#his neck is really necking here. this must be just how dracula feels

[crowlixcx]

[writermask-0807]

vlad tepes dracula x reader {“love me soft, and love me slow.”}

A/N: im a puddle of goo for sad vlad and this is the product of that. ngl, im honestly actually proud of this fic and wow isn't that new?? (the world must be ending) anyways I hope yall enjoy!!

Warnings: ooc vlad, uhhh pining, sort of, and angst?? but with a happy ending (?), so dont worry! just my poor bby grieving ig (he deserves better 😭)

He doesn’t know how to say it.

It doesn’t matter how long he’s thought of it, how long the words have been lingering, just on the tip of his tongue, only half a kiss away from being confessed against your mouth, his fingers tangled in your hair- a raw, vulnerable permanence to whatever - whatever this is, whatever this he has with you.

He doesn’t dare to call it love, although it is what it is- love in the curve of your lips and the shine of your eyes; soft, tender love in the gentleness of your hands when you hold him, love, tender and soft in your brushing kisses and your pretty smiles, etched deep into the ancient floors and walls of his castle, a place warmed once more by your presence and your love, a place he can call home once more.

It’s love, and he’s sure the both of you know it is, but -

Vlad Tepes Dracula does not know how to tell you he loves you, and he’s not even sure if he wants to—and he doesn’t want to admit it, because then it will mean that it’s real, that this is actually happening—because he’s afraid. No amount of denying will take it back, not when the truth is so terrifyingly, blatantly obvious, a laughing mockery in his face.

Love has not been kind to him. He had loved Lisa, true and with all of his heart (or what was left anyway), and it had torn him apart, it had unraveled him at the seams and it had left him wounded and bleeding. It had left an empty, bloodied cavern in his chest, and it had bruised him black and blue with anger and grief. Love has not been kind to him, and yet here he is again, afraid of it and yet so deeply, desperately, pathetically in love anyway.

It’s almost laughable- how far the great Vlad Tepes Dracula, King of Vampires, has fallen from grace, but here he is, finding something suspiciously like happiness in that endearing way you laugh, in the way it makes your eyes crease at the corners like half-moons, your dimples curving.

Starlight gleams on your skin and the color of your eyes when you open them, lashes fluttering, feeling his gaze, and you’re so achingly beautiful like this—the midnight breeze in your hair, the moonlight shimmering on your skin, the gentle lilt of your laughter, and that soft, tender love in your eyes—and all he wants to do is cradle you close, hold you to his chest and tell you that the heart inside, as broken and black and withered as it is, beats for you and you only, and he longs for it so much that the very thought of anything else aches.

��Vlad, are you alright?” you ask, leaning in, concern in your frown as you peer searchingly at him, a delicate hand coming to cup his cheek; and this close he can smell the sweetness of your scent of lavender and cinnamon, see the galaxies of stars in your wide, beautiful eyes, feel the softness of your skin if he chooses to reach out.

And he does, curls an arm around your waist and steals a kiss, achingly tender and soft, reveling in the way you melt unthinkingly into it, into him - and he should really tell you to be careful, that he could hurt you - he’s selfish. Always has been, and with you around, he thinks he always will be.

“I’m fine, dearest. Just thinking.” He breathes into your hair, presses a kiss to your temple, cradling you close, and there must be some somber quality to his voice, or maybe it’s the mournful sigh that accompanies his words that does it, but he thinks you know, in that moment - he thinks you understand in the way you soften into his embrace, arms winding around his neck and pulling him closer—if even possible—into your warmth.

“It’s okay, you know. We’re gonna be okay.”

You murmur in his ear, leaving a soft kiss to the side of his jaw, before you tuck your head in the crook of his neck, and god, he loves you. He just can’t say it yet. And despite the tears that pearl in the corners of his eyes, he thinks that that’s okay. He’s bruised black and blue by a burnt out anger and resignation and grief, and he needs time to heal but you understand and it’s okay. There’s nothing more he can ask for, and while love hasn’t been kind to him, Vlad thinks another chance is worth it if it means having you in his arms like this again.

FIN-

[vickyvicarious]

Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on watch.

2 August

"It is here; I know it, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the air."

3 August

The mate must have taken over the rest of the watch last night after the other crewmember disappeared. Either that or he had an earlier shift. This means he either (if first watch) genuinely foiled Dracula's first attempt to kill someone that night, and then remained prepared to try and defend against the threat, attempting to rush to the rescue later, possibly sacrificing his sleep throughout the whole night to do so. He may have taken over the rest of the night as well as having an earlier watch... Or (if second watch/taking over) he deliberately faced the threat he had finally admitted to himself in an attempt to get revenge for the death he'd so narrowly failed to prevent. He was able to search the deck before the captain got out there, after all, and the captain was probably moving pretty quickly.

On reflection, I feel the earlier watch is most likely regardless of the rest of the night, because of Dracula. He surely could have easily killed the first mate regardless of the knife attack*; letting him live, and instead just vanishing into the darkness, only to come back and for the first time kill someone with enough time for them to cry out - that feels like such a taunt. It is so in-character for him to have made a point that he can't be stopped, both by deliberately ignoring the person who tried and failed to get the jump on him, and by killing others pointedly in his place.

"Save me! save me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said: "You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!"

Another detail I really like about the first mate in this entry is how his voice gets steady before he jumps. Once he's finally admitted things to himself, he tries to protect the others as much as he can. But when he sees Dracula himself and recognizes that there is no way he can defeat him, he makes as clearheaded a decision as he can (in a frenzy of panic and sleep-deprivation). He chooses the wolves, the drop from the cliff; he chooses the only option he knows that will at least prevent him from becoming like the monster that's killed his whole crew. And before he saves himself (even if by dying), he speaks steadily to the captain. He tries to get him to do the same.

Sidenote - the fact that the mate survives his attempt to confront Dracula in the hold as well as his attempt to stab him the night before definitely suggests to me that Dracula is toying with this guy in particular. Earlier, he was picking off less important or more convenient crew, maybe, but that's not much of a consideration at this point with only 4 or 3 left total. Maybe he's been eavesdropping enough to somehow know that the captain had suspicions about the first mate being the killer, and so he found it amusing to keep that going till the end. Or maybe he realized that the first mate knew what he was, and enjoyed the taunting inherent in keeping him alive but unable to stop him. Regardless, it feels kind of deliberate to me.* At least it allowed him to choose his own death in the end.

* It is of course possible that the Romanian first mate is wearing a crucifix or something that stops Dracula from wanting to directly harm him. But the way he behaved around Jonathan made it clear that touching someone in other places than where the crucifix is (say, hands/arms/shoulders if it is around their neck) is still at least bearable. I think he could definitely have still at least thrown the guy overboard really quickly if he wanted to. So I think the deliberate cruelty reason still works regardless.

[dandelion-blues]

#5 What if...

Percy Jackson and the sea fam were on the same cruise of the Draculas?

A PJO x Hotel Transylvania 4 crossover

A Long Overdue Vacation

Now Percy was ready for a break, more than ready for a break, but he didn’t really think that that break needed to include what he needed a break from - gods. Don’t get Percy wrong, some gods are chill like Hermes and Apollo, but well Percy didn’t exactly want to go on a vacation with gods like his dad, step-mom, and half brother Triton whom he all has a complicated relationship with.

But no, family bonding, yay! (Yeah that’s in jazz hands).

It's just Percy luck that when he mentioned that he needed a vacation to Hermes when they were hanging out, that Hermes told Apollo who told Poseidon, and now Percy’s on a cruise ship (and ugh does that bring up some unfavorable memories), on a trip to visit a hotel called Atlantis.

Oh, and Percy forgot to mention that the cruise ship is full of monsters (like Percy already got his monster cruise bingo card crossed out, thanks), but at least they are civilized monsters, like Tyson (Percy’s favorite sibling and cyclops) or Ella, the harpy.

In any case, Percy’s going to try out the pool, and maybe just maybe he’ll be able to relax, but, well, with his luck something is always bound to happen, so he’ll enjoy the calm whilst it lasts.

…

Percy got in the water, hoping for it to be soothing, but nope the chlorine feels terrible to breathe in. Percy’s about to leave when some monsters decide to get in the pool with him. All of them seem to know one another by their familiarity.

“Hey kid, do you want to join in for a game of monster ball?” A mummy? asks.

You know what Percy has nothing better to do anyways, and the water is bearable as long as Percy doesn’t breathe it in, “Sure,” Percy answers.

“Alright!” A tall bluish monster with stitches yells excitedly, “It looks like you’ll be on my team!” His blue skin seems to be stitched haphazardly together, like taking the parts of multiple people and sewing them together, and is completely with little screws on the side of his neck.

Now Percy hasn’t really seen many movies, or even really know much about pop culture with the whole ‘demigods and technology do not mix’, but even he knows this must be Frankenstein.

Percy smiles back, for he can’t help but be enthused by Frankenstein's excitement.

“Alright let’s game plan a bit while we wait for the Dracula’s to enter the pool.” Frankenstein whispers to Percy and to another monster that looks like him but more feminine and to an old looking monster with sharp fangs like a vampire.

Then, Frankenstein seems to think for a second, “Oh and by the way I’m Frankenstein or just Frank Stein.” He reaches his blue hand out to shake, and Percy smiles wider, glad he’s right and shakes back.

“I’m Percy Jackson.”

“Nice to meet you, kid! Oh, and this is my wife Eunice Stein.”

“Hiya kid,” she says in a scratchy voice.

“And this-” Frankenstein begins but gets cut off.

“Vlad Dracula, King of Darkness. I am pleased to meet you, the youngest prince of the seas.”

Percy gawks at Vlad and blushes bright red as Frank and Eunice stare open-mouthed at Percy.

Percy awkwardly averts his eyes, embarrassed by all the attention. How did Vlad even know that? Percy only recently got coronated right after the Giant War ended.

“Now you’re probably wondering how I knew that, huh?” Vlad wiggles his white brows mischievously.

“Now now, no need to tease my son,” Percy's dad’s voice rings out.

What?! When did he get here?!

“Come on, it’s all good fun, old friend.” Vlad sighs. “Oh well, I guess the gig is up.”

Meanwhile, Frank and Eunice Stein’s jaws stop dropping, and they stammer, “Y-your h-highness?!”

Percy sighs, his momentary anonymity gone. It's not like it would have lasted that long, with going to a place called Atlantis, but still. “Yeah…” Percy sighs.

Poseidon grins mischievously, and Percy looks untrusting on his grin and the look in his dad’s eyes.

“What not going to introduce your titles, oh prince of the seas, hero of olympus-”

“Stop!” Percy says mortified, and water automatically splashes his dad. Percy doesn’t need to hear his titles now, and gods there’s a crowd starting to gather. Percy hides his hands behind his face, too embarrassed to really think of the casual way he just interacted and even splashed his dad.

Vlad secretly winks at Poseidon, and Poseidon smiles gratefully, glad his son started to relax and act like a kid again.

Luckily, the crowd quickly loses interest when nothing more interesting happens, and finally, the other Draculas decide to arrive.

Notes:

I actually forgot I wrote this, and I thought I might as well post it.

Besides, I was thinking that I could write something similar now that it's summer and everything. Maybe 😋

First - Previous - Next "What if..."

[calehenituse-brainrot]

"This Older Sister Understands"

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

Rosalyn is willing to take the role of an older sister and make sure whatever you and Cale Henituse have going on is kept a secret. Even though there's no secret, to begin with.

WARNING : mentions choking kink.

tbh it started rather serious and then i got bored and decided to write the crack ending tbh

"What happened to your neck?"

You nearly groaned, pulling up the collars of your button-up straighter to hide the purple spots on your neck. "I can't believe it's still visible. I skipped breakfast to make sure I can hide it."

"It's not," Cale said, placing a hand on his hip. "You were hiding your neck so I thought something must be wrong."

This was the first time Cale had seen you today, which was odd because it was nearly the middle of the day. You're usually up early to bother him and talk to the others, or sometimes you would be nearly burning the kitchen tools down to make something. Seeing you for the first time today with your collars all straightened up like Dracula and your face lowered all the time, Cale immediately knew something was wrong.

"So, what happened?" Cale asked, an eyebrow raised as he watch you begin to fold your collars properly, showing the red and purple spots on your neck which has him internally cringing.

"You're going to laugh at me," you said with a grimace, caressing your neck uncomfortably.

Apparently, you tried to make some herb lotion to ease a rash you had gotten from an insect bite. While the itchy feeling did go away, the marks didn't and even got worse because you had incessantly scratched it before, turning the previously red spots purple and swell.

"That's stupid," Cale commented, which had you puffing your cheeks. "I know, you didn't have to tell me."

You didn't want to cover it with pigment since you were afraid it would get worse, but you also didn't want to walk around with your neck like this. A Tiger that had seen it while you were out in the village couldn't even look at you in the eye because she thought of something else when she saw them. You didn't even have the chance to explain because she immediately left you alone!

"Don't laugh," you told him once again after finished telling him about the incident with the Tiger.

Cale frowned. That doesn't sound like something others could laugh at. It's concerning that the marks were getting worse.

"I haven't seen you all morning," Cale questioned. "Have you had lunch yet, at least?"

"I skipped. Being seen with this is embarrassing," you told him. "I'm just here to tell you about why I won't be seen in the next few days in case you look for me."

"May I see them?" Cale asked, gesturing to your neck. You nodded, walking closer to him and sitting down on the couch next to him.

You pop open one of the top buttons on your shirt and spread the collars wider for Cale to inspect the bruises. Murmuring a quiet "excuse me", Cale touched the purple spots on your neck with a stoic face. "Does it still hurt?"

"A bit, yes," you whispered, grimacing when Cale pressed a tender spot. "It's a bit sensitive."

"Sorry," Cale murmured, pulling back his hand. "Do you want me to call for Jack?"

"No," you replied immediately. "No. I don't want anyone else to know how I got them. I'll just hide them until they're gone."

Cale nodded, knowing he can't force you to take treatment if you don't want to. "Alright then. Use a cold compress to speed up the process. And eat something at least."

Back when he was still Kom Rok Soo, rashes were a rather rare thing for him to have. Even if he did have them, he'd just slap on a cold compress to ease the pain and itch and maybe apply some aloe vera lotion. He doesn't really know other remedies to rashes that could help.

"I will," you mumbled. "I'll probably be in my room for a couple of days to avoid the others. This is embarrassing to look at."

Cale shrugged. "Do what you want."

"Remedies for bruises?"

Rosalyn stared at Cale with her head tilted before continuing, "Young master Cale, are you hurt?"

Cale shook his head. "No."

Although still a bit confused, Rosalyn answered Cale's question. "I believe peppermint oil can help, but since it can irritate the skin, I advise using a carrier oil like almond oil to dilute it."

Cale nodded his head. "How much should I use?"

Rosalyn pursed her lips as she tries to remember. "Around ten to fifteen drops of the carrier oil and one to two drops of peppermint oil."

"Okay." Cale kept that information to the back of his head. "Thank you, Miss Rosalyn."

"Oh, of course," Rosalyn murmured, watching Cale turn around and leave her alone.

She raised an eyebrow, looking up and down at Cale's backside, trying to find out if Cale was limping or not. When she sees that he's fine, she tilts her head. 'Is someone injured?'

Rosalyn decided to go on a small adventure to find out who was injured.

Is it Choi Han?

"Hm? No, I'm fine. Is there something wrong?"

No. Then Lock?

"Oh--! No, thank you for asking, but no, I'm fine."

Huh? Then is it the kids?

"We're all fine, nya!"

"We're fine, little Rosalyn! Maybe it's [Name]? I haven't seen her for a while!"

Listening to Raon, Rosalyn was reminded that you have been cooped up in your room for quite some time. You've been avoiding eating together with the rest of them but Cale had told them you were going to eat a bit later after you're done with something -- he never elaborated, so the others thought maybe you're doing some errand for him.

"Thank you, Raon-nim," said Rosalyn with a smile. "I will go check on her right away."

When your door was knocked, you only opened it a bit to see who had visited you, embarrassed to show yourself with the bruises on your neck, but when you saw Cale standing in front of your door with a small bottle, you immediately opened it wider.

"Here." Cale showed you the clear bottle full of oil, plugged with a cork. "For your neck."

You took the bottle from him, wincing when you feel how slippery the bottle is. "Can you help me out with applying them? Some of them are underneath my chin so I can't see it properly."

Cale wanted to refuse -- finding Rosalyn to ask about remedies and fetching Hans to have a servant make it was already exhausting and he wanted to take a long nap. However, seeing the marks on your neck made him eventually fulfill your request because he knew you won't be showing your face for the next few days until they've faded away. "Okay."

Cale entered your room, shutting the door behind him. You walked to the vanity table, taking out a handkerchief to wipe the bottle down while Cale followed you from behind. You jumped and sit on the table so Cale wouldn't have to bend down too much and you wouldn't have to crane your neck up to the ceilings.

You opened the bottle and gave it to Cale who sighed when he noticed how slippery the bottle was.

"This is going to be messy," you mumbled, popping open the top button of your shirt and spreading the collar wide. Cale doesn't know whether to be concerned or not the fact that you seemed so unfazed doing so in front of a man.

"You have to apply this daily," Cale murmured, popping the bottle open and pouring a small amount to his palm. "Make sure to apply it in circling motion to get the blood circulating again."

When he began to rub his finger to your neck according to his own instructions, you squirmed. "Ooh, that feels weird."

"Are they swelling?" Cale mumbled under his breath, lowering his head to take a look at the bruise better, making you lift your face higher to let him see it properly. His hand began moving to hold your neck, thumb pressing down onto a spot that has you leaning back and grabbing onto his shoulder. Your legs trembled a bit and your eyes nearly flutter close, "Oh--"

"Oh."

'That's not my voice.'

You turned to the source of the voice while Cale had to turn around since his back was to the door. Your eyes widened when you see Rosalyn standing just right by your door, her hand still at the knob of your door.

"I--" Rosalyn was flustered, her mouth gaping as she tries to talk but no sound came out.

"I-I think that's enough," you stuttered to Cale, pushing him away and jumping down from the table. Cale nodded mutely, glad he can go back to his room and rest. "Take care of that properly."

Rosalyn looked at you, her face reddening when she saw the marks on your neck and the top button of your shirt undone. She looked down when Cale walked past her, face indifferent as he leaves you and Rosalyn alone.

"Uhm." You fixed your collar, face flushed after realizing that you had nearly moaned just because Cale was touching your neck and if it weren't for Rosalyn barging in, you would have been caught to have a choking kink by Cale and you're sure it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. "Uhm, Rosalyn, I'd like to be left alone--"

"Since when?"

You looked at Rosalyn, face still red and clutching at your collar. Rosalyn continued, "Since when did...?"

'Since when did I like that type of stuff?' you thought, assuming that Rosalyn had caught you. Your face reddens even deeper and you tried your best to look at Rosalyn. "P-please don't tell anyone about it."

Rosalyn covered her mouth in disbelief. Has this been going on for a long time? How come she never noticed?

You and Rosalyn were close considering she was one of your first girl friends to the point that the both of you allowed each other to enter the other's room without knocking beforehand. To think she was going to catch you on the table while having Cale Henituse pressed to you while giving you... love marks... was making her dizzy.

This was absolutely false, of course, but her point of view from the door had made it look like she had caught you and Cale Henituse in the middle of a hot make-out session.

"I..." Rosalyn stared at you, seeing your red face and how you were avoiding looking at her. She looks at your collar, where you're trying hard to cover the marks but Rosalyn had seen it. 'So that's why young master Cale-nim asked me for remedies...'

She had always wondered whether your relationship with Cale was strictly friendship because sometimes how the two of you acted makes her has doubts, especially when some people (Choi Han and Hans) would always stress on leaving you and Cale alone whenever you're both in Cale's bedroom.

'But... I didn't expect them to be this bold,' Rosalyn thought.

Rosalyn remembers that Cale and you had always been an odd duo so there were bound to be things the two of you didn't follow in noble ethics, especially considering that you were a commoner. But... this? Rosalyn has a hard time processing that the two of you were moving so progressively despite being unmarried.

The sexual activities in your relationships were not her business, but it could be a bad thing if people were to know. Perhaps it would stain a bit of Cale's name, but people wouldn't care much because he was a man and a noble. He was also a hero -- and people love it when their heroes are passionate.

You? You would get torn to shreds by society.

You jumped when Rosalyn quickly approached you and then held on to your hands. "[Name], I'm on your side."

"Huh--? What?" You stared at her, confused. What is she talking about? She's on your side? Even though you have a choking kink? What?

"I don't agree with this," Rosalyn started and you think to yourself; 'yeah, that makes sense.'

"Though, I will not accept any slander towards you or the young master Cale-nim for simply doing what you like," she continued and you frowned again. What does Cale has to do with this?

Rosalyn glanced down at your neck for a second before looking back at you, trying to talk without making you feel uncomfortable. "The next time you are planning to do... that... Please contact me."

"What?" You spluttered, eyes wide. She wants you to call for her when you want to get choked? What? Is there something you're missing? No way Rosalyn would say this.

"I will cast a soundproof barrier for your privacy if you want."

You wanted to die. Oh, God, what is Rosalyn talking about?

"Rosalyn, I think you've misund--"

Rosalyn gave you a gentle smile, squeezing your hand. "It's okay, [Name]. This older sister understands. I will keep this between us."

'What are you understanding?!' You wanted to yell out. At this point, you think you will be needing a translator to understand what Rosalyn is talking about.

Rosalyn released your hand and looked at you with genuine concern. "Do you need help with your neck?"

You spluttered, "N-No! I can do it myself."

'Having a pretty girl out her hands on my neck would make me combust,' you thought, stepping away from Rosalyn. "Uhm, I'm going to be doing this..."

Rosalyn nodded in understanding, thinking that you must be still embarrassed from getting caught. "Okay, [Name]. Please call for me if you need help."

Rosalyn turned around, walking out of your room. She waved at you before closing the door, leaving you alone.

The red-headed mage placed both hands on her hips and let out a sigh.

'They grow up so fast.'

[dreamerstreamer]

Love Bite

Pairing: vampire!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Vampire!AU] Despite how deadly it may appear at first glance, you love your vampire boyfriend with all your heart, so when Clay goes a bit too long without a drink, you’re more than willing to help him.

Warnings: tw// mentions of blood & general vampire shenanigans

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: requested by a lovely anon who wanted to see vampire dream! this was lots of fun to explore, and i hope you all enjoy! <3

You scroll mindlessly along your mouse, your laptop screen illuminating your dim room with a pale glow as image after image pops up on your screen. Your assignment lies long forgotten on the side of your desk, the tab still open just a single click away.

“Whatever,” you mumble quietly to yourself as you click on another link. Your gaze briefly flickers to the calendar on your wall before you shake your head. “I still have another week to work on it—it’s fine.”

Letting out a sigh, you slump over onto your desk, pressing your cheek against the cool wood as you sweep your gaze over to your balcony window. Outside, the sky is dark, the vast expanse washed with a deep, navy hue as the stars begin to peek out from the shadows and gaze down at the bustling city below. It’s a little past midnight now, and despite how late it is, the streets are just as busy as ever. You only catch a small glimpse of the crescent moon hanging among them before your gaze drops to your balcony.

Yet again, it’s empty, completely devoid of life.

The sight makes you frown, and you tear your gaze away from the sight and back to your laptop, continuing your scrolling with a sulk.

It had been a little over four days since you had last seen your boyfriend. Not that you’re counting or anything, of course. It’s just that you’ve gotten lonely without him, and you’re starting to miss him more than you’d like to admit.

Having a vampire boyfriend and being a human isn’t always the easiest, but you’re more than willing to put up with it for him. You can still remember the day he had broken the news to you, having been fully prepared to sacrifice his life right then and there for you if you chose to call for a hunter. But you hadn’t—you chose to stay, to love him.

And love him you do.

There may be times where he has to disappear for a little while that leave you cold and wanting, but the time you do spend together more than makes up for it. He’s overwhelmingly kind, honestly stubborn, and always loves to put a smile on your face, no matter how bad of a day you may have had. You can’t possibly count how many times you’ve thrown yourself into his arms with the widest grin on your face, all just to feel him laugh against you with a soft kiss behind your ear. There’s no one else in the world for you, living or undead, and you are willing to wait for him. It’s embarrassing to think about, but you really would walk to the ends of the earth just for him.

Heat creeps up your neck at the thought, and you force it down with a huff, ducking your head back down again and staring at your assignment. You distantly think of your phone sitting next to your bed and the string of messages you had sent him a few hours prior, all of which remain unopened. Kicking your legs, you whine, burying your face into your arms upon your desk.

Tonight is just not your night, it seems.

Just then, you hear it—the unmistakable sound of nails tapping on glass.

Lifting your head, you blink, slowly turning to look over at your window. Squinting for a moment, you can barely make out the shape of a familiar silhouette standing on your balcony and leaning casually against the railing. His golden hair shines beneath the moonlight, and your heart leaps into your throat.

He’s here.

In an instant, you’re scrambling out of your desk chair and across the room. Fumbling with the balcony lock, you slide open the door with a gasp, the cool night breeze brushing against your cheeks with a soft caress. In front of you, the figure shoots you a crooked grin, his eyes flashing with delight.

“Good evening, sweetheart.”

Your heart melts at the sound of his ever-soothing, familiar voice, and you return his smile with one of your own. “Good evening to you too, Clay.” Scanning him up and down once, you gesture for him to come inside as you add jokingly, “You do know you don’t always have to come in through the window, right? I do have a front door.”

His grin only widens at your words, a soft chuckle tumbling from his lips as he ducks his head to step into your room. “I have a reputation to uphold as a vampire, you know?” he hums. The glint in his eye dances with mischief. “Twilight was the one who said that windows are the way to go.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “Are you really sure you want to use Twilight as your vampire role model of all things? Why not use...” You pause for a moment, then lift a finger. “Dracula?”

A grimace skitters across his face as he pulls the balcony door shut behind him. “Dracula may have been scary, but he was also an old man and, like, super creepy. At least modern vampire fiction makes us sound less gross.” His eyes gleam devilishly. “And also hot.”

You gulp, stepping back until your hand is brushing over the soft covers of your bed. “Well,” you ask softly, “do you think they got it right? The way they portray you guys?”

His lips split into a sly grin, his teeth flashing in the starlight. “I dunno, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he dips his head closer to yours. “You tell me.”

Your breath catches for all but a second before you’re gently pushing him away from you with a giggle. “Nice try,” you say, leaping onto your bed with a teasing grin, “but I’m not feeding your ego any more. You do that enough on your own.”

He feigns a wounded look, climbing into the space next to you with a hurt pout. “Aw, bummer. At least give me a kiss, then.”

For a second, you pretend to think about it, mulling the decision over in your head just to watch something needy spring to life in his eyes. Then, you smile, leaning in close to his face with your mouth hovering over his. “Just one.”

You only manage to see a sliver of his lovestruck smile before he presses his lips to yours, your eyelids falling shut. You can just barely feel his sharp fangs brush against the skin of your lip, and the thought makes you croon into his mouth. A certain fondness blossoms behind your ribcage, and your lungs almost feel as though they’re too tight to breathe. He’s cold against you, and when he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, you shiver at the feeling of his icy skin against yours. Everything he does sends a chill rushing down your spine, but when you part just a moment later, you already feel yourself missing his touch.

Brushing his nose over yours, you feel him inhale sharply against you, and the breath he lets out is positively trembling. “God,” he whispers into the side of your face, his voice rasping ever so slightly, “you smell so good.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest at his words, and you feel warmth blossom across your collarbones. “I’m flattered,” you say gently, reaching a hand up to press against his shoulder. Instantly, he melts into your touch as you subtly shuffle back across your bed away from him. “But you’re the one who told me I’m not allowed to let you drink from me.”

His lips part for a moment, and you catch a gleam of the moonlight flashing across his fangs. Swallowing, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs with longing. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” His eyes dart up to meet yours, his gaze swimming with a deep, drowning sense of sorrow. “You know that I’d never, ever want to hurt you, right?”

A smile tugs on your lips, sincere and true. “Of course I do,” you murmur, “and I promise you that you won’t, even if you did drink from me.”

You pause for a moment, then slowly reach a hand up to your shoulder. You don’t miss the way his eyes widen at the sight, and you almost swear you catch an inkling of crimson swirling within his viridian gaze as you lean your neck to the side. “It’s okay if you want to, alright?” you whisper, swallowing.

His eyes are glued to your neck, and you can almost see the storm that rages just beneath his skin. Your chest aches at the thought, knowing just how conflicted he must feel right now. When he doesn’t move, you drop your hand back down to the bed, your gaze focused intently on his.

“I trust you,” you say, pouring every ounce of honesty you can into your words. “Can you trust yourself?”

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his lips parted as his emerald eyes rake you up and down. They’re wide with hunger, an expression you had seen many times before over the months, but not one you had become fully acquainted with. You fidget a little under his intense gaze, and you’re just about to open your mouth again when suddenly, his hands are reaching for yours on the bed.

You gasp as he intertwines his cool fingers between your warm ones, your heart leaping for joy. You let your eyelids flutter shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, drinking in your sweet scent as your warm breath tickles his cold skin. You love the quiet moments like this, the enamoured silences that envelop the two of you in your own little bubble as the world seems to slow down. Sucking in a breath, he shudders at your touch, his hand squeezing yours.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly for you and you alone to hear. “You’re too good to me.”

You smile at his words, your heart fluttering in your chest, but something uneasy sinks into the pit of your stomach at the bittersweet tone of his voice.

He didn’t answer your question, a voice whispers from the back of your head. Why didn’t he answer?

A moment later, you push the feeling away, nudging it back into the dark crevices of your mind. Instead, you choose to focus on the feeling of his skin pressing against yours, soothing and soft as you relish in the moment. The moon’s crescent frown seems to deepen from her perch in the sky, but she remains ever silent, only watching with her patient, pallid gaze.

You’re probably just imagining things.

After that night, time passes by you at an achingly slow pace. Night after night passes without a single sign of Clay, and before you even know it, a week and a half has flown past you without so much as a call. You text him as often as you can, and more often than not, you do actually get a response. Seeing the notification of his name pop up on your phone screen makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you’re always eager to hear back from him, but you can’t help but miss him as the hours drag on.

An empty, hollow feeling sinks into your chest as you curl up in your bed, the blankets strewn around you haphazardly as you blink over at the closed curtains draped over your balcony window. You haven’t bothered to look outside for a few nights, now—you already know that he won’t be there, as much as you want him to be. Even now, you can imagine his grinning face and teasing pokes as clear as day. The loneliness gnaws away at you as you turn onto your side, facing away from the window.

You hope he’s safe no matter what he’s up to, right now. You know better than anyone that sometimes, he can be a little too reckless for his own good.

Letting your eyes close, you sink into your pillow, a galaxy of stars whirling around your head as you slowly feel yourself drift off into a murky dream. Flashes of bright grins and the sound of wheezing laughter trickles through your thoughts, and you sigh at the endearing memories that wrap around your heart. You can almost swear you feel a pair of hands wrap around your own.

All of a sudden, something prods at the back of your ear, restless and sharp. Wincing, you blink a sleepy eye open, your bleary mind sorting through the sounds in your head before landing on one.

Glass—that’s the sound of glass.

Someone is tapping at your window.

Your eyes shoot wide open, and in a whirlwind, you’re ripping the covers off your body and pushing open your bedroom curtains. On the balcony stands a hooded figure, his golden tresses just barely peeking out from beneath the low-hanging cloth. You swallow and grab onto the door lock, slamming it open just a moment later. You shiver at the night breeze nipping at your skin, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less about the cold, your focus entirely devoted to one thing and one thing alone.

“Clay!” you cry, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and instead, his hand reaches to the side to desperately grip onto the balcony railing, his knuckles turning white. Your eyebrows furrow with concern, and slowly, you take a step toward him. You haven’t even crossed the doorway separating the inside of your room to your balcony when he suddenly barks, “Stop!”

You freeze in place, your hand halfway reaching for his when he practically crumples against the railing, curling in on himself with a choked plea. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his chest with a ragged breath, “please. I’m—”

“Clay?” you breathe again, this time much quieter. You shuffle closer to the window glass, your toe just barely brushing against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

All of a sudden, a snarl rips out of his throat, guttural and beastly. You flinch at the sound for a split second, the worry in your chest only making your heart shake even more. His grip on your balcony railing grows even tighter, and you don’t doubt that it’s going to leave a mark on the metal.

“Don’t come too close,” he pants, his thighs shaking beneath him. “I—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

You purse your lips at him, frustration and confusion digging at the sides of your stomach. “Then why did you come here?”

All is quiet, and he doesn’t respond. The only sound you can properly hear is his uneven breathing as he claws at the front of his hoodie, the fabric bunching beneath his touch. You flick your gaze over him again, and a cold realization suddenly washes over you.

“Clay,” you whisper, the tiniest hint of fear seeping into your voice, “when was the last time you had a proper drink?”

You are once again met with silence, but the way he suddenly stiffens does not go unnoticed by your watchful gaze. Something curls nervously inside your gut, and your lips curl into a frown as you dig your heel into the ground.

“Clay,” you say again, a little louder this time—a little more firmly. “How long has it been?”

There is a beat of silence. Then, he whispers so softly that it’s almost swept away by the wind, “...too long.”

A pang of sorrow shoots through you, a stone dropping into the pit of your stomach. You were right. He’s thirsty. A sigh escapes your throat as you open up your arms, beckoning him toward you. “Come here,” you murmur with all the softness you can muster. “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, and it’s then that you realize you haven’t seen his face this whole time. “Take off the hood,” you say gently. His shoulders tense at your request, and you quickly add a tender, “Please.”

His throat bobs as he gulps, and ever so slowly, his hands reach up to tug at his hood until suddenly, the moonlight is casting a glowing streak of silver across his face. Your eyes go wide.

His kind, lovely eyes, which are typically viridian green and swimming with adoration for you, are now painted a deep, scarlet red, his pupils dilated beyond belief as they lock onto yours.

In all the time you’ve known he was a vampire, you’ve never seen him like this before.

But strangely enough, you’re not afraid.

Instead, you gently reach for his hand, careful to only just lightly wrap your fingers around his. His gaze drops back to the ground again, and while you know he doesn’t have a pulse, if he did, you imagine that it would be going haywire right about now. “Oh, honey,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

Just as you begin to lead him inside to your room does he raise his chin once more, his jaw clenched tight as he takes in your soft, enamoured expression. As he steps inside, you reach behind him to slide the door shut before tugging him back toward your bed. Settling down on the mattress with a loose breath, you let go of his hand. His arms are still shaking at his side when he sits, and it’s then that you open your mouth again.

“Clay,” you say, your voice as clear as a bell, “you can drink from me.”

His crimson eyes widen, and the look he shoots you is one of pure, unadulterated panic. “I-I can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes,” you shoot back, reaching up for the collar of your shirt, “you can.” His eyes trace down the slope of your jaw before landing on the smooth skin of your neck, exposed and waiting for him. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands squeezing into fists beside him. “It’ll be alright.”

“H-How do you know that?” he blurts, his nails digging into his palm. “What if—what if I lose control and hurt you?” His face blanches at the sight, and he slumps over onto his lap, hanging his head in his hands. “I can’t let that happen.”

You sigh, and he clams up at the softness of the sound. “And it won’t.”

A moment passes in aching, tense silence. You resist the urge to hug him, knowing that initiating any more contact with him would only make him panic even more. “Last time I was here,” he suddenly whispers, shattering the silence with his head ducked down, “you asked me if I trust myself.”

You blink at him as he slowly raises his head, turning his gaze to look at you head-on. “I don’t, [Y/N],” he whispers. “Not one bit.”

Your eyes flash in the darkness of your room, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth opens. “But I do.”

He goes stock still before you, and suddenly, the words are flowing from your lips in a rush, unstoppable and dripping with honesty. “I know you, Clay, and I know you won’t hurt me, no matter how scared you are that you might. I believe in you, and I believe in us.” You press your hand to your chest, your fingers curling over your beating heart. “I love how much you want to make sure I’m safe, but right now, I want to make sure that you’re safe, too.”

If you were looking a little closer, you would have seen the glossy sheen in Clay’s eyes as you tip your head to the side once more, your shirt collar tugged down your shoulder. You bite on the inside of your cheek, your fingers squeezing the sheets. His crimson eyes almost look soft in the glittering starlight of the night, and you feel your chest flood with heat.

“Please,” you croon, your eyes never leaving his. “Go on.”

He eyes you for a moment longer. Then, he’s crawling across the bed toward you, his shaking hand reaching for your shoulder. Gently, he turns you toward him, his other hand cupping your cheek. Slowly, you feel his nose brush against your jaw, something cold pressing against your skin.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispers.

Then, he sinks his fangs in.

A sting shoots up your neck at the feeling, just barely there and slightly sharp, but it’s most certainly nothing you can’t handle. Heat pools around your collar bones as he drinks and drinks, and you feel your eyelids flutter shut. His lips, which are usually cool and soft when they meet yours, feel oddly warm for once, and you sigh at the sensation of your blood pumping from your skin.

You aren’t quite sure how much time passes with him cradling you against him and his mouth lapping at the side of your neck, but soon enough, you can feel a slight dizziness flit around your skull. A soft whimper escapes your lips and instantly, he breaks away from you, his eyes wide with worry as you lean against him for support. You press your forehead against his shoulder for a brief second before sitting upright once more, blinking away the vignette tinting the edges of your vision. In front of you, Clay’s lips are stained with a faint shade of red, but his eyes have returned to the brilliant shade of green you know and love. He grips onto your shoulders a tad tighter than before, his hands reassuringly rubbing against up and down against your arms.

“Oh, [Y/N],” he breathes, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of harm. “I-I’m sorry if I was too rough or anything. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but god, you taste so sweet and I—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. Before he can even blink, you’re pressing your mouth to his, your tongue swiping at the seam of his lips. The uncanny warmth of his lips against yours makes your head spin more than it was before, and you feel yourself smile against him when you pull back. You can taste the slight metallic tang of your own blood on your mouth as you flash him a grin, his eyes wide with adoration as he drinks in the sight of you sitting before him.

“I’m okay, Clay,” you say with an earnest look. Tilting your head at him, your tongue darts out to swipe at the corners of your mouth. “Are you?”

His eyes never leave yours as he reaches forward to slip your hand into his, his fingers slotting between your own. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His pale skin almost seems to glow in the dim light filtering through your balcony window, and he strokes his thumb over the back of your knuckles. Something inside you suddenly unravels as he tugs you into his chest, holding you close to him as his arms wrap around your backside. You feel him rest his chin atop your shoulder, and you melt into his cool touch. Just as you let yourself let out a loving, hazy sigh against his chest, you feel him whisper into the shell of your ear.

“Would you maybe let me... have another sip?”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 9

A/N: Part 9 is here y’all! Enjoy! And let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! 💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, slight mention of past trauma and wounds.

You had already boarded Zemo’s private jet, sitting on the seat across from him while Sam had sat beside you with Bucky across from him. Oeznik had approached you all, asking if you wanted something to eat or drink and sharing a few words with Zemo. You shook your head, politely refusing with a kind smile before staring out the window of the jet and watching the clouds. Even though you had just left your home, you missed everyone there dearly, almost wishing you had the chance to bring Kólasi along. But you knew the local people would not take kindly to a dragon walking their streets. And wherever you were now heading, you had a feeling you were going somewhere you wouldn’t find agreeable.

“So do you have a private jet?” You heard Sam ask you.

“Nah.”

“How come?”

“She has a dragon and a pegasus Sam. I’m pretty sure they are her mode of transportation.” Zemo added.

“Wait. But what if it’s raining or there’s a storm?” Sam turned in his seat to face you, leaning in as he was curious to know how you managed to ride openly through the clouds in a storm.

“Well my father was Zeus, the god of the skies and thunder Sam. A little lightning won’t hurt me.”

“Wouldn’t you be soaked though? That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

“Yes, well if that’s the case than I can just teleport.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Are you able to teleport others?” Bucky wanted to know, if so, it would be helpful to use that, right?

“I can. But the very first time can be unpleasant.”

“How so?”

“Well try to imagine your molecules separating and joining back together.” You tried to make an example with a motion of your hands. “So that in itself is an unpleasant feeling. You’ll also most likely puke your insides out after your first time. And there are even some rare cases where you might come back......disarranged.”

“What do you mean by disarranged?” Zemo raised his brow, not sure if you meant what he thought you meant. Would you reappear, swapped in each other’s bodies or.......

“Oh you know. Your leg might end up where your arm is supposed to be. Or your head might be sticking out your ass, something like that.” You smirked as you toyed with them, seeing the terrified expressions on everyone’s faces. They were most likely praying you wouldn’t use that ability on them. “I’m kidding, geez. Tough crowd.”

“Kidding about what part?” Bucky remarked.

“The disarrangement part. But in all realness, the only side affects are nausea and vomiting and your body feeling like jello. But you’ll get used to it.”

“Sounds like a blast.” Sam noted. “Please don’t teleport us unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Only if absolutely necessary.” You promised.

“Also, what’s up with all the weapons? Were you some kind of mercenary?” Sam asked you another question as he thought about all the weapons and armor you had in your armory.

“Well I wouldn’t call it that. Mercenaries were for profit and personal interest. I on the other hand went after tyrants and criminals. But I also hunted down monsters that posed a threat to the human population. I guess you could say I dealt with more of the.....supernatural.” You tried to elaborate.

“Monsters?” Sam raised his brow. “Like what?”

“You know, vampires, werewolves, minotaurs, hydras, chimeras, echidnas, sea monsters-“ you started to list off before Sam cut you off.

“Woah woah hang on. Vampires and werewolves? As in like twilight?”

“Hell no. I’m talking vicious flesh eating monsters here that absolutely do not sparkle. I mean, there are still some vampires left that play by the rules and don’t feed on your fellow mortals. But sometimes you’ll have the few that think they can break the rules like a bunch of idiots. Werewolves on the other hand are trickier, don’t get me started on them. But don’t worry, I got a guy, a half-mortal or daywalker, in charge of the supernatural business.”

“Hold up. So you were what? Like a Van Helsing?”

“Welll, Van Helsing was a real person.”

“Are you serious?” Bucky sat up in his seat. “What about Dracula?”

“Oh he was a real pain in the ass I tell you. That slimy bastard tried to seduce me so that he could take all the creatures under my control to do his bidding. Well, as you can see, that obviously didn’t work.”

Before the men could ask any more questions your phone buzzed in your pocket, making you pick it up to see Maze’s name on the front. Your heart skipped a beat for a moment as you stared at the screen, all the negative possibilities running through your head.

“Who is it?” Sam asked you once he noticed your expression.

“It’s Maze.”

“Did something happen?” Bucky inquired, his brows were raised and his voice was filled with concern.

“I hope not.” You accepted the call, lifting your phone to your ear. “Maze?”

“Hekate! It’s Athena!” Maze spoke in a somewhat panicked voice which only added to your nervousness and suspicions.

You shot up from your seat at the tone of her voice and her mentioning your daughter’s name. “What?! What do you mean? Did something happen to her?”

The men watched you with concern, leaning forward in the edge of their seats once they heard your daughter being mentioned. They were ready to rush over to your place right now if need be.

“Well she fell from the tree.”

“She what?!” Your blood ran cold and your heart was pounding in your chest, it felt as if it would burst right through your rib cage. “Maze speak!”

“Okay! Hang on a second. What happened was, she was playing around in her treehouse and tried to climb to the top of the tree. I tried to stop her when I saw what she was doing but she fell straight down.”

You shrieked in panic at what you had just heard. Your knees felt weak and you thought you might pass out but Bucky stood up to give you support, holding you as you gripped on to his metal arm, nearly crushing it in the process. “Is she hurt? Maze you need to tell me!”

Oeznik came in upon hearing your trembling voice, asking if anything was the matter, but Zemo had explained to him that they had it under control and should alert him if anything was needed.

“Well that’s why I’m calling you. She’s totally fine.” Maze replied.

“Wait............wait what?” You shook your head in confusion, not getting what she was talking about.

“I know right? I’m pretty sure there’s supposed to be broken bones and like lots of blood after a fall like that, but she doesn’t even have a scratch on her. She even laughed the whole thing off like some kind of miniature maniac. She nearly gave me a heart attack, and demons don’t get heart attacks. Now is that normal and should I be worried?”

“Uhhh.” You were unable to form words as you tried to figure it out. Was it the protection spell you put over her or was it just her in general? You had kept such a close eye on Athena, making sure she never got hurt, that now that she has been in a situation where she could’ve gotten injured, you didn’t know how to react or what to think. But Maze did say she didn’t have a single scratch or broken bone or any kind of injury. So that must be a good thing.....right?

“Hekate?” You heard Maze on the other line again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah everything is fine. I was just.....thrown off for a bit. How is she?”

“Oh she’s great! We painted each other’s nails today. She’s taking a nap right now though. Hey, where’s that good shit that you have?”

“Good shit?”

“You know. Your really expensive wine from Olympus that your sibling, the wine god, what’s their name made?”

“Dionysus?”

“Yeah.”

“Umm it’s in the very top cupboard above the sink.”

“Okay thanks. I need a glass after what happened, or a bottle. Bye Hekate!” Maze hung up while you stood there, still surprised to hear Athena was unharmed and feeling almost drained after the whole ordeal.

“Everything okay?” Bucky whispered, his eyes searching your face for any further signs.

You noticed how close he was as he supported you, and you couldn’t help the blush that appeared on your cheeks, averting your gaze from his steel blue eyes. “Yeah, uh thanks.” You let go of his metal arm while he let go of you, allowing you to sit back in your seat.

“So is everything okay with Athena?” You heard Sam ask while you stared at the ground.

“Athena uh fell from the tree.”

“Is she okay?” Zemo asked you, his brows furrowed together.

“Yeah she’s fine, surprisingly. There wasn’t a single scratch on her. Must be the genes.”

Bucky pulled up the sleeve of his metal arm, a surprised chuckle leaving his lips as he saw the dented hand print you left behind. “Geez y/n. What’s with the Hercules grip?”

“Huh?” You looked up at him, glancing down at his arm to see your handprint dented into the vibranium. “Oh shit! I am so sorry! Let me fix that.” With a wave of your hand and a swirl of violet around your fingers, you fixed the dent in Bucky’s arm as if nothing ever happened to it.

Once Sam saw that you were completely fine, he turned to Zemo. “So, why don’t you tell us about where we’re going?”

“I’m sorry. I was just fascinated by this. I don’t know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?” Zemo pulled out a small leather book which looked like the exact same one Steve had.

You jolted back in your chair as Bucky charged at Zemo, grabbing him by the neck and snatching the book back.

Your eyes widened at the commotion in front of you. “Yo! Can you guys chill out?”

“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you.” Bucky threatened him before going back to his seat.

“I’m sorry. I understand that list of names. People you’ve wronged as the Winter Soldier.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ve seen that book.” Sam commented. “It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What’d you think?”

“I like 40s music, so....”

“You didn’t like it?” Sam gave him an offended look.

“I liked it.”

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience.” Zemo elaborated to the conversation.

“He’s out of line, but he’s right. It’s great. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.” James responded.

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye. And y/n likes him too, don’t you y/n?” Sam now turned to you.

“Hm? Oh yeah, he’s great! Hendrix was pretty awesome too. Saw him in Woodstock, super chill dude to jam out on the guitar with by the way. I may or may not have dropped acid there.” You added the last part to yourself, though Sam overheard it and gave you a judgmental look, to which you looked at him, mouthing how it was only one time.

“You must have really looked up to Steve.” Zemo voiced. “But I realized something when I met him. The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.”

“Watch your step, Zemo.”

“They become symbols.” Zemo continued to make his point. “Icons. And then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly, innocent people die. Movements are formed, wars are fought. You remember that, right? As a young soldier sent to Germany to stop a mad icon. Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull?”

As Zemo spoke, you thought about how many of your people looked up to your father and brother, and even Hera. How many of them saw them as their beloved gods and saviors, these righteous and glorious beings. But you were there and witnessed what happened behind closed doors, you were a product of that, a product of their faults and imperfections. And as those memories came rushing back to you, so did the pain of the scars it left behind. You could still feel the tenderness of the long scar on your face left by Ares, and the number of ones that were scattered on your back like a pile of jagged twigs, leaving behind a grisly form of artwork.

“That is why we’re going to Madripoor.” Zemo finished.

You lifted your head up at the mention of the place, jerking your head towards Zemo. Well you were right about how you weren’t going to like the new destination.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky

[whosscruffylooking]

Instinct Part Two: Interrogations and Intrigue (Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader)

A/N: I'm super excited for this part. Spencer and Reader’s relationship finally has some foundation!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings! Mentions of suicide and manipulation. 

(Reader’s POV)

I tap my foot anxiously as I peer around the bland and intimidating interrogation room. It looks like something out of a mental asylum in a 1980's horror movie. They want me frightened? They got me.

Count Dracula barges in abruptly and sits opposite from me. I wince at the sound of the metal chair scraping against the cement floor.

“My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'd like to take a moment to get your description of the man who broke into your apartment," he shows no emotion.

I nod, "Well, he had his hood up and a bandana on, but from what I could tell, he had green eyes...maybe blue...or hazel. I'm sorry, I'm not a hundred percent sure. He was just a little bit taller than me, so maybe 5'8 or 9. He climbed out of my window, so clearly, he's at least slightly athletic. He disguised his voice; he made it sound almost like Batman."

He writes down some notes. A statement that the other agent presented to me at the crime scene puzzles me. I decide to inquire for myself.

"The other agent..." "Dr. Reid?" "No, Emma? Emily?" "Yes, Agent Prentiss." "Yes, her. She told me at the ambulance that I might be the key to solving this. What did she mean by that? This wasn't just a one-off robbery? How could it involve me?"

He purses his lips, obviously pondering the right response, "What do you know of the Nomad Boys?"

My heart rate rises, but I promptly disguise my anxiety. "You get straight to the point, don't you," I quip, "I know that they used to operate about a block from my old neighborhood growing up. A lot of people have lost their lives because of them. Both figuratively and literally."

"Are you aware of your brother's involvement with them?" Agent Hotchner examines me.

I gasp. What kind of game is he playing here? I shift uneasily in my seat, "Excuse me?"

"We have significant evidence that your brother Jeremy was involved with the Nomad Boys from 2015 until his death."

I slam my fist on the table, "How dare you. How dare you bring my brother up and implicate him in illegal activities that he had no part in. Is this what you people do? You're so desperate to close a case that you can't admit defeat in then you pin it on people who aren't even here to defend themselves?"

"You seem relatively defensive yourself. Care to explain why?" The emotionless man taunts.

"Two hours ago, I was the victim of a failed robbery, and now I'm being interrogated by the feds about my dead brother? Is that not a good enough reason to get defensive?" I clamor back. 

Tears sting my eyes and threaten to spill over as I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, trying frantically to suppress my growing rage. He watches me like a predator to its prey. The sound of my rapid heartbeat muffles my hearing. I can feel my skin heat up with anger. I stare right back, eager to display my disdain for his treatment.

"If you'd excuse me," he gathers his files and leaves the room. I exhale shakily and hastily wipe the stray tears from my eyes, desperate to gain my composure.

(Spencer's POV)

Hotch exits the interrogation room and clutches my shoulder, "You're up. She knows more than she's letting on, even if she doesn't realize it. She will feel more comfortable with you." "Hotch...I-I feel like maybe Emily or Morgan should go in. Not me." "Why?" He glares at me. I swallow the lump in my throat. 

I have a job to do.

"Forget about it," I say, stepping past him into the dimly lit room. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me not to put her through what Hotch did. I sit across from her, noticing her obsessive picking at the skin of her fingers. Her knee bounces and lightly taps against the underside of the table.

She takes a deep breath and breaks the stillness, "Whatever it is they are thinking, it's not true. None of it is true. They're wrong." 

"Y/N, I appreciate your willingness to cooperate and come back to the precinct with us and sit in here to be interviewed." 

She throws her head back and laughs, "My willingness to cooperate?Interviewed? You mean interrogated, right?"

"I know this must feel like an ambush," I say, and she jeers, "but I promise if you just hear us out, the sooner we can rule you and your brother out of this." 

She sits up, eyes wide, her posture defensive, "You just said my brother and me. Am I a suspect too? For god's sake, I don't even know what we are suspected of! Do you think I'm apart of the Nomad Boys too?" 

Strike one, Spencer. Don't screw up again.

"I didn't mean it like that, y/n." 

"But you said it," she crosses her arms.

"I need to ask you some questions about your brother's death." 

"I'm going to be sick. Screw you, Dr. Reid." 

I can't manipulate her. I don't want to. I can't use months of researching her to achieve our agenda. 

It doesn't feel right. Why doesn't it feel right? 

But for the efficiency and success of this case, it's required.

"Every day, you wake up in fear of the nightmares that haunt you each night. You live with the images of your brother engrained in your mind. The patterns he used to follow every day have now been adopted by you, most likely in an attempt to keep his spirit alive somehow. You are constantly looking over your shoulder because, still to this day, aspects of his death leave you unsettled and uncertain. You opened the door today because you were under the impression that the person on the other side would be able to offer you insight into your brother's death. He couldn't because he had another agenda, but I can. I can give you that insight; I just need you to work with me." 

I watch as she struggles to fight the pain that comes from masking her fear. I got to her. 

Why do I feel so guilty? 

Her lip trembles as she begins to speak, "I know he didn't kill himself. That's all." "What makes you so sure?"

She releases a sob and then grapples with composing herself, "B-because he loved his family. He loved life. His girlfriend was pregnant; he was going to be a father. What kind of man who was so family-oriented and had such a bright future ahead of him would do that to himself, to his future child?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize he had a child." "Aren't you guys supposed to know stuff like that? Shouldn't you come in here armed and ready with any ammunition needed to break me down?" She cocks her head. "We do. We try to find out all vital information on our suspects and those connected with them." "That's how you know that I follow the same routine as my brother? Have you been watching me?"

I can feel a bead of sweat drip down the back of my neck; I reach my hand around to pat it off and to buy myself time to come up with a sufficient answer. She chuckles, "You don't have to answer that. I've seen you and Count Dracula in there tailing me."

My heart stops, and I swallow unexpectedly, slightly choking in the process. "For professionals, you sure don't take into consideration the fact that most people are suspicious of black SUVs now...mainly because of tv shows. Black Suburbans with tinted windows are either law enforcement or a celebrity. And judging by the fact that no celebrity would ever willingly set foot in my town, I was quickly able to determine which I was looking at every Monday and Friday from 10am to 5:30pm. You should really try getting some red cars, maybe blue, just try and blend in a bit." 

"Actually," I begin falling back on my knowledge as a way to diffuse the situation, "Any vehicle, when suitably modified, can be utilized as a police vehicle, but the most prevalent are those produced or altered by manufacturers for the role of being a police vehicle."

"Validation and dissemination: am I making you uncomfortable, Dr. Reid?" She raises her eyebrow. I adamantly shake my head, "Not at all. I was merely dissecting your point and proving it to be a failed tactic to intimidate me."

She looks at me keenly, but not in the way she had looked at Hotch. No, she peers at me as if striving to convey a message, an offer to be her ally. While locked into her gaze, I can't help but study her. Contrary to all of the times we followed her, hidden within the shelter of our car, I can now learn her up close. She is attractive in a flawed, approachable way. Her vulnerability camouflages a might that even she doesn't perceive exists.

(Reader's POV)

I study him thoroughly. He baffles me. A man in the station he is, maintaining the job he has, and bearing the weight of both victims and perpetrators on his shoulders, should be coarse, bitter, emotionless, much like the first agent who grilled me. Yet, here he is, eyes lighting up when he starts to spout off facts. His nervous ticks overflow, making it seem like he is incapable of withholding the truth of what this job does to him. He doesn't want to put me in this position. He's not like the standard brute that treats this job, and it's prey as if they are nothing but a bridge to walk over to get appreciation and approval.

"I want to help you," he proposes in a hushed tone.

"I know," I whisper, easing back in my seat. 

Unexpectedly, he offers me a wink and then stands from his chair. Stepping over to the door, he clasps the doorknob but delays for a moment. I look at him in anticipation. Looking back at me, he declares, "I'm going to get you answers. I promise you that." And with that, he's disappeared behind the two-way glass. A feeling of being left alone in an alternate universe overwhelms me. 

Spencer is somewhere out there on the side of the good guys, his reputation untainted, with the certainty that he will be going home tonight. I, on the other hand, have lived in uncertainty since my brother died. Here I sit, on the side of the glass that is riddled with darkness and evil. Spencer lives in a world of heroes. But I have been subjected to the world of criminals. I have a feeling, though, that I won't have to navigate it alone. 

Tag list:

@mcntsee

[ducknotinarow]

[I WATCH AVENGERS ASSEMBLE FOR THE PLOT]

"Seventy years Captain!" Dracula exclaimed, keeping Steve pinned to the concrete floor, "I have waited seventy years to have you; do you really think I'm foolish enough to wait a moment longer?"

Course not; he's done his time. Barring his fang, he gives a soft hiss,

"Now hold still my Captain; I won't bite too hard."

| Muse interactions [Thats a bald-faced lie uwu] Some reunions from Steves's past were met with a lot of mixed emotions. Finding himself in a whole new world almost was bad enough and yet somehow a lot of his past seemed to have followed him or in the case of him and Dracula waited for him. But seem patience is not something a near-immortal being truly knew or well Drac at least didn't have an ounce of it when it came to Steve.

It felt like the full force of a semi had lunched itself right at Steve, with the force Dracula had nearly thrown himself at the soldier. Back met cold concrete knocked the air right out from him as his head lurched forward. Needing to expel the air right out of his lungs as he gasps harshly after. Left to lower his head back to the ground, Drac was refuse to move once they had Steve right where they deemed him to need to be. Taking all in Steve in the least set his hands flat and firmly against Drac's shoulders. Just enough to keep them back a little. "Seventy years Captain!"

Was all they soon yelled out to Steve, as they in turn kept Steve down on the ground, even if Steve struggled to try and get free the hold Drac had on him was clearly strong than Steve's struggle to break out of it. Even if it wasn't so much the intent Steve was having at the moment, in the least he needed them to just fucking calm down.

"For crying out loud Drac just wait for a second and-" "I have waited seventy years to have you; do you really think I'm foolish enough to wait a moment longer?"

Alright then seemed reason was not an option at the moment. Seeing how Drac wasn't even giving Steve a moment to speak to try and wind them down. He realized it had been a long time since he last likes them have a taste and sure those vampire cravings must be a pain and killer to handle and deal with. How was Steve meant to get back in touch with them though? It wasn't all that easy to get into thier so-called kingdom of eternal darkness as they may think after all. Eyes widen just a bit when seeing Drac bare his fangs at Steve a hiss escaping them, as they were winning out in thier struggle. He could feel Drac's body pressing down on to himself as they lowered further in to get close to his neck.

"Drac-" Steve tried to interject with

"Now hold still my Captain; I won't bite too hard."

Steve didn't buy that for one second he knew Drac clearly had hit their limit here and no matter what they were going to take what they wanted from Steve. Bodies press up against each other, the loud hissing from above him was all just drawing out any rhyme or reasons to the soldier's own mind. The grip on Drac's shoulders was slipping as they were nearly crushing down on Steve, bodies glued to one another.

"If you would just wait a bit more you could have me a bit more personally now would you just relax, it's not like I asked to frozen away for seventy years, unlike you running off and breaking an old alliance to work along with him."

Steve went on to say, now was maybe not the time to be picking this fight with Drac but it was why he was keeping this reunion from going how Drac maybe preferred it to go down. And in part Steve as well. If Steve had it his way this reunion would have been far nicer and less Drac trying to devour him as if they were mere seconds from dying sure. Gripping onto thier shoulders and gritting his teeth Steve leaned his head back and threw it forward slamming his forehead into Dracs. Recoiling from the pain a second as he struggles to open his eyes seeing nothing but stars. "if you would relax I might actually let you, idiot!" Steve slightly fixed them with a glare in turn "You act like you were the only one who was stuck waiting. I didn't plan to go down on the ice that day or leave you behind like I had. I didn't even think I'd make it out alive! much less get to see you again only to find out your off teaming up with skull now? the reason I was frozen away for all that time?!" but now was when Steve picked to have this fight. "So if you want so much as even a drop of blood you better start talking, kind of vampires or not I'm not letting you have a single taste till then got it?" though the threat may be a bit on the empty side considering thier current predicament.

Left to just stare at them fangs bared, and a clear hunger lying in thier red eyes. Hands let go of thier shoulders and were fast to take the sides of their face, yanking them down. Drac wanted blood, Steve wanted a fight but instead, he could feel teeth cut his lip as he captured Darculs mouth into a long-awaited kiss. It had been so long since he had this feeling against his own lips. Thier cold flesh messes with his warm ones. Even with the trickling of blood mixing into it thanks to someone going a tad early on thier own end. Finally letting it break once he found himself gasping for breath. He didn't let go of thier face though, simply held them there in place as he panted softly trying to catch his breath best he could.

"I'm still mad, but I've missed you Drac."

[vickyvicarious]

Mina today like 😒🙄 anyway as I was saying, I could feel my husband who is Jonathan...

Oh man, imagine how offended she will feel when she eventually reads Van Helsing's memorandum and sees what he thought she was talking about. I don't think she noticed before, especially given how hilariously matter-of-fact she is about sensing Jonathan in this entry. But I can easily see her scoffing and kind of just tossing the memorandum down on the table in disgust at that part. Maybe leaving the room to go give Jonathan a kiss (in front of Van Helsing for extra measure) just because.

About her being so matter-of-fact today... It's funny actually, because when she's had premonitions about his condition despite physical separation in the past (thinking he's not on the water in Whitby, her fear to think of him/certainty he's not in danger soon after they part when hunting Dracula) she sounds a bit uncertain. But on November 5 (since both today and yesterday's entries occurred on that day), perhaps as she feels his presence getting closer, she drops any self-doubt or logical justifying in favor of utmost certainty.

"Let us go to meet my husband who is, I know, coming towards us."

"It was late in the afternoon when the Professor and I took our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming."

"The two men might be Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris. I knew at all events that neither of them was Jonathan. At the same time I knew that Jonathan was not far off; looking around I saw on the north side of the coming party two other men, riding at break-neck speed. One of them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took, of course, to be Lord Godalming."

Look at all that knowing! She's not admitting any possibility of doubt at all. It's her husband (who, yes Professor, is of course Jonathan) who she senses and she knows exactly where he's coming from and which one is him. Sure, I guess you could say that she knows he's coming because they're all coming according to the plan, and she could recognize her husband even at such a distance because she knows him so well. But that doesn't really explain her certainty that Jonathan is close even before she sees him, or her consistent focus on only mentioning Jonathan when everyone else is coming towards them too.

And while it's a little less certain, there's even a moment in the middle of the battle where she seems to know he is safe (unlike Quincey sadly):

I should have felt terrible fear at seeing Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardour of battle must have been upon me as well as the rest of them; I felt no fear, but only a wild, surging desire to do something.

She says this just before Jonathan's approach sends the men cowering before him. In my mind it fits well with her certainty that he's in no danger when traveling on the ship, even though as far as they know he might have caught up to Dracula on the river and been in trouble. (In fact, after she says that he has a restful sleep.) It doesn't feel like too far a leap to say that Mina is so tuned in to Jonathan here that she can tell nothing will be happening to him.

If we harken back to early Whitby entries, where Mina woke when Lucy was in danger and felt deep worry about Jonathan, I think it's a lot easier to read as just her being a light sleeper and knowing her friend/husband well enough to tell if someone's off about their behavior or letters. But there's also a possible reading that she has always been a little bit psychic. Maybe she's only really tapped into that power since her attacks, when she was actively trying to use mental powers against Dracula, but at least some of it can be seen as inherently her own, which she's learned to use/trust/strengthen over the course of the book.

(Also, about that last quote - here's a fun theory. Maybe Mina does "do something" here. Maybe she psychically aids Jonathan somehow, helps him bring out the full pissed-off-vampire vibes to stare people down till they literally cannot stand in his way. That could be kind of fun, regardless of whether you assume Jonathan already is supernatural enough himself to do so and she's just helping him make use of it, or if you think she's loaning him some vampyness. ...Actually, I feel like the wafer circle around her should stop her doing any such thing via vampiric methods, so then it would have to be Mina using her normal psychic powers to bring out the full force of Jonathan's Supernatural Weirdness stolen from Dracula in order to protect him. Dunno that I believe it really but it's a cool idea I think.)

[anncanta]

Behind the second highest peak

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

Or read below

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @khyruma

Note: 'Johnny, in my memory, she sits behind the second highest peak at this time of year, and she is quite red.'

Dracula woke up because he was cold. Shuddering, he stirred, moving away instinctively from the source of the cold, and only after that, he opened his eyes.

Tried to focus his gaze.

Raising himself, turned his head and sat down. A strange sensation. Strange and wrong. He had been cold before. Contrary to what had been said about vampires for centuries, he was able to feel the same as others... the same as mortals were echoed through his head. Sometimes even more intense. The difference was…

Dracula dropped his eyes.

The difference was that it didn't bother him before, he thought, looking at the pool of blood smeared on the table.

He spent days and weeks in rooms with stagnant air or almost no air (and in fact, at first he intended to travel in the hold on the Demeter ), with walls covered with frost – as in the corridors of a castle; in a molten haze under the roofs of Turkish tents. The conditions could be, in general, anything – he felt it all, but he was quite capable of surviving.

Now he was haunted by his own jacket and shirt, soaked through with blood.

Dracula tilted his head, listening to himself. Frowned. Licked his lips. Winced at the metallic salty taste that hadn't completely left them.

Hadn't completely left.

He turned, glaring at the female body lying on the table.

He bent down a little, peering into the serene, unconscious face.

Dracula has seen many dead in his lifetime. He knew well what they looked like. Some – many – he made dead himself.

She was alive. And she breathed. Dracula reached out and gently ran two fingers along her carotid artery, listening as he did on the seashore.

Her skin was warm and soft, and her pulse beat rhythmically. Below the artery, closer to the shoulder, there was a bite mark.

Dracula staggered back and slid off the table.

How could this be possible? What happened to them?

He was quite sure when...

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Memories seethed inside, colliding and superimposing, like translucent frames of motion pictures in a movie. Zoe Helsing... Agatha tears the curtain off from the window, the sun cuts the glass, Dracula writhes on the floor. Agatha's voice, mocking and stubborn. Her figure huddled in a chair in the shadows.

‘You will live forever... in shame.’

He vividly remembered how he had approached. Her body was thin and light, and her breath was barely felt. He looked for a suitable place and laid her down on the table. He remembered going down next to her. Remembered as he bent down, burying his face in her neck, and froze. His head was empty. All of his being was suddenly seized by a calm, deep, clear, warm, like the sunlight that had just returned to him.

And then he did the only thing he could – he shared this light with her.

Dracula's eyes widened.

What the hell is going on?

He looked again at the woman lying in front of him. Everything that happened after he bit her – or rather, after they found themselves together in this last dream, was slipping away. Maybe because thought Dracula, he was trying so hard to make these moments easier for her. It must have hurt, he thought, licking his lips, rolling the echoes of the bitter taste on his tongue. No matter how hard he tried, his consciousness stalled further.

Turning away from the table, Dracula pulled off his wet jacket and tossed it aside.

He agreed to die. He made up his mind. He did everything for this.

So why is he still here?

‘I knew that you would deceive me.’

Dracula looked around.

Squinting in displeasure, Agatha's eyes looked at him from the face of Zoe Van Helsing.

‘You calculated everything. Used Zoe, made her drink your blood and come here. Did you miss your toy? Did you want to enjoy it again? Prove that you defeated me?’

Somewhere inside, something awfully familiar fluttered. Warm, sharp, breathtaking. Compressing and releasing.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

‘It was not enough for you to kill me, it was not enough for you to bring me back – without my consent, as before. As always. You pretended to be different. Made me believe that your miserable life has become unbearable for you.’

An old book in an equally old house. In one of the countless cities, he visited about one hundred and fifty years ago. The owner was obsessed with vampires. He almost went crazy with happiness when he learned that he was hosting Count Dracula himself. Dracula found that book by accident.

‘If you hope... If you think that even for a minute you could scare me…’

‘Being a vampire is forever. Never again would he be human. And not even because his body is dead. And not because there is no way. But because the only way is too scary for them. If the ghoul once decides – no matter when it happens and no matter how old he is – to give his life to another – without regrets, doubts, and without a single thought of benefits, then, having died, he will be able to be born again. And again eat earthly water and food, and live without being ashamed of himself.’

Dracula laughed as he read this.

‘...underestimating me. But I swear to you, you will pay me for everything!’

The taste of blood was almost gone, but even a trace of it irritated him. However, the awakened hunger was much stronger.

Approaching the table, Dracula leaned over to Agatha and held out his hand to her.

‘Come on,’ said.

‘Where?’ She asked in amazement.

Dracula smiled with a shrug.

‘To the kitchen. I really want scrambled eggs.’

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Imagine being the reincarnation of Dracula's long lost love: part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

After dinner, you and Dracula went out for a walk in the courtyard. It was overgrown in some spots, and part of the foundation was crumbling. In the middle of the courtyard there was a large fountain, but no water flowed through it and it was chipped in some spots. You could almost imagine what it was like in it's former glory.

You shivered, feeling the cold wind piercing through you. Dracula, unaffected by the cold had forgotten what it was like being mortal. He hadn't thought to tell you to wear a coat and you were so enthralled by him you didn't think of it either. Not wanting you to be cold, he took off his cloak and wrapped it around you. It was warm, and smelled like him, but it dragged on the ground, revealing the distinct height difference between you.

"Better?" He asked, looking down at you thinking about how cute you looked in his cloak. He hadn't felt this way toward another person for a very long time. Too long in fact.

"Yes." You sighed contently as you started to warm up. Was it the cloak making you feeling warm or was it Dracula...maybe both?

At the far end of the courtyard, you stopped to rest on a bench. "It's so peaceful here." You said, looking up at the night sky.

"Do you like it?" Dracula asked you, not taking his eyes off you.

"Oh yes. I heard some of the villagers talk about how frightening they thought it was here, but I don't feel that way at all." You answered honestly.

"You're welcome to stay here, if that's what you wish."

You glanced up at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Do you doubt me?"

You shook your head no.

"Then what's wrong?" He asking noticing the strange expression forming on your face.

"It's just that I've never stayed any place long....never had a home. You barely know me and here you are offering me your home. I don't know what to say." You also thought of Lawrence. You were angry that he locked you in your room, but he was still your friend. He was there for you when you needed him most. You couldn't just abandon him.

Dracula's heart sank at the sad tone in your voice.

"Say that you will." He told you, caressing your hair.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. "If only things were that simple. I want to but-"

"But what? Is it Van Helsing?" He said with a hint of hatred in his voice.

"He's my friend. I don't want to hurt him. He wouldn't understand. If only you two would stop fighting..." You tell him with a sigh. Dracula suddenly fell silent. Was he really willing to go that far for you? All he knew is that if you left, his life would be truly empty. You had only been here a few hours and yet you made him and the castle feel alive again.

"I'm sorry." You said, thinking that maybe you should never have come at all...

"I understand." He said.

"You do?"

"Yes. For now let's just enjoy our last few moments together. Tomorrow Henry will bring you back."

Your heart ached and you felt like you wanted to cry. You wrapped your arm around Dracula, pulling him close to you in a tight embrace.

It hurt him to let you go again. He felt like he was losing you twice. He hoped that while you were here you'd remember your previous life, but as the night went on it didn't seem to matter to him as much. He started to fall in love with you.

After a few minutes, you walked with him back into the castle. It was nearly dawn now and you knew that it was time for him to return to his coffin. He guided you back to your room, stopping at your door. "I guess this is where we say goodbye." You say, looking down at your feet not wanting him to see your eyes becoming watery. He placed his finger underneath your chin, lifting your head up to look at him.

"Thank you." He said in barely more than a whisper.

"For what?" You ask.

"Reminding me what it's like to feel alive."

You sighed. "Oh, Vlad..."

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"Goodbye." Dracula said, touching his forehead against your own. Taking a deep breath he pulled away and took off down the hallway. If he didn't leave he now, he would never be able to let you go.

Run after him. Your mind told you. Go! But your feet stayed put. Was it really because of Lawrence or was it because you were afraid? Afraid of what? Being happy for once?  As you packed your bag and got ready for Henry to take you back to the inn, you told yourself that it would never have worked anyway. You weren't his wife. When he realized that would he have wanted you?

"You ready Miss?" Henry said, helping you into the carriage. "Let's just go." You stopped to look at the castle one last time, catching a glimpse of Dracula in the window above, your eyes meeting for a moment before you climbed in. It broke your heart to leave. You never felt such a heaviness before. The castle faded into the distance as the carriage drove further and further away.

You went over everything in your mind, trying to find some way to make things work. There was no other way... You finally made up your mind. You were going back to the castle after you talked to Lawrence. You had always listened to your brain, now you listened to your heart and your heart practically shouted Dracula's name.

It was nearly mid-day when you arrived at the inn. "I'm sorry to see you go." Henry said, handing you your bag.

"Hold on, Henry. I'll be right back." You told him.

"Wait what?" He shot you a confused look. "I'm going back. Wait for me." You said. Henry smiled, happy that you changed your mind.

"Is Lawrence Van Helsing still here?" You ask the lady at the desk. " Oh yes he is! He's in room 7." She tells you.

"Thank you." You ran up the stairs and stop in front of door 7. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" You heard Lawrence call out from inside. "It's me." You answered. Seconds later the door flung open with a surprised Van Helsing standing there, his mouth slightly agape.

"Y/N!" He gasped, pulling you into a hug.

"Well hello to you too Lawrence!" You chuckled.

"Are you alright?" He asked you.

"Yes." You answer as takes you by the hand and pulls you into his room.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing." You replied.

"Are you sure?" He says, his eyes scanning you.

"Positive" You say, amused.

"Let me see your neck." Van Helsing said, reaching for you.

"Lawrence-"

"Please?" He implored you. You tucked your hair back and pulled your collar down for him to see. He leaned in close and carefully examined your neck. When he was satisfied he backed away.

"How did you escape then?" He questioned you further.

"I didn't escape." You answer simply. "He let me go." Van Helsing looked at you dumbfounded.

"Dracula let you go?" He repeated. You nodded your head yes in response. "How strange..." He said, rubbing his chin.

"Well I'm glad you're here now. We have lots to talk about. I think I have come up with a plan to defeat Dracula."

"Dracula is what I came here to talk to you about." He placed his hands on your shoulders, looking worried. "What is it?"

"I'm in love with Dracula." You told him, biting your lip, nervously awaiting his reaction.

"What? No! He must have you under some enchantment somehow." He reasoned.

"No enchantments, I promise. I chose to love him with my own free will." You assured him.

Lawrence felt his heart shatter to a million pieces at your words. He lost so much to Dracula already, now he lost whatever chance he had with you too.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I feel drawn to him like I've known him my whole life." You explain.

"You're just talking nonsense! You sound like a silly schoolgirl!" He hissed. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

"Lawrence, please try to understand. I love him and I'm going back. I just wanted to talk to you first, to let you know I'm alright. You're my friend and I care about you." You told him, gently pushing him away.

"I care about you too and I will not let you go back there to that monster!" He spat.

"He is not a monster. Maybe if you tried to help him-"

"He is beyond help Y/N. " Van Helsings interupted.

"Lawrence I didn't come here to argue with you!" You shouted. Your sudden outburst making him fall silent.

"I'm going back and nothing you say will change my mind." You stated.

"What will you do if he doesn't want you back?" He asked, trying to change your mind anyway.

"Then I'll go some place else. That's what I've always done." There was a moments silence between you, although it felt like an eternity. You didn't want to have to say goodbye to your friend, but you had to do what you felt was right.

"Here, take this." You said, pulling off your necklace and placing it in his palm. It was gold a necklace with a single red heart on it. It was a gift to you from your mother. You had other things to remember her by.

"Take care of it will you?" You said. He nodded his head, unable to form any words.

"Bye..." You said, leaving the room, shutting the door behind you. You brushed some tears away from your eyes as you went back down the stairs. At least you tried.

"All set Miss Y/N?" Henry asked, opening the door for you. "Yes. Take me home."

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 68-69 (nice)

This is the “Castlevania” arc.   It’s only two parts, but I want to slow down and take my time with this one.

Okay, so in the last chapter, Alucard was fighting Alexander Anderson, who used one of the nails from the True Cross to pierce his own heart, which transformed Anderson into some sort of miraculous creature made of thorny tendrils.   Then he struck a heavy blow on Alucard’s head, and just sort of kept on going down his neck and chest.  

And as far as we call tell, this is the most danger Alucard’s been in since the story began.  Anderson lopped off his head in their first encounter, and even that didn’t stop him.   Now, in this “holy monster” form, Anderson can grow back body parts just as easily as Alucard, and he seems to be able to hurt Alucard a lot more than ever before.  The irony is that Alucard might have been honored to lose to Anderson, but only when he was a human foe.  Now that Anderson has used the Nail of Helena to become something inhuman, Alucard feels that it diminishes their fight.   

Regardless, Alucard is in serious danger, or so it seems.   Even his horde of familiars are bursting into flames all around him, which I assume is a side-effect of Anderson’s attack.   As this happens, Alucard appears to lose consciousness, and flashes back to his childhood. 

This whole flashback seemed like a nonsequitur to me when I watched the Hellsing Ultimate OVA, but I think it makes a bit more sense this time around.  As a boy in the 1440′s, Vlad Tepes was something of a religious fantatic, much like Father Anderson in 1999.   He pledged to never ask God for anything, which I don’t think is theologically sound, but let’s run with it.  The point here seems to be that Vlad felt it was more pious to endure hardship while keeping his faith in God.

For example, in this scene, we see Vlad being dragged away to be raped, and he grabs the cross he wears around his neck for solace.   He doesn’t beg God for mercy or deliverance, but simply clings to his faith to see him through.   

I’m assuming the man in shadow is Sultan Murad II of the Ottoman Empire.  In 1442, Murad summoned Vlad’s father to Gallipoli, and he went there with Vlad and his brother Ruda.  The Sultane then imprisoned all three of them, and eventually released Vlad’s father, but kep the boys as hostages to ensure the fahter’s loyalty.   There was a period when Vlad’s father sided against the Ottomans, and he presumed his sons had been killed, but in fact they survived and eventually returned to Wallachia.   So maybe Kouta Hirano is taking some creative license here, and suggesting that Murad II took out his anger on Vlad in other ways. 

Eventually, Vlad became the Voivoide of Wallachia, and in this flashback we find that he considers fighting to be a form of prayer.   Not for mercy, because Vlad refuses to ask for that.   Instead, he seems to believe that if you just keep fighting hard enough, God will descend from the heavens.   None of this made sense to me the first time around, but once you start interpreting this in the context of Vlad as a religious extremist, it starts to add up.   Anderson’s fellows in the Iscariot Organization were literally blowing themselves up to help Anderson defeat Alucard, and they were happy to do it, because they saw it as a holy mission.    Anderson himself was eager to use the Nail to make himself into a monster, because he craved to be a single-minded instrument of God’s will.   A righteous bludgeon to smite the wicked.    Vlad Tepes’ “bloodlust” seems to have been inspired by a similar zealotry, at least as Hirano sees it.

But in the end, did God descend to respond to Vlad’s “prayers”?   The image of the modern Alucard is all the answer we need.    Of course that didn’t happen.  

I’m just cribbing from the Vlad the Impaler page on Wikipedia, but from what I gather about Vlad’s final years, he was fighting for the office of Voivoide of Wallachia against Basarab Laiotă , who had support from the Ottoman Empire.   Vlad fought and lost, probably dying in battle in December 1476/Janury 1477.   The story goes that his corpse was cut into pieces, and his head sent to Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II.

So Kouta Hirano depicts Vlad’s final moments with him being captured and executed.  This is certainly plausible, and it gives Vlad a chance to reflect on his failure before he meets his fate.    He fought and killed so many people, daring to resist the Ottomans even as he ruled a state that was basically controlled by the Ottomans, and I guess he must have known how impossible that would be, which is why he counted on God to deliver him, so long as he fought hard enough.

But in that final moment, just as the axe comes down on his neck, he still has his cross... but instead of taking solace in that, he reaches out instead for the puddle of blood in front of him.    The axe comes down and shatters the cross, just as Vlad Tepes forsakes his humanity.  

So maybe all of this is a way of Alucard accepting defeat.   Defeated and humbled, no longer a servant of God or a leader of men, no longer even a man, he renounced his faith and became the vampire Dracula, and eventually Alucard.    But now Anderson seems to have the upper hand, so maybe, after 523 years, Vlad Tepes is back where he started, facing an inevitable death.  

And you know, maybe Anderson’s monster form represents the divine intervention he was waiting for back in the 15th Century.   After all these centuries of battle, you might say that God finally did descend from heaven to respond to Alucard.   So maybe this is a fitting swan song for the guy.  He wanted to die at the hands of a human adversary, but maybe this works too, right?  

But then he hears someone calling out to him, and...

Hey, it’s Seras!

So yeah, we’re back to the real world, and Anderson’s well on his way to chopping Alucard in half and burning him with holy fire or something...

And Alucard’s still out of it...

And then Seras jumps in to save his ass!   Cool!

The only problem is that this was killing Alucard, and Seras is less powerful than Alucard, so she’s probably not going to be able to do a lot of good here.    For that matter, this might just get both of them killed.  

And this is why I think this moment is cool.   When Team Four Star did their Abridged parody of Hellsing, they sort of skipped this whole “Seras jumps in” part of the fight.   Instead, they did a whole thing where Alucard has a near-death experience and talks to God.   Then he rejects God’s offer of forgiveness and goes on to defeat Anderson by himself.   I don’t care much for that, because Seras is my favorite character, and I find the whole routine of “Well maybe I don’t need your forgiveness, God!” kind of stale and limp.    Can something be stale and limp at the same time?  

Like, I think I get that a lot of atheists are sore at the whole “organized religion” thing, but it seems kind of silly to write a whole bit where the premise is that God is real, but only so we can all tell him to get lost.  Like, I’m a Christian, so I can’t really relate, but if I thought God didn’t exist, I wouldn’t spend all day writing angry text messages to God to remind him of how fake he is.  

But mostly, I just really like Seras, and this is a cool Seras scene, and I think that deserves attention, so here we are.

The Alucard-Seras relationship is complex by design.    With Integra and Alucard, there’s not much to it.   She literally addresses him as “slave” at one point, and he repeatedly talks about himself like a weapon that she has to point at her target.   There’s something kind of like that with Al and Seras.   In one of their first missions together, he sends her to take out a bunch of ghouls just so he won’t be bothered, and it’s almost like he’s weilding her as a weapon.  But he also never leans on that too hard.  For one thing, there’s not a whole lot of thngs Seras can do for him that he can’t do more easily himself.   

It feels a lot more like a Master/Apprentice relationship, which may not strictly be a vampire thing, because he’s teaching her how to hunt vampires and how to be a vampire at the same time.  I think Seras has the same sort of devotion to her master as he does for Integra, but that’s mostly overshadowed by a more down-to-earth respect and admiration.   She sees him like a superior officer and a mentor, but she also knows that he has this strange charm over her that she can’t explain or resist.  

One of the things I can’t stand about he Gonzoverse Hellsing Anime is how after a while they just started having Seras say “Master...!” over and over.    I get it, there’s some power in the way she says it.   It means a lot of things to her.   I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that “Castlevania part 2″ inspired some of that, but I don’t know what chapter of the manga was published when the anime wrapped up.   But it annoyed me that they just used “Master...!” over and over again as a shorthand for Seras’s feelings.   You have to do something with it.  Demonstrate it, like we’re seeing here with Seras trying to remove a blessed bayonet from Alucard’s torso.    She has to help him, even if it means risking her own neck, because he means so much to her, and she wouldn’t be here without him.   And yeah, she’s his vampire servant, so this seems like something a loyal servant should be doing.   Stickin’ together is what good waffles do.

Let me pause here to note that this marks the destruction of whatever remained of Dandyman and Rip van Winkle, the only “name” characters featured in Alucard’s menagerie of absorbed souls.    Whatever Anderson is doing to Alucard, it’s destroying them, irrevocably.  

So it occurred to me one day, what if Seras has to save Alucard, not out of slavish devotion or plucky heroism, or even righteous loyalty?   Way back in Chapter 1, Integra explained vampires to the local authorities, and said that when you kill a vampire, you also destroy all the ghouls and servant vampires that were created by that first vampire.   In other words, if Alucard were to be destroyed, Seras ought to die with him.    So maybe her efforts here could be nothing more than self-preservation.    I’m not wild about that idea.   Maybe, after drinking Pip’s blood, Seras “graduated” from that lowly status, and she no longer depends upon Alucard in this way.  

But I think the point remains either way.   They’re in this together.   Alucard called the two of them a family, and it wasn’t just creepy vampire talk.   There’s a bond between them, and it matters to both of them.   And that’s why Seras’ intervention here is what brings Alucard back from the brink.   By rushing in to help him, Seras has placed herself in danger, and now they have to rescue each other.

I like this part where he puts his hand on hers as they pull out the bayonet together.    It’s like the moment when Seras reached out to Alucard in Cheddar and he took her hand then.   Well, that was only in the OVA, but still.  

Alucard tells Anderson that he might have welcomed a death like this, maybe back when he was about to get beheaded in 1476, but now, he refuses to be defeated.    523 years ago, he was at his lowest ebb.   He had nothing.   Today, he has Seras.  

And... yeah, he has Integra too.   I don’t want to dismiss the importance of that relationship.   But Integra could find a way to get by without him if she needed to.   He has a responsibility to Seras, though, and Seras’s loyalty trumps whatever death-fantasies he might have on his mind.

Then Al turns into this form, which I guess is the same outfit he was wearing back in 1989, when Integra found him in the basement.  Not sure if that’s supposed to mean anything, though.  

Oh, and I guess there’s still a few familiars that didn’t burn up from before?   This is the last time we see them though, so maybe this final attack finishes them off.

As Alucard strikes the final blow on Anderson, Integra flashes back to her father, who taught her about the vampires’ inner psyche.    Arthur Hellsing suggested that vampires don’t have a whole lot to show for their immortality.   They crave conflict, not for its own sake, but becuse they long for death.   Not just any ol’ death, but a kind of death that they could take some solace in.   We’ve already seen this in Alucard, as he seems to relish the idea of being killed by a human like Anderson, or van Helsing.    If all he wanted was death, he could have let that Ottoman headsman finish the job 523 years ago.   Instead, he lost everything, and he’s spent centuries with nothing to take comfort in.   And that probably explains why Alucard is so happy with his service to Integra.   At least she gives him a purpose, a duty, a cause to fight for.  

And finally, Alucard rips out Anderson’s heart, with the Holy Nail still in it. 

And he crushes it, which I guess it enough to neutralize the Nail’s effect?   Well, cool enough then.

But Al takes no pleasure in this victory.   He sees in Anderson a reflection of himself, back when he was a human.   The fanaticism, the failure, the rejection of humanity to become a monster, and then failure again.   

And then Anderson, or whats’ left of him, consoles Alucard before he dies.

[mrspanky]

The Time We Lost: pt 2.

(Pt.1 here).

Jason Todd x Reader (female pov).

Content: Angst, language, and mentions of killing.

Readers note: I had fun with this hehe. It’s mostly just angst/romance and nothing explicit happens here but anyone is free to expand the end to nsfw content, I’m just not comfortable doing so personally. If you guys are interested I’ll do a part three! I’m loving this series so far and I have some ideas for continuations. Songs to listen to while reading: Honestly I just had Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde on repeat while writing! Other songs I’d recommend that fit the storyline though, and not just the vibe, are are Scary Love by The Neighborhood, and If Only You Could Ease My Mind by Art of Sleeping.

𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫𓅫

You felt your face go white as you gaped at Jason entering the bedroom window. The red helmeted figure turned to face you and froze, standing tall and terrible, silhouetted by the storm outside sending lightning flashes through the sky. It felt like you were in a 1920’s horror movie. But you weren’t in a 20’s film, and the figure at the window was no Dracula. He didn’t move. “What are you doing here.” His voice was muffled because of the helmet and had a quality to it that told you he must have had a microphone in the mask he was using to make his voice clearer. It didn’t sound like him, but the way he pronounced his words was eerily the same as it had been. You shook off your nerves. “Hello to you too. You’ve been gone so long I thought it would’ve given you time to come up with a better opening line”.

You kicked yourself internally. You had no idea what mental state he was in, and here you were already giving him attitude. As you were worrying, he began to reach up to take off the helmet. A sense of dread overtook you. Would he be scarred? Would he even look like Jason anymore? He pulled it off slowly and ran his fingers through his hair. There was a grey streak in it that hadn’t been there before. “Wasn’t planning on seeing any of you again, sorry it slipped my mind.” Your heart sank. He looked so much older than he had, just as you’d noticed with yourself earlier in the mirror. Not in a wrong or crude way, necessarily, but it was a painful physical representation of the time you had both lost. “Were you just not going to let me know you were alive?” A strange sense of anger came over you. “Come on,” he smirked. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back to haunt all you assholes?”

“So I’m an asshole now, is that it?” Casually, he took off his jacket and shirt and dropped them on the floor, then sat with his back to you on the bed, taking off his boots. “Maybe”. Infuriated, you exhaled sharply through your nose. “Jason, how the fuck am I the asshole here. You were gone for so long and then you just come back without a warning and start harassing Bruce, and you even have a new name and costume? I would’ve, and have killed during all this time just to hear your voice one more time. To hear you say you were ok. That you survived and that you were coming back...to...to us, ...but nothing! You were dead! We didn’t...we didn’t know. We couldn’t find you. We couldn’t find you, and then we all broke. I broke. And…” tears were streaming down your face. “...and...I’m sorry”. He was very still for a moment, and then he stood and walked to the window.

With his back still to you, he silently looked out at the storm still clashing outside. You stared at him, feeling hopeless. Suddenly, a sensation began to overcome you out of nowhere. Raising your hand to your forehead, you unexpectedly began to feel yourself sway, and you crashed to the floor out of exhaustion. Jason turned around quickly. Confusion and then fear overtook him. He approached you quickly and kneeling over you; he checked your pulse. Relief flooded him as he felt your heart beating steadily at your neck. “She was terrified,” he thought, cursing himself. “Way to go, fucking zombie.”

He hadn’t known you before to be someone easily scared, so he felt even more frustrated. “Why’d she have to come here. I didn’t need her to see me like this. Bruce deserves to see what he could’ve prevented happening if he didn’t have such a fucking stupid moral code, but she didn’t do anything wrong. Hell, she even said she’d killed. I don’t even want that for her, though. Damnit”. He looked down at your flushed face. Despite himself, he’d missed you. He carefully reached down and picked you up, walking over to the bed. He laid you down, trying to be as delicate as he could. “Well, this is a fucking mess,” he thought to himself.

You woke up in the middle of the night. Your head hurt, and you were somewhere you didn’t recognize. Dazedly, you sat up in the bed you were in and glanced around, trying to make out your surroundings in the light coming from the faint and soft city glow from the window. Your eyes landed on a figure on the other side of the bed from you, facing away from you. You jumped, startled by the unexpected sight. Quick as a flash, the figure turned over and pinned you to the bed. You looked into the eyes above. You recognized it to be Jason, as his eyes widened slightly, and he let you go and got off you, sitting up. You started to get up and back away. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said. Without thinking, Jason reached out and embraced you.

This was so out of character, and both of you were intimately aware. The unspoken gravity of his action hung in the air. Well, it wasn't precisely out of character. Jason was born a naturally emotionally in-tune and affectionate person, but years of pain had given him walls that even he couldn't break down. You gasped and froze. It had been so long. He didn’t let go, partially because he was in shock from what he’d just done and partly because he was in shock from being this close to you for the first time in ages. You could smell his familiar scent of cigarette smoke and that musky cologne he’d been wearing for forever. You melted and began to cry silently. This was definitely the most you’d cried in a short period of time since you could remember. He tried to want to let go because of his fear of being truly intimate with people, but his feelings betrayed him, and he pulled you closer, holding you tightly as you clung to him just as tightly. His eyebrows furrowed in pain as he remembered against his own will how much he’d genuinely missed you. Before he had died, you had been the only person he could always count on, no matter what.

You softly lifted your hands and reached up, touching his face for the very first time. It was softer than you had expected, but you felt a few little scars. You stared into his intense blue eyes. They had a faint ring of hazel around the pupil, and it faded into tones of green that you’d never noticed before that meshed with the blue, creating a complex layering of colors that reminded you of the sky, sea, and earth, all coming to meet each other. He was so beautiful. Your stomach hurt from how badly you just wanted to absorb him to yourself forever and never let him be hurt again. You badly wanted to be closer to him, but you weren’t sure if kissing him was a good idea. He lightly inhaled, taken aback by your hand on his face, once again startled by the first positive physical contact he’d experienced since he couldn’t remember when. He gazed back at you, taking in every detail of your sad face. You were so ethereal in the lighting from the window, like a sorrowful angel from a stormy Renaissance painting.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He missed you. He really fucking missed you, and he wanted you. “Fuck it,” he thought. No more pushing this feeling down. Before he could change his mind, he reached forward and grabbed your face with both of his hands, sore from fighting but strong, and brought both of your lips into a harsh and desperate collision. You froze with shock, lighting spreading through your body. He was so strong and savage. And yet, he was tender. You felt that he’d been just as desperate for you as you’d been for him. “After all of the time we’ve lost,” you thought. You melted into him once more, kissing him back with the same level of desperation, as he brought his one hand to the back of your head and grabbed your hair, his other hand not leaving your cheek. You breathed heavily in between kisses. “This cannot be real,” you thought.

[kkeidawrites]

Castlevania spoilers!!!! If you don’t want to know how the show ends in season 4 please refrain from reading the rest of this post because I’m not holding back! Also I’m writing this as I watched so, this is my raw review!

Okay, so first off I want to say personally, I loved how season 4 brought heat to the finale of the show. Although I’m sad as hell that this is the last season for a great show.

Episode 1: Murder Wakes It Up- I thought that it was cool to see Trevor and Sypha fighting again after what happened in S3, obviously they are tired from the long four week journey of fighting night creatures, skeleton zombies, vampires from different countries, etc. but clearly the end game is that humans and vampires alike are working together to bring back Dracula. Like seriously, y’all might not know this but I hate, HATE when children become involved in stupid shit like human sacrifices like I can’t. Not the children. Please, not the babies. Sypha complaining she’s becoming like Trevor, and she’s so cute when she curses lol. Then when they arrive in Targoviste we have some new faces as potential enemies. I thought they were lame honestly lol I couldn’t take Barney-Larney whatever his dumbass was; he was mad annoying.

Then they shift over to Alucard…I have never seen a more broken beautiful drunk man in all my life. Like I had S3 flashbacks. He’s asked for help from a messenger who ended up dying on the way to the castle but his horse made sure he continued the journey and Alucard received the message for help in Danesti. Alucard fights with the horse, I thought that was funny. He was thoughtful enough to bury the rider, that was very sweet of him.

Also, shirtless Alucard will be engraved in my mind for life. Whew, chile that’s one fine man. He’s beginning to talk like Belmont and I can’t help how hilarious that is.

Episode 2: Having the World: Quite honestly this episode to me was meh. Hector talking with Lenore about how he needs this and that to create his hammer to continue forgemastering then Lenore talks with Carmilla and the white haired bat talks about how she is going to rule the world and what not, clearly losing her sanity.

Then it shifts over to Trevor and Sypha and they are fighting in a barn and new character Zamfir. Her character for me was also meh, but it’s nice to see more PoC in the show.

Episode 3: Walk Away: I liked this episode a lot. Issac altogether was nice enough to sit down and talk with a night creature and tell him/them that they were free of their original program, which was: eating humans, causing destruction, used as tools to forge masters. But man when he received that berry from Issac he realized that there is still some kind of humanity in them.

Issac is contacted by Varney to bring back Dracula but, Issac wants no business with that; he doing his own thing and seeing him being sassy again is so refreshing.

Morana and Striga scenes!!! I loved them, and then there was Striga’s day armor, man listen…I have never felt more closer to watching Berserk again than in that moment. They are hesitant to return back to Styria when Carmilla calls them, and it puts them in a bind to return home to continue through with Carmilla’s plans.

Sypha being annoyed by Zamfir was me the entire time. How you gone run a kingdom again with out a kingdom. Like girl, help the people instead of the royals, my god.

Episode 4: You Must Sacrifice: A cute little Trevor and Sypha scene. They decide to investigate Targoviste more before helping Zamfir. The scene shifts and Alucard is riding towards Danesti, donning a shield and a longer cape. Monsters are attacking the walls of the village, villagers are on the other side waiting to defend themselves. Some Castlevania popular screenshots appear here.

Then we meet Greta…Miss thang…that’s one beautiful woman okay. And she’s the chief of the village, cares for her people? Y’all I present. Her. And the fact that she is sassy too? I rock with her heavy as hell.

Saint Germain meets Alucard and I have a weird vibe coming from him. We see Saint Germain’s backstory or what little it will show us; he had a whole girlfriend, she a baddie too. Apparently she was like him? And she was the silhouette we saw in S3. Cool scene, inside the Infinite Corridor and I liked the library scene a lot too. Now he’s on a rampage trying to find access to the Infinite Corridor again to find his girl and he also wants to bring back Dracula? The fuck?

Refugees arrive at Danesti, and Saint Germain is acting very strange indeed. Like he’s desperate to go to the castle to help with the village “defenses”. Alucard agrees I guess? And he says another Belmont comment which I was happy to see again in the season.

Episode 5: Back in the World: Alucard leads Greta, Saint Germain and the villagers to his castle but, encounter a couple of night creatures on the way. Greta does Saint Germain y’all and I’m with her 100%. Alucard’s powers have definitely improved from last season. It was kind of interesting how Alucard willing told Greta what happened with him and you know who, kind of early in my opinion. Greta is bisexual?!!!! I love her 1000% now! I sense some chemistry between Greta and Alucard. I like that a lot.

Lenore really like annoys my soul, I do not like this mini bitch. I didn’t really care what Lenore and Hector talked about🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️sue me. Bruh Greta, beating that monster’s ass with just a hammer and a sword?! And Alucard impressed by it?! I’m here for it!! Some cute moments between Alucard and Greta got me gushing over here😝😝. Poor puppy😢😢. Alucard decides to “grow up” which I think is a nice step forward. Saint Germain is really making me mad.

They arrive at the castle and here goes Saint Germain acting like a fan boy, I mean who wouldn’t but you know…Greta killed me when she said the castle was ugly as hell lol. Another little cutesy scene between Alucard and Greta. Like I really like their chemistry y’all I’m sorry.

Trevor and Sypha demand that Zamfir take responsibility to help the people and I forgot what it was called but, before that they are attacked and Zamfir has something placed on her neck by a night creature.

Then Issac, he’s ready to fuck some shit up. And I’m here for it. Get em, bitch!

Episode 6: You Don’t Deserve My Blood: Carmilla’s castle is attacked by Issac’s night creatures. Lenore old punk ass running away does not surprise me in the slightest. Hector betrays Lenore and locks her in a cage. Hector has contact with Saint Germain like what? I don’t understand but, Issac comes in and it looks like Hector has given up, wanting to die honestly. Issac decides against killing him and Hector asks for his knife. This boy cuts his ring finger that the Lenore placed the ring, in front of her. That scene was meh, I thought he would get pissed at her for what she’s done to him in S3 but, I guess not.

Issac literally stole this episode, from his fight with the vampires and night creatures to Carmilla that shit was -chef’s kiss- magnifico! I loved the animation the fight scenes, yooo I was hyped the whole episode.

Morana and Striga make their decision to go their own way, living their own lives in the west so, bittersweet ending with them, I wanted to actually Striga fight the main trio but, whatever I guess.

Hector still has plans to bring back Dracula and asks Issac if he’s doing the same. Issac has other plans obviously, and tells Hector that they need to find their path in their lives. I feel Hector never knew where he was supposed to be placed in the world but Issacs words are very inspiring in my opinion. May have woke Hector’s dumbass up a bit.

Episode 7: The Great Work: Varney and the other guy, I really forgot his name found out about the catacombs and head there. Trevor and Sypha demand Zamfir take them underground, which to me I think it’s nothing there but her shit. Sypha gets mad at Zamfir and I’m with her, how you part of the royal guard when the people above need your help girl my god.

The cutest scene ever in this episode, was when the kids from Danesti wanting to play with Alucard and this boy jumps off the highest part of the castle just to show off. There should be more scenes of soft Alucard with children. Saint Germain is placing these weird stones it looks like in the castle walls. What is going on with him?

More Alucard and Greta moments please and thank you. The artwork in the castle is fucking phenomenal work. Saint Germain just gave the location to a vampire it looks like, from episode 4 maybe? He looks familiar.

There is a freaking army coming to the castle…lord Jesus. Like can they catch a break please? The kids just got settled.

Trevor and Sypha go to the catacombs and it’s just as bad as the people above grounds. New weapon acquired for Trevor, pretty dope. The king and Queen are dead and Zamfir is officially insane. She really thinks that the king and Queen will come back alive and protect their people like she’s done them. Sypha tries to talk to her, that puts her in a weird daze, Trevor is just being Trevor. Varney and his lackey, come to the catacombs looking to kill I really do not know that man’s name y’all so I apologize for not giving a damn about him lol.

The castle is about to be under siege, I’m not ready. Having a whole heart attack over here from nerves.

Episode 8: Death Magic: Varney and his partner attack the people in the catacombs, Varney is looking for a giant mirror? Why I don’t know. Poor Trevor and Sypha they are soooo tired, I feel so bad for them. Zamfir is actually not bad of a fighter, I like that. Sypha still the goat, no cap.

The castle is under attack, it’s actually nice to see how diverse the vampires are in this show, you can tell what countries their from and I think that’s dope as hell. And then every time a human dies their souls are transferred to Saint Germaine? So is this another S3 human sacrifice crap again? Omg…I’m so sick of that. Saint Germain uses the key he received from the woman in the Infinite Corridor and it creates the symbol of the corridor’s portal.

Here goes Alucard being a badass again, I never tire of him being one. Greta holding it down too is really cool, I don’t care what nobody say, she is that bitch. Her and that hammer, a force to be reckoned with.

Everyone is overwhelmed and have no choice but to evacuate to the castle, right before those doors closed Alucard nods to her to leave him out to fight and she looks at him like boy bye. Get yo ass in this castle. Greta pulling Alucard in just shows they are compatible for one another. Even the playful banter between them is cute.

The discovery of the stones in the walls leads Greta and Alucard to his childhood bedroom and they find Saint Germain where he reveals he’s opening the Infinite Corridor to bring back Dracula by using death magic. Petty Saint Germain, I do not like him bro.

They have to deal with him later though to fight off the night creatures that got into the castle. Greta still holding it down.

Trevor and the vampire guy is still fighting but, Trevor being so tired he’s slowing a bit, and honestly I don’t know how he’s still able to function at this point. Sypha shows off her powers like a G that she is and Zamfir is doing some great damage with the knives she’s got and that’s crazy how little knives can do to the body.

Did Sypha always have lightning powers? I don’t remember. If it’s new I love it! Trevor’s almost killed but a woman and child save him in time but, unfortunately Zamfir is stabbed in the stomach when the vampire moves to kill them both. I’m going to be honest I didn’t really care for Zamfir’s character she was just…there lol.

Then that scene with Sypha basically incinerating the rest of the monsters is fire!!! No pun intended lol. Varney finds the mirror and steps through it where Saint Germain is. Trevor and Sypha goes through the mirror as well but in a different location in the castle.

Episode 9: The Endings: This whole episode was literally the best of the best in any other seasons. The fight scenes, the banter, the main three…oh my God I loved it all. Noooooo, the dolls!!!!!! You bastards!!!! Trevor and Sypha’s entrance was perfect. Muah! Perfecto! The rock monsters really confused me on how they were killed but you know what who cares?

Alucard has wings?!!!!! What?!!!!!!!!! The general of the caravan have brought in the man woman thingy to Saint Germain. Death has appeared. His character design is dope af. Noooo not mom and dad!!! Nooo! Poor Alucard had to witness his parents literally in pain and of course Trevor ends it again, somehow Saint Germain redeemed himself almost?

The four vampires fighting the main trio had me running for my money. I liked the whole scene it was nice to see at least one or two vampires almost have the upper hand on the main trio.

That general vampire? His fight was wild, throwing his arm as it was about to explode and use it against Trevor was genius. And main trio…they don’t need to have a plan to fight they just work so well together that it works out in end.

Trevor vs. Death. Also was that the first time Trevor told Sypha he loved her? I can’t remember. Anyway, back to the final battle. The quality of the fight, the sheer power between both characters, and then he goes and sacrificed himself like Trevor are you deadass? You deadass died? Unacceptable. And then episode just ends.

Episode 10: It’s Been a Strange Ride: Lenore died so lame, and she was drunk as well when she died. I really won’t be missing her because she was just a character I very much disliked. Hector is finally free, little dumbass.

I wanna see what Issac is up to and Morana and Striga seems appropriate. But oh well, I hope they are happy wherever they are.

Tombstone for Trevor, it’s not real. He ain’t dead, I don’t believe that. Omg, Greta and Alucard are together?!!! Whoooooo!!! And the village kids are calling him father? Yasssssssssssss!!!!! I’m here for it. Alucard saying he’s not used to people is 100% me in public I don’t like being around a lot of people and it doesn’t help I have anxiety either. Sypha being pregnant was a given she looked a little thicker in the hips from episode one. She can’t leave…we need her. Really Castlevania creators? Y’all gone play with all our hearts? Thinking Trevor was dead and he gone pop up on a horse?

And look at this⤵️⤵️

He’s smiling, happy, soft, has a boo thang I’m….😭😭😭I’m so happy.

Y’all….all in all this was a great ending to the show…a great ending…

Oh wait…wait…wait wait wait, mom and dad are alive?!!! But how? You know what I don’t care their going to travel to England and their heart shaped embrace is everything. Oh no I’m crying again….