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anonymous-dentist · 1 year ago

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1946

There are plenty of legends surrounding Count Dracula. They say that he bathes in the blood of virgins. He has knives for hands and his fangs are sharp enough to cut the very air itself. He can turn into a bat. He can turn into a mist. He’s over one thousand years old, but he doesn’t look a day over fifty.

This, of course, is all bullshit. Count Dracula isn’t real, and Cellbit isn’t even one hundred yet, and he certainly doesn’t look fifty years old. He has a shower and electricity and a radio. He even has an automobile, not that he uses it for anything but trips to town to beg the werewolves to please stop leaving dead rabbits on his front porch.

Still. Maybe living in the crumbling remains of a long-abandoned castle on a hill surrounded by dead trees and graveyards full of empty tombstones and half-disturbed graves gives a bit of an impression. And maybe Cellbit was a bit dramatic when he was first turned, but who wouldn’t be when faced with immortality for the first time?

Quesadilla Island is no stranger to the supernatural. There are the werewolves in town, there are the demons scattered across the island. There’s the talking skeleton that cries if you look at him weirdly. And then there’s Cellbit, “Count Dracula”, the island’s only living vampire.

Quesadilla Island is no stranger to the supernatural. Vampires are a danger to society, and so it’s up to vampire hunters like those from the Federation to make sure the vampires stay under control and away from the more fragile citizens.

And that’s fine, really. Cellbit hates people, anyway. He likes how they taste, but the artificial blood that Mouse magicks up for him once a week is a good substitute.

He likes his castle, and he likes his alone time, and he likes spending said alone time in the secret room in his basement trying to figure out ways to absolutely slaughter the shit out of every Federation hunter on the island so he can live in peace.

Tonight is one such night. The werewolves are all transformed with the full moon, and Richarlyson is with Felps in the Square for the night, so Cellbit is, thankfully, alone. He can polish his knives in peace.

And then he hears a knock at the door for the first time in half a century.

“Hola?” he hears. “Dracula?”

Cellbit perks up despite his best attempts to play at being annoyed. He knows this voice, it belongs to one of the non-supernatural townsfolk. The cute one he’s only spoken to once, and the one he probably shouldn’t speak to again if his drunken memories are anything to live by.

The vampire hunter.

Cellbit immediately rushes upstairs and pauses in the foyer to fix his hair in a mirror. Unfortunately, he can’t see his reflection. Fuck.

He opens the door, anyway, and he tries not to be too obvious with his smile as he leans against the doorframe just oh so casually.

“Hello!” he cheerfully says. “Good evening!”

He immediately internally smacks himself as the hunter raises both eyebrows. Too obvious.

Cellbit clears his throat and repeats in a much calmer voice, “I mean. Hello. Good evening. I was not expecting you.”

The hunter looks him over, and it occurs to Cellbit that this is the first time that they’ve ever spoken. Ever. Of course, he already knew this, but-

The hunter smiles and makes eye contact. “Can I come in?”

“Uh. Sure?”

The hunter winks, and then he ducks under Cellbit’s arm and enters the castle as Cellbit stands there, frozen. What.

“Nice place.” The hunter whistles. “Is it just you?”

Cellbit stares at him, watching as the hunter flops onto the foyer’s most grandiose sofa and kick his muddy feet up onto the seat. The door closes, but neither pays it any mind.

“Ah,” says Cellbit. “Sometimes. Can I help you?”

The hunter shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He gives Cellbit another once-over, eyes lingering on Cellbit’s neck and chest- uncovered, for once, because his shirt has been left with the top buttons undone, for once, because he was alone just a few minutes ago.

If Cellbit was capable of blushing, he would be doing so. Instead, he buttons his shirt back up and coughs into his fist.

That seems to jolt the hunter back into action because he hops off the sofa as quickly as he had fallen onto it and he smooths down his long red coat and he says, “I want to… ugh, how do I say this?”

He paces a little, hand running through his hair, and then he throws his head back and just kinda blurts it out: “I want to kill Cucurucho.”

He looks at Cellbit, frozen yet again. “Can you help me with that?”

Cucurucho is evil incarnate. It’s also the current head of the vampire hunters of the island, complete with its own personal armory of bullshit tools meant to make Cellbit’s life a living hell: stakes, holy water, blessed weapons. It even has a dagger in the shape of a crucifix, what the fuck?

Cellbit wants it dead. He wants to suck the life out of its unholy abomination of a body and he wants to burn its corpse in the sunlight it holds so dearly. He’s got a thousand potential murders in mind for it, but that’s gotta come off a little strong, right?

So Cellbit shrugs very casually. “Maybe. Why?”

That’s the million-dollar question: why would one of Cucurucho’s own loyal hunters want it dead?

The hunter looks down at the ground briefly before looking back up at Cellbit with absolute nothing in his eyes.

“My son is dead,” he says, very, very calmly. “And so Cucurucho needs to be dead, too. That’s all.”

This is the look of a man already dead.

“Okay,” Cellbit says. He nods, because he, too, is a father. Somehow.

The hunter blinks slowly. “Just like that?”

“What, did you want me to interrogate you some more?”

“I dunno. Aren’t you supposed to hypnotize me or something?”

Cellbit raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to hypnotize you?”

(He can’t, but the hunters don’t need to know that.)

“I mean… maybe? I don’t know how this works, man!” The hunter throws his arms up and collapses back onto the couch in an annoyed huff. “Maybe you’re just going to eat me, who knows?”

Cellbit delicately takes a seat on the closest chair… which so happens to be the one nearest the hunter’s sofa. What a coincidence.

“You know that I don’t eat people,” he scoffs. Not anymore, anyway…

“I mean, sure, but you’re Count Dracula! You’re weird!”

Cellbit blinks. That’s one way to describe him.

“I’m not Dracula,” he says. “You people do know that, right? Like, you do know that he’s copyrighted material. I couldn’t be him if I wanted to.”

The hunter looks at him incredulously. “No mames, who the fuck are you, then?”

What, so they actually don’t know? What?

“Uh,” says Cellbit, a little caught up in how fucking stupid his tormentors really seem to be. “Cellbit?”

The hunter’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit, I knew I recognized you from somewhere!”

Uh-oh…

Cellbit’s glad that he can’t blush, because he’s got a bad feeling coming on based off of the way the hunter actively scoots down the sofa and towards him, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt.

“I was really drunk, but-” the hunter says. “But! I remembered your name!”

Cellbit swallows a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember yours.”

“That’s fine, you will.”

And that isn’t intimidating at all.

“Because you are the vampire who turned me!”

The hunter pulls back the side of his unbuttoned shirt to show some very sculpted muscles… and two little pinpricks right on his collar still scarring over even three weeks after the fact.

Cellbit’s mouth goes dry. Because maybe he got a little drunk at Forever’s Halloween party three weeks ago, and maybe he hooked up with the most beautiful man on Quesadilla Island for the night. The night is a fuzzy mess at best, and he certainly doesn’t remember turning anyone, but he does remember:

“Roier,” he weakly says. “I am so sorry.”

The hunter- Roier’s- smile is blinding. “Don’t be. Because now there are two vampires on the island, yes? And Cucurucho can’t kill both of us.”

…To Be Continued?

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#spiderbit vampires au #I think that’s already a tag I have but oh well #happy Halloween! have this convoluted mess!

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theladyofbloodshed · 15 days ago

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And a bonus Halloween fic especially for @vadutton21.

Almost 7000 words, featuring Nesta Archeron as Mina Harker, Cassian as Count Dracula, and Jurian as the vampire hunting Doctor Van Helsing.

It had been a long time since a letter had come. Nesta Harker tracked her sister’s journey upon the large map in the drawing room. On the first of October, Feyre had penned a letter in Munich detailing her journey from London to the Bavarian capital. The following day, her train had been delayed so she arrived in Vienna later than expected. The letters had arrived together, despite the dates on them. Feyre’s journey had then taken her to Budapest where she had written that she felt the divide between the west and the east.

Nesta had not wanted her sister to go. It was not for a woman to take on their father’s business upon his death, but Feyre – headstrong to her core – had insisted upon becoming a lawyer like him. It was at the request of Count Cassian of Transylvania that Feyre was travelling to Romania, so that she could assist him in purchasing a home in London, along with all of the bureaucracy that it entailed. There had always been a restless spirit to her sister. Her excitement was clear in her words as she wrote of the Carpathian Mountains. At the bottom of the paper, Feyre had sketched the view, only in black ink, but it was detailed and beautiful.

Then her letters had all but ceased. A final one had arrived eight days ago, dated three weeks earlier, detailing her arrival to Castle Cassian, nestled in the Carpathian Mountains. No more had come. Feyre had promised to write every three days once she arrived to Transylvania. Her business with the count was only to take a fortnight at a maximum then she’d travel back to London by train along the same route. There should have been at least two letters detailing her return.

‘It shall be Lucien.’

Nesta’s eyes snapped to her younger sister who stood beside the window, her brown hair bound in a loose braid as they did not expect to leave the house that day.

‘You have decided then?’

Elain gave a nod then turned on the spot. ‘It is bad business to choose, but I believe Lucien will offer me a stable future and a happy life, more so than the other two.’

She concurred with her sister’s statement. The three men were companions, so she hoped there would be no fall out from Elain choosing Lucien Vanserra to marry. Such was life when one sister was gallivanting across Europe and the other had three men vying for her hand in marriage.

‘Dr Balthazar Seward will be most upset that you will not join him in his asylum.’

Elain shuddered. ‘I cannot see myself as mistress of the asylum.’

‘And Graysen Morris would spirit you away to America if he had his way. He is rough of tongue, but strong of heart though,’ said Nesta. She tidied away Feyre’s letters into a neat pile. ‘Still, when Lord Vanserra dies, Lucien shall inherit the title. We may find that you become Lady Elain.’

***

The three men accepted Elain’s choice well enough. A small, congratulatory party was held where Nesta ducked and dived from her own potential suitors who were keen to sink their claws into her family’s fortune.

‘I should like to escape the city a while,’ she announced to Elain the following morning, shortly after Tomas Mandray had been turned away by the household staff once again. ‘There is too much here clouding my thoughts. I’d like to head north for a while.’

‘Whitby is always perfect at this time of year,’ agreed Elain. ‘What of Feyre, have you heard from her?’

Another few days had trickled by with no letter. That morning, Nesta had sent one of the servants to the post office to have letters sent to the train stations in Paris, Munich, Vienna, and Budapest should Feyre call in there. A few of her father’s acquaintances had businesses across Europe so letters were also sent to them to enquire after Feyre using their contacts. A further letter was sent all the way to Cassian’s castle. If there was no word in another week, Nesta would journey there herself. Her sister could be unwell or mislaid her purse so had no finances to rely upon. It could simply have been that she was having a grand time in Transylvania or had mislaid her ink or parchment.

Together, Elain and Nesta journeyed to the north east coast of England to Whitby where they had a home upon a hill overlooking the sea. In Whitby, they could talk together freely and build their castles in the air. It was dark when they arrived, the sea breeze turning the air colder. But, by the morning, it was calm enough to take a walk along the beach and breathe in the fresh sea air. A commotion was afoot upon the shore for a boat had wrecked in the night. Pieces of splintering wood washed up with each roll of the waves upon the sand.

‘It is the strangest thing,’ one man said, scratching at his bald head. ‘The captain was found bound to the helm, as if to keep the boat on course to the rocks. Not a single body has washed up besides his. Clothing, yes. But not a single member of the crew.’

‘Is that possible?’ Nesta asked.

‘Possible? Not probable. A ship this size would have had a crew of at least fifteen. They should have washed up on the shore by now.’

Nesta hooked her arm with her sister’s, leading her away from the grizzly sight unfolding.

The days in Whitby were far more enjoyable than London. Nesta could take a walk along the high street without needing to avoid suitors. There was a respite from managing her late father’s accounts – although she had brought a few volumes with her to go through with a fine-toothed comb when she had the desire too. Mostly, she whiled away the time at her leisure by either reading or merely sitting in the large window, watching the passers-by. The folk were less refined in the north where labourers were more common. They were friendlier than Londoners too.

With a blush upon her face, Elain entered the lounge. She clutched a letter to her chest.

‘Is it Feyre?’

‘Feyre? Oh, heavens no. Lucien will come tomorrow with Balthazar and Graysen. The servants are preparing rooms for them.’

She cocked a brow. ‘Is that why your cheeks are so aflame?’

‘Not entirely. I have met a most curious man upon the high street. I knew at once from his clothing that he was not from Whitby, nor indeed did I think him from England at all,’ Elain said in such a hurry that she had to suck in a breath. ‘Like that count our sister is assisting, he is also from Transylvania. A most polite and charming man with dark, waves of hair and hazel eyes set against his warm brown skin.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest in distaste. ‘You have agreed to a marriage with Lucien, if I must remind you. I hope, at least, you received the name of this stranger.’

‘He did not give me his name. He promised to next time we met.’

‘Elain,’ she scolded. ‘You risk a scandal.’

Her sister’s blush deepened. ‘I did not agree to meet him, Nesta. I laughed away his words and returned to the home.’

The news of the stranger unsettled Nesta for a reason that she could not name. She felt as though pieces of a puzzle were coming to her although she could not say if they were all from the same puzzle – or indeed pieces at all. Her sister’s prolonged silence abroad. A strange shipwreck. A man from the same place as Count Cassian here in Whitby too.

Her dreams that night were ill. She dreamt of Feyre lost and wandering in an endless castle. Her dreams had only ended when she heard a window slam. Nesta had hurried at once to Elain’s bedroom where the source of the sound had come from. One of the panes of glass in the window had cracked from the force of it hitting the frame, but her sister slept through it all.

‘The night is too cold to have this window open,’ muttered Nesta, closing it.

It was most unlike Elain to sleep so deeply. For a moment, Nesta remained rooted to the spot to watch her sister’s chest rise and fall then she noticed two raised lumps upon her neck. Her sister’s skin was cold, almost like ice, beneath her palm. The marks on her neck were as if she’d been pricked with a pin and they had bruised around it.

Nesta sent a servant out for a doctor, knowing instantly that her sister was deeply unwell. Elain would not wake, but how she shivered within the sheets. A deathly pallor crawled upon her skin. Even with a stoneware hot water bottle tucked beneath her in the sheets, Elain remained cold and pale.

‘It looks like an animal bite,’ the doctor announced. ‘But of what sort, I cannot name.’

‘Then what use are you?’ The snap in her voice was brittle.

The sun was beginning to bleed into the morning sky, but Elain only grew worse. She writhed in agony until Nesta closed the curtain to block out the light. When Lucien arrived with Balthazar and Graysen, Nesta took a moment to dress herself although she felt tired and adrift with no enthusiasm to face the day.

‘She was well yesterday?’ Lucien asked as he clutched Elain’s limp hand. ‘How can she deteriorate so quickly?’

‘The doctor had no answer for us,’ she admitted.

The three men kept a vigil beside Elain’s beside while Nesta saw to the skeleton staff in their holiday cottage. Breakfast was being prepared as she entered the kitchen. One stopped abruptly at her arrival then pulled a letter from her apron.

‘Ever so sorry, Miss Harker. What with Miss Elain unwell and the arrival of the gentlemen-’

‘It is quite alright,’ Nesta cut in. She took a knife from the counter to slice the envelope across the top.

The cursive was different to their own style. The English was not wholly accurate and there were spelling errors throughout. The news was ill. Feyre had been taken unwell in Transylvania. Following delusions and fever, she was being held in a hospital in Budapest. If Elain had not been so poorly, Nesta would have taken the first ferry from Newcastle to Amsterdam to seek out Feyre. She was trapped here between a rock and a hard place; forced to choose between two sisters.

Lucien arrived downstairs, a frown pulling his brows together. ‘This illness is most unusual. If I may, a friend of mine is a doctor. He lives only in Scarborough. He can be here within the hour.’ At her nod, Lucien continued. ‘Are you well yourself, Nesta?’

‘Yes. I have my health although it seems both of my sisters do not.’

She handed him the letter to read.

‘What will you do?’

‘What can I do? One sister is safe in hospital thousands of miles away, the other is in touching distance, ailing from a sudden illness that has no cause.’

‘We will find the cause – and the resolution,’ Lucien said gently, before departing to call upon his friend in Scarborough.

Elain grew worse as the minutes ticked by. There was a blueish hue to the skin beneath her eyes and the tips of her fingers remained cold even as Nesta rubbed them between her warm hands. The bedroom grew stiflingly warm with the window closed and fire burning. Elain’s rejected suitors, both Graysen and Balthazar, remained holding their vigil in the bedroom.

When Lucien returned, a sweat upon his brow as though he had run to them, the doctor was not at all what Nesta was expecting. In fact, she had half a mind to ask if he truly was a doctor. He came without the usual clean, leather bag but a well-worn brown satchel instead. His hair was not combed neatly – if combed at all – and fell to his chin in loose waves. He was young, perhaps newly qualified, so Lucien’s love for his friend was likely clouding his judgement of the doctor’s abilities.

‘This is Doctor Jurian Van Helsing, a trusted friend and experienced doctor.’

Jurian did not bother greeting them, but strode forwards to Elain’s bedside. His fingers went to her chin and Nesta had been about to complain because there was dirt beneath his short nails when he turned her head to inspect the marks there. His hand stole away to his satchel as if to reach for something then he stopped.

‘Last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Lucien, glancing to Nesta. ‘We arrived this morning but Miss Harker found Elain unwell in the night.’

Jurian’s dark eyes roved over Nesta. ‘What did you see?’

‘What on earth does this have to do with my sister’s illness?’

‘Everything.’

Nesta recounted hearing the window slam after her strange dreams. Jurian pressed her on any sounds she might have heard and if she didn’t peer out of the glass to investigate.

‘She is dying from acute blood loss.’

‘Dying?’

‘Blood loss?’

Lucien, Graysen, and Balthazar offered themselves up at once for a transfusion, their forearms bared towards the doctor. He claimed it would be pointless although Lucien insisted that they try. He asked for a servant to be sent into the market to bring back as much garlic as possible, including the flowers. When the second man – Doctor Balthazar Seward – had almost finished transfusing his blood to Elain, the servant returned. Jurian, in a most severe manner began tying bulbs of garlic together using thread from Nesta and draping it in front of the window. He tied bunches of garlic flowers into the four corners of the room, more above the door, and even knotted it into a necklace for Elain.

‘Keep the doors and windows locked tonight, Miss Harker,’ he said, voice rough and accented. He spared one look to Elain who remained wasting away in the bed. ‘Sleep apart from your sister. I insist upon it.’

Only the doctor’s warning pried Nesta and the others from Elain’s bedside.

Upon the dawn, Elain had died.

It was in a numb horror that Nesta returned to the lounge where Graysen sat beside her in a chair, forcing a tea into her hands while Lucien put aside his grief to call for the undertaker. Balthazar wrote the letter to Feyre, informing her of Elain’s death where Nesta could not then departed to have the letter sent to the hospital in Budapest.

The doctor called in soon after. Jurian did not appear shocked by the news of Elain’s death nor did it seem she was the reason for his visit. He inspected the men’s necks then came to Nesta. A scowl was upon his face although it seemed to be his regular expression. His hands remained grubby, but they were warm as he tilted her face this way and that, feeling and inspecting the soft skin of her neck.

‘I am sorry for your loss. Such evil must be eradicated.’

‘Evil?’ Nesta leaned forwards in her chair. ‘You know what ailed my sister.’

‘I will not speak of it – but I will see it finished.’

***

For three days after the funeral, Nesta did not leave the home. She wore black and haunted the lounge while servants stepped around her in silence. The foods they offered her remained untouched. Both Balthazar and Graysen returned to London with Lucien following them on the second day after Nesta asked him to leave too.

When twilight began to creep in and mist rolled across the town from the moors, a brisk knock sounded at the door.

The servants did their usual routine and tried to shoo away visitors, but this one was more insistent. Jurian bypassed the footman and sought Nesta out.

‘We must speak at once.’

She blinked at him in shock. The man was put together sloppily; his shirt was open at the collar, exposing a glimpse of bronzed skin and his dark coat billowed out behind him.

‘Doctor Van Helsing, I am in mourning. I will take no visitors.’

‘This is a matter of life and death,’ the doctor replied, bending to a knee before her and gripping her hand. ‘For all that is right in this world.’

When he rose, Jurian took Nesta with him and led her to the window. Lights were scattered upon the horizon as the sun waned.

‘I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot. I ask this of you as a sister to the deceased. We must go to Elain’s tomb with haste.’

The man would not take her refusals. He forced her by the hand from the house and marched her towards the graveyard. Nesta had not wanted her sister buried beneath the ground or returned to London which had never felt like home. Her mother’s family had a marble mausoleum which could be considered beautiful if it were not so macabre. That was where Elain had been laid to rest.

It was only when they reached the iron gates of the graveyard that Jurian lurched out of his coat and draped it around Nesta’s shoulders.

‘There have been stories in Whitby of a Bloofer Lady.’

‘I have not heard of such a thing,’ she replied.

Jurian gave a grim nod. ‘Then I wish I could spare you from the pain, but I cannot. Your sister is one of the undead. A vampire.’

‘A what?’

‘A creature so monstrous that hell does not want it,’ said Jurian Van Helsing in a low, rough voice. ‘Three children have died on three consecutive nights. Each one drained of blood. Each one bearing the same marks as your sister.’

‘You cannot accuse my sister of such a crime, Doctor Van Helsing. Elain is dead.’

The final word choked her. Nesta had not wanted to admit such a thing.

‘Your sister is hungry, Miss Harker. She will drink and drink blood until she is satiated or until her master calls her home.’

‘Her master?’

‘The one who passed the curse to her.’

It was all a lie. Nesta had to believe that it was all make believe. And yet, when Jurian led her to her family’s crypt, they found Elain’s tomb empty. How could it be? Nesta had witnessed the undertaker and his men put her sister’s lifeless body into the mausoleum.

‘This cannot be real.’

‘I assure you, it is. I make it my business to track vampires and kill them.’

Nesta frowned. ‘You are not a doctor at all, are you?’

‘I am a doctor of medicine,’ he confirmed. ‘But when a patient of mine rose from the dead and tried to bury her fangs into my neck, I staked her and her sister through the heart. The supernatural is my calling, Miss Harker, for there is nothing I detest more in this world than the vampire.’

They searched across Whitby for Elain, as farcical as it sounded. For hours, Jurian had her hunt alongside him through every cobbled alley and dingily-lit underpass.

When her feet throbbed, Nesta had half a mind to call it all off, hoping that she’d imagined her sister’s empty tomb. Then, they saw her. Elain, still wearing the pink silk dress that they’d buried her in, had her teeth buried into the neck of a small boy with fair hair.

Jurian’s hand clamped across her mouth to keep from crying out. In his other, he brandished a crucifix at Elain.

Elain Harker, but yet how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness.

Blood streaked her chin as she prised herself away from the child’s neck. He fell limply onto the cobbles, his life spent.

She hissed at the crucifix then fled.

They chased her towards the hallowed ground as the dawn leaked into the sky. Nesta could only watch on in horror as Doctor Van Helsing cornered her sister and drove a wooden stake into her heart. Instead of collapsing to the ground or shrieking in pain, Elain turned to ash.

‘To London we must return, Miss Harker,’ said Jurian, wiping the point of the stake upon his trousers. ‘We must discover her creator and destroy him once and for all.’

***

If her sister’s suitors had any knowledge of the supernatural in the way that Doctor Van Helsing did, they remained quiet as the four of them gathered at Doctor Balthazar Seward’s asylum. The cries and shrieks of patients echoed through the walls as they sat around a large table in Balthazar’s office.

‘Is this a place for a lady,’ asked Graysen, the drawl of his accent making his words sound slow.

‘She has a man's brain - a brain that a man should have were he much gifted - and a woman's heart,’ Jurian replied, offering her a heated look. ‘The good God fashioned her for a purpose.’

‘Well, Jurian, you know how to hunt these creatures best,’ said Lucien. ‘How will we find the devil that robbed us of our sweet Elain?’

Nesta tried not to flinch from the violence that came from the man’s lips. He spoke of stuffing garlic in a vampire’s mouth, beheading, dousing them in holy water, or staking them through the heart as they had done to her sister. It had hardly been her sister. Elain had died. Whatever creature had returned to this earth had not been her sister.

‘Careful, Jurian,’ warned Balthazar. ‘You will give Amren an idea.’

‘Amren?’

‘A patient of mine. One who believes by ingesting creatures whilst they are still alive, she can harvest their life force,’ explained Balthazar, shaking his head in dismay. ‘It started with flies and other insects. If rats come to her cell, she eats those raw and wriggling.’

Nesta recoiled at that.

‘No matter what we put in place, birds, spiders, and rats continue to seek her out to be devoured. And just last week, a knife was in her cell although all staff deny supplying it to her.’ Balthazar rolled up his sleeve where a fresh cut was healing, the stitches spitting.

‘Curious,’ murmured Jurian from the seat opposite Nesta. ‘For many years, I have made it my duty to discover the lore of vampires. To be knowledgeable of the enemy is a weapon in itself. It is said some of the strongest vampires have a thrall over creatures like the rat or the bat.’

A knock at the door had them all startling. A worker of the asylum slipped in. ‘Apologies for the disturbance. A member of the Harker staff delivered this letter with utmost urgency for Miss Nesta Harker. It is from her sister.’

For a moment, Nesta’s heart went to Elain – as if she had found a way to communicate from beyond the grave. But she had a second sister who was being nursed to health all the way in Budapest.

Dear Nesta,

I write to you with haste although I fear my words are too late. I was held captive in the home of Count Cassian by three monstrous creatures. Rhysand, Azriel, and Morrigan had acted as friends if not overzealous with their attentions. I was left to them wherein they descended upon me with fangs and claws while he departed for England, my purpose served. Only leaping from the window and running towards the dawn has stopped me from becoming one of them. Rumours of such creatures – vampires – run rife in Transylvania. They are creatures of the dark who drink blood. All of them answer to him.

I write to warn you. Beware of Count Cassian. I fear I shared too much of our family with my host. He was most taken by your portrait. Alert the authorities that he resides at 347 on Piccadilly Street, if they will believe this tale. Do not seek him out. For all that is good in this world, do not seek out Cassian.

Yours,

Feyre.

When Nesta had finished reading, a silence descended upon them, broken only by the faraway cries of Balthazar’s patients of the asylum.

‘Then they are the same,’ Jurian announced. ‘The one that killed Elain is the very same Count Cassian. And I will make it my duty to see him dead once more.’

‘How will it be done?’

‘A vampire can only rest with soil from his home country. Somewhere within his home will be earth from Transylvania. If we destroy it, he will not be able to rest again in England. It will force him to flee to his country.’

‘And then,’ Nesta pressed. ‘What will we do?’

‘I will travel to Romania. I will kill him.’

‘Not alone,’ added Lucien. ‘For Elain, I will go with you.’

‘And I,’ said Graysen and Balthazar in unison.

Nesta sucked in a long breath. ‘As will I.’

The following day and night was spent busy planning how to enter the home of Count Cassian. Graysen and Lucien had scoped out the home then provided Jurian with a plan of the exterior. The doctor believed Cassian would take to the cellar in the daytimes where a coffin would provide him with respite from the light. It was better for them to attack during the day when the vampire was at his most vulnerable.

‘We shall go this evening, before dark,’ said Jurian. ‘We waste time plotting. Cassian could infect or kill another dozen victims if we continue to allow him to roam the streets of London.’

The men loaded themselves with holy water from the church and sacramental bread. Crucifixes were strapped to them along with bulbs of garlic so they made a strange sight. When it came to the time to depart, Jurian placed a hand upon Nesta’s shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through her dark gown.

‘I will not say this is no place for a woman for you have proved to have a mighty heart already, but if Count Cassian is taken by your image, I cannot in good conscience lead you to him.’ Jurian’s fingers squeezed her shoulder. ‘Here, where it is safe, is where you must remain, Nesta Harker.’

Worry knotted in her chest as Nesta bid the men farewell. Balthazar, stoic and serious; Graysen, loud and excited for the action; Lucien, as warm as the sun; and Jurian, rough and determined.

The asylum did not feel safer, not with the haunting sounds leaking from every corridor. She could not remain in the office with her heart so troubled. Would it be Lucien that she would have to run through with a stake next or another?

Nesta wandered the darkened corridors, keeping close to the wall to avoid the outstretched hands of Balthazar’s patients. The walk only made her more unsettled. She had to be mad too if she thought walking the halls of an asylum would soothe her.

The room at the end had a chink of light seeping from it. Nesta took one step closer then froze. It was Amren’s cell; the patient they had spoken of earlier that evening. It was open. The prisoner was released somewhere.

Biting back on her fear, Nesta sprinted back towards Balthazar’s office, her feet hitting the ground hard.

Strong arms gripped her, stopping her from running.

A man, tall and broad, with dark hair slicked back examined her. There was an instinct in Nesta to flee from his grasp although she doubted that she could. His clothes were not that of an inmate, nor were they the fine cut of a gentleman like Lucien. They were leathers for an ancient battle.

‘I have crossed oceans of time to find you.’

Nesta knew at once who this man was: Count Cassian.

'You are mine forever.'

Before she could scream, two large fangs were bared to her then he sank them into her neck.

Pain shot through her veins. There was no ecstasy, no allure to it. Count Cassian gripped her by the hair, holding her still as he drank his fill while Nesta went limp in his arms.

‘And now you must drink from me.’

There was a wound on his chest. The sight of blood streaming from it should have made her recoil. There was a deliberate voluptuousness that was both thrilling and repulsive. His voice was in her mind, echoing through its chambers encouraging her to drink. To drink and to drink deep. And as Nesta arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal. What spell had been cast upon her?

‘Be gone, foul beast from the abyss,’ came a shout.

The vampire holding her hissed. Jurian shot an arrow towards them, the bolt embedding into Cassian’s shoulder. Something showered Nesta. For a moment, she’d believed it was blood then realised it was water. Holy water.

The vampire fled into the night.

*** It had been an uncomfortable discussion with the men. Her neck had been thoroughly examined. Jurian had forced her to step into the direct sunlight, convinced she would burn to ash. She could ingest holy water and hold a crucifix as usual. Doctor Van Helsing theorised that upon Nesta’s death, she would turn into one of the undead. Had he been a minute later, perhaps Nesta would have met the same fate as Elain.

The patient, Amren, was discovered dead. The bars on her windows had been bent wide to allow Cassian entry to the asylum. She must have invited him in. Then, he’d drained her of blood, her purpose served.

‘We were successful in destroying the earth from his land. Cassian will have fled to Transylvania – and it is to there that I must travel.’

Lucien laid a hand on Jurian’s shoulder. ‘You cannot mean to go alone, friend. We will see this through to the end.’

When Graysen and Balthazar echoed his sentiment, Nesta added, ‘The world seems full of good men - even if there are monsters in it. I will follow you, Doctor Van Helsing, as far as you will lead me.’

They took the first train out of London to Dover then a ferry across to France. It was growing dark when their train ventured out of Paris. With many hours still to travel, and change required in Munich, three of the men opted to sleep in their carriage. Nesta remained with Jurian in her own one. He was the most equipped to handle her if she turned at any moment into a vampire. Indeed, Jurian kept a crossbow beside him on the long, green seat and a crucifix was around his neck. The countryside sped past in a blur of indigo skies and darkened trees.

‘You ought to sleep, Miss Harker.’ Jurian’s pupils were blown wide by the dim carriage so his brown irises were swallowed by the darkness. ‘I will protect you,’ he vowed. ‘I will not see you become a monster.’

‘I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.’

His fingers flexed. ‘Should you like to marry me, Nesta?’

There was no response she could give that didn’t sound like a lie. Doctor Van Helsing had all the trappings of a distinguished gentleman by name, however he was rough and unkempt the eye. He did not speak with the same level of politeness as Lucien, nor could his casual tongue be explained away as being from across the ocean as Graysen could. Jurian, for lack of a better word, was rugged. Her mother would roll in her grave if she knew that Nesta even entertained a thought of marrying Jurian. He certainly was not a man who could provide her a stable home or the future her parents wished for her – but what was a future without Elain, or with the knowledge that these blood-drinking creatures roamed freely? Couldn’t Jurian provide safety and stability in his own way?

‘Is that a proposal, Doctor Van Helsing?’

Jurian just gave her a sly grin in response.

The train continued on his journey then, he added, ‘I shall not ask for I hate to be disappointed.’

When the night grew long, Nesta remained unchanged. Jurian postulated that Cassian had not managed to drink too deeply or infect her. Only her death would alter her. It gave her a small kernel of hope that perhaps there would be a future for her. A future as a human. She’d stake herself through the chest if she became like Cassian.

‘Try to sleep,’ Jurian said as softly as a rough-tongued man like him could manage.

‘I find myself not only plagued by worries but chilled by them too.’

In response, Jurian crossed the narrow trench of the carriage and lay beside her on the cushioned bench. His arm looped around her middle, holding her in a way that ought to have caused a commotion. If anybody witnessed this… But what was propriety when faced with the undead?

Nesta eased closer to him, her face nuzzling against Jurian’s chest. His heart was slow, calm. There was a faint scent of the wild upon him like Jurian had been made from it. He was different to the gentleman of high society that Nesta had traded barbed words with; the sorts of men who’d force her to be a subservient wife and broodmare.

‘What if this is our last night?’

Jurian touched her cheek. ‘Then I will greet death with the knowledge that a beautiful woman has slumbered in my arms.’

‘And if I say that I do not want to sleep,’ murmured Nesta, the words bolder than she felt.

Such a rough-hewn man surprised her with his gentleness. Jurian rolled her beneath him on the narrow stretch of bench. One hand cradled beneath her head, the other lifted her skirts. His lips pressed to her own, urgent yet careful. She met his tongue with her own, the kiss deepening. Without a care for who could see through the steamed-up glass of their carriage, Jurian freed himself of his breeches then settled himself between her legs.

Nesta held onto Jurian in ecstasy as he thrust in and out in a quick rhythm. There was a frantic energy to their coupling – a knowledge that their time on this earth was dwindling like sand running through their fingers.

Jurian pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing rapid when he was spent. Nesta held him. Held him and wished that the future would be kind to them.

***

‘I do not believe all of us will live to see another dawn,’ said Jurian, as they looked upon the famed castle of Count Cassian. ‘We will step into death with the knowledge that we tried to eradicate evil.’

‘Always so positive, my friend.’

‘When it comes to vampires, they’re faster, stronger, and lack a conscience. I am realistic, Lucien.’

Jurian’s gravity reminded Nesta of herself. So often, she’d been told what a serious child she was then what an equally grave adult she had become.

The castle was on the very edge of a terrific precipice where there was a great chasm beneath where the rivers wound in deep gorges through the forests. It was a beautiful place to die, Nesta thought grimly.

Feyre, who they had collected from Budapest, accompanied them. She had knowledge of the castle’s layout and its inhabitants. It took courage to return to this place so Nesta was grateful to her sister for having such a mighty heart.

‘Morrigan and Azriel are strong,’ she explained, ‘but Rhysand… I’ve never seen such speed. He’s fast and powerful.’

‘We will split. Miss Harker – the younger – you will go with Lucien to the top floors. Balthazar and Graysen, take the middle.’ Jurian turned his dark gaze upon Nesta. ‘There is nobody else I would trust to guard you, Miss Harker. You are the one Count Cassian wants. If my hands cannot keep you safe then nobody can. We will take the ground floor and the cellar for that is surely where the vampire will reside.’

Nesta stared up at the imposing castle as the light breached from behind it. They had chosen the first light to mount their attack in the hope that it gave them the advantage.

The castle was macabre within. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the vaulted ceiling and spiralling pillars ran through a great ballroom that spoke of a faded opulence. Nesta kept close to Jurian Van Helsing who moved with the swiftness of a hunter. There was no hesitation in his movements. The doctor stalked his prey, prepared for any eventuality. Nesta clutched the crucifix in her sweaty hand, heart hammering with its fear. It was not solely fear for her life, but for that of the ones she loved who also moved through the castle.

When they descended upon the cellar, they found it empty. It had once, perhaps, been a chapel but no God would allow Cassian entry now. They found the graves of the three vampires under Cassian’s command. Jurian sanctified the graves of Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel to put an end to them. From the dust, however, something had been moved. Jurian touched the outline upon the stone floor.

‘A coffin.’ He gave Nesta a grim look. ‘Count Cassian is on the move.’

Just then a commotion sounded outside.

They rushed towards the source, Jurian smashing a window on the ground floor to give them a quicker route to it.

Feyre, Lucien, and Balthazar were engaged in a fight with local men. Many of them had formed a ring around a stationary carriage where surely the vampire must have been. The men were in a strange trance, their eyes glazed and red around the irises. They fought without recognition of their pain for one was shot in the flesh of his shoulder by Jurian’s crossbow and he continued without flinching.

‘The carriage! We must get to the carriage.’

Holy water and crucifixes did not work for these were living men enthralled by the vampire. The only way to put an end to the horror was to kill Cassian.

They acted like a battering ram as they forced their way towards the carriage, felling living men as they went. Lucien and Balthazar used their pistols to shoot, the sound of their bullets ringing in Nesta’s ears.

With an almost superhuman effort, Jurian eluded the men and leapt upon the cart where he forced the coffin upon the ground with a show of his strength. Lucien slashed his way through the men towards the doctor.

Inside the coffin, Count Cassian was covered in earth from his homeland which allowed him to travel. His eyes opened and fixed upon the setting sun. The look of hate in them turned to triumph.

At the last moment of sunlight, Jurian who wielded a great, silver knife chopped off the vampire’s head while Lucien’s knife plunged into Cassian’s heart. Almost as though he was drawing in a breath, Cassian’s whole body crumbled into dust and passed from sight. Even in that moment of death, within such a horrid face, she was sure a look of peace passed over the vampire, his soul finally at rest. The local men were released from the spell, confusion washing upon them.

‘We will sweep the castle,’ said Jurian, wiping his dirtied blade upon his leg. ‘What of Graysen?’

‘Rhysand,’ supplied Feyre. ‘He died a gallant gentleman.’

‘I am sorry to lose him.’

***

Such wounds were difficult to heal from. As Nesta stood upon the Whitby shore once more, she thought of her sweet sister whose life had ended because of Count Cassian. She thought of the others, the other victims, whose time was stolen from them.

Jurian rested a hand upon her waist.

‘It has been three years yet the wound feels just as keen,’ she said.

‘Time is a slow healer. But it will heal. It will.’

In an unexpected turn of events, Feyre found solace in Lucien’s arms after the horrors they had seen. Their first child had been born in the spring and they had chosen to escape the busyness of London to live permanently in the quiet corner of the world that was Whitby. Balthazar’s brush with the supernatural had repulsed him from the asylum. He had chosen to explore the world. He wrote often of his adventures all the way from the arctic to Australia. Jurian remained militant in his search to eradicate vampires. Often, he was called away to investigate mysterious murders or to lecture on the supernatural. Nesta was the hand that wrote his words. Together, they had published two books on their tale, vampires, and their origins.

‘Come, Mrs Van Helsing, we have a long journey back to London and I fear your cold hands will try to touch me in the carriage.’

Nesta pressed her wind-chilled fingers to his chest, making him jolt backwards and hiss between his teeth.

‘You wicked woman.’

‘Your woman,’ she reminded him.

#jurian #nesta archeron #acotar #nesta x jurian

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kiiwiigii · 1 year ago

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Rubber Ducky

Pt. Two

Alec x Fem!Reader

Summary: Alec helps you after the end of a long day.

Warnings

Fluff n' kinda sorta smut-but-not-smut

Either way, NSFW

Alice Cullen. Again.

Word Count: 1.297

A/N: SORRY NOT SORRY. Also, this was requested by a lovely anon. I dunno if it's the same nonny spamming my inbox, but I love you nonetheless, darling.

It was the end of the day, and I was dead on my feet. Working as an assistant to the secretary of the Volturi was a lot more difficult than it looked. I was fairly sure that I was doing most of the work if I was being honest, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless.

Although today had been rougher than usual. I had been doing a lot of back and forth, and running errands in between. Walking around in heels was a chore and my feet were killing me. I was sure I would die from foot pain before I ever had the chance to be turned. And on top of that Alec wasn't back from overseas yet.

I paused in the middle of opening my bedroom door, a sound echoing from the bathroom. Water? I was immediately on full alert. No one in this castle would hurt me, at least not purposefully. And they usually didn't enter my room without permission.

Except Alec.

I rushed towards that bathroom and in my excitement tripped, going down like a ton of bricks.

"Sonofabitch!" I hissed between clenched teeth.

"Y/N?"

I felt a cold hand on my cheek and looked up to see Alec.

"Hi." I winced.

"What happened?"

"I tripped."

He shook his head, carefully checking me over, his hands cold against my skin. No serious injuries, just a small scrape on my knee and thankfully no blood. He pulled me to my feet, giving me a soft kiss in greeting.

"What am I going to do with you, amore?"

"Love me?" I batted my eyes at him with a small grin.

"Hai già il mio cuore, tesoro." He kissed my forehead.

I glared up and him and he smirked in return, knowing full well that I couldn't understand a damn word he was saying.

"Come on, amore. I already have a bath ready for you."

I squeaked as he hoisted me into the air and carried me into my in-suite bathroom. The large marble tub was nearly full, and I was happy to see it was brimming over with bubbles. And then I noticed all the lit candles tucked into nearly every nook and cranny in the bathroom. My eyebrows rose a little as he sat me down and knelt to begin pulling off my heels.

"What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be one?"

"I suppose not. It's just rare for you to do something like this."

He paused momentarily, rubbing his cool thumb over one of my ankles. "I simply wanted to surprise you."

He then looked at me with a small smile that was very un-Alec-like.

"Are you okay?"

He snorted. "Yes, amore."

He helped me undress, letting his hands linger softly as he caressed my skin and then proceeded to help me enter the tub. I gleefully sank into the water until just the very tip of my nose and my head were seen above the bubbles. I relaxed for a minute before spotting something off. I picked it up and shot Alec an incredulous look.

"Is- is this a rubber duck?"

It most definitely a rubber duck. What made me start to giggle was the fact that not only did Alec bring me a rubber duck for my bath of all things, but it was a vampire rubber duck, with a cute little fangs, a cape and Dracula-looking hairdo to match. My giggles burst into full on laughter until I had tears in my eyes.

"This really made my day. Thank you love."

I looked over to see Alec sitting and watching me, arms crossed on the edge of the tub, that same un-Ale-like smile still on his face.

"Are you not joining me?"

"No cara. Desidero semplicemente sedermi e godermi la tua vista." He said softly, his hand finding its way to my hair and running his hands through it until it came undone from its careful chignon.

I groaned, dropping my head back. "Alec."

"I said that I wouldn't want to get between and your rubber duck."

I burst into another fit of giggles. "That is so not what you said."

He only grinned at me as he rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the loofah on the edge of the tub. After putting a dab of soap on it, he carefully began to wash the back of my neck and arms. Ever so slowly he made his way down, keeping his touch soft and light. I squirmed a little as the loofah brushed over my nipples and further down.

"Alec."

His name came from my lips as a breathy moan. Alec paused, watching me carefully before smirking at me.

"Sì amore?"

At least I knew those words. I got to my knees and pulled him to me by his collar, melding my lips to his. I heard a soft splash as he dropped the loofah, and his hands gripped my waist.

"I missed you, Alec." I breathed when we came back up for air.

Alec didn't reply, choosing to kiss me again and bite my bottom lip softly. Before I knew what was happening, he was sliding into the tub behind me, legs on either side.

"Uhm- babe. You're still fully clothed."

"I know."

I let out a squeak as he pulled me to him, my back to his front, and spreading my legs to prop up on either side of his open knees. I could already feel him hardening behind me and I squirmed a little, confused as to exactly what he was doing.

"Relax, Y/N." He breathed, lips against my neck.

He cupped one of my breasts, thumb flicking over my nipple softly before moving in small circles. His other hand crept downwards to my exposed pussy, quickly sliding his fingers through my wet folds and pushing a finger into me. And then another. Then he somehow managed to graze my clit a little with his thumb. I sucked in a harsh breath, my head falling backwards onto his shoulder. I melted into him and began rocking my hips slowly.

"That's it, pretty girl."

His lips latched onto my neck, sucking gently while his hands continued their assault. The sensations between the heat of the water and the iciness of his skin had me coming undone within minutes. My body tensed as my orgasm flooded through me and I couldn't help but moan his name as I came.

Finally, I collapsed, and he held me to him, placing kisses along my neck and shoulder. We said nothing more, perfectly content to bask in the afterglow. I would definitely repay him in kind, but that was for later. Finally, all cleaned up, he got me out of the tub and wrapped me up in a towel.

"I went ahead and set out your favorite pajamas for you." Alec kissed my cheek and began shucking off his shirt.

"Am I even going to need the pajamas?" I asked as I eyed him appreciatively.

He gave me a chuckle, nodding his head. "Yes. You are practically falling asleep on your feet, love. Go get dressed and I will join you in a moment."

He was right of course. I was exhausted and my orgasm had really taken it out on me, seeing as I was still rather jelly legged. I nodded, but not before turning around and grabbing my new favorite toy from the now empty tub.

Alec paused, giving me a look.

"Really?"

"Yup." I popped the end of the 'p'. "He's gonna go on my nightstand until the next bath time. I present to thee, Count Duckula!"

Alec rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Alice Cullen had been right; his girl had loved the stupid rubber duck. Then he paused in horror. What exactly had Alice seen?

{Masterlist} // {Request Guidelines}

Translations (via Google Translate): Hai già il mio cuore, tesoro.: You already have my heart, darling. No cara. Desidero semplicemente sedermi e godermi la tua vista.: No, darling. I simply wish to sit and enjoy the sight of you.

Taglist: @rosedpetal @alecvolturi @lack-lust-3rr

Wanna be notified when I post a new story? Ask to join my taglist!

#alec volturi #alec volturi x reader #alec volturi smut #fanfic #reader insert #volturi #fanfiction #twilight

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 1 year ago

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Who is the Sexiest Fictional Podcast Character?

After receiving 219 submissions for 152 characters from 52 podcasts and a round of preliminaries, we have our brackets!*

*20 characters from the podcast Welcome to Night Vale will appear later in a Night Vale-only bracket.

Round 1:

Scripted Bracket

Isabel Lovelace (Wolf 359) vs Cyrille (5 Minuten Harry Podcast)

Krejjh (The Strange Case of Starship Iris) vs Lady Ethel Mallory (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Lord Arum (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs The Witch Queen A.K.A. Daughter Dooley (Old Gods of Appalachia

Warren Kepler (Wolf 359) vs Ashley "Ash" Ramis (Georgie Romero is Done For)

Brutus Feels (Kane and Feels) vs Shan (SPINES)

Sir Caroline (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs The Dragon Narrator (Unseen)

Alé (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs Hester/The Narrator (Within The Wires: Season 1)

Thistle/The Woman (Alice Isn't Dead) vs Sam Bailey (The Sheridan Tapes)

Peter Nureyev (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Butt (Pounded In The Butt By My Own Podcast: Episode 1)

Alice (Alice Isn't Dead) vs Diggory Graves (Hello From the Hallowoods)

Antigone Funn (Wooden Overcoats) vs Ryan Dallas (EOS 10)

Martin Blackwood (The Magnus Archives) vs Galileo (Let's Make A Music)

Lucifer Kane (Kane and Feels) vs Gin (Story Break: Heaven Heist)

Amaryllis of Exile (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs Mabel Martin (Mabel)

Pilot Pereya (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Hester Oleta (Within The Wires: Season 1)

Strelitzia (Additional Postage Required) vs Harold "HBD" Bastion Demetrius (The Soft-Boiled Detective)

Akmazian (EOS 10) vs Everyone from The Strange Case of Starship Iris

Damien (The Bright Sessions) vs Mari Datuin (Hi Nay)

Count Dracula (Re: Dracule) vs Static Man (Archive 81)

Dragana Vukovic (The White Vault) vs Elias Bouchard (The Magnus Archives)

Agnes Montague (The Magnus Archives) vs Vega Rex (Vega: A Sci-Fi Adventure Podcast!)

Mina Murray (Re: Dracula) vs Nicholas Waters (Archive 81)

Mark Bryant (The Bright Sessions) vs Laura (Hi Nay)

Georgie Crusoe (Wooden Overcoats) vs Kate Burnham (The Bridge)

Keisha (Alice Isn't Dead) vs SAYER (SAYER)

Chance Sequoyah (The Penumbra Podcast) vs Yaretzi (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Buddy Aurinko (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Dane (Dreamboy)

Sadie Doyle (Thrilling Adventure Hour: Beyond Belief) vs Hera (Wolf 359)

Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) vs The CryptoNaturalist (The CryptoNaturalist)

Rita (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Lou (Archive 81)

Dr. Joan Bright (The Bright Sessions) vs Ashvin Beeharee (Hi Nay)

Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359) vs Clara Page (Who is Aldrich Kemp)

Unscripted Bracket

Pickman (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle) vs The Shadow Man ('Til Death Do Us Blart)

Beacon (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty vs Glenn Close (Dungeons and Daddies)

Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Grand Magnificent (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Taako (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Bathin (Stella Firma)

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Sago Glegg (Rotating Heroes: Arc 6)

Sans Undertale (Interstitial: Our Hearts Intertwined: Authority) vs M. Leopold Duvall (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Duck Newton (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Chine (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Tryst Valentine (Campaign: Star Wars) vs Mini Smithson (Chapter and Multiverse: Masks)

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks) vs Hector Hu (Friends at the Table: Bluff City)

Michael (The Adventure Zone: Dust) vs Nicky Close (Dungeons and Daddies

Zolf Smith (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Fourteen Fifteen (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Coco Cashmere (Hey Riddle Riddle) vs Trexel Geistman (Stella Firma)

Killian Fangbattle (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Henrietta Salm (Pest Control: Fate)

Kalvin Brnine (Friends at the Table: PALISADE) vs Lye "Lyke" Lichen (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Rigour (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Chunt (Hello From The Magic Tavern) vs Suvirin Kedberiket (Worlds Beyond Number: The Wizard, The Witch, and the Wild One)

Tender Sky (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage) vs Pox (NeoScum)

The Firbolg (The Adventure Zone: Graduation) vs Ron Stampler (Dungeons and Daddies)

Azu (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Hadrian (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia) vs Caspian (Just Roll With It: Riptide)

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea) vs Jens Lyndelle (Not Another D&D Podcast: Trinvyvale)

Perennial (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE) vs Throndir (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Nadiya Jones (The Adventure Zone: Commitment) vs Ibex (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Cassander Timaeus Berenice (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight) vs Tech Wizard (NeoScum)

Vermillion "Milli" Blue (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN) vs Dak Rambo (NeoScum)

Rainer (The Adventure Zone: Graduation) vs Mercedes Oak-Garcia (Dungeons and Daddies)

Thisbe (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE) vs Echo Reverie (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Kravitz (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Henry Hogfish (Not Another D&D Podcast)

Aubrey Little (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Glenfyr "Glen" Gladewyn (Not Another D&D Podcast

Cel Sidebottom (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Adelaide Tristé (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Kardala (The Adventure Zone: Commitment) vs Jacqui Green (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Hella Varal (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron) vs (Former) Confessor Bartholomew Lamentations (The Unexplored Places: Ruin's Gate)

#Round 1 #podcasts #Tumblr Bracket

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jaggedcliffs · 11 months ago

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I've started up listened to the Re: Dracula audiobook (and reading a copy of Dracula that I picked up on a whim from an indie bookstore last month), and quite a few things are sticking out to me about the first few days

Jonathan's "I must ask the Count about these superstitions" was made fun of quite a bit, both because our cultural knowledge of Dracula makes it ridiculous, and also because he seems to be trusting the nobility's knowledge over the superstitious peasants, which ties into the sense that Jonathan is dismissive of the townspeople's warnings

But he opens his May 4th entry with asking the innkeepers for information about Dracula, and they keep ducking the answers.

(and it's fair that the people in the May 4th/5th entries don't say more when Jonathan asks (and he does ask), because unless you've grown up in the shadow of a vampire literally stealing babies from your villages, it would be a pretty insane thing to tell someone).

And when Jonathan finds the innkeepers' reactions "not by any means comforting," his first instinct is to want to ask other townspeople to find out more; he just doesn't have the time to investigate because the coach is (supposed to) arrive very soon after.

Plus, the innkeeper giving him the cross very much does freak him out! His first refrain of 'if I die, goodbye Mina!' comes at the end of the May 4th entry because of the innkeeper's worry.

The people speaking of "werewolves" and "vampires" only happens after he's already sitting in the coach -- which is when he makes the "ask the Count" note (a note that he likely makes because, again, he's sitting in coach and he's about to leave the townspeople behind). They only make a sign to guard him from the evil eye after the coach has just started on its way.

Before he leaves the town, Jonathan isn't given enough of a solid reason to present to his boss -- or to his client, if the client turned out to be a human person who doesn't imprison solicitors -- if he turned around or wasted the client's time and money by refusing the "best place on the coach" on the way to the castle. Nor is he given enough time after the first warning that something is off to find that solid reason or to find alternatives.

He even comments that as much as he's enjoying the scenery on the coach, he probably would enjoy it a lot less if he'd understood what the people on the coach were saying. It's more like he's trying to distract himself from the looming sense of dread, not that he's ignorant to it.

By the time Dracula is taking him in the calèche, the coach is barely out of sight before he outright says that he "think[s] had been any alternative [he] should have taken it" instead of doing whatever the fuck is happening to him now.

It's not just that he planned to ask the Count about the superstitions, but that he also wanted to ask the people about the Count. He wants to ask the Count about the superstitions because he isn't able to talk to the townspeople more. And he wants to ask the townspeople about the Count because the little he's heard so far worries him.

But after he gets his first warning of weirdness, he doesn't have the time to investigate further, or find a way to the castle in a way that doesn't put him in the count's power. Which is probably how Dracula wanted it

#dracula #re: dracula #jonathan harker #meta #jagged posts about dracula #reading back through some tumblr posts from back when dracula daily just started #the posts present jonathan as mocking the townspeople #but that's more the proto-jonathan from ''dracula's guest'' than the actual jonathan we get #our jonathan was at first just very 'wtf???' then was quickly 'oh god am I going to die???'#the line 'I must ask the count about these superstitions' is maybe the closest we get to him dismissing the townsfolk #but it's surrounding by jonathan going 'these people's worry for me is very sweet and also terrifies me'#their actions freak him out too much through the may 4th and 5th entries #to read jonathan as dismissing them as unimportant superstitious peasants

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ep-the-penguin · 2 years ago

Text

[Child of the Endless]

└─── Headcanons──➤

[Published: Wednesday, November 23, 2022]

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F. Reader

Word count: 3k+

Warnings: Light spoilers for the comic, a bit of a slow burn, implied child abuse/neglect (not with Morpheus), slight yandere themes/tendencies, also soft Morpheus (is that even a warning?), maybe a tiny bit of OOC Morpheus (who knows, you decide)

Notes: This is longer than I intend this to be, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Also, who else loves the idea of a darker version of Morpheus loving you platonically?

Eh? ...anyone...? Don't leave me hanging here... (༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

Any comments, theories, and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and very much welcomed! Especially since this was my first time writing headcanons...

I also would appreciate it if you REBLOGGED my work instead of liking them. It helps not only me but others' works to be put more in the top spots of the tags algorithm, so our works can get seen by as many people as possible. Thank you for understanding!

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What it's like being Morpheus's, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams, adopted human daughter (unwillingly, mind you)... [Part I]

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⋅✦⋅ Dream isn't a being known to be friendly or open by nature, appearing cold, abrasive, and oftentimes self-obsessed. To most people and even his own subjects, he's a distant and somewhat intimidating guy, and they are right in a way. Even with his past relationships and the passion he had felt for each of them, it's so very rare for him to get attached to someone or simply show any kindness to anyone in general. Especially if we're talking about Dream before his one-hundred-year capture.

⋅✦⋅ After what became of his only son, Orpheus (and Calliope leaving their marriage because of this), he became colder and more reserved than he previously was. Of course, the pain he felt when each of his relationships had ended had hurt him, but practically losing a child (given his son was now just a head and disowned Dream as his father long ago), it's a pain that words can not even express. And because of this, Morpheus couldn't imagine seeing himself getting attached to someone ever again, let alone someone that, dare say, could bring about something he thought lost long ago…

⋅✦⋅ However, all of that drastically changes when he meets you. An ordinary human girl, of all beings.

⋅✦⋅ Your meeting with the Dream Lord could either go one of two ways. The first was that your father was working as a caretaker for Alex Burgess, and he didn't want to leave you alone with a sitter, so he decided to bring you with him to Fawney Rig in Wych Cross. There, you would hear rumors that Alex Burgess's Father captured the devil, and it resides in the basement. Sometimes you'd catch the guards carelessly talking about the supposed 'Dracula' they're being paid to watch over, intriguing you immensely. Not long after being in the mansion, you made a plan to sneak into the basement, where you were met with a pale naked man in a glass dome. His eyes were the first thing you noticed, they shined and burned like distant stars, slowly dissolving into a pale icy blue color the longer you stared at them.

⋅✦⋅ Or, after Morpheus had successfully retrieved all of his tools, he found himself sitting at Waterlow Park in North London, pondering on what his purpose was outside his function. The Lord of Dreams felt empty whilst he fed the pigeons and ducks with a loaf of fresh bread he brought with him. You were just a simple passerby, wanting to take a break from school work and the 'drama' that always occurs in your household between your parents, and that's when you randomly came across a man dressed in all-black moping. You raised a brow at the sight, curious about his sullen expression, but then saw him feeding the birds with the bread he had, which made you point out that he wasn't supposed to feed them bread, since it's bad for them. With that, you sat on the bench and began to talk to him, which earned you a weird look from him.

⋅✦⋅ You, for some reason, had immediately grabbed the Dream Lord's attention unlike any other being had before. There wasn't anything particularly special about you, just an average teenage girl. Because of this fact, it left Morpheus entirely confused, yet somewhat intrigued. Trapped inside his glass confinement, he watched with a careful gaze as you slowly approached him, looking around the place as you started to question him. Albeit you were a bit hesitant, more so confused if anything. At first, he had tried ignoring you and your questions just as he did with Roderick and his son. However, he couldn't ignore the genuine concern when you looked at him, someone who was but a stranger to you. It was the first time in his captivity that someone showed him any kind of concern for his well-being, someone who showed him kindness, even if it was small. In the park, Morpheus was less on guard now that he was free and more powerful than he was before, but instead of fully ignoring you and the questions you would ask him, he would answer vaguely, which ended up frustrating you, and to his surprise, he found your reactions quite amusing (he also found your little pouts adorable, not that he'll ever admit it, out loud anyway-).

⋅✦⋅ After your first visit to him, he found himself surprised by the gentle warm feeling slowly swelling in his chest. With imprisoned Morpheus, he was wary of you and your intentions, knowing that humans were all selfish creatures, and eventually you would ask him for something, just like his captors. But the more time you spent with him in the basement, talking to him even though he never answered, slowly softened his wariness of you. The more he thought about it, the more he understood that you being there with him was a great risk you were taking, not only for you but your father. You always set a timer on your wristwatch, and immediately leave once it went off, not before sending your goodbyes to him. With pigeon feeding Morpheus, he was curious about your random interaction with him and became more so at the thought of speaking to you again (even if you were the one doing most of the talking).

⋅✦⋅ Not before long, with each visit from you, the warmth within his chest seemed to grow bigger until he became extremely fond of you. At first, he tried to deny his care for you, then resenting you for unearthing a piece of him he had previously believed didn't exist as an Endless being (not that lasted very long. With one look at your face, that anger immediately demolishes into nothing but a distant memory). In truth, even with his previous relationships, he wasn't used to loving anything, and when he (not so) surprisingly found himself doing so, he firmly believed that he would eventually lose them in the end. Everyone that he had loved, that was supposed to love him back, had either one way or another abandoned or forsaken him, and it left him with a deep ache in his heart. However, with each visit from you, he realized this feeling, this fondness for you was the best for him. That you were the best of him, that caring for you was what made him painfully, yet so wonderfully human. Along with this, you had brought him hope, something he thought he had lost long ago. After everything he has been through, with his relationships and the tragedy that befell his son eons ago (and also his imprisonment), he never thought himself to be able to undoubtedly care for someone again, let alone a human child of all beings. You had quickly made your way into his Endless heart, without even knowing it.

⋅✦⋅ You became a constant figure in the Dream Lord's life, and he couldn't stop himself from seeing you. Not that he could in his imprisonment (nor did he ever want to). You were a very curious child, always showing how much you cared for him and his well-being, eyes shining brightly whenever you would talk to him as if his presence brought you happiness. And during this whole thing, Morpheus found himself unconsciously smiling more around you, staring at you with a soft look in his starry/icy blue gaze.

⋅✦⋅ With imprisoned Morpheus, he remained silent but would listen intently to you ramble about whatever topic you had in your mind, making subtle movements and being sure you knew he was listening to you. One particular memory was engraved in his mind where his stoic demeanor shifted and you had seen a smile gracing his lips. At first, you appeared slightly shocked, but then, your entire face lit up at the sight of his smile, however small it was. He remembered so vividly how excited you had gotten, how proud you were to achieve making him smile, and promising that you'll make him smile again, but even bigger. Morpheus wanted to see that expression on you again, the pure joy you had, and it was all because of him simply letting out a smile. When he was left alone in the basement once more, he was quite taken aback at the thought that he was the one to make you beam so brightly.

⋅✦⋅ With free Morpheus, he'd quietly listen to you talk, and would sometimes ask questions, and he couldn't help but feel pride swelling in his chest whenever your eyes would brighten up at his very simple questions. You'd become more lively, your smile widening with joy, and he noticed this particularly happened whenever the conversation was about your hobbies or the thing you found yourself enjoying recently. While you excitedly spoke, Morpheus quietly observed your expression, wondering when was the last time he had made someone this happy, had someone smile up at him with the brightest of smiles, eyes nearly glimmering with stars that were almost similar to his.

⋅✦⋅ As much as he cared for you, he was still careful to not get too attached to you. However, (surprise, surprise) that didn't end up happening. When Morpheus began to regard you as his child, seeing you as his daughter, he knew he had to quickly sever his connection with you, however great the ache in his chest hurt to just consider the idea. For he knew getting close to any human was a dangerous thing, not only for himself and his realm but for you. If he didn't, he'd have to watch you grow into the fine young woman he knew you would become, slowly growing older and older until his sister Death finally arrived and took you away to the Sunless lands. Or, the universe would see his affection for you as some sort of crime and end up punishing you, an innocent child, for his selfishness of not wanting to be alone once more. He didn't think he could live with the pain of losing another child again, having to be forced to watch you wither and die just like every other human that has ever existed before you.

⋅✦⋅ With free Morpheus, he could sever your relationship instantly, yet found himself hesitating when he was in your presence, waiting for the 'right time' to do it. Imprisoned Morpheus however didn't have that luxury. Instead, he forced himself to build up walls around his heart, for he knew the moment he was finally free, he had to immediately leave you and wanted to lessen that pain. He recognized that if he didn't do this, the pain would be too much for him to bear.

⋅✦⋅ However, all of that changed, depending on which path fate decided for you and the Dream Lord to have.

⋅✦⋅ With imprisoned Morpheus, he instantly knew there was something wrong when you entered the basement with the lack of your usual bright greeting. Not even a smile was being shown his way. You quietly took a seat in front of him like you usually did, and that's when he noticed an old book in your hands. When he glanced at you in question, he found that you were avoiding his gaze, which confused him but more so worried him, especially when you finally did meet his gaze, you looked completely lost, guilty even.

⋅✦⋅ You apologized that you didn't realize it sooner, apologized for the wrongdoings that Roderick and his son did to him, and most importantly, that you were sorry for being so blind. Morpheus sat there, completely stunned by your little speech, but more so when your tearful gaze turned into determination as you declared that you were going to get him out of there. Morpheus felt his starry eyes water, his hope of being free, of going back home to his kingdom that had once seemed so far from his reach was now so very close, and that was all because of you. And you, a child that possessed such a rare and beautiful heart didn't ask anything in return, just for him to set things right for everyone. He slowly placed his hand on the glass, watching with a tender look as you placed your smaller one on the glass, smiling up at him.

⋅✦⋅ With free Morpheus, you two were walking through the park, the Dream Lord silently cherishing his last visit with you. You then suddenly pushed him aside, causing him to stumble for a very brief second. He heard you let out a noise of pain and saw you on the ground, along with a male and his bicycle on the ground beside you. The sight of you hurt, blood seeping from your now scrap and dirty hands caused something dangerous to take hold of him. That feeling grew, even more, when he saw the man that had slammed into you with his bike reach out to help you up. If looks could kill, the mortal that dared hurt you would have been dead right where he stood. And if his glare wasn't bad enough, his voice was.

⋅✦⋅ It was so cold, so full of barely contained wrath as he commanded the man to not touch you. Not only did this leave the cyclist and the people around you frozen in place, but it also left you feeling afraid of Morpheus, being unable to recognize the man in front of you. Without another word, he quickly yet gently picked you up (bridal style) and carried you out of there. You were surprised by his actions but mostly embarrassed as you tried hiding your face in his chest, from the eyes of the people there. You asked him about it, but he didn't say anything, bringing you to a quiet area where he carefully tended to your wounds.

⋅✦⋅ Morpheus knew then and there that he couldn't leave you, your love for him was far too precious to abandon. He made a promise to himself that very day that he was going to love you for all eternity, that he would do better, for you deserved that and much, much more.

⋅✦⋅ Whenever you had to leave him, to avoid getting caught by the guards or to head back home and start on your homework (or how you would put it, to avoid your parents arguing about your whereabouts), it left him feeling immensely saddened by it. However, you would always playfully tease him, asking if he was sad, which would either have him send you a pointed look or quietly scoff, denying such a claim of being sad, even though you both knew it to be untrue. You'd reassured him that you would always come back, and you did

⋅✦⋅ Until one day after growing completely attached to you, you suddenly stopped appearing.

⋅✦⋅ At first, he thought you were late since it wasn't the first time it had happened, which you'd apologize for it. But as time continued to pass, with no sign of you coming, Morpheus began to grow worried.

⋅✦⋅ Even if you were late, you never missed a meeting with him. What could have possibly happened to cause you to miss it? But Morpheus, with the hope you gave to him, allowed himself to calm down, believing that you'll show up the next day. He knew you wouldn't just stop out of nowhere, especially if we're talking about imprisoned Morpheus. Yet that didn't stop the ache from building deep within his chest at the thought of something bad that could be happening to you.

⋅✦⋅ One day turned into two, then three, then four, and by the time he knew it, it had been a week since he last saw you. His concern grew to the point where he was nearly distracted from his duties, mind clouded by endless thoughts of you.

⋅✦⋅ With imprisoned Morpheus, he'd silently sit in his glass confinement, his thoughts always circling back to you, to your silly little rambles, your quiet and adorable laughs, your precious smiles. He was so used to being alone in the basement (alone in general, let's be honest here), sitting in the silence he had forced upon himself. However, the longer you were away, it started to become torture for him. And this can be said for free Morpheus. He'd quietly sit on the same bench you two always sat on, mindlessly watching the people there as his thoughts would go to you. Sometimes his raven Matthew popped in because Lucienne, his librarian, sent the male bird to check up on him.

⋅✦⋅ Perhaps you had simply grown bored of him, finally finding someone willing to spend time with you and listen to your conversations. Someone better, someone who wasn't him. It wouldn't be the first time. If we're talking about imprisoned Morpheus, he would feel even worse as those thoughts plagued his mind. Why would someone, let alone a human child, want to spend your time with him, someone who's trapped in a glass prison and doesn't say anything in response to you and your questions? Or maybe you have possibly changed your mind about freeing him. You didn't owe him anything, you only stumbled upon him through your own merits. That last thought alone sent him down a deep, almost dark spiral.

⋅✦⋅ Morpheus had tried finding you through your dreams (even if his powers in the basement were very weakened), yet he couldn't find you. By this point, the Dream Lord was beginning to become quite desperate to see you again, if only it was for a second. He never felt like this before in his entire existence, as if his Endless being needed you by his side for him to continue onward.

⋅✦⋅ When you were, one way or another, back in his life once more (and imprisoned Morpheus no longer in his glass confinement), there was a heavy weight lifted off his chest, as if he was allowed to finally breathe again. Upon seeing your face, nothing can ever compare to the enormous joy he felt, and at that very moment, Morpheus would make certain that you would never leave his sight again. Your unexpected absence from him for the first time since knowing each other made him understand that he simply couldn't live without you, his precious child. He couldn't bear the pain of you being far from him, where he couldn't find you or make sure that you were safe. You are far too important to the Endless.

⋅✦⋅ After that whole incident, the Dream Lord began to send his raven Matthew to watch over your waking life, sometimes even watching you through his companion's eyes (much to the raven's annoyance). When you went to sleep, Dream would personally watch over your dreams, making sure no nightmare dared to enter the beautiful dreams he carefully crafted especially for you.

⋅✦⋅ Too many times the Dream Lord found himself being affected by the thoughts of you one day leaving him as everyone he had ever loved did, disowning him as his own son had done eons ago. It all had hurt him at that time (though, he'd never admit it), but just the thought of losing you, of you hating and abandoning him, causes him a great deal of pain at just the mere thought. He couldn't possibly imagine going through that again, knowing that there would be nothing left of him…

───────────

Would anyone be down for a more detailed version of the two different meeting scenarios? Separately, of course. I think it's a pretty neat idea, considering I would have more freedom to further expand the relationship between Dream and the Reader in the different meetings, whichever fate has decided for them to have.

But what do you guys think? I would absolutely love to know!

Until next time my dear readers!

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