end." This was to her husband whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon hers.

Jonmina strikes again… Also a prime example of Mina’s lines resembling something Van Helsing or Dracula would say.

"But death is not all. I cannot believe that to die in such a case, when there is hope before us and a bitter task to be done, is God's will. Therefore, I, on my part, give up here the certainty of eternal rest, and go out into the dark where may be the blackest things that the world or the nether world holds!"

I would, in fact, chase a vampire all the way to Transylvania for her.

"This is what I can give into the hotch-pot." I could not but note the quaint legal phrase which she used in such a place, and with all seriousness.

I LOVE HER I LOVE THEM

"What will each of you give? Your lives I know," she went on quickly, "that is easy for brave men. Your lives are God's, and you can give them back to Him; but what will you give to me?"

Dying is easy young man… Living is harder…

Quincey seemed to understand; he nodded, and her face lit up. "Then I shall tell you plainly what I want, for there must be no doubtful matter in this connection between us now. You must promise me, one and all—even you, my beloved husband—that, should the time come, you will kill me."

"What is that time?" The voice was Quincey's, but it was low and strained.

"When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is better that I die that I may live. When I am thus dead in the flesh, then you will, without a moment's delay, drive a stake through me and cut off my head; or do whatever else may be wanting to give me rest!"

Quincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt down before her and taking her hand in his said solemnly:—

"I'm only a rough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a man should to win such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred and dear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from the duty that you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall make all certain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that the time has come!"

I also love Quincey… So much… 🥺❤️

Think, dear, that there have been times when brave men have killed their wives and their womenkind, to keep them from falling into the hands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more because those that they loved implored them to slay them. It is men's duty towards those whom they love, in such times of sore trial!

I am once again asking how ANYONE can read this novel and think of Dracula as a sexual liberator

How can I—how could any one—tell of that strange scene, its solemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its horror; and, withal, its sweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty of bitter truth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted to the heart had he seen that little group of loving and devoted friends kneeling round that stricken and sorrowing lady; or heard the tender passion of her husband's voice, as in tones so broken with emotion that often he had to pause, he read the simple and beautiful service from the Burial of the Dead. I—I cannot go on—words—and—v-voice—f-fail m-me!

The themes of love and death in this book ARGH

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[explorevenus]

piercing porcelain, crimson sap ♡ vampire!steddie x reader (pt. 1)

recommended listening - dracula (nate sees cassie) - labrinth

this part is generally sfw but the bulk of this series will be nsfw (18+) - so minors dni !!!!! or i will call ur mom

word count - 5k

description - in a fantasy world, reader is from a small, remote village. for many years you have been drawn to the mysterious mansion in the woods, the very same mansion you were warned against visiting for so long. you’ve tended to the neglected garden since you were young, growing attached to the strange, abandoned structure, only to one day find out the mansion isn’t as vacant as you’d thought...

tags/warnings - vampire!steddie, dark!steddie, innocent!reader, fem/afab!reader, pet names, no use of (Y/N), stevie is a lil cold at first but he warms up i promise, eddie is v manipulative lol, implied hypnosis, no smut yet but i promise it’s coming, fantasy elements obvi

a/n - ok i know this premise is done to death and like somewhat out of left field for a fucking stranger things fic but HEAR ME OUT. HEAR ME OUT OKAY. i am a SLUT for sexy mysterious vampire boys and i’ll be DAMNED if i don’t turn steve and eddie into sexy mysterious vampire boys at least once before i die. thank u for understanding and if u see this and it flops no u didn’t ♡

taglist - @urlbitchin​

my masterlist ♡ ​

part 2 coming soon ! lmk if u want to be added to the taglist :)​

fic below the cut, thanks for reading and i hope u enjoy ♡

-venus ♡

Growing up in the woods, you were always taught to avoid the decrepit old mansion that hid away in the shadows of the tall trees, a warning you would heed with great caution as a child, but not so much as you grew into your teenage years. 

You were 15 when you first felt the urge to rebel, or rather when you first failed to fight it off. Restricting yourself to only the outside of the property, to make yourself feel better about your choices, if anything, you had set off along the overgrown path that winded northeast and just down the valley, into a remote corner of the wilderness where the decaying building loomed tall, quieting the forest around it.

Based on all the horror stories you'd been told over the years, you expected to find the place teeming with evil spirits, or perhaps grotesque monsters; but, it was silent as could be, utterly vacant by the looks of it, and at first, rather underwhelming. You thought to yourself that maybe that was the point of all those hyperbolic cautionary tales that the elders passed down, to build up this great big image of what evil might be hiding away here, only for the purpose of letting down those expectations later. You were ready to give up and walk home, disappointed by your findings (or lack thereof), when you caught sight of a beautiful jungle of plants out of the corner of your eye-- they were bursting through the gaps in an old iron fence. It was a long forgotten garden, and as luck would have it, plenty of the plants there were invaluable for your alchemical endeavors.

Every now and then you would slip away and return to the garden, mindlessly sifting through the salvageable ingredients, and as the years went on you'd made a habit of tidying up the weeds where you could, too. Your interest in alchemy hadn't fully extended to an interest in gardening, so you weren't the most experienced by any means, but it was amazing what the smallest loving touch could do for a long forgotten place. Not to mention, the ridding of the weeds allowed the more sought after plants to properly flourish. It became your own private place, your own little slice of heaven, untouched by anyone but yourself. You loved the community you'd grown up in, but you felt an immense comfort near that strange mansion.

In your adulthood you only began to spend more time at the property, caring for the precious plants and dreaming that the mansion was yours, dreaming that you were not a village witch thieving ingredients for a living but the mistress of a beautiful household, gardening for pleasure in her overabundance of free time. It wasn't so much the material that you wanted, no, but the freedom-- freedom from the dangers of the woods, freedom from that constant worry of being unable to provide for yourself, for your village. It was nice to fantasize sometimes.

On this particular afternoon, it was overcast when you were readying yourself to leave the village, so you saw it fit to bring an umbrella. The prospect of rain didn't bother you a bit, or change your plans to visit the mansion at all-- it had been too long since the last rainfall, so both yourself and the plants were sorely needing it anyway. You lifted the hood of your soft cloak over your head and stepped outside, flower basket in-hand and toting a leather backpack full of various gardening supplies.

Cutting through the trees to that fading old pathway, little rocks and twigs crunching ambiently beneath your boots, you looked up at the grey sky above to see that it was only continuing to darken on the horizon. Thick black clouds loomed in the distance, swallowing up every last bit of sunlight and visibly unleashing buckets of rain upon the northern end of the mountain range, and they were barreling closer at a rate highly noticeable to the naked eye. You briefly considered turning back, but decided to stick to it anyway, given the worst case scenario was having to walk home drenched.

That old iron fence creaked loudly in greeting as you entered, even louder than usual due to the moisture in the air. You closed it softly behind you and made your way over to the patch of nightshade that you'd been tending to. You propped your umbrella up on the stump of a nearby tree, crouched beneath it, and got to work pulling up weeds as little droplets began to fall around you. The petrichor was delightful and comforting, and the rainfall softened the earth enough to make it just a little easier to uproot things. It didn't take long for you to settle into a comfortable autopilot mode as the droplets became gradually larger, and more plentiful.

Eddie and Steve liked this kind of rain.

Any kind of rain was favored, of course, but today was unmistakably a treat. The clouds were so dense and blackened with excess that no sunlight could hope to shine through. There was much excitement to be had on darkened days such as these, for a creature of the night-- the ability to roam during waking hours provided an entirely new insight into the lives and routines of their prospective cattle, and as a bonus, the moisture in the air tended to strengthen certain scents. 

But, in a more wholesome light, it was quite nice to reminisce in the long faded memory of their own mortality, to pretend, if even just for one afternoon, that their hearts may beat with vitality as they once did, that their bodies might once again hunger for fruit or pastries instead of thick red blood. It was a perfect day for a stroll, Eddie thought, and if they were to happen upon something suitable to dine on in the process, well, that's all the better...

Unfortunately, for his own skeptical reasons, Steve didn't seem to agree. He felt that it was too much of a risk to be seen by anyone, that it would blow their cover, and perhaps his paranoia was not entirely unfounded, though Eddie hesitated to give in. Not only had it been a while since the last good rainfall like this, but it had certainly been far too long since they'd found a new plaything, and Eddie was becoming... rather restless. The last few cattle they'd brought in hadn't really wowed him, as they were chosen more out of necessity and convenience than pleasure, and in turn, it took hardly any time at all for him to grow bored with them. Eddie needed something new, something exciting to keep him entertained for much, much longer than that. The weather provided the most enticing opportunity to stalk around, it was a shame that Steve was so adamantly against it. He could really be no fun sometimes.

Eddie was sulking around the mansion while Steve worked away in the upstairs office-- he had taken the additional waking hours as an opportunity to get ahead on his obligations, which was quite characteristically responsible of him, but Eddie couldn't bring himself to sit still, knowing that such a golden opportunity was being wasted. He could only rearrange the liquor cabinet so many times, let alone the furniture-- the exterior of the mansion was to remain untouched, to maintain the illusion of vacancy. With each passing second, the temptation to slip out for a bit to hunt while Steve worked was picking away at him.

Tossing the idea around, just for fun, of course, Eddie approached the nearest window and drew back the heavy red curtains for a peek outside-- just a scan of the property couldn't hurt, right?-- and as his mocha eyes followed along the treeline surrounding the property, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he froze in place as he picked up on an intriguing scent. Curiously, Eddie cracked the old window open, letting in a draft of the cool, fresh air, and just as he'd hoped, it carried with it the sweet smell of living flesh. The stars couldn't have aligned more beautifully-- there was a human nearby.

To avoid alerting Steve, Eddie quickly sealed the window shut once more, slinking away up the stairs for a better view from the windows in the master bedroom. They were bigger than the ones in the hallway, had a much higher vantage point, and more conveniently, faced the single overgrown path that led to and from the property. Truthfully, he hadn't expected to find much-- Eddie didn't really consider himself lucky, and he knew that the powerful scents carried by the humid air could sometimes be deceiving. 

Still, just as he'd done before, he drew back the curtains and cracked the window, peering outward, noting that the human's scent was stronger here. It was floral and saccharine, like fresh lavender and juicy peach, laced with ribbons of intoxicating iron. Eddie's lashes fluttered as his eyes slid shut in delight, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe in deeply with an open, slightly watering mouth.

His eyes opened again and immediately caught sight of movement on the ground below. Eddie couldn't believe his eyes at first; crouched beneath an umbrella in the garden was a pretty little witch, muddying her slight hands in the thick weeds with no evident knowledge of the mansion's occupants. She wore a pale pink cloak that matched her boots and her umbrella, the white frills of her dress poofing out from beneath it, pointed elven ears peeking through her hair. Eddie could hardly fathom leaving the girl out in the rain-- after all, she must be freezing...

Eddie briefly considered asking Steve for his opinion, but had a sore feeling that he knew what he would say, and it wasn't likely to be in his favor. Deep down, he knew that it might be a reckless move, but the aroma in the air was all too enticing. With every passing second he was losing grasp of his better judgement. The temptation was far too much, and so it was that he gathered an umbrella of his own, and decided he would rather ask for forgiveness later. His sleek black dress shoes went from tapping elegantly across the hardwood floors to sinking into the wet earth. While he wasn't exactly thrilled that his expensive shoes had been exposed to the elements, he knew that the reward could be well worth it. Conveniently, too, the softness of the ground masked the noise of his movements, allowing him a bit more time to observe the girl in her relaxed state. Eddie approached the little elf slowly, not wanting to frighten her. She was so absorbed in her work that she hadn't even looked up.

In all honesty, the girl's unmoving focus and lowered guard brought a little smirk to Eddie's face. Finally, he asked aloud, "My, sweetheart, aren't you cold?" His voice was so warm and sweet, but somehow chilling, too.

You startled, freezing in place as your eyes raked up the length of his body before you-- he was so tall, with long legs clad in nice black slacks that fit him sinfully well, and contrasted to his pale white skin in a way that gave him a nearly unnatural glow. His alabaster face was framed by wildly curly, dark hair, tucked into a messy low bun behind his neck. You couldn't find the words to speak-- he was certainly stunning, a sight for sore eyes, but you had definitely not expected to see anyone out here, let alone in this weather, and it was even weirder that he was able to sneak up on you.

"Oh, you poor thing, you're shivering..." The mysterious man frowned, crouching to your level, fingertips tracing along the underside of her jaw. Little did you know that he was feeling for your pulse. "Why don't you come inside and warm up, hm? We'll get you out of this rain and into some dry clothes."

Inside...? You were only puzzled further-- as far as you knew, this mansion had been vacant for decades, and it certainly looked the part. The garden was far from the only section of it that had fallen into disrepair. The circumstances of this situation were overtly suspicious, but there was something about him that just made it so hard to say no. The mysterious man was equal parts haunting and alluring, comforting and hazardous. Before you could say anything, he reached forward to wrap an arm around your shoulders and then began to usher you indoors.

Shutting the heavy oak door softly behind you, the man rested a hand on your shoulder from behind. "May I take your umbrella?" He kindly asked.

"T-Thank you," You blushed, shakily handing your umbrella over to the man, suddenly being washed over by a feeling of guilt for dripping water all over the beautiful hardwood flooring. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't know anyone lived here--"

"Shh, it's quite alright, angel," He soothed, hand sliding from your shoulder to your collarbone as he stepped forward, and twisted around to face you. Every movement he made was so enchanting, so graceful, you nearly tripped over yourself as he was stepping out of his muddy shoes. "I appreciate the company. It's not often we get visitors out here."

You were then given absolutely no time to ponder the implication of the word 'we' as the man asked for your name. Somewhat warily, you gave it to him. He hummed contentedly, testing the name out on his tongue, and he was very much pleased with how it felt.

"How pretty," He mused. "And how sweet of you to take such good care of our garden... it's nice to meet you. I'm Eddie."

You were immediately flustered at the praise, cheeks flushing bright pink as your eyes darted somewhere else, drinking in your surroundings-- perhaps the outside of the mansion was falling apart, but the inside was truly beautiful. Dark, but beautiful. Intricately carved wooden furniture decorated the space, fine paintings adorned the deep blue walls which flickered a warm orange with cozy candlelight, and the ceilings were so high that it made you feel particularly small. It looked almost regal. 

Eddie gently reached for your hand, bringing you swiftly back to reality. "Why don't you come upstairs and we'll get you out of those wet clothes, hm?" He asked, but he was already leading the way-- again, there was something unnaturally persuasive about him, and it went far deeper than his unparalleled beauty. You rounded a corner and began to ascend the winding staircase, the fine wood creaking softly beneath your steps. 

Clearing your throat nervously, you finally mustered up the courage to speak. "Do you live alone here?"

Eddie shook his head, leading you down a hallway at the top of the staircase. You followed obediently. "I have a roommate, an... old friend, named Steve," Eddie explained over his shoulder. "He's working away in his office, but I hope we see him soon. I would love to introduce you."

Of course, Eddie was well aware that your scent would soon breach the door to Steve's office, that it was only a matter of time until he'd follow it through the house until it led him to the both of you. He knew Steve would be angry with him, but he also knew Steve would have a hard time saying no to such a pretty meal laid out just for him. Eddie was willing to take that risk.

One of two thick oak doors creaked open before you, revealing an immaculate master bedroom. The windows were blocked with heavy black drapes which matched the dark, plush bedding, complimented by the stained wood floor. The walls were painted a deep, navy blue, shrouding the room in darkness save for the soft light of a bedside lamp crafted of Tiffany glass.

"You have a beautiful home," You spoke softly, eyes fixated to the many intricate details of the space that seemed endless, every flick of your eyes uncovering new treasures to be admired-- paintings, trinkets, candles long burnt down and dripping hardened wax down their bases.

Eddie chuckled, gazing at you out of the corner of his eye as he rifled through the closet for something you could wear, though it was hard for him to make a decision. You looked so adorable in your soft colored clothes, even drenched in rain and speckled with earth, and he sadly didn't have anything that matched your gentle appearance.

"Thank you, doll. You're very sweet," He finally replied, and as the words left his lips he noticed your polite manners. You observed your surroundings quietly, hands clasped in front of you as you made the noticed choice not to overstep, not to touch anything without permission, not to look too closely at any one thing. 

It came as a surprise to him when he felt his cold heart swell. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a way about someone he'd tricked into his home for a quick meal.

He brought his attention back to the closet, giving up on his own side and choosing instead to rummage through Steve's-- yet another decision he might come to regret, but at least Steve was more likely to own something soft and colorful. Almost immediately his eyes landed on a thick yellow sweater that would surely warm you up. Eddie plucked it off of its hanger and turned to hand it to you.

However, you were lost in an oil painting on the wall, wide eyes glassy with wonder as you looked over each brushstroke of a glowing crescent moon over a stream of rushing water. Eddie and Steve had acquired that painting so long ago that Eddie couldn't even remember where it came from or who painted it, but just how mesmerized you were by the piece was art enough for him.

Eddie cleared his throat to gather your attention, holding the sweater out for you. "Here, this should help you warm up," He smiled, careful not to bare his teeth. He didn't want to scare you off now. Only moments ago he simply wanted to bleed you dry, but now he found himself wanting to taste you, savor you, perhaps even keep you.

Oblivious, you took the garment from him with a smile, amazed at how soft it was. You thanked Eddie quietly before turning around to shed yourself of your dress, undoing the thin ribbons that secured it in the back before letting it slip gently down from your shoulders. You stepped out of the soaked piece carefully, thankful to your past self for choosing to wear tights and thin shorts beneath it, and as you pulled the cozy sweater over your head you delighted in the near immediate warmth that came with it. Shortly after, you gathered your dress from the floor and turned to face him.

"Thank you. Is there somewhere I can hang this to dry?" You asked.

Eddie tried to conceal his smirk as he answered you, "Well, I would say you could hang it on the clothesline, but..." He gestured toward the window which was concealed behind the thick drapes, but the sound of fat rain drops pattering against the glass was clear. "You should stay inside until the rain lets up, hm? I'd be happy to light the fireplace for you."

"I don't know... I should probably get back to the village in case the storm gets any worse," You spoke reluctantly, casting your gaze to the floor in disappointment, a move that was not lost on Eddie. "I might need to help cover the crops. I don't know what we'll do for the winter if our harvest is flooded."

Your disappointment communicated a couple of things to him-- one, you truly wanted to stay and spend time with him, and two, it was likely you'd be easy to convince to do just that. Of course he understood your plight, though he hadn't really considered the struggles of everyday, living, breathing people in a long time, but selfishly...

"Well, how many people live in your village, sweetheart?" He asked. You looked up at him, tilting your head quizzically. He chuckled, clarifying, "I don't get out much. I wouldn't know."

You had to think for a second-- you'd never really counted-- and when you landed on an estimate you were comfortable with, you obliged. "I don't know exactly... 45 or 50, maybe?"

Eddie hummed, crossing his arms casually. "That's a lot of hands. I'm sure they'll fare just fine without your help for a few hours, yeah?"

You pondered for a moment, just beginning to part your lips to accept his offer to stay for a while when another voice cut through the air, disapproving and materializing out of nowhere: "Eddie... What do you think you're doing?"

While you startled at the unexpected voice, jumping slightly where you stood, Eddie could only grin, turning slowly around to face the man in the doorway.

Only logical, you surmised this was the 'friend' Eddie had told you about earlier-- he was tall and athletic, square jaw and long lashes with fluffy brown hair that wisped over his face. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing a thatch of dark hair over his strong chest. Your mouth dried-- the two of them were strikingly, devilishly handsome, especially together, and suddenly you felt your cheeks heating up with confusion over your own feelings and embarrassment for causing a problem.

Eddie's response cut your internal dialogue short. "Stevie! There you are," He greeted innocently. "Remember how you mentioned the garden looked like it was coming back to life? Well, I found the culprit," He joked, gesturing to you as he introduced you by name. Your face burned even hotter.

"...And you found the culprit wearing my shirt?" Steve asked.

You felt your heart sink into yourself. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't know-" You stammered, but Eddie raised his palm to quiet you and spoke for you instead.

"Come on, Steve, look at her... Poor thing got soaked in the rain! Besides, doesn't she look adorable in yellow?"

Suddenly you felt hot for a different reason. You looked down to the floor to hide your face-- little did you know they could both hear your heart pounding. Still staring at the floor, you spoke up again, a little louder this time. "Um, I'm sorry for intruding... You can have your shirt back and I'll just go. I didn't mean to cause any problems."

As you looked up to make your way toward the door, you accidentally locked eyes with Eddie. An unexpected wave of calm washed over you, stopping you in your tracks.

"Nonsense, sweetheart," Eddie said. "You're not intruding at all."

Steve gave him a look that missed you completely, a look you wouldn't have been able to read anyway in your trance-like state. You couldn't really manage to speak, let alone interpret the silent communication between two men who were obviously so close with each other that the most subtle physical cues could speak a thousand words. 

Eddie put a hand on your shoulder. It was cold.

He smiled at you confidently. "Would you mind giving us the room for a moment, doll?"

Your feet were carrying you to the door before his words even fully sank in. Your gaze lingered on Steve for just a moment as you passed by him on your way out-- he was intently watching you go, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. You weren't sure how to feel about that.

Plopping down to sit at the top of the staircase, you tugged at the sleeves of the yellow sweater and wondered what kind of conversation they were having. It was overtly obvious Steve didn't want you there, but Eddie seemed quite sure of his ability to change Steve's mind. Having just met him less than an hour ago, you didn't know him well enough to trust his judgment on that. 

A tall grandfather clock ticked rhythmically down the hall, echoing each passing second. You picked idly at your tights just to pass the time, hoping Eddie's offer to light the fireplace for you would still be in the question, should Steve decide you could stay. You could faintly hear the timbre of their voices muted by the thick wooden door, but you couldn't make out what was being said or even discern the emotion behind it. All you could do was sit there, practicing your patience. Part of you wondered if you should just leave the sweater in your place and go, if it weren't for the fact your dress was still in the bedroom and you had no idea where Eddie put your umbrella.

You were too absorbed in your thoughts to notice the hallway had quieted. Apparently you were also too absorbed in your thoughts to notice the sound of the bedroom door opening.

"You do look rather cute in that sweater," A voice startled you from behind. Clutching your chest, you turned to face the source of it, surprised to find Steve. He was noticeably calmer and offering you his hand to help you up. "I might just have to let you keep it."

Shocked, you blushed as you took his hand, rising gently from where you sat. His hand was cold too. "T-Thanks," You stuttered. "I'm sorry if I caused any problems-"

"You didn't," He cut you off with a warm smile. "I promise. The apology is mine-- I'm sorry for coming off the way I did. You didn't do anything wrong."

"There you go, Stevie," Eddie chimed in from the bedroom doorway. You were beginning to sense a pattern that they had a unique ability to sneak up on you. "See? I knew you could play nice."

Steve shook his head, giving you an exasperated look that communicated quite well to you that Eddie was no stranger to successful persuasion such as this. "Let's get that fireplace lit, shall we?"

Guiding you down the stairs by your hand, Eddie trailing close behind, Steve led you to the parlor and encouraged you to make yourself comfortable as he knelt before the fireplace, stacking nearby logs of firewood into the soot-stained enclosure. Eddie was quick to replace Steve's hand with his own, leading you over to the couch. He offered to brew some tea for you, which you eagerly accepted, and as he made his way to the kitchen you found yourself sinking into the soft couch and watching Steve turn the gas valve at the bottom of the fireplace, striking a match to set the lumber alight at last.

Steve sat on the couch to your left, leaned coolly against the arm. The light from the fire cast a flickering orange glow over his handsome features.

He asked you about how you'd found yourself here, what measures you'd taken to revive the garden and what your village was like. He seemed hesitant to tell you much about his own past, other than that he came from a family in the city that he wasn't particularly close with. You let it slide, figuring there was much more to it than that, and you didn't feel comfortable prying.

Soon Eddie returned with a hot cup of tea, cautioning you to be careful of its temperature before he handed it off to you. You hadn't asked what kind it was, but it smelled delightfully earthy and herbal and a little bit minty, sure to chase the chill from your bones. You thanked him with a polite smile as he sat on the couch to your right, cradling the warm porcelain in your hands.

The three of you continued to chat, learning more about each other as you all became comfortable and opened up a bit. You learned that Eddie plays guitar-- he promised to show you sometime. You learned that Steve used to be an incredible athlete. You learned that the two of them met in school, that they hated each other at first, but have since been inseparable for a longer period of time than either of them could recall. You told them about your family, about your aptitude for horticulture. You promised to teach them how to care for their plants.

The conversation came to a comfortable break, the parlor draped in silence other than the pleasant sound of wood crackling in the fireplace. You were a sip or two away from finishing your tea when Steve leaned forward, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he asked, "Do you believe in the supernatural?"

It was an odd question that seemed to come out of nowhere. You nodded slightly. "I mean... yeah. Living in the woods for so long, I know quite well that there are many things on this Earth that nature couldn't possibly explain." You quietly sipped your tea.

"Does it scare you?" Eddie smirked, planting a cool hand on your knee. Suddenly you were feeling nervous under the pressure of their attention. You finished the last of your tea, leaning forward to set your empty mug on the coffee table.

"Not really," You replied, eyes focused on the fire. "Everything in nature requires a balance. Light and dark, hot and cold..."

"Predator and prey?" Eddie added.

You tensed a little bit, nodding. "Sure, that's a great example. It's all Gaia's will."

"Even if you were the prey?" Steve asked.

"Y-Yeah, I mean, of course," You hummed, wishing now that you hadn't finished your tea so fast. You needed something to fidget with. "It's all Gaia's will," You repeated.

Eddie's hand repositioned from your knee to your thigh so smoothly that you almost hadn't noticed. "Hmm... What about pain and pleasure?"

Steve's yellow sweater was beginning to feel rather hot on your body. Your breath hitched in your throat. "Absolutely," You answered innocently, although your voice shook. "It all contributes to a delicate balance."

You weren't stupid. You knew where they were going with this... or at least you thought you did. Oddly enough, as you'd answered just moments before, you weren't scared.

Maybe if you'd really known what you were in for, you would have been.

[arachnixe]

A Better Family

(Part 2 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Den of Depravity)

A man kneels on a stone floor, coughing blood. His face is a battleground of despair versus anger, and he clenches his fists in a futile gesture of resistance.

“If it helps, I’m sorry in my own way. I’d hoped to let you live, but I cannot do that if you will not play your role in this story.” A figure, cloaked in darkness, circles the dying man like a vulture.

“Damn you, Alucard. I should have known it was you. I see now it was always you. The count—” Another coughing fit interrupts him. “I won’t let you get away with this.”

“You are not in much of a position at all to ‘let’ me do anything, Morris.”

“I can still… curse with the best of them. Enough blood here for it, at least.” The man puts a red, dripping hand to his forehead and breathes a prayer. “By the bloodline of the Boltman clan, I curse you. We will wipe your progeny from the world. When you die, it will be at our hands. On my life, I swear it. In the name of my family I do hereby vow. We will be your end, Dracula.“

In a flash of light, the man collapses. Somewhere far away, a child wakes up from a nightmare of his father dying, his face wet with tears.

---

I, on the other hand, wake up with a smile on my face. Get wrecked, old man. If I have to suffer your curse, at least I have the consolation prize of playing dream witness to your embarrassing last moments on your knees again and again. It’s a damn shame, I think, that one of my ancestors apparently was successful at killing Dracula at some point. Wasn’t enough to end the curse on my family, though. I guess we are supposed to kill every last vampire to fulfill the prophecy.

That won’t happen if I have any say in it. I am determined to be the last of my line.

“Wait, she’s awake again already?”

“What did I tell you? This girl is the best.”

I open my eyes, blinking through the haze and trying to reorient myself. It’s still night, and I’m lying across the laps of two beautiful women in a dimly lit booth. I only recognize one of them. “Hey, Vicky. Who’s your friend?”

“Not totally with it yet,” the stranger observes.

“Come on. You met Liz already, remember? My sister.”

“Right, the hot sister.” That rings a bell. I sit upright with Vicky’s aid and position myself comfortably between the two vampires. I’m still feeling a bit dizzy, and my limp neck struggles to prevent my head from lolling to the side. “Gonna have to get some calories and iron in me if you want to go again before morning.”

“Already got a big steak coming your way, Hanna. Extra rare, just how you like it.”

I can’t believe there’s a nightclub in this city that serves steak of all things. This place rules.

“Ooh, she does have good taste. Twice over, even.” Liz rewards my quality opinions with a kiss on the lips and a lustful squeeze of my boob. While she continues occupying my mouth, Vicky runs her hand up my thigh and takes a long, lingering lick from my collarbone to my jaw. The way they treat me like a premium cut of meat makes me shiver in anticipation of what’s to come later tonight.

I’m too distracted to notice when my own meal arrives until the smell reminds my stomach that I’m starving.

“Oops, looks like they thought that was for one of us,” Liz says.

No sides on the plate, just a fat fucking slab of barely seared beef swimming in blood—is that human blood?—in a presentation clearly intended for vampire clientele rather than a living human. This place must be damn fancy by vampire standards. Or maybe it’s just that full moon excess at work.

I’m drooling, too hungry to fret about the details. If Liz thinks a little blood is going to put me off my appetite, I’m happy to prove her wrong. I demolish the whole thing in record time, ripping chunks of flesh apart with my teeth and happily sipping the mixture of blood and beef juices until I clean the plate and give Liz a little wink in response to her shocked expression.

“And here I thought a place like this would have an aversion to stakes.“

Vicky laughs uproariously. It’s a universal truth that no vampire can resist puns about themselves.

“I’ve never been so turned on in my life,” Liz says. “You’re telling me she’s really a—“

Vicky hisses an interruption. “Not here. Don’t yell at me about taking a stupid risk and then turn around and talk about it in public!”

I’ve inferred that if a certain someone in a position of authority were to learn about me being a vampire hunter in their midst, I’d be in real danger. I’m durable, but I’m not invincible, and besides, the last thing I want to do is to have to kill a bunch of vampires who think they’re just protecting themselves.

There must be a way to earn some measure of trust from the clan, show them that I’m not a danger, that I’m not like my hateful family.

“What if I found a way to prove myself?” I ask. “Make some big show of loyalty that can’t be ignored. It’s all well and good for me to repeatedly give myself to a couple of the hottest women I’ve ever met, but I don’t think anyone’s gonna believe that’s an act of altruism, per se.“

Vicky nods, stroking my cheek with affection. “You’re a freak for sure, but that’s not quite enough on its own.”

“You could wipe out one of, uh… your kind’s cells,” Liz suggests. “One that’s been directly a problem for us. That would go a long way.”

My heart skips a beat at the suggestion. Wipe out. She means doing some straight-up murder. There’d be no coming back from that, but that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what makes it a perfect test of loyalty. If I really want to make a difference, do some real good for the world, and spit on my family’s name in the process, here’s the perfect mission.

I lean back in the booth, turning my body to the side to face her directly. “Do you know of any specific one that would fit the bill?”

“It’s my job to know these things, my dear. Though I want to enjoy your company in full before I send you out on an obvious suicide mission. The cell I’m thinking of is run by a Boltman, which is a name that should strike fear into even your heart.” She squeezes my knee. “Of course, I wouldn’t blame you for changing your mind after hearing that.”

Vicky didn’t tell her, then. Or maybe she didn’t recognize the specific family affiliation identified by my tattoo. Not sure how to bring that up myself, so maybe I won’t just yet. Still, the name doesn’t change anything, really. It only helps me solidify my own feelings. I feel my face settling into an serious expression just shy of a scowl. “Quite the opposite.” My hand clenches into a fist. “I’m eager to take that family down most of all.”

---

There’s a difference between knowing of a hunter cell and knowing where to find it, of course, but I do have some advantages the vampires lack. I’m trained in several different hunter codes, naturally including the Boltman family’s.

Graffiti marks the location of safehouses, with special markings and modifications signaling how recently it was still believed to be uncompromised and whether other hunters are welcome. Some markings warn of nearby vampire dens with an estimated population count and risk level. Others hint at stashes nearby.

I meander the streets until I spot the first such sign: a stash. A false brick in an alleyway conceals some frozen sunlight and a silver chain. Smash one, pocket the other to pawn later, then keep looking. Where there’s one sign, more will be around the area.

The first safehouse I spot is unoccupied. Not too much of a surprise there; we keep plenty of redundant ones in case someone gets followed. Lucky break, though, someone has used it recently, and decoding the log book gives me clues about where to check next.

It takes only a few days to close in on the cell’s current location, and then no time at all to convince the guard to let me in. I know all the right words, and I flash them the tattoo that marks me as one of theirs. They have no reason to doubt me.

“Hey, Carlo!” The woman who lets me in shouts louder than I think reasonable. “This a cousin of yours or something?”

A shirtless man taking swings at the punching bag in another room stops what he’s doing, wipes the sweat off his face with a nearby towel, and approaches the two of us. He looks me up and down for a moment before responding.

“Not one I’ve met before.” He extends a hand. “Carlo Boltman.”

“Hanna.” I shake his hand. “Boltman too, that is.” I lift my shirt to show him my tattoo, a perfect match for his. I’m also dressed for the occasion in my hunter’s garb: strategically armored, belt full of essentials, and with knives and stakes strapped to me in easy to reach places. The leather gorget at my neck bears the seal of Clan Boltman, one repeated on my bracers and embossed on the back of my silver pendant.

“Hanna? Just like…?” Carlo turns and shouts toward another room. “Hey, Uncle Dan, come out here.”

Does everybody here feel the need to shout instead of walking over to—

“Well, well, well, the prodigal daughter returns to the fold. And here I thought you were content to steal from me and fuck off to a life of leisure.”

“Daniel. How good to see you well.” I keep my voice measured and composed, if icy, while addressing my father. I will not show him weakness. “I was unaware you considered it stealing to take the weapons and armor that were crafted for my measurements and with which I had grown accustomed during my training. I mistakenly assumed my father would bless his daughter with the tools she needs to strike out on her own and practice the family trade.”

He laughs. “Well, if you really have taken up the family trade in this godforsaken city, I may be willing to look past your transgressions. Tell me, how many vampires have you successfully hunted so far?”

“Five,” I reply without hesitation. “Two at once just a few days ago, in fact.” The smile of satisfaction I give him is even honest.

“Hmm.” He grunts. “Inadequate, but I do believe that’s within your capabilities. Be glad you didn’t try to lie to me.”

I almost pity Carlo, eyes darting back and forth at the two of us in our chilly confrontation. While it’s clear my father must have mentioned me before, it seems he wasn’t prepared for the truth of our strained relationship.

“I thought Carlo here would be the leader of this outfit, but I know you better than to assume you’d allow anyone else to call the shots when you’re around. So why don’t you tell me what you’re planning so that I can lend you my aid and we can part ways again?”

Daniel smirks. “No, this is my dear nephew’s mission. While I have graciously volunteered some input, I would never undermine the judgment of a fully trained and independent vampire hunter of our clan.”

We glare at each other for several silent seconds before I turn my gaze to my cousin. With a rueful grin, I say to Carlo, “I’m sorry about all this. You don’t deserve to be caught up in this kind of bickering. Would you brief me on what your group has planned?”

Carlo looks back toward my father, who gives a stern nod. “Well, first you need to know that we caught word Clan Sarthe is planning something big. ‘Resurrection of Dracula’ big, in fact.”

“You can’t ‘resurrect’ a vampire.”

My father snorts his disapproval with me. “Dracula is no run-of-the-mill vampire, girl. He’s the damn source of it all! And if you don’t want your job to get a whole lot harder, you won’t rest on your laurels hoping whatever ritual those bloodsuckers are planing is a dud.”

“Right,” Carlo continues. “We don’t want to take any chances. Which is why I called in a real veteran,” he gestures at Daniel, “and why we’re gearing up to hit the main hive.”

Leading me across the room, he unfurls an old-fashioned paper map of the city. That’s certainly my father’s influence; he is convinced all the tech companies are in the pocket of Big Vampire. I recognize a good number of the circled points on the map: several major dens I’m familiar with, including the Carmine. The circle he jabs at, however, is new to me.

“Warehouse district?”

“Right. The entrance is an unmarked building. We believe it leads to a network of tunnels that sprawls… well, we don’t know how far they go, but we’re pretty sure we can expose a lot of vamps to some surprise daylight with strategically placed explosives in the area.”

The plan is vile. The more he describes it, the gladder I become that I’m here to put a stop to this before they hurt any more innocents. I’m not even sure it would work, but a lot of vampires would die either way.

I nod thoughtfully and play my role, offering suggestions as though I intend to let them attempt this cruel scheme. I introduce myself to the other members of the cell, mostly ordinary people rather than true hunters. I don’t bother learning their names. The more time I spend around people like this, the more my own humanity disgusts me, the more apart I feel from all of them.

These people are not my real family. I know where I belong.

At night, most everyone falls asleep. The one exception, aside from me, is the guy keeping watch, just starting his night shift. The man doesn’t watch his back at all, and I quietly slip behind him and slit his throat.

It’s a nice safehouse, with enough rooms for everyone to have their own place to sleep even with six of us here. Better still, the walls are thick enough to muffle any brief struggle someone might offer, but I won’t need to rely on that as long as I hit them quickly and effectively. Fortunately, I am well trained in where and how to stab someone to prevent them from raising an alert.

Inside the first bedroom is the sweet girl who let me in. She sleeps on her back. I crush her windpipe, and in the same fluid motion I stab her through the heart. Her blood soaks the sheets without so much as a squeak of distress.

The second bedroom is where things go wrong. Carlo is awake, with someone going down on him. He’s too distracted to notice my entrance right away, but I don’t get far before he starts to yell.

My knife sails in a graceful arc from my hand into his eye socket. I dive forward, drawing another to stab through the sheets into the back of the nobody fellating my cousin. Carlo scrambles, losing blood, clearly in a panic, and I drive my second knife up through his diaphragm. Soon he too collapses.

That shout. There’s no way it didn’t wake Daniel up. After weighing my options, I choose to dash from the room yelling, “we’ve got company!”

Perhaps my father really is a sentimental old fool to the end. He bursts from his own room, armed with the famous family blade, and as I watch him scan the hallways holding that sword of his aloft, he shows no suspicion whatsoever toward me.

“How many, Hanna?”

“Two, I think. No idea how they got in.”

He swears under his breath, moving past me to peek into Carlo’s room, trusting me to watch his back. “Shit, Hanna. At least I’ve got you here. I never told you this, but—“

It’s all the opportunity I need to drive my dagger into his neck. I lever it back and forth to really shred his carotid artery and send his blood spraying like a fountain. Fuck that feels good. Oh, that really feels good.

On an impulse, I lean forward and catch the spray of blood in my mouth. It’s not like I draw strength from it like a proper vampire, but I’ve learned to love that salty, metallic flavor in my own way, and today it tastes like my freedom from this damn family of mine.

“Fuck you, dad.” I smear crimson victory across my face and laugh with sheer, manic joy. “I’d tell you to go to hell, but you always said that’s where all vampires go when they die for good.” I slice deeper, all but severing his head, then follow up by stabbing him again and again in each vital organ. Can never be too sure with a vampire hunter. “I’m sure, whenever I end up dying, that’s where I’m going too. And I’d rather not have you around while I’m spending my afterlife with everyone I ever loved.” I spit on his body. “If hell is my fate, then you can go to heaven or go to oblivion, but wherever the fuck you end up, go there without me.”

I grab my phone and text my family to let them know that there are some rapidly cooling bodies for them to enjoy if they’re feeling peckish. Also, I’ll appreciate their help taking some photos and videos to document my beautiful sins.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

I can't wait for the next part of the trio saving werewolf!reader it was so good!

Ask: I can't wait for the next part of the trio saving werewolf!reader it was so good! 

Ask: Hi! Just read part one of what is hopefully a mini-series of the trio x werewolf reader, and I can’t wait to see what happens next. If you like some suggestions on how to continue: maybe part two could be about the Reader learning how to be free, or perhaps the Trio helping reader recover enough to be able to shift back to being a human? Either way, can’t wait to see what else you have planned. Thank you so much!

[Combining the two asks here.]

A/N: My toxic trait? Answering asks for Part 2s of something I wrote over a year ago and then promptly abandoned lol. (To Read Part 1 to refresh your memory, like I had to do, click here [x].)

✥ ✥ ✥

“Do you think they’ll ever be able to turn back?” Sypha asked from where she stood, in one of the many rows of bookshelves lining the Belmont hold. 

Several levels below her, Trevor grunted as he hauled large pieces of shattered support beams to the base of the main staircase. “It’s impressive how sentient they are now, being a were-creature and all.” 

“Yes, but they don’t want to stay a creature for the rest of their lives.” 

“Well, life isn’t always fucking fair,” Trevor cursed, half-out of breath, as he began lugging the large beam up the stairs. 

“I’m fairly certain she knows that,” Alucard intervened, entering the main chamber, having just arrived fresh off the newly built lift he installed. “Speakers see far more suffering than most people, seeing as they believe it is their duty to help the less fortunate.” 

“How’s the lift?” Sypha asked, coming over to the railing. “Does it work? Were the calculations correct?” 

Alucard nodded. “I needed to modify a few measurements, considering the potential excess weight load-”

“We’re not that heavy,” Trevor interrupted. “Or do you plan to start bringing villagers in by the dozen and give tours?” 

Alucard narrowed his eyes at Trevor. “I was considering the repairs that need to be done for all the damage the night creatures inflicted. Unless of course, you’d prefer to drag that thing up yet another hundred feet.” 

Trevor huffed, refusing to show his fatigue. “What? This old thing?” He locked his knees to keep them from buckling. “Can barely feel it.” 

Sypha rolled her eyes. “Could the two of you stop competing for one second?! We’re supposed to be looking for ways to help our friend!” 

Admitting defeat, Trevor dropped the large piece of timber at the next landing. “Sypha, we’ve been at it for months. Every book says the same thing: only the shapeshifter can cause a shift at will. Outside of whoever cursed them with the affliction undoing it themselves. Or killing the shapeshifter and using death magic to alter their form post-mortem, there’s nothing any of us can do.” 

Accepting her friend had a point, Sypha took one of the adjoining bridges, healing toward Trevor as he stopped to catch his breath. 

“I could freeze that beam and toss it out you know,” she gestured to where Alucard currently stood. 

“The last time you did that, we ended up with a giant hole in the ground.” 

“That wasn’t me, that was the night creatures.” 

“But you did break the castle,” Alucard countered. “All of the gears were melted.”

“I did not! I do not break things. I am a Speaker, I fix things!” 

Alucard chuckled, sharing a knowing look with Trevor. For as knowledgeable as she was, she certainly had a hard time admitting when she was wrong. 

“In either case, it will take years to repair, even with my vampiric speed and strength. Dracula engineered those cogs and wheels over several centuries, often hiring the best blacksmiths around.” 

The trio boarded the lift together, Trevor having decided to leave the broken beam behind for another day. 

“They worked here? With him?” Sypha asked. 

“The castle’s forge is quite extensive. And no matter their level of skill, I doubt any local blacksmith’s forge would be large enough to mold such immense gears. They could only manage such creation within the walls of the castle.” 

Trevor scoffed. “Did they know who they were working for?” 

“I’m certain they had suspicions, but I doubt my Fath-, Dracula ever told them the truth.” 

“That’s-” Trevor started.

“Sad,” Sypha finished for him. “To be alone all that time. To not be able to tell anyone who you are.” 

The ingenious pulley system lift finally came to a stop as it became level with the forest ground outside the Belmont hold. 

“Is that why you wish to help them so badly?” Alucard asked, referring to their new werewolf companion. “You feel they’re lonely?” 

“Well they were lonely, back in that cage, in that life,” Sypha reminded her friends, as Alucard locked the lift in place.

“They seem better now,” Trevor remarked, being the first to disembark. “After all, you keep bugging them every day, they’re hardly lonely.” 

Sypha elbowed him, lovingly. “I do not bug them. They enjoy my company.” 

“You keep forgetting Speakers are used to traveling in large groups,” Alucard reminded Belmont, once again, as the trio made their way back toward the entrance of the castle. “It’s shocking how much you've forgotten, the two of you being companions and all.” 

“The three of us being companions,” Sypha placed a reassuring hand on Alucard’s shoulder. 

The dhampir gave a soft smile at the Speaker’s action before averting his eyes. Stepping out of her embrace, he started to ascend the many stone steps at the front of the castle. 

“It’s about time for dinner. Let me see what I can cook up.” 

✥

It had been a few months since the trio and their newfound companion arrived back home at Castlevania. Most of that time was spent with Sypha and Trevor bickering over how best to treat their new friend, while Alucard dedicated his time in between assessing the broken mechanisms of the castle to reading all of the tomes his father had collected on shapeshifting. Unfortunately, all roads pointed in the same direction: it was up to their friend to shift themselves back. 

At the present moment their werewolf friend, or Wynn, as they liked to be called, was resting in one of the many castle bedrooms. Their furry body was sprawled out over the entire length of the mattress, as they lazily tracked falling specks of dust around with their big puppy-dog eyes. 

Despite spending so much time resting, they felt exhausted this evening. It was as if the last few months of recovery meant nothing! 

‘I don’t know why I’m so tired,’ they thought, shifting to curl up in a tighter ball. 

Finally shutting their eyes, they made one final wish before drifting off to sleep, the same wish they had been making every night for god knows how long. 

‘Please let me be human when I wake up, please.’ 

✥

The sun had barely peaked over the horizon. Trevor and Alucard had woken up early to finally start clearing the major debris from the Belmont hold using the newly designed lift. So far Alucard had cleared twelve large beams while Trevor had managed to remove seven. Not that it was a competition or anything. It was at this point that Sypha had come to join them. 

“Well if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty, finally come to grace us humble footmen with her presence,” Trevor ribbed. 

“Nice pile,” Sypha gestured to Trevor’s lesser stack laid out next to Alucard’s. 

Trevor snorted. “Nice comeback.” 

Sypha crossed her arms. “I had a very long night last night. Which was entirely your fault by the way.” 

“My fault?” Trevor guffawed. “No no, I believe that last round was your fault.” 

Alucard, who had been watching amusedly from the sides, chose this moment to step in. “No, she’s right, I recall you were the one enticing us into that last round.” 

“Well, it’s not my fault if- hey,” Trevor suddenly straightened his back, and pointed to something in the distance. “Who’s that?” 

Both Alucard and Sypha turned around to see who Trevor was referring to. Almost immediately, Sypha clasped her hands together happily and began running over to meet this ‘stranger’. 

“Looks like Sypha wasn’t the last one to wake up,” Alucard nudged Trevor to come along. 

“No, but seriously, who the hell is that?” Trevor asked Alucard, keeping his wits about him. 

“You’re joking.” 

“I’ve never seen that person before in my life.” 

“That’s because you’ve never seen them before as a human.” 

Sypha, having finally reached Wynn where they stood, proudly and excitedly in their human form, pulled them in for a big hug. Clasping each other in a tight embrace, the two companion’s eyes began to water. 

“It’s so good to finally see you, my friend!” Sypha laughed, hugging Wynn closer. 

“It’s so good to be seen!” Wynn answered back, clearly overjoyed. 

After a good long moment, Sypha finally let go, turning around to face the boys. “Look who it is!” 

Wynn gave a polite wave, suddenly overcome by shyness under the focus of all three of their friends. “Um, hi? It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Alucard stuck his hand out for a handshake, which Wynn eagerly accepted. “Likewise.” 

Sensing Trevor’s hesitation, Wynn outstretched their hand to Trevor. 

Shaking his head, Trevor grasped Wynn’s hand and pulled them in for a hug, nearly knocking them off their feet. 

Speechless and touched by Trevor’s gesture, Sypha shot a knowing look at Alucard. 

Despite being their gruff, sarcastic, and sometimes slower friend, Trevor really was like a teddy bear deep, deep underneath that jaded exterior. Sure, very few would ever come to know it unless they were close to him, but that made the trio’s relationship all the more special. And it was a very telling sign that Trevor was able to let his guard down for the sake of their new friend. 

It was as if at that very moment, the trio had become a quartet. And Wynn couldn’t be happier to finally be a part of it. 

[lauralot89]

HAPPY CORN DAY

our young friend the lover of her

this is how I'm going to refer to the partners of my friends now, for all time. age and gender are irrelevant

You tell not your madmen what you do nor why you do it; you tell them not what you think

man, old school psychiatry sucked

My friend John, when the corn is grown

For reply he reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully

guys Lucy is dying

You were only student then; now you are master

"I've been waiting for you, Van Helsing. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you I was but the learner. Now, I am the master."

"Only a master of evil, friend John."

that all the rest may not make him kick the beam, as your peoples say.

no one says that, sir

If I was shocked when I saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her to-day.

see this is what happens when you stand around talking about corn and madmen (yes I know Dracula did it last night)

this is dreadful. There is no time to be lost.

see you say this now, but then you fuck off back to Amsterdam (yes I know it was for resources)

as he took in his stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood which seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed

bow chicka wow wow

but, now you are here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our blood not so bright than yours!

"You're an idiot, and that's good"

You shall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must go; and you must leave at my sign.

why though

Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the port wine, and let him lie down a while

no one ever gave me wine when I donated blood

He must not stay here.

why though

It at once occurred to me that this wound, or whatever it was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood

Good work Jack

but I abandoned the idea as soon as formed, for such a thing could not be

damn it Jack

We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night; see that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not sleep all the night.

Okay I know that Van Helsing isn't coming out and saying "I think this is a vampire" because everyone would decide he's crazy if he did that, but why in the hell doesn't he have people watching Lucy in shifts so that someone doesn't have to sit up all night without sleep

If you leave her, and harm befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter!

no pressure though

[obsidiancreates]

One Undead To Another (Chapter 16)

(Trigger warnings for graphic depictions of injury/dying, blood, nightmares)

Gus tips the delivery person and walks back into the main room of the office with two still-steaming burritos in a bag. Shawn feels the memory of salivating at that same smell– god, not even a week ago. Somehow it feels like it’s been years since he woke up cold and starving, but at the same time it’s been seconds. Is that a vampire thing, an ADHD thing, or a trauma thing? Is it worth figuring out? Not right now.

His mouth is bone-dry as he accepts the burrito. It smells good, great, and the way the warmth of it seeps through the tinfoil into his hands is heavenly. He feels no excitement to bite into it. 

“Alright.” Gus sits down at his desk. “Test number one– garlic.”

“I dunno about this, man. I told you I get hungry after I get hurt.”

“Shawn, we need to figure out your supernatural weaknesses before going back to taking cases.”

“I think we can consider garlic a lock!”

“Sunlight isn’t.”

“... Fair. … Fine. But only if you make some posters to hang around so we get some more private cases.”

“Why? Are you hungry again already?”

“...”

“Do I need to pull out the pencil rosary again?”

“Maybe? It’s not… bad. It’s just kind of… there. Can we just– I’m taking a bite, if I burst into flames or turn into a pile of ash just know my text about my Tears for Fears vinyls still applies.”

“Shawn.”

“Just making sure.” Shawn unwraps the burrito. It’s weird, to know something smells so delicious and know it should be making your mouth water and know you should be excited to eat it, but none of that matters. It’s like the whole experience is hitting a glass wall, clearly there, just barely out of reach to him. 

He takes a bite. Shredded pork, salsa, guac, there’s even roasted corn in this one. It’s loaded, incredible, and he can’t really enjoy it because even though it all tastes exactly like it did when he was human it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing is satisfied by it. In fact, the pang of hunger sharpens as the taste of the pork specifically floods his mouth.

It’s meat, and it’s wrong. Close, so close to what he needs, but not right.

“So?”

Shawn swallows. “Didn’t even burn.”

“Alright, garlic is a no.” Gus crosses it off his list. “We’ve gotta find some garlic flowers next and see if those do anything.”

“Garlic flowers? Don’t be silly, Gus.”

“Garlic flowers are another classic vampire ward, Shawn! They’re used in the original Dracula novel!”

“It’s a novel?” 

“We had to read it in the seventh grade, remember?!”

“Not really. I do remember watching one of those old uh, black-and-white movies with Count Dookie.”

“Count Dooku, Shawn.”

“Gus, he was one of the bad guys, let’s not sweat over his name.”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Am not.”

“You are! You’re deflecting again!”

“Deflecting? Please.”

“We agreed, last night, that if you got uncomfortable with focusing on the vampire stuff or the psychic stuff you’d say it outright and we’d switch gears.”

“... Alright. Alright, yes, I’m… wanting to change the subject for a while.”

“Fine. Psychic stuff still fine, or no supernatural stuff at all?”

“None at all, man, I just… let’s watch a movie or something. Least that won’t be different.”

“Alright. Hey, I think American Duos is on.”

“Really? … Wow. Their ratings must be terrible, it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.”

“The guy they replaced Zappato with is kind of lacking, and they had to replace Emilina last season and she’s not great either. I think it’s only still on because the producers are afraid of telling Nigel St Nigel he’s off the air.”

“Really? It sounds awful. Let’s watch the entire season.”

“You know that’s right.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nice of you to join us today, detectives.”

They both freeze in their tracks. Lassiter turns around first, adjusting his tie nervously. “Ready to get back to work, Chief. It was just a 24 hour thing, and I’m firing on cylinders today.”

“We both are,” Jules jumps in.

“Good, because your homicide case wrapped up the other night and we need a few closing details from you both. You’ll find the paperwork on your desks–”

“Chief!” Buzz jogs over. “We just got a report on the wire, body pulled out of a lake. Looks like drowning.”

Jules makes eye contact with Lassiter. Shawn’s abilities really have evolved. 

“Oh, detectives!” Buzz grins at them both. “I’m glad you guys are feeling better today! Oh, um, Detective Lassiter, I put any remains of journals or anything we found from the mansion in a box and left it by your desk.”

The Chief turns to Lassiter with a disbelieving, you-better-explain threatening smile. “Uh, detective, when did you ask Officer McNab to do this?”

Crap. “Uh, over the phone yesterday, Chief.”

“And you heard about the mansion burning down… how?”

“... Well, uh… Spencer! Yes, Spencer called me in the middle of the night, said he had a vision. Normally I would’ve told him to screw off but I… humored, him, when he asked me to tell McNab… that.”

“You… humored… Mr. Spencer?”

“I blame the fever, Chief.”

“Well, then… I’ll blame it as well. If Mr. Spencer thinks something additionally important is in those journals, I’ll let you hold onto them for the moment, but it’s looking like this case is pretty much completely shut, at this point in time. Right now I want this drowning case to be your top priority.”

“You got it, Chief,” Jules says, giving a too-wide smile and overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. The Chief eyes her oddly for a moment, and then walks back to her office.

“Keep it together, O’Hara, you’re the one who convinced me to play along with this crap,” Lassiter whispers as they quickly walk to his desk.

“I’m trying! The bigger the secret, the harder time I have keeping it!”

“Then why in god’s name are we doing this?!”

“Because Shawn doesn’t deserve to go to jail or a mental facility for something he had no control over!”

“You do realize–”

“As soon as I said it. But Shawn’s not one of the the bad guys, Carlton. It’s different. He’s one of us.”

“... Yeah, alright.” Lassiter tries to sound unconvinced as he agrees. They reach his desk and he takes the lid off the box, frowning as he looks inside. “This is what McNab considers salvageable? He’s more off than I was before the divorce.”

“Oh, Carlton.”

“... My therapist says turning the situation into humor could help me move past it.”

“Alright… well, if you think it’s helping.”

Lassiter looks back into the box, slightly flushed with embarrassment now, and carefully looks through. “I don’t know that we’ll get anything helpful from this.”

“Well, maybe they’ll trigger some kind of… psychic revelation for Shawn.”

“We’re bringing him evidence now?”

“He’ll probably steal it out of evidence if we don’t.”

“You finally caught him doing that?”

“No, but, we both know he does.”

“... Fine. At least this way we can ask for it back. … Let’s focus on this drowning thing instead. You were lying when you said you’d call him, right?”

“No, I was not.”

“O’hara, you saw him this morning. He’s not even close to ready to work on a serious case.”

“... Fine. I’ll wait until we have evidence of foul play. If nothing suggests that, I’ll just tell him it was an accidental drowning case tomorrow.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Henry closes the door to the security room and gives himself a moment to chuckle, tossing his badge up once and tucking it back into his suit pocket. He forgot how much he enjoyed flashing the badge to get into places.

He pulls up the security feed from outside the store on the night in question. He scrubs through, trying to pick out any suspicious details.

There. 

Just before 3 AM, a motorcycle is caught speeding by. It’s too blurry an image to tell if it’s Shawn’s bike, but Henry’s always considered ‘confirmation bias’ to be something that applies to other people. His investigations have never suffered from such a thing.

He scrubs through some more. Cars, cars, it’s too dark and blurry on the camera to tell them apart by make or model, much less license plates. The motorcycle is all he’s getting from this. 

He stands up, straightens his suit, and leaves. Maybe he’ll get something better from a more expensive store’s security feed. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn scoots a little further away as Gus lets out a snore and mumbles something flirtatious in his sleep. He thinks he’s getting an okay handle on the hunger thing– his throat is shot to hell again already, the temptation of Gus’s blood a little bit like that time his dad put a marshmallow on a plate and told him if he didn’t touch it for fifteen minutes he could have two. Comparisons keep drifting through his head, all the different things he can taste from having Gus so close, even when he does his best to stop breathing it in. 

Again, the movie snacks aren’t helping whatsoever. He keeps eating them anyway.

His mouth aches again. Pulses with pain in time with Gus’s heartbeat. He should really stop setting up situations where he’s alone with one or more of them.

He leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. The sound of the movie is sharp against his ears, just adding to the headache, getting less and less comprehensible as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juliet doesn’t have Thornburg.

Juliet doesn’t have Thornburg.

So why is she dying?

Shawn is holding her hand, trying to confess, but the words are stuck in his throat. Jules is wheezing, her eyes bleeding, looking into his with a fear dulled by a thick glaze of illness. Jules is dying. Jules is dying.

Lassie doesn’t get shot in the graveyard.

Lassie doesn’t get shot in the graveyard.

So why is he dying?

Shawn is holding Lassie as he bleeds out– no, he’s holding Mary Light, no, he’s holding Lassie, no, he’s–

Lassie’s blood is spilling out of his chest. He’s looking at Shawn with a level of terror that Shawn never ever wants to see from the detective, never should see from him.

He’s holding Mary again. “Wake up, Shawn.”

Lassie is dying in Shawn’s arms.

Lassie is dying in Shawn’s arms.

Gus doesn’t fall off a cliff when he grabs onto the extreme sports murderer.

Gus doesn’t fall off a cliff when he grabs onto the extreme sports murderer. 

So why is he dying?

Shawn holds Gus at the bottom of the cliff. Gus’s blood coats the rock beneath them. His eyes are completely sightless, his mouth trying to form words that will never come, not with a head injury like this. Gus’s hand grips Shawn’s so tight it hurts, a silent plea to save him.

Gus is dying and Shawn can’t save him.

Gus is dying and Shawn can’t save him.

Henry is not the victim of a plane crash.

Henry is not the victim of a plane crash.

So why is he dying?

Shawn struggles to keep his father’s head straight with one hand as he tries to get the radio working with the other. Henry is barely awake, wheezing, mumbling incoherently. Shawn can’t make the radio work. He can’t call for help.

He looks at his dad and sees regret shining in his bloodshot eyes. Henry reaches out with one bloodied arm and grabs Shawn’s bicep. There’s a tree branch impaled through his abdomen. He looks Shawn in the eye and opens his mouth–

“Wake up!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn sits up with a gasp! His grandmother’s voice screaming through his father’s mouth echoes in his head as he pushes off the couch and runs to the bathroom, splashing cold–

No, no, he’s colder than it is, he switches the tap and splashes warm water on his face. It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, it’s not something his skin should be anymore– the warmth shocks him into full wakefulness.

“Shawn?!” Gus’s footsteps are like hammers against his skull, his quickened heartbeat like a jackhammer. Shawn presses his hands over his ears.

“Shawn!” Gus’s hands are so warm, so warm, warm warm warm blood spilling into Shawn’s jeans from Gus’s skull at the bottom of a cliff–

“WHAT THE–!”

Shawn finds himself presses against the bathroom wall, Gus standing in the doorway with the makeshift rosary held up, wet handprints on his shirt. Gus is shaking. Shawn realizes he feels fangs poking his lip.

He gulps in a breath, pressing his hands to his torso, then his face, holding them out– he repeats until he feels like he’s in his own body again. Gus watches, poised to run.

Shawn shakes his head, trying to knock the last echoes of the nightmare out. They won’t ever go away. They won’t ever go away.

Something clicks. He looks up. “Oh, god. I didn’t–”

“You lunged right for my neck.”

“I- Gus, I’m so– I didn’t–”

“I could tell.” Gus relaxes a little. His heart is still pounding. Shawn realizes belatedly that his voice has gone raspy again. Gus keeps the rosary held up. “What was that?”

“I-I… don’t…” Shawn swallows. They agreed he’d be honest. They agree he had to be honest, at least between the two of them. “I had a nightmare.”

“... About?”

“I don’t… want to talk about it.” If he talks about it he’ll relive it, he’ll have the images take over the real world again and if that happens he’s not sure he won’t try to–

“... Okay. Okay, but– Shawn, that was terrifying.”

“Yeah.”

“And your voice is all messed up again.”

“Noticed that too.”

“... You know, when I went out with Willow–”

“You guys actually went out?”

“Yes! A couple times! Anyway, she told me about this vampire bar place for people who pretend to be vampires.”

“So?”

“So… do you think you could handle just having a little from someone, uh… consenting for their own reasons?”

Flash of white, film grain, stalking up behind the burglar, covering his mouth, sinking his aching fangs into warm soft flesh and drinking–

Shawn shudders– he wishes it was because he disliked the feeling of the memory– vision? … Memory. God, he wishes he disliked it.

“Not doing that, Gus. First of all that’s not my kind of kinky business–”

“Eugh! I was trying not to say it outright, Shawn!”

“I know you were, that’s why I did. Anyway, second, that’s… too, vampire. Way too vampire.”

“... I could see if someone there is willing to donate blood.”

“Gus. You’ll pass out just trying to get the bag here.”

“I can handle it.”

“You don’t want to.”

“It’s that or you drinking me!”

“I won’t drink you!” Shawn doesn’t mean for it to come out panicked– but the way Gus tenses and raises the cross a bit more shows it did, in a bad way. Shawn shakes his head again, looking down and trying to regain some composure. “You– you just shouldn’t have to do that, buddy.”

“You shouldn’t have to be undead. It’s not a fair situation to any of us, Shawn.”

Jules, Lassie, Gus, Henry, bleeding bleeding bleeding dying dying dying Dying And Leaving Shawn Along FOREVER–

“I’m going.” Shawn is snapped out of it by Gus digging his car keys out of his pocket. “You just zoned out again and started shaking. If you don’t get blood, one of us is going to be in big trouble, and either way it goes it’ll be bad.”

“Gus–”

“I’ll just close my eyes or something! I’m putting this in front of the door on my way out, I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’m letting Lassie and Jules know what I’m doing.”

“... Could you uh, leave out the–”

“Don’t even have to ask. Just… try to relax a little while I’m gone, okay?”

Shawn doesn’t agree or disagree. Gus leaves, and Shawn splashes his face a few more times before going back to the couch. He sits in the spot Gus had fallen asleep in. Maybe he’s imagining it because he’s so cold, but the spot still feels a little warm.

His cell rings a moment later. Crap. He lets it go to voicemail.

“Shawn, call me back, would you? What’s the point of these damn things if you just ignore it all the time? Look, I got a letter about your bike insurance and they’re raising the monthly payments. You put the damn bike on my card so I think I’m entitled to know how well you’re taking care of the thing if I’m going to keep paying for it.”

Shawn groans. He tosses his phone to the other side of the couch. He’ll reply later– or maybe never. 

Henry wheezing, staring with dull bloodshot eyes, reaching out–

…

He’ll reply later.

[theholmwoodfoundation]

Do you have an Instagram? Or a Tiktok? You can also find the Holmwood Foundation there, sharing art and information about the project to reach more likeminded people.

If you have accounts there, do give us a follow! We’ve also been sharing the extracts in a sexy visual format. Here’s a version below, along with the alt text:

INTERVIEW: Q: I must ask you, Ms Harker, how did Bram Stoker’s story of Dracula get published? Is it true you and your friends were the inspiration?

[MINA LAUGHS] Oh, my dear Bram! I remember when we first met in Cruden Bay in Scotland for a trip and we got on so well. I then invited him to visit me in Whitby, which is where I moved to support Arthur’s new venture after the Carpathians. Bram was very curious about our story,  and we…well, I suppose one thing led to another, and he was anxious to tell a version of it, mostly fabricated you understand, of his very own. To incorporate it into a tale of horror he was already writing. I must admit I was sceptical at first, but the idea intrigued me. Of course, in our real-world story, there was no monstrous being known as Count Dracula, no vampires, and no magic. Just a group of unlikely individuals and a rather terrible set of circumstances. But Arthur convinced me it would aid us in establishing the Foundation, and nothing in the world meant more to us than that. So we gave Bram permission to use our likenesses, and he even studied our writings and manners to ensure he could capture us on the page. I remember discussing with Arthur if we should have changed our names, changed who we were, but the release of the story, outrageous and horrifying as some of the details were, did introduce more people to the importance of blood and blood work. We were able to find many patrons to support us due to the release of Dracula, and while it has certainly made my life much stranger than it could have been, I was never truly upset by the book's legacy. I know Abraham - Professor Van Helsing's – nieces and nephews love to see how their uncle is presented as this dramatic vampire hunter! Sometimes, I wish Bram hadn’t changed so many details, particularly the ending, but I am not myself a writer, so I had faith in his words. Given the loss of my dear husband, Jonathan, at just 24 years old, I sometimes feel that a part of him lives on, caught like a pressed flower between the pages of that book. All I know for sure is that I have faith in what Arthur, Abraham, Jack, and I have created. We are honoured to work with the public to save lives, as we have done for the last 40 years.

-Transcript from BBC National Programme Radio Interview with Dame Mina Harker, Pub 1930

[chronically-ghosted]

✨ happy new year! ✨

it's not yet 2024 where i am but it is where my love @ravensmadreads is, so happy new year already enjoying january 1st!

i usually overthink around my birthday as i march towards death but you lovely people have really made me think about 2023 as it comes to a close. i feel weird talking about myself (unless im drunk and we haven't started drinking yet so hold onto your butts for that possibility), so i'm just going to say this:

You all changed my life.

there, that's it. if you read this and you think it doesn't mean you, yes it does. not a day goes by where this place, this community does not bring me joy and warmth. i hope you get that job you wanted, or you get that fur baby adoption you've been hoping for, or you get accepted to that school you wanted to, or you graduate with all the honors, or you create the thing you've always wanted to, or you get the baby you've been hoping for, or the person who makes you heart flip says i love you. i'm nervous about next year because it truly feels like a year where anything can happen 🤍

now to the fandom stuff:

i've never done a fic rec list because inevitably, i'm a fucking moron and i leave someone out. i know it hurts when i'm left out of a fic rec list so i never want to do that to anyone here. what follows is a list of fics that spoke specifically to me. the old saying goes is that you don't write fanfic for yourself, you write it for the five freaks on discord that can't write coherent sentences after you publish -- and it's true. fanfic isn't about numbers -- i would much rather write for my five freaks on my discord (where my work has deep, emotional impact for them) than try to write for a large crowd that i will never ever manage to please all at once.

my wish for you in 2024 you all find your freaks. and i hope i'm one of them.

side note: there are a couple fics not on the list because i wanted to highlight fics that i didn't see much on other end of the year rec lists. but @iamskyereads 's Compulsion should be read in graduate programs and @whatsnewalycat already knows i'm going to name my first born child after her for her Psychomanteum. yall rock my goddamn world.

so without further adieu . . . these are the fics i read this year that tickled me pink.

God is a Woman by @wheresarizona the way arizona writes max is entirely unique. i love her descriptions of how cold he is and how he doesn't breathe. i read this and had to rethink everything i ever wrote for max

the impaler by @kiwisbell the dracula x johnathan x mina vibes in this are spectacular. this is a pairing i never thought i'd see much less enjoy so thoroughly. why is older tim being seduced by a younger max so hot??

night one by @haylzcyon this is one of the first fics i read by hayley and she pretty much set the standard for all marcus pike fics moving forward. his endless patience, his flirty attitude, how he see things the reader won't admit, and then the sleeping bag -- god i'd read a thousand more fics about this dymanic

blood & tinsel by @morallyinept so if i tried to list all of my favorite jett fics, we'd be here all night. but this one stands out to me because it's so well built. the description of the vampire "trance" or "glamor" or "compulsion" without using any of those words is INCREDIBLE. plus max is face-meltingly hot in this.

the world turned on its side by @idolatrybarbie this was a surprise that came outta nowhere, but it hit me like a fucking train. bea weaves a story that sticks with you and creates a frankie that makes my entire soul sing.

heat by @wordywarriorwrites okay, listen. the beauty of fanfic is that you can have insane, animalistic smut AND literary level writing. this fic is both. i have yet to come across another frankie abo fic that makes the dynamic more than a reason for the blorbos to fuck like animals. it's so well done, there's so much love here.

in fiction @sin-djarin yall know dieter is my boy so i am VERY particular about how he is written in fic. everyone's interpretation is valid, but for dieter fics to resonate with me, there has to be this special blend of humor, kindness, dorkiness, and a sexiness you didn't expect. this fic is all of that and more.

reminiscence by @projectionistwrites this was one of the first joel fics i read and there's something about it that just . . . feels right, feels natural to Joel. there's a raw honesty to both joel and the reader that just sunk into my chest. the back and forth over the drink, the SMUT, everything is just this beautiful snapshot of two lonely people in the apocalypse.

oct' 19 x ghosts by @trulybetty another author that if i tried to choose a favorite, i simply couldn't. betty created a lovely, lovely world with this one (and the rest of the prompts for this one and her december prompts). i love fics that add a new layer to dieter and this one opened him up in a way that made him glow!

renegade by @eupheme my personal favorite brand of joel is one that comes alive between reader's thighs. more boulder than human until you bring something to the surface. and this totally captures that. im a sucker for a good qz fuck-that-verges-on-love and i adore everything about it.

Dominica by @ohforficsake if you ever need proof that notes do not reflect the quality of a fic, look no further. the language, the mastery of tension, and beauty of these descriptions are one two punches that knock me on the ass. genuinely one of my favorite frankie fics of all time.

wanna bet? by @write-and-buried i debated putting this or her celestial navigation fic on this list, but this one just tickles me. i love it when authors throw in a confident, sex-obsessed dieter now and again and this makes me howl. and the DEBAUCHERY of the statue oh my god!

give it to me @sp00kymulderr okay now to be fair, this review is entirely biased. i genuinely love gideon and all that they bring to this fandom. plus, they let me scream about dieter and then sends me dieter pictures that make me scream even louder. this fic is SO important to me. dieter here is everything i need and want: hesitant, anxious, but so madly in love. if i could wake up in one single fic every day, it'd be this one.

stepwise by @the-scandalorian i joined this fandom through din and this has been, and always will be, one of my top favorites. the evolution of din from being touch averse to LUSTING after it, it kills me. it's a oneshot but so much is accomplished in such a short time. the writing here is simply superb.

salvatore by @devilmademewriteit i came for the premise, stayed for the smut, and continued for the banter. i go back to this one all the time for inspiration with my own writing and then i get sucked in and read the whole thing through -- twice. javi drives me absolutely wild in this.

a whole new can of worms by @hier--soir i accidentally read this out of order initially, but this was just reason for me to reread it from start to finish. fwb!joel can be really hit or miss for me, and primarily because this fic sets the standard. this feels like a real joel, a joel that has lost and found loved ones all through out his life and now in jackson, he can finally relearn what it means to be a lover. so good, so fun with the banter -- and the friggin' greenhouse scene -- woof!

telltale heart @astroboots i am a SUCKER for 'frankie fixes his life' fics and this is one of the best. there are consequences for his choices in colombia, one that almost has him lose his family, and the woman he loves. this a real, genuine struggle for two people to overcome a seemingly impossible challenge in their marriage. you know the phrase, love conquers all? yeah this is that fic.

brand you in the way it counts by @charnelhouse charnel was one of the first authors i read for the pedroverse -- and i mean i READ her. i read every single one of her fics at least twice and this one always sends me over the edge. it's such an inspiration to my own writing and i keep going back to her whole body of work to be reminded i can always improve my own writing

west by @radiowallet when people want to know why fanfic matters, i want to show them this fic. it is achingly beautiful and written with a loving and gentle hand. joel is a messy, broken man but still capable, still good, still wanting to find love in this and i adore everything about this. Oneshots can be more devastating than multichapters because they end and this is one of them that drags me back to it constantly.

And to that weird little dude out of Chile who has no idea how much light he brings to the world…

Much love, Taylor 🤍

[vickyvicarious]

Hi! So I'm working on a Dracula story of my own and I need help finding the character descriptions for the Crew. I know Jonathan gets white hair from shock at one point, but everything else is fuzzy. I think Lucy's a blonde and I seem to remember Van Helsing being described with red hair too, but I'm not sure if those things are actually in the book or a product of the adaptations.

Yeah, I can try to help you out. Honestly, most characters don't get very detailed descriptions, but I'll see what I can find... I'm going to be summing up what physical descriptions we know of, followed by an example quote for each characteristic in bullet points beneath.

I only looked in detail up to where we are now/a few specific scenes I remember from later on. I can add more if I notice it, but I think this covers the physical descriptors pretty well, since as far as I recall we don't get much new stuff later on.

Jonathan Harker: Has a young-looking face. His hair is brown until 3 October, when it turns white. Likely clean-shaven most of the time, since he's upset by his shaving mirror getting broken. At least used to have a 'quiet dignity'. Looks clever and full of energy (when not ill), but also quiet and business-like, so probably not a very tall or super muscular manly man.

5 May - "He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service."

8 May - "It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal."

24 August - "I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished."

30 September - "He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of energy. [...] After reading his account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came here to-day."

3 October - "Harker was still and quiet; but over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out against the whitening hair. [...] Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame."

Mina Harker nee Murray: Very little physical description here. According to Jack she looks dainty and sweet and pretty. Her hair is beautiful. Temporarily has a scar on her forehead. Her teeth maybe start getting sharper when she's turning into a vampire.

29 September - "a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to me, and, after a quick glance, said: "Dr. Seward, is it not?" [...] She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes were flushed with crying."

3 October - "As he had placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had seared it—had burned into the flesh as though it had been a piece of white-hot metal. [...] Pulling her beautiful hair over her face, as the leper of old his mantle,"

5 October - "Her teeth are some sharper, and at times her eyes are more hard."

Lucy Westenra: Definitely pretty, probably in an 'innocent/sweet' looking way based on other peoples' comments. Based on Mina's tracking of her health/color even early on, it seems like she might look pale/anemic on a semi-regular basis even before being bitten. Either pudgy when healthy, or too thin when ill, since her getting fat is mentioned as a positive sign of improving health. Wrinkles her face adorably at times. Super voluptuous as a vampire, and her presumably-blond (sunny) hair is now described as dark. Possibly red eyes as a vampire? Though Jack doesn't mention her eyes looking different when she was sleeping and van Helsing lifted her eyelids to look at them, so maybe not. 19 years old (maybe twenty when she died).

24 May - "Here am I, who shall be twenty in September,"

24 July - "Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter and lovelier than ever,"

27 July - "Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, but it does not touch her looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely rose-pink. She has lost that anæmic look which she had."

30 August - "I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am getting fat."

20 September - "He had even brushed Lucy's hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples."

29 September - "a ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in startling prominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of the grave. [...] Lucy's eyes in form and colour; but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of the pure, gentle orbs we knew."

Arthur Holmwood: Tall, handsome, curly hair. ...That's it, that's all we've got. Jack thinks he's very manly. He does have a resemblance to Van Helsing's dead son, so he might look at least a little similar to the professor as well.

9 May - "I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome, curly-haired man???"

7 September - "When first the Professor's eye had lit upon him he had been angry at his interruption at such a time; but now, as he took in his stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood which seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed."

22 September - "My heart bleed for that poor boy—that dear boy, so of the age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes the same."

Jack Seward: Handsome, good forehead, strong jaw. Common consensus usually gives him glasses and dark hair although neither is mentioned in the book. We have a canon age for him (29), unlike almost everyone else. Lucy says he's resolute and calm and imperturbable, but the way others react to him tends to disprove that since several other characters seem to be able to read him pretty well.

11 May - "He is an excellent parti, being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and-twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts."

24 May - "I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead."

Quincey Morris: Looks young apparently. Sadly never once described as wearing a cowboy hat. Presumably handsome since Lucy talks up how charming he is, and Jack talks up how manly he is, but it's possible that's mostly force of personality.

24 May - "He is such a nice fellow, an American from Texas, and he looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that he has been to so many places and has had such adventures.

Abraham van Helsing: Tan/brown skin. Red hair, stocky frame. Clean shaven, high forehead. Blue eyes. Square chin, large mouth and nose, bushy eyebrows. Old, but it's unclear exactly how old.

20 August - "Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great brown one; drawing it to her, she kissed it."

25 September - "a man of medium weight, strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise of the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; the head is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face, clean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile mouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive nostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and the mouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost straight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart; such a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it, but falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set widely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man's moods."

26 September - "It was so funny to hear my wife called "Madam Mina" by this kindly, strong-faced old man."

...and I know you didn't ask for him specifically, but just for completeness...

Count Dracula: Tall, thin, long mustache, bushy eyebrows, very pale, red lips, sharp teeth, hairy palms, dressed in black. He has a high forehead, a hooked nose, pointy ears, and red eyes. White hair at the start, which goes to grey and eventually black as he gets younger in appearance. No beard in Transylvania but he's sporting one in London. Bad breath, sleeps with his eyes open. His charming or suave smile is mentioned multiple times during Jonathan's stay. Shovel scar on his forehead after 30 June.

5 May - "Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. [...] His face was a strong—a very strong—aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor. Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal."

30 June - "There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated."

18 September - "a tall, thin chap, with a 'ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin' through it. He had a 'ard, cold look and red eyes,"

22 September - "a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty girl. [...] His face was not a good face; it was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's."

3 October - "a tall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary's Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him."