#the firm handshake and the quiver in your knees

[neverendingford]

.

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: The New Hire

23 year-old Barry Allen looked across the street at the office building of HIMBO, a lifestyle & fashion magazine targeted at gay men, and the site of his job interview. After graduating last May, Barry has tried for months to find a communications job with no luck, until he saw HIMBO’s advertisement for an entry-level social media position. The pay was unbelievably good, and they reached out to him about applying which made the whole situation seem very promising. He was a little uncomfortable about the idea of working at a gay magazine. I don’t have any issue with gay people, Barry thought, I just don’t understand a lot of the culture and I’m not really trying to. Still, the job was too good to pass up without at least interviewing.

Barry walked into the lobby of the building and was directed on how to reach the HIMBO’s offices. Stepping into the elevator, Barry thought about how sharply dressed everyone in the building was. It made him feel a little unprofessional, in his blazer, checkered shirt, and jeans. But the email had told him to dress “Appropriately for his position,” so he dressed the way he knew modern social media teams did.

As the elevator opened, Barry was greeted by the bright offices of HIMBO. The personnel working there (all male, he noticed) were dressed in a mixture of ridiculously eccentric business wear, speedos and harnesses, club outfits, other other bizarre fashions. “I’m guessing those are models?” Barry wondered, before walking over to a desk attended by a swishy receptionist.

The twinkish secretary looked up at Barry, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You must be the new applicant!” He exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat. “Oh, you’re perfect! He always knows the right people to pick. Well knock on wood, but I’m excited to work with you!” Then in a swift motion, the man darted around the desk and grabbed Barry by the hand. “Here, I can take you to him! He’s been waiting for you. I’m James, by the way! I work the desk!” And with that, Barry found himself being dragged along through the HIMBO offices.

“Uh, I have a question. Who is ‘he’?” Barry called along as he tried to keep pace with the fast-paced James.

“Christian Le Maître, the Editor in Chief! He’s brilliant. He does all the interviews and hiring himself. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

Wow, he picked me out himself, Barry thought, I must really be promising.

Barry spoke up “That’s pretty cool, to have a boss that cares that much.”

James nodded enthusiastically “Oh yes, he cares for us all so much! We’re all his boys here.”

Looking past the odd use of “boys”, Barry continued “I’m, uh, applying for a social media position.”

“Oh okay, interesting,” James said with less enthusiasm than usual, “He’ll sometimes try to figure out a different position for you during the interview. Just go along with what he says. I promise he has your best interests at heart.”

Before Barry could ask what that meant, James came to a sudden stop in front of a large heavy door. He knocked on it several times, before a deep muffled voice called out “Send him in” from behind the door.

James turned around, grinning ear to ear “Okay, best of luck! Remember: you’re gonna fit in here.” With that, he pranced back down the hallway, leaving Barry alone in front of the door.

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he thought, and opened the door.

Walking into the office, Barry looked behind the desk and saw one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen.

His face was rugged and handsome, with insatiably curious eyes, perfect white teeth, and a beard that was just the right amount of stubble. His hair was parted with gel into a professional, clean, and gorgeous haircut. His toned muscles perfectly filled out his expensive looking business clothes: a light blue silk dress shirt, grey pinstripe pants, suspenders hung over his shoulders and pressed out by his chest, gorgeous-smelling black leather dress shoes, and a sterling silver watch. He was an absolute alpha male, so perfectly handsome and successful that Barry couldn’t help but feel awe, jealousy, and a hint of... lust?

The man looked at Barry and smiled a perfect smile. “Barry, is it? I’m Christian La Maître, but everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.” The man stood up, revealing his daunting 6’4 frame, and extended a muscular hand to Barry

Jesus, his voice is intoxicating, Barry swooned. It was so smoothly deep and inviting. With just the few words Barry already felt like he could listen to the man for hours. He reached out and took hold of Mr. M’s hand for an extremely firm handshake. As their hand touched, Barry felt a jolt, and found himself unable to take his eyes off the powerful man before him. And more importantly, he had no desire to move his eyes away.

Mr. M sat back down again. “So Barry, tell me about yourself. College graduate?”

“Uh, yes. Digital Communications maj-“

“Have you ever read HIMBO before?” Mr. M cut Barry off.

“No, sir” Barry said, neither objecting to being interrupted, nor noticing the “sir” he just said.

“Are you gay?” Mr. M examined Barry’s body up and down, never making eye contact.

“No, sir. I’m straight.” He paused “Is that okay?”

Mr. M let out a hearty laugh, and Barry found himself laughing along with the man too. It just felt right. This brilliant, perfect businessman that Barry was lucky enough to be in the presence of, anything he did had to be right.

“Ahhh, Barry. You’re a fun kid. Now unfortunately, that social media position was filled earlier this morning by another applicant. But I would be a fool not to bring you into the HIMBO team, Barry!” This filled Barry with joy. The approval of Mr. M felt so good.

“Now if I think about it...” Mr. M paused for a few moments, giving Barry another thorough looking over, “I think we have an opening in the accounting department.”

“Yes! I accept!” Barry shouted out. He didn’t even care that it was a totally different position than he had come here for, nor did he care that he had zero accounting experience. If Mr. M said he would be a good accountant, then Barry had to be the best accountant for his boss.

The man chuckled again. “There’s just a little on boarding we’d have to do to get you ready for the position. Beginning with dress code, for starters.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes, sir?” Barry asked eagerly. He would do anything for this man, who was offering him a coveted job at HIMBO magazine. Barry would change anything about himself.

“Well, you just dress so... cool. I mean look at that outfit! You are a hip young man who is ready for a good night out. And I love that for you, but I think a good accountant would dress a bit... sharper.”

The “sharper” bounced around in Barry’s head. Visions of men in suits and ties flooded his mind. He began to feel attracted to the idea of being a finely dressed man. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever dressing down, not even in his free time. As Barry listened to Mr. M’s words, his plaid shirt rippled into a crisp white dress shirt. It tucked itself into his jeans.

“A good smart accountant would look his best at all times.”

Barry’s jeans turned into tight fitting grey dress pants, and a brown leather belt cinched itself firmly around his waist. His casual wool blazer morphed into a clean grey suit jacket matching his pants. Underneath, a gray sweater materialized and hugged itself to Barry’s slimming build.

“A good, clean-cut accountant.”

Barry felt his feet shift as his shoes changed into well-polished brown leather dress shoes, with wing tips. His socked changed to clean white socks, and inside his pants he felt briefs take form around his shrinking manhood.

“A good, nerdy accountant.”

A red bow tie wrapped itself around Barry’s neck and tied itself into a perfect knot. Large round glasses popped up on Barry’s face, which he knew he needed to wear every day. Barry’s hair ruffled as if wind was blowing through it, before settling in a clean side part, well-combed and maintained.

Barry stood before the incredibly powerful man before him looking totally different. Just 10 minutes ago Barry had dressed like any college graduate, but now looked as if he wore a suit every day of the week. But as for Barry himself, he had never felt better. As his clothes changed, Barry’s thoughts realized how right this felt. Barry now perfectly remembered his 2 hour morning dress routine. He knew exactly how much pomade to use to achieve the perfect side part, he remembered tying bow ties for six years now. His home wardrobe, all of it, had been replaced with suits, sweaters, shirts, dress shoes, and bow ties of every material, pattern, and color imagineable. This was the way he had dressed ever since he got to college and felt he could express himself truly. The truth was Barry loved the feel of a suit. The cleanness and dignity were an intoxicating feeling, and he couldn’t imagine himself in anything else.

Mr. M smiled a big smile. “There we go, an absolute perfect fit for our accountant opening. Welcome to the HIMBO team, Barry. Or should I say Bartholomew.”

That was right. Bartholomew Pippin, and he couldn’t be happier. He was a timid, nerdy kind of guy, sure, but he felt on top of the world. Bartholomew was an avid HIMBO reader for its good guides on men’s formalwear (and also so he could jerk off to the photos of shirtless guys), so to work at the magazine he loved, doing the job he loved (accounting) was a dream come true.

Mr. M stood up and walked over to Bartholomew, getting extremely close to him. “There’s just one last step in the hiring process...”

Barty shook a bit as he looked up at the domineering man before him. Mr. M was a tall man to begin with, but at his new height Bartholomew was 5’9, and the taller man encompassed him.

“I seal all my contracts... with a kiss.”

Barry’s knees quivered. He had realized he was gay at a young age, but aside from a few “almosts” in college, he had never gone farther than holding hands. Bartholomew had always reasoned that he would meet the right one eventually... and looking up at this man, Barty knew he had found it. Mr. M was all Barty would ever need. This man would control his work life and his sex life, dictating when Barty could pleasure himself, when he could come, and when he got the ultimate privilege of spending the night with Mr. M.

Bartholomew wrinkled his note and nodded eagerly “Of course, sir. I would be honored to kiss you.

As Barty stood on his tip toes to kiss his new boss - god, his lips were smooth and perfect - Barty felt all his changes lock into place. This is who he was. Bartholomew Pippin, mild-mannered accountant of HIMBO magazine, and one of Christian La Maître’s very good boys.

The two parted, and Mr. M gave Bartholomew another killer smile. “Bartholomew, I can already tell you’re gonna fit in here perfectly. And as a signing bonus, how about you stop by my place tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

“Oh thank you so much, Mr. M! I’ll be there at 6:45, I promise.”

“That’s a good boy, Barty. Now get settled in, your desk is at the end of the hall.” He gave Barty a spank on his bubble butt, and sent him on his way, to his new job and new life.

[ezrasarm]

Surrender

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: Din collects his final bounty without even knowing it.

Warnings: Angst, 10 ply fluff, lack of proofreading

A/N: This is my love letter to @starryeyedstories “All Of Me” because I couldn’t stop imagining what that day he collects his final bounty would look like (Please forgive me, I couldn’t resist). Also, if you haven’t read it yet please do because it’s amazing! It’s about damn time I wrote for Din!

(Gif by @lucy-sky)

“Are you okay?” The mandalorian asked, coming to place his gloved hands on your upper arms after finally managing to get the bounty into carbonite. This job had been a particularly wearing one for both of you, you hadn’t even realized you were shaking until his grip on you attempted to resist your trembling.

“You could have died!” You just about cried, your whole jaw quivering as you reel back from him, your eyes red with the sting of forming tears.

You’d been in enough life threatening situations with him before over the years but this one struck you differently. You were convinced he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive and it terrified you to your very core. You know if he were to say something it would be a cold and detached “That’s the job.” or “This is the way.” You had toughened to these responses over time, you could take them now. You could understand them. But instead he remained steadfast, back rigid and visor trained on you without so much of a head tilt in acknowledgment. You’d never felt so closed out or blind to his emotions as you did in this moment, staring into the frigid barrier of callous, indifferent steel you had come to recognize as his face.

“I know you’re doing this for us- for our future- but there won’t be a future for us if you’re dead!” You gasp out, your voice quaking when you recoil from him as he takes a step closer to you, hand extended but posture still stoic and indecipherable. You couldn’t fall into this again. You couldn’t bottle up your nightmares in the firm grasp of a leather-and-beskar-clad embrace. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“I know this is your livelihood, your religion, your identity and you know I’d never ask to undermine that. This isn’t an ultimatum...” You trail off for a moment allowing yourself to realize what it was you were trying to say. “But I can’t sit back and watch you kill yourself.” You feel your voice break in your chest as the weight of your words fell over you like an anvil in a cartoon. You’d lost enough loved ones in your lifetime, you couldn’t bare to lose another one. Not him.

“(Y/n),” he spoke softly, his voice enviably even and collected as he took a cautious step towards you only for you to match it by stepping back. You hadn’t realized how unprepared you were for him to reply. You were in no mood to be talked down right now. You couldn’t live with the burden of fearing for his life every waking moment of every day any longer. It was breaking you.

“Din, you can’t change my mind about this.” You croaked. How was he so calm? You could actually feel anger boiling up inside you at how unfazed he seemed to be. As though all the love and affection you’d given him so unconditionally over the years had meant absolutely nothing to him. You’d have handed him your very soul on a platter, you were so pathetically in love with him and here he was without so much as a waver to his voice at the threat of you leaving for good.

You were just about ready to open your mouth again. To argue with him. To shove him. To give him a piece of your mind. Anything that would get him to give you a reaction. A real reaction. But before you could do any of that he was gently reaching up and nonchalantly unfastening his pauldron, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground before going for the other, leaving your mouth hanging open in bewilderment.

“W-what are you doing?” You stammered out as he came to unstrap his chest plate and let it fall with a deafening clang.

In all your years of travelling together you’d never seen this much of him unconcealed by beskar, you’d never laid eyes on even an inch of his skin. It was a dizzying sense of perplexity that confounded in you as your eyes consumed the way the material of his tunic rippled over his muscles and you got to watch how he moved uninhibited by the metal that made him eerily droid-like in his actions for the first time.

It dawned on you now how little had stood between you and him that somehow made you feel like you were a million miles apart all this time. His cuisses and vembrances had now joined the other hunks of the hermetic metal alloy on the Razor Crests floor. You were too dumbfounded to even realize you’d been cautiously retreating from him as he attempted to take slow, careful steps towards you with each piece of shed armour, until your back collided softly with the wall behind you causing a sharp gasp to fall from your mouth.

It was now, standing close enough that he towered over you, his gaze unflinching, you could feel your heart beat rattling through you chest as you attempted fruitlessly to put the pieces together, to figure out what was happening. “I- I don’t understa-“ you couldn’t even finish your words before he was dropping to his knees in front of you with a soft thud, his head bowed as he tugged gently at each of the orange fingertips of his glove before sliding it off his hand, exposing the soft, gold-tinged beige of his skin. “Din,” you tried to say in protest but your plea fell on deaf ears as he reached for the other and dropped them both gently at your feet before tilting his visor up to you again.

“(Y/n),” he sighed, his breath heavy as it fell through the fire-like crackle of his modulator. “Cyare,” He said warmly, the monicker striking a new chord as it plucked softly at your heart strings. “I’m done.” He said, making your heart stop as his hands came up to his helmet.

“Din, don’t do this because of what I said-” You tried to argue but he shook his head.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now,” he said quietly, but it carried force. “I’m tired.” He spoke again and this time the crack in his voice wasn’t just from the modulator. “It’s time.” He resolved and it took everything in you to resist clamping your hands down on his and holding his helmet in place.

You weren’t ready to be blamed for forcing him to give everything he knew of himself up. You couldn’t carry the resentment that came with knowing you were the one that stopped him from doing all he’d ever known, that caused him to break his creed. But you didn’t do any of that. Instead, you stood there, tears brimming your eyes as he slowly unveiled himself, stomach churning with anticipation as the light finally illuminated his features enough for you to see.

He looked nothing like you’d imagined and yet exactly as you had all at the same time. His jaw was softer than you had thought and his nose was crooked like it had been broken once or twice before. His skin was adorned with scars old and new and it pained you to think of how many of those he had suffered alone without complaint. His upper lip and chin were littered with light stubble and his lips, with a slight pink hue looked delicate as silk as they quirked upwards ever so slightly at the corners in a bittersweet, awestricken smile that made your breath lodge somewhere in your throat.

But the most cathartic of the experience was finally looking into the eyes of the one you had longed for for so long, their colour a dark, black coffee brown and just as warm. They were pin pricked with tears and so full of emotion. You wondered how even the mask could have shielded it from you. He looked so human, so vulnerable and exposed.

He looked like the man you loved.

You couldn’t even think of words to say as you absorbed every feature you could, memorizing them as though you’d never see them again, you almost jumped when his bare finger tips came to graze yours, scooping your hands into his and rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs on your palms as though he were studying every crease and line.

A pang of grief hit you as you considered how long it had been since he had felt the warmth of real skin on skin contact, something you took for granted with every handshake shared so casually between you and another, he probably couldn’t even remember it. He gently brought your finger tips to his cheeks, letting you graze his cheekbones, his jawline and the ridge of his nose, leaning into the touch of your fingers as they tangled in his wild tufts of chestnut curls and gladly accepting your thumbs as they gently outlined the shape of his lips all the while he traced his hands up and down the length of your forearms in any form of motion that would give him contact with you.

“I’m all yours now, Cyar’ika.” He murmured against your thumbs, relishing in the taste of your skin on his mouth before gently catching your hand and bringing his lips to your inner wrist, his hot breath fanning over your pulse point as he pressed the most gentle of kisses there before he tugged himself up to his feet.

With his face now inches from yours you swore you could see every fleck of gold in his irises even in the dim light of the Crest. “I’m sorry it took so long.” He hummed as his hands absentmindedly tangled in your hair like it was second nature.

You were so overcome with emotion you couldn’t even argue. You couldn’t tell him all that mattered was that you had each other now, or that the wait was what gave it meaning. The most you could manage was a shake of your head and a watery grin as your hands instinctually found the nape of his neck and you brought your lips to his in what you could have sworn was the worlds longest awaited kiss.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@ezraslittleblondestreak @agirllovespasta @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @wickedfrsgrl @hillarymurray4 @din-damn-djarin

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter VII]

Word count:  6,292

Warnings: vulgar language 

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

A/N:  I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you do too while reading it. Side note 1: I reference a few movies here and there. I would advise you skipping one or two paragraphs to avoid spoilers if you still mean to watch it. But, I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen it already. Site note 2: Anne Rice will find a way to sue me if this somehow finds its way to her (it won't, who do I think I am) Side note 3: if you haven't yet, watch every movie and read every book mentioned here. They're all great.

____________________________________________________________

I had a huge grin on my face as I left the courtroom. My client grabbed my arm and shook it, chuckling. 

“You won!” she squealed. 

“ We won,” I corrected. I stopped walking and faced Mirriam. Her make-up was smudged beneath her watery eyes and her lips were quivering. “I’m happy for you.”

She pulled me into a hug, knocking the breath out of me. Both my hands were occupied, carrying my briefcase and purse so, I had no choice but to stand there, unable to hug her back. Mirriam sobbed, her arms tightening about my neck ever so slightly as she thanked me. Over her shoulder, I saw Judge Llewellyn leave the courtroom, still dressed in his robes. He looked at us, the perpetual crease between his eyebrow softening. Mirriam exclaimed and released me abruptly. The squeals of happy children echoed down the hall and I turned to see Mirriam make a run for the two kids sprinting towards her. 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N,” said Llewellyn. I turned my head to see him standing at my side. “You did well.”

“Can you repeat that, please? I didn’t quite catch it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. 

His lips tugged up as he glanced away. When he looked at me again his face was serious.

“Don’t try your luck,” he extended a hand toward me. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at practice in my court again.”

Any moment now my cheeks would tear from smiling so much. I let go of my purse, not caring that it almost tipped over, and shook his hand. Although his fingers were long and bony, his handshake was firm.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded and made his way to the opposite direction, presumably towards the judges’ chambers. I watched him go, his robes swaying after him and then turned the other way, taking in Mirriam on her knees, laughing at whatever her children had said. Yeah, I did well. As I picked up my purse, I felt it vibrating. I stuck a hand inside it, searching for my phone as I made my way out of the Royal Courts of Justice.

“Hi, Zoe.”

“Any news?” She asked on the other end. 

“None.”

“It’s been over a week since he took you out. Shouldn’t he have called you?”

“Maybe he’s lost interest,” I countered, frowning at the twinge on my chest. 

Out in the open, I lowered my head to protect myself against the drizzle as I walked.

“That’s absurd. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of bribing someone--”

“I still regret telling you that.”

“Nevermind who he is, that was impressive.”

An outsider could hear our conversation and think we were complaining about some guy giving me the cold shoulder, not plotting against a five centuries old vampire.

“Zoe, I don’t care why he hasn’t called as long as he leaves me alone. Maybe he met someone else,” as I talked, I managed to make eye contact with a cabbie inside a passing taxi and nodded. “I saw you two days ago. I’ll call if anything changes. When do you want to meet again?”

“Let’s make it Sunday. It’ll be the fourth set of samples and I want to keep the every 2 days pattern we’ve got going on until your bite fully heals.”

The taxi stopped next to me and I juggled all my stuff in order to open the door. I glared at the cabbie, hoping that he would be moved by my anger and help me open the door. I could be Queen Elizabeth and he wouldn’t care. 

“Fine,” I said as I managed to open the car door and get inside. “61 Marney Road,” I told the cabbie and he accelerated. “St Thomas Hospital again?” I asked Zoe.

“Yes. 11am. Call me if Dracula--”

“I know, I know. Bye.” I ended the call before she could keep talking. 

Once I settled my belongings next to me and made myself comfortable, I leaned my head on the window, watching as London’s lights started coming to life in the nearing dusk. Getting complimented by Judge Llewellyn deserved to be celebrated. A good film accompanied by popcorn and lots of chocolate appealed to my body overridden by PMS. Add an hour in a hot bath and then I would have the perfect Friday night. How would Count Dracula spend his Friday night? 

I lowered my shirt’s high collar and touched the scar on my neck. It was nothing more than small scabs now that the bruises were gone but I still wore turtlenecks to conceal the strangulation marks. I hadn’t felt the tingling sensation on it ever since my date with the Count and I wondered if it would react at all to him now that it was almost healed. 

“Miss, you alright?”

I removed my hand from my neck like I had been burned. 

“What?” 

“Are you feeling alright? It sounded like you were out of breath,” he spoke the same way someone would if they were addressing an elderly person.

My entire face went hot and I thanked him silently for not being one those cabbies that always had the rear view mirror turned to the back seats in order to watch the passengers. 

“I have, uh, asthma,” I shut my eyes as I spoke, overcome by embarrassment. “But I’m fine now.”

Had I gone mental? Rubbing my scar to test if it was still reactive to touch in the back of a taxi was just plain stupid, especially considering that I’d gotten so utterly lost in pleasure that I had been panting loud enough for the cabbie to hear me. 

“Tragic, innit?” 

That my bond to Count Dracula paired with PMS had made me become a dog in heat? Yes.

“Sorry, what?”

The cabbie leaned forward and a second later the whispering voices coming from the car speakers raised to an understandable volume. 

“ Surrey police has no leads so far ,” was all I heard from the narrator before a song started playing.

“What happened?”

“Two students were found dead this morning in Surrey University. Bright youngins, can you imagine what they could--”

I straightened on my seat.

“Murders?”

“Makes no sense, how brutal. Police says it appears they were having a movie night--”

“How were they killed?” 

The cabbie took hold of the rear view mirror and angled it at me. I smiled dryly at his frown.

“Professional curiosity,” I told him. “I’m a defense lawyer.”

That answer did nothing to soothe the crease on his large forehead.

“Police isn’t sure yet. But I heard from a pal from Surrey,” he lowered his voice, like he was confiding in me, “that the person that found ‘em threw up and so did a coppa. Looked like a scene straight from The Shining, I bet. Nasty stuff.”

I nodded, relaxing against the window again. Taking he referenced The Shining, that probably meant that there was a lot blood. Dracula wouldn’t waste a drop, I supposed. Odd horrific murders came about once in a while, sadly, and all of them committed by humans. Besides, would he really go all the way to Surrey just to murder a bunch of uni students? London was stacked with several student halls for him to pick from without the trouble of traveling across counties.

“First what happened at that company and then this… This is a bad, bad week. My gran used to say that everything comes in threes. I assure ya, miss, there’s more-”

“Which company? What are you talking about?”

“Ya haven’t heard?” he questioned, glancing at me through the mirror. “Why, miss. Two nights ago the, whaddyacallit, the big corporate cunts in charge of a company- oh, excuse my mouth, miss-”

“The board of directors?”

“Yeah, those blokes. Murdered, the whole lot of ‘em, inside a meeting room!” he started whispering again. 

“Was this here in London?”

“Central London,” he nodded.  “Can’t remember the name of the company, now-”

“Like the murders in Surrey? Bloody?”

“Nah, don’t think there’s been news about that. Cameras were dead, caught nothing of it. They were found by security at almost midnight after a wife of one of ‘em called looking for her husband.”

“Cause of death?” I asked and he looked at me. “Just answer the question.”

“Stab wounds to the neck, all of ‘em. Apparently some of them put up a fight because there were broken arms and fingers. Scotland Yard said that it’s prolly more than one murderer, other than that they’ve been quiet about it… They’re investigating it,” he made air quotes, “that’s code for we don’t know shite.”

He continued ranting for the rest of the trip but I wasn’t listening anymore. I doubted that Netflix would be able to salvage my mood after that conversation.

Once I paid the cabbie, I bid him a nice weekend and jumped out of the taxi. Compared to how he had barely cared about my struggle to get in the taxi, he was nice enough to wait until I got my door opened. Now that the night had come, the automatic light above my front door had turned on and I could only make out the shape of his hand waving at me from inside the car. I waved back as a thanks before going inside. 

I went straight upstairs after I locked the door. With how wired I was, I forgot all about my intentions of taking a bath and took a shower instead. Considering I was humming a tune to myself after thirty minutes under a steady stream of hot water, I was making a quick recovery. I was still singing when I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel about my body. I opened the door, tendrils of steam spilling from my bathroom into my bedroom.

“Ohmygod!”

Count Dracula grinned at me, lying on the middle of my bed with both arms folded beneath his head. I pressed the towel to myself, desperately seeking more cover. 

“I was starting to wonder if you would ever come out of there.”

“I wish I hadn’t!” I exclaimed. “I locked my door! How the hell did you get in?!”

“Window." He pointed one long finger at it.

Deadbolts. I’d have to get deadbolts on every single window in my house.

“Couldn’t you have texted in advance?!”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

I stared at him, waiting for something else to come out of his mouth. Instead, his gaze slid down my body, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he inhaled sharply. I knew exactly why he was whiffing the air. Thank God my body was flushed from the hot shower, otherwise I would have gone bright red in anger.

“Ugh, leave!” I said, projecting my voice like I was in court. 

I stretched an arm out, pointing at the window. The sudden movement almost caused the towel to open and I immediately took hold of it again with a little squeak. Count Dracula was up at once, circling the bed towards me. I gulped. His gaze pulled me in and for a moment my anger sizzled down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said and a shiver went down my spine.

I stepped back into the bathroom to put some distance between us.

“Too bad, go away.”

A smirk tugged the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve missed me, too.”

“Absolutely did not.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

“It’s called anger.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“‘I’ll go wait downstairs,” he said before turning away from me and slipping out of my bedroom. 

My knees almost gave out when he left and I rushed to sit on the edge of the bed. I held my head as I tried to concentrate and take deep breaths. Had he stayed any longer I wouldn’t put it past me to lock myself in the bathroom and remain there until morning. Not only I had to deal with him, I also could feel cramps coming. I wanted nothing more to curl up in bed with a heat compress and chocolate. Summoning my courage, I got up and went to get dressed. 

As I went down the stairs, Dracula peeked his head out from the living room.

“You’re going out in your nightgown?”

I stopped for a second, frowning and then continued down.

“I’m not going out. I’m tired and uncomfortable and I’m staying home,” I forced a smile, batting my eyelashes just to annoy him. I rounded the staircase, giving my back to him and heading for the kitchen. “I do hope you haven’t wasted your money bribing someone else to grant us entrance to another museum.”

I swiped at the switch and soft lights came on over the kitchen island and at the corners of the room. 

“I haven’t. There’s no problem in postponing tonight’s date.”

I turned around to see him standing on the other side of the island, staring at me.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink. I pushed a set of pans to the side, looking for my heat pad.

“Been busy for this past week?” I asked, my voice echoing inside the cabinet. 

“Unfortunately.”

I found the heat pad and stood up, closing the cabinet door after me as I put it inside the microwave and set 5 minutes. I turned to face him, propping my hips on the kitchen counter. I pulled on my courtroom face. If Count Dracula squinting at me meant that he saw me do it, then I needed to work more on my tells. 

“Reading Jules Verne or killing a board of directors?”

One of his eyes twitched before he smiled.

“Both. Although I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Not finish the book?”

“Dracula-”

“I was bored." He waved his hands on the air, dismissing my hard stare. “Please, I did the world a service! Yes, I went after them on a whim but as soon as I drank from one of them… I killed them on principle.”

“Principle? You’ve got that?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He put his hands on top of the island and leaned forward, the light above his head creating shadows on his face. “The first one I bit was a child abuser. It was in his blood so, forgive me if killing him offends you. I broke his neck because I didn’t have a stomach for him. The rest of them… were palate cleansers. Although it didn’t do much good. Incredible how many of them had raped women and beat their wives.”

We stared at each other, frozen in place.

All my anger from before vanished and I had to struggle to keep my courtroom face on. In another world, one where there was no law binding me, I would have done the same. Was this the good in him I had been searching, however twisted it was?

The microwave chimed, prompting me to blink and break eye contact.

“I hope you hid at least some of the evidence,” I said, pushing back from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how representing a vampire in court for murder would look on my resumé.”

“No need to worry.” He grinned.

I grabbed the heat pad from the microwave, juggling it between my hands to avoid getting burnt until I dropped it to the counter. 

“What about the students in Surrey?”

“Surrey? No, I haven’t been there.” 

I nodded, somewhat relieved. I turned my back on Dracula to conceal my face as I broke the façade. He wasn’t responsible for the murders on Surrey as I suspected but after killing those ‘corporate cunts’, as the cabbie had put so appropriately, he probably went somewhere else to find another palate cleanser. Somebody else was dead because of him but for the life of me I couldn’t find something inside me to care enough. He had indeed done the world a service. 

I rounded the island, past the Count so I could reach the pantry. From there I took popcorn and a bar of chocolate I had hidden, from myself, behind a set of spices. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I moved and I fought the urge to steal a glance of his face to try figure out what was on his mind. 

“I’m surprised you made an appearance,” I said in the unnerving silence. 

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Hugging the popcorn and chocolate to my chest, I moved past him, congratulating myself for not looking at him. “No, actually. I was fairly positive you would come looking for me again, much to my dismay.” I chuckled. “One would think what happened at the museum would encourage you.”

My back burnt with the weight of his gaze. I started tearing the popcorn package frantically, making as much noise as possible to distract me. It was almost working but after I put the popcorn inside the microwave and closed it, I saw his reflection on the microwave mirrored door, moving towards me. 

“It’s not very nice to sneak up on people,” I said, holding my ground.

He met my eyes through the reflection. 

“I’m not nice.”

He had a reflection. I blinked, turning at once to face him. He was directly behind me, less than an arm’s length.

“You can be.”

“Do you want me to be nice?”

“No. It makes it harder to hate you.”

He smiled. 

“I believed that for a second, really did. Especially when I found out that you had been asking our dear friend Renfield about me.”

I gulped.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming, if that makes you feel better,” I said and he chuckled but when his face grew serious again, I wondered if he forced that laugh. “Is that why you disappeared? Because Renfield gossiped about me to you?”

“Amongst other things,” he acquiesced, stepping back and supporting his body on the island much like I had done on the counter. 

By his evasive answer, there was more to it but if he didn’t want to tell me it was fine. He had his secrets and I had mine.

“What do you know, boys really do gossip as much ladies do.”

He gave me a lopsided smile, one I judged was genuine, unlike his chuckle before. The microwave beeped again and I inhaled the delicious scent of done popcorn. I retrieved the popcorn with the tips of my fingers. I placed it briefly on the counter and then offered the heating pad to Count Dracula.

“Take this for me, will you?” I said and he did. I grabbed a glass of juice for me and then the popcorn and chocolate. “Come on. We’re watching a film.”

Count Dracula followed me into the living room. As I settled myself on the sofa, he gave me the heat pad and then occupied himself with analysing my library. Library was a kind word. It would take up the entire wall behind the telly if the fireplace had not been there. I wouldn’t say it was an impressive collection to a connoisseur but it was my collection and I had love for every single book in it, even the ones I didn’t like very much. Count Dracula had his hands laced behind his back and his head tilted as he admired it. I stopped myself from turning the telly on when I heard him whispering the titles to himself.

“Oh, would you look at that ?” He stepped forward and reached for the second to last row of books closest to the ceiling. I usually had to climb on the armchair to reach that far up but all he did was extend his arm up and pluck a book from up there. He turned around, showing me the gold cover with white and red lettering between his hands. “A vampire book?”

Of course he would find that. At least I should be thankful he didn’t find Story of O or Venus in Furs. If he had and then decided to flip through the pages, I would be doomed.

“Be very careful with that,” I warned. “It’s first edition and it was a gift. It’s sort of a classic.”

“Really?” he grinned, tipping his head up to the row from where he retrieved it from. “Are all of those classics?”

“Anne Rice might say so but the rest of the world wouldn’t,” I scoffed. He looked at me. “She thinks very highly of herself.”

“We would probably get along wonderfully,” he smirked. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit to give her real inspiration.”

“She’s an old woman now and would die of excitement if you actually visited her,” I laughed. “There’s a film for this one,” I pointed at the book in his hands. There was gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you want to watch it?”

“You’ve seen it already,” he said as he placed the book on the shelf. 

“Yes but I can’t deny myself the irony of watching a vampire film with a real vampire,” I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. “We’ll watch this one and then you can choose the next one.”

I gazed up at him, waiting for an answer. He traced his tongue inside his lower lip, giving my body all sorts of ideas my brain was not agreeable with. My hand tightened around the remote. Count Dracula took off his blazer and threw it on the armchair beneath the window. I almost asked him if all his shirts were missing buttons because the top ones were undone like the last time I’d seen him but then he started undoing his belt. Popcorn spilled on my lap.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I exclaimed.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied with a frown, like I was ridiculous for asking. He rolled the belt around his fingers and then placed it neatly on top of the fireplace. “Like you are,” he gestured at me.

I was sunken back on the sofa between pillows and cushions, with my feet on the coffee table and popcorn all over my nightie. Technically speaking, I was indeed comfortable, especially because of the heating pad on my lower abdomen relieving menstrual cramps. I was less comfortable with Dracula undressing in front of me while my body was working against me in every way possible.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. My eyes widened as he started moving towards me. “W-wait, no, no, no, you’re sitting over there.”

His smirk widened into a full grin as he sat by my side, letting out an exaggerated breath, he kicked off his shoes and stretched himself in the same position as me. 

“What happened to personal space?”

“I thought we’d gone past that already,” he raised his thick eyebrows. 

I clenched my jaw. His gaze fell on my neck. All he would need to do was lean to sink his teeth in me, if he wanted. His lips parted and I was reminded of their softness when he had kissed me.

“Stop it,” I all but whispered. 

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, eyes fixated on my neck.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I started picking off popcorn from my lap, hoping that would show him that he wasn’t affecting me. “Let’s just watch the film.”

I endured his stare as I clicked on the remote to bring up Netflix and started searching the catalogue for Interview with the Vampire. He decided to focus on the telly once Louis started talking to Daniel. As the film went on, he laughed with Lestat and cursed at Louis constantly for his sentiment. More than once, Count Dracula was literally at the edge of his seat. He nodded approvingly at Claudia at times and at Lestat’s flare for the dramatics, making his critiques here and there about how Anne Rice had gotten it right or wrong.

“That’s Haydn,” Dracula said, eyes glued to the screen as a corpse-like Lestat played the piano and Louis and Claudia watched in horror.

“Good ear,” I commented. “Not that I’m an expert but it took me a few google searches to find out where this piece was from.”

“Good appetite,” he countered without looking at me, raising his forefinger.

I paused the film and he turned to me with an indignant look on his face.

“You ate Haydn?”

He grimaced.

“Ate is a poor term.”

“You did!” I accused, mouth falling open. “Who else?”

“I didn’t kill Haydn, that would be outrageous. I would have deprived the world of Mozart and Beethoven. I just stole a few sips to understand his genius. Chopin, however, I did kill. He was a prick, and so was Mozart. Bach, too, was unbearable but I didn’t get the chance to off him,” he shrugged. “Paganini was a riot, though. I tried turning him but he was committed already to a long time friend, you could say.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know where to start but him saying that about Paganini, very subtly, confirmed people’s suspicion at the time that the man had made a pact with the Devil to have been that good. Finding myself unable to form another coherent thought faced with that, I simply pressed play again.

The film was doing a fantastic job of keeping the Count’s attention and I started relaxing because I didn’t have to be on guard, even if he was laying by my side. That is, until we reached the scene on a theatre where Armand drinks from a woman on stage in front of unsuspecting humans. My heart had begun hammering inside my chest as soon as Louis and Claudia stepped inside the theatre because I knew what was coming. 

Though I kept my eyes on the screen, I was suddenly hyper aware of how close I was to Count Dracula. An entire side of my body touched his, down to where my leg ended. Had I grown that comfortable and not noticed it? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Count Dracula swiveling his head to stare at me. 

“You’re missing the film,” I told him, jamming popcorn in my mouth to keep myself busy.

“Your pulse is more interesting right now,” his words tickled my shoulder. 

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes were still bottomless pools of black. The heat in his eyes was just as worrying if his eyes had been red.

“Don’t,” I warned.

The human girl was on stage now, screaming and begging for mercy. Soft, cold lips touched my shoulder and I swallowed dryly. Another kiss marked his path up.  I forgot how to move, caught in the rapture of his touch. I could have at least this. Nevermind that I was being touched by the man who meant to steal my life. My chest heaved as his kisses became sloppier, less sweet. My entire body shuddered in anticipation as a kiss landed on the curve of my neck. 

“I--”

A hand delved into my hair with a demanding tug and I shut up. The popcorn bag crumpled between my hands. Armand was on stage with the woman, hugging her and providing comfort before her death.

“Say it,” his lips brushed my ear.

“I won’t.”

His lips brushed my scar and I released a shaky breath. His mouth descended on my neck and a cry tore out of me upon feeling him sucking on my skin. Another hand laid on my chest, creeping slowly towards the shoulder strap of my nightie. I closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by pleasure and forgetting every reason why we shouldn’t do this.

“Be mine,” his words were muffled as he continued his assault on my neck.

Sharp teeth grazed my skin. 

This couldn’t happen, not if I wanted to live. The minute he bit me he would know about my plan. I had to summon every ounce of control on my body to resist the sensuous ripple of pleasure coursing my body. I dodged his hands and shot up to my feet. Dracula caught himself on his elbow before he fell between the cushions. His eyes were still every bit as dark as before but his mass of hair was tousled, as mine probably was.

“I think--” I took a breath. “I think you should leave.”

He sat up and I noticed that another button on his shirt had come undone, revealing more of his chest than I had seen before. I didn’t dare look any lower. I almost cried in frustration. My body demanded him despite the fact that giving myself to him meant danger.

“I want to finish watching the film,” he said, gazing up at me as he buttoned his shirt again.

“I’m sure you’ve got Netflix at your place.”

“I do but I don’t have the pleasure of your company there.”

“Dracula--”

“I’ll behave if you do,” he put his legs on the coffee table again but I didn’t fall for it. No way I was looking below his waistline. “ Promise .”

Would I make it if I ran upstairs to my room? But what use would it be if he could simply climb through my window? I wasn’t ten years old anymore to run away from my fears, hoping they would disappear if I didn’t acknowledge them. Then again, Dracula wasn’t the monster under my bed. He was more likely to be the one on top of it. Jesus, focus! Mind over matter, come on. Up until that point he was being good company. If he was toying with my self control or not, I wasn’t sure. Besides, I couldn’t push the man away any time he made me nervous. I needed to lead him on until Zoe and I found a breach.

“I’ll hold you to that promise. You stay there,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll sit over there.”

Grabbing the remote and the bar of chocolate, I tiptoed my way between the remains of my popcorn and curled myself up on the armchair. I started unpacking the chocolate, doing my best to keep my eyes on the telly. Louis and Claudia were now below the theatre, in Armand’s chambers.

Feeling the Count’s gaze on me, I said, “Are you watching the bloody film or not? Because I think I would rather watch something else now.”

After I started chomping at the chocolate bar like there was no tomorrow, Dracula paid attention to the telly. I managed to breathe normally again once he seemed to be engrossed by the film and made conversation about what was going on, like we had been doing before. He celebrated Louis’ revenge by clapping at him and I laughed at the joy on his face as Lestat popped up from the backseat of Daniel’s car and bit him. I mouthed the words to Sympathy for the Devil as the credits rolled and Dracula stayed with his eyes glued to the screen.

“I must talk to this Anne Rice woman,” he muttered.

I chuckled.

“Leave her alone. She hasn’t completed the series yet and I need to know how much dumber Lestat can get in the next book.”

“He’s not dumb,” Dracula said, frowning at me.

I chuckled again. God, he’d grown attached to him.

“You haven’t read the books yet. You might loathe him as much as you did Louis if you read them.”

He groaned.

“Let’s watch another one.”

“Another vampire film?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissist,” I accused and he smiled. 

After searching through the Netflix catalogue, I found a vampire film that didn’t seem so ridiculous called Byzantium. It seemed like a better alternative than Lost Boys or Fright Night. I could just imagine his outrage at Twilight so I spared him of that, too. Twenty minutes later, however, Dracula was rolling his eyes at the TV and asking for the remote. He chose Silence of the Lambs and I thanked the heavens for it. I wouldn’t be able to sit through another sexy movie with him.

“He’s a great actor,” I commented as Dr Lecter and Clarice talked through the glass prison. 

“How many times have you watched it? You quoted that to me before, word for word of what he just said.”

I shrugged. 

“An unhealthy amount of times,” I admitted. He looked at me. “It won four Oscars, c’mon. It’s fantastic.”

I refused to tell him the reason I loved it so much was because of Hannibal Lecter. The Oscars excuse was better. We didn’t say much after that, that’s how fascinated Dracula was. Afterwards, he chose Crimson Peak, at last, one I hadn’t seen. Resting my head on the armchair and using Dracula’s blazer as a blanket, I closed my eyes for a brief moment when Edith met Thomas. 

Sleep’s warm embrace had me floating and I sighed happily. Something hard and cold pressed at my cheek, making my eyes flutter open. Dracula’s face hovered above mine. I wasn’t floating, if his arms around me and his hard chest on my cheek meant anything. My heart hurt like someone had squeezed it.

“I’m just putting you to bed,” he said in a low voice, sparing me a glance.

I was too tired to argue with him and simply rested my head on his chest again.

“You’re cold,” I complained, holding onto his blazer.

“I’m sorry.” 

The harsh lights of the telly made me squint at it with drowsy eyes. Rachel Weisz was on the screen now and I frowned, trying to remember if she appeared in Crimson Peak. Had he started another movie?

“Did the sleep- huh.” I furrowed my brows and tried again, “did I the movie- no,” I sighed.

Hearing his laugh inside his chest made me smile sleepily. 

“You slept little more than 2 hours,” he replied, maneuvering me out of the living room.

“You understood,” a yawn, “what I said,” I giggled and patted his chest. “Well done.”

He flashed me an amused smile before looking ahead again. I wrapped my arms around him when he started going up the stairs, afraid that I would fall. I tried listening to his heartbeat - something I enjoyed doing to people whenever I had chance - but there was no sound coming from his chest. Oddly, that was just as comforting as not hearing soft thump-thumps. But maybe that was just my sleep-addled brain.

“Tell me what happens in Croms- ah, whatever, in the film.” I frowned, mad at how stupid I sounded when I was sleepy. 

He laughed again.

“A lot.”

I rolled my eyes before surrendering to my heavy eyelids and closing them. 

“Be nice, tell me,” I mumbled.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be nice.”

“Right now, I do.”

He started telling me but the rumble of his voice coming from inside his chest, so close to my ear, made me drift back to sleep again. I woke up when he was laying me down on my bed. The bedside lamp made me squint. He set me in the very middle of the bed and perched next to me. I rolled on my side to face him and fluffed the pillow below my head, hiding my face from the light.

“So Edith and Thomas got married, huh?” I asked.

“You got nothing of what I just told you.”

“Not a word." I shook my head lightly.

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen on my face and his fingers hovered over me for a moment before caressing my temple.

“You were married,” I blurted. He dropped his hand and frowned. “When you were human. Weren’t you?”

“What does it matter?” He went to get up but I grabbed his wrist.

He glared at my hand.

“It was just a question,” I told him. “Don’t be mad. We bicker all the time, already.” I raised my eyebrows at him. His gaze fell on mine, indecipherable. “We don’t have to talk about her. Forget I said it.”

For a second I thought he would storm off. Dracula looked out the window, staring into the night. I waited for him to say something, waited until sleep started creeping again. My fingers slid down his wrist, resting on the back of his hand. 

“She was nothing like you.”

My eyes fluttered open. He was still staring into the dark. I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted him to keep talking. 

“How was she like?”

“Fragile and fearful of… everything. Deeply religious and foolish, at times. She smiled whenever she looked at me, even when I had done horrible things. In her mind, all that I did was in the name of God. There was this one time when I came from battle and I had blood on my face and armour-" he stopped, shoulders sloping and then stiffening "-she kissed me.”

“She wasn’t that fragile, then.”

He scoffed.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“Did you love her?”

“More than I thought I was capable.”

I had a feeling I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. For the first time I saw a semblance of real emotion in his eyes and it broke my heart.

“I happened to her.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and took a breath to ask more but he stood up, his hand grazing mine briefly. I watched as he closed the curtains and then picked up the duvet at the bottom of my bed, unfurling it on top of me. I retrieved his blazer from beneath the covers and handed it to him. When he met my eyes again, his expression was devoid of all emotion. His hand reached behind me and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t make out his face anymore.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I whispered but I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room to hear me..

.

Taglist: @festering-queen @feralstare @rheabalaur @girlonfireice @dreamer2381 @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @thorin-smokin-shield​ @deborahlazaroff​ @apocalypsenowish​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ if I forgot to tag anyone, please let me know

[lover-of-midnight]

The last dragon-Chapter 10 +11

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M M/M Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Merlin (TV) Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion Leon/Morgana (Merlin) Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Gwen & Morgana (Merlin) Characters: Merlin (Merlin) Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Kilgharrah (Merlin) Uther Pendragon (Merlin) Morgana (Merlin) Gwen (Merlin) Jaskier | Dandelion Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Additional Tags: Fae Jaskier | Dandelion alternative universe Pre-Relationship Established Relationship Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Mild Language Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin) tired Merlin Tired Jaskier injured geralt Author Notes: The link here, leads back to Chapter 10 since I had trouble loading on to here. I just want to say a big thank you to my amazing beta @aalizazareth for the patience with this fic, and the missed documents I thought I send. I appreciated it.

Geralt relaxed against the wall. He knew why Jaskier had forced the issue about the boy’s magic. He would be the first one to admit, he’d never loved destiny, and he more than likely would never come to like it. He rotated his shoulder slightly. The bite was healing as well as it could. At least the poison was finally out.

Both ignored the words coming from the room. This was not something they would interfere with, as Merlin and Arthur needed to figure it out on their own. Jaskier gave Geralt a soft smile. He still remembered the day Jaskier had to tell him the truth.

He watched as the prince walked out of the room. He could see Arthur’s jaw was clenched and set firmly. Geralt easily fell into step with him. Arthur gave him a short glare, but he did not say anything.

“Where do you practice?” Geralt tried to keep his voice on the relatively low side.

Arthur gave him an unsure look. It was barely a day since the attack -- how could Geralt already be healed up?

“Outside. Follow me.” Arthur’s voice cracked slightly, and he knew it would help to try and get the frustration out on the training ground.

They walked silently for a while. Geralt broke the silence suddenly. “I knew Jaskier for ten years when there was a situation and he was forced to tell me the truth about what he is.” Geralt trailed slightly off, trying to figure out how to string together the words he wished to say.

“We accidentally stumbled onto a fairy ring. Not a large group, but they were strong enough to invade my mind, quickly.” Geralt fell silent again. To this day, he was not proud of his reaction to what had followed.

“Faeries can work on the mind. They inrail your mind with their chaos so that you are more open to their suggestions. When I found out about it, I was furious, and I felt betrayed. Do not make the same mistake I made. Listen to him. There is a reason why he kept this from you.” The words were a quiet admission to the part of himself that still felt the guilt.

Geralt looked as Jaskier danced in front of him. He’d always wondered where he got the stamina to dance and play his lute.

He wished he had paid more attention to their surroundings. They were about two miles away from where they planned to camp. The last clear thought he remembered having was a wish the weather was slightly cooler.

Suddenly, Geralt stiffened. He could hear a song being sung. A wince left his lips as he sank to his knees, and his head felt like it was going to explode.

“Let him go, he is mine.” Geralt barely heard Jaskier’ voice.

“Why should we, son?” The responding woman’s voice was harsh. “ This would be the easiest way to get you back home. You have a court to rule.”

“I left court Mother, I decided to be a free fae. That means I don’t belong to one of the courts. Now, let him go.” Geralt realised he’d never heard Jaskier furious.

The song started up suddenly again. Geralt clutched hard at his head as he fought against the sway of the music. Before long, Geralt could feel himself relax slightly at the sound of a new tune.

Just as soon as it started, it finished, and Geralt slumped forward.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was soft. Geralt could sense and smell how nervous he was. He hated the scent of overripe oranges in the air.

“What happened?” Geralt asked, his voice slightly strained.

“We have moved into a fairy court. Fuck. Geralt, I am sorry...” Jaskier trailed off.

Geralt wished he knew what to say, but the dots were clear as day: Jaskier was a fae.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt could feel the quiver in his voice. He felt the betrayal deep in his bones. He thought they were at least friends.

Jaskier was silent for a long time.

“Because I thought you would have hated me.” The fae’s admission was quiet.

Jaskier winced at how heartbroken Geralt sounded.

“Why did you forgive him?” Arthur’s voice was quiet.

“He was and is my best friend,” Geralt answered quickly. “My only friend, truth be told. He will always be Jaskier to me, even if he didn’t have chaos. It is part of him. I tried to think about what my life would be like if he should suddenly disappear, or die. And I did not like the feeling at all.”

The adoration in Geralt’s voice made Arthur feel small.

“I am an idiot. From the day I met Merlin, I knew he was something else.” Arthur thought back on all the times a branch would suddenly drop on a bandit’s head, or how he would be knocked out suddenly, but when he woke up, the fight would be over and everyone would be alright.

“How did I never see it?” Arthur kicked a pebble.

“Never see what?” Both spun around suddenly when a voice spoke behind them.

Geralt looked the knight up and down quickly. He seemed to be a fair man. The prince would need fair and wise advisors when the time came.

“Nothing, Sir Leon.” Arthur knew it was better than to let anyone in on the secrets. The last thing they needed now was for Uther to find out the truth.

Leon gave Arthur a strange look. Anyone with eyes who had truly been looking would have seen the stress he was under these last few weeks. That, to Leon, only meant one thing.

“Is it about Morgana?” Leon inquired, making sure he kept his voice low.

The hustle and bustle of the people around them helped to keep them from being overheard.

“No, it is about Merlin.” Arthur stopped himself. “Sorry. I am being rude. Leon, this is Geralt. Geralt, this is Sir Leon, my first knight.”

Geralt gave the knight a firm handshake before he pulled Arthur to one side.

“Do you trust him?” Geralt looked Arthur steady in the eyes.

Arthur’s gaze shifted to one side. “Yes,” he said, and though the word was clipped, there was a firmness to it.

“Then, talk to him,” Geralt said softly. “You will need a wise and fair man next to you.”

Arthur silently made his way back to Leon as Geralt left.

Jaskier could hear the faint sound of crying, which made him wince slightly. He knew he had no right to force this. A deep breath later and he pushed open the door. There was a slight sadness in his blue eyes when he saw Merlin on his knees.

“Merlin.” Jaskier made sure to keep his voice soft.

Merlin’s head snapped up. “What do you want?” There was a tiredness to him, that Jaskier knew too well.

“I just want to talk to you.” Jaskier crouched down next to Merlin. “I know you don’t like what I did but believe me, it is for the best.”

Merlin wiped at his eyes. “How are you so sure it was for the best?”

Merlin moved to stand up. His mouth felt dry and he could feel the start of a headache forming. He easily poured for them each a tankard of water.

Jaskier watched his movements with careful eyes.

“I was there. I hurt my beloved because I didn’t tell him the truth until there was a situation that forced me to tell him everything. And I know now that if I’d told him earlier, then his reaction wouldn’t have been so severe.” Jaskier's voice was quiet.

Merlin handed one of the tankards to Jaskier.

“Merlin, you need to understand one thing: people intertwined by destiny will always somehow find each other. You can try and run from it, but in the end, you will be forced to meet again...” Jaskier trailed off. “My destiny is to protect Arthur, make sure he is the one to bring peace to the five kingdoms. There is nothing else to it.” Merlin could feel his heart almost breaking again with the thought that one day he would be forced to watch the prince marry another.

“Yet you love him, and from the looks of it, he loves you as well,” Jaskier said firmly.

Merlin gave a sad shake of his head. He knew that there was no possibility of them ever getting together. It was just not meant to be.

“Will you tell me more about Fae, please?” Merlin asked, easily changing the subject.

“Only if I can tell you about what had happened all those years ago as well,” Jaskier said, so firmly Merlin could only nod.

“There are three types of Fae. Those who are part of the Seelie Court normally rule over summer and spring. Fae from that court are known to be good-willed but, at the same time, they are mischievous. They are prone to overreacting in situations.  

“On the other side, you have the Unseelie Court who normally rule over Autumn and Winter. These Fae are, again, known to be merciless and cruel for no reason.

“And then there are Fae like me, who are court less for the simple reason that we do not want to dabble in court politics.

“Another part that you should understand is that Fae have soul-bonds. Most of the time we bond with another Fae, as it is rare that a soul-bond will cross into the other world. When a bond forms and the Fae find their bond-mate, they need to connect.

“We do that with music and song.

“I met Geralt when I was only four years in as a Court less Fae. Before that, I used to belong to the Unseelie Court.

“I was so happy to have found my mate yet I was too scared to tell him that one: we have a bond that can never be broken, and two:  I was a Fae.  And so, I waited.

“In the time we learned more about each other, my music strengthened the bond we had. At night when he slept, my magic would seep into his mind. I never controlled him, but there was something alike to a protective shield around him.

“One day we stumbled upon a court. Well, a fairy ring. They almost immediately started with a song, and even with the shield, Geralt was led straight into the ring. One thing you have to understand about a court is, once a human enters, they can’t just walk out.

“Unless there is a stronger Fae, or the human is bonded to a Fae.

“Unfortunately for us, we did not happen over a Seelie court, as they would have let us go as soon as they realised we were bond-mates.

“This was my mother, the Queen of the Unseelie. She is a cruel Fae who rules her court with an iron fist. One of the reasons why I decided to leave.

“The fight between us was to get me back into the court and I didn’t want to.

“But at the same time, I knew that if Geralt was too long under their spell, he would be lost to the human world for good.

“For the first time, I forced control over his mind as well.

“I managed to win that battle, but at the cost that Geralt was furious with me. Not that I blame him. I learned later on that, with both of our chaos in his mind, he felt weak, nauseous and extremely dizzy--almost as if he was going to faint.

“When we left, he asked me why I never told him the truth. And I had hurt him. The person I should have protected, I hurt the most.

“He left soon after, and I didn’t see him again for a year.

“Merlin, we made it. When we saw each other again we had a serious talk and I proved to him that I could be trusted. Because that was in the end what almost ruined us.” His voice raw, Jaskier took a deep drink from the tankard.

“Thank you,” Merlin said softly.

Jaskier gave him an uncertain look as Merlin rushed out of the room. Knowing they could only wait and see what the Prince would decide to do, Jaskier hoped that Arthur would make the right decision.

[fangirlfiction]

Addicted to you, pt. iii

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Series Word Count: 6.8k

Description: The aftermath.

Warnings: Mild cursing, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of getting sick, death, mild smut, angst.

A/N: This is a reupload of the entire series because tumblr sucks. That is all. FYI, ‘spicy’ is my new code for uh, intimate, moments.

series masterlist

You open your eyes in surprise when the bullets tear through your body and out the other side. The pain spreads throughout your chest and stomach, lighting a fire within you. As you fall backwards, head landing on Bucky’s chest, a glimpse of red and gold catches your eye. Your head lulls to the side, body already growing weak from the blood loss. As you slip into unconsciousness, one last thought crosses your mind: Bucky.

*

You dash up the stairs, a stack of mission files piled under your arm. A quick glance at your watch indicates that you aren’t just late, you are very late. You finally make it to your floor, your feet carrying you down the hall and to the meeting room. You burst into the room, breathless, cheeks tinged with pink, hair a little wild. Everyone inside looks up at you, distracted from the information Steve is sharing with the group.

You pass out the file folders, fingers brushing the last man’s hand, causing you to make eye contact. Your breath stutters in your throat when your eyes meet his blue ones, and he offers you a soft smile. You smile back before taking a seat in the back, away from the eyes of the group, but still in the line of sight of the mystery man.

The rest of the meeting is a blur, passing quickly from stolen glances and shy smiles. Before you know it, everyone is standing and packing up. You gather your things and walk over to Steve, sheepish. “I am so sorry that I was late today.”

Steve offers you an easy smile, “Hey, it’s no problem. Everyone is late sometimes.”

A voice chimes in from the other side of the room, “You never are.”

Steve smiles in response, and you stand there awkwardly, glancing at the mystery man. Steve takes notice, “Oh, have you met Bucky?”

You shake your head and Bucky walks over to you and Steve, giving you a bright smile. “This is my best friend, Bucky. He recently decided to get back into missions.”

Steve gestures to you and tells Bucky your name. “She works pretty close with us for missions. Usually collects all the data and intel, helps us coordinate the mission. She also joins us on missions pretty often, mostly deals with the tech stuff.”

You and Bucky exchange smiles and a handshake, and Steve checks his watch before bumping Bucky on the shoulder. “We gotta go, Nat’s expecting us.”

Bucky offers you another bright smile and mutters, “Nice to meet you.”

*

A hand on your face. Warm. Familiar. The fingers tap lightly on your cheek. “Hey, hey, hey, stay with me now.”

You know that voice, but your thoughts are fuzzy. You channel all your strength into lifting your eyelids, blinking against the light. Blue eyes swim in your vision, a soft smile right below them. “There she is. Hang in there.”

Your eyelids droop, then close again, the weight to hold them open too heavy. You hear him call your name one more time before you pass out again.

*

You hold Bucky’s hand tightly in yours, and you turn to look at him as you guide him behind you. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and you giggle at his scrunched up expression. He smiles at you in return and you remind him, “No peeking.”

His grin widens, and he nods, “I know, I know.”

You lead him to the end of the path before turning and taking a lesser known path. Bucky’s hold on your hand is steady and firm, and you’re hit with emotion when you realize how much he must trust you to allow you to lead him somewhere blindly. You finally reach your destination, and you drop his hand to stand beside him. You whisper, “Okay, open.”

Bucky opens his eyes to take in the lake in front of him, the water smooth and glassy, undisturbed. You see him smile at the fiery trees around the lake, the leaves bursting with reds, oranges, and yellows. He turns to you with a smile that threatens to split his face. “It’s beautiful.”

“A beautiful scene for a beautiful man.”

Bucky bumps you with his shoulder. “Oh stop, you’re making me blush.”

You look up at him to see the pink tint blushing his cheeks, and the sight of it brings a smile to your face. Bucky turns to face you, his hands reaching to your side to thread your fingers together. You look up at him to find him watching you intently, and you take in a sharp breath when he leans down to you. His lips meet yours softly, and you’re struck with the tenderness of your first kiss with Bucky.

He pulls back and you both share matching grins, goofy with affection. Bucky whispers, “You’re gonna be the death of me, I know it.”

*

The fire wakes you up again, and now it’s spreading. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, searing. 

You realize you’re moving. Head held against someone’s chest, the motion of their steps jostling you. Burning you. You turn your head to the side and vomit, but the release does nothing to ease the pain.

“Guys, she just threw up. Are you ready for us in the jet?”

You weakly lift a hand and press it to your burning stomach and chest, hoping you can push the fire out of you. You lift your hand to find it coated in fresh blood.

“Shit, she’s bleeding again. This is bad.”

And then the blackness takes you.

*

You run down the hall towards the rooms of the Compound, Steve’s voice echoing in your head. “He’s back and he asked for you.”

You reach his door and stand there for a minute, trying to catch your breath before you push it open. You burst into Bucky’s room and before you finish scanning it, a hand grabs you and pushes you against the wall before a pair of lips crash onto yours. You pull away a moment later, breathless, and Bucky’s lips brush yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”

You smile against his lips, dizzy with building desire as you whisper back, “Show me how much.”

Bucky kisses you again and he grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist. You moan as his hand climbs up your body before it settles at the base of your throat. He squeezes lightly as he kisses you, the gesture cutting off more air and making you dizzier. You start to push your hips closer to him, chasing friction. Bucky pulls away from the wall, backing up until his knees hit the bed, and he lowers himself onto his back, pulling you on top of him.

You blindly pull the layers of his uniform from his body, and he reaches down between you to tug your shirt up and over your head. Your mouths connect again as Bucky reaches down between you again, pushing your clothes to the side for better access. You let out a moan before grabbing him, both of you panting and moaning into each other’s mouths. He pushes your hand away when he gets close, whispering, “Not yet.”

You nod and hover above him, making eye contact as you settle onto him, both of you letting out a satisfied sound. Bucky’s eyes never leave yours as you chase your high and lead him to his, his expression fixed into one of pure pleasure. Bucky tumbles over the edge first, and you follow seconds behind him.

You finish with a silent scream.

*

You wake up screaming.

The pain in your body has doubled. Tripled. Climbed off the charts.

You didn’t think that was possible. But your screams drown out Steve’s voice trying to calm you. They drown out Bruce’s voice. Tony’s. Wanda’s. Sam’s. Nat’s.

There is only one voice that can calm you now.

*

You stand in the middle of the room, looking down at the bodies of the Shield agents, all killed in cold blood. You turn to the side and throw up, stomach still churning as you back out of the room like a frightened animal. You run back to the Quinjet in a daze, and you wave off Natasha’s concerns as you board the jet, quietly muttering for her to go.

You land back at the Compound and stumble back to your room, the shock of the mission still dulling your senses. You don’t even bother seeking out Bucky. Instead, you crawl into bed and curl into a ball, the tears coming as soon as you get comfortable. The sobs shake your body as you mourn for the agents, allowing the guilt of your actions to swallow you whole.

You don’t know how much time passes before you feel the bed dip behind you, a strong set of arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards him. You continue to cry until there is nothing left, your sobs quieting down to a soft whimper. Bucky adjusts you in his arms when you start to go quiet, turning you to face him. He reaches up and brushes the tears from your cheeks before he whispers, “It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head and croak, “I was too late.”

He places a finger under your chin and tips your head up, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He is insistent when he repeats, “It is not your fault.”

Your lip quivers and you duck your head again, and he whispers, “I don’t know if this is the right time, but I need you to know this. I love you.”

You snap your head up and meet his eyes again, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I love you too.”

*

“God damn it!” You hear something hit the ground, thrown out of frustration. “I gave them bad intel. I got her shot. I got Bucky-“

“Steve, stop. Getting angry won’t change anything.” You turn your head and see Natasha place a comforting hand on Steve’s arm. He shrugs her off.

Tony interjects from the row of seats opposite you, “I don’t know. Getting angry and killing every Hydra bastard in a five mile radius felt pretty good.” Sam hums in agreement.

Nat’s tone is a warning. “Tony-“

“No! No. I don’t want to hear anything logical right now, Romanoff. This is our team. Our family.”

Wanda’s whisper comes from behind you, “This will destroy her.”

What will?

*

You look at Bucky with a blank expression, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in your chest. “What do you mean ‘you can’t be in a relationship’?”

Bucky huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean that I’m not cut out for this. The domesticated mornings where we wake up and drink coffee together while we read the newspaper. Eating dinner out. Telling you how I feel. Discussing our dreams, plans for the future. I can’t do that.” He gestures between you. “I can’t do this.”

And just like every other time you fight with Bucky, anger boils over into your blood. “You can’t do this? You’ve been doing it for almost two years, Bucky! What the hell changed?”

He shrugs but says nothing. His silence fuels your anger. “No! You don’t get to just decide that you can’t do this and then shut me out. That’s not how this works. Talk to me!”

He remains quiet, eyes looking everywhere but yours. You slam your hand on the wall beside you and yell, “Fine! Consider us done.” Before brushing past him and storming from his room.

*

The steady beeps are the first thing you hear.

You stay still, breathing, trying to take inventory of your body. There’s no pain, not now. But, you can feel the phantom pain from memories past, lingering. Your hand is heavy, so you wiggle your fingers. You get a light squeeze in reply.

You pull your eyes open, and it’s easier this time, but it’s brighter. You blink, waiting for the world to focus around you. You can make out the boring beige ceiling tiles, and walls to match. A few chairs, all empty. Your bed, and

Bucky?

“There’s my girl.”

The nickname splits your face into a grin. “Hi, Buck.”

“You’ve been out a while. I was getting worried.”

You offer him a apologetic smile. “Have I? I’m sorry.”

He leans forward, presses a kiss to your cheek. “Don’t be. How are you feeling?”

“Better. No pain.”

He gives you his prettiest smile. “Good.”

You scoot over, making room for him to join you on the bed. He climbs in, careful of all your tubes and wires, pulling you close to him. You snuggle into his chest. Content. Happy. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you-

*

“Wake up.”

You groan, forcing your eyes open, squinting at Nat in the afternoon light. You mutter, “What are you doing here?”

She plops down onto the bed beside you. “You moved out of the Compound. I never see you anymore.”

You sigh and rub the sleep from your eyes. “Yeah, I just…it was getting hard seeing Bucky every day.”

“He moved out too. Said he needed some space.”

You hum in acknowledgement but offer nothing. Natasha grabs your arm and tugs you forward. “It’s been months. You have to get out. Move on.”

You stare at her with a blank expression, and she stands and moves to your closet. “Come on, we’re going out tonight. Wanda found a new club in Soho.”

“Fine, but only because I know there’s no getting out of this.”

*

The beeping is back and it’s driving you mad.

You open your eyes slowly, blinking against the bright light again. The chairs in the room are empty, save for one. You smile at the blond, his eyes closed, head leaned back against the chair, breathing soft and steady. You watch him for a second, feeling guilty about wanting to wake him up, because you know how much he has to carry. The burden of Atlas, stuck with the world.

“Steve?”

He wakes immediately, eyes shooting open and face softening into a small smile. “Hey there. I was starting to think you were gonna sleep forever.”

You laugh, and the motion causes pain to light up in your body, making you wince. Guilt crosses Steve’s features and you whisper, “What happened?”

“You went on a mission with Bucky to retrieve high level intel. It was in a castle full of Hydra agents.” You nod, remembering. “From what we can gather, you and Buck got separated. You on one side, him on the other. It shouldn’t have mattered, because no one was expecting you guys. Or so we thought.”

You look at him in confusion, and he continues, “Our intel was bad. Hydra found out we were listening, set us up to be slaughtered. They thought the whole team was coming to the mission. They didn’t realize it’d just be you and Bucky. But when they figured it out, they didn’t care. They came for you both anyways. Only reason you’re still alive is because Parker realized that they knew, and we came flying over ASAP. Found ya with 4 bullets in your body, stomach, arm, chest.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll have to thank Peter then. For saving my life.”

Steve nods. “He was here earlier. Whole team was. They left about an hour ago.”

“Where’s Bucky?”

Steve freezes, not expecting the question. “What?”

You smile, oblivious to Steve’s discomfort. “Where’s Bucky? I want to see him.”

“Bucky is…Bucky’s dead.” You stare at him blankly. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking, but the laugh dies in your throat when you see his expression. And for the first time that day, you look at Steve. Really look at him. His eyes are red and raw. Bloodshot, puffy. There are bags beneath them that are so large they brush his cheekbones. He seems skinnier. Pale. Haunted. Your mouth runs dry, and you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat. “He can’t be dead. I saw him! He was here!”

Steve simply shakes his head, and you ask, “How?”

“We think he distracted the agents from you, fighting them by himself. They shot and killed him.”

Anger bubbles up within you, and this is a burn that you welcome. You start to yell, “Why didn’t you help him, huh?” You start yanking tubes and wires from your body, and alarms start sounding all around you. You ignore them, as Steve stands and comes towards you in panic. When he gets close enough, you start to flail and punch, hitting him with what little strength you have. “Why didn’t you help him! You sent us to die!”

Steve is crying, tears falling down his cheeks as he allows you to punch and hit him. You scream out, “You left him to die!” and collapse onto his chest with a painful sob. He wraps his arms around you, muttering, over and over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

When your sobs grow quiet, Steve whispers, “We’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You stare at a spot on the wall behind him and deadpan, “Oh Steve, don’t you know? There’s no comfort in lost love.”

[draculalive]

Jonathan Harker's Journal

5 May. -- I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.

When the calèche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took out my traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins; the horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark openings.

I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell or knocker there was no sign; through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor -- for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.

Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back.

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:---

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice -- more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said:---

"Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!" The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking; so to make sure, I said interrogatively:---

"Count Dracula?" He bowed in a courtly way as he replied:---

"I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest." As he was speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage; he had carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested but he insisted:---

"Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself." He insisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished, flamed and flared.

The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire, -- also added to but lately, for the top logs were fresh -- which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door:---

"You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared."

The light and warmth and the Count's courteous welcome seemed to have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was half famished with hunger; so making a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.

I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said:---

"I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup."

I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely; then, with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of pleasure.

"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."

The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many questions as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced.

By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host's desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy.

His face was a strong -- a very strong -- aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse -- broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while; and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said:---

"Listen to them -- the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:---

"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter." Then he rose and said:---

"But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon; so sleep well and dream well!" With a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom...

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

(I'm sending so mssg drabbles but I love yours so much I'm so damn sorry) but what would hamster stilettos be like meeting your entire family, extended and all for the first time, especially if you have big uncles ??

He’d be extremely nervous.

Palms all sweaty and he keeps messing with the collar of his dress shirt, which he’d insisted on buttoning up all the way even though you voted for him exposing his chest.

“None of that, love. Need to make a good impression.”

He’s fidgeting with all of his chunky rings, picking at the iron petals of the rose one and thumbing over the jewel of the ruby one. His fingers instinctively go to his hair every couple of minutes, raking through the tousled curls to make sure they stay in place (he’d worked too damn hard to make them look neat and fluffy; his arm still aches from how long he spent blow drying).

The guests haven’t started arriving yet, but they could waltz in at any minute. Your mother had assured Harry that everything would be fine and he’d returned her polite comfort with a shy, nervous smile, convinced that she was just saying it so he didn’t become a puddle of anxiety sweat.

Harry slumps on the couch beside you, squirming in his seat as he goes through the steps of a handshake video he’d found on YouTube. It had taught him how to do a firm, confident handshake when greeting people in order to establish an aura of assurance, which he definitely needs to get your family members to like him. One can never be too safe.

As he’s going over the motions distractedly, lips repeatedly mouthing out the procedure (“Squeeze, hold, release. Squeeze, hold, release.”), the doorbell to the house rings across the still atmosphere of the room.

Harry’s head jerks to the side, body shooting up from the backrest of the plush couch. He sits with his legs spread out slightly in order to give an air of dominance (the video had bonus tips on body language), back straight and shoulders squared. But you can see right through his textbook façade– his hands are shaking slightly and he can’t stop bobbing his knee.

“Har…” Your voice nudges gently, hand sliding across his thigh and taking his fingers in between your own.

He snaps his gaze to you, eyes full of worry and fear, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he swallows nervously.

You gift him a soft, assuring smile, thumbing soothingly over his twitching knuckles and leaning in to press a warm kiss to the center of his forehead, attempting to smooth the rough creases between his furrowed brows. “You’re gonna be just fine, baby. Everyone’s gonna love you and your monkey bread cake.”

“Y'think so?” His eyes are slowly dialing down on the anxiety, his shakiness wearing away as your touch eases his hyperactive conscious.

But everything goes awry when footsteps start to echo down the corridor to the front door.

Harry’s entire body starts shuddering when he hears the sound approaching the living room, breathing stuttering and throwing him into a fit of hyperventilation. He’s starting to go haywire, all do to the fact that he doesn’t really fancy not knowing what’s going to happen in stressful situations. He’s the type of person who likes to know the outcome of a certain circumstance and right now, this is about the most unassured moment in his life.

He grips your hand harder, lips quivering as his gaze stays glued to the arch of the hallway. “What if I put too much sugar in the cake? What if I put too much cinnamon?! Oh God, you’re family’s gonna think I can’t cook. They’re gonna choke because it’s too spicy and wish I were–”

You pry your hand out of his iron grip, reaching up and grasping the sides of his head, palms cupping his strong jaw. You turn his face so it’s directly in front of yours, noses brushing lightly and you can feel his quick huffs of air against your Cupid’s bow. Your eyes lock with his, stern yet lovingly reassuring. “Listen to me, Harry. You’re going to be just fine. You’re an amazing guy with an amazing heart and everyone is going to be falling head-over-heels for you, just as they always do. I love you, and that’s all that matters right now. Nothing anyone else thinks will change that.”

Harry gulps thickly and nods, breathing mellowing out the lightest bit. His voice is quiet with fond awe. “Alright…I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You press your lips to his to fill him with confidence, feeling his fingers go to grip at your upper arm, squeezing it with care and affection.

He whimpers into your mouth when you bite down on the center of his bottom lip, melting as he feels your smirk spread across his sensitive skin.

You pull back from his swollen mouth with a wet pop, running your forefinger lightly down the bridge of his nose and winking. “You’re gonna do great.”

Harry suckles his swollen lips, blinking at you all starry-eyed and dopey, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise?”

You find his hand again, tugging him up to stand beside you as the footsteps patter just outside the entrance of the living room.

You hook one of your pinky fingers with his, pecking his cheek one more time for finality.

“Pinky swear it.”

[apieters]

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation. "Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead than a living man.

Again he said, "Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!"

The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking. So to make sure, I said interrogatively, "Count Dracula?"

He bowed in a courtly way as he replied, "I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house.”

…

His face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth. These protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor. Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine. But seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protruberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said:

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"

-Bram Stoker, Dracula

@theriu tell me if this does not bear a ghastly resemblance to a certain 15th century Wallachian prince…

Behind the Scenes

Bram Stoker gives an excellent and vivid description of his famous vampire, reproduced above for convenience. I tried to stay as faithful to the description as possible, adding as little to my own imagination as possible.

It’s clear that Bram Stoker was indeed trying to recreate a bloodless version of the face of Vlad III Dracula, aka Vlad Tepes (“The Impaler”). I therefore drew inspiration from a portrait of the real Vlad Dracula in crafting the vampire’s face.

For the clothing, I assumed that Dracula takes place in the 1890’s, when the book was written. I therefore gave the illustrious Count a suit that would suit the era, including an old-fashioned necktie instead of a cravat and a more modern-looking shirt collar. The longer coat was not the most fashionable coat for casual wear, but was not uncommon in the 1890’s, and I thought it suited the ancient vampire much better than a more modern-looking suit coat, which had evolved by that time. Perhaps he changes his tastes more slowly than mortals…

Capes were not common in the 1890’s unless you were going to the opera or some other very formal event; instead, overcoats of various kinds were the norm for cold weather. What then, was I to do to remain faithful to the book and still honor the memory of the late, great Bela Lugosi, the cinematic Dracula? Well, it’s pretty obvious that the driver of Jonathan’s coach was in fact Dracula himself, disguised with a fake beard and big hat. Was he wearing an overcoat? Probably, in the Carpathian Mountains, but Stoker doesn’t say. So I decided that Dracula doesn’t take off the coat to meet Jonathan, but takes his arms out of the sleeves, letting it sit on his shoulders like a cape. It’s a bit contrived, but tradition is tradition, and Dracula needs something like a cape.

The pose looks a little wooden, but with Dracula it kind of fits. Got to do more posing exercises…

*slams hands on table* WAS NOBODY GOING TO TELL ME THAT DRACULA HAD A BUSHY MUSTACHE

[readbookywooks]

Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued

5 May. - I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight. When the caleche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took my traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in th e dim light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins. The horses started forward,and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark openings. I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell or knocker there was no sign. Through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor, for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful, and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of morning. Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back. Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation. "Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue,as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said. "Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!" The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking. So to make sure, I said interrogatively, "Count Dracula?" He bowed in a courtly was as he replied, "I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in, the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest."As he was speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage. He had carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested, but he insisted. "Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself."He insisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished, flamed and flared. The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight. For here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire, also added to but lately, for the top logs were fresh, which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door. "You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared." The light and warmth and the Count's courteous welcome seemed to have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was half famished with hunger. So making a hasty toilet, I went into the other room. I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said, "I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will I trust, excuse me that I do not join you, but I have dined already, and I do not sup." I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely. Then, with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of pleasure. "I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come. But I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters." The count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old tokay, of which I had two glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many question as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced. By this time I had finished my supper,and by my host's desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy. His face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth. These protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor. Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine. But seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protruberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said. "Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added, "Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter." Then he rose and said. "But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon, so sleep well and dream well!" With a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom. I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt. I fear. I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me! 7 May. - It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which was written - "I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me. D." I set to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants know I had finished, but I could not find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have been of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old, though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court, but they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves. Some time after I had finished my meal, I do not know whether to call it breakfast of dinner, for it was between five and six o'clock when I had it, I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked the Count's permission. There was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing materials, so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found locked. In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the center was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind, history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law, all relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the "Red" and "Blue" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and it somehow gladdened my heart to see it, the Law List. Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night's rest. Then he went on. "I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you. These companions," and he laid his hand on some of the books, "have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England, and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! As yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak." "But, Count," I said, "You know and speak English thoroughly!" He bowed gravely. "I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them. "Indeed," I said, "You speak excellently." "Not so," he answered. "Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble. I am a Boyar. The common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he sees me, or pauses in his speaking if he hears my words, `Ha, ha! A stranger!' I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation. And I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long today, but you will, I know forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand." Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come into that room when I chose. He answered, "Yes, certainly," and added. "You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand." I said I was sure of this, and then he went on. "We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be." This led to much conversation, and as it was evident that he wanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand, but generally he answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as for instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year, last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway, a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed. "That treasure has been hidden," he went on, "in the region through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt. For it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In the old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them, men and women, the aged and the children too, and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil." "But how," said I, "can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look? "The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely. He answered. "Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one night, and on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again?" "There you are right," I said. "I know no more than the dead where even to look for them." Then we drifted into other matters. "Come," he said at last, "tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for me." With an apology for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as I passed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world, and English Bradshaw's Guide. When I came in he cleared the books and papers from the table, and with him I went into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject of the neighborhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than I did. When I remarked this, he answered. "Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan, nay, pardon me. I fall into my country's habit of putting your patronymic first, my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!" We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I inscribe here. "At Purfleet, on a byroad, I came across just such a place as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It was surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust. "The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Quatre Face, as the house is four sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediaeval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my Kodak views of it from various points. The house had been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds." When I had finished, he said, "I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day, and after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young, and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may." Somehow his words and his look did not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile look malignant and saturnine. Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to pull my papers together. He was some little time away, and I began to look at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened naturally to England, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed that one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate was situated. The other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. "Aha!" he said. "Still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come! I am informed that your supper is ready." He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed with me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject, hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host's wishes in every way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me, but I could not help experiencing that chill which comes over one at the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death die generally at the change to dawn or at the turn of the tide. Anyone who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of the cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air. Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said, "Why there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us," and with a courtly bow, he quickly left me. I went into my room and drew the curtains, but there was little to notice. My window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and have written of this day. 8 May. - I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse. But now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had never come. It may be that this strange night existence is telling on me, but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he - I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. Let me be prosaiac so far as facts can be. It will help me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I stand, or seem to. I only slept a few hours when I went to bed,and feeling that I could not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Good morning." I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the Count's salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a man in it, except myself. This was startling, and coming on the top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near. But at the instant I saw the the cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half round to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at my throat. I drew away and his hand touched the string of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there. "Take care," he said, "take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous that you think in this country." Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on, "And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is fortunately of metal. When I went into the dining room, breakfast was prepared, but I could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South. The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests. But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!