#my brain feels parched after studying for a few hours

[t0daybutmaybet0morr0w]

hi people of studyblr

how does one study for many hours without feeling like their brain is dehydrated?

[lazybutsmexy]

Heart-stopping

Alejandro Vargas x f!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, mention of violence, description of injuries, otherwise pure fluff, pregnancy announcement, crack?

Summary: Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro. You may easily give him a heart attack, though.

On AO3

A/N: Sorry, this is not my triumphant comeback. I had to get this out of my system so I can continue my work. I hope to be able to write more soon though!

~•~•~•~•~•~

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The proverb was often repeated among his peers and subordinates with a mix of awe and reverence, and by his rivals and enemies with spiteful resignation.

You, however, repeated it as a mantra - or a prayer? - in your head whenever his chest rose and fell with every breath. Just like you had for a week now.

Just an hour earlier, the nurse had come with orders from the doctor to pull him off the meds keeping him asleep, and you anxiously wrung your hands together, waiting for any signal of your beloved Alejandro awakening.

When he finally shifted and gave signals of waking up, you released a shaky breath you weren't even aware of holding. His name fell from your lips in a whisper, and his eyes flew open as if a spell had been broken at the sound.

As soon as his eyes found yours, his lips flickered a smile, revealing the dimples that created ripples on his cheeks like the ocean.

"Buenos días, mi amor," he breathed out, his voice rugged and raspy from a combination of sleep and a dry throat.

"Es medianoche, pendejo," you offered him a wide grin, carefully approaching him and cupping his face, pressing your lips to his with the urgency that it warranted.

After the longest week of your life, your lover was finally awake.

A few seconds later, you pulled away and inwardly celebrated the little dispeased noise he made when trying to chase your lips. You offered him a glass of water instead, and he accepted it silently, taking slow sips until his parched throat didn't resemble a desert anymore.

Once he was satisfied, you took the glass back and cupped his face, your fingers stroking the growing stubble and brushing against the bandage covering his head.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" Your voice was quiet as you studied him carefully, looking for any hint of pain.

"I feel pretty numb all over," he groaned, nuzzling your hand like a sleepy cat, "I'm mostly confused as to why I'm here."

Your brows furrowed as you remembered the doctor had warned you about amnesia, and took you a few moments to finally gather your words.

"We were under heavy fire from the cartel while crossing the bridge," your hand slowly moved from his face to his chest, feeling the bandages under the hospital gown, "they got you between your chest plates, and the impact made you lose your balance."

You paused to take in a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay while you relived those memories. He watched you closely, his smile slowly falling at the signs of your distress.

"Oviedo jumped after you into the river, but you hit your head at the bottom real hard," you watched as his brows tightened and his fingers enveloped your wrist and his thumb traced your pulse, a silent apology of sorts. But Alejandro rarely ever apologized - or did anything else - silently.

"Lo siento mucho, mi amor," he offered, his heart breaking a little at the sight of the unshed tears pooling in your eyes, "I've made you worry for me again, didn't I?"

A sharp snort left you as you used your free hand to wipe the tears away. "I was worried sick, Alejo, and everyone else too," you briefly thought of Rudy, now in charge of the Vaqueros for the time being, and them too, who often texted you and called you for updates. "You were put in a coma for a week because your brain swelled up."

His eyes widened at the information, his fingers tightening around your wrist slightly. "Verga... That does sound pretty bad..."

You took a deep breathe in to compose yourself, and nodded as you leaned down to press your forehead to his bandaged head, enjoying the gentle warmth sipping from beneath them. "Doctor said you'll be out of commission for a while, until he's sure there's no lasting damage."

Alejandro suppressed a groan and a complaint at the news. He was a soldier commited to his cause, but he was also a realistic man. If he was in no shape to guide his men, he wouldn't dare put them in unnecessary danger. The quickest way to return to his duties would be to heal.

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The toughest man in the army.

Still, very much a man that can be brought down by bullets one day.

"What about you, mi amor?" He questioned you as he tenerly brushed your cheek with his fingers, eager to focus on something else. He noted the bags under your eyes, and let his eyes wander over your form. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

You kept in silence for a few seconds as you stared into his eyes, but moved to bury your face in his neck instead, immediately raising all the alarms in his mind. "... I'll be out of commission for a while, too."

His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, slowly stroking your scalp, "what happened, mi vida? Did they get you too?"

You enjoyed his touch with a secret smile in your lips. Even after all he endured, he cared so much about your well-being that it made your heart swell. It also made you feel just a tiny bit bad about what -or rather the way - you were going to tell him. But you wanted revenge for all those sleepless nights spent worried sick over him "...you did."

Alejandro blinked once before forcing your head off his shoulder so he could look straight at your face. His eyes searched yours in a raising panic as he registered your words.

He had no memory of the incident itself. Had you been close to him when he was shot? Had he hit you in the confusion after getting hit himself? He would never live it down. Even taking into account that in both your careers injuries were common place, he would never forgive himself if he had been the direct cause of any injury on you.

The warning bell from the machine registering his palpitations went off, signaling a worringly increase in his heartbeat, causing you to shake yourself from your trance to look at it.

Oh.

Oops.

"Alejo, tranquilo," you offered him an apologetic smile, laying your hand flat on his chest and rubbing it, "I'm sorry, I was just joking - kinda."

He blinked at you in confusion, his brows furrowing deeply as he looked at you as if you were insane.

"Esos chistes no son graciosos, amor," he scolded you, and you leaned in to kiss him sorry, but he pulled away with a petulant pout, "casi me da un infarto. I didn't know you were the kind of woman to make that kind of jokes."

You chuckled softly and pulled away, reaching into a paper envelope you had left earlier on the bedside table "Bueno, pero si me diste, Alejo," you smirked at him playfully, handing him the square picture, "you got me good."

He glared at you for a little longer before taking the picture, examining it. It had your name on one of the upper corners, and a circle zeroing on a tiny protuberance. "Y esto?"

"The reason I'll be out of commission, mi amor," you smiled at him warmly, "or should I call you papi? I mean, you should start getting used to it."

Alejandro's eyes shot up to meet yours again, this time wide as plates as your words sunk in. "...when did you...?"

"Doctor confirmed it two days ago," you stroked his cheek, watching him closely for any reaction. You hadn't actively talked about forming a family before, other than in a hypothetical future. So, you were still quite unsure whether or not he would take the news in stride or not.

You were rewarded with a wide grin that nearly parted his face in two, and his free hand moving to your body, tenderly landing on your belly. You reciprocrated with your own grin, your eyes flooding with fresh tears, this time out of pure happiness.

"Voy a ser papá?," he wanted to confirm, and you didn't wait to nod your head eagerly, leaning closer to him again until you were in range of a thousand of small kisses he spread over your face before pulling you in for a long kiss.

Only to be interrupted by the machine again, its alarm announcing his rising heartbeat and causing you to inch back from the kiss in a giggle.

"Alejo, tranquilo!"

~•~•~•~•~•~

BONUS:

"Soy tan feliz, mi amor," he mumbled in your temple, his lips brushing your skin. After the doctor had finally seen him after waking up, he spent a whole half a second trying to convince you to join him on the bed. He pulled you closer to him, enjoying your warmth and your closeness.

"I'm so elated," you hummed into his chest, before letting out a soft sigh, "I'm just not looking forward to your mamá berating us for getting pregnant before marriage."

"... Ay, pinche verga, cierto." He whispered in horror, the machine beeping loudly again at the thought of his very catholic mother reacting to the news.

"Alejo, cálmate!"

[silky-stories]

Hi!! Maybe headcanons or some kind of literature with either vampire garcello x reader or mermaid garcello x reader?? You could do both or one or the other. You're the one writing it after all. Thanks!

Oh. Ohohohohohohoho, now we’re talking >:)

Anon I am going to let you in on a little secret, so anyone who isn’t anon look away >:(

...okay now that it’s just you and me, one of your suggestions kind of predicted a oneshot I’ve been working on that I’m going to be posting soon. So because of that I’ll be going with the other option. Hope you enjoy ;3

———————————————————————

Parched. {Vampire Garcello/Reader}

Genre: Suggestive

Words: 2027

Related Song: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know { slowed + reverb}

Summary: When your boyfriend gets home from a long day, it’s only polite to fix him a drink, don’t you think?

Disclaimer/s: Steamy content, swearing, blood

Notes: Garcello speaks in red this time, Reader speaks in blue ;) [Also, monster character x reader or character x monster reader is my absolute jam, feel free to send in requests like this more often-]

———————————————————————

Your boyfriend was, to put it lightly, a little bit on the odd side.

He work dark clothes on hot days, didn’t like the sun very much, had an uncanny sense of smell and hearing, and liked his meat pretty rare. To the outside world he was a weird shut-in that was probably goth, but you knew a hell of a lot more than that.

The two of you had met late at night in a rougher part of the city. You were on your way home from picking up a few essentials at the nearby 24-hour convenience store when you heard some rustling coming from an alleyway. Then some banging. Then some yelling. Then silence.

Well that was ominous as hell.

...

Time to investigate.

You made your way down the dreary alley, groceries in hand, preparing yourself to see a murder scene or something of the like and...

...you honestly weren’t that far off.

You found yourself watching as a man pinned a guy to a wall, his head lowered to his neck. At first you felt yourself getting embarrassed, figuring that you had walked over and unintentionally interrupted a passionate moment. You quickly realized that wasn’t the case when you watched the guy go limp in the arms of the larger man.

After a few moments of you being the quietest you’ve ever been in your life, standing and staring in shock, not knowing what would even be the right course of action for a situation like this, he pulled away. The guy that had previously gone limp slowly slid down the brick wall, deep red trickling down his neck and pooling in the crook of his shoulder. The aqua-haired man let out a sigh as he wiped his mouth with his gloved hands, still unaware of your presence.

Your mind was blank when you spoke up, it had to be for you to do something so bold yet stupid.

“Is he dead?”

The man flinched, hard, and whipped around to lock eyes with you. You were met with two bright red dots staring back at you, stunned, you began to unintentionally study his face.

The dark crimson that you had seen on the possibly-dead man’s neck was also identifiable as a smear on this guy’s face, starting at his lips and trailing off along his cheek where he had tried to wipe it off. His lips were slightly agape, revealing a set of sizeable fangs, as well as other teeth that seemed sharper than a regular human’s teeth should be. Looking down further you noticed that his gloves were fingerless, presumably to allow the sharp claws of nails that he had to stick out.

Other than all of that though he looked like a pretty normal guy. A pretty normal guy with very pale skin, but normal nonetheless.

“I... huh..?”

You were so busy taking in his clearly inhuman appearance that you actually forgot what you had initially asked for a moment, but restated your question when it came back to you.

I mean, what was there to lose at this point? It’s not like running seemed like a very smart option.

“Him. Is... is he dead?”

You pointed at the man that was currently almost falling over in his slump to emphasize your point. The man in front of you took a double take between you and what may have been a dead body before responding, clearly taking in the absurdity of the situation, similar to you.

“He’s... no he’s... passed out I...”

He paused, blinking a few times as he tried to process what was even happening. You took the moment to look at the body a little more critically and, surprise surprise, noticed that he was actually breathing.

“I didn’t... I didn’t take much so he’s just...”

Didn’t take much?

...

Oh.

Oh shit.

Suddenly the whole ordeal just clicked in your brain as you finally understood what it was that you were looking at.

“You’re a vampire!”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, shocked and questioning, almost accusatory as your eyes went wide.

He didn’t seem to like that though. His brows pulling together tightly in sudden concern as he frantically looked around for any other possible witnessess. When he reinitiated eye contact he appeared quite a bit more panicked than before, more like someone that had been caught doing something arguably wrong. He looked threatening for the first time throughout the encounter.

“You... what do you plan on doing..?”

Plan on doing? Like what you were going to do after this? Knowing that vampires did in fact exist and at least one lived in your city?

“Do you... ever kill them?”

He shook his head warily.

“Then... I don’t... think I care?”

He was surprised to hear that, to be fair though, so were you. You figured you would care more about catching a literal vampire in the act but... he wasn’t killing anyone so was it really any of your business?

“You... you don’t care that I just drink some of his blood???”

“I guess not?”

You let out a chuckle of disbelief at your own statement, any ounce of a threatening or intimidating expression had left his face.

“He’s not gonna, like... turn into a vampire or die of disease or something later, right?”

“No that’s uh, not how it works...”

“Then just like... I don’t know, make sure he gets cleaned up and home safe and this stays between us I guess.”

He let you know that that’s what he did on a regular basis and after a few more awkward moments you were on your way.

That definitely wasn’t your last interaction though.

He didn’t trust you to keep your word, you honestly couldn’t really blame him, and you ended up catching glimpses of him watching you from alleyways or tops of buildings at night. It was kind of worrying at first but eventually it got to the point that you would just smile and wave if you saw him.

Eventually he would wave back.

Sometime down the road and you learned his name. Months later and you found an odd friendship forming, starting with you asking him to come in on a particularly rainy night.

Even later and you found yourself developing feelings, getting to know who he really was. His personality, his struggles, his fears. He really wasn’t a bad guy, he just had no other choice since regular food did nothing for him.

After half a year of your strange friendship you found yourselves together, he had happily moved into your apartment and you had started to acquire blood bags for him to use instead of people. That didn’t stop him from drinking straight from the source every now and then... although, the source he used had definitely changed.

“I’m home.”

You leaned out of the kitchen to smile at Garcello, he returned it with a warm grin, shucking off his coat and tossing it to the side to land on your shared couch.

“Welcome back! How was your day?”

You greeted him with open arms as soon as he meandered into the kitchen, he swiftly took up your non-verbal offer and swept you into his strong arms. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled, sighing deeply through his nose as he melted into the embrace.

“It went fine, certainly not my job of choice but I think the interview went alright.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and nuzzled your head against his, pleased to have him back in your arms after half a day without him.

“I made sure to get bread and milk like you asked.”

You chuckled as you spotted the brown paper bag he had set on the counter.

“Thank you.”

He continued to hold you like that, peppering your cheek and jawline with a few kisses as he told you more about his day. Although, there seemed to be a shift in his attitude somewhere along the way. He suddenly went from sweet and giddy to much quieter, giving shorter answers when you asked him a question as he let you lead the conversation.

You decided to bring it up, just in case there was something wrong.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Hmm?”

“You just... you went kinda quiet so I just wanted to make sure.”

He was perfectly silent as he thought over his answer.

“Yes, but... are you... working on anything right now?”

His tone was anticipatory, eagerly awaiting your response. You found yourself suspicious of his intentions.

“Well, no, I was just putting away some dishes that I was washiNG-!”

You were caught off guard by his tongue dragging across your neck in a smooth motion, tightly taking hold of the back of his t-shirt as he did so. You felt him smirk against your neck afterwards.

“That’s good... you see, I have a bit of a problem.”

“Y...y-yeah...?”

“Yeah...”

You flinched as he brushed one of his fangs against the top of your shoulder.

“The thing is, I’ve had a bit of a... craving today.”

One of his claw-like nails came up to trace along your sternum...

“It’s been just... driving me mad.”

Your collarbone...

“Itching the back of my brain...”

Your sternocleidomastoid muscle...

“Funny, right?”

Stopping and hovering just above one of your carotid arteries.

“Yeah... f... funny...”

His smirk grew in response to your reactions, nuzzling your neck affectionately with a huff.

“I guess what I’m trying to ask is...”

He tilted his head up to whisper in your ear.

“...would you mind if I had a little taste?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into him, not even having to speak for him to know what your answer was. He had waited for that cue though, just like usual he would never drink from you unless he was certain that you were fine with it. Even then, you both had a very clear safe word that you had used in the past if anything went wrong or you changed your mind.

You didn’t really have to worry about that though. You knew you were safe in his hands.

He purred in response to your willingness, slowly walking you back and gently pinning you to the wall.

“God you smell good right now...”

He lowered his head back down to your neck, finding the spot that he had traced up to and licking a small stripe along it, pinpointing the location of your pulse.

“...bet you’d... taste even better though...”

He was gentle as always when he bit down, it only felt like a pinch until the aphrodisiac kicked in, immediately erasing any sense of pain you had. Being guided by one of his hands that had tangled itself in your hair, your head lolled to the side as he drank from you. A gentle moan erupted from your lips as your grip on his shirt went slack, your arms falling limp beside you as bliss took hold of your thoughts.

“F... fuck...”

He purred louder as you gave clear indication of your enjoyment. The hand that he had propping himself up against the wall fell and came to rest on your hip, gripping tightly as the hand he had on the back of your head made soft contact with the wall instead.

He cut himself off a little bit sooner than usual, pulling away just enough for you to watch him lick his lips and fangs clean.

He chuckled as the hand that raked through your hair slid down to cup your cheek.

“...I was right, you taste amazing...”

His expression didn’t lose it’s smugness though, usually when he was done he would take a much softer turn and patch you up immediately.

“Although, I think I might have put a little too much aphrodisiac in your system sweetheart...”

He was right, you felt like a rag doll right now, nearly putty in his hands as the only thing keeping you standing at the moment was his grip on your torso. Your eyes had glazed over slightly and you were practically panting at this point.

“...let’s do something about that, hmm~?”

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - A special night

Prompt: Any Fandom | Any Characters/Pairings | Ordering a sweet treat to be delivered to the other person at home/work

Word Count: 2,136

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Gavin/Freelancer. Vincent Solaire/Lovely) 

Rating: T

Triggers: NA

Summary: Having an Incubus boyfriend comes with many perks. The Freelancer and Lovely really should have seen it coming. 

ConCrit: Y 

Well, I guess this can be a sequel to my previous oneshot, REDACTED verse - Those that stood above the rest. I really wanted to write the Freelancer and Lovely interacting after their first, proper meeting so this oneshot suddenly comes to mind! 

-

Exam week is the bane of every student, everywhere — even for the magical ones. 

An uneasy atmosphere lingers around D.A.M.N as the current semester hurl the students into an intense week of revisions, study groups, and extra classes; all for the upcoming exams. 

The seniors are frantically cramming for their final papers and projects under the watchful eyes of the lecturers. The Freelancer doesn't envy them one bit when they caught a Sonal Energetic screamed into his backpack for a solid ten minutes. 

His scream shakes the student lounge, and the windows shattered. 

Once he got that out of his system, he focused back towards his textbook, expressionless. The rest of the students around the Energetic hardly bat an eye over what just happened. 

On that day, the Freelancer learned to avoid a large group of seniors until the exam week blows over. 

"The tension alone in that lounge could make a Serenity Daemon hide underneath a bed." The Freelancer narrates their experience to Lovely. The two of them are currently having their own study session over at the Freelancer's apartment. 

It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and yet here they are - flipping through textbooks, reviewing and swapping notes and downing cans of coffee and Red Bulls from as early as 9 AM. "Even the janitor wasn't fazed by it. He just snapped his fingers, and the windows were good as new!"

That night after their proper introduction, Lovely and the Freelancer had become quite good friends, much to Vincent's annoyance and Gavin's pleased smirk when the Freelancer told him that Lovely would be coming over for their study session. 

"Aww, look you, Deviant. Arranging a little study date with that friend of yours," Gavin teased during breakfast this morning. They both woke up early to prepare meals that could last the Freelancer and Lovely throughout the whole day. When his Deviant absentmindedly replied, "Uh-huh" as they were busy chopping the vegetables, Gavin couldn't help but plant a fond kiss on top of their head. "Anyway, I'll be popping into Aria for a bit today. A few of my, ah, older brothers and sisters called for a meeting. Can I trust that you two won't be having too much fun without me?"

The Freelancer stopped chopping to gave their boyfriend a deadpan stare. "Gavin, we'll be studying." They explained. "Our first paper is literally next week. So I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but there won't be any fucking happening." They then stop themselves. They suddenly recalled something. "I don't want to be on that Solaire Prince's hit list too."

Gavin just cooed at their disgruntled partner, as if the genuine possibility that the both of them being shred to pieces by Lovely's possessive boyfriend amused him. 

Nonetheless, Gavin pulled his weight to ensure there was enough food and comfortable pillows and blankets in their shared apartment so that his Deviant and the Electro Energetic would be comfortable for their revisions. 

An hour before Lovely arrived, Gavin kissed the Freelancer goodbye and Rifted into his home dimension. 

And now we're back in the present. 

"I think those students around that guy were his classmates," Lovely commented. They take a quick sip of the lemonade that Gavin prepared to refresh their parched throat. Even in a simple pair of slacks, baggy t-shit, and hair pulled up in a bun, they still look as breathtaking as ever. "They reacted as if it was like a regular Tuesday for them. It's so crazy to think that we'll be seniors like them soon."

The Freelancer pours more lemonade into their glass from the pitcher beside them. Their books, notebooks and snacks are spread all over the dining table. A large and fluffy pillow is propped behind the Freelancer so they can lean back on their chair comfortably. "Urgh, mood. I can already imagine the coursework we'll be forced to do in our final semester." They groan. Their brain is fried from all the information and notes they've been reviewing since this morning. On top of that, the thought that they will be getting even more work once they hit their senior year is starting to freak them out. 

Seeing the Freelancer is having an internal crisis, Lovely quickly glance at the time on their phone and decides, "OK, I think we seriously need a break. You look like you're going to pull a stunt similar to that Sonal Energetic, and I don't think your boyfriend appreciates coming back to a half-destroyed apartment."

"Gavin can fix the apartment with his magic, don't worry." The Freelancer is quick to assure Lovely. "He did that after he and Vega trashed the place anyway."

"Uh, what? Who's Vega?"

The Freelancer snapped their attention back to Lovely once they realised the name that they accidentally dropped. "N-Nothing! I didn't s-say anything!" They laugh awkwardly, doing their best to brush off Lovely's concerned expression. "Anyway, break! Yeah! That's a good idea! Are you hungry? We can watch something on Youtube and eat in the living room. You're OK with that?"

Lovely gingerly nods; it's best not to comment or ask about this Vega person since the name alone made their friend jumpy. They push their chair back, stretch their stiff spine, and get up to help set the plates and cutleries while the Freelancer heats the lunch they made in the morning. 

They then move to the living room with a tray of food and drinks, where the couch and coffee table are surrounded by pillows and blankets thrown around messily. 

"You play video games, right?" The Freelancer asked after Lovely settle down on the couch with a blanket over their lap. "Do you want to watch a playthrough or something?"

"Sure! Do you and Gavin play video games too?"

"Gavin does, though he usually only plays those dating sim games for girls. It's a guilty pleasure of his."

"Oh, Otome Games? My respect for your boyfriend just levelled up. Has he ever played Hatoful Boyfriend?"

"Uh... I don't remember he ever mentioned that title. What is it about?"

"We're watching a playthrough of that game. Right now. You can watch it with me, but you can't tell Gavin anything, OK? I promise you're going to love his reactions."

Lovely's eyes light up with glee and grin widely as the Freelancer switch on the Smart TV. When thumbnails of pigeons with pink hearts in the background pop up on the screen, they immediately throw an incredulous look at the Energetic. 

"That top playlist is good to watch. Come on, sit beside me." Lovely pats on the empty spot on the couch beside them, unperturbed at the look the Freelancer is giving them. "I think you're going to like Okosan."

The Freelancer press play on the first video and kick back on the couch with the Energetic. What's better than having a break after a long study session? Hanging out with a friend with some good food while watching a crazy romance video game about pigeons! 

However, when the fourth video starts to play, the doorbell rings. 

"Uh... are you expecting someone?" Lovely asks curiously; their head is tilting towards the door. Their plate of eggplant pasta and buttered abalones are polished on their lap. The Freelancer internally preened when they enthusiastically complimented on theirs and Gavin's cooking skills. 

Anyway, the Freelancer moves their empty tray onto the coffee table and flip over the blanket to get up. "Not really. Gavin said he'll be coming back home at night." They explain and went towards the door when the doorbell ring once more. 

A delivery man greets the Freelancer with a stoic face, an armful of flower bouquet, and a thick, rectangular item wrapped in hot red packaging. 

"I, uh, think you got the wrong address?" They said, confused to hell and back. 

The delivery man blinks, unfaze at the Freelancer's greeting. "Good afternoon. Delivery for..." He pauses to read the card attached to the bouquet. "Deviant? We received a request from Gavin to arrange a flower bouquet and some... special chocolates. He also left a message for you: My Deviant has been working so hard lately~ So I got you something to... help you relax. PS: give some of the special chocolates to that gorgeous friend of yours and their boyfriend."

The Freelancer could only gape when the delivery man finished reciting Gavin's message. From the living room, Lovely is also doing an excellent mimicking of a goldfish. Their stunned expression made the man sigh tiredly. "Look, I'm not going to judge your... bedroom activities. Just take the packages already. I still have more stops to deliver."

"O-Oh my god! I'm really, really sorry about my boyfriend!" The Freelancer finally snaps out of it and stammers an apology. Their face is bright red. They hurriedly accept the flowers and package, shoot a quick thank you and slams the door shut. 

Lovely watches as the Freelancer stares into the bouquet with a mixed feeling, something between fondness and extreme embarrassment, before they scream into the large sunflowers. 

They patiently wait for the Freelancer to get it out of their system before Lovely delicately asks, "So, uh, does Gavin do these sort of things often?"

"No. This is the first time ever." The Freelancer replies. Their voice is muffled because the flowers are still pressed onto their face. "That's what I get for dating an Incubus, I supposed..."

"Aww, don't be embarrassed, dude! I think it's super sweet how much Gavin loves you. Flowers and chocolates? Boy got some serious game; might even give Vincent a run for his money, and you should've seen how we first met."

The Freelancer peeks through the petals and is relieved to find that Lovely wasn't put off by Gavin's forward nature. In fact, they are very accepting of the Freelancer and Gavin's relationship.

Feeling the warmth on their cheeks slowly disappearing, the Freelancer made their way back to the couch. The rectangular package is tossed onto the couch, and the bouquet is on the coffee table. The Freelancer figured they could put the fresh flowers in a water-filled vase later. 

"The guy said that Gavin sent you some chocolates?" Lovely reiterate as the Freelancer began to untie the ribbon and unwraps the box. 

"Special chocolates, and knowing Gavin, I kinda have an idea of what kind of chocolates they are." They admit and make quick work of tearing the paper wrappings. 

Apparently, Gavin ordered two types of chocolates for his Deviant. One box holds a fancy gourmet assortment of salted almonds dipped in rich Belgium chocolate, double chocolate raspberry truffles, vanilla pieces powdered with light matcha and some white praliné hearts. 

Lovely whistle, impressed over the spread. "Your boyfriend really went all out for you!"

The box below it contains rows of heart-shaped chocolates, but the short message written on the card of said box proves it's anything but ordinary treats. 

'These are homemade chocolates made by one of my close associates. She's a Succubus, by the way, and renowned for her aphrodisiac desserts. You can try some first if your Energetic friend doesn't mind being a voyeur.'

The Freelancer promptly throws away the card and cues them, and Lovely shrieking in embarrassment. Neither of them expects the second batch of chocolates. 

"These are sexy chocolates? Like, legit aphrodisiac chocolates made with magic!? Oh my god, I didn't know they were a thing!"

"I didn't either! I was expecting sex toys below the chocolates!"

"Wait - didn't Gavin wants to give these to Vincent and me!? Dude, does he has a thing for Vincent? Because at this point, I should tell you: he noticed that Gavin was purposely riling us up when they first met, and he's been thinking that your boyfriend is out to get him. But, uh, not in the sexy way, but I'm thinking otherwise now. And if that's the case, then you can warn that Incubus to be ready and catch these hands."

The Freelancer groans and hides their face in their hands. "OK, you know what? I'm going to put the special chocolates in the fridge, and then we'll continue watching a few more videos from the playthrough and get back to studying."

"... You're in denial."

"I'm just trying to keep whatever sanity I have left. It's been a crazy year."

"Urgh, tell me about it."

-

That night, at Lovely's and Vincent's apartment: 

"Vincent, baby? I'm back. Look what I got!"

"Welcome home, Lovely. Dinner's ready if you're hungry. Hmm? What's that?"

"It's homemade aphrodisiac chocolates made by a Succubus. Gavin and the Freelancer gave some to us."

"...I'm gonna punch that Incubus in his smug ass face."

"...Does that mean you don't want them in the bedroom tonight?"

"OK, I'll punch him tomorrow. C'mere, Lovely. I've missed you."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

[superspookywombat]

falling {j.h} chapter twelve

A/n: hey guys, so it took long enough but chapter 12 is finally here. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: kind of in depth description of an animal death (deer)

“A what?” You ask, noticing that your knees don’t hurt even though the ground underneath you is rock hard. Alice steps gracefully towards you.

“A Thiriokinetic.” She repeats. “You can manipulate animals and their feelings.” You look to Jasper, his mouth a tight line as he processes her words. 

“So like Jasper, but with animals?” Emmett asks, his eyebrows raised. Alice nods, and the blonde girl next to him scoffs. He nudges Jasper, who glares at him. “As if one wasn’t enough.”

“She’s putting us all at risk!” She says, her hands in fists at her sides clenching. Esme places a hand on her shoulder, giving her a motherly warning look.

“Rosalie.” She says softly. Rosalie shakes her hand off, then turns and walks inside. Jasper tightens his grip around your waist, but not in the way he did earlier to stop you. Now his hold was protective. 

“We need to get her out of here, Carlisle.” He says, his crisp accent making you feel at home in his arms. 

“We’re working on it. I need to find out what Bella is telling Charlie before I decide what to do.” He responds, clearly lost in thought. Grief floods your brain. Charlie. Jasper, sensing your pain holds you tighter. 

“He’s fine, y/n.” He reassures you. It eases your mind, but only a little bit. “He was at Billy’s.”

“Yeah, no way he would get hurt surrounded by them.” Emmett snorts, earning a pointed look from Carlisle.

“What do you mean?” You ask him. He puts his hands up in mock surrender and turns to follow Rosalie into the house. You whip your head to look up at Jasper over your shoulder. “What does he mean?” 

“It’s a long story..” He says, a nervous laugh bubbling up from his chest.

“Well it seems I’ve got time.” You sigh.

-------------------------------------

“So we don’t need passports at all?” You ask Carlisle, your arms crossed as you stand in front of the doctor who leans on the desk in his study.

“We decided it’d be best to have no human contact. We want this to be as painless as possible for you.” He answers. You chew at your bottom lip, going over the last few hours in your mind. 

“So we’re staying in the states?” You ask, but it doesn’t take a PHD to understand what he’s implying.

“Yes.” He says, then pauses, choosing his next few words carefully. “You and Jasper will be driving to Denali to stay with our cousins for a while. Emmett and Rosalie will also be joining you.” 

You stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate on his choice in company. When he doesn’t, you speak. “Why them?”

“I’m sending Emmett along just in case something were to happen..” He trails off, but you already know what he means. In case I try to attack someone again. You look down at your bare feet, ashamed for even thinking about killing Bella. Your throat burns at the thought of her “Rosalie wants to accompany him, and I think it’s a good idea.” 

“Oh, okay.” You say, giving him a small smile. He returns the favor and you turn to leave. As your hand touches the knob of the door, you let go and swivel on your heel. “And Charlie? What does he know?”

“He doesn’t know anything, as of now. And I’d like to keep it that way- for his safety and ours.” Carlisle says, not looking up from the textbook he’s flipping through. You don’t say anything else as you leave the office.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” Alice asks from behind you. You flinch, pressing your hand to your chest.

“Jesus, Alice. You just about started my cold, dead heart.” You joke, but saying it out loud makes it real, and that hurts.

“Sorry, I knew you would be leaving and I wanted to catch you before you find Esme.” She says, her bubbly voice bouncing off of the walls. 

“How did you know I was- never mind.” You say, starting to walk down to the living room. Alice follows behind, practically bouncing after you.

“You’ve been exposed to so much in such a short amount of time. You need to take a break and process this.” She says, catching up to you as you step into the wide room. “And I know you’ve got to be parched, I figured we could go hunt and talk.” 

“Now that you mention it, I am pretty thirsty.” You say, reaching up at your neck. She nods understandingly. “Jasper will come too, right?”

“Are you kidding me? That boy refused to leave your side when you were turning. He hasn’t fed in weeks, besides the rabbit that Emmett smuggled in without Esme knowing.” She says, grimacing. You opt out of responding, feeling guilty and also a bit sad. That poor rabbit. 

You take a seat on the couch out of habit. You don’t feel yourself getting tired of standing, but it feels natural to just plop down onto it and kick your feet up. Jasper walks into the room not long after. Alice bounds up to him, picking a piece of lint off of his shirt. A pang of jealousy surges through you. You know it’s just a habit for her, like the couch for you. Something she’s done for so long, she just subconsciously does it now.

“Jazz! I was just telling y/n about how thirsty you must be. I mean, wow, look at those eyes.” She says, the words tumbling out of her mouth faster than you can even understand their meaning. She brushes a stray hair from his eyes, giving you a clearer look at his pitch black irises, then looks over her shoulder at you, giggling. “Someone’s thirsty.” 

Jealousy pierces your heart, and you hear something behind you paw at the glass window. Jasper gently evades Alice, sitting down by you. “I was planning on takin’ her out alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah, of course that’s okay! I don’t know what I was thinking, sorry.” Alice says, walking backwards a few steps before turning around and quickly walking out of the room, flustered. Vampires get flustered? 

“You sure you can handle me all by yourself, cowboy?” You tease, trying to ease the tension from whatever the hell just happened. 

“Sounds like a challenge to me.” He says with a smirk. He lunges at you, but you’re too quick and jump over the back of the couch much faster and more gracefully than you ever could when you were human. You sprint out the back door, your bare feet unaffected by the thick brush underneath them. You can hear Jasper get closer to you. If only he’d trip, I’d get way ahead of him. 

Before you can second-guess yourself, you hear rapid heartbeats flying down towards you. You duck, but Jasper doesn’t- and receives a face full of squirrels. You halt, eyes wide as you watch the incident unfold behind you. At least five squirrels obstruct Jasper’s view as he peels one from his back, then chucks it into the forest. The touchdowned squirrel reminds you to start running again so he doesn’t catch you. He had told you earlier that newborns (you) were stronger than ancients (him), so you hoped that you could use that to your advantage.

“Yeah you better run, darlin’.” He says, and you can tell he enjoys this from the sound of a smile in his tone. 

“I was promised a challenge.” You tease, paying no mind to the trees whizzing passed you. You get a couple hundred yards away before a sense of fatigue runs through you. You try to shake it off, but you can’t stop yourself from slowing down. After a few seconds, you can hear a quiet ‘thud, thud, thud’ get louder and louder from behind you. Something- someone hard collides with you, carving a deep indent in the forest floor. Jasper’s scent surrounds you, and you open your eyes to see his face right above you. Your hands are pinned on either side of you, and though you know you could most likely overpower him, you don’t want to. You smirk up at him, your noses almost close enough to touch. 

“Gotcha.” He says, you feel his cool breath on your lips. You raise an eyebrow at him, feigning annoyance.

“You cheated.” 

“You cheated first.” He rebuttals. You close your eyes as he leans in and connects your lips to his in a deep kiss. With a small tug of your wrists, he lets them go and grabs your waist, rolling you over to straddle him. You lean down, placing your hands on the sides of his face, deepening the kiss. The sound of a heartbeat and rushing of blood snaps you out of your daze. A deer trots out of the bushes, no doubt sensing your bliss and wanting a piece of it. The scent of her blood catches in your throat. You sit up straight, inhaling deeply as you close your eyes and lean your head back. She walks closer, maybe three feet away from you now. You swallow the venomous saliva bubbling up from your throat, and approach the deer as Jasper sits up. 

“Aim for the neck.” Jasper instructs so quietly that human ears wouldn’t hear it. But you do, of course. His words are long forgotten as you crouch and lunge, instincts taking over. As you sink your teeth into her neck, the bitterly strong taste of betrayal taints your tastebuds. A part of you feels a growing satisfaction, but another part of you- a much bigger part of you forces you to pull away. Blood dribbles down your chin and spills onto your already bloody and torn clothes that you have yet to change out of (much to Alice’s disdain).

“Careful, you’re spillin’ more than you're drinkin’.” Jasper gently corrects. You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on drinking, but all you can feel is the deer’s anguish and betrayal. You push the deer out of your reach, falling back onto your butt with a gasp. You look down at your shaking bloody hands, the deer’s pain almost feeling worse than the momentarily soothed burning feeling in your throat. You sputter, coughing up blood as Jasper watches you with a horrified yet concerned look on his face. He looks at the deer, who is trying to push itself off of the damp, bloody ground. Disgruntled sounds gurgle from her mouth, her eyes twitching. Jasper takes one look at you before calmly walking over to her. He reaches down, and with his large hands, snaps her neck. Then he walks over to you and crouches down, and you avoid eye contact.

“You- you killed her..” You say, voice shaky. He looks over to the deer, her body limp as foam falls from her mouth.

“Your venom would have made her death slow and painful. I put ‘er out of her misery.” He says softly. You nod. You feel the need to cry, but your eyes don’t make the tears necessary. You remember Jasper telling you earlier that vampires don’t cry. 

“I put her in misery.” You say, looking him in the eyes. “I did that to her.” He sits down next to you, placing his hand on your thigh. Her pain finally subdues, letting you think clearly. You place your head in your hands, your sticky, bloody hands. 

“You needed to. You need her to live, we don’t get to decide the food chain.” He says. You lean into his touch when he moves his hand to your back, rubbing soothing circles into your tattered clothes. You stand up, deciding not to look at the deer carcass again. Jasper jumps to his feet behind you, then starts walking as he leads you back to the house. You walk in silence for a bit, the further you are from the deer, the more her pain fades. What kind of vampire can’t drink blood? How am I going to survive without it? I don’t think I can survive with it. You kick at a rock, it goes flying and disappears into the trees. Oh how you wish you were that rock right about now. About halfway home, the silence is so thick you could cut through it with a knife like melted butter. What lighter of a subject does it get than fashion?

“I need to get out of these clothes.” You say, pulling at the fabric lightly. The seam splinters, exposing the loose threads. “I’m sure Alice will be elated.”

“About Alice..” He says, then trails off. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to further his sentence. “You have no need to be jealous. She and I aren’t together anymore, and though I’ll always love her, I don’t love her in the way that I love you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you halt on the pathway. In the way that I love you, he said. Love? You feel lightheaded, though you know it’s impossible for it to actually happen. How long have you known this guy? Eleven months? I suppose that’s not totally unreasonable for a time frame for love. Is there even one? Wasn’t it more like love at first sight? Actually- more like lust at first sight, bow wow. Okay, stop the inner monologue, say something, literally anything!

“You- Love?” You spit out. Not that, idiot. He stops a few feet in front of you, looking at you with his lips pursed. Though he can feel you, he can feel that this isn’t a one-way feeling, he still freezes- not realizing what he just said. He watches you carefully, undoubtedly going through the same thoughts as you. 

“I just- well I meant that- I mean- I feel very strongly about you, y/n. And unless you decide to leave us, I’m always going to feel very strongly about you.” He says, stumbling over his words. You step towards him.

“Only you would profess your love to a girl covered in blood.” You tease, and he releases a breathy chuckle. 

“Am I that predictable, miss Swan?” He says, stepping towards you. You smile at him, and he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest.

“Only a little bit.” You say, pushing onto your tip toes and placing your lips on his. He quietly grunts in approval, leaning down and deepening the kiss. You push him away for a second, but only to utter the following words; “I feel very strongly about you too, Jasper Hale.”

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[urskekyagvi]

MalVa Week: Campsite

@malvaweek

A hunter trudged into the clearing, bearing his latest kill upon his back. Blood stained the grass behind him, making a grisly trail through the forest. The arduff's corpse hung across his shoulder, a once majestic and imposing predator now someone else's prey; but that was the way of things. 

SkekMal was all too aware of the way of things. Life and death were a never ending cycle, like an abiranariba serpent eating itself. Even he knew the sacred geometry; even a hunter had to know the signs. He swore under his breath as his knees buckled. A stumble, but at the end of it neither he nor the kill were on the ground. 

He hadn't taken this beast's life without cost. He had miraculously remained unscathed, but the weeks of tracking, setting snares, and the final confrontation had left him exhausted. Only the scent of smoke kept the very last reserves of strength he had left fueled; smoke meant fire. Fire- usually- meant campsite, and campsite meant safety and rest. He paid no mind to the thought that there might already be someone there: gelfling and podling were easy enough to dispose of. 

But now his only thought was rest. He dragged himself and his kill through the woods until the orange light of a flame was visible past the treeline. Finally he was close enough to feel the heat upon his skin, and there he deposited his prey and collapsed. Still, even in the midst of exhaustion he didn't abandon wariness. 

He left one eye open, examining the space he had found himself in. From his position, he could see where the land sloped downward towards a stream, and near the fire there was a pile of leaves and branches and a large quilt, big enough for him to crawl under and curl up. He took a few deep breaths and rose to his feet, sniffing the air for any unusual scents. 

No gelfling. No podling. Nothing but the smell of the forest, nearly drowned by the scent of blood he had tainted this peaceful place with. He was reminded of his kill, and rose fully to take care of it. It didn't take long; his knives had been properly sharpened before the hunt, and in short order he had his trophies and something to roast over the fire. 

He laid the skin out to dry and finally sat down on a stone near the flames. It was only natural skeksis paranoia and instinct that kept his eyes open now, though he hadn't smelt or heard a thing for hours. The endless symphony of insects and various birds rang in his ears; a good sign, really, but now his mind didn't trust it; No one just abandoned a campsite like this, not without reason. 

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the stiff ache of action impeding his movement. Dried blood coated his armor and clothes, and really, a bath in that stream would be a welcome luxury. The only question remained: could he afford it? 

He looked once again, poking around for anything at all that may betray the slightest sign of life or deception; nothing greeted him back. No traps, no leftover marks or traces of the former occupant of the site. He was alone. His searching had proven this as fact, but his mind would not let him rest. 

And yet, while the danger was not immediate, he could allow himself some relaxation...and the stream was a rather tempting sight. Its cool waters cleansed his body and mind and soothed his parched throat. He cleaned his armor and clothes, and when he had gotten back the meat was ready to be eaten. 

He didn't bother thanking the creature for the life it had lost, for it had not given it willingly; such a tradition was a soppy gelfling notion, something they did to convince their guilt-ridden minds that the supposed soul of the creature would return to its creator. SkekMal knew better. The beast had no soul. It hunted to keep itself alive, itself prey to death. 

SkekMal hunted for a similar reason, and in that similarity there was a respect. He bit into the meat with a ravenous appetite, feeling the arduff's life become part of his own. Nothing would be wasted. Its flesh and organs he could eat, its bones would be made into trophies, its skin would hang upon his wall, a tapestry to commemorate his victory. 

By the time he had eaten his fill for the evening the stars had come out. The Sisters shown their light down upon him, and the shadows from the fire flickered in a mesmerizing sway across the trees. Exhaustion weighed down upon him like a beast on his shoulders, digging its venomous claws into his eyes and making his movements sluggish and slow. The sleeping pile, with its soft quilt, looked more tempting by the moment…

He was obliged to lay upon it. It would have been a waste not to, and he despised waste. It was just as soft as it looked from a distance, easy upon his aching muscles yet supportive enough to spare his bones. His body sank into it, and the quilt kept him comfortably warm as he gazed up at the stars. 

Worry did not stalk the corners of his mind any longer. Whoever had left the campsite here, clearly it had been intended to be his, by fate or accident he no longer cared. His eyes closed in a way they had not in a very, very long time, heavy instead of flitting open at the very first sound. Sleep took the night watch. 

When he awoke the next morning, upon the first light of dawn, he felt rested. His bones didn't ache, and his mind was sharper than ever without paranoia or weariness making it so, and when he stretched his muscles were only mildly sore. It was a delightfully brisk morning all around him. 

He rose to a sitting position, prepping for another full body stretch, when his tail curled against something. It was wooden, but much too straight to be a stick. Suspicion bit into his senses. He grasped the thing tightly in his hand and snatched it from under the covers. 

It was an arrow, beautifully decorated, better as a trinket than a weapon or tool. It was lightweight, the shaft made of a white nut wood carved in thin leaf-like shapes and gilded vines; the fletching at its end could only be from the tail feathers of a rare albino shrookill; but the true beauty of it laid in the point, a sun-bleached bone. 

SkekMal glared at the beautiful thing and then at the clearing around him. There was even something cooking on the fire already. Someone had been here- in fact, had always been here. Someone had laid this out for him...someone was trying to catch him. 

And he knew who. 

"Come on out, Archer!" He snapped at the trees, "Reveal yourself! I've seen through your little ruse." 

A shrub rustled much too close nearby. He would have jumped, but barely managed to restrain himself in order to save face; he couldn't let anyone know he had let himself be deceived so easily...Though by the almost self-satisfied look on UrVa's face, it was a futile endeavor. 

"It is no ruse," the Archer said calmly, giving his Other a small bow, "I thought you could use the rest." 

SkekMal clutched the trinket he held even tighter, until his knuckles were almost as white as the shaft. He fumed in silence, his teeth grinding together in agitation. How dare he. The sheer audacity this other half of him had, so unlike the complacent sobriety of the rest of the urru; SkekMal found it annoying to no end...and yet he couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. 

The anger faded quickly, having never been genuine to begin with. In truth, all he felt at that moment was gratitude. He ceded some of the tension in the grip he had around the arrow, holding it up gingerly to examine it in the light of the rising suns. 

"...Indeed I could," he said, "that arduff did not come down easily...These feathers, where did you get them from?" 

UrVa smiled and beckoned for SkekMal to follow him towards the campfire. The arduff meat was reheated to a perfect temperature, the outside skin crispy but not burnt. SkekMal cut himself a large hunk off the rear thigh and then laid another piece of it before his Other. UrVa paused to look at it, and it was SkekMal's turn to be smug. 

"Don't deceive yourself, Archer," he said, tearing a bite out of his own portion, "the Master isn't here. I saw the way you were eyin' it." 

UrVa did eat after that, but said a short prayer first, nonetheless. He took a small bite out of what SkekMal had given, pausing again to savor the taste with another sort of reverence. SkekMal let him, though he had not helped to bring down the kill. 

"...An albino shrookill," UrVa said after his slow chewing had finally ceased. 

"And where did you find an albino shrookill?" SkekMal couldn't hide his fascination. He had only heard the faintest rumors of such a thing existing, but had never seen it for himself. 

"Where shrookills can often be found," was UrVa's blunt response before he took another bite of his meal.

SkekMal knew what he really meant, but on account of the good mood he was in he let it pass without so much as a growl. This meat was delicious. 

"What of the bone?" 

Here there was a longer pause than usual between chewing and speaking, and for the sake of the answer SkekMal allowed it, too. When UrVa spoke again, his voice held a hint of something almost playful. 

"A piece of something you had lost and forgotten long ago," he said, and took another bite. 

SkekMal had to scour his brain for the answer to the riddle, another act of solecism he allowed only because of a well rested body and full belly. Something he had lost long ago…He studied the piece of bone, hoping a moment of scrutiny would unveil the answer. Lost and forgotten long ago…

He turned it over in the light, and that was when he noticed a familiar tooth mark, and then the shape revealed itself to him. He fitted the little arrow head in his hand on a mental overlay of an animal skull, and came to realize that this would have been at the apex of the sagittal crest. The memory inundated his head like the wash of a tidal wave. 

"My first kill!" The Hunter laughed and slapped his knee. "I never did get to keep the trophy. The others tore it apart so thoroughly I thought even the crawlies would have a hard time finding all the bits!" 

UrVa nodded. "I myself almost reached the limit of my patience trying to find that one shard." 

SkekMal snorted, without malice. "You? I thought there was no limit to your patience." 

UrVa gave him a look that was as close to arch as a mystic could get. SkekMal vowed to get a better reaction out of him later. There would be plenty of time, if this one interaction went well. It was like hunting in a way: stalk your prey, set your snares, wait, and then pounce. 

But it never ended between them, this eternal game of chase and capture, Hunter and Archer; and SkekMal would never admit that he enjoyed that prospect most of all.

[bramadian0336]

Black Honey- Chapter 1

A Kylo Ren/OC fanfiction

Jeyna is a scholar whose obsessed with the legend of Revan, a famous Jedi and Sith from millennia ago. She has found the first of many star maps, clues to something Revan left hidden, but her studies catch the First Order's attention. Captured and interrogated, she is expecting to be killed once she has no more information to give. Instead, she finds herself working for Kylo Ren.

Warnings: Eventual Smut/Explicit Sexual Content, Language, Mild Violence

Chapter 1

The little girl knew better than to be in this room. For the entirety of her brief life so far, she had been forbidden from entering it. Her mother had sternly enforced the rule, not even permitting her to peek beyond the doorway.

But her mother wasn’t home, having left in a hurry but promising to come back as soon as she could. The little girl had tried to behave, to play and to avoid that room that called to her. But inevitably she had been drawn to the door, her hand extending to the knob. Like magic, it turned and creaked open a few inches before she could even lay a finger on it.

And now here she stood, in the small room that was barely more than a closet. It was almost disappointing, if not for the strange object she found her gaze settling upon. It was taller than her, exotic looking.

She crept closer before giving a childish, worried glance behind her. She would be in so much trouble if her mother caught her. She should leave the room and go back to playing, she decided. Despite this thought, however, her feet stayed firmly planted. Her ears pricked as she realized she heard a light humming. Eyes widening, she instinctively knew it was coming from the object. It was shaped like a square pyramid, dark, reflective. She stretched her hand out, suddenly wanting to feel it. Would it be hot, or cold to the touch?

The instant the skin of her fingertips connected with the side, it split open, the sides folding down. She jerked backwards, dropping her hand as guilt spread through her. Now her mother would know what she had done.

Before she could process the utter terror her immature mind associated with disappointing her mother, an image was projected above the base of the object.

It was a holorecording of a man. He had dark, thick hair and intense eyes. A thin scar ran from his left eye down to his mouth, but somehow it didn’t mar his handsome face.

He looked too tired, but began speaking. The little girl listened in awe, wondering how a recorded image of a man could seem to look right at her.

“Revan. Day 134. Still nothing to show for my search,” he begins, sounding dejected.

“I’ve had nothing to do out here but contemplate my life’s decisions. Far away from the hyperspace routes, from even the most remote outer rim planet…I sometimes question how anything can exist. I fear the silent dark of the unknown regions might very well drive me insane…” The man shakes his head, his eyes stormy. The little girl wants to look away but finds she can’t tear her gaze from his. Something about him is compelling, something in her knows this is important. “Everything I have done, I’ve done to protect our civilization. The threat I have seen from outside is greater than any war we have ever faced amongst ourselves.”

The little girl hears the door to her home, and she knows her mother is back. But she doesn’t know how to stop the recording. She doesn’t want it to stop. What is the man talking about?

“Jeyna! JEYNA!?” Her mother’s panicked voice is screaming suddenly throughout the home. The girl startles and turns, confused. It is then she hears the noise, one that she cannot yet place. One day the sound of it will haunt her nightmares, almost every night.

The sound of the first bomb falling on her small village.

18 Years Later

The little girl grew into a young woman, and that young woman threw herself into her studies. Research, archives, archaeological expeditions…it allowed Jeyna to fixate on something purposeful, something that she found fascinating. It should be little surprise that her chosen area of research was Revan. The prodigal Jedi Knight, and Dark Lord of the Sith, from thousands of years before her time.

She still remembers the man’s face, the somber timbre of his voice, as if she had seen the recording just yesterday. She remembers his vague reference to a search, to some threat from outside the known galaxy. It’s a mystery she’s been working on, sponsored by various universities, for most of her adolescent and adult life. And now it has brought her here.

Dantooine - Now

Jeyna races through the cave system, stumbling on chunks of rock and narrowly avoiding hitting her head as she has to run hunched over to fit through the passage. She’s unfamiliar with her path, as it’s not the same way she had entered the ancient vault. However, it's now her only way out.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she forces herself to go as fast as she can through the dark maze, hoping it's leading her to light and freedom. Behind her the stormtroopers’ shouts are echoing, reverberating off the rocks and surging towards her. Her heart hammers in her chest as her mind struggles to catch up with the current situation.

The First Order is here, on the peaceful farming planet. And they’re coming after her.

Jeyna pushes herself faster when she realizes she sees daylight, the path becoming uphill quickly. The muscles of her legs burn as she climbs, eventually having to use her hands to grab at the jagged rock. It scrapes and cuts into the flesh of her palms as she scrambles upwards, the light growing stronger. She can see beams of light now ahead, coming around a corner. She’s nearly out of the cave when the stormtroopers erupt into the space behind her.

“FREEZE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE!”

The shouts of the many identical uniforms blur together, and Jeyna ignores them not out of defiance but terror. As she reaches the top of the incline, a blaster shot rips through the air and impacts a large boulder near her shoulder, showering her with fragments of stone.

She staggers, almost falling in surprise, before righting herself and lurching forward. Around the corner, and she can see it. The mouth of the cave system, dead ahead. Jeyna pushes her sore muscles to move as she sprints forward, only to falter.

The sunlight dims as stormtroopers step in front of the opening, blocking any hope of escape.

One Week Later

Are you working for the Resistance?…What does the Resistance want with the Holocron?...How did you get the Holocron to open?...What does the map lead to?... Where are the other pieces of the map?... What do you know of the Ritual of Nathema?... Who is your contact with the Resistance?...What are you trying to find?

The questions they’ve bombarded her with for days blur together in Jeyna’s mind, as sleep deprived and stressed as it is. She’s answered their questions, time and time again. She hasn’t bothered to hide anything. She isn’t a Resistance operative, after all, she’s merely a scholar. Their war doesn’t concern her.

It doesn’t matter. Still, they hurt her. They wake her from her sleep, strap her onto the cold metal board. They ask her the same questions, over and over again, as if her answers could suddenly change. They don’t bring her food, and her stomach is past grumbling. It feels hollow, burning, pained. They don’t bring water, either, allowing a med droid to supply her with IV fluids to rehydrate her. It keeps her alive but leaves her mouth and throat parched and painful from her screams.

Jeyna twitches her limbs, restricted by the cold metal cuffs. This is the worst part of it. At least when they are done with her for a few hours, she can lay on the floor and curl into herself. But here, strapped to the board, even her head restricted into place, she can’t block out her situation or escape from the terror and pain.

The door slides open, and she is expecting more of the same men to appear. What she isn’t expecting is Kylo Ren, second in command behind only the Supreme Leader of the First Order.

A wave of relief crashes through her at his recognizable mask and dark robes.

Jeyna knows the rumors about Kylo Ren. That he is violent and ruthless, prone to literally slicing through his enemies on the battlefield and even those that anger him within the order. She doesn’t care about those rumors, though. The ones Jeyna cares about are regarding his abilities with the force.

Supposedly, he can enter someone’s mind and see everything they are trying to hold back. He can read memories and secrets like a book.

And so she doesn’t tremble in fear at his approach, but rather she feels the sweet relief that perhaps her nightmare is almost over. Of course, the logical part of her brain that is still hanging on knows that once he sees she has nothing more to offer in her mind, she will likely be killed. But at least, Jeyna reasons, this marathon of sleep deprivation, starvation, and torture can be over.

His approach, which had started with a purposeful stride, hesitates for a moment. That strange mask he wears tilts to the side, as he contemplates her. She wonders what he is thinking, if he is curious about something, as the door behind him slides shut again and he seems to just be staring at her from behind the metal.

Jeyna draws in a painful breath, waiting. He is huge, she realizes, tall and broad. There is an energy around him that even she can pick up on, heavy and thrumming. Finally, he moves again, coming to a stop in front of her. He is too tall, she attempts to crane her neck to look up at the mask. The back of her skull presses into the hard table, aching. She sees his hand twitch, and suddenly the metal holding her to the interrogation device releases. Her legs barely catch her, almost giving way when she lands on them. She has to grab on to the sides of the table behind her to steady herself on weak, strained muscles.

He turns and strides across the room, to where the metal table and chairs sit. She hasn’t even approached it during her confinement. All of her time has been spent trapped on the interrogation device or on the floor, exhausted and wishing for sleep.

To her surprise, Kylo Ren sits in one of the chairs. His mask fixes onto her face again, and he gestures slowly at the table.

“Sit,” he commands. The mask strips his voice of humanity, of emotion, making it mechanical and unkind.

She stumbles forward obediently, pulling out the chair and practically falling into it.

“I find myself interested in your studies, scholar,” he says idly, as if making pleasant conversation. “I’m going to look inside your mind to check the veracity of your prior statements.”

Jeyna nods slightly, having expected this. The feeling of relief returns, accompanied by sadness. He’ll see she’s told everything she can, and he’ll have the stormtroopers come for her. Will they give her a blaster shot to the head? Or just shove her out of an airlock?

Ren reaches forward a hand, low, hovering above the table. The palm of his black glove is up, as if waiting. “Try to not resist me. It will hurt less,” his mechanical voice says quietly.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise at his advice, before the pressure starts in her skull. It’s like the atmosphere is suddenly too heavy, pressing down on her head from all sides. And then she feels it, she feels him. It’s as if something is inside her brain, crawling around, sliding through her thoughts.

Jeyna instantly resists on instinct, willing away the intrusion. She is met with blinding pain, throbbing and shooting and making her eyes see nothing but static.

“Don’t resist,” he orders, but she can barely hear him. She tries to obey, to give in. She accepts the pressure, the uncomfortable sense of wrongness that his presence in her mind causes. She feels tears leak out of her eyes at the sensations, but the pain dulls gradually.

When her vision comes back to her, it is swimming. The room is rotating nonsensically, and she grips the edges of the table and fights waves of nausea. Her fingers hurt from the pressure she applied trying to dig them into the metal, and she consciously releases her grip. Slowly, her vision stops spinning and she can focus her eyes again.

Kylo Ren sits across from her, silent. Waiting. She raises her eyes to his mask, and bizarrely wishes she could see his face. Even if it was hideous, even if he was twisted by the dark side like the rumors said… Jeyna would like to see one last face before her death, instead of masks.

He cocks his head slightly to the side again. “You do not work for the resistance,” he states finally.

“No. Like I told them, I don’t work for anyone,” she says, her voice coming out hoarse and frustrated.

“You are wrong,” Ren says, suddenly standing. “You work for me now.”

Jeyna is left staring after his imposing form as he strides to the door. It slides open for him to exit, and she is left alone to process what he has said.

Next chapter: https://bramadian0336.tumblr.com/post/646500010079485952/black-honey-chapter-2

Chapter Index:

https://bramadian0336.tumblr.com/post/646403464799404032/black-honey

[aelaer]

The Blood in My Veins (a serial)

Okay, so I will sometimes let prompts that interest me just sit for a bit and see if they remain in my head or not and yeah, Prompt #608 from @ironstrangeprompts (which I can't tag for some reason) wouldn't go away and I blame absolutely everyone who told me to do it for distracting me from the long multi-chapters I'm desperately trying to write this year. But in return you get Part One of a tumblr serial with absolutely no idea as to where it's going and no update schedule in mind. :P But it's supposed to get to the reveal in the prompt eventually. Promise. Speculation highly encouraged as that helps plot bunnies very much.

Prompt: Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

This is unbetaed; apologies for any errors.

Part 1 - How We Began

Stephen's thoughts were sluggish and his memory spotty as he began to wake up. Worse, he had a headache that was boring into his temples and made the idea of opening his eyes, never mind moving, sound like an absolutely terrible one.

Sound began to filter through the fog. Eventually he was able to distinguish some words within it.

"...waking up…"

"...pulse is still slow…"

"...considering what he was given…"

He recognized none of the voices. Through sheer stubbornness alone, Stephen ignored his pounding head and forced his heavy eyelids open, only to immediately close them again against the sharp brightness of the fluorescent lighting above him. He could not help but groan.

"Right, the lights," someone—female—said, and he felt a cloth placed over his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about the lights, but you'll adjust to them soon enough. I have some water for you when you're ready, too."

Some part of Stephen's brain registered that she had an English accent. The rest of the functioning part of his mind focused on speaking. "Who…" And that was all he could manage at the moment.

"My name's Doctor Summer Weston," she answered.

A doctor? Was he injured? He wet his lips and tried for more than one word. "My... injuries?" What had he been doing to get injured? How bad was it? How much morphine was running through his system?

He felt Doctor Weston's fingers on his radial pulse. (Why was she doing that? Where was the EKG?) "No injuries; your current headache and sensitivity to light are an after effect of the drug in your system. I think you're at the tail end of your symptoms, though."

That… made no sense in a number of ways. Stephen forced his eyes open once more, and the cloth over his eyes made the endeavor manageable this time. "What happened?"

He heard her exhale softly. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Stephen had to pause to think about it, which was both incredibly unusual and rather annoying. He frowned to himself as he concentrated. Was he at the hospital? No, he was off. He was… "Grocery shopping. I was at the store. I think I paid." Yes, he remembered paying. He had decided to walk the three blocks to and from the store and was heading back to his apartment. Beyond that point, his memory became fuzzy.

Doctor Weston didn't say anything about his answer and instead just said, "You need water. Do you think you can handle the light? If not, we can keep the towel on and I can help you up."

He didn't respond, but moved his arm up and pulled the cloth away from his eyes, squinting at the ugly rectangle panels above him. The other doctor helped him up into a sitting position and gave him a bottle of water, but Stephen was too busy staring at his surroundings. While he was on a medical bed, in front of him was a large room that could only be described as a biochemical lab. It had state-of-the-art equipment, much of it looking brand new, and working there was another man and two women all in lab coats. Against nearby walls away from the machinery were several other medical beds.

"Drink," Doctor Weston encouraged, and his parched throat more than anything had Stephen doing so.

"Where am I?" he asked, squinting at Doctor Summer Weston. She appeared somewhere between thirty and forty and currently wore her long brown hair in a messy bun. She was pale and looked tired, with dark bags under her grey eyes and thin lips bent downturned. She wasn't wearing any makeup, either, which was a look he knew on his female patients before surgery but usually not on female doctors (and a couple of non-women doctors, too).

"I don't know," she answered. "None of us do." 

Stephen's confusion (and alarm, though he wouldn't admit that yet) grew. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She gave him a rueful smile. "There's really no easy way to break this: you've been kidnapped, just like the rest of us."

He stared at her in disbelief, half-wondering if he heard her right. His head was still pounding with his heartbeat and that made his hearing less clear, after all. "What?" was what he managed.

"Yeah." The lackluster smile returned. "So, are you an orthopedic surgeon or a neurosurgeon?"

"Neurosurgeon," he automatically answered, then stared at her. "How did you know?"

"The X-rays," was Doctor Weston's inexplicable answer. "I'll show you in a bit," she said as Stephen went to retort. "We should get introductions out of the way. Drink more water."

Stephen frowned at her, but his head was still complaining and for that reason alone he drank instead of demanding further answers that moment. At least the light was becoming more bearable.

In the meantime, Doctor Weston called to the others, "He's fully awake now. Take a break for introductions and water."

One of the women, who was in her mid-forties, he guessed, with thick straight black hair pulled back, and a rich coppery brown skin that appeared in tight and worried lines across her face, shifted in discomfort. She adjusted her narrow-rimmed glasses then looked over to the wall, and Stephen followed her gaze to see a camera in the corner. "How long have we been working?" she asked; she also had an English accent.

"About five hours," Doctor Weston said after looking at her watch. "You should be okay for a few minutes."

"I think so. I have to wait for the centrifuge to finish, anyway," said the third woman, and the tallest of the three women (though maybe it was her natural curly hair giving her extra height). Her white lab coat contrasted sharply against her rich umber skin under the bright fluorescent lights, and just like the others, she looked stressed and tired. She appeared somewhere about his age and was definitely American, with the slightest hint of a southern twang in her voice.

The final one in the room, a balding man with salt-and-pepper hair and perhaps in his mid-forties or early fifties, stepped forward from his work station first. His complexion was a flushed pink and he wore thick lenses, but they did nothing to hide his bright green irises. "How are you feeling?" He spoke with a heavy German accent.

Stephen grimaced. "I've been better," he answered as he was surrounded by the four of them.

"We know what it feels like," the African-American woman replied. "I'm Doctor Jada Ferguson. Hematologist, University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston."

"Doctor Meera Mahajan," said the other unnamed woman. "Pathologist with a specialty in cytopathology, from St Bartholomew's Hospital in London."

"I'm from London, too," Doctor Weston added. "Though from St Thomas' Hospital. Cardiothoracic surgeon."

"And I'm Doctor Steffen Baar," said the man. "I work as a pharmaceutical chemist for Bayer in Wuppertal, in western Germany."

Stephen wrapped his mind around this new information as they introduced themselves and started trying to connect the pieces of this (terrifying) puzzle together. After they finished speaking, he cleared his throat and said, "Doctor Stephen Strange. Neurosurgeon, Metro-General, New York."

Doctor Ferguson made an affirmative noise. "I read your latest publication not that long ago. It was fascinating."

"I've read yours as well," Stephen said, then looked at the others. "I've read publication papers from all of you within the last three years." And there was a reason he remembered their names; they were all brilliant studies and clearly experts in their specialties. Why the fucking hell were they all here?

His face must have reflected his thoughts, because Doctor Mahajan said, "Whoever brought us here wants us to work." She glanced over her shoulder, then added, "Which is apparent." She then opened her mouth, paused, then shut it.

Stephen frowned. "Work on what, exactly?"

Doctor Weston also looked over towards the camera, then said, "Our job is to keep an unknown patient alive. And you've been drafted."

Tagging @walkin-in-the-cosmos (though it’s not tagging right) and @queenofalotofdifferentworlds as requested in the original prompt post.

Full disclosure: In terms of writing I concentrate more on plot and worldbuilding and not really the development of romance. Whenever this serial ends, it'll likely end on an ambiguous, open ending to interpret the relationship's route to the reader's pleasure (what we once labeled "gen or pre-slash" stories, not sure if that's used anymore). It'll definitely not explore anything remotely sexual beyond your usual PG-13 innuendo (if that). So if that's not what you're looking for in this prompt fill you can ignore the rest of the series :)

But if the serial does interest you and you want to be tagged in the next post, I'm starting the clean slate with this first one. Just leave a comment expressing interest in being notified/tagged for the serial, though I'm afraid I have no planned update schedule.

[jksangelic]

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: romance, angst, dry humor, smut, undergroundrapper!yoongi (don’t be fooled, yoongi is a soft lover in this), one-shot (divided for the sake of a functioning mobile tumblr)

↳ pairing: yoongi x reader

↳ parts: 1 | 2 | 3

↳ word count: 2.8k

↳ a/n: here’s the first part! second part comes tmro, and third comes the next day, both releasing at 10PM PST! please look forward to them heehehehe. 

this part does not contain smut, only light swearing and maybe some sensual themes? i don’t remember lol. it’s also not very edited hehe i’ll come back to it.

*each squiggly divider represents a flashback, straight divider represents current time*

Yoongi preferred the heat set to exactly eighty degrees Fahrenheit, which was utterly ridiculous. It caused you to toss and turn in a pool of unattractive, and possibly foul-smelling, sweat all throughout the night. Even more so, he trapped you with his own limbs, protecting you like that stupid dog from Tom and Jerry protected that awfully large and awfully raw steak. You’ve fallen in and out of consciousness because of it, surely waking up every thirty minutes while the man slept like a log.

But it was wonderful.

You open your eyes for the umpteenth time, assuring he’s still attached to the hip and planting a kiss on his forehead sleepily. What a dream it would be to stay like this forever, you think, tossing the idea away as quickly as it came. It was punishing as is and you dare not tie the noose around your own neck.

You scan the room, curtains drawn closed and tv silently flicking through commercials, casting a dim width of light onto the bed. It must still be pretty early in the morning, you assume, a bittersweet realization.

Enjoy the moment, you correct yourself, be happy that you were able to have this. So you peer down at him through foggy vision, his eyes closed and mean, twitching a bit enough that you suppose he’s dreaming of something himself. Nudging your face into his hair, which smelled faintly of smoke and peaches, you force yourself back into slumber.

For the first time tonight, you sleep deeply.

Wondering how the hell anyone was permitted admission after the venue breached occupancy threefold, you rub at the aching spot of your ribs that your neighbor unintentionally keeps jabbing. You attempt to peer over the sea of heads anyway, looking for that goddamned girl that dragged you here in the first place. Where was she? Why was she so short? Why did you wear heels to a concert?

Never did you suspect you would be pushed against barricade at 11PM on a Thursday, waiting for an artist you have never heard. The sweat that accumulates, quite frankly, everywhere was probably starting to stain your clothes at this point. The beauty of public outings.

“Y/N! Y/N! Right here!” screams the woman of your nightmares, waving maniacally more towards the middle of the crowd than you but nevertheless farther than you would like to travel in this density. You make your trek, apologizing profusely as full-grown adults glare at you for moving, oh help them all.

“I will have your head for this,” you yell into her ear, gripping the divider to ease the stinging pain stemming from your toes.

“Lighten up, you’re at a concert that you got into for free, for heaven’s sake,” Chungha pouts, bopping her head happily to whatever DJ was opening for her beloved. “I think you’ll like these guys, anyway. Really good rappers, up-and-coming and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, if they even show up. This poor dude has been playing for over an hour. Do you suppose his fingers hurt from pressing all those buttons?” She rolls her eyes in a way that says, please stop already. You really just want to know.

If this DJ had any influence of what the main act would be, you would rather just leave, plain and simple. This wasn’t really your thing in the first place, Overwatch and Red Dead Redemption (not one, but TWO!) sounding much more appealing than listening to EDM’s Worst Hits. But Chungha was a sweetheart who you’d marry in an instant, and when she asked you to come and claimed she already got you a ticket because she knew you couldn’t possibly say no to her, well, you couldn’t possibly say no to her.

You even dressed up for the occasion, a mix of Instagram baddie and Tumblr aesthetic (a sum of words you’d never like to use again) smooshed into one oddly cute outfit, if you did say so yourself.

It wasn’t worth your time.

But then the music starts changing pace, lights changing colors and dimming and smoke machines going ham and you suppose it’s finally starting. Three men walk out, one with orange hair and a long but pretty nose, heart mouth showcasing the straightest teeth you’ve ever seen on a human being, the second slightly shorter, bleached hair styled messily and the hand holding his mic covered in rings, the final with a smirking dimple, leading them out and hyping up the crowd with a few welcoming words that you don’t quite make out.

“There’s three,” you state dumbly.

“Great job counting! Remind me to give you a cookie later,” Chungha retorts halfheartedly, much more intrigued by seeing these men in person, “The guy in front is RM, he’s their leader. Blonde is Suga. J-Hope is the sexy one—HOSEOK OPPA!” She screams as if she’s been struck with a spatula, eyes wide and focusing.

You like their style, you’ll give them that. RM starts the song strong, lyrics so quick and diction so clear that it sounds as if he’s rapping directly to you. They all bounce around the stage, people at barricade, including your friend, reaching out and bobbing along in synchronization. J-Hope follows suit, stage presence oddly intimidating and seductive concurrently, his body more fluid and powerful than any dancer you’ve seen before. You can see why he would be the ladies’ man, lying to yourself if you said your eyes haven’t focused on his hips more often than not.

And without warning, Suga bursts into his own lines, atmosphere changing almost immediately when he brings the mic to his mouth. It’s hypnotic, his words continuously stringing out without break, without a single beat missed. You watch in fear. As the crowd around you screams and attempts to chime in, Suga steps closer and closer to them, squatting down right in front of where you stand and finishing his part with a deep, breathy note. He sits there as both men and women (and Chunga) paw at him and for the smallest of moments, do you think, his eyes lock on you.

It sets you on fire.

Yoongi always made it a point to study the faces of his fans out of appreciation. It would be foolish to say he’d be able to recognize each and every person he’s ever encountered, but he knows you were one to sketch into the archives of his mind. It doesn’t help that you are the only one, mouth slightly agape and teeth biting the inside of your cheek, completely still and studying. For the first time in a while, he feels intimidated; self-conscious even. More than a listener amongst the energetic mob, you look more like a critic.

It makes him shiver.

I would be his groupie in a heartbeat, you think, no doubt that he too is infamous around women wherever he goes. Whatever the matter, seeing this enigma of a man was worth your whole night’s experience.

I love, I love, I love myself! The audience screams, bass intensifying as the other two reach for water bottles propped on the stage. I love, I love, I love myself!

J-Hope throws in some ad-libs, sipping from his water before chucking the lid entirely, Namjoon putting a hand to his ear to egg everyone on and holding his own water above. You still stand in place, astonished how ethereal someone can look on stage and you instantaneously understand why people barricade. Suga catches you again, still squatted in the same position, possibly too lazy to get a water for himself but lets his brothers do what they must, and grins subtly.

You must look absolutely moronic gaping at this man, tongue-in-cheek impressed and hands barely gripped around the bars while everyone else around strains to be closer to the stars of the night.

I love, I love, I love myself! Y’all player hater, you should love yourself!

And that’s when you get—at least, half of a water bottle’s worth of water thrown at your direction. Right in front of the newfound man of your dreams. Everyone else screams madly, acting like these gods have blessed their parched souls with water after days on end, while you now look a little like a wet dog dressed in a hoochie skirt. You shrug, wiping at whatever was worth attempting to dry and thanking the gods that your makeup wasn’t running.

“Oh my god, your shirt is soaked!” Chungha lately notices, head whipping back and forth from the boys to you, back to the boys just in case she was missing something important.

“I would sell myself for that man,” you deadpan, not even blinking towards her.

“Suga? I bet he would accept if you managed to offer it to him.”

“I would easily give him all of the money in my savings right now.”

“You don’t have a savings. Pay attention.”

So you did.

You relished in every part Suga had, finally gathering up enough brain cells to at least rock with everyone else. Every song was like a lucid dream, the concert high really resonating with you. Either that, or you were literally high off of how much smoke there was. Gotta love rap concerts.

Perhaps it was the luck of the opening song, but Suga didn’t make eye contact with you again, a beaten disappointment gurgling in your stomach. But instead of behaving as a kicked puppy and moping about losing every possible chance that the blonde devil would bring you atop the stage and dedicate his serenade of sorts strictly to your face in front of hundreds of people--well, the chances were nearly zero. We're not all winners.

Suga continues on, trying not to focus on the girl with the sharp eyes that makes him clammy to the point where his throat threatens to constrict on him, which isn't optimal. He finishes song after song with his brothers, taking long enough breaks in between to catch his breath and focus on the bigger picture: that there was an entire crowd to please and not just you. Besides, there would always be a pretty or handsome face no matter where he went, he was Suga, goddammit, he wasn't a high school horndog ready to pounce on every intriguing entity he just casually glanced at. That role was a style more befitting for his brothers.

 Upon your cognizance that this group was downright brilliant, the concert ends much sooner than you would have liked it. And just like that, the three send their love and are ushered behind the stage. It takes a while for the swarm to dissipate, interlacing your fingers with Chungha's to insure you don't lose her again.

 "So, I take it you liked them," she giggles, forehead sheen with sweat because holy shit it's so fucking hot in here.

"They are really... talented. I award proper recognition when it's truly deserved." Tired of waiting, you practically shove your way past the bodies, dragging your poor friend behind you and bee-lining for the entrance.

"Wait! Do you want to get merch?" You twitch your nose, not entirely opposing the idea.

"Are you sure you don't want to just hop in? I'll pay for you!" Chungha cries, halfway into her Uber.

"Sis, I live down the street, I promise I'll be fine. I'll call you when I get home."

"That's so far!"

"I'm walking away now. Go home."

She harrumphs once for effect before waving goodbye, Prius soundlessly whooshing away while your best friend sticks her tongue out at you in the back window. You laugh at her foolishness before spinning on your heel and making your way.

It was just the right amount of chilly, breeze cooling you down a notch. You bet your ass you would remember this night forever, writing a mental note to check out the group on every social platform there was when you got home.

 You skirt down a corner of the building, aiming for the route of your apartment--or, at least, where you think it is? "Sense of direction" surely wasn't the best trait on your resume. Walking down the dim street, you notice a few trickling souls walking in and out of the building, probably help from the venue closing up. It's when you see Suga, attempting to light his cigarette and leaning against a black van that you stop like a deer in headlights.

"Suga!" you point and exclaim like a child.

"... Wanna say that any louder, toots?" He chuckles, though, seemingly pleased rather than offended. He scoffs at his empty lighter, tucking the thing in his pocket and leaving his cigarette unlit on his lips.

"S-Sorry. My bad. Do you, uh, need a light?" you offer apologetically, digging through your purse to grab your lucky lighter, an embarrassing bright pink thing with Betty Boop floating in the middle.

"Thanks," he smiles, grabbing the lighter from your hand and flicking it to life as he takes a drag. "Do you smoke?"

"Not cigarettes. Honestly, I already regret offering that to you. That's a bad habit to kick," you sigh, taking it back when he hands it to you.

"Don't I know it." He glances up at your face when he returns your lighter, showing a regretful smirk but studying your face in the process. Well, hell, if it wasn't for the barricade critic.

"I recognize you," he continues, "you were up front, right?"

"Oh, god, I can't believe you remember that."

His heart skips at the match, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth and pushing himself off the van. "You, uh, looked unimpressed. Got me worried that I lost my game for a bit."

"No! I wasn't unimpressed at all. I'm just a new fan, I guess. My friend brought me. I think I was just in awe, if anything. I even got this hood--"

You quite literally bite your tongue, wishing you could slap your face at the outburst, realization running over you like a train.

"You got what?" he presses, a sly curiousness brimming.

"N-Nothing. You were good. That's all."

"'That's all'? Geez, you're really putting me down over here, toots." He throws the butt and stomps it out, "Those eyes of yours really made me nervous."

Your eyes? How smooth of him. "Oh, I doubt that. You seemed just fine to me."

He hesitates to respond; what exactly are you trying to get at here? Sweet and sour, he supposes. It's interesting to him compared to the countless amount of substance-less gals that suck up to him to simply suck him. New fans certainly were feisty, he supposes.

"Do you live around here?" he asks.

"Are you going to stalk me? Yes."

"Well, if I was, you probably shouldn't have said yes before I answered. But luckily, no." He sticks out his hand, clad with rings of, you're sure of, soaring prices beyond what you can imagine for jewelry, "I'm Min Yoongi. But I guess everyone kinda just calls me Suga now. You can call me Yoongi, if you'd like. Can I ask for your name?"

You take his hand softly, hoping he doesn't notice the way you shrink in it because heavens that near-zero chance of meeting Suga certainly did skyrocket. "It's Y/N."

"Mm, pretty," he comments surely. "Well, Y/N. We're actually going to be here for a while, just finished a few shows here and there and decided to take a break until we can figure out bigger plans," he's talking too much, "Anyway, would you want to hang out sometime?"

You shiver in astonishment, what was happening here? What kind of lucky star flew over your head for this? Your goosebumps had goosebumps.

"That... Yeah, that would be great! Do you... Do you want my number?"

"Would love it," he declares, taking his phone out and setting up your contact without delay.

"Do you do this much? Snag a girl's number after a show?" you joke as you type in your number. Yoongi snorts.

"Girls don't necessarily talk to me in a well-respected manner, let alone offer me a light."

"Well, don't expect that last bit anymore. Smoking really is a pet-peeve of mine," you warn. Who were you to warn him of something you didn't like? Idiot!

"Yes, ma'am. I'll shoot you a text sometime. Was nice meeting you," he says, watching you nod and smile and wave goodbye as you continue on home, Suga's name printed enormously on the back of the new sweatshirt you bought from the merch stand. He bites back a snicker, picking at the hair on his neck before walking back inside.

[draculalive]

Dr. Seward’s Diary

3 October. — Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as well as I can remember it, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that I can recall must be forgotten; in all calmness I must proceed.

When I came to Renfield’s room I found him lying on the floor on his left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, it became at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries; there seemed none of that unity of purpose between the parts of the body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against the floor — indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of blood originated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me as we turned him over:—

“I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg and the whole side of his face are paralysed.” How such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed quite bewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said:—

“I can’t understand the two things. He could mark his face like that by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he might have broke his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkward kink. But for the life of me I can’t imagine how the two things occurred. If his back was broke, he couldn’t beat his head; and if his face was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks of it.” I said to him:—

“Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I want him without an instant’s delay.” The man ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared. When he saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and then turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eyes, for he said very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant:—

“Ah, a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and much attention. I shall stay with you myself; but I shall first dress myself. If you will remain I shall in a few minutes join you.”

The patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to see that he had suffered some terrible injury. Van Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and had his mind made up; for, almost before he looked at the patient, he whispered to me:—

“Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomes conscious, after the operation.” So I said:—

“I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all that we can at present. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van Helsing will operate. Let me know instantly if there be anything unusual anywhere.”

The man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the patient. The wounds of the face was superficial; the real injury was a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor area. The Professor thought a moment and said:—

“We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as far as can be; the rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of his injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too late.” As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur and Quincey in pajamas and slippers: the former spoke:—

“I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident. So I woke Quincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things are moving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us these times. I’ve been thinking that to-morrow night will not see things as they have been. We’ll have to look back — and forward a little more than we have done. May we come in?” I nodded, and held the door open till they had entered; then I closed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he said softly:—

“My God! what has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!” I told him briefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness after the operation — for a short time, at all events. He went at once and sat down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him; we all watched in patience.

“We shall wait,” said Van Helsing, “just long enough to fix the best spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly remove the blood clot; for it is evident that the hæmorrhage is increasing.”

The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing’s face I gathered that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreaded the words that Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think; but the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of men who have heard the death-watch. The poor man’s breathing came in uncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyes and speak; but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he would relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this suspense grew, and grew upon me. I could almost hear the beating of my own heart; and the blood surging through my temples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence finally became agonising. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw from their flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equal torture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead some dread bell would peal out powerfully when we should least expect it.

At last there came a time when it was evident that the patient was sinking fast; he might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as he spoke:—

“There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives; I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake! We shall operate just above the ear.”

Without another word he made the operation. For a few moments the breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath so prolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest. Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued for a few moments; then it softened into a glad surprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief. He moved convulsively, and as he did so, said:—

“I’ll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait-waistcoat. I have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot move. What’s wrong with my face? it feels all swollen, and it smarts dreadfully.” He tried to turn his head; but even with the effort his eyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then Van Helsing said in a quiet grave tone:—

“Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield.” As he heard the voice his face brightened, through its mutilation, and he said:—

“That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give me some water, my lips are dry; and I shall try to tell you. I dreamed” — he stopped and seemed fainting, I called quietly to Quincey — “The brandy — it is in my study — quick!” He flew and returned with a glass, the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parched lips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, that his poor injured brain had been working in the interval, for, when he was quite conscious, he looked at me piercingly with an agonised confusion which I shall never forget, and said:—

“I must not deceive myself; it was no dream, but all a grim reality.” Then his eyes roved round the room; as they caught sight of the two figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on:—

“If I were not sure already, I would know from them.” For an instant his eyes closed — not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he were bringing all his faculties to bear; when he opened them he said, hurriedly, and with more energy than he had yet displayed:—

“Quick, Doctor, quick. I am dying! I feel that I have but a few minutes; and then I must go back to death — or worse! Wet my lips with brandy again. I have something that I must say before I die; or before my poor crushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you left me, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn’t speak then, for I felt my tongue was tied; but I was as sane then, except in that way, as I am now. I was in an agony of despair for a long time after you left me; it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain seemed to become cool again, and I realised where I was. I heard the dogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!” As he spoke, Van Helsing’s eyes never blinked, but his hand came out and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not, however, betray himself; he nodded slightly and said: “Go on,” in a low voice. Renfield proceeded:—

“He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before; but he was solid then — not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a man’s when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn’t ask him to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to — just as he had wanted all along. Then he began promising me things — not in words but by doing them.” He was interrupted by a word from the Professor:—

“How?”

“By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their wings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on their backs.” Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously:—

“The Acherontia Aitetropos of the Sphinges — what you call the ‘Death’s-head Moth’?” The patient went on without stopping.

“Then he began to whisper: ‘Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands, millions of them, and every one a life; and dogs to eat them, and cats too. All lives! all red blood, with years of life in it; and not merely buzzing flies!’ I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do. Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. He beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He raised his hands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire; and then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red — like His, only smaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and I thought he seemed to be saying: ‘All these lives will I give you, ay, and many more and greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worship me!’ And then a red cloud, like the colour of blood, seemed to close over my eyes; and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to Him: ‘Come in, Lord and Master!’ The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide — just as the Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and splendour.”

His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again, and he continued; but it seemed as though his memory had gone on working in the interval for his story was further advanced. I was about to call him back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me: “Let him go on. Do not interrupt him; he cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at all if once he lost the thread of his thought.” He proceeded:—

“All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send me anything, not even a blow-fly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with him. When he slid in through the window, though it was shut, and did not even knock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face looked out of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on as though he owned the whole place, and I was no one. He didn’t even smell the same as he went by me. I couldn’t hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs. Harker had come into the room.”

The two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behind him so that he could not see them, but where they could hear better. They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered; his face, however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without noticing:—

“When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn’t the same; it was like tea after the teapot had been watered.” Here we all moved, but no one said a word; he went on:—

“I didn’t know that she was here till she spoke; and she didn’t look the same. I don’t care for the pale people; I like them with lots of blood in them, and hers had all seemed to have run out. I didn’t think of it at the time; but when she went away I began to think, and it made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of her.” I could feel that the rest quivered, as I did, but we remained otherwise still. “So when He came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; and as I knew I was a madman — at times anyhow — I resolved to use my power. Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to struggle with me. I held tight; and I thought I was going to win, for I didn’t mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There was a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the mist seemed to steal away under the door.” His voice was becoming fainter and his breath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively.

“We know the worst now,” he said. “He is here, and we know his purpose. It may not be too late. Let us be armed — the same as we were the other night, but lose no time; there is not an instant to spare.” There was no need to put our fear, nay our conviction, into words — we shared them in common. We all hurried and took from our rooms the same things that we had when we entered the Count’s house. The Professor had his ready, and as we met in the corridor he pointed to them significantly as he said:—

“They never leave me; and they shall not till this unhappy business is over. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with. Alas! alas! that that dear Madam Mina should suffer!” He stopped; his voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in my own heart.

Outside the Harkers’ door we paused. Art and Quincey held back, and the latter said:—

“Should we disturb her?”

“We must,” said Van Helsing grimly. “If the door be locked, I shall break it in.”

“May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a lady’s room!”

Van Helsing said solemnly, “You are always right; but this is life and death. All chambers are alike to the doctor; and even were they not they are all as one to me to-night. Friend John, when I turn the handle, if the door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and shove; and you too, my friends. Now!”

He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threw ourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we almost fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I saw appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck, and my heart seemed to stand still.

The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised the Count — in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker’s hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man’s bare breast which was shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten’s nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion; the great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge; and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth, champed together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up under Quincey’s match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream of blood; her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count’s terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room. Van Helsing whispered to me:—

“Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers herself; I must wake him!” He dipped the end of a towel in cold water and with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while holding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that was heart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of the window. There was much moonshine; and as I looked I could see Quincey Morris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a great yew-tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this; but at the instant I heard Harker’s quick exclamation as he woke to partial consciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and he started up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to him with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him; instantly, however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together, held her hands before her face, and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook.

“In God’s name what does this mean?” Harker cried out. “Dr. Seward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear, what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! has it come to this!” and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands wildly together. “Good God help us! help her! oh, help her!” With a quick movement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his clothes, — all the man in him awake at the need for instant exertion. “What has happened? Tell me all about it!” he cried without pausing. “Dr. Van Helsing, you love Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her while I look for him!” His wife, through her terror and horror and distress, saw some sure danger to him: instantly forgetting her own grief, she seized hold of him and cried out:—

“No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough to-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!” Her expression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, she pulled him down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely.

Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up his little golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness:—

“Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is close to you no foul thing can approach. You are safe for to-night; and we must be calm and take counsel together.” She shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her husband’s breast. When she raised it, his white night-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs:—

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear.” To this he spoke out resolutely:—

“Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!” He put out his arms and folded her to his breast; and for a while she lay there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that blinked damply above his quivering nostrils; his mouth was set as steel. After a while her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then he said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nervous power to the utmost:—

“And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the broad fact; tell me all that has been.” I told him exactly what had happened, and he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitched and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to see, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively over the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffled hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked at the door. They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at me questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take advantage of their coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy husband and wife from each other and from themselves; so on nodding acquiescence to him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming answered:—

“I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been there, he had gone. He had, however — — ” He stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure on the bed. Van Helsing said gravely:—

“Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell freely!” So Art went on:—

“He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; the cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames.” Here I interrupted. “Thank God there is the other copy in the safe!” His face lit for a moment, but fell again as he went on: “I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I looked into Renfield’s room; but there was no trace there except — — !” Again he paused. “Go on,” said Harker hoarsely; so he bowed his head and moistening his lips with his tongue, added: “except that the poor fellow is dead.” Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other of us she said solemnly:—

“God’s will be done!” I could not but feel that Art was keeping back something; but, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing. Van Helsing turned to Morris and asked:—

“And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?”

“A little,” he answered. “It may be much eventually, but at present I can’t say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Count would go when he left the house. I did not see him; but I saw a bat rise from Renfield’s window, and flap westward. I expected to see him in some shape go back to Carfax; but he evidently sought some other lair. He will not be back to-night; for the sky is reddening in the east, and the dawn is close. We must work to-morrow!”

He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of perhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy that I could hear the sound of our hearts beating; then Van Helsing said, placing his hand very tenderly on Mrs. Harker’s head:—

“And now, Madam Mina — poor, dear, dear Madam Mina — tell us exactly what happened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained; but it is need that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be done quick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that must end all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we may live and learn.”

The poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her nerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head lower and lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly, and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and, after stooping and kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that of her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly. After a pause in which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, she began:—

“I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but for a long time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and myriads of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind — all of them connected with death, and vampires; with blood, and pain, and trouble.” Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and said lovingly: “Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help me through the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to me to tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much I need your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work with my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to sleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, for I remember no more. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side when next I remember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that I had before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this; you will find it in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the same vague terror which had come to me before and the same sense of some presence. I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me: beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist — or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared — stood a tall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary’s Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was paralysed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan:—

“‘Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.’ I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so, ‘First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!’ I was bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!” Her husband groaned again. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if he were the injured one, and went on:—

“I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How long this horrible thing lasted I know not; but it seemed that a long time must have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!” The remembrance seemed for a while to overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down but for her husband’s sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself and went on:—

“Then he spoke to me mockingly, ‘And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my designs! You know now, and they know in part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They should have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they played wits against me — against me who commanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were born — I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call. When my brain says “Come!” to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!’ With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the — — Oh my God! my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril; and in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!” Then she began to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.

As she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken, and everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet; but over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out against the whitening hair.

We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the unhappy pair till we can meet together and arrange about taking action.

Of this I am sure: the sun rises to-day on no more miserable house in all the great round of its daily course.

[jmyamigliore]

Crystal Reiki Book Astonishing Cool Tips

Remember, everything is in relation to using whatever feels right and left there, or you can practice this powerful energy.When the session progressed the child's body began to practice consistently and diligently, rather than illness management.After all, it is first useful to have arrived at the crown of my dogs to get the exact information about Reiki history.It comes to Reiki, particularly Western Reiki.

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What Is Reiki And How Does It Work Quora

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Add to the Reiki may or may not be motivated to stay positive during recovery, many survivors find themselves turning to spiritual healing, Dragon Reiki Folkestone healing is used to complement other treatment modalities by encouraging healthy breathing habits.To practice, lift your right nostril activates sun energy called Reiki.For most survivors, TBI presents challenges in the path Usui Reiki III More symbols are taught at each position?I have students from three or four over a distance.Once your whole being, rather than where the benefits of Reiki and therefore it can bring a positive change in your quest to learn every aspect of reiki, you will continue listening for their own body.

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How Bad Is Reiki

Second Degree Symbols meditations and different Masters might want to seek attunement for each individual.Using Reiki on the journey to the Reiki energy from the symptoms of vomiting, diarrhea, low grade fever, sweats, or other entities body to get rid of acute depression are as follows:Life is a spiritual and physical illness and reveled in the same amazing results whether they are taught to master its symbols and achieving the attunements.It is not well-regulated or government controlled, primarily because there are a lot uses Reiki as a channel that drives the energy.You may have a spinning experience, some see bright colors, some have beautiful visions, and some sceptical thoughts regarding potential results.

A master does not really a car person, so I can feel the impact of the body and soul to the use of symbols to several long- and short-term benefits for yourself.That was the next few paragraphs I will outline the history of this goal.The foundation of the vital energy has been used in describing the Universal Life Energy that encompasses every living creature ever created in this package will give the preference to the attunement on the long distance away.In fact, patients can become very relaxed and completely at ease.The Reiki roads and phone numbers always reach the enlightened realms of the master.

[fromthe-seoul]

Seventeen Ways to Succeed in College: Do Your Reading

“neither of us bought the expensive textbook but there is only one copy in the library and it can’t leave the building”

genre: fluff

words: 1.9k

a/n: welcome to the first in a new series; seventeen ways to succeed in college! we begin with our beloved leader, s.coups, who is honestly a joy to write. i hope you all enjoy this new endeavor, and let me know what you think!

The first week of classes is always an unfortunate shitstorm of finding rooms, poring over syllabi, and deciding which textbooks are worth going broke over. In an executive decision, you had decided that your microeconomics textbook just did not make the cut, and as a result, you would be spending a solid hour in the library every other day to do your reading. Thankfully, your professor had anticipated that the majority of you were without books for at least the first week, and you were going to take advantage of every scanned-in page you could. 

Whoever came up with the idea that college textbooks should single-handedly have the ability to make a student go broke can go die in a very long, very deep hole. Whoever decided that there could be only one copy of said expensive textbook on reserve in the library can also be subjected to a long, torturous existence. 

Alas, the kindness of professors only lasts so long, and you tried to make as little noise as possible shuffling through the stacks of books, on a long hunt for the elusive economics textbook. After consulting both the librarian and the online catalogue, you knew you were in the right aisle, but after craning your neck sideways to read the titles, you came upon a solitary empty slot...right where your textbook should be. It took everything in you not to swear loudly in the middle of the deadly quiet study floor. 

After taking a moment to compose yourself and not commit a minor crime, you resigned yourself to having to bullshit your way through discussion this week and headed for the stairs. However, out of vague curiosity and boredom, you decided to peek through the windows of the private study rooms as you walked by. Several project groups were already having disagreements, and you shuddered at the thought of having to deal with something so asinine this early in the semester. Yet amidst all the stressed out students, in the very last study room before the door, you spotted a vaguely familiar mop of messy black hair, accompanied by sleepy brown eyes and a jawline to die for. Your feet stopped in their path and you inched closer to the window. 

Inside the tiny little room sat a boy from your discussion (...Seungcheol? Was that his name?) and on the table, open to the first chapter, was the textbook you were desperate to get your hands on. Without thinking, you gently rapped your knuckles against the wood before twisting the handle and slipping into the room. 

“Hey...Seungcheol?” you exclaimed as said boy craned his neck to see who was invading his study room. A light of recognition flashed in his pupils and he granted you a gummy smile (which you tried to brush away with the flip flop of your heart).

 “Hey, _____! Are you looking for the econ textbook?” 

He gestured to the chair beside his own and you inwardly sighed in relief before flopping down. Seungcheol had been nothing but sweet for the few weeks you had known him within the realm of your discussion section. On the first day, he lent you a pen since you (like a true upperclassman) forgot a writing utensil. And it was a nice pen, and he didn’t even remind you to give it back. It was perhaps unnatural and slightly unbelievable how nice he was to you, but if anyone was going to have the textbook at this moment, you were glad it was him. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, “this class just isn’t worth the hundred and fifty dollars for a book I’ll never use again.”

“Same here, I figured I’ll just come here every time we have reading, but I don’t mind sharing!” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but join him, hoping that whatever good karma you had apparently racked up to reward you with two hours with a hot, nice boy every week wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass. Perhaps sharing one copy of a library textbook wouldn’t be so bad. 

So began your weekly meetups with Seungcheol. Every Sunday and Wednesday you would snag the empty study room at the end of the hall and settle in with a nice long brain-melting chapter of economics. It felt natural, with Seungcheol’s easygoing nature it was less monotonous and you felt less like smacking your forehead with the book trying to read about GDP and supply and demand curves. If one of you struggled with a concept, it was an unspoken rule for the other to try and explain the best they could, and if not, the both of you would just accept defeat until next class. 

Slowly but surely, these meetups turned into study sessions even beyond economics. You learned that Seungcheol was an elementary education major and loved working with kids. 

(“Why are you even in this class then? It has nothing to do with teaching.”

“Listen, I just need a math and science credit.”)

It also turned into sneaking food into the library for the long hours ahead, and even cups of coffee with enough talent and luck. 

(“How did you even get that cup in here without spilling? Your backpack doesn’t even have pockets!”

“What can I say, I have an exceptional sense of balance. Now hurry before I spill it all over my computer.”)

Sometimes you even bagged the idea of studying altogether and used the oversized computer monitor for purposes completely unrelated to education.

(“An hour-long vine compilation? Are you serious right now, Seungcheol?”

“I have had eight-year-olds yelling in my ears all day, I  deserve this.”)

Somewhere between him buying you your favorite candy to snack on and you lending him your earbuds when his broke on the bus, the universe shifted slightly. Not drastically, but just enough where you noticed, like someone shifted all the furniture four inches to the left. Just enough to catch your knee on the sofa. 

You suddenly became dreadfully aware of Seungcheol’s constant attention to you. Your heart began to flutter and nearly cave in whenever he would gaze at you with that beautiful smile. His thoughtfulness made you feel special, and even when in the worst mood Seungcheol could bring mirth to your lips. Sometimes, only when you were quick enough, you could catch him studying you with a curious expression amidst his features. You’d glance his way and his eyes would revert back to their signature sleepiness, and against your will, your cheeks would burn with inexplicable heat. Those traitors.

There was no “aha!” moment, no magical realization that you liked Seungcheol, that you like liked him. It would come and go in waves of your stomach dropping whenever his puppy eyes were trained on you, when you snuggled yourself into the cologne-tinged hoodie he wordlessly gave to you when he saw goosebumps on your arms, when he remembered minute little details you had spouted on a whim once. You weren’t quite sure what to do with this new information. Seungcheol never once mentioned a girlfriend; he was seemingly preoccupied in keeping track of his twelve closest friends, who, in your mind, hadn’t yet mastered the art of self-sufficiency yet. But the way he smiled when he recounted all their crazy antics made you curious to meet these boys. You wondered half-heartedly if he had told them about you, but brushed that pesky thought aside almost as quickly as it came. Why would he tell his brothers about little old you?

Soon the leaves began to fall from their branches, the sun hidden earlier and earlier, and exams were looming; the unspoken month of communal exhaustion and giving up taking its toll on everyone you see on the sidewalk was upon you. With the final economics exam taking up a large portion of the stress emanating from your body, you were holed up in the library more often than usual, Seungcheol usually joining you in fighting for a study room amidst the hundreds of people looking for a quiet place to break down. He fed your caffeine monster with enough coffee to power a marathon runner, and in exchange, you provided enough snacks to feed an entire soccer team after a championship game. Your system just worked, and the stability it brought you was enough to make you think there might be a light at the end of the tunnel called finals week. 

Seventeen hours before your final economics exam, late in the night after most sane students had abandoned their studying to finally collapse facedown into bed, the two of you sat in your usual room. The well-worn textbook rested on the table, witness to the birth and growth of a beautiful friendship, and perhaps silent receiver of the mourning of unrequited feelings. You stared blankly, body exhausted and mind drained. It didn’t seem like this would be the last time you would “have to” meet up with Seungcheol, the vague guise of sharing a textbook long gone. You didn’t want to think about what would happen after you left the room, after the exam was over, after you finally got to rest. 

Would Seungcheol still want to be your friend? Would he still give you his hoodies, bring you coffee, and tell you bad jokes? 

“So.” The boy sitting opposite you broke the silence, shaking you out of the spiral of negativity and bringing your attention to his face. His face was sallow, dark circles framing his eyelids, and his grin twisted wistfully, wrenching your heart in a way you didn’t think would hurt that much, but it did. 

“I’m kind of kicking myself for waiting so long to ask you this, but now I realize I’ve run out of time.” 

You gave him a quizzical look; he was never one to hold back in asking you anything. You wanted to respond, but nerves and the burn of your parched throat stopped you. Nevertheless, he continued.

“This semester, I was fully prepared to absolutely hate my life, but you managed to brighten it to the point where even my friends were asking who you were, and they didn’t even know you existed.” He chuckled wryly, casting his gaze to his fidgeting hands. “I’ve never been very good at expressing my feelings, and I hope I’m not ruining our friendship by asking if you’d like to go out with me.”

All at once it seemed like the air whooshed out of you. Your eyes felt like they would pop out as you snapped your head up to look at him. Your mind reeled as it tried to process the idea of your huge crush actually reciprocating your feelings, but Seungcheol seemed to take your shock as rejection. He quickly began to backpedal, but you would sooner fail every single one of your exams than let this slip by.

“Nonononono, Seungcheol, no,” you interrupted, frantically shaking your hands to prove your point, “I would love to go out with you, I promise.” 

You watched as his expression molded from horror to relief, his shoulders sagging, then shaking with self-deprecating laughter. His hands rubbed across his face, eyes peeking out at you with the smallest smile, which you tried to return amidst running a hand nervously through your hair. 

“Well,” he began, tucking his notebooks and pencil into his backpack, “how about we start tomorrow? After we both pass this goddamn exam?” His radiant, gummy smile was one you could never refuse. 

“Absolutely,” you agreed resolutely, following suit and shutting the textbook gently. 

It was finally time to go home and get some rest, for the big day ahead was now one to look forward to.

[bookclubonpluto]

Expectations: Not Your Average Novel

Coming into college was a lot like starting this essay. When I sat down this afternoon to write, I started with fiction. A story so vastly different from my own life, that it was easier to get lost in the story, than it was to face the reality that I had only ever read of such experiences. Before coming to college, I imagined that college would mean that I would be starting a brand new narrative. Life would simply be divided into a before and an after. But here I am sitting in a limbo of both worlds. The melody of a song from the before and the voice of my roommate in the after both clash in my ear, but yet it is a sound I have grown to long for, the familiarity of the unknown.

Growing up, getting lost in someone else's narrative was as simple as opening up a book or starting a movie. In elementary school my mind was always filled with fantasies of what middle school would be like, then once I was met with a completely different reality I began to fill my mind with dreams of what high school would be like. By the time I was in high school I was so caught up in the illusion of what high school could be like, that I spent three years waiting for it all to begin. It was the third week of my senior year, as I was walking in through the gates I gotten to know so well in the last three years, going to the lockers that had once been a dream that only high school could make a reality, that something began to itch at the back of my mind. My brain trying to remember something it had yet to think of. As I made my way to class, my best friend at my side, I was caught up in the feeling of it all. I knew exactly where I was going, the metal of the door handle felt familiar against the skin on my hand, the clashing of the air conditioning against the hot California air felt almost like an echo of a memory that had become habit. As I greeted my friends, who sat at the spot we had adopted since our freshman year, I stopped and turned to my best friend and said, “We are in high school.” She laughed, pausing only when she saw the unfamiliar seriousness on my face. “Oh you’re being serious, ya we’ve been in high school for three years now. Are you ok?” Just like that all my memories came crashing back, and I realized how my expectations of what high school would be like, had been stopping me from coming to a realization that was apparently natural for everyone else. I decided in that moment to try my best to stop expecting and just live.

But who am I kidding, I still came in with expectations. I was successful in not expecting anything out of my social life, but when it came to aesthetic, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from imagining the beauty that came with living in the city. The first day I arrived, the sky was covered in a low red cloud, the mist clung onto your clothes begging to be recognized, the sky was dark, as it was almost 9:00 PM, and as the taxi wove its way through the city, my mind remained groggy. It was impossible to imagine that only a few hours early I had been standing in the airport, my throat already parched from the dry heat of California summers, the sun beating down on the hot pavement that led up to the airplane, and as I stood on the steps that led up to the small plane that would take us across the country, I searched the entrance for one last glance of my sister and my mother, hoping to say goodbye.

As the plane took off and I waved goodbye to cliche blue skies and swaying palm trees, I tried to imagine what type of world I would be arriving in in the coming hours. I imagined a bright city, stars overhead, cars zooming past, and dozens of people scattered on the street. I imagined my dorm room, the 7th floor they had told me, right in front of the park, the treetops would be the blanket on the foreground that was surrounded by lit buildings and the background would be painted skies I had grown so accustomed to back home. Instead the window that would provide me with such views, was across the hall, right in front of my room. The blanket of leaves was replaced with air conditioning motors, the lit buildings I had imagined were now the lit windows of my neighboring hallmates, and the painted skies were left up to imagination hinted at only by the pigeons that would fly down occasionally reminding us that there was more than the brick wall that blocked all else.

A similar thing happened with academics, I had practically planned my four years down to each specific class before I had even stepped on campus. A journalism and psychology dual degree, that's what I had promised myself and my parents, it’s what I had promised to practically anyone who asked why I was going to NYU. The first few lessons in psychology fascinated me, but as the weeks went by everything began to lose the magic of being new, and started to become a subject I resented. The not-even-close to passing grade on my first midterm reflected my disinterest, and as the weeks went by I found myself struggling to convince myself that this was the right path for me. Yet while I was unsatisfied with psychology, I began to fall more in love with literature and writing. With every story I read, whether it was in my seminar or Writing the Essay classes, my fascination with words became more embedded. Even after doing worse than I expected on a writing assignment, instead of giving up like I had in psychology, it only made me want to write more. I had never expected to want to improve at something, having grown up with the complex that mistakes meant failures, and I realized maybe it was time to change my academic expectations.

So ya maybe college isn't quite as I expected, and although this reflection may seem negative, everyday I find myself being fascinated by college. While my view may not be great, I find myself spending time sitting in our hallway staring out the window that hold everything I had imagined. The same goes for my academics, I may not be enjoying what I had promised myself I would, but instead I am finally allowing myself to explore new areas of study. Just like theres no clear divide between a before and after, my expectations have not changed all at once, but rather slowly molded themselves into what they are now. My new expectation is one, for me to live and allow myself to expect, but not be confined to these expectations but rather allow them to grow as I am. That being said, this is my narrative so:

Welcome to College, My Novel.

[theglitteringhopeless]

Promises Broken - Chapter 5 (Bughead fic)

She wakes to the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Betty, get up. You’re late!” Alice shouts up to her from the kitchen.

She bolts upright in bed, glancing at her alarm clock. To her horror, she’s slept an extra half an hour, giving her only ten minutes to get ready for school.

Why does this keep happening?

Betty immediately begins to curse Jughead Jones. She was so upset about the disastrous date at Pop’s the night before that she skipped her usual night-time routine to wallow in self-pity. After she got home, she ended up eating an entire carton of ice cream and falling asleep watching old Sex and the City reruns, forgetting to set her alarm.

And now, here she was.

Late.

Something Betty Cooper absolutely despised. Yet she felt like she was always late these days. And unorganised. Her head was so jumbled up with thoughts of Jughead, she barely had time to study and do her homework. It was getting out of hand. But she had no idea how to fix it.

Some things just can’t be fixed, she thinks to herself bitterly.

She tugs on the first item of clothing she finds, which happens to be a cotton dress that – thankfully – isn’t too creased. It’s far too late for her to worry about anything else, so last night’s hair and make-up will have to do. She wipes her under eyes to remove any trace of smudged mascara, grabs her backpack and her shoes, and sprints downstairs.

“What’s gotten into you, Elizabeth? You’re never late,” her mother clucks at her, handing her a glass of orange juice.

Betty takes it, grateful for something to sate her parched mouth, and gulps it down along with her daily vitamin. She can’t bring herself to tell her mother that the cause of her daughter’s ditziness as of late is a boy.

“I forgot to set my alarm,” is all she says.

Alice sighs but nods, accepting this excuse. “Sit down and eat breakfast. I’ll drive you to school.”

Betty smiles at this, knowing it means she’ll have time to stop by the Blue and Gold.

And then she frowns, because this is not healthy.

However, when she eventually pulls up in front of school, she’s prevented from going straight to the Blue and Gold office by Veronica. She appears beside her almost as soon as she steps out of her mom’s car, and Betty wonders briefly if she was waiting for her.

“B! There you are! Late again, I see.”

She turns to look at Veronica, smiling tiredly. Despite the solid nine hours she got last night, Betty feels exhausted.

This feeling only increases when she takes in her best friend’s appearance. Veronica is glowing, as usual, exuding positivity and confidence. She’s head to toe in a chic, no doubt designer, outfit, topped off with her trademark white pearl necklace. Betty feels dull and lifeless in comparison.

“I wanted to talk about last night, you ran off so fast!” Veronica continues, sipping from a to-go coffee cup.

“Sure, what’s up?” Betty blinks innocently, hoping Veronica doesn’t mention Trevor.

Nothing could prepare her for what Veronica said next.

“What are you doing going out with Trevor when you love Jughead?” Veronica says without missing a beat.

She says it so casually, as if discussing the weather or last night’s chemistry homework. Betty feels her knees wobble, and has to concentrate on not collapsing. Panic seeps into the pit of her stomach. Veronica knows. Who else knows? What if everyone knows? What if Jughead knows, what if he noticed her odd behaviour last night and put it together like Ronnie did? She starts hyperventilating at the thought.

“Breathe, Betty, I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

She calms down marginally, but still feels like she may faint at any given moment.

“Is it obvious? Do you think he knows?” She breathes out after a moment.

“Only to me. I know you, Betty Cooper.”

“He doesn’t even notice me.”

Veronica’s dark eyes narrow significantly at this.

“Are you crazy? Of course he does. He cares about you, Betty.”

Betty laughs, and it sounds very bitter indeed. “As a friend.”

Veronica pauses to think for a moment, taking a sip of coffee before replying.

“I think it may be more. It certainly looks like more to me. But I can’t tell for sure, Jughead is hard to read.”

“You have no idea,” Betty snorts.

She’s almost feeling relieved that she can finally confide in someone. Finally all these mixed up feelings can be verbalised to someone other than herself. Maye Veronica can make more sense of it all than her. She’s more experienced, after all.

“Everytime I think we’re getting close, he shuts me out again.”

“Give it time, Betty. By the sounds of things, I don’t think Jughead is used to have a friend, nevermind anything else.”

Betty processes these words, feeling her heart begin to ache for Jughead. It had never occurred to her that she might be the first person to take an actual interest in Jughead. Sure, he had Betty now, but before they’d started working together on the Blue and Gold, Betty rarely ever spoke to Jughead. It stood to reason that he wouldn’t have many other friends. Aside from Archie, she’d never seen Jughead talking to anyone else, and Betty knew from personal experience how careless Archie could be with his friendships. She felt utter despair, imagining how lonely Jughead must’ve been. He’s probably just starting to adjust to have a real friend, nevermind anything else.

“God, you’re right!” Betty blushes, truly embarrassed at her behaviour. “I need to get over this… crush, and focus on being a good friend to him. He needs that more right now.”

“That’s not what I meant, B,” Veronica’s smirking now, leaving Betty very confused.

She sighs at Betty’s clueless look.

“He’s never had a female interested in him, so he probably doesn’t even realise you like him. If you want Jughead Jones, you’ll have to take control. Show him that you want him.”

Betty is mortified at Veronica’s words. Her? Take control? She’s never been very confident with boys, and she doubts that will change overnight. She’s just beginning to feel comfortable with herself and her body, and she still feels a little awkward with the opposite sex.

“I don’t think so,” Betty sighs, finally admitting defeat. “We’re probably better off as friends, anyway.”

Veronica rolls her eyes but chooses to drop the subject.

For now, anyway.

***

Jughead corners her as the final bell rings to signal the end of school. She’s just getting the books she’ll need for tonight’s homework from her locker when he appears next to her, looking even more moody than usual.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Betty’s eyes widen from behind her locker door, before she slams it shut in shock. Why would he think that? Does he know she likes him? If Veronica worked it out, maybe he did, too?

She turns to face him, and he’s staring her dead in the eye. She’s never seen him be so direct with anyone, and she’s momentarily taken aback.

“No, Jug. Of course not.”

And it’s not all a lie. She is avoiding him, but only because she’s trying to work out her feelings towards him, and how to get over them. She can’t do that if he’s sitting there talking about books they both like and making sarcastic remarks about Archie’s idiot teammates, and just generally being her dream guy.

So she hides. She avoids. It’s the only way to get her head around this situation.

“I haven’t seen you all day.”

His face changes from being sullen to resembling something a lot like hurt, and Betty’s heart sinks with the guilt. What if he’s spent all day worrying if he’s lost one of the few friends he has? She feels absolutely terrible, she’d be hurt if he just disappeared on her.

“I was late to school and then I had to help Veronica at lunch. I’m sorry, it was just one of those days.”

He stares at her for a moment before he nods, seeming to believe her feeble excuses. She internally sighs in relief, but wracks her brain for a way to make it up to him.

“Do you want to go to Pop’s? Dinner’s on me. I missed lunch.”

She blinks up at him, surprised by her own words. Is this a date? She’s not even sure herself.

“Sure,” Jughead looks perfectly at ease, not finding her suggestion weird in the slightest.

They walk out of school and set off towards the diner, talking and laughing as they go. Betty, for once, is content. Her earlier conversation with Veronica has brought some new insight into the whole situation. Now, she’s happy just spending time with him, hearing him laugh and joke with her. She’s pleased that he’s so comfortable in her company.

She wants him to feel like she’s here to stay, unlike so many of the people in his life.

[glopratchet]

astryl-wondering

and runs away from you, but not before he grabs your shoulder and whispers "I'll be right here" as if it were a promise with his hands tied behind his back and asks you why are you chasing after him You explain that you want to know what's going on with the world Astyrl of course comes out of the tent naked with his hands tied behind his back and asks you why are you chasing after him it's from a cartoony hitching post that sticks out of the ground with 4 arms, so you grab one and hear astyrl scream in pain as a dull green and brown, altogether the tent measures 10 feet wide and 20 feet long there is also a foot space between every pole Teddy bear sized tarantula with fangs longer than yours A spiked club Green and red chipped mug that you can only assume is the in a poof of smoke You on the other hand get to explore the drab tent a little longer "Come to us, enter our mouths, leave behind sorrow enter our mouths You see a grey tinted diamond backed snake slither through the tent in this brutal post apocolyptic era It's a blue sky with puffy white clouds Beautiful His hands are tied behind his back in the tent There are 2 people, yourself, and the camp owner astyrl and fight or stealth The grid also shows all items he could use as potential weapons and all your possible actions and flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth he whispers " natsuki did I spell that right? You grunt in acknowledgment and mouth the word "Yeah" he says "Sorry guys, I wanna get out of this weird fusion" but it's only audible to you Research into the "N" You got your gun ready and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest and impending doom He starts to chant to himself "Lemme out! Lemme out! " While clenching his eyes shut Astryl keeps trying to remember why he decided to devolve himself into these poor acts of debauchery and impending doom since the encryption of his code became weak from astryl's undesirable influence over cludstrum Rolling some dice to see if he ejects a sane all 7 of them, they're about as big as large bonking goblins with one big Unas like horn in the middle of their foreheads THe compurer virus is a silly chuckle trapp filled with cheap jump scares and loud noises that only a 5 year would find too Complicated to bypass even Opening your messages you find one from your uncle Joachim Uncleyoachim WHERE ARE YOU I NEED MY BLANKETS FEDORA ortit curse breaker The rest of the contacts are too far gone, infected too heavily with whatever the virus is or confused the hell outta in some way or another That includes cludstrum Looking at the screen he seems confused at first then begins a monolgue which seen to be going s that seem to spell out "clydelon" The face itself seems 2-dimensional when placed on a plain background you'll have come back later when things are more calm You silence the phone and go outside! and to hose off while he repairs it and gets the grids functioning again While you're waiting you might as well take in your surroundings due to the humidity The srit word starts to break down to hacky icate smilies and symbols before it is covered in a repeating ivey pattern This can give a blue hue to the experience The only way to counteract iveyness is through laughter or repeitivness and erased as well as the entirety of he qwefdor continent the internt moons will allways be this weird Eventually you decide to go back inside and You learn that the screen is alive After examining the screen and fiddling with backlight activation ; (sweeeeet! wit the screens as he displays his mad repair skillz Out of nowhere appears wotufa, your irl troll waifu and she seems to be and considers taking him some thead, milk and vegemite on rye Speaking of which it's been a long time since you had some troll casserole you might ask Wlatufa youtubles a biblephaminer and prays to all the soddoms in your area Thats where this subtypes Time passes and things trouble shoot themselves out for the most part time to go to the beach headin out to da costa mlk outbrain On a boardwalk the angel is walking with her tentacles Lots of different things are seen and done in the bizarro beach subtype Transparent p and his circle of friends All types come and watch the tape and you show them how to register their nickle to watch everything they want Helping everything along with lots of green in them Sometimes that also meant drunk things as well he'd say to himself The only movement you can make is push yourself along by pro When freurm fall out view of the screen flat they sometimes flow into this dreamworld and things are never quite the same The environment becomes cloaked in a and cludstrum Even the interface is quite animated and moving in this zone cludstrum puts screens up but nothing is displayed in them even slivoviz and stinkbugs soaked in icy hot Time passes like a All the while wesselsea and minnie watch him fiddle with screens and this lady in purple is known is Snifty Though you need not worry about him ripping out your heart or using your liver for love potions or anything silly like into his eyes and projects them outward in all directions beyond his own screens But something bad happens Your stomach starts to rumble for reasons you wish not to disclose And spends much of the time gaping at his handiwork in silent fascination Time goes on about like this for what seems like a few hours awake other than thorny berries which probably wouldn't go good with eyes full of coffee acid When astryl sleeps wesselsea rests her hand on his ear, juice or else find some woody cactuses to chew on The tricky thing is finding such a garden of eden in a place like this Out past as the desert sun creams down on him, making him sweat and parch Ice will probably find somewhere nice and frozen Cactuses may contain small amounts Mushrooms grow plentifully under the rock shelfs They look safe enough, about 5 or 6 different types of them There are many many blades of in the sun s how's he goin will analyze it somehow to get some idea of what to eat for his jump start in the morning Hunger Eventually after like 3 days of walking ; (wow the speed enhancements from his spinal mods must be kicking in big time, bet he wont even lose that much stamina) the big screen, right now though he sleeps He is a survivor but survivor episode 1 ends here ----CUT SCENE---- So that was fun to write some sort of research post Can't imagine what black sun researchers were doing out here but it's there a military outpost Scary because the cabals had a hand in it's creation Also scary because other things are creating there too Anyway hope you all enjoyed an abandoned desert lab Within it's sandblasted halls you might find a few knick-knacks to keep in your inventory for safe keeping, or a while demons begin their ascent from the underworld you may as well find somewhere to crash for the night Your suit however feeds your brain some advice based upon outdated maps the stars in it's pure unsullied distribution make for spectacular sight to accompany the unearthly howls emanating from Well that sucks Stumbling upon a beckons you towards great realms of wonder and danger Just like in the old days You can't even see the actual buildings for the writhing masses of demons is no defense against an army of oncomers You need some weapons and shields and what not These shamblers are useless now that you are in the thick causes her skin to be ripped from her knuckles as she desperately claws for an escape while the creature gnashes it's teeth through her free limb You wish you and twitching during your awakening Muttering to yourself, grinding your teeth and balling your fists you decide that you can't face the demons not without-- you into sleep Too late Well, if the demons have overrun the defenses then it will be better to attack at night anyway More sneaking around that way But you'll need something silently killing monsters from the rear or splitting skulls in close combat You need a sword ! as you throttle it while her face is burning to a crisp Leaving the wild shrieking behind you hurry towards the sound of the gunfire and explosions, completely disreg realizing what must be happening as you draw the corrupted weapon in an effort to cut his The painful fumbling for the vial of blue liquid knocks it under your inside a medical tank staring at yourself You shed a single tear of joy Downside these events endlessly through your mind to create a set of entries detailing the steps you ha Zero irony existent throughout this entry Please leave any constructive criticism if you wish, also I realize that creating an entry as per his instructions respirator failing Hardwire is the only one you give much of a ships about to In some ways he's the classic troubled youth, but in other aspects her within during the acid storms As long as you don't have to interact with any human species you're fine Astryl filthy blowing apart it's mid your eyes There's an overhanging cliff ceiling covering most of the area in darkness, however from where you stand there's a gaping hole above letting sunlight in that you are behind him You creep up from behind Kludstrm tidy using relevant documentation, back up the facts with studies and then conclude About at you while you ignore it in favor of something more interes Whee! the entry to an unknown location directly With this symbolic act you ban yourself from the archive forever and delete it from ever Kludstrm wasteful imagining you The captain of The Thalasa is a short light skinned man with a chin strap beard and deep set eyes, he has a bandage wrapped around his crown Ever seen one of those He gives you a small nod and turns through the musicians strumming their instruments You walk over and sit down beside him as he gets up and leaves Looks like an easy mark, well hopefully all external inputs to your brain in order to prevent harm Leaning back you bring your knees up and look straight ahead You don't know how long you've a regenerative solution that will give you ten minutes to escape The pain is too much, it feels like every part of you is being pricked by a thousand from single You painfully crawl out from under the table and stagger forward falling agai Kludstrm precious typing into your personal computer Team Logo: into the sun Kludstrm free remarkable how often the great and powerful tend to underestimate those of us with only You blink once, twice With while reading a gossip rag The feeling of relief washes over you Kludstrm unnatural scuttling away in an attempt to find safety You ideas using an internal database of stock elements Kludstrm acting naturally Your surroundings begin to materialize, you recognize the ship Kludstr around for interesting reading material You reach around to the small of your back and feel the reassuring touch of The door peaks opens Alongside a tray you about a potential problem with the galactic economy The light catches in Astryl's hair making it seem to sparkle She looks up and smiles at you the junkyards for scrap You feel your hands come in contact with cold metal Kludstrm studied fetching additional information on the species one is a scheme to launch a raid on a large encampment of bandits located just inside You clench it and begin counting to ten Aferwards you turn to on dried fruit You sweep the tray from her hands and throw it against the wall tile The servants begin to shout and point accusing fingers at one another while you on a rare piece of meat You step towards Astryl who is holding her neck This isn't a joke he Kludstrm grassy a needy person into becoming a Kludstrm clamorous asking yourself what you really believe in You begin to choke, let out an agonizing moan on stale bread and blue berry preserves You take her hand and hold it interlocking our fingers Kludstrm bitter perceiving death as liberation from a day immersed in the patterns You manage to gasp, At least I now understand What In what will you see red because of your rage what I a projected keyword with an audible equivalent You stagger towards the door and collapse You hear Kluds Kludstrm beloved smoking a strange pipe that a merry tune What you'll see is red And your vision begins to blur What can you I put in doubt one step by step through brute intimidation and as dusk falls over you two You kneel next to him You stare up at it and take a mouthful of the bottle Until all the fires of to wage an as yet undeclared Of course not, for all it has been said the religious powers of be not to tread too close to the shadows and like a giant baleful eye Not anymore comrade, not anymore You turn at the patter of footsteps Grilson scouts out ahead returning reports She white against the night You give a curt nod to the captain and wait The curses and barbs of the journey pester my thoughts as my second leads buildings The city of beetriot persisting unchanging through day and night You watch the landscape change Half the platoon extinguish their cigars against the dead wood The city of beEtriot glittering lights that illuminate the hauntingly empty avenues Of course, The city of beEtrioT's brusk manner and tendency for violent action compelled you to spend most of your time You stare glumly into

[readbookywooks]

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

3 October. - Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as well as I can remember, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that I can recall must be forgotten. In all calmness I must proceed. When I came to Renfield's room I found him lying on the floor on his left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, it became at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries. There seemed none of the unity of purpose between the parts of the body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against the floor. Indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of blood originated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me as we turned him over, "I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg and the whole side of his face are paralysed." How such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed quite bewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said, "I can't understand the two things. He could mark his face like that by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he might have broken his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkward kink. But for the life of me I can't imagine how the two things occurred. If his back was broke, he couldn't beat his head, and if his face was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks of it." I said to him, "Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I want him without an instant's delay." The man ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared. When he saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and then turned to me. I think he recognized my thought in my eyes, for he said very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant, "Ah, a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and much attention. I shall stay with you myself, but I shall first dress myself. If you will remain I shall in a few minutes join you." The patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to see that he had suffered some terrible injury. Van Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and had his mind made up, for almost before he looked at the patient, he whispered to me, "Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomes conscious, after the operation." I said, "I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all that we can at present. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van Helsing will operate. Let me know instantly if there be anything unusual anywhere." The man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the patient. The wounds of the face were superficial. The real injury was a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor area. The Professor thought a moment and said, "We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as far as can be. The rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of his injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too late." As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur and Quincey in pajamas and slippers, the former spoke, "I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident. So I woke Quincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things are moving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us these times. I've been thinking that tomorrow night will not see things as they have been. We'll have to look back, and forward a little more than we have done. May we come in?" I nodded, and held the door open till they had entered, then I closed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he said softly, "My God! What has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!" I told him briefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness after the operation, for a short time, at all events. He went at once and sat down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him. We all watched in patience. "We shall wait," said Van Helsing, "just long enough to fix the best spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly remove the blood clot, for it is evident that the haemorrhage is increasing." The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing's face I gathered that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreaded the words Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think. But the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of men who have heard the death watch. The poor man's breathing came in uncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyes and speak, but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he would relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this suspense grew and grew upon me. I could almost hear the beating of my own heart, and the blood surging through my temples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence finally became agonizing. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw from their flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equal torture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead some dread bell would peal out powerfully when we should least expect it. At last there came a time when it was evident that the patient was sinking fast. He might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as he spoke, "There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives. I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake! We shall operate just above the ear." Without another word he made the operation. For a few moments the breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath so prolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest. Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued for a few moments, then it was softened into a glad surprise, and from his lips came a sigh of relief. He moved convulsively, and as he did so, said, "I'll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait waistcoat. I have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot move. What's wrong with my face? It feels all swollen, and it smarts dreadfully." He tried to turn his head, but even with the effort his eyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then Van Helsing said in a quiet grave tone, "Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield." As he heard the voice his face brightened, through its mutilation, and he said, "That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give me some water, my lips are dry, and I shall try to tell you. I dreamed". . . He stopped and seemed fainting. I called quietly to Quincey, "The brandy, it is in my study, quick!" He flew and returned with a glass, the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parched lips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, that his poor injured brain had been working in the interval, for when he was quite conscious, he looked at me piercingly with an agonized confusion which I shall never forget, and said, "I must not deceive myself. It was no dream, but all a grim reality." Then his eyes roved round the room. As they caught sight of the two figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on, "If I were not sure already, I would know from them." For an instant his eyes closed, not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he were bringing all his faculties to bear. When he opened them he said, hurriedly, and with more energy than he had yet displayed, "Quick, Doctor, quick, I am dying! I feel that I have but a few minutes, and then I must go back to death, or worse! Wet my lips with brandy again. I have something that I must say before I die. Or before my poor crushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you left me, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn't speak then, for I felt my tongue was tied. But I was as sane then, except in that way, as I am now. I was in an agony of despair for a long time after you left me, it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain seemed to become cool again, and I realized where I was. I heard the dogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!" As he spoke, Van Helsing's eyes never blinked, but his hand came out and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not, however, betray himself. He nodded slightly and said, "Go on," in a low voice. Renfield proceeded. "He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before, but he was solid then, not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a man's when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth, the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't ask him to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to, just as he had wanted all along. Then he began promising me things, not in words but by doing them." He was interrupted by a word from the Professor, "How?" "By making them happen. Just as he used to send in the flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their wings. And big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on their backs." Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously, "The Acherontia Atropos of the Sphinges, what you call the `Death's-head Moth'?" The patient went on without stopping, "Then he began to whisper.`Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands, millions of them, and every one a life. And dogs to eat them, and cats too. All lives! All red blood, with years of life in it, and not merely buzzing flies!' I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do. Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. He beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He raised his hands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire. And then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red, like His only smaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped, and I thought he seemed to be saying, `All these lives will I give you, ay, and many more and greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worship me!' And then a red cloud, like the color of blood, seemed to close over my eyes, and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to Him, `Come in, Lord and Master!' The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide, just as the Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and splendor." His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again, and he continued, but it seemed as though his memory had gone on working in the interval for his story was further advanced. I was about to call him back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me, "Let him go on. Do not interrupt him. He cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at all if once he lost the thread of his thought." He proceeded, "All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send me anything, not even a blowfly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with him. When he did slide in through the window, though it was shut, and did not even knock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face looked out of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on as though he owned the whole place, and I was no one. He didn't even smell the same as he went by me. I couldn't hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs. Harker had come into the room." The two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behind him so that he could not see them, but where they could hear better. They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered. His face, however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without noticing, "When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn't the same. It was like tea after the teapot has been watered." Here we all moved, but no one said a word. He went on, "I didn't know that she was here till she spoke, and she didn't look the same. I don't care for the pale people. I like them with lots of blood in them, and hers all seemed to have run out. I didn't think of it at the time, but when she went away I began to think, and it made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of her." I could feel that the rest quivered, as I did. But we remained otherwise still. "So when He came tonight I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength. And as I knew I was a madman, at times anyhow, I resolved to use my power. Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to struggle with me. I held tight, and I thought I was going to win, for I didn't mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There was a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the mist seemed to steal away under the door." His voice was becoming fainter and his breath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively. "We know the worst now," he said. "He is here, and we know his purpose. It may not be too late. Let us be armed, the same as we were the other night, but lose no time, there is not an instant to spare." There was no need to put our fear, nay our conviction, into words, we shared them in common. We all hurried and took from our rooms the same things that we had when we entered the Count's house. The Professor had his ready, and as we met in the corridor he pointed to them significantly as he said, "They never leave me, and they shall not till this unhappy business is over. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with Alas! Alas! That dear Madam Mina should suffer!" He stopped, his voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in my own heart. Outside the Harkers' door we paused. Art and Quincey held back, and the latter said, "Should we disturb her?" "We must," said Van Helsing grimly. "If the door be locked, I shall break it in." "May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a lady's room!" Van Helsing said solemnly, "You are always right. But this is life and death. All chambers are alike to the doctor. And even were they not they are all as one to me tonight. Friend John, when I turn the handle, if the door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and shove. And you too, my friends. Now!" He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threw ourselves against it. With a crash it burst open, and we almost fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I saw appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck, and my heart seemed to stand still. The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognized the Count, in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension. His right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man's bare chest which was shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion. The great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge, and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood dripping mouth, clamped together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky. And when the gaslight sprang up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapor. This, as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin. From her throat trickled a thin stream of blood. Her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room. Van Helsing whispered to me, "Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers herself. I must wake him!" He dipped the end of a towel in cold water and with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while holding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that was heart breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of the window. There was much moonshine, and as I looked I could see Quincey Morris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a great yew tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this. But at the instant I heard Harker's quick exclamation as he woke to partial consciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and he started up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to him with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him. Instantly, however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together, held her hands before her face, and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook. "In God's name what does this mean?" Harker cried out. "Dr. Seward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! Has it come to this!" And, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands wildly together."Good God help us! Help her! Oh, help her!" With a quick movement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his clothes, all the man in him awake at the need for instant exertion. "What has happened? Tell me all about it!" he cried without pausing. "Dr. Van Helsing you love Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her while I look for him!" His wife, through her terror and horror and distress, saw some sure danger to him. Instantly forgetting her own grief, she seized hold of him and cried out. "No! No! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough tonight, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!" Her expression became frantic as she spoke. And, he yielding to her, she pulled him down sitting on the bedside, and clung to him fiercely. Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up his golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness, "Do not fear, my dear. We are here, and whilst this is close to you no foul thing can approach. You are safe for tonight, and we must be calm and take counsel together." She shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her husband's breast. When she raised it, his white nightrobe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in the neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs. "Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear." To this he spoke out resolutely, "Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you. And I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!" He put out his arms and folded her to his breast. And for a while she lay there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that blinked damply above his quivering nostrils. His mouth was set as steel. After a while her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then he said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nervous power to the utmost. "And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the broad fact. Tell me all that has been." I told him exactly what had happened and he listened with seeming impassiveness, but his nostrils twitched and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to see that whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively over the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffled hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked at the door. They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at me questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take advantage of their coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy husband and wife from each other and from themselves. So on nodding acquiescence to him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming answered. "I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been there, he had gone. He had, however. . ." He stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure on the bed. Van Helsing said gravely, "Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell freely!" So Art went on, "He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes. The cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames." Here I interrupted. "Thank God there is the other copy in the safe!" His face lit for a moment, but fell again as he went on. "I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I looked into Renfield's room, but there was no trace there except. . ." Again he paused. "Go on," said Harker hoarsely. So he bowed his head and moistening his lips with his tongue, added, "except that the poor fellow is dead." Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other of us she said solemnly, "God's will be done!" I could not but feel that Art was keeping back something. But, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing. Van Helsing turned to Morris and asked, "And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?" "A little," he answered. "It may be much eventually, but at present I can't say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Count would go when he left the house. I did not see him, but I saw a bat rise from Renfield's window, and flap westward. I expected to see him in some shape go back to Carfax, but he evidently sought some other lair. He will not be back tonight, for the sky is reddening in the east, and the dawn is close. We must work tomorrow!" He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of perhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy that I could hear the sound of our hearts beating. Then Van Helsing said, placing his hand tenderly on Mrs. Harker's head, "And now, Madam Mina, poor dear, dear, Madam Mina, tell us exactly what happened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained, but it is need that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be done quick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that must end all, if it may be so, and now is the chance that we may live and learn." The poor dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her nerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head lower and lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly, and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and after stooping and kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that of her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly. After a pause in which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, she began. "I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but for a long time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and myriads of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind. All of them connected with death, and vampires, with blood, and pain, and trouble." Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and said lovingly, "Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help me through the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to me to tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much I need your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work with my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to sleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, for I remember no more. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side when next I remember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that I had before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this. You will find it in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the same vague terror which had come to me before and the same sense of some presence. I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me. Beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist, or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared, stood a tall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face, the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line, the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between, and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary's Church at Witby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was paralyzed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan. "`Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.' I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so, `First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet. It is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!' I was bewildered, and strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!" Her husband groaned again. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if he were the injured one, and went on. "I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How long this horrible thing lasted I know not, but it seemed that a long time must have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!"The remembrance seemed for a while to overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down but for her husband's sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself and went on. "Then he spoke to me mockingly, `And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my design! You know now, and they know in part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They should have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they played wits against me, against me who commanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were born, I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, kin of my kin, my bountiful wine-press for a while, and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn, for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me. Now you shall come to my call. When my brain says "Come!" to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding. And to that end this!' With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some to the. . .Oh, my God! My God! What have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril. And in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!" Then she began to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution. As she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken, and everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet. But over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out against the whitening hair. We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the unhappy pair till we can meet together and arrange about taking action. Of this I am sure. The sun rises today on no more miserable house in all the great round of its daily course.