#he’s taking a page out of Dracula’s book and he’s getting away with it

[ardentinwoe]

The one who walks with Fiends

[luveline]

Hi Jade, congratulations on 40k! Absolutely amazing!!!

For the celebration, may I request '𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤' — with Eddie & the phrase"I don't feel good", either Eddie or Reader didn't eat much throughout the day?

Thanks so much!! 💜

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you! —eddie feels suddenly unwell after a long day with little to eat. you step in when he almost faints to take diligent care of him. fem!reader, 1.8k

"Hello, gorgeous." 

Eddie flinches at your appearance but quickly softens, pushing his book aside to open his arms to you. "I should be saying that to you!" he says, standing and squeezing you tight enough to force the breath from your chest in a rough laugh. 

"Wayne let me in, I swear." 

"I forgot you were coming," he says. Apologetic, he stops hugging you so tight and ends the embrace with your face in his hands. "Lucky me. It's like going to sleep December first and waking up on Christmas Eve, babe." 

He puts a piece of scrap paper between the pages of his book and hides it away on the nightstand. "Help me make this bed," he says. 

You're smiling just looking at him, rounding the bed to stand at the end while he moves near the top. You help him shake out the unmade comforter, straightening his blanket with a flourish. He beats the pillows into submission. When he's leaning forward you creep back behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your face to his spine. You can feel the notches. 

Eddie smells different. Like himself, you're not sure what it is, probably a mixture of skin and detergent and nothing special, but today there's a trace of cigarette smoke.

"You've been smoking in bed?" you ask, surprised. 

"How do you do that?" he asks, covering your arms with his and bending further forward under your weight. 

"Are you okay?" you ask instead of answering. 

"I'm fine. I've been dreadfully, woefully lazy today, babe. Like, totally sedentary, that book is kind of amazing." 

You curl around his waist to look at the cover. "The Shining," you read, trading the faces of the family stacked on the front. "By the guy who wrote Carrie? You love that one." 

"It's amazing." Eddie puts his arm behind your shoulders to usher you forward, holding you under his arm instead. Half-hugging, he kisses your cheek. 

You kiss him properly.

He receives gladly, though he steals the lead and leaves you reeling for a split-second. Funny how he can kiss you stupid in sloppy pyjamas, chipped nails digging into your hips. You don't care that he forgot you were coming over when he's this happy to see you.

"I think we should get takeout to celebrate you being so cute," you say, to his delight. "You can shower while I go find out what Wayne wants, and you can read your book after dinner." 

Eddie smiles, hides it, says, "No, I wanna see you, that's why you're here." 

"I'll still be here." You shrug. "I'll borrow your copy of Carrie and we can read together. I don't mind, I just wanted to be in the same room as you." 

He grabs you for stupid kisses smushed up into your neck until you're warm from being held. Fierce, you usher him away to the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen. You and Wayne are good at talking now and things are blissfully comfortable, a yellow menu for the Three Dragons spread out over the table as you make a list. Wayne orders, and upon seeing the mess of takeout menus they keep in one of the drawers under the cutlery drawer, you make it your mission to help him recover some space until Eddie's out of the shower. 

Eddie's quick. He appears dressed and dark-haired, scrubbing a towel over his face. Wet, his hair twists but doesn't coil. 

"That's better, dracula," Wayne says, dragging a lighter off of the edge of the window sill. "You look human. I'm going out back to smoke." 

Eddie sits on the couch and you slink from the kitchenette to be closer to him, sitting on the arm next to him. You can't deny the temptation of his curls, separating them with your fingers and brushing down. They're cold and long, kissing the space between his shoulder blades. 

Eddie doesn't say much. You're unnerved quickly; it's not like him to brood, especially after such a good hug before his shower.

"You okay?" you ask gently, fingertips trailing through his hair lazily. 

He curls inward. Not away from your touch but into a ball, of sorts, his back curved. "I don't feel good," he confesses, his voice brittle as sugar paper.

You lean forward with him as you had earlier, following him into his defensive position. "Baby?" 

"I feel sick," he says. 

Eddie loves complaining and you love to hear it, but not when his voice wobbles. Concerned but keeping your cool, you slide off of the arm to kneel in front of him, carding the damp sheet of his hair where it hands like ivy behind his ear. 

"You look pale." You stroke his hair, though there's nothing left to tuck. "How sick do you feel, Eddie? Like you could throw up?" 

"It's not like that." 

"Have you eaten anything today?" you ask. 

You know the answer before he shakes his head. 

Telling him off is instinctive, but it won't help, and you realise you're not interested in scolding him. You turn his face to yours. "Sitting forward will make you feel sicker. Sit back, and I'll get you something. Don't look so worried, baby, I'm sure it's just low blood sugar. Cool?" 

He smiles weakly. "You're right." 

Eddie sits back into the couch cushions and pulls one over his stomach, holding it there. The heat of his shower wouldn't have helped, and if he hasn't eaten it's possible he could faint. Luckily he'd seemed alert if miserable, so you step over his feet to try and fix him before he feels worse. It's weird rooting through their cabinets, but it's for Eddie's sake. You'll be forgiven.

You return with a sleeve of saltines, a couple of dark chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of apple juice. It's the concentrated kind from the grocery store full of bad bad things, but he needs sugar, and it's chock full of it. 

"Here you go," you say, sitting on the couch next to him. He's grey like dirty snow, eyes a touch glassy. "Do I need to call Wayne in?"

"No," he says, sitting up to accept your offered juice. "I'm okay, just felt real shitty real sudden." He skulls the juice to the sounds of your protesting and accepts a cookie, crumbs trickling down his lap as he snaps it in half. 

You wipe them away. 

"We got your usual from the Three Dragons, it'll be here soon, but I can make you something else? Or, you had eggs in the fridge, I bet Wayne would make you one of his nice omelettes." 

Eddie swallows his mouthful, head shaking. "I'm okay." 

You're not sure if you should believe him, your hand on his thigh rubbing up and down and up again, waiting for his skin to flush. He hadn't looked so sallow when you first arrived. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you to shower on an empty stomach."

Eddie rubs at his head. There's agitation in the action, but none of which is directed at you, proven by the soft cadence of his voice when he says, "What are you sorry for, dummy? You didn't know. I'm sorry for being dramatic." He again leans back against the couch, his face parallel to the ceiling but his eyes watching your face. He's handsome even when he's poorly, the subtle bob of his Adam's apple accompanying a rough confession, "I didn't mean to scare you, I just don't think I've felt like that before." 

You reach up to draw a line along the cliff of his jaw, straight across and then down his neck. "Did you eat much yesterday? Maybe you're running low." He closes his eyes. You're still worried about him, clearing your throat. "You don't feel faint, do you? Does your head hurt?" 

"A little bit." 

You rush back to the kitchen for a glass of water. Wayne wars with the back door as you're filling it up, and his eyebrows hike when he sees the look on your face. "Everything okay, kid?" he asks. 

"Eddie's feeling freaky." 

"D'you eat?" Wayne calls. 

Eddie groans. You give Wayne a grim frown. 

"I'll make him a sandwich," Wayne decides, heading for the fridge. 

"Don't!" Eddie whines. "The food's coming any minute, I'm good! I was having a moment, just want attention." 

You laugh and loop back to him, tucking your legs under you as you sit and press the glass of cold water into his hand. 

"There are much better ways to get some attention," you tease. 

"But this way was so much fun," he drawls, monotone. 

You pet his hair as he drinks the water, appreciation mixed with a reverent, aching love in the way he tilts his head to your touch. 

"I feel better already," he says, holding the glass to his neck. 

You lift up to kiss the skin adjacent to his eye. "Good. Take it easy, Eds. You can't finish your book if you pass out." 

Wayne makes Eddie a sandwich and insists Eddie eat it, though your boyfriend argues that it'll ruin his takeout. "Should've thought about that when you skipped breakfast and lunch, then, idiot," Wayne says, putting an end to it swiftly. 

Eddie perks up halfway through his sandwich, and when the takeout comes, Wayne doesn't make him suffer through the second half. You eat, watch TV, and everyone survives the night. After cleaning up some, you and Eddie curl up in pyjamas together while he reads and you pretend, staring at the side of his face. 

His cheeks turn rosy the longer your gaze lingers. "I'm fine," he says quietly. "Just stupid." 

You squeeze his arm. "As long as you're okay. Tell me if you feel sick again, okay?" 

He closes his book around his fingers. 

"I'll tell you," he says, still quiet. Then, with a breezier tone, he reaches back with his hand to tangle your fingers and says, "I gotta thank you for being you. I didn't freak out 'cos I knew you were there, and, like, I know how lucky I am that I felt that way." 

You drop your jaw. "Woah, that is so sincere!" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and pushes your hand away. "Dork." 

You crawl into his lap and hug him. He deserves a hug, for being sick and for being honest. If you're heavy he doesn't say a word, hugging you for a handful of minutes that stretch long and slow. "I'll get off you," you say, making little efforts to move. Eddie doesn't bother either. 

"I need you there, you stop me from getting sick," he says. 

You don't believe it for a second, but it's nice. Eddie reads around you, his arms looped through yours, his book perched on your shoulder as you nestle into the curve of his neck. 

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— after dark

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: graphic descriptions of gore and violence, angst, self - injury

summary: the demon doesn't think herself deserving enough — every single time she touches wednesday, she does so with bated breath, as if the girl is made of porcelain

word count: 3.4k

The Weather Wane tended to be crowded on weekend afternoons, but Wednesday found herself enjoying the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop, lucky enough to only share the space with some old couple and a few teenagers. She sat in the corner by the window, reading a copy of Dracula, the only sound accompanying her being the quite chatter of other patrons that she quickly tuned down and the shuffling of the yellowed pages when she turned them.

(Y/n), on the other hand, seemed restless. She was sitting next to Wednesday, having long since finished her coffee, her arm draped over the seat, brows furrowed as she glared daggers at the barista working behind the counter. The poor guy had already caught her death stare once or twice as he kept glancing at the pair, averting his eyes quickly with a small shiver before returning to scrubbing at the coffee machine nervously. It seemed like he had something to say to the small ravenette, but with the seething oni basically burning holes into him, growling intimidatingly, it was akin to sneaking over a garden fence that clearly had a ‘beware of the angry dog’ sign plastered over it.

It wasn't like (Y/n) had anything personal against Tyler, she supposed. He didn't seem like a bad guy — hell, he didn't seem like anything at all. There was nothing special or out of ordinary about him. But, as the oni's gaze flicked down to Wednesday's face, her mind started to drift.

What if ordinary was what was best for the gloomy girl?

She was into weird things, of course, but... Being with a human would've been much more safe for her. It would've been a balanced relationship, and she wouldn't have to deal with some of the demonic trais (Y/n) knew vexed Wednesday to no end. Humans did have their own exasperating habits too, but in no way could they be compared to eating raw meat, growling in one's sleep or turning into a ferocious beast every Blood Moon.

Wait. When had (Y/n)'s thoughts taken such a drastic turn? She didn't like wallowing in self — doubt. She was an oni from a powerful bloodline with strong heritage, no human could ever best that. Besides, that bloodline consisted of demons and samurais. She could definitely protect Wednesday when needed.

"(Y/n), are you listening?"

Snapping out of her daze, the oni tilted her head to look at the Addams girl who was plaguing her thoughts, “Hm?”

"I asked if you wanted to take the longer route back to Nevermore. Night would probably befall us half — way... I'll hold your hand so you don't get lost." Wednesday muttered softly, looking up from her book.

The oni grinned, hand moving to tuck a stray lock of raven hair behind Wednesday's ear, her clawed finger gently tracing the smaller girl's cheekbone before she pulled away, "Sure. That'd be great."

Yeah. Yeah, she was pretty great. Eat that, Tyler Galpin.

"Have you decided on the movie yet, (Y/n)?"

The demon groaned at the question, draping her blanket over her head to try and avoid answering.

"I did not," came the muffled response, "I'm having a hard time finding something to your liking that's not going to make me fall asleep halfway through."

"I'll watch whatever you like. I don't care."

"But I do!" (Y/n) shook the fluffy blanket off, her (h/c) hair emerging disheveled, and looked up at the ravenette with a pout, "I want you to actually enjoy what you're watching, not have to sit it through for my sake."

"I really don't care." The ravenette emphasized.

The demon sighed, her clawed finger sliding over the touch pad as she scrolled through the catalogue,

"Fine. But don't complain when it's too cheesy or stupid for you."

It was always like this with Wednesday on movie nights — she'd insist she had no preference, then the second the movie (Y/n)'d choose started, she'd grumble about it. They had watched most of the good horror movies that existed, the girls' favorites being Silence of the Lambs, Saw and Carrie, but the oni's mood would sometimes long for something less macabre, much to Wednesday's displeasure.

Running her hands through her wet hair, the ravenette grabbed her brush and moved to sit on her side of the bed, squinting to take a better look at the screen.

"... Breakfast Club?" She read with a frown, and her gaze slid over to the demon's face, "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"But it's really good! And it has a cool dance scene I thought you might enjoy... " (Y/n) sighed, looking back at the laptop sadly, "Or, you know... We could always rewatch Pulp Fiction again if you want to."

Wednesday sighed tiredly before putting the brush on her nightstand, lying down next to (Y/n) and grabbing her arm to pull the limb to her chest, albeit a little roughly, entwining her slender fingers with the oni's.

"Start the movie." She mumbled finally.

"Wha— really?"

"Start the wretched movie before I change my mind, (Y/n)."

The demon grinned, snuggling closer to the grumpy ravenette. She clicked on the movie poster and pressed space, then rest her cheek on top of Wednesday's head, sighing in content.

"But next time we're watching Tusk."

"No, Wednesday."

The first time Wednesday noticed it, she thought she was seeing things — maybe it had been the lighting, or her imagination playing tricks, but the ravenette didn't really pay it too much thought. She was used to visions haunting her, after all.

They were in class, a few minutes before their break would end, and (Y/n) sat backwards in her chair, elbows resting on the back as she talked to Enid and Yoko at the desk behind her, while Wednesday busied herself with her herbology assignment, having taken a habit of doing all her school stuff at least a week ahead.

At some point the lively conversation died, and the ravenette noticed it was just the vampire and the werewolf talking amidst themselves. (Y/n) was completely silent.

Turning in her seat to glance at the oni, Wednesday saw the demon looking back at her already, chin resting on her arms. Her head was titled a bit, and her (e/c) eyes glistened with fondness, but much to the smaller girl's surprise, the usual slits were absent — (Y/n)'s pupils were widened, taking up her whole sclera.

"Is something wrong?" Wednesday asked, a bit bashful under the gaze.

"No," (Y/n) denied through her lazy smile, "You're just really pretty. I like looking at you. Is that wrong?"

Color dusted Wednesday's pale cheeks lightly, and she turned back to her notes, "It's not, I suppose."

Huh. What an interesting trait. She wondered what the cause of it was.

It happened again when the girls were at Wednesday’s dorm, going over the ravenette’s investigation. (Y/n) was standing in the middle of the room, watching the smaller girl gesture at her hand – made chart, different photos of people, newspapers records and some of her own written notes were spread around the board, neatly arranged.

“Do you know what this means, (Y/n)?” She asked, pushing the papers into the demon’s hands, pointing at the picture, then walking back to her chart, “These are not just some mindless murders, he’s collecting trophies, like a seasoned serial killer. It’s quite impressive, actually.” Wednesday rambled heatedly before turning around to face the other girl, ready to hear her opinion on the case – but the oni wasn’t looking at the papers.

Her gaze was focused on the ravenette, a small grin on her lips, and her slit pupils were widened so much Wednesday swore she could see her own reflection in the orbs.

“... (Y/n). Are you listening?”

“Uh - huh. Yeah. Something something mindless murders, yeah...”

Coming up to stand before the taller girl, Wednesday snapped her fingers in front of her face, successfully waking her demon up from her daze.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm listening." (Y/n) blinked, looking down at the photographs in her hands, and Wednesday watched her pupils become slitted again.

Wednesday hated making out. Everything about it was gross to the girl, from the unhygienic exchange of bacteria to the awful feeling of being so close to another living being. But making out with her demon girlfriend... That was something completely different, and Wednesday found it becoming a perfect stress relief, her favorite past – time activity, something to look forward every time they were alone.

(Y/n) sighed into Wednesday’s lips as her hold on the girl’s waist tightened, pulling her closer where Wednesday straddled her on the bed. The ravenette slid her palms up to the demon’s shoulders, then up her neck, cold fleeting touch leaving goosebumps in its wake, and rested her hands on her powerful jaw. She pulled away, a small string of saliva between their mouths, and her tongue licked over the demon’s big tusks. (Y/n) whined, making Wednesday smile.

When her gaze slid from the oni’s lips up to her eyes, she found the puzzling sight again – (Y/n)’s pupils wide and round as she watched Wednesday, dazed and breathing heavily. Pressing her hands to the girl’s cheeks, the ravenette leaned in to take a closer look.

“(Y/n), your eyes...” she said quietly, “Did you know they do this?”

“Huh?” the demon slurred in reply, not really focusing on the question, “Do what?”

“Your pupils, they get... bigger sometimes. Especially when... When you look at me...” Wednesday trailed off, the realisation hitting her suddenly.

It seemed like the same thing had happened to (Y/n), as the demon’s face turned red and she averted her gaze, draping an arm over her eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, embarrassed.

The ravenette sighed, grabbing the oni’s hand to pull it away from her face, “Are you getting shy on me now? Don’t be silly,” she pressed a small kiss to (Y/n)’s nose, chuckling at the way it scrunched under her gentle touch, “It’s a common thing for most felines, actually. Are you a kitten, perhaps?”

“Oh my God, stop.” (Y/n) groaned, hiding her face in her palms.

Wednesday ran through the woods, completely out of breath. Her legs hurt, knees bleeding where she scraped them from falling, and she could barely see where she was going, the night air nipping at her skin and urging her forward. The forest was almost silent – the heaviness of danger hung in the air, making all the wilderness hold its breath.

How long had she been running? Why did the forest seem so endless and dark, like a pit with nothing but void awaiting in the end?

The girl heard a loud roar behind her and picked up pace as much as her tired legs could allow her. Deep down she knew she would never win this chase. It was natural — prey was always meant to be caught by the predator.

Loud growls paired with sounds of leaves crunching under heavy limbs made her realise the creature was catching up. Gathering the last bits of her strength, Wednesday pushed herself to her limits, rushing forward to try and blend in the dark trees.

A flash of (e/c) eyes and huge tusks, and the ravenette went tumbling down on the ground. The demon knocked her off her feet and sent her flying on the forest floor, pining Wednesday to it with her talons painfully sinking into her sides. The ravenette winced, looking up at the furious creature who opened her toothy maw with an animalistic growl, staring down at the small human with heavy breaths. The oni's gaze was absolutely insane — there were no traces of humanity, no traces of (Y/n), warm and soft and full of adoration when Wednesday used to look at her.

Only monstrous hunger remained.

The demon didn't waste any time to bare her tusks, spit dripping as she lowered her head to finally put an end to their cat-and-mouse game. Wednesday grabbed at the monster's face, arms straining as she tried to push the creature away, but her frail hands were barely an obstacle to the demon — the oni's powerful jaws locked on her neck sharply, a loud crunching sound followed, and the creature jerked her head away forcefully, biting a chunk of flesh off the ravenette's throat.

A gargled sound left Wednesday's mouth, a scream muffled by blood gushing out, and she choked on the liquid, fingers digging at the soil around her as her chest contacted in pitiful attempts to gather up air.

Her widened eyes met the wild gaze of the predator above her, and her mouth moved, trying to get something out. Scarlet spilled instead of words, making her choke again, and after a few seconds of painful breaths the girl’s body went completely still.

The demon swallowed the warm meat, licking her lips pleasantly. She grinned, her teeth bloody, and dipped her head again to take another big bite from the delicious dish.

When (Y/n) awoke, she shot up in her bed, a gasp leaving her lips as she tried to steady her breathing.

She looked around, realising she was in her dorm, and not in the forest. It was still dark, and the only light was coming from the window, the moon shining amidst the gloomy sky illuminating her room in a soft glow. She stared down at her lap with widened eyes, palms grasping her blanket in a death grip.

Trying to swallow around the lump in her throat, she pressed her hands against her forehead and her shoulders shook.

Wednesday.

(Y/n) turned her head sharply — the small girl was sleeping soundly beside her, chest rising and falling with gentle breaths, and the demon felt bile rise up her throat.

God. She dreamt of eating her girlfriend. A being that now laid in the demon's bed, completely defenseless and fragile, trusting (Y/n) with her life more than anyone else.

Tearing the blanket off her body and stumbling to her feet, (Y/n) swayed, hitting her side against the desk, and her breathing turned erratic as the girl started to hyperventilate. She grabbed at her head, fingers carding through the (h/c) tresses, and the oni's claws slid down her face, leaving raw bleeding gashes that healed instantly. So the oni clawed at her cheeks again, again and again between choked breaths and pathetic hoarse whines escaping her throat, tears sliding down her chin and mixing with blood in a salty red river.

(Y/n) felt like screaming. She felt like clawing her eyes out, burying her fingers in the sockets of her skull and crushing them to never see the light of the day again.

She didn't deserve to.

Her legs gave out and the oni slid down to the wooden floor, leaning her head against the side of the desk. (Y/n) grabbed at her chest, talons piercing through the fabric of her shirt, wishing her heart would stop hurting. The girl wanted to rip it out of her own ribcage.

A soft touch on her back made the demon shiver, and she looked over her shoulder to find Wednesday sitting on her knees, hand outstretched and gently pressing into (Y/n)'s shaking form. Her expression was calm but in the darkness of her eyes swirled worry.

"Wed- Wednesday... Wednes... day, I... " The oni tried to speak through her quiet gasps and hiccups unsuccessfully.

"I'm here," came soft and quiet reassurance from the ravenette, "I'm right here, (Y/n)."

Clawed hands grasped at Wednesday's arms, and the demon hanged her head, face burying in the smaller girl's chest as she shook, tears coming in a seemingly unstoppable flow. Wednesday hugged the demon closer to herself, hands resting on her back, slender fingers tracing mindless circles there.

She didn't speak again.

“Wednesday? What’s going on?” (Y/n) walked into the ravenette’s half - empty dorm to see the girl gathering her things around the room.

“I was expelled, (Y/n).” Wednesday deadpanned calmly without looking at the demon.

“W... What?”

“It’s the condition Sheriff Galpin imposed in exchange for him not pressing charges. I’m going home.”

“No, this is... This is ridiculous,” the demon felt a lump forming in her throat as she stepped closer to Wednesday, watching her pack her suitcase orderly, “I can talk to Weems. I’m sure she’ll understand, you don’t have to- “

“The decision’s already been made,” Wednesday interrupted, stacking her books in a pile, face completely impassive, “It seems I’ve lost.”

The demon pressed her clawed hands on the typewriter case when the smaller girl moved to grab the handle, “And you’re just going to leave like this?” she asked, frustrated, “When he’s out there, parading around the town as if he’s not a monstrous killer?”

“It does exasperate me, but,“ Wednesday averted her eyes, looking down at the floor, “Xavier’s right. If I’m not here... The prophecy won’t come true.”

“If you’re not here, this stupid school is done for,” (Y/n) grumbled, “But there’s one thing I can promise you. If Tyler ever shows his face around here, they’ll be scraping hyde intestines off the fucking walls.”

Wednesday didn’t reply. Her sagged shoulders straightened again, and the ravenette stepped away to gather what remained of her stuff, “I’ve known not to trust people all my life for the sake of not being let down, but... In the end, I was the one to disappoint everyone.”

“That’s bullshit,” the demon girl snapped, rushing after Wednesday and grabbing her by the hands, turning her around to face her, “You were the most intelligent, cunning and bold person around here. No one could ever compare.”

The demon’s voice shook slightly, and she pressed her blunt tusks into her bottom lip to stifle a sob, inhaling through her mouth with a hiss, before continuing, “You... you taught me to accept myself. To live without feeling unworthy of life. You were here, through thick and thin, by my side, even when I least deserved it...”

She stopped speaking for a moment, closing her eyes. Wednesday opened her mouth to reply, but then the warm grip on her palms tightened, and (Y/n) looked at her again.

“I love you, Wendesday.”

Wednesday’s dark pools of grey widened, and she felt emotions overwhelm her. Suddenly, the realisation came crushing down like a tidal wave – it was the last time she was seeing the oni. She won’t get to feel her touch again, watch her sleep in the dead of night, won’t ever share a desk with her in class. The ravenette felt tears well up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

“If there is a single good thing Nevermore gave me... It’s you, (Y/n).”

Wednesday leaned closer to the taller girl, pressing her plush lips against (Y/n)’s, and the oni pulled her closer by the waist, desperately trying to grasp all the warmth of Wednesday’s body to herself. The demon’s heart fluttered every time she kissed the ravenette, as if she had never kissed her before, not being able to get used to the soft feeling of her lips, but the kiss they shared now felt like a sorrowful goodbye, and (Y/n) couldn’t fight a single tear sliding down her face.

When they parted, Wednesday’s heart clenched at the sight of the distraught demon, and she raised a pale hand to gently wipe the stray drop off her cheek, “Don’t cry,” she berated the oni girl gently.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave,” leaning into the cold touch, the demon sighed shakily, “Fuck. What will I do without you?”

“What you always do. Laugh at the most idiotic things obnoxiously, skip classes, growl at people and eat everything without discrimination.”

(Y/n) chuckled, pressing her forehead against Wednesday’s with a small watery grin, “What a charmer you are.”

They stayed like this for a few moments, reluctant to let go of each other, before the demon opened her eyes, “Can I see you to the station?”

The ravenette nodded.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

It's crazy to me that people call Jonathan a himbo, he's so methodical and clever! It makes sense that Mina would be attracted to someone bright too

Yes, anon, you’re so speaking my language!!! I do wish people would stop calling Jonathan a himbo because — nothing against himbos — but Jonathan is not one of them! And yes, it totally makes sense that Mina would attracted to someone as clever as him, and since she’s also so smart, I’m sure the feeling is mutual.

Before y’all come shouting in my inbox “what do you have against himbos??” and “Jonathan is totally a himbo, what are you talking about?” Let me clear things up:

First of all, I love himbos!!! Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove — peak himbo, imo — is one of my favorite characters. Am I attracted to them? Well…no. As you can probably tell from my last Nova’s Notes, I’m more the kind of person who’s attracted to cleverness or when people nerd out. BUT I cherish himbos for all of their wonderful qualities and if I ever get the opportunity to meet one in real life, I would love to be friends with them! <3333

Secondly, for anyone who’s still saying Jonathan is a himbo…

Himbos have to embody all three qualities equally to be considered himbos! If they are not kind? Not a himbo. Not strong? Not a himbo, I’m sorry! I do make the rules of himbo, I simply follow the rules.

Now on to our good friend Jonathan Harker’s case.

He is undeniably kind. From what we’ve seen so far (not to mention later), he is not only loving to his fiancée, he is kind to strangers as well. He takes gifts from the villagers, even if he does not understand them. Just a couple of entries ago, he was willing to risk his life over a child he didn’t even know (and the same night after he had screamed running away from the women, too). Some of the Dracula Daily book club on here suspects (as do I) that some of the reason he’s so eager to spring into action the next day is to put a stop to Dracula’s evilness for other people, not just for himself. Heck, he’s even talked about Dracula’s good qualities after finding out he’s a prisoner!!! So, kindness? Yes! ✅

As for strong, there’s not as much evidence here, but I would call him somewhat strong because not just anyone could successfully scale a castle wall twice in one day like that! That takes a lot of strength in your core, arms, back, etc. Sure, Dracula can do it — but Dracula is also a vampire with super strength. Maybe it’s easier than I think it is, but I’m not exactly going to look for a castle to try it!! So for Jonathan to crack his knuckles and go “yeah, he can do it, why can’t I?” is both hilarious and shows that he must know something of his own strength. However, he’s also a solicitor and I doubt he’s built like a bodybuilder. So, strong? Maybe not as much as a typical himbo, but let’s give him the check mark because Lizard Fashion is nothing to sneeze at. ✅

Now for the ditzy part….I’d have to say no to that. Himbos are meant to not be “the sharpest tool in the shed” (yes, I did have to hit you with a Smash Mouth reference, sorry not sorry) and Jonathan is farrrrr from that.

Everything he has done so far has been methodical and smart. I covered this in my other Nova’s Notes (you can look under the hashtag on my page if you want to see more :D) so I really don’t want to go through too much I’ve already gone through, but the arguments I’ve seen for him being a himbo — based on the entries we’ve already read — are that he’s not smart because he:

Doesn’t heed villager’s warnings

“Let’s” himself become a prisoner

Is nice to Dracula after he knows he’s a prisoner

Talks about his fiancée a lot (???????)

For the first point, we’ve gone over this, but here we go again — he doesn’t heed the villager’s warnings, no. But keep in mind none of them actually say “The Count is a super dangerous man!! Don’t trust him!!!” Here’s the passage:

“When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a very hysterical way:

‘Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?’ She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:

‘Do you know what day it is?’ I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:

‘Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?’ On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

‘It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?’ She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable.

So here’s the thing: you can see that the only thing the innkeeper’s wife explicitly warns him against is going to the castle that night because it’s a day in their culture where evil spirits are considered to have full sway.

The innkeeper’s wife does ask him if he knows “where he is going and who is going to” — he says no, but she does not speak further on the matter. When he asked about the Count before this, they just refused to speak! I know that may seem like an implicit warning — and it is — but some people on here act as if Jonathan was supposed to have known why they were crossing themselves and immediately have left? Like, he obviously feels uncomfortable, but as he states before and afterwards: he has a job to do. If you were in his position: a newly-appointed lawyer (or position of your choice), and you went to a place where the locals told you not to visit your client that night because it was a night where evil spirits would come out: would you honestly believe them? And if you asked about what your client was like and they just crossed themselves and refused to speak on the matter, would you simply leave the town and tell your boss “nah, sorry, the villagers warned me against him. I decided this client’s not for me”? I guess that honestly depends on you, but I would think not if you want to keep your job!! I know that’s not ideal, but to be fair, he also is not given a fair warning before going in.

There is also that incident in the carriage where he hears those villagers talking and he picks up bits and pieces (including the words werewolf and vampire) but a) they’re not talking to him and b) he doesn’t pick up enough to even indicate who they’re talking about!! In fact, he thinks they’re badmouthing him!!! (Which is understandable, he can only hear a bit and he’s translating on the fly). Again, how he is supposed to automatically know: “oh, Count Dracula is a vampire and I must flee this place immediately.” We know that because Dracula has been a pop culture icon for 100+ years, but Jonathan doesn’t have that kind of knowledge. I feel it’s kind of ridiculous to call him not smart for not knowing this.

However, and this is important, he does take some of this warning to heart. He does take the crucifix and the other vampire-repellent gifts the villagers bestow upon him, despite his skepticism and ignorance of the culture (thanks, English colonization /s). He feels uncomfortable and anxious before he even goes into the castle, literally saying goodbye to Mina in his diary in case he doesn’t make it back!! He keeps the crucifix in his room and uses it to ward off bad dreams and for safety against Dracula (which is not really how he’s supposed to use it, but he wasn’t really told how, so I don’t really blame him for that).

I don’t think a himbo would’ve picked up that something was amiss at any of these points, not until it was too late at least. I think for this test, just picture Kronk (or your fav himbo) in this situation. Would they even notice something was up? Or would they go cheerfully towards the castle?

As for the second point — this is kind of unrelated to the himbo question but — what kind of victim-blame mentality is this????? I have seen people unironically (at least I’m pretty sure it is?) post that Jonathan deserves the abuse he’s getting because he didn’t heed the villager’s warnings (which I already talked about above) and/or he’s “rude” to Dracula. I’m sorry — WHAT???? So if you’re rude to somebody they’re to allowed to lock you up in their castle???? That’s a fair trade? I beg your pardon?! Just…ok. Believe what you want, but maybe let’s not blame the guy who’s been a prisoner in a random stranger’s castle for a month and is sure he’s about to die? Yes, this is fictional and not that deep, but still — weird take.

Back to the himbo question, I mean, he doesn’t really let himself become a prisoner. He’s at Dracula’s castle for a job. Once he’s done with that job he’s ready to leave, but Dracula makes him stay because he literally locks him in!!! He then explicitly tells him he will stay longer and Jonathan has to accept because he is there in place of his boss, and saying no would be like speaking (negatively) for his boss — and Jonathan is not going to do that. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think a himbo would be able to see all of that subtext within that conversation. I actually don’t know this kind of interaction between a true himbo and Dracula would go, but I imagine not well. Dracula thrives off of interesting conversation and wit, as well as being able to maintain a facade of host and guest. I just don’t see if someone like Kronk could maintain that for long because he would probably be like “but I don’t want to stay longer, let me go” or something, which would end the “game”.

Moving on to the third point, he is nice to Dracula after he knows he’s a prisoner for a reason. When he realizes he’s locked up (which he realizes super fast, by the way), he sits down and has a good, long think about what he can do. More passage evidence!

“I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.”

So he knows Dracula is up to something (or he’s jumped to conclusions) and either way, talking about it is a bad idea. The only way through is to act like nothing’s wrong for now and try to get information out of Dracula. Other than that, he’s going to need to use his brains! Yes, he does talk to Dracula and acts nice — but it’s with a plan and a purpose. Dracula has creeped him out from the start, but he has always been able to maintain good cheer around him. Now, he will put that to use.

So for this himbo test, it’s kind of similar to the second one. Were Kronk in this situation, he would make it by for a while because he probably wouldn’t notice the doors are locked. But once he did…I’m not sure if it would be like the second point where he’d immediately tell Dracula “hey why are all of the doors locked” and the game is up or if his shoulder angel/devil characters would come out to help him. I guess it depends! And to Kronk’s credit, he has figured things out before (e.g. figured out who Pacha was and in relation to Kuzco) *but* it took him like 12 hours after the fact and that’s not how Jonathan operates. Jonathan figures out things pretty quickly. Does he need time to think sometimes? Yes. But he’s pretty much always thinking and trying to figure out more once he’s at Castle Dracula. I just don’t see these two in the same vein here.

For the final point, I haven’t seen much evidence for this, but it needs to be addressed. I think sometimes people tend to equate WifeGuy with “no thoughts, head empty only for wife” and that can be true!!! There are definitely characters like that and I do love them so. Jonathan is undeniably a WifeGuy (and Mina’s not even his wife in name yet), bringing her up anytime he gets a chance. I would argue though that just because he’s in love and brings her up a ton doesn’t mean he’s also not clever and methodical. You can be in love and smart: these can coexist. Mina is a very smart character from what we’ve seen already and she’s in love too!

I don’t really have a Kronk case study for this one, but like anon said — I think Mina is attracted to Jonathan for his smartness and it goes both ways. They love each other for many other reasons (there’s a lot to love!), but I imagine that’s kind of the cherry on top for them.

Why does this matter? I think calling Jonathan a himbo is reducing his character a bit here. Again, I’m not saying being a himbo is bad, but it does discredit his methodical ways and strategy he has in the castle. His methodical nature is part of personality and pretending that doesn’t exist erases his character, in my opinion. Additionally, it raises the question: could a himbo become a lawyer? I…don’t think so…but maybe? Find me a himbo who’s a lawyer and prove me wrong I guess! Wait is Phoenix Wright a himbo…? Question for another time.

In conclusion, Jonathan Harker only passes 1 part of the himbo test (kindness) with flying colors. The strong test he only passes by the tail of his lizard fashion, and as for ditzy? He fails miserably. Recall that for someone to be a true himbo, they have to possess all three traits equally. Even if you could make the case for one, you’d still be missing another. So, no, I don’t think Jonathan Harker is a himbo. You can maybe argue with me that he has himbo moments (if that’s a thing, idk), but overall? No.

[blackleatherjacketz]

The Notebook

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: Your coworker, Javier, finds some of your erotic writings in your notebook and takes a very special interest in them.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Mature Content, Humiliation Kink, Invasion of Privacy, Javier invading your personal space, Dracula Fan Fiction, Stealing, Teasing, Taunting, Alcohol, Kissing, Writing Kink, Javier wanting you to talk him through it, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Face Grabbing, Neck Kissing, Neck Sucking/Biting, Vaginal Sex, Woman On Top, Orgasm Delay

Word Count: 3.6k+

Notes: This may or may not be inspired by true events.

Tags: @bullet-prooflove @skittle479 @letsby

This day has dragged on long enough, your office’s efforts in catching Escobar sluggish at best as Peña paces around the busy office with his hands on his hips. His stance accentuates the muscles in his back as they flex in aggravated tension through his dress shirt, his rugged features twisting with worry as he slowly turns to face you.

“You got anything?” He asks, waltzing over to your desk. “Any random phone calls or photographs we might have overlooked?” He gives you a glance reminiscent of the one he shot you at last year’s Christmas party, one that sent shivers down your spine then and is well on its way to doing so now.

“Nothing I haven’t already shown you.” You shrug your shoulders as you watch him saunter around your desk, running his thumb and forefinger over his mustache before planting himself proudly onto a stack of your papers.

You’d seen him do this to Murphy dozens of times before, but he’d never had the audacity to do it to you until now. He’d never gotten close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body, hear the rhythm of his breathing or feel the roughened texture of his pants as his thigh brushes against your elbow. The scent of smoke and whiskey surrounds you as your heart begins to flutter in response, making you well aware of the attraction you’ve been trying to hide for months now as he leans in close to see what you’ve been writing.

“Wait, what does that say?” He leans in closer to get a better look before placing his hand on top of yours, grazing his index finger over your hurried handwriting as your heart skips a beat. “Peña doesn’t believe me?”

He snatches the notebook right out of your hands, standing up to read your most pertinent notes on the case out loud for everyone in the office to hear. He takes his time rifling his way through its weathered pages, picking and choosing phrases he finds to be interesting as his large fingers spread each sheet of paper apart from the next. Those mischievous eyes of his glance up at you in between his redundant narrations until he gets to the very back of the book, a section you’ve always kept to yourself.

“Peña, stop!” You stand up from your seat and lean forward, reaching out to him as he playfully pulls it away just in time. He’s never shown any interest in your notes before. You have no idea what could have changed that now.

“Por qué?” He raises an eyebrow and steps back just far enough to sit down on top of his own desk, the skin around his eyes creasing with intrigue. “Is this your diary or something?”

You shoot him a look that tells him he should know better; a look you hope to be just as threatening as it is pleading while he holds your innermost thoughts and desires hostage. You try your best to avoid telling the entire office what’s inside, but you can’t expect him to know that you’ve written your own erotic version of ‘Dracula’ in the back of the book he holds in his hands.

“Peña, please give it back!” You extend your arm out as far as you can, flexing your fingers toward him as he blatantly ignores your request.

Smiling wide, he enacts your biggest fear by reading your dark and dreary prose aloud, your words rolling off his tongue as if he’d written every one of them himself before reciting them to your peers. He looks up at you occasionally until he gets to a certain part of the story that shouldn’t be uttered in a place of business, let alone out loud at all. All of the sudden he gawks at you from atop his desk, his eyes growing darker as his mouth falls slack, his lips deepening into a vibrant shade of mauve.

Oh God, it’s too late. He’s seen too much.

Sweat begins to form at your temples as he turns the page, a single drop racing down your cheek as a lick of his lips makes you swallow hard before wiping away the evidence of your discomfort. Powerless to stop him, you attempt to busy yourself with whatever paperwork is in front of you, stapling random things together as he continues to read your deepest, darkest thoughts in the light of day. But it’s no use. You can still feel his eyes upon you, the heat radiating off of them practically cooking you from the inside out as everyone else around you moves on, unknowingly going about their business.

His silence remains heavy as his glare only deepens over the aged black leather of your personal ledger. Another page turns, the edge of the paper practically deafening against the hustle and bustle of the room as it scrapes across his calloused fingertips in what seems to be slow motion. You’d been in dozens of high stress scenarios on the job before, but nothing had frozen time or gotten your heart racing quite like this. Nothing had flushed your cheeks or shook your hands like this until he started looking at you like that.

“Hey, you got those financial reports I asked you for?” Murphy interrupts your thoughts by stepping directly into the line of fire.

“Uh, yeah, I uh…” you scramble, looking down at your desk to rid yourself of the unbearable heat of Peña’s eyes. It’s only now that you realize you’ve stapled a takeout menu to your paystub just in time for you to shove it under the rest of your disorganized papers.

“You okay?” Murphy tilts his head as he looks at you, glancing back at Peña before squinting as if to try and figure you out. “You look a little…”

You can see Peña shifting his weight out of the corner of your eye, no doubt getting to the part where Dracula bites the girl on her thigh and starts dining between her legs with a fervor you described in great length. You hold your breath and furtively watch him take in a slow, stifled one to match yours before he looks up at you in an almost… helpless manner. You notice his palm gently grazing over the bulge in his jeans as they gradually tighten around it, the space between his thighs shrinking as he brings them together in muffled frustration.

Is he…? Holy shit, he’s really enjoying himself.

“It’s nothing,” you reassure Murphy, sifting through your messy stack of papers until you find the ones that he’s after. “Women’s troubles, you know.” You wink at him before handing over the documents, knowing full well that was enough to steer him away from you in a heartbeat.

“Say no more!” He holds his hands up in defense before taking the paperwork from you. “I’ll leave you to it! Wouldn’t want to make you mad during that time of the month!”

You sneer at him until he takes the hint and walks away, clasping his hand onto Peña’s shoulder in order to get his attention. He leans in to tell him something inaudible, something about a lead they need to follow up on as Peña swallows hard, nodding to his partner in silence. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob up and down in his throat before he turns to stare at you like a jungle cat would his next meal, closing the book in his hands before shoving it into the hem of his pants for safekeeping.

“I’m gonna need that back before you go,” you remind him, remaining seated as you hold your hand out.

Grinning from ear to ear, he laughs to himself and slaps his knee before standing up from his perch on his desk. He slowly saunters toward you with your book tucked snugly between his hips. “But I haven’t finished it yet.”

“You don’t need to finish it, Peña.” You try to control your breathing as he gets closer to you, every vein in his neck and forearms popping against his skin as the tension between you builds. “Give it back.”

“You want it?” He leans forward and places his palms flat on your desk, bringing his gorgeous face mere inches away from yours.

“Please,” you attempt, your chest heaving.

He licks his lips and takes the pen right out of your hand just as quickly as he had your notebook, writing an address on the closest sticky note before turning it around to face you. “Come by my place later tonight and pick it up.”

————

It took you a while to muster up the courage to actually get in your car and drive over to Peña’s apartment a few hours later. You realized maybe a little too late that if he really wanted to embarrass you, that if he hated whatever you’d written down on those pages that he wouldn’t have taken it home for him to finish later. You tell yourself that if he didn’t at least want you in some capacity after reading that about you, he wouldn’t have invited you over here tonight at all. So, you decide to show up and act confident enough in who you are and what you’ve written, hoping that maybe this night won’t turn out so bad after all.

Just as you expected, he’s all but smirking when he opens the door to his apartment, eyes taking you in as he leans in against the doorframe just a little too long. His tie is nowhere to be found and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone just enough to show the sweat glistening across his muscular chest as it rises and falls with your arrival. “Took you long enough.”

“Where’s my notebook, Peña?” You try not to stare at him for more than a few seconds as he steps back just far enough to grant you entry, his scent intoxicating you once again as he towers over you.

“It’s over there,” he mutters. “And call me Javi.” He points to the coffee table with a nearly empty glass of whiskey in his hand. “You want a drink?”

“Sure, Javi.” You try on his first name with a smile, seeing how it feels in your mouth as you make your way over to the sofa, sitting down in front of the messy coffee table. Your notebook lays in the midst of scattered ashtrays and coffee mugs, the edges of it bent a little bit more than you’d like. “I assume you’ve read everything in here, then?”

“A few times, yeah,” he admits, glass clinking behind you before he returns with a full drink in each hand, sitting down next to you.

“I didn’t know you were such a huge Dracula fan,” you tease, forcing yourself to play the part of your confident protagonist as you take your drink from him.

“Neither did I.” He winks at you like he winks at everyone, only this time that salacious glare stays on his features as he lifts the amber liquid to his lips. “You’re a really fucking good writer, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you wink back.

“Humble, too.” He takes a sip of alcohol, nodding toward the infamous notebook as he shifts his weight to disguise the act of scooting even closer to you. “There’s some real sick shit in there, you know that?”

“You seemed to like it just fine.” You remind him with a quick sip, wincing as it washes over your tongue and down into your stomach, warming you to the very core. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t replayed the image of him rubbing his jeans in the middle of the office over again in your head on the drive over here.

He only laughs as you call him out, nodding unapologetically as his breath fogs up the glass around his mustache. “Oh, I’m not complaining.” He sets his drink down on the table before grabbing hold of your knee as if he’d done so a thousand times before, squeezing it affectionately. “You know that.”

You do now.

“Do I?” You let him touch you as you down the rest of your drink, relishing in this moment that you’ve been fantasizing about for far too long as his fingers curl beneath your thigh, tugging it towards him.

“So how long has it been since you’ve done anything like that?” His voice drops an octave as he slowly turns you toward him, the darkness in his eyes engulfing his usual chestnut hue as a strand of hair falls in front of them.

“You mean since I’ve been bitten by a vampire?” You chide, feeling the warmth from your drink spread from your arms and legs out into your fingers and toes.

Now it’s his turn to give you a knowing look.

“A while,” you admit, letting him carefully spread your legs apart as the moisture you so eloquently described in your writings begins to collect between them. “What was your favorite part?”

“All of it.” He holds eye contact with you while his hand grazes up your thigh toward your junction, his fingertips barely sliding beneath the cotton of your underwear before he pauses. “You really experience pleasure like that?”

“Sometimes,” you nod, lifting your leg up onto his lap as he guides it there with his opposite hand. “If I’m lucky.”

He grins and pulls the soft fabric to the side, studying your face as he dips his digits into the moisture between your folds as a hushed moan barely escapes your lips. He brings his mouth just a breath away from yours as he spreads your slick up and down your seam, delicately lubricating your now puffy lips before coating your swollen bud up and down with your arousal.

“What are you feeling now?” He whispers, his question hot on your skin as he excites the neurons in your most sensitive spot.

“What?” You’re barely able to ask, his fingers pushing and pulling against your clit in a torturously slow and pedantic pattern.

“Describe it to me,” he slides his fingers down inside your heat, his thumb pressing against your bud as your walls instinctively squeeze around him. “Describe it like you would in your writing.”

What?

“Mmm…I… you feel… electric,” you start out almost stuttering, still shocked at his unique request as he glides up at the most euphoric angle. “Your fingers are sending little… fuck, Javi!”

“I knew I liked hearing you call me that.” He kisses your lips as you try to find the right words in the moment, to convey the utter bliss he’s sending up into your core as your hips roll against his wrist again and again. But the pleasure he’s giving you is so intense that it blocks out any logical form of thinking, erasing any linguistic mastery you may possess as his bold request remains unfulfilled.

You lift your hand to hold onto his face as you moan against his mouth, tasting the flavor of whiskey you both shared as the hair of his mustache tickles your skin. He moans along with you, your growing euphoria seeming to give him just as much satisfaction as he pushes his fingers in deeper than yours could ever reach. In and out, they nearly brush against your cervix as he continues massaging your bud, exciting each and every nerve ending along your soaking wet walls as they grip around him, clenching in delight. His groans vibrate against your lips as he breathes in your hushed whispers, your failed attempts at any literary description of what he’s doing to your body until it’s finally about to give way.

“Tell me how you taste,” he pulls his fingers out just as you’re about to climax, shoving them into your mouth as you whine in stifled protest.

Your eyes widen as he pushes in past your lips, that zesty flavor settling into your taste buds as you wrap your tongue around his fingers to pinpoint the notes of your juices. He watches you, utterly rapt as you take him in up to his knuckles, your spit all but spilling out of the corners of your mouth before he reluctantly takes them out.

“Well?” He sucks them into his own mouth to get a taste, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he awaits your answer.

“I taste tangy,” you manage to say as you watch him savor the little bit of flavor you’d left for him, his full lips glistening in your sex. “Tart with a little bit of sweetness.”

“Tastes like you were about to come.” He grasps onto your chin, smearing the brink of your orgasm across your face as he brings his lips to your cheek, pressing hungry kisses into your jawline. “Now, what kind of story would that be if I let you come that quickly, huh?”

“I, uh…” you mutter as his lips reach yours, slowing down the synapses in your body with each prolonged kiss as his fingers weave their way into your hairline. “Not a very good one.”

“No, not at all,” he whispers, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before letting it bounce back into place.

He grabs hold of your hips and pulls you onto his lap as he kisses his way down your face and neck, just as fervently as you’d written in your book. You hiss as his tongue barely softens the blow before his teeth scrape against your flesh, latching onto your throat in order to suck your pulse into his mouth in a delicious twinge of pain. It’s as if he’d memorized every word you’d written down, following the map of intimacy you so blatantly laid out for him as he pays perfect attention to your most erogenous zones. His hands accompany his mouth by needily grazing over the muscles in your back, massaging them on their way down to pull you near before grasping onto your cheeks.

You run your fingers through his hair as his kiss deepens, darkening your bruise with a soft hum that sounds more like a whimper as you grind your soaking wet mound over his clothed erection in urgent desire.

“Don’t think you’re gonna make yourself come like that,” he breaks free from his bite, bringing you out of it with a harsh smack to your ass.

“No?” You ask, wondering just how long you can prolong your release.

He bucks his hips up just enough to slide his thumbs beneath the fabric of his jeans, freeing himself in one fluid motion as his pants rest just below his knees. “I wanna feel it, too.”

Jesus Christ, he’s huge.

He licks his fingers and drags them slowly up your length as you hover over him, smirking as he tugs on your clit one more time before finally stroking himself.

“Tell me how it feels.” He looks up at you and grabs onto your face while coating himself in your sex, your juices already dripping down his shaft and onto his pelvis before you open your mouth to speak.

“My skin’s on fire, Javi, I’m so… aching for you,” you whisper incoherently as you look into his eyes, resisting the temptation to watch him line up with your entrance as he stimulates you with the tip of his cock. “I’m tingling with pleasure, but it’s not enough, I need you inside me.” His girth cuts you off as you slowly sink down onto him, his head already stretching your walls in pulses of ecstasy as they gradually expand around him.

“Good,” he huffs, placing his other hand on your hip as you take him in completely, his eyes instinctively rolling back in his head before he has the chance to look back up at you. “Tell me more, baby.”

“Fuck, you’re big, Javi,” you mumble as the pet name nearly takes you out, your inner walls already quaking around him as he pushes in up to the hilt. His other hand snakes its way across your hip, grabbing onto your ass as he thrusts up into you, his size stretching you out inch by inch as you rise and fall onto him at a desperate, delicious pace. “I’m gonna feel you for days after this,” you mutter, nearly out of breath. “Feel so empty without you.”

“Yeah?” He tightens his grip on your face before turning you on your back, thrusting in even deeper to trigger that cascade of pleasure that can only come from hitting that bundle of nerves he’s been dancing around all night. He grunts as he feels you begin to seize around him, loosening his grip on your face before sliding it down to your throat as he drives those surges of bliss up into your spine, one right after another.

“Javi, you’re making me come!” You whimper, mewling beneath him as he ignites your entire body with a thousand tiny explosions, sparks of euphoria practically shooting out of your fingers and toes as you contract around him like a mad woman.

“Good girl,” he growls before losing himself inside you, too caught up in his own pleasure to demand your verbal description as he slams his hips against your thighs at a violent, erratic pace, straining every muscle in your body as he spasms within the confines of your velvety grasp. “Fuck!”

You wrap your legs around his back as the aftershock courses its way through you, his thrusts barely slowing down as he spills his release inside you with reckless abandon. He looks like a wild animal as he builds onto your pleasure, his eyes blackened with lust as he grunts and growls into you, forcing it to wreak havoc on your system as you rattle and hum uncontrollably. His abs contract as he pushes in deeper with each twitch of his dick, sending you even further over the edge as his eyes fall shut in sheer delight before eventually slowing his rhythm.

“That’s one for the books, huh?” He asks, resting his forehead against yours before kissing your cheek.

[vickyvicarious]

Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and pondered awhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes.

The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and rug; I could find no trace of them anywhere.

The items Dracula takes have some fun implications. Regardless of whether you think he rushed off to steal these things as soon as he locked Jonathan in the study last entry, or if you think he took them a few days later, he has two clear goals here: prevent Jonathan from writing, and more importantly prevent Jonathan from leaving. Both point to him having a fear of losing control of the situation.

Sure, this escalates the mental torture. But it also suggests that, after seeing Jonathan's shorthand letter, Dracula became aware that his guest is more resourceful than he expected. Jonathan has access to at least one kind of knowledge which Dracula does not. There could be others (in fact, there is the diary). So. He takes away his writing materials - he won't be able to write any more coded letters. But Jonathan does still have access to paper as long as he has access to the study. If he's very resourceful he could rip pages out of a few books, fold up notes, maybe craft a sort of envelope by folding paper. It's not nearly as likely but it isn't impossible. The other aspect of preventing Jonathan from getting a message out is probably to keep a closer eye on him, to isolate him further from the people around him.

But he's already tried to send one letter. He arrived in the castle weighed down with anti-vampire gifts. Whatever language barrier he has is obviously not enough to keep him from receiving aid from the locals should he get out somehow - and after the incident with him encountering the vampire ladies as well as this letter, Dracula is no longer just assuming Jonathan can never get out. He is taking precautions to ensure he won't get far when he does.

He won't be able to get money with his letter of credit. He won't have access to his notes about the surrounding area or the dictionary that helped him to communicate better. He won't know where to go or when to get on a train heading far away from here. And more than that - he won't have his travel clothes, he won't have his coat and rug (basically a travel blanket to keep you warm). This might make him less likely to try an escape, which is a bonus, but the focus is on ensuring Jonathan cannot get out of Dracula's reach. He will be slowed down enough - by weather, by difficulty communicating, by uncertainty about where to go - that Dracula can catch up to him and stop him.

If needed, of course. It's not to say that this will be needed, and certainly Dracula would prefer it not to be, because that would spell a firm end to this game. But he now feels the need to prepare for such an eventuality. It's not just about stepping up the encroachment on Jonathan's space/privacy/belongings. That's a bonus for sure! But taking these things also points to him feeling threatened to some degree.

And not just by Jonathan, either. If his control over the locals were as complete as he presents it, I don't think he would be this worried. But his actions here actually support the interpretation that he was bluffing when he implied that the man to whom Jonathan entrusted his letter sold him out. Or at the very least, Dracula doesn't have confidence that everyone would sell Jonathan out. He fears that they might take a message, so he has to steal his writing materials. He fears that Jonathan might find a way out of the castle, so he ensures he won't get far.

Implying that the Romani who work for him will never help Jonathan is intended to build a sense of isolation in Jonathan. He wants to erode trust, to make Jonathan feel like he cannot rely on anyone else (except his friend Dracula, who protects him from worse dangers). That means, even if they did want to help him, he will try to make Jonathan think no one is even interested in doing so. It means he will keep him separated from them as much as possible. It means that he will do anything to break down trust and ensure Jonathan cannot access a support system.

Because if he has no support system, then if (when) he tries to escape he will have to do so all alone. And without the things Dracula took from him today, it's not likely that he will get very far. Not before Dracula catches up to him, anyway.

.

A few more spoilery notes below the cut:

In the last entry Dracula tried to ensure Jonathan wouldn't seek help from the Romani. When he goes out in Jonathan's clothes to kill people, he is trying to ensure the local villagers will not offer him help. Both are aimed at isolating him, and when you think about it they imply Dracula is concerned that Jonathan would be able to get help if not for these measures. Later on the wolves escalate matters even further, adding yet another layer of difficulty aimed to ensure Jonathan doesn't try to just leave. Because Dracula no longer puts it past him to somehow manage to do that.

And yet, at the same time, he's enjoying his time with Jonathan too much to end it prematurely by stopping him permanently. Dracula is arrogant enough to believe he can control the situation long enough to have his cake and eat it too, basically. But in the end, he was wrong to not ensure that Jonathan was taken care of, because as soon as he knew there was no more time to play the waiting game, Jonathan acted. And yeah, he was indeed capable of getting out. He was capable of moving very quickly, even with the obstacles put in place by the missing belongings, and he was capable of finding people who were willing to be kind to him. Jonathan's timing was perfect in the end because he waited out Dracula who could and would have hunted him down. The vampire ladies either don't have the control, the range, or the interest to do so.

Dracula is forced to acknowledge that Jonathan is clever, but he refuses to see just how much. He insists on treating him merely as prey trying to escape, who just needs a better trap. But Jonathan isn't merely going to flee, he eventually becomes the predator himself. The knowledge he has is absolutely vital to defeating Dracula; he's aware that he is a threat to the Count from early on. And if Dracula had been willing to truly play it safe here, he would have killed Jonathan before leaving. But that would require treating him as a legitimate threat. That would require Dracula to stop indulging himself with Jonathan. And Jonathan is so good at playing along, so good at being fun to toy with, that Dracula really doesn't want to stop. Not to mention his arrogance and expectation that he can surely handle this one man. And he can - until he leaves his castle. Then Jonathan is finally free to act.

And sure, it's no immediate victory. It's certainly not a one-man crusade or dependent on Jonathan alone. But that was never the danger Jonathan represented anyway - his escape represents knowledge getting out, spreading freely. His escape represents people freeing themselves from Dracula's control, acting without his awareness. And it happens, and it leads to Dracula being killed once and for all. Because Jonathan plays along, and because Dracula enjoys it and doesn't want to admit to the threat.

[lauralot89]

"Now, sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You'll excoose me refoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore meals. I gives the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea afore I begins to arsk them questions."

Did journalists actually used to write out accents phonetically or is Bram Stoker just doing this for fun

That 'ere wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three grey ones that came from Norway to Jamrach's, which we bought off him four years ago.

Charles Jamrach was a real wildlife dealer, most (in)famous for the time when a tiger escaped and grabbed a small child, who survived. This incident is now immortalized with a statue:

You could just do anything back in the day

He 'ad white kid gloves on 'is 'ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says: 'Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.'

Thanks, Dracula, very helpful.

That there man kem over, and blessed but if he didn't put in his hand and stroke the old wolf's ears too!

Dracula is a Disney princess (countess) confirmed

anceterer

it took me like five tries to understand this

"Well then, sir, I accounts for it this way; it seems to me that 'ere wolf escaped—simply because he wanted to get out."

This one ain't been used to fightin' or even to providin' for hisself

Hence why Dracula had to lob him at the window like a basketball

well, then I shouldn't be surprised if the census is one babby the less

How is babby formed? how is babby formed how girl get pragnent

I shall take this cylinder with me, and then I can complete my entry on Lucy's phonograph.

Can't you only record like two minutes of audio on those?

Did you not get my telegram?

GREAT WORK, VAN HELSING

I flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell and taste it, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry which I found on the table.

For as much shit as I have deservedly given Jack "Medical Malpractice" Seward, I have to hand it to him, I would never have thought of that

I noticed that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round her throat.

Professor, I hate to tell you this, but I think that vampires can bite through silk

I fear to trust those women, even if they would have courage to submit.

why though

"What's the matter with me, anyhow?"

QUINCEY MORRIS MY BELOVED

A brave man's blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble. You're a man and no mistake.

Everyone who meets Quincey is immediately in awe, as well they should be

I found Van Helsing with a sheet or two of note-paper in his hand

She wrote all that in two pages? How small is her writing

Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall know and understand it all in good time; but it will be later.

He can't keep getting away with this

What is it that's wrong with her? The Dutchman—and a fine old fellow he is; I can see that—said, that time you two came into the room, that you must have another transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted. Now I know well that you medical men speak in camera, and that a man must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is no common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part...I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did to-day. Is not that so?...if you may tell me without betraying confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that so?...

Quincey is the smartest character in this whole damn book

His very heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of him—and there was a royal lot of it, too—to keep him from breaking down.

Everyone's gay for Quincey

Whilst still asleep she took the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped over and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on with the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her hands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering the fragments.

This is fine.

Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as if in thought, but he said nothing.

The Van Helsing Standard

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra (Unopened by her.)

WHY MUST YOU HURT ME IN THIS WAY

Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly.

Oh for fuck's sake, Dracula (yes I know it wasn't him)

Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in the midst of your own happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one, for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in.

I'm dying (Just like Lucy! Heyo!)

[saintbarou]

rewatching castlevania for halloween and thinking about kissing the main trios scars

you kiss trevor’s scar when the nights are hard (they always are) and it turns him pink even if he wished it didn’t. it kills his street cred he says, but he still lets you. he lets you take his stubble covered chin into your hands - strong hands that have saved the lives of others and his. you bring him close and you can see the pale freckles that dance along his face, you wished he would stay in the sun more to let them bloom across the bridge of his nose. his eyes, those pretty blue eyes flutter shut and your lips press so gently onto the raised, pale skin he can’t help but shudder in your hold. you touch is like snow falling to the ground at the first sign of winter. you pull away, and he opens his eyes he wonders if he truly deserves your sweetness.

you kiss sypha’s scar when she drags you to the library - to keep her from falling asleep she says. really want she wants is to use you as a heater/pillow as she pours over all the books in the library in Dracula’s castle (now it’s technically Alucard’s). she leans back into your chest, you hold the hard cover of the books for her and you let her bounce ideas off of you as her comprehension grows with each page that passes. sypha is beautiful- tan skin with soft red hair and blue robes, she smells of the earth and you often find your gaze going from the pages to the gentle slop of her neck - the waves in her hair down to her shoulders. your eyes land on the scars of her exposed shoulders. the skin darker and thin - marks of previous battles and burns. you do it without thinking, you’re head dipping down and your lips press onto her skin. she shudders, skin raising to goosebumps; whatever she was about to say dies upon her lips. she flushes a peach pink, looking over at you from her shoulder and she looks so much more like a blushing maiden than the fearsome sorceress she is. you grin cheekily, pressing another small kiss to the scarred skin.

you kiss alucard’s scar with purest intentions, sometimes alucard throws himself into working whether with sypha or his own curiosities he finds himself often sleeping in the lab. when these times occur you bring it upon yourself to take care of him - making him dinner (rather making him eat dinner) or brushing his hair and even sometimes, if desperate times call for desperate measures bathing him yourself. you are incredibly stubborn; like a mule, he said once, after you had dragged him to the bathtub without second thought. it wasn’t something that was embarrassing to the either of you - saving each other’s lives and seeing each other covered in blood, shit and god knows what else has broken most barriers between the two of you. but sometimes, somedays it is a bit more difficult, when things come back to haunt alucard down to the marking made onto his fair skin permanently. he sits in the tub, the water warmed by you and the smell of soap doing little to fight back against the memories. your fingers run through his golden hair, like wheat in the fields of your childhood home. he reaches out and grasped your hand and looks at you with such deep sadness in his eyes it makes you remember that though peace tastes sweet, the tragedy to get here still resides on the tongue. you lean over, you’re head dipping past his chin and he watches with bright red cheeks at how you look at him from your position. your lips touch his scars that reside on the swell of his chest, the skin dark and pink - your soft lips rest there and he wonders if you can feel his heart beating. you are safe, your action speaks, it will never happen again. your eyes say, sparkling full of pure affection. alucard grips your hand, believing you with all his heart.

[tetsunabouquet]

Having the nastiest thoughts about tutor! akashi, midorima and hanamiya

A/N: Because of Kinktober and the vampire Akashi AU I've been working on, I had to write this;

Akashi Seijuro - When history inspires you

Akashi sat at the table, across from you. He was explaining world history to you, which was your worst subject. Your class was currently going over Eastern European history, and that whole Transylvania thing was something you couldn't wrap your head around. You groaned and couldn't make out the words on the pages anymore. "Care for a break?" You nodded at him, thankfully. "I can understand Dracula being based on a real count, but what is the difference between Transsylvania and Walachia?" You scrunched your nose, and Akashi grinned. "From everything, Dracula you remember?" You blushed. "Well, every girl will remember a hot vampire." Akashi's grin became a little predatory. "So you like a man breathing down your neck?" You blinked at what he said, confused. 'Why is he asking me such a question?' "Uhm, I suppose." Akashi, with a dark chuckle said, "Care for a demonstration?" Your frown deepened. You couldn't follow his train of thought. He sauntered his way over to you, and tugged a lock of your hair behind your ear, his face leaning in. You could feel his lips brushing against your neck, and your heart pounded harshly in your ribcage. When his tongue trailed against your juggular vein, you gasped. He playfully bit down and you whimpered in delight. "Heh," he chuckled against your skin. "It seems it really does work on you." His hand trailed towards the collar of your uniform, pulling it softly, "Want me to suck somewhere else?"

Midorima - Chemical emotions

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You screeched in absolute terror. Accidentally, you had spilled a formula you had been practising with Midorima, on his uniform. You sucked at chemistry, this just being your most recent example of a big mistake in the school's lab, only this time there was only Midorima and not your other classmates holding back their laughter. Midorima was in the process of taking off his jacket and shirt, as the liquid was quite toxic to the skin. If you weren't so god damn terrified you had turnt the usually grumpy Midorima into an angry Midorima, you would have thought to yourself it wasn't that bad of a mistake. You weren't stupid, you knew he was an athlete and trained often. However, knowing that and seeing that were two different things. Midorima's broad chest and abs caused a nosebleed. You burried your nose in the sleeve of your own jacket, stopping the bleeding. Midorima looked at you, taking you in so very slow. His gaze felt like it was stripping you naked, and you shivered. Midorima's taped fingers wrapped around your wrist, and he pulled your hand away from your face. "You truly are set on ruining our uniforms today, nanodayo." You blushed a bright red, trying to avert your gaze. "Are you trying to tell me something?" You looked into his brilliant green eyes,"Just wondering if there is some kind of pheromone in that stuff." Much to your surprise, he chuckled at your flirty response. "Would you mind making things fair, and take off that blood stained garment?" You bit your lip in excitement, your hands flying to the buttons already at Midorima's steady gaze. This was unexpected, but as Midorima's eyes took in your chest with appreciation, you knew you were going to like every minute of this.

Hanamiya - That moment when literature gets you talking dirty

You were giggling, as Hanamiya just roasted the author of the book your teacher had instructed the class to read after a boy in your class had made the worst misogynistic joke possible about romance novels. Not that the romance novel the teacher had picked, was of any quality to convince anyone they were worth reading. "I agree, how he thought Colleen Hoover was the author to convince Takamiya otherwise is beyond me." "Joking about the ball size of your child is creepy," Hanamiya expressed in distaste, and you blinked in bewilderment. There were actually things that could creep Hanamiya out? "Children and sexual conversations don't go together." You said, shaking your head. "Only if it is about the process of creating them," Hanamiya said suggestively and your face became red. "Eh? Did I say something wrong?" He asked bemused, absolutely aware why you reacting this way, but he thought your shyness was absolutely adorable. It motivated him to continue. "You do know how people make babies right?" You nodded quickly, afraid to say anything else knowing the kind of person Hanamiya was. "Oh really? So you understand what a creampie is?" You nodded, wanting to run away from this conversation right now. "I'm getting the feeling you're just answering me to look smart, what is a creampie then?" You looked into his burning dark eyes, and bit your lip. "It's when seed leaks out of a woman's pussy." As you wondered whether pussy was the correct word to use, Hanamiya sat back in his chair with desire glittering in his eyes. He was scary yet electrifying, and your heart was racing in your chest. "How about we write a story together huh, you have an excellent word choice." You looked at him, "You really want to do the assignment together?" "Oh angel, I want to do more then the assignment together."

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“Pizza’s on the way,” Eddie announces. He flops down on the sofa, crashing right into Billy’s side and smiling when the little outburst goes unnoticed. “I got mushrooms and cherry tomatoes like you like.”

Without looking up from his book, Billy hums. Turns the page gently while Eddie noses a kiss against his cheek.

“Did you get plain cheese for Stevie?” Billy asks.

“Yup, with stuffed crusts.”

Billy nods once. Zones back into his book, if the way that his breathing softens is any indication. Eddie scoots closer. Glances at the page and implements the five finger rule that Billy showed him — and determines before he’s even halfway down that this book is way over his head.

“Dude, what kind of Old Testament shit is this?”

It takes Billy a moment to finish the sentence that he’s reading before his eyes stop skimming back and forth.

“The Vampyre by John Polidori,” Billy says. “It’s the original vampire novel.”

“I thought Dracula was the original vampire.”

Billy taps the page lightly with his thumb.

“This was like seventy years before Bram Stoker’s Dracula was published. Stoker’s novel is actually considered an adaptation of this one.”

Eddie nods. Leans his head against Billy’s shoulder and wraps his arms around him.

“Then why not just read Dracula?”

“Because I’m reading it next.”

“God, you’re such a goth, y’know that?”

A small smile blooms on Billy’s face as he shakes his head.

“I don’t listen to the music.”

“C’mon, I’ve heard you bopping to Siouxsie and the Banshees before.”

“One of Max’s mixes,” Billy excuses.

“The Cure?”

“Jonathan left his tape in my car and I haven’t given it back yet.”

There’s a slight pause. Eddie sits up enough to look at his partner, quirking a brow.

“Since when do you hang around Byers?”

Billy purses his lips.

“I don’t. He works part-time at the library.”

“He’s showing you music in your car.” Eddie spreads a grin and Billy’s face begins to burn a flustered shade of red. “You have a little crush on him, don’t you?” When Billy doesn’t say anything, Eddie snickers. “You definitely have a type, that’s all I’m saying.”

“No I don’t.”

“No you don’t have a crush on him or no you don’t have a type?”

Billy huffs and waves Eddie off with his hand.

“Either.”

“Lanky brunets,” Eddie lilts. “Typically of the brooding persuasion.”

“You do not brood, Munson, you’re the most bubbly motherfucker on the planet.”

“That’s why I said typically, babe, let’s try and keep up.” Eddie nuzzles closer and chews his lip. “Y’know, mostly based on Steve and Jonathan. Maybe a little bit of Hagan.”

“You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

“There’s definitely a pattern, wouldn’t you say? Lanky brunets…” Eddie wonders. “Brooding, pale skin, brown eyes…”

Billy’s eyes stay locked on the page that he hasn’t finished reading yet, jaw set as Eddie tippy-taps his fingers against the blond’s chest.

“Is your type just… vampires?” Eddie muses.

“Energy vampires, maybe,” Billy grumbles. He dog-ears the page and finally shuts his book, laying it in his lap. “But no.”

Eddie chuckles. Flattens his hand against Billy’s sternum and smooths his palm back and forth.

“Seems like it to me.”

“This may surprise you, but I’m not so shallow that I only care about looks.”

“So…” Eddie trails off. “There’s an outlier.”

“Edd—“

“Who is it?”

“I’m not doing this right now.”

“You’re my boyfriend, you’re contractually obligated to tell me about your hot man crushes.”

Billy presses his lips together and doesn’t budge when Eddie tries to shake an answer out of him. Eddie is about to start more roughly demanding when the doorbell rings, and it derails his train of thought long enough for Billy to slip away from him.

The blond jumps up from his seat to answer the door, practically ripping the door off of its hinges when he opens it. Light pours into the entryway, obstructed by a tall figure.

“Thanks for ordering Surfer Boy Pizza where we make everything fresh except…” the voice trails off momentarily, nearly cut off by the bubbly laugh that exits the guy’s lips. “‘Sup, lil’ dude!”

A hand shoots out to fist bump Billy, which he barely reacts fast enough to reciprocate. Still, the blond spreads a dopey little smile.

“Hey, Argyle,” he greets. Soft, for how flustered he is.

“Man, I didn’t know you lived right here or I would’ve been hopping the fence for backyard smoke seshes.”

Billy fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a new situation. Still getting settled.” Which is technically true if you count the box that’s been sitting unpacked in the corner for two weeks. “You should still come by sometime, though. When, uh… you’re not working, obviously.”

“Def!” Argyle says. “That’ll be fourteen fifty, bro.”

Billy digs in his wallet for a moment before he slaps a couple of bills in the other guy’s hand, which he trades the pizza for.

“Keep the change.”

Argyle furrows his brows.

“You gave me thirty.”

“Then I guess you have some extra cash for snacks when we hang out,” Billy lilts.

Argyle nods. Spreads a grin as he pockets the cash and fist bumps Billy once more.

“Sweet,” he says, and turns on his heel. “I’ll be seeing you around, lil’ dude!”

Billy waves briefly before he kicks the door shut, turning to walk into the kitchen and stopping in his tracks when he sees Eddie smirking at him from the couch.

The blond’s face turns ten different shades of red in a matter of seconds.

“The pizza guy, huh?” Eddie teases. “I see it.”

“I haven’t seen him much since I left Cali, alright? He just moved in with Jonathan and I haven’t had time to visit.”

“Right.”

Billy shifts his weight on his feet, furrowing his brows.

“Am I under investigation or something?”

“Nerds.”

“What?”

“Nerds. That’s your type. You like ‘em kinda dorky and way too interested in their hobbies.”

Billy scoffs.

“Stevie isn’t a nerd.”

“He’s a sports guy. You can twist it how you want, but he’s a nerd about it.”

“Tommy, then.”

“Too into cars.”

“Jon— actually, I understand that one, but Argyle is definitely not a nerd.”

Eddie chuckles and leans his elbow against the armrest, setting his chin in his hand thereafter.

“How many weed strands can that guy name? More than I can, and I can name a lot.” Eddie clicks his tongue when Billy has no counter argument. “Plus, he’s super passionate about his job. He talked my ear off about toppings for twenty minutes one time when I called in.”

Billy sighs. Sets the pizza down on the counter and crosses his arms, clearly working things over in his head. Eddie gets up in the meantime and strolls over. Gently pushes a stray curl out of Billy’s face before he laces his arms around his neck.

“Jokes aside, I think it’s nice that you like so many different people.”

Blue eyes meet his, and Billy softens. Sets his hands on Eddie’s hips.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, I mean, you have lots of love to give, y’know? Of course it’s spilling over, sweetheart. Your cup is full.”

Billy chews his lip thoughtfully.

“I never looked at it that way before.”

Eddie leans closer. Kisses the corner of his partner’s mouth while he toys with a lock of his hair, soft to the touch and free of product.

“Glad my ramblings were of use to you,” Eddie chuckles. “Wanna have a sit-down with sleeping beauty after dinner? Talk some strats for getting you out of the friend zone?”

“I dunno if I wanna do that.”

“I’m pretty sure Steve’s had the hots for Tommy for a while now, so maybe we can knock everything out all at once.”

Billy raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not crushing on anyone? I might have to do some digging on you too, Munson, mister hopeless romantic.”

“I’m fine with bothering you two for eternity. I’m actually making it my life’s goal as we speak.”

“Of course you are.”

Billy ropes him closer, pulls him up to his tippy toes so he can press his lips to his neck — one of Eddie’s many, many weaknesses.

One of the others is, unfortunately, being manhandled. Even though Billy is gentle, it sends a thrill down Eddie’s spine when he’s lifted effortlessly.

“Want me to pay you back for the pizza?” Eddie breathes.

He makes a surprised noise when a large hand squeezes his ass.

“Keep your money, baby,” Billy lilts. Low and affectionate and now Eddie is the one getting flustered. “Wanna go wake Stevie up so we can eat and have our little discussion?”

Eddie nods. Shudders when Billy mouths at his throat and holds him ever closer.

“Yeah…” he manages.

Then Billy releases him. Let’s his socked feet touch the floor once again before he’s patting his behind and ushering him out of the kitchen.

Eddie has this sneaking suspicion that they’re gonna do way more than talk after they eat.

[mmmmalo]

If I ever finish my book, its subtitle will be "A Paranoid Reading of Homestuck" I think. Describes both form and content

Mobster Kingpin (whose bust is depicted by a mosaic of urban murals, who lords over the dollhouse world the heros inhabit) is located, like many of Hussie's villains, along the 4th wall, and his career of moonshinery seems related to a characterization of perception as the distillation of the perceived objects' essence -- Roxy's orange pumpkins give way to Dirk's orange soda, as one of the little ways their early relationship s premised upon a division between simplicity and abstraction. In Homestuck abstraction kills the simple (RIP Jaspers), and Dirk becomes a Daunting Text when he "sucks the fun out of shit. like a turd hungry dracula" -- a phraseology that returns us to the liquid conception of essence and points us to Kanaya, "rainbow drinker" being among other things a euphemism for the eyeball, which takes in color -- and insofar as troll reproduction is vaguely judicial in tone, the drones holding their buckets like scales, the Mother Grub seems posed in part as yet another threatening paradigm of viewership, demanding of you your essence. The earliest instance of this is in act 1: John's allusion to being allergic to the scorn of the peanut gallery is followed by a commercial for Hi-C Ectocooler -- a weirdly obtuse seeding of Her Imperious Condescension, whose character is downstream of a more general racialization of the 4th wall. Act 1 drags the sylladex into the fear of abstraction, first by having the narration express apprehension toward alien lingo like "captchalogue", and again when John drops the cat-killer, causing his arms (both fake and real) to be locked away in a box. Right? Right.

Dave shouts/throws his NINJA SWORD at a sticky fingered crow (crows would later, in a dream, act as Dave's personal 4th walls) and implicitly hurls an N WORD at a black figure, contributing to the comic's general air of racialized paranoia. A stupid pun, yes. Prior to this incident, there was a collision in Dave's hash map between NINJA SWORD and JUICE which, given the pejorative status of the former, suggested the latter might be an implicit JEWS. A stupid pun, yes. But as point 1 indicate, we actually have a pretty broad pattern of paranoia surrounding "juice"

The first time I became aware of possible antisemitism in Homestuck was a scene where Jack Noir commands all the Felt to get in the oven -- a couple readers wondered if it were a coincidence that the page had been published on Holocaust Remembrance Day, like a sort of hostile spin on the Christmas alchemy binges, or the New Years ball-drops at Jade and Jane's towers. With point 1 in mind in strikes me as curious that the (tentative) archetypally antisemitic archetype of the story would be the locking away of "juice" in a container, here invoked by the genocidal antisemitism of the Nazis. Likewise the way Lord English's manic glare often resolves into an 88 -- a number twice invoking the 8th letter of the alphabet H and thereby Heil Hitler -- would be consistent with the eye's general depiction as that which distills "juice". I had some anons wondering if the hints that the Mother Grub collects the blood of Alternia's children amounted to a blood libel smear, and I still don't know tbh, but we've apparently problematized rainbow drinking from another angle, so cheers to that

That the hostility towards abstraction might be among Homestuck's ciphers for antisemitism casts a different light on John's sharp rejection of psychoanalytic paradigms and "psycho-babblery"...? Like Freud is being invoked partly for his Jewishness... and that Freud's widely considered indefensible is utilized to let the antisemitic antiintellectualism pass through smoothly, I guess...

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hi! Can you write a Morpheus x child reader (like father daughter) where the reader is a dream that he was working on when he was captured and never finished and she was brought to life as a baby and grows up in the dreaming as it’s collapsing with Lucian as their care-taker/parent figure/teacher and everyone is just like wtf because dreams arnt supposed to age and are created as adults that already know everything they need to know but the reader doesn’t and needs to be taught manually.when dreams comes back he’s presented with a pre-teen reader and after his personal wtf moment he acknowledges the reader as a unique dream and takes them under his wing and basically becomes their dad and presents them to his siblings as his child and everyone is just like *niece acquired* even Lucifer has a soft spot for them and makes sure they know that their disdain for Morpheus doesn’t extend to them.sorry it so long lol I had this idea for a while but I can’t write so I hand it off to you.

Birthday Girl

Dream of the Endless & Dream!Reader

Summary: Hooray! It's your 6th Birthday! It's a costume party where all your classmates are invited, and, boy, are their parents are sure freaked out about your aunts and uncles.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: THIS IS A WHOLESOME FIC READER IS DREAM'S CHILD MISS ME WITH THAT BULLSHIT, Fem!reader, Endless Family Chaos™, Lucifer my beloved, Papa Bear!Dream, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: NGL this req kinda stumped me. it's a pretty tall order but i think i thought of something good enough to make what you wanted nonnie! ... or at least i hope so, since you wanted a pre-teen and I gave you a barely out of diapers kid lol ALSO you referred to the librarian as Lucien (well lucian), so it leads me to believe you had The Sandman Comics in mind but I have not read a page from the comics, and so i'm just going to fashion this to the show, ok? i did try to add more of the endless siblings though Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

"Papa," she mutters as she hangs on Dream's raised arm. "Yes, my heart?" he mutters, swinging the dangling child absentmindedly as he read his book while standing in the middle of the library. "Where do babies come from?" Dream turns to the wide eyes looking up at him. "Lucienne told me it's when an egg and a sperm meet, so does that mean you're a chicken?" "No." "Am I a chicken?" "You are a dream. My dream." "But you're Dream, papa." "Yes, I am."

"Oh wow," one of the parents who took the liberty to dress up as a really bad Dracula noted, "this is a gnarly getup. The wings look so real-"

Lucifer grabs the man's hand before he could touch her wing, "do not touch me."

The words were so simple, so plainly stated, and yet the man could not help but shiver. He plays it off with a chuckle as he withdraws his hand, "wow. Uh. Don't tell me. Are you supposed to be a fallen angel or something?"

"The fallen angel," Lucifer corrects.

"Oh," he nods his head, "so like..." he chuckles, "Satan."

"Yes," Lucifer grins softly, "precisely."

There was something so eerie about the smile of her face that the man could not bare to be around her any further. A shiver runs down his spine. Morningstar's grin widens as he walks away and when she hears a squeal.

"AUNTIE LUCI!" you run up to the fearsome being, giggles melting her very being into nothing but fluff.

"My dear dream!" Lucifer bends down to catch you in her arms as you jump to embrace her form.

"I've missed you so much!" you exclaim against her neck, little arms wrapping around her. Your voice is soft when you mutter, "I wanted to go to you but papa says hell is no place for a dream like me."

"Well," Lucifer pulls away, "perhaps I could steal you away from your-"

"Watch yourself, Lightbringer," Dream's voice echos in the WcDonalts, making the lights in the fast food chain flicker, and all the present parents survey the room in concern.

"Papa!" you turn to Dream and move in Lucifer's arms to go to him.

Dream raises his hands to get you, but Lucifer does not allow it. She greedily keeps you in her arms, "I was only telling my niece that I would bring her to my realm if her father holds her back."

"That was not the term you used," Dream narrows his eyes.

"And she is not your niece," Death speaks, earning your attention, "not really."

"AUNTIE!" you squeal, more eager to leave Lucifer's arms than ever. She has no choice but to drop you as you run up to your Aunt Death and seal her legs in a tight hug.

Death chuckles, crouching down, stroking your cheeks with the gentlest of touches, "hello, my love. How have you been?"

"I've been doing maths... it's horrible."

Death chuckles as she finally realizes, "are you dressed as the grim reaper?"

Death turns to her little brother, who shakes his head and raises her hands, "I expressed the impudence of it all, but she adamantly insisted."

"Didi told me about how cool the grim reaper is!" you bounced on your feet.

"Oh," Death releasing a breath, understanding, "did they now?" She bends down to meet you face to face, "do you know that the true grim reaper is actually your Auntie Death?"

Your face contorts, "you?"

She nods.

"But you're not cool, Auntie," you innocently say as you push her hair back.

Lucifer snots, suddenly glad to have not left for some WcBorgers just yet.

As Death's jaw hangs low, Dream could not say share a word of comfort, for suddenly, a group of children begin to cry. These were the group of children that were not accompanied by their parents and Dream had sworn to keep an eye on. Yet they were now being terrorized by Didi themselves.

Dream is appalled by the shreiking, and acts quickly to put a stop to it, giving Death a knowing look.

"How about a burger, child," Lucifer calls, making you squeal and run to her.

On his way, Dream grabs Delirium, who was talking to her reflection on the window. It takes a moment for her to speak, "oh! HeLlo bRothEr!"

"I need you to make the children stop crying."

"Well, h0w do i Do tHat?"

Dream and Delirium are upon them.

"Dream, Delirium," Didi smiles, "come for your cry babies?"

"De$ire!" Delirium says, "i d1d noT reaLize you W3re here."

Dream peers down at the crying children and turns to his sister, "how about some bubbles?"

"BuBBles?" Delirium says, manifesting bubbles around her in an instant.

Dream grabs Desire. The latter shoots a look, "what? It's a party, is it not? It's supposed to be fun."

Delirium herself is distracted by the bubbles as the kids crying begins to falter.

"You are to stay away from the children," Dream mutters darkly, making his sibling roll their eyes and pull away from him, "oh, you killjoy. I'm surprised you even let your daughter have a birthday party as WcDonalts. Don't you despise indulging her desires for fast food?"

"It is her day; she is queen."

Desire's lips curve up.

Dream is alerted by another cry ripping in the air. He turns around and finds that Delirium had stolen an ice cream cone from the child.

"She has made you soft, brother," Desire notes.

Dream has no time for either of his siblings as suddenly there is a loud crashing sound followed by an excited squeal.

The parents are immediately clamoring, grabbing the children.

"Destruction!" Death calls, running over to the gaping hole at the wall of WcDonalts right in front of you.

"Auntie!" you mutter, struggling to hold up the enormous teddy bear in barely in your clutch, "Uncle Desie gave me a gift!"

"My, my," Desire crosses their arms, "it seems not even the prodigal is immune to your daughter's charms."

Dream's dark stare at Desire sequentially darkens the room.

Desire raises their hands in surrender as one parent scream something about leaving, which makes Dream drop his guard and turn to the mother who drags a child dressed as a tomato away, "I would not dare to hurt my beloved niece."

"I've had enough of you, Desire," Dream chides, snapping back to them, "I do not want you-"

"PAPA! LOOK!" you grunt, dragging the huge teddy bear over to your father with much difficulty, "UNCLE DESIE GAVE IT TO ME."

Desire is the one who responds, "an exquisite addition to your collection, my dear."

Dream blocks Desire's view of you, "where is Lucienne? You should ask her to hold on to your gift for-"

"NO!" you quip hugging the bear tightly, "it's mine."

"I did not say it was not. I was only saying-"

"My 💖 NiEcE 💖!" Dilirium calls, swooping you up in her arms, "wheN did yOu g3t here!"

You giggle as she swirls you around.

Another child cries from the other side of the room, making Dream release a deep sigh.

"You best attend to the crying broccoli, brother," Desire points, pulling a disgusted face, "I say, what is with their shabby vegetable costumes?"

[pinkiepiebones]

Happy prompt:

Robert's "I will no longer tolerate abuse" speech has the desired effect, and their relationship actually improves.

"Look into your own eyes, Renfield. You're the monster, Renfield, not me."

Dracula pointed a claw at at his servant.

"It's you."

Renfield fought back tears and straightened. "No. No, that- that's enough." He retreated several steps into the part of his apartment that could generously be called the bedroom, on account of a bed being there. He picked up one of the books from his nightstand and brandished it in front of him like a shield.

How to Defend Yourself Against a Narcissist

Dracula squinted. He had half-expected the dolt to try brandishing a Bible, but this?

"What?"

Renfield sniffled and opened the book. Dracula smirked. Okay, let him say his stupid little piece, the count thought, then I'll redo his hideous paint job with his own blood.

"I will no longer tolerate abuse," Renfield read aloud. He looked Dracula right in the eyes. Dracula turned his head a bit, like an animal assessing a strange new sound.

Emboldened by the lack of violent reaction, Renfield's trembling fingers turned the page.

"I deserve love. I deserve happiness."

Dracula said nothing.

Renfield glanced down at the part about empathy. "I know that being undead must be a painful existence. And I empathise with your pain, I do." He shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know if we've ever really talked about that, the immortality but still able to feel pain and take injury thing we share, Christ I can't even imagine how holy relics- well, I'm getting off track, um-" He flipped through the pages. "To be honest I didn't think you'd let me get this far."

Dracula frowned. "What do you mean?"

Renfield startled a bit at how soft the Count's voice was. "I just, I mean-" He looked at the book again. "I thought you'd laugh at me, threaten me, do something unsavoury to me with the vase you broke..."

Dracula blinked and looked behind him. Pieces of the glass vase were still in pieces on the linoleum floor, the chrysanthemums scattered as far as the awful orange shag rug under the dinette set. He looked back to Renfield who was still shaking slightly, his eyes brimming with tears.

A moment stretched on for ages.

And then Dracula stepped over to Renfield's bed and sat down and cradled his head in his hands. After another long moment he looked up at Renfield, who was still standing with his book open.

"I abuse you?" he asked with a sincerity Renfield hadn't heard in... well, ages. Renfield swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah, it- I know we used to have, uh, fun, with certain things, b-b-but-" He closed the book and set it back on the nightstand. "Over the years you began to treat me less like a person, um, more like, like a sick animal you keep 'round because it keeps the pests away..."

He made a vague gesture to the whole of his bright and cheerful apartment. "F-for example, this is the most space I've had that is wholly mine in, well, years. In the hospital- which, which, I know, is no castle- I had a cot in the corner by your, ah, discarded meals."

Dracula did not argue. He simply nodded. Renfield was entirely unsure what to do. He mumbled something about his flowers and went to clean up the broken glass. He retrieved a roll of paper towels he had purchased because of the joyful little butterflies printed on them and knelt to mop up the water first. Dracula stood and Renfield jumped.

The vampire sighed and knelt and started picking up the pieces of the vase. When his hand was full he looked to Renfield and asked where he could dispose of the pieces and Renfield, who by now was quite sure all of this was a weird dream, told him where the kitchen bin was. The vampire disposed of the glass and came back and began picking up the flowers.

"You look good," Dracula blurted out. "I never realised how pale our- my- lifestyle had made you." He held a fistful of flowers out to Renfield. "And I like your haircut."

"O-oh. Th-thank you." Renfield blushed. He took the flowers and ducked into the kitchen to find a temporary vase. "The barber tried to talk me into something called a side shave but I insisted I was too old for most modern styles," he chuckled.

Once everything was cleaned up and the flowers were in a new temporary vase, Dracula sat back down at the small dining table where he had been waiting for Renfield and gestured for the familiar to sit across from him. He gripped Renfield's hands in his.

"I want to make things right between us, Re- Ro- Robert." Almost embarrassed, he asked, "it is 'Robert,' isn't it. It's been so long since I even called you by your proper name..."

Ren- Robert grinned. "It is, and it has been, and. You- you're being sincere?"

The vampire nodded.

"I want you to be happy, Robert. With me." He squeezed Robert's hands. "Tell me what I need to do."

Robert smiled.

"Okay."

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - July 1

Seward speaks!

“His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his flies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, at all events.”

First of all, this is what happens when you decide to run thought experiments on your patients to take away from the fact that you got rejected. Harsh? Yes, but am I wrong??

Also, I love that Renfield looks so sad that Jack lowers the “all” to “some”. He has no logical reason to do this, except that he feels bad. I know Seward does a lot of bad doctor things (and we WILL get there), but it is nice to notice those traces of him being sympathetic when he doesn’t have to be. Also, it’s funny to imagine how the conversation went:

Seward: you have too many flies and spiders in here. You need to get rid of all of them.

Renfield: …all of them?

Seward: yes! All of them.

Renfield: oh…ok…I see…😔😔💔🥺🥺🥺🥺

Seward: …

Seward: ok, FINE. You can keep SOME of them.

Renfield: really??

Seward: But I expect a reduction of these things in the next three days!

Renfield: you got it! :D

Renfield literally pulled “puppy dog eyes” and it worked! Good for him.

“He disgusted me much while with him, for when a horrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, he caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life, and gave life to him.”

Hey, buddy, if you don’t want to be grossed out by the guy LITERALLY CATCHING BUGS FOR FUN, maybe don’t study him under a microscope?

Also, again, Renfield doesn’t argue with Seward in an unrestrained or violent manner: he quietly pushes back that the fly “[gives] him life”. Now as far as depiction of mental illnesses go, I would say Renfield is far from being the best — of course — but I will say it’s interesting that Stoker deliberately breaks the stereotype of him being unhinged or violently angry when his ideals are challenged. Did this man just eat a fly? Yep. Did he also then calmly assert it’s good protein for him? Also, yes. While we know something deeper is going on with Renfield, as far as most readers knew at this point in the story, he was just another man in an asylum. I do know there was somewhat of a shift in how mentally ill characters were being portrayed — still not great overall, but now showing them as more calm and rational than previous characters: Jekyll from the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, as well as the Woman from The Yellow Wallpaper come to mind as examples of this. Like I said, not great depictions — just different and more complex shifts in how mental illnesses were shown in literature.

“This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must watch how he gets rid of his spiders.”

Yep!! Be warned, Seward. I don’t think he gets rid of these spiders in a normal way. Although it’s funny he’s like “I just watched him eat a fly. Disgusting. I must observe him further to see if he does it again with the spiders.” 😂😂😂

“He has evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he is always jotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with masses of figures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches again, as though he were ‘focussing’ some account, as the auditors put it.”

Hey, we all have our hobbies, you don’t have to call it a problem of the mind: rude 🙄. You’d think he’d call the fly thing more of a “mind problem” but I guess that’s fine? Also, hmm, adding up single numbers as if he’s making an account? And he wrote it down right after you saw him eat a fly? That doesn’t seem weird to you, Seward? Or perhaps he does intuit the meaning and doesn’t want to think about it/put it down before he knows for sure yet. If that latter, he’s just like Jonathan in that regard! I’m not surprised Lucy recommended him for Mina LOL. I’ll keep looking out for more similarities!

That’s all for this entry, let’s see what Renfield does next!

[penig]

When I first read Dracula, lo these many years agone (40 or so; I wonder who lives in that house now, where in the winter the cold was cupped inside like something precious and I read curled up in bed at night or in a chair in the sunroom?), I came away astonished at how good it was, yet a bit disappointed by the climax. It seemed anticlimactic to me, raised with cinematic climaxes even in my books; so many pages, so much tension, dissipating on the turn of two sentences into dust and Quincy’s blood on the snow and the minions and wolves sensibly fleeing into darkness as the sunset falls on Mina’s stainless forehead, and Mina didn’t get to use her gun.

Today, I feel very differently about it.

Today I have been crammed full of long, drawn-out, cinematic climaxes. I revolt against them; I begin to think about the lines in the restroom and will the mid-credit scene be worth the sitting? (It won’t.)

Also, today I have participated in Boss Fights many times; and this is how they go.

I played D&D back then, but it was a very different flavor of D&D, all dungeon crawls and party composition shifting randomly depending on who showed up, no continuity to speak of, no goal but to fight the next monster, solve the next puzzle, loot the next treasure, pile up the experience points for that next hard-earned level. It was fun but it had no pay-off, no plot, very little strategy because next session would be entirely different, or even teamwork, because next week Charlie’s parents would be visiting and he wouldn’t be able to come and the DM would have a research paper due so you’d be in a different dungeon with the person currently playing the 12th level monk behind the screen, running a dungeon he’d generated to test a computer program he’d written for his Trash-80. Whether you were fighting a horde of orcs or a Huge Ancient Red Dragon or even the actual BBEG at the bottommost level of the dungeon, you and your ragtag group of adventuring buddies would have at most a patchwork history with the enemy or the rest of the party or the dungeon itself. The thief would listen at the door and check for traps, you’d go in, and you’d do the best you could. And that’s not a boss fight.

No, for a Boss Fight, you have known for some time that you’d be coming up against the BBEG whose evil machinations have been making you tear your hair out since Level 1, whom you loathe with every fiber of your being even if you haven’t ever laid eyes on them before - you, and your seasoned party of close comrades. You know what they can do and you know what each and every one of you can do and you have discussed to death every countermeasure, every contingency. You have poured out your treasure like water to have the right equipment, the right buffs, the right protections in place. You have bribed and intimidated and persuaded and scryed and spied and burned the midnight oil to have every scrap of intelligence it is possible to glean. You have deployed your forces to maximize their effectiveness. Your game mechanic and your rules lawyer have found the exploitable loopholes and closed the loopholes the DM was hoping to exploit. You’re all of one mind. You’re ready.

You go in. You roll initiatives. You move, in deadly unity of purpose, you each do your job, you strike, and some of you miss and some of you hit and the BBEG’s minions try to distract you but you will not be distracted and They Are Gone, The Evil is Defeated and most of the time? If you did it right? If the dice aren’t cursed and the game mechanic and the rules lawyer are any shakes at all? The party is unscathed, the BBEG never got off a single attack. Anybody who did take damage probably got it from a trap or a minion, and it was probably a sacrifice move on the PC’s part to enable a bigger gun to get their hit in or to make sure that the PC’s own attack lands with full force on the actual target, denying them any chance of escape, recovery, or retaliation.

And Team Get Dracula did it letter-perfect.

The only reason Quincey died was because the mechanics of the system in use didn’t allow for massive HP accumulation or magical healing. Jonathan straight-up critted his Intimidation rolls so he didn’t have to deal with minions at all; one minion critted on Quincey and got through his parrying rolls and Quincey either didn’t have a mulligan left or decided to use it in a way that ensured he’d reach the coffin, when according to the mechanics evading the crit would have cost him either a precious round of movement or the to-hit bonus he was counting on to make the heart-strike.

 And Mina didn’t get to use her gun but that’s okay, because she knows, and they all know, but no one will say out loud, that if the plan didn’t work, if it came down to her using the gun, it would have been part of failing, or at best of Pyrrhic victory. In the circumstances of this combat, Mina was the weakest link. If the sun had gone down on Dracula, odds are good that his first act would have been to exert (or try to exert) control of her. She was inside the protection of the holy circle which might or might not have worked to protect her. She was bait, and distraction, and part of a Hail Mary play, and she knew all about that. She was the game mechanic and Van Helsing was the rules lawyer. Probably she had a Charisma-based feature that allowed her presence to provide bonuses to die rolls. She had done her bit in the planning and organizing and information-gathering stages. I have been in the Mina position and let me tell you, the satisfaction isn’t any the less for not having had to roll a single attack.

This time around, I am satisfied.

[ritzcrackee]

april tbr post yayy

rereads are marked by a ☆, new reads are marked by a ♡, and new acquisitions are bolded

physical tbr: 20

what moves the dead - t. kingfisher ♡

an education in malice - s. t. gibson ♡

juilet takes a breath - gabby rivera ♡

stories of people and civilization, greek ancient origins - lindsay powell, j. k. jackson ♡

rebel girls - elizabeth keenan ♡

the silent stars go by - dan abbet ♡

touched by an angel - johnathan morris ♡

dracula - bram stoker ♡

dune - frank herbert ♡

dune messiah - frank herbert ♡

frankenstein - mary shelley ♡

sense and sensibility - jane austen ♡

hippie - barry miles ♡

evernight - claudia gray ☆

stargazer - claudia gray ♡

the handmaids tale - margaret atwood ☆

the testaments - margaret atwood ♡

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the

universe - benjamin alire sáenz ☆

would-be witch - kimberly frost ☆

the ballad of songbirds and snakes - suzanne collins ☆

digital tbr: 2

pandora's jar: women in the greek myths - natalie haynes ♡

wild is the witch - rachel griffin ♡

read: 7

a million kisses in your lifetime - monica murphy - dnf

i got like 80 pages in and then just,,, could not continue. no shade if u liked this book it was just solidly, solidly not my thing.

my monster valentine - various authors - 3/5

debated putting this on here for obvious reasons but i neeeeed to be accurate i guess. i only read about half of the stories in this collection and they were pretty hit or miss. it was free though so yk. vibes.

high spirits - camille gomera-tavarez - 2.5/5

this book was pretty alright! i don't have much to say about it (hence the middling rating) but i would reccomend it if you're looking for a fast read :D

the coldest touch - isabel sterling - 4/5

THIS WAS SO CUUUUTTTTTEEEEE!!! i liked the way the author portrayed the genuine hell that being stuck at 17 would be. please get me out of here i want a fully developed frontal lobe. AW and all of the characters were super likable. truly so adorable i was squealing the whole time.

im knocking a point off for the romance being a littttllllleeeee rushed and the character descriptions feeling off (it felt odd that both pov characters categorized every single person into a specific race? i think its good practice to make a characters race clear, but idk if that applies to a random teacher with no dialogue). to be so real though i loved this book enough that it didn't bother me too much.

beastly & bookish - catrina bell - 5/5

did i finish this book in one sitting? yes. did i stay up until 1am doing that? ...mind your business. honestly, im maybeee being a little bit generous giving this 5 stars but !! i really liked it!!! rom was soo mecore. i'm excited to read the rest of the books in this collection (even though they're all christmasy), and i can't wait for my physical copy to get here!!

holly's unjolly christmas - lark green - 2/5

this book was truly just fine. like, the definition of pretty alright. the tropes weren't my thing and the romance felt wildly rushed, but the writing style was easy to read and there were some funny bits. i also felt like the demon characters fell pretty flat? idk felt mid overall. (tbh the highlights of this book were when rom and noelle showed up. my babiesssss)

holidays ablaze - lucy limon - 3/5

v cute 👍 i love samite he's so autistic 💗

last months goal: finish dune

hmm ok. so i did not finish dune. i don't know why i thought i could. whatever possessed me to believe i could finish an 800 page sci-fi book in one month was truly of the devil herself. what the fuck. that was a blatant temptation towards hubris and I FELL FOR IT. anyways i hit 300 pages. everyone clap.

this months goal: finish a re-read

i have a lot of books i'd like to re-read but!!! i just never get around to it!!!! there r always newer shinier books that grab my attention!! i'd also like to carve away a more sizable chunk of my physical tbr this month because i have officially run out of space on my bookshelf TwT. everything is so so crammed in there, i truly cannot afford any more physical books. public library here i come!!