#count dracula duck

[boogjohnson2011]

Disney should've made this game Part 2.

Count Dracula Duck is made by drawloverlala.

[seefasters]

average travis player character: some sort of guy with backstory happenings of various levels of tragedy

average clint player character: old man with a mischievous streak (always on the verge of death)

average griffin player character: lil guy with impostor syndrome and trying SO hard

average justin player character: the weirdest person anyone has ever heard of, ever

[boingodigitalart]

Duckvember 2024 Day 8: Frankenduck

Couldn't decide between which duck duo to feature for this one so I went with both. First one a scheme team adventure and the second featuring Count Duckula with the duck temper duo. Also used this as an opportunity at giving Duckula a shot at drawing lol.

[regyman]

A Portrait I made for my buddy George's remake of the Duckula intro! Wanted to go for a Christopher Lee/Hammer era poster vibe. It was alot of fun to do! You can check it out here if you're interested c: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dY-ZS6q6tvU

[illyanarasputinfan]

Marvel Snap (2024) Scopely Studios

I’m ecstatic to finally collect this card in Marvel Snap. I love Hell Cow. She is one of favorite comic book characters.

Giant-Size Man-Thing #5, Volume 2 (1975) Marvel Comics

Hell Cow’s first appearance.

Giant-Size Man-Thing #5, Volume 2 (1975) Marvel Comics

The tragic origin of Bessie AKA Hell Cow.

Deadpool Team-Up #885 (2011) Marvel Comics

Deadpool teams up with Hell Cow to defeat an evil doctor holding them captive to imbue himself with superhuman abilities.

Spider-Man/Deadpool #23 (2017) Marvel Comics

Hell Cow appears as an arms dealers, having acquired the abilities to stand upright, and speak.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"YES! SEND ME A CRYPT-FULL OF TERRIBLE TALES..." -- HORROR MEETS ZANINESS IN THE BRONZE AGE OF COMICS.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a mail-in order form for both "Tomb of Dracula" AND "Howard the Duck" in B&W magazine format, published by the Marvel Magazine Group, c. 1977 -- "Checks or money orders only. Please allow 8 to 10 weeks on delivery."

Yes, this is the whopping THIRD time I've posted the above 1977 "Howard the Duck" and "Tomb of Dracula" horizontal, vintage Marvel house ad on Tumblr. I swear, this is the last time I will be posting it, though! Third time's the charm, am I right?

Source: https://forum.sanctuary.fr/t/page-s-de-pub/185608/225.

[shallotsfumblr]

Daily Doodle # Special Request: I asked my spouse for ideas and they requested a vampire duck. I picked a muscovy duck because I've always felt like some of the drakes looked like scary little vampires. Didn't turn out exactly like I wanted, but he's pretty cute still! The single mirror looks like a freaky cyclops creature, too. Love when vibes are maintained.

Especially love when I draw a bird and don't have to struggle to draw bird feet. it's a good day. 6.10.25

[mr-divabetic]

This Halloween, I got a bit carried away with my displays. My office is on one of New York City's Halloween streets, where thousands walk by to see the decorations or trick or treat. 

For me, Halloween is about creativity, not candy. I love that people dress up, and I love that people decorate. It's a fun time to express yourself and let your imagination take over. 

Most residents decorate their brownstones with horror, blood, and gruesome monsters. My muse, Lauren, encouraged me to make kid-friendly displays. I created a series of RiDUCKulous displays featuring ducks dressed as my favorite Halloween iconic characters from back in the day.  I'm not a crafter, so creating these displays was a reach. 

Here's my Count Duckula display. He's made of recycled bottles, newspaper, and old-fashioned paper mache (flower and water). He's covered in Tic Tacs, cake sprinkles, Red Hots, black licorice, Dollar Store eyes, chocolate baking dots, recycled cloth grocery bags, and a child-sized wig. For inspiration, I googled Dracula, and this picture of Leslie Nielsen appeared.  I love this actor and his movies so much that his costume inspired me. 

You can decide who wore it best.

[speedygal]

new Dracula duck dropped. i'll accept both Count Duckula and Quackula and Count Drakeula.

[anonymous-dentist]

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?

[snootlestheangel]

Thoughts on Ghost in Leather Gloves?

(I know you’d tell me but so everyone gets to enjoy lmao)

Thoughts on Ghost in leather gloves? Wrap those bad boys around my neck sometime tonight

Oh you mean the Monster Hunter? Oh right, okay, hang on

I had plenty of thoughts while in the shower

Ghost is not military anymore but rather has the cover story of being a journalist. He travels a lot, which gives him the exact perfect excuse to hunt.

He and Soap are married, Soap is still 141/military. Soap knows he's a hunter

Maybe monsters are known and that's why Simon disguises himself as The Ghost to hunt. Keeps himself anonymous so he can't get in trouble for any sort of reason

141 uncovers a major ring of like monster criminals and they need help. Laswell does some digging and finds out about The Ghost: the boogeyman in the monster world.

Soap decides to ask Simon about him

Simon's reaction: 😐 uh....

Idk what else but they end up working together or something

The dream i had that inspired this was wild

Ghost killed Count Dracula

He just ended up in this random situation where he was at this old ass house helping a mother and her two sons who had just escaped her abusive husband (yes the irony is strong) and then they got attacked by vampires

Ghost ended up in ?? Somewhere idk and killed Dracula.

I distinctly remember one moment Ghost was like coming up through a space in the floor and his leather gloved hand was like the focus and he went face to face with a bat like vampire creature. He went "oh shit" and ducked back down

It was kind of comical but also bizarre. Ghost definitely had Zero Clue what the fuck he was doing the majority of that dream. He just kind of ended up in a situation

[theladyofbloodshed]

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.

[see-arcane]

Count Dracula clearly held a different sentiment. More ink was applied, this time in a long neat strike just under the line: “There, Edmond Dantès!” he said, pointing to the bodies of his wife and child, “see, are you well avenged?” Beside the strike were two small words. Stop here.

Crazy how you can make Dracula intriguing to understand without giving him a fridged true love.

Jonathan ducked his gaze away from his host’s, but not before catching how the latter’s kindled anew. Thankfully, the cock’s crow came to his rescue. “I am sorry, sir, I fear I have kept you up too long again.”

Since Dracula said that it's Jonathan being too interesting and thus had to be kept up until dawn, he's been apologizing for being too interesting huh. Though I liked the comparative myths and legends conversation.

And like with the shared love for literature, the stargazing scene between them is paralleled by one of the brides. This one basically groomed and lured her into her own captivity and turning. Asking her to find "the old enemy of my teachers" in the sky because she's virtuous?? The implication that she'll feed on her bloodline and no longer stargazing. Amazing!

Dracula has so much potential for being an interesting character beyond an artificially sexified suave Romeo. Even beyond just being a gold star creep! It's been fun weaving some hints of inner traits into him and the Weird Sisters as I go along. In this case, a pointed distaste for Monte Cristo tripping at the finish line of becoming a full-blown villain, getting all moral once a kid dies. Whateverrr.

And YES Jonathan coming through with dancing on eggshells and echoing Brides past. Jury's out on how sincere the Count is with wanting to see any divinity among the stars, but it's certainly a favorite game of his when playing with his food. (Condolences to that poor stargazer...)

[mjrtaurus]

A new rev joins from some western esc themed island and is super jittery. They’ve got the heart of the revolution but it’s one thing to dream and another to put your life on the line. Thankfully though the revs don’t throw their people into the deep end immediately so they’re set out back helping dig something or another (trench, water line, honestly could be anything) until suddenly, rattling.

For most people the response is to duck hide or run from the terrifying sound but this recruit with the well taught southern instinct of someone who grew up near rattlesnakes…. Well they about face to pancake the fucker with the flat end of the shovel because every kid in those areas (and this is a thing irl too, ask me how) is taught to kill a rattler with a shovel from childhood when one of those in your yard near your little siblings or animals can end horribly.

There is no hesitation allowed. You take your shovel. Smack it flat as hard as you can, and then when it’s stunned or ‘dealt with’ you can think of your next move.

Whoever caused the rattling (be it sabo scaring the fresh meet or dragon having just received an upsetting report) is properly concussed and the recruit would like to die now please

Dragon… had not been expecting it. Neither the news that had him hissing and spitting to begin with, or the flat end of a shovel coming down on his head. Just barely had time for a quick armament coating to save him from a concussion.

You could have heard a pin drop.

Dragon turns to look at his would be assailant. The shovel wielding Johnathan Harker to his sleeping Count Dracula. And it’s the new kid, looking absolutely horrified by what he’s just done.

“Explain.” The Supreme Commander of the Revolutionary Army asks the recruit, tone totally flat but carefully neutral. He has an idea of what’s going on, but he wants to clarify. And be ready for a follow up attack, if necessary.

It’ll make for either the most interesting Cipher Pol attempt on his life so far, or a fun story for the both of them to share with their comrades once the embarrassment dies down.

“I… I-… uh… h-heard the rattle…” poor kid was practically pissing himself, but still somehow managing to maintain eye contact.

“And you went for the snake…” Dark umber eyes glitter with amusement. So it was what he was thinking.

“Y-… yessir…” newbie was still white as a sheet, but there was a little flash of understanding under the shock.

Just one country kid realizing they’re in the presence of an older, more experienced country kid.

“I’ll try not to rattle around you, then. Go sit for a bit and try to calm yourself.”

It definitely could have been worse. Could have been Cipher Pol. Could have been the shovel coming down edge first. Could have been a half-second too late with the armament.

Fun story to tell at a later date it was.

[kiiwiigii]

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? 

NEXT

{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

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[duckprintspress]

May Created Works Round-Up

Duck Prints Press’s monthly “created works round-ups” are our opportunity to spotlight some of the amazing work that people working with us have done that ISN’T linked to their work with Duck Prints Press. We include fanworks, outside publications, and anything else that creators feel like sharing with y’all. Inclusion is voluntary and includes anything that they decided “hey, I want to put this on the created work’s round-up!”

Check out what they’ve shared with us this month…

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Eliot and the peach (watercolor edition) by EliotQueliot

art || the magicians (lev grossman, syfy) || m/m || quentin coldwater/eliot waugh || general audiences || no major warnings apply || complete

summary: The moment when Eliot eats the peach and begins to remember the lifetime he shared with Quentin at the Mosaic is so beautiful. You can see so many emotions wash over him, the thoughtfulness in his eyes; you can practically taste that peach and feel its softness.

other tags: Mosaic, Beauty Of All Life, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Mosaic Timeline (The Magicians: A Life in the Day), Watercolors

TUMBLR – AO3 – INSTAGRAM

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…Baby One More Time, Chapter 5 by EliotQueliot

fiction || the magicians (lev grossman, syfy) || m/m || quentin coldwater/eliot waugh || mature || creator choses not to use warnings || 3,188 || work in progress

summary: Eliot takes Quentin on a tour of the Clock Barrens.

Their training as horomancy apprentices begins in earnest.

other tags: Time Loop, Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Time Travel Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Horomancy, Mosaic Timeline (The Magicians: A Life in the Day)

TUMBLR – AO3

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Dracula’s Lovers by Amalia Zeichnerin

fiction || dracula, bram stoker’s dracula (novel from 1897 and film from 1992) || m/m, f/m, poly (multiple genders) || dracula/jonathan harker, dracula/mina murray, dracula/jonathan/mina || explicit || no major warnings apply || 13,209 || complete

summary: Late 19th century:

Jonathan Harker travels to Romania on business as a solicitor, because Count Dracula wants to buy some real estate in London. What Jonathan did not expect was how attractive the Count is and soon things between them take an unexpected turn. But as they both travel back to London, the Count appears to be also interested in Jonathan’s fiancée Mina. And that is not the only problem: Neither Mina nor Jonathan know that the Count has a secret…

other tags: polyamory, wholesome, queer. Content Warnings: Spicy content, but not too explicit, some internalized queerphobia, blood

AO3

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whatever frozen or molten state by corduroyserpent

fiction || the scum villain’s self-saving system || platonic or familial, m/m, f/m || shen qingqiu & tianlang-jun, luo binghe & zhuzhi-lang, luo binghe/shen yuan | shen qingqiu, tianlang-jun & zhuzhi-lang, su xiyan/tianlang-jun || mature || no major warnings apply || 62,664 || complete

summary: When a scrapped plot thread from PIDW leaves Luo Binghe and Zhuzhi-Lang incapacitated by a mysterious illness, Shen Qingqiu and Tianlang-Jun must journey together through the Endless Abyss to find the cure.

other tags: Post-Canon, Sickfic, Bodyswap, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Angst and Humor, Happy Ending

TUMBLR – AO3 – LINK

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Deku’s Kacchan Notebook by Katia_Anyway

fiction || boku no hero academia || m/m || midoriya izuku / bakugou katsuki || explicit || no major warnings apply || 4,755 || complete

summary: This story was written for Possession: a Yandere DkBk zine. It features Izuku, in a feat of jealousy, attempting to convince Bakugou that he’s the only one fit to be his costume engineer by showing him his research notes. The research notes just so happen to be in his Kacchan Notebook n°136. When Bakugou flips through the pages a little too far and finds out just how obsessed Izuku is with him, something breaks in his brain and a fire roars in his guts.

other tags: Yandere characters, Top!Izuku, Bottom!Bakugou, unconventional dom/sub dynamics

AO3

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Theft by May Barros

fiction || original work || no ships || mature || graphic depictions of violence || 700 || ongoing series

summary: Flash fiction for the Flash Fiction Bingo for my ko-fi and patreon supporters

LINK

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Free From Sin by ShannonXL

fiction || sinners (2025) || f/m || mary/elias “stack” moore || teen & up || major character death || 1,800 || complete

summary: How do Stack and Mary decide what to do with all of eternity ahead of them?

other tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Period-Typical Racism, Spoilers

AO3