#next in line is Vlad as a vampire but this is a crossove

[neurotraum]

Skeletal shadow 💀

[gellavonhamster]

herr lucifer, beware, beware

Dracula x Carmilla crossover || Lucy Westenra & (/?) Carmilla Karnstein

ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair  

And I eat men like air.

– Sylvia Plath, Lady Lazarus

 Lucy dyes her hair for the first time in her life already after her death.

Twilight reigns in the room, where the air smells of perfume and mustiness; all windows are curtained, and the only light is coming from some thoroughly melted candles. This, however, causes difficulty neither for Lucy, as lately she has no trouble seeing in the dark, nor for her new acquaintance who has armed herself with a thick brush and is presently putting dye on Lucy’s hair. The flame of the candle standing on the table in front of Lucy keeps trembling nervously. A drop of dye falls on the bed sheet that Lucy is draped in as if in another shroud.  

“It’s green,” Lucy murmurs as she casts a glance at the swamp-coloured stain on her knees. In truth, she does not care much about the future colour of her hair – it is no longer possible for her to go for a stroll in daylight anyway.    

“That is just for now. On your hair, it will look red,” assures her Carmilla. That was how she introduced herself: “Call me Carmilla. This one is my favourite name.” It was her idea to dye Lucy’s hair. “It’s a small town, darling. You don’t need to be recognized. It’s enough that this much people are aware that you do not rest in peace.” ‘This much’ means her Arthur and Professor Van Helsing and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris. Lucy watched them from behind the wall of someone’s moss-covered crypt while Carmilla – back then she didn’t know her name yet – was covering Lucy’s mouth with her hand and whispering in her ear: “See what they brought with them? They came to murder you. Forget what they meant to you, for they have ceased caring what you meant to them.” Lucy struggled to break away but couldn’t, because Carmilla, petite and delicate and outwardly not older than she, was as strong as five adult men – neither could she not look at the sharp wooden stake in Arthur’s hands. Then she let Carmilla lead her away from the graveyard, and left Arthur and the others by the crypt, possibly to wait for her until morning.

“It smells like grass,” Lucy observes. The dye smells of grass indeed and, ever so slightly, of cucumbers, for some reason.

“It’s henna, my dear. It’s made from dried leaves.” After the final dab, Carmilla throws the brush into a basin, pulls the bed sheet off Lucy, tears off a piece of fabric with ease, and wraps it around Lucy’s hair. “Now you have to wait for about two hours, and then wash your hair.”

It appears that Carmilla finds it all amusing – dyeing Lucy’s hair, picking out her own dresses to give her. Lucy follows her instructions almost mechanically, without much thought. The world around her is now far too full of sounds and smells and colours, much more than it used to be, and her new life is far too full of rules she doesn’t understand properly yet and finds perplexing. Therefore, if Carmilla needs her in order to stave off boredom, then she needs Carmilla in order to learn to navigate this new world without dying for the second time. Besides, she is all but constantly starving, and Carmilla is a much more experienced huntress than she, and doesn’t mind sharing, seeing as she doesn’t waste time on small children, and adults have plenty of blood to spare to satiate the two of them.

There is never any blood left for the ones they suck it from, though – unlike Lucy, Carmilla doesn’t let her prey walk away.  

“It is high time for us, child, to discuss what we are going to do next,” says Carmilla, as if having sensed that Lucy is pondering over the reasons why she needs Carmilla and Carmilla needs her. She sits down on the edge of the table, and looks at Lucy downwards. In the dusk, her eyes shine like those of a cat. “What do you remember about the one who granted you eternal life?”    

What does she remember about the one who killed her?

“Not much,” Lucy says tentatively. Strange as it may be, these memories are clearer now than they were back when she was alive, but still fairly vague, still seeming as much of a nightmare as before. “He was tall, with long dark hair, with a sharp nose. With a dark moustache. With a… cruel face. I don’t know who he was and where he came from – I’ve never seen him in Whitby before.”

“I know who he was,” says Carmilla. Her face, usually so sweet and gentle even as she drinks the blood of another victim, looks just as cruel now. “Vlad Dracula, a Transilvanian count.”

“Are you acquainted?”

“Not in person,” Carmilla looks away. She still looks angry, but aside from hate, a certain suppressed pain is discernible in her countenance. “He took something from me.”

“Took something?” Lucy echoes.

Carmilla gets up, approaches her from behind, and puts her hands on Lucy’s shoulders.

“Have you ever been in love, darling?” she asks. Her dainty hands stroke Lucy’s shoulders through the thin silk of the dressing gown.

Lucy thinks of Arthur – but she is no longer able to think of him the way she used to when she was alive. She is drawn to him as strongly as never before – but at the same time she is also drawn to her other two suitors, whom she only used to fantasise about briefly and lightly, and she cannot figure out what part of this attraction is love, and what is hunger. She thinks of Arthur’s slender neck, of blue lines on Dr. Seward’s pale wrists, of the outlines of veins on Mr. Morris’s strong arms. Of Mina in her bed, blanket thrown off in her sleep, throat bared to the July night. Of their blood that calls to her more vehemently than the dreams of kisses and embraces – although of those as well.    

“Yes,” she replies. If there is one thing she is sure of, it is that she has been in love.

“So have I,” Carmilla tells her quietly. Her hands stop moving.

“What was his name?”

“Her name is not important,” and Lucy feels, inexplicably, a strange joy upon hearing how calmly Carmilla pronounces that ‘her’. She pictures Mina again – Mina, who probably has no idea that her Lucy is gone. “What is important is that she was special. Against my nature I knew that I would not deal with her the same way as with all my previous lovers. I wanted to make it so that we would always be together. To make her the same as me and you. She knew what I was, and agreed to my proposal, just asked me to give her time to settle some affairs she was to leave in the past. That’s how special she was.” Suddenly, Carmilla’s nails sink into her shoulders. “Then he came.”

“What happened next?” Lucy asks. It hurts, but not too much – her reborn body is far tougher than before. She can bear it for a while if it helps her find out what Carmilla wants from her after all. “He bit her first, didn’t he?”  

Carmilla snorts with disdain.

“No. What would that have changed? What would have a man’s bite meant against mine? No, he just drank her dry. All to the last drop. When I found her, she was already dead. Not dead like us, my dear – completely dead.”

So that’s it.

“You want revenge,” Lucy says. Carmilla loosens her grip a little, and bends down so that her cheek is touching Lucy’s.  

“Do you not?” she enquires.

Lucy thinks of Arthur – of the sharpened stake in his hands, of the wedding they didn’t get to have. Of her mother, dead with a mask of horror on her face. Of herself, a carefree and happy girl that exists no more.

She enjoys wandering at night, but she used to love the sun.

“Probably,” she admits gingerly. Carmilla puts her chin on Lucy’s shoulder.  

“Then,” she says with satisfaction, “come to London with me.”

The next couple of hours they spend preparing for the journey – packing dresses and shoes, undergarments and toiletries. In the process, Carmilla enlightens Lucy on the subject of the enemy they are going to face. According to her, he’s not just a vampire – he’s also a sorcerer, and thus more powerful and dangerous by a long way.  

“How will we beat him then?” Lucy cannot help wondering. Carmilla shrugs.  

“By the power of grief and rage, love and loss,” she says. “Also, we’ll catch him by surprise. He doesn’t expect you to come for him, all the more not me. Men like him have a short memory.”

Already towards morning, Lucy bends over the bathtub and washes off the henna. Examining the strands of her wet hair in the candlelight, she sees that they are red.

“I have learned to do without mirrors a long time ago,” remarks Carmilla, hugging her around the waist. “But sometimes one cannot help missing them. Let me assure you, darling, that this colour looks good on you.”

Red like dried blood – her own blood spilled by Dracula, his blood that will get spilled when she and Carmilla get him, the blood of Arthur and Mina and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris who – somehow it feels so easy to believe it right now – will all be with her sooner or later.

Lucy smiles.

“That’s what I thought,” she says.

[thebeautyofdisorder]

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 7

A/N: Okay, here is the next chapter finally. Nothing quite so... explicit as last chapter, but fun none the less. A lot of conversation/exposition, and Zoe may or may not be inadvertently sciencing her way into a crossover opportunity that I won’t take, but she does have a mind of her own, that one. Drac does a bit of grumpy pining.

Pairing: Dracula & Agatha/Zoe, Dracula/OFC

Rating: M, for blood, language, mercenaries with guns, and direct references to sexual acts performed in the last chapter.

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here - Chapter 6 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut

“I don’t think she’s coming, sire.”

Dracula looked up from where he’d been absently staring off into the abyss - granted the abyss did look an awful lot like his front door, to meet the infuriatingly attentive gaze of Frank Renfield, as he stirred his tea, and pretended to peruse the morning paper.

“I’m sorry?” It was less of a question of clarification, and more a second chance to remedy his daring presumption, though apparently this did not occur to the lawyer at all.

“Dr. Helsing. I think she’s far more stubborn than even you give her credit for.”

“What exactly gives you the idea that I’m waiting for anyone, much less her?” he challenged, quirking a brow at his rather unwelcome company. He had asked for daily updates on his current investments, true, but it wasn’t necessarily his intention to have the man pop up at random hours of the morning to do so. Just because he could be a morning person now certainly didn’t mean that he actually wanted to be.

“I’ve never seen you so disinterested in sustenance when it’s right in front of you, unless she’s involved, of course.”

The vampire was very tempted to rip the knowing smile right from his skull, but barely managed to restrain himself out of sheer disinterest at working to find another malleable Londoner to do his business. Picking up his sadly cooled breakfast, he drained the glass simply out of spite and sat it back down with a force just shy from shattering it.

“I don’t pay you to psychoanalyze me, Frank,” he warned, barely concealed with a charming edge of fondness that came off even more menacing than any blatant threat, as he stood to his full height and paced over to the window.

The lawyer paled. “Yes, master.”

“What’s my schedule for this evening?”

“I believe you indicated you were finishing off your first experiment tonight, Count. The painter.”

“Ah. Yes,” he confirmed, even as he proceeded to juggle his mobile phone between his hands distractedly, mind somewhere else entirely. “I might...hold off on that for another week. Can’t be too hasty...I really don’t want anymore failures on my hands. And perhaps we should really begin to encourage the writing of wills in this process… When is that ‘natural burial’ movement going to be ‘en vogue’ over here, you think?”

“In a city this size? Hard to say…” Frank winced, seeming to fall silent far longer than necessary to think about it, and Dracula was really beginning to regret meddling with his mental faculties so much. It did, however, shut him up long enough for him to send a text to the woman he'd just been accused of thinking about.

HAVE YOU RECONSIDERED JOINING ME FOR DINNER?

After three minutes of silence, Dracula scowled and refocused on Renfield's babbling, which had taken back up after his initial, blissful silence. Something about 'death positivity' which brought a brief smirk to his lips. Just when he thought humanity had lost its sense of reality entirely.

You text like my grandfather.

The Count grinned in partial triumph. Partial because while she'd certainly replied, she didn't seem nearly as outraged as he'd dearly hoped. Would have to remedy that. Very soon.

BUSY?

Very busy. How did you get my number?

HUNGRY? 🍷

No.

LIAR.

Show off.

Renfield had the audacity to clear his throat.

-----

Peaking into the disheveled mass of books, vials, and files that had become the current state of Zoe Van Helsing’s office, Bloxham at first mistook it for empty. The lights were dimmed, and the chair behind the desk was not only lacking in an occupant, but instead was serving as an unsteady shelf for what looked to be a hundred-year-old phonograph.

“The sign specifically said ‘do not disturb’, didn’t it?”

Dr. Bloxham spun around suddenly, placing a hand to her chest in shock as her eyes adjusted to the far corner of the room, where a small pseudo lab seemed to be occupying the back corner. Zoe was standing still as a statue, frozen in the midst of studying a vial of a thick red substance by shining a black light through it. She stayed frozen.

“Jesus, Zoe you scared the shit out of me,” she remarked at first. “And actually it says ‘danger: enter at your own risk’ but it was so bloody dark in here I thought you’d gone home.”

“All the same, get out. I’m busy,” Zoe murmured tightly, and her colleague frowned, making no motion to leave as of yet.

“Zoe...you haven’t been coming to meetings, nor have you really spoken to anyone in a week. Is everything...alright?”

“Fine. Just dandy. Now get out, please.”

“Sarcasm, much? I’m just...worried.”

Zoe still hadn’t moved. In fact, she was forcing herself to stay rooted to the spot, or she wasn’t entirely certain what she would do. A sudden shuffling outside the door, however, pulled her away from her steely focus and her eyes shot up with inhuman speed to the door where a crack of light cut through the carpet.

“Who else is with you?” Zoe asked, eyes shooting towards the other woman directly for the first time since she’d entered.

Bloxham swallowed audibly, eyes darting quickly away to avoid eye contact.

“Look, our sponsor has been sending inquiries about this...situation, and we need to provide him with answers. I thought if I could get a glimpse of your research, we could figure out what it is you’re doing and give a proper update…"

“Dr. Bloxham… Kate I really need you to go. My research is mine and until it’s complete, I have no interest in sharing it,” Zoe stated firmly.

Dr. Bloxham advanced forward a step. “But Zoe-”

Zoe’s grip on the vial in her hand tightened and the glass gave a warning crackle that froze the shorter woman in her place.

“Leave!” The words came out in nothing short of a growl, and had the exact opposite effect on the situation that she’d intended or hoped.

The door swung the rest of the way open with a deafening bang and two large men with guns came in behind Dr. Bloxham, only halting their approach at the raise of her hand.

“That won’t be necessary boys, thank you,” she stated with carefully practiced calm, even though Zoe could hear the thrumming of her pulse hitting an anxious high speed. She forced her fingers, which had flexed into something resembling claws, to relax, though her spine stiffened further. Would guns hurt her? Maybe, maybe not but it would certainly lead to a load of inconvenience even if they didn’t - more so if they didn’t, she decided.

Ignoring the intrusion completely, even as they seemed to stand down, Zoe addressed Bloxham directly. “Is this really where you’re going with this? I’m not an animal, Dr. Bloxham. In fact, I’m doing everything in my power to avoid that outcome, and would like to continue to do it in peace.”

She slammed the glass beaker down and against better judgement beckoned her reluctant colleague forward.

“Come. Look.”

She hesitated, but gesturing a casual hand back at the men at her back, she approached Zoe, who distinctly moved out of the way entirely.

“What am I looking at?”

“Just a basic five-senses test, Doctor, what do they tell you?”

Kate leant down at eye level with the beaker, perusing it, picking it up and shifting the substance around, taking a whiff of it.

“It smells, looks, and behaves like blood. De-fibrillated, if I had to guess - from who or what I don’t know.”

Zoe looked minutely pleased, though was still almost robot stiff as she handed a folder over to her.

“It’s a protein and nutrient compound. I'm running a few...tests to see if I can find a supplemental vampiric food source. The information is all there."

Bloxham took the folder with a glance of astonished intrigue, and greedily began to look over the contents, forgetting about her intimidation tactics. Momentarily, at least.

"Could this actually work?"

"To keep them alive...yes, potentially. Or to ward off the cravings and reduce the need to result in homicide, at the least. As for the grander implications… I don't know."

"You need a subject."

"I am the subject."

The other doctor nodded briefly, biting her lip and pacing back towards the desk, folder still in her hands.

"You think he's infecting others?'

"I know he is," Zoe scoffed, the distance between them making it somewhat easier to function. To breathe, however much she still could.

"And have you run any trials yet?"

"With a couple more tweaks, I was planning to start this evening."

Bloxham gestured with her eyes toward the phonograph, and the exceedingly out of place stack of various religious texts and mythos.

"These?"

"Doing some updates on my great grandfather's research.  None of which is replaceable, ergo my want for privacy."

She nodded, understanding but not commenting. It was one of the things Zoe always appreciated about her - she never spoke without thinking first.

"I would like you to run this as an official experiment in the lab, if only for the sake of an external eye. First hand trials are never 100% accurate - we both know that. You can't afford to miss something. If you feel...unsafe with the others, we can isolate you where you can still be observed - at your discretion, of course. And all of your private research will remain that way, you have my word."

Zoe pursed her lips into a thin line, weighing her options. Who was she kidding, she didn't have options. She had partial control or none at all; a glass box or an autopsy table. This was a negotiation of surrender.

"All right. Fine."

-----

“...The second son of Vlad II became ruler of Wallachia in 1436, leading to one of the bloodiest but most successful reigns in Romanian history simply by fearful reputation alone. Drakula as he was often called, in his day simply in honor of his father meaning 'Son of the Dragon'. Now it just adds to his legend, since 'Dracul' in modern Romanian more accurately translates to Devil. A very literal interpretation of dying a hero or living long enough to see yourself becoming The Villain ™ …"

Kat skimmed the notes for at least the fifth time, mindlessly chewing her nail polish off her thumb in a manic, nervous habit she thought she'd squashed at 16. She hadn't made it to class that morning - hell, she didn't even hear her alarm. It had blared for three hours before her mind swam its way back to consciousness.

He'd been gone when she awoke finally, the mid-morning sun streaming harshly through her curtains. He left her a note, written in comically perfect cursive on the back of a concert flyer, with his mobile number scrawled across the top, laid on her bedside table atop the book he'd brought her.

I had to run for a meeting early. Enjoy the book. - D

P.S. I did try to fix your shelf, though I do believe I owe you a new lamp.

Her cheeks were still burning hotter than her coffee as she later sat down to email her professor, claiming sudden illness and begging a forward of his notes. Luckily he was a pretty laid back type or it would have been twice as humiliating to think she was effectively calling in due to being fucked into oblivion.

She'd barely recalled being conscious after, though she knew she had been. Though the memory of laughing off the wall-pounding complaints of her next door neighbor was swimming interchangeably with the images of her very bizarre dream. At least she'd assumed it was a dream - men sprouting fangs was clearly her orgasm-delirious brain reacting to last week's ill-timed Buffy marathon and too many re-readings of Legends of the Carpathians. It had to be.

That was her logic anyway, up until she looked at herself in the floor length mirror after jumping in the shower, and found herself marveling there far too long. She wasn't one to complain about a hickey or two, but her fingers trailed the jagged white indentation of teeth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder -  a pale slash interrupting the bruised flesh - and shivered. Red, stripe-like lines trailed the length of her legs and hips, unfaded and tangible. There was even still a red gash-like mark on her shoulder where the strap of her camisole had dug into her flesh as he ripped it like it was made of crepe paper.

Her mind returned to those notes, lingering on the name 'Drakula' far too long without coming up with a real reason to be so concerned. It could be an ancestor or a weird inside joke of an alias she had missed. For all she knew of Romanian customs it could be a fairly common name there now.

"Impaled by Vlad the Impaler...ridiculous," she joked, half audibly to herself

"I quite like the sound of that."

A bonafide squeak of surprise rose out of her throat, though she didn't have the time to be humiliated as the tall shadow of the man himself showed up in the mirror behind her, taking up the whole of her bedroom door frame.

"Apologies, it was unlocked. I did knock to be fair, but I can see why you didn't hear." His eyes were locked on her body still dripping from the shower, a towel barely clasped around to cover the important bits.

Kat quickly caught her breath, forcing a chuckle. "No, it's...alright. I was just trying to...go over my notes," she excused, gesturing to where her laptop sat open on the desk in the corner.

"Didn't make it out of bed this morning," She shot him a look of playful accusation, before turning back to the mirror, already dismissing her earlier fears now that she was seeing him in broad daylight for the first time. He was definitely not a big pile of dust, or if he was he was the most attractive one she'd ever seen.

He made a show of wincing. "I suppose that was my fault." He paced forward, meeting her eyes through their reflections as he approached, tracing a finger down the side of her neck and over her shoulder, skimming the harsh redness. "This definitely was."

Her breath stuttered audibly and she felt her lower muscles clench almost painfully just at the barest reminder of his presence.

"Yeah...you… go a bit feral, don't you?" She breathed, fingers tracing her legs as well.

"You do make a lovely canvas." He smirked lightly, but other than meeting her reflection's gaze, he looked away from the mirror entirely, and brushed his lips over the bite mark as he turned away.

Well, he certainly has a reflection, she couldn't help but muse as she remembered to breathe, watching his backside as he paced over to the laptop casually.

"I see you're onto the 15th century."

"Yes… family of yours?" She prodded with mild curiosity, as she adjusted the towel.

He was silent for a moment , as though debating just how directly to answer.

"Something like that," he seemed to settle with, and despite lifting a curious brow she didn't pry. Something in his eyes brooked no reproach, as funny as that felt to think.

"I unfortunately need to be going again," he added before she could think of any further inquiry, or pounce on him again as she was half wont to do.

"I mainly just came to replace your lamp," he said, stepping back to the hall and pulling up a bag he had left on the floor, offering it to her.

She couldn't help but laugh as she took it from him.. "Why thank you."

Not that she could ever look at the bloody thing again without remembering knocking it onto the floor to smash into pieces as he pounded her into next week. Though judging from the demonic glint in his eyes as he pressed an otherwise chaste kiss to her knuckles in farewell, that was exactly what he'd intended.

----

She felt him before she saw him. It was both refreshing and annoying that he couldn't sneak up on her anymore, even if it just meant a few more minutes of blissful ignorance before he intruded on her evening.

"You shouldn't be here."

He was even more annoyed by it if the disgruntled sigh was anything to go by. He remained at a distance in the shadows nonetheless.

"Neither should you, Zoe," Dracula warned in a tone that was so low, it was almost genuine in its concern. "I know what you're doing, at least in part, and while the effort is admirable it's not going to work."

"And how would you know?" She snapped, frustration lacing her words as she tried desperately to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her. "Have you ever even tried not killing anyone? Of course not, because you enjoy it too much. You're a monster and that's how you like it." She slammed a few keys with audible force.

Dracula scoffed, approaching from the shadows with an affronted air. "What do you call what I've been doing?! I would think you'd appreciate the gesture."

Her eyes narrowed, incredulous confusion colored by exasperation. "I'm sorry, are saying you attempting not to murder half of London is supposed to impress me?"

"Yes, of course."

At that she couldn't help but laugh, for probably the first time in months, though it contained plenty of Agatha's sardonic mirth as well.

"You really are a 500 year old infant, aren't you?"

His lips formed into an exaggerated pout, barely masking his amusement. "Is that what she's said about me?"

"Among many other things, yes," Zoe confirmed dryly, standing to her feet. They both knew he was speaking of Agatha, though whether he knew about the letters she wasn't sure, nor did she want to bring it up. Not yet.

"And what about the girl who's throat you almost ripped out last night? Or did you? Was that out of spite or just the chance to show off?"

"She's perfectly fine.  Actually I would say I improved her night immensely ." The lascivious tone was blatant and twice as irritating as he leaned over the desk towards her.

Her nostrils flared as the breath expelled through his words lingered between them, smelling of blood.

"You're revolting." She despised that the words came out in a gasp.

"And deep down, you enjoy it."

"Like I enjoyed cancer."

He smirked, though there was a bitter edge of impatience to it.

"They're going to try to kill you, you know. And you don't have the strength to fight it."

"Then I suppose I'll die," she dismissed, just to irritate him. In truth it was something she was concerned with as well, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know it

He scowled briefly though it manifested as more of a snarl, pulling a hip flask from his pocket and placing it on the desk between them. An offering, given in silence.

Zoe barely looked at it. "And which one of your conquests did that come from?"

"Leading hematologist in London - willingly donated in a sterile, medical setting - very much alive and happily at home with his idiotic family as we speak. If and when you could use the boost - or the expertise."

"Not necessary," she ground out, doing her best to ignore its presence entirely. Not to mention the implication he was even offering assistance in his selfish, convoluted way, despite his opposition to her plan.

Dracula could have opened it and left her with no choice, but he didn't. Instead, he straightened to his full height and met her eyes again with a sigh as he made his way back towards the door. Where he’d actually gotten in without notice, she had no idea, and she’d rather not think about it..

"Good luck, Dr. Helsing," he bade her farewell, unable to resist adding sardonically: "You'll need it."

----

Sooo... Zoe’s kind of trying to invent True Blood, and I’m a whore for Drac being a suck up (no pun intended). This is going to get...interesting.

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