#there are TWO dracula flow lines on here help

[bobafetthead]

little magma shit again

OOMF KEPT LICKING JAYBIRD 😿 it’s ok i support

[tomatograter]

Do you have any tips on anatomy or dynamic poses? I just really love your art and how fluid it is!

I'm bad at doing art tutorials but things that helped me specifically on that area are;

Prioritizing flow (and the line of action) over anatomically accurate shape; as absolute legend ciro put it really well on this thread made to respond to more or less the same question

Think animation smears, movement before mimesis of the realistic form. More stylized traces benefit heavily from this! But lets say you're also doing some mostly stactic action without a lot of "movement". In that scenario, ive found that thinking of the same principle (flow of the whole instead of the singular piece) can also help if you focus on the characters weight distribution and try to minimize the amount of straight angular lines in your art. Even on things like arms and backs, there's a slight curve instead of a ramrod straight line. It's the juxtaposition with a more loose corresponding line that makes it seem snappy, mid-movement, "bendy". Think about the figure as a whole and be conscious of how the outline loops around itself-which side is the snappier one and which is demonstrating the elasticity of the form. Im gonna take another pic from ciros twitter bc i went to look for the tutorial and found it (sorry king)

This is gonna look confusing at first but bear with me. Check out this image:

Looks like a fucking mess right. Now let's isolate the elements:

IN GREEN: here you have the bendier, more complex lines, the ones doing the loops and informing the shape.

IN RED: Directly In Contrast to the green lines, we have these TAUT ANGLES, not quite completely straight but just enough to give the impression of the figure being pulled every which way, like the meat of dracula boy is being tugged to one side and thus the other is gonna be a bit more modest, having less to work with. Specifically on his face, they even switch sides!

You can find even more contrast points inside that picture but I'm doing this on my phone so I'm only pointing out a few. (Like look at the shape of the hand sitting on the table, theres a complex curved top angle and a taut, lower arm-hand line.) This is definitely an animation-oriented principle instead of a Bellas Artes principle, so id reccomend paying attention to shapely animated things (mostly highly stylized ones, like cartoons not every style does this!) to get your eye trained on that. Try to break down pictures to see how that distribution is being made! Be conscious of the general idea when practicing your poses! There are exceptions to every rule and you shouldn't stress about doing this like math at every turn, but it really helps to 'loosen up' your drawings.

Also to add up on the "movement" thing i tend to sketch loosely and fast out of practice, and only polish it with subsequent re-sketches. Some artists get bogged down by this practice so its not like im reccomending it, but it works for me and i like lineart when its all about doing sweeping gestures and swirls and shit.

i’m gonna put some progress pictures under the cut!

I did this on my phone. there’s my dirty secret i don’t give a shit about how my sketches look. 

lets like polish this thing with 15 layers now untill i get it where i want it (i do color blocking on this stage because i also love color distribution art is just about what you like doing tbf)

you’ll see that the Actual Lineart looks fairly different and i thought some movement was lost (A gamble that is always made when you’re trying to “solidify” or overpolish things, but you win some you lose some. I was able to find the mid stage of the jaderadia piece too so here it is

aaaand since i also have this saved here’s two pieces where one was more fateful to the sketch while the other was all just direct lineart bullshit

hopefully this helps

[theichabbieclub]

Slashers (or something) reacting to their s/o singing a song from Positions (Ariana Grande)

TW: Implied smut, slight NSFW

Michael Myers (six-thirty)

You were washing the dishes as you started to sing.

"I know I be on some bullshit. Know I be driving you crazy."

Was the first thing Michael heard. Well, he thought this song was accurate af. He loves you. You did drive him crazy a lot.

He didn't let his presence be known until he heard you sing

" So come here and give me so kisses. You know I'm very delicious."

He was all over you instantly, grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder, heading directly to the bedroom.

Michael could careless about the soapy suds and water splashing into the floor.

Jason Voorhees (west side)

You basked in the warmth that cascaded from the fireplace. You sat on the soft rug in the living, right in front of the fireplace.

It was cold outside, snowing hard as Jason prepared lunch for the two of you.

Chicken noodle soup. You could almost taste it. The warm broth and the seasoned chicken.

You smiled as you began to sing softly, your fingers brushed lightly against the smooth but soft frabic of the rug.

"I don't wanna think too much. I just wanna feel. You know that it ain't no rush. Let me keep it real."

You sat with Jason in the living room, with a folding table in front of you. You allowed the soup to bring warmth to your body.

You sang as you laid your head on his chest.

He really enjoyed your voice. You stopped to eat a few bites but didn't continue afterwards.

Jason tapped your throat with his index finger ever so gently.

You got the indication that he liked your voice. A smirk spread across your lips and you started singing again.

"Just let me be in your life, like that. In your life like that. I'll bring the life right back. I'll bring the life right back."

Candyman (pov)

You sat in your car, your hands feeling the heat that flowed from the vents. Your eyes looked at the golden sky. It looked so pretty.

You started off a humming and that slowly turned into singing you heart.

You sat back as you sung.

Your window was down slightly and you didn't even notice Daniel.

"You know me better than I do. Can't seem to keep nothing from you. How you touch my soul from the outside? Permeate my ego and my pride."

He smiled but decided not disrupt you, not yet anyway.

Daniel sighed silently in content, listening to your heavenly voice.

"I wanna love me. The way that you love me. For all of my pretty and all of my ugly too. I'd love to see me from your point of view."

He walked around your car and you finally noticed him, smiling as he appeared in your passenger side of your car.

You wrapped your arm around his arm and laid your head on his shoulder, snuggling close to him as the two of you took in the sight of a stunning sunset.

Thomas Hewitt (nasty) (implied smut) (female reader in this one, sorry)

He had been in a mood all fucking day and night. Thomas had went into the basement to blow off stream and you had gotten increasingly horny

You had decided to record and send a cover of a song to Thomas.

Maybe that would get him out of that rut.

"Got me all up in my feels. In all kinds of ways. I be tryna wait but lately I just wanna keep it real." You sang, biting your lip as you made eye contact with the camera.

"No more playin' safe. Let's take it all the way. I'm just saying I just wanna make time for you. Swear it's just right for you. Like this pus*y designed for you." You arched your back as you continued to sing.

You finished the song and stopped recording before sending it to Thomas' phone.

You heard fast and hurried footsteps getting louder and louder. You mentally prepared yourself for him.

Hannibal Lecter (TV) (just like magic)

This was the first time that Hannibal had heard you sing.

"Heard it's tricky at the top. Gotta keep slim ego for a thick wallet. Losing friends left and right. But I just send them love and light."

Your voice was so heavenly as you wrote in your notebook, your pen gliding effortlessly across the page.

Hannibal knew that you were a bit self conscious about your singing.

Sooner or later, he was going to help you be more comfortable about your singing.

But for right now, he just stayed out of sight, sighing as your smooth but soft voice.

"Good karma, my aesthetic. Keep my conscience clear. That's why I'm so magnetic. Manifest it. I finesse it. Take my pen and write some love letters to heaven."

Dracula (aka: @thecount-dracula ) (positions)

Whenever you think he's not around, he is. Yeah good luck being alone.

You had started on a recipe for some bread an hour ago and now you were covered in flour, flecks of it on your skin.

You sighed at the flour covering every surface in your kitchen. This is going to be a bitch to clean but you didn't really care. You had the week off.

You sang quietly to yourself as you cooked.

"Heaven, sent you to me."

You stopped singing and jumped slightly as you heard Dracula's voice.

"Heaven? Are you certain about that, Y/N?"

You choked on a laugh as you continued to prepare your bread.

Bubba Sawyer (reader has long hair, just a warning) (my hair)

You were cuddling with Bubba, the soft sound of the fan filled the vicinity of the room. There was currently a thunderstorm happening outside and the two of you had finished your share of chores earlier in the day before the storm.

You pulled away and slightly pulled at the the ponytail that your long locks were in and soon enough your hair had fell down your back.

You noticed Bubba eyeing your hair and you smiled.

"I'mma give you some instructions that you can't be scared to try. I want you to touch it softly like the way you do my mind." You sang softly.

Bubba glanced at your hair, his eyes diverting to you. Confusion flashed in his expressive eyes.

"It got body and it's smooth to touch. The same way as my skin. Don't you be scared.. to run your hands through my hair."

His fingers ran slowly and gently through your hair as he pulled you closer to him.

Bo Sinclair (obvious) (1st time writing for Bo. You've been warned)

You had your headphones in as you sang, scrolling down your twitter as you were extremely bored.

Everything was fucking spotless.

Bo smirked when he had came home from work, and heard your voice.

"Ooh. Hard to think when I'm under you. Tell you all of my dirty truths..."

He was in the room in 0.6 seconds flat. Had you not had your headphones in, he would've scared the shit out of you.

"This what you sing when I'm away, doll?" He came into your line of vision as you laid on your bed.

Your cheeks became warm with embarrassment.

God, this was going to be a long night.

Brahms Heelshire (love language)

You danced around, in just your underwear and an oversized sweatshirt.

Brahms heard you singing some quite provocative lyrics and he was rushing to get to you.

"Been a minute since I had something so sweeeeet."

You smiled as the song continued. It was so catchy.

"If you're gon' keep speaking my love language, you can talk your shit all night."

Brahms finally made it to you and he instantly pulled your body to his chest. You squealed slightly.

"That's the- B-Brahms." You moaned out as he attacked your skin with soft but quick kisses.

It wasn't long before he was leading you to the bedroom.

Damn, you didn't even get to finish your dance party.

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Pragma | Alucard

Request: Hi, I love your blog. Would you mind writing about what it would be like to for Alucard to fall in love with the reader post season 3? Thank you! Keep up the good work!

Word Count: 1826 words

Page Count: 5.2 pages

A/n: hope you enjoy this!

Tags: @catherinedm​

        All Alucard could do was deny that you held no ill will towards him. He had found you when you were running from a cultist like group, ready to burn you alive just for learning older sciences, he could only laugh at the bitter irony. Your legs were whipped and tired, your chest was bruised and the rest of your body was worse than you could have imagined, and so he took you in when he knew you were not a threat. Or would be conscious for a good while.

        "I seem to only get more and more desperate for heartache, don't I?" He whispered to himself as he looked to you, your body was freshly cared and cleaned for, and yet he found on the other end of the room near the opened door. His fear that gripped his heart made him feel like a child, wanting to be held and cared for by those around him, yet cannot seem to overcome going up to an adult for help.

        When you woke up days later, cleaned and cared for, your body aching like never before- and the man in the room staring at you like you had just killed his mother in front of him, full of shock and fear. Speaking with him in this stage of your relationship was scarce, only what needed to be said was put into the air, either met with silence or acknowledged with muted nods and small hums.

*****

        Alucard was never known for his temper. He was a sweet and gentle boy according to his parents, something he wished to be after seeing his mother be... her, he was never to freak or lash out on those around him. When he realized this, it had been to late, his hands were running through his hair as tears slipped effortlessly from his eyes- curled in his bed with his knees to his scarred chest. He had been helping you walk more, working on your legs and helping them gain muscle, when you had fallen near him while he fell as well.

        You both had slipped due to the old rugs folds getting caught in his foot, making him slam onto his back while you managed to land on your knees, and when you turned to see if Alucard was alright he looked at you in pure fear. He shook as he saw you on your knees, on his right side, like her. Just like she was when they both locked him onto his bed, tied with the burn of silver, looking at him with such hate and disgust.

        Your eyes held worry though. Worry for his well being. Care. Your heart was opening up. But in that moment, he saw back to that night, her. His face contorted into anger, yelling at you while his lungs burned for air, profanities settled into your mind as he was cursing your existence. 

        "I trusted you! Gave you everything! And here you are again, having me on my back, a knife to my fucking heart!" He was leaning upright at this point, while you crawled backwards away from him, the fear evident in your eyes but he didn't see. It wasn't you at that moment. It was the flickering image of Sumi and Taka.

        Once he had caught his breath, he closed his eyes, hands coming to his hair as he shook violently. You realized what was happening, your father was a soldier and suffered from delusions like this, and your mother would come running to anchor him back into the present once his past came to torment him again. 

        "Breathe. Alucard, breathe. Evenly. Exhale longer than when you inhale, please." You coached him gently, your hands in front of you in case he were to look up, you weren't a threat to him- he knew that. You told him when to inhale and hold, before letting out the breath that wavered less and less. You needed to anchor him back to the present, he wasn't seeing you yet, but you would make him to help with his sanity.

        His breathing evened but tears still came, flowing against the flushed pale skin, and you made your way closer to him. You held out two fingers, mimicking your parents, and waited for him. He saw, and pulled out two gloved fingers to wrap around yours, his shaking would start to still after a few moments.

*****

        You hadn't seen Alucard in two days, his mind was taking its toll on him, and you managed to figure out the basics of his situation. His mind was sending him back to the most stressful moments of his life, the wound on his mind hasn't been stitched and is now bleeding into his daily life.

        You wanted to learn how to help people mend their minds, ranging from trauma to genetic ailments, the human mind was so vast and complicated so of course it drew you in. In doing so, you met an old vampire in Athens, she was kind and sweet- teaching philosophy and medicine to those she knew would use them appropriately.

        Alucard was depressing himself further into his mind, and you needed to help him, though helping him would need to be paced. He needs time and luckily you both have plenty of it. You made your way around the castle and found a few empty notebooks (not wrapped in human skin), a few books on meditation and spiritual awareness, and some recipe books next to fictional ones that held important meanings on self worth.

        Should you be looking through his things?

        You didn't care. He needed help.

        You then split the books into two piles, one for Alucard to journal in and write all his thoughts in and the other for you, to write tips and other important information for Alucard to read so he can understand what is going on and how he can help himself cope with his own mind. The books that helped with meditation would help him order his thoughts and understand how to calm himself in case he couldn't find an anchor, (you hoped the spiritual awareness would be a plus? Dracula had lots of books so it wouldn't hurt.), and books of things you thought he'd enjoy in general when he needed an escape.

        Once all was finished, you placed everything into a small net bag, limping your way to the kitchen, you decided the man needed something to eat. After all, food made everyone happy, right? Right. A simple dish of grilled chicken and veggies, with a side of mash potatoes and some water, you slung the bag on your shoulder and made your way to his room.

        You didn't hesitate to knock, but you made sure it was soft and non demanding, before calling his name in the same manner. You heard shuffling, but the door never opened and you never were welcomed in, but you knew you needed to intervene and help boost Alucard onto a support line.

        "I'm coming in, in a few moments, so if you need to ready yourself please do, Alucard." You heard nothing on the other end, and waiting for about two minutes with your head against the door, you pushed it opened slowly to allow yourself into the dhampires room.

*****

        When you had managed to get Alucard fed and on a routine to help himself more and more each day, he had apologized to you for the outburst, and decided that leaving you on your own when you had trouble walking was not the best idea. He was surprised you accepted his apology and brushed his actions off, deciding to help him instead, it was a reaction different than what he had expected.

        Allowing himself to be near you much more often, he opened up a bit after a week of sitting by your side, setting you into the nine circle of his mind. You peeled back the shallower layers at his pace, setting him for a more favorable way of opening his heart and mind up, and seeing how he thought and felt about everything.

        He was intriguing and intelligent, you found yourself tearing through your own heart just to open up and show him the exposed muscle, opening yourself up to him inevitably as he did to you. He felt warmth bloom in his chest that only rose up when he was in your presence, and while you helped him heal the wounds inside him, he continued to help you heal and gain your strength back physically.

        A mutually beneficial relationship is all.

        Yeah, no.

        It was a puppy love shrouded in pain and betrayal that was settled into an old wound, the bleed has now stopped, and the clotting had begun, a deep scab was there before the skin would over take it in a tough light pink blanket. There was healing when there used to be a knife digging itself deeper into the soft flesh.

*****

        "Do you plan on leaving?" His voice was soft and scared, his breath was shaky while pale arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the sheets covering the both of you blanketed the intimate scene of a boy begging for the girl to love him back- to not leave him, though he thought he deserved it, it started to become less of a thought on his mind.

        He accepted himself for what he is and what he has done.

        He knows what he wants and what he needs.

        You were on the top of both lists.

        He was being selfish, but you told him that was good, he was learning how to realize his worth in what he wants. He was still respectful of any decisions you made, but he begged everything in the universe for you to say no, no you wouldn't leave him. You wouldn't abandon him, you'd stay and love him as you do now, and for the rest of your time together.

        "Depends." You chuckled, rubbing his arms that were secured on your waist, your eyes were closed as you felt him curl around you.

        "Depends?" He mumbled into your hair.

        "Do you wish for me to stay?"

        What? Of course, he wanted you to never leave him, and he was sure he never gave the impression of being disinterested. Hell! The position you were in now speaks for itself! He sighed, realizing you were just teasing him, and settling his mind down.

        "Of course. I never want you to leave."

        "Then I never will."

        His heart had burst at the affirmation of love, a tear slipped from his eye as he smiled wide, the supernova in his soul sparked his love for you to become brighter and stronger.

        "Thank you."

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [4]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Your eyes switched from Dracula, to the armed force team and then back to Dracula. You couldn’t help but think back to the day at the Jonathan Harker Foundation when he had told you that he knew he could easily win against the team of gun-wielding men. That lead you to remember his account aboard the Demeter, in which he had been shot four times in the chest. He had felt no pain and had almost immediately gotten up to devour the man that shot him.

How could you be so stupid?!

Of course he would easily win against mortal men! All they had was (to quote the brave gentleman deceased of 123 years) steel and powder! They were no match for Count Dracula. It was at that precise moment that you realised just how royally screwed you really were. You had lead yourself out to a concealed corner, meters above an angry sea, with the intentions of luring over an ancient vampire and had succeeded. A few bullets would do him no damage, but his fangs and his beastly power would be enough to finish you all off within a minute or two.

You turned your eyes to Dracula once more and he was staring straight at you. You kept the eye contact. He licked his lips and lowered his arms.

“Did you invite them?” He inquired.

You were too frozen to speak. The dread that had overcome you was too much for you to handle.

“Silly girl. Did you truly think that you would ever have the upper hand against someone - something - like me?”

Again, you were unable to answer him. He stretched his neck, rolling it backwards to expose his thick neck and a deep growl eminated from his chest.

“What a shame. I was beginning to like you, [First].”

“What are you going to do to me?”

He neared you once more and faintly you heard one of the men shout for him to stop moving. He did not listen. He swaggered towards you with some pride. You could only assume he knew that the ball was in his court.

When his fingers trailed against your waist for a second, you were unable to suppress the hum that rumbled in your throat. For just a moment, you forgot who was touching you. His mouth came to hover jusy above the skin just above your collarbone. He was almost touching the flesh, but kept enough space to tantalise you.

“You stepped out of line.” He breathed against your skin, “I never break my promises, Miss [First].” Your eyes widened.

He wouldn’t.

His other hand came to grip your waist and both hands were now holding you firm. You wriggled in his grasp, trying to set yourself free. You heard Zoe’s voice from some distance away but you knew she’d never get to you.

“You’re going to kill me.” You whispered the statement.

“No, I told you, I don’t want to kill you. You’re going to learn a lesson.”

“I-“

“Never cross me again, [First].”

He pressed his body firmly to yours and he pushed wyour body harshly backwards with no effort on his behalf. The railing behind you broke as if it was nothing more than a flimsy and tiny tree branch. You became weightless, with the Count clutching you tight as you plummeted down into the North Sea.

~^*^~

The days that followed were quiet. You suspected that you had most deeply offended Count Dracula, as although you continued to try and lure him to you, he made no attempt to visit you again. By the fourth day of his clear ignoring of you, you decided to spend a day inside of the Jonathan Harker Foundation, where you ended up running into a very old friend.

When your eyes had landed on Jack Seward, you swore you had a heart attack. A little more matured than the last time you saw him, with a slightly different cut to his hair, maybe an inch at most taller, he had hardly changed. Seeing him brought back a flood of memories, most of them painful, even more linking to another person whom you had buried down in the deepest dungeons of your heart and mind and begged to never have to think about again.

Jack’s eyes had lit up, despite the clear sadness evident in them and had begun to ramble about how much time it had been since you’d last met. Although Jack had never done a thing wrong to you, you couldn’t help that grease stain of a grudge on your heart catch a little on him in your mind. He had been associated. Although he never knew what went on, you felt like he picked her over you.

“So, what are you doing here?” You inquired, smiling through the whirlwind of negative emotions currently circulating you, “no offence, I mean. Do you work here?

“Not work, per se. I’m actually a junior doctor, I’m just here because Zoe- Dr. Van Helsing, put me forward for some study with a vampire. What about you?” The ease in which he spoke, the casualness of it made you scoff.

“Me? I’m an associate of Zoe’s. I’ve been working with criminals for the past two and a half years, learning how they tick and getting to the bottom of the why. She asked me to lend a hand on the vampire as we seem to be calling him.”

“I see...”

“A junior doctor, though, eh? Who would’ve thought the Jack Seward who couldn’t handle watching a birthing video in year ten would turn out to be a doctor?” You playfully sighed.

“I actually want to go into mental health. Definitely not.. birthing.” A chill ran down his spine and he visibly shivered.

You laughed and accompanied him as far as where he needed to be. Although you had no need to be inside of the institute, you knew you could find solace somewhere. Truth be told, you were trying to avoid Zoe for even a few hours. She had been relentlessly hounding you for information on Dracula, and trying to get your neck treated. After the Count had so kindly soft-chocked you, a purple bruise had bloomed in the shape of his hand stretching across your skin. If she knew about the similar marks on both sides of your waist, you knew she’d have a fit. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Zoe, it was quite the opposite. It was simply that you knew she was riddled with guilt.

Zoe had spent her whole life chasing the fantasy of finding Dracula. It was all that she ever wanted. She needed to know where he was. He had killed her great-great paternal aunt along witj several others with them not realising what he was for weeks and then all but disappeared. He had never been recovered from the shipwreck of the Demeter and no one had seen him since. Knowing that the foundation she ran, the institute she had in her clutches had brought back such evil was driving her crazy with the guilt. People were dying. Every day, at least two new victims would be announced, most drained of their blood and with a chunk of their throats gone. She felt responsible.

In your thoughts, you managed to find an unoccupied room and slumped down into one of the chairs closest to the door. You had found it difficult to sleep, worrying that a certain vampire would find you and gain entry to your home. You didn’t think that he knew where you lived, but he was a vampire who could turn himself into a fly. For all you knew he was hovering around you currently.

Every now and then, a rush of voices would flow past the door, and you’d sink further down into your seat to avoid being detected. For just a moment, you craved solace and quiet. It seemed this abandoned room provided it well. However, you only stayed for another short moment before pushing yourself up and leaving the room.

Standing against the wall opposite where you emerged was Zoe with her arms crossed. Jack was standing awkwardly beside her.

“I was beginning to wonder when you were going to come out of there.” She stated plainly, “it seems the two people I need to speak with the most are consistent in trying to avoid me.”

“I’m sorry, Zoe. I just needed a little space.”

“That’s understandable. You could have just said.” She pushed herself away from the wall so that she was standing fully, “you look exhausted.”

“I am.” You confessed, “I’m worried about-...” you cut yourself off. Jack was staring right at you with such pity it made you want to burst into tears right there.

“Dracula.” He finished for you.

“Yes, well, he did leave quite the nasty bruise on your neck and proceed to throw you both into the sea.” Zoe state’s as if you couldn’t recall. You definitely could.

Zoe then insisted that you go home and get some real rest. She allocated some men to be stationed around your home and kindly offered to drive you back herself. It was a quick drive and she decided to bring Jack along, considering the three of you seemed to know a little more about the Count than most. As she pulled up outside of your house, you looked through the windows. Everything was as you left it. To your left was the river, currently drained of nearly all it’s water as the tide was out. You bid the two farewell and retreated into your home.

Time slipped by with ease once you were home. You did not sleep, though you probably should have given the circumstances. At exactly 8:09pm, as you watched some aged comedy, your door knocked. It was most likely Zoe checking up on you, so you rose and went to answer.

You had no chance to try and slam the door shut once it was opened as his large hand held the wood with ease, preventing it was swinging back into its frame.

“How did you find me?” You inquired, a little scared, but as usual keeping your calm front.

“It wasn’t difficult. You walk home alone almost every day. That cinertrack has a lot of places to duck if someone turns to look, you know.” He informed you. Dracula’s eyes twinkled with mischief once more and he licked his lips he was triumphant.

“Why are you here?” Was your next question.

“To see you, of course. Will you invite me in?”

“Will you harm me if I do?”

“Have you learnt your lesson?”

“Come in, Dracula.”

“Good girl.”

You turned sluggishly, b-lining for your sofa once more. Dracula followed behind you. His footsteps echoed in your ears. When you flipped down on soft cushions, you eyed the vampire who took a seat on your La-Z Boy.

“Ah, you have one of the boxes, as well.” He mused.

“As well?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, whenever I have been invited in to feast, they’ve had those boxes,” he pointed at your TV, “clever thing isn’t it?”

“I mean, I guess so.”

“You humans seemed to have grown much too accustomed to these fine luxuries in life. Very ungrateful for them.”

“It’s not- never mind. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

You pushed yourself up once more and found yourself leaving him alone as you climbed your stairs. Upon entering the bathroom, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. The purple bruise was still evident on your neck. It wasn’t faded much at all and you wondered how long it was going to take for it to disappear. You traced the line with your finger.

“Yes, sorry about that.”

You turned your head to see him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. A small smirk played on his lips. He wasn’t sorry, he was proud of it.

He moved into the room, slow steps nearing you until he was stood directly behind you. You locked eyes with him in the mirror. Like this, you could see the sheer size difference between you. He overpowered you in every aspect and it began to dawn on you how stupid you had been.

“Stupid things, mirrors.” He uttered, frowning and used his hands to turn you to face him, “they are beyond the complexity of this world, I assure you. Vanity is such a reckless thing.”

“Says the man clearly obsessed with keeping up with appearances.” You rolled your eyes at him, peering up through your eyelashes at his face.

“It is,” he brought up a hand, coolness stinging your neck where the bruise was, “beautiful. Did I do the same thing on your waist?”

“Would it matter?” You questioned.

“Of course. You must know by now that I revel in the things that I can do to you fragile beings.”

“You cannot scare me, Dracula.”

“You always lie to me when your pulse is so erratic.” He lowered his voice, “do you take enjoyment out of deceiving others, so?”

“No.” You whispered.

“Then why do you do it?”

You could not answer him. He already knew why. It was foolish to try and save face in front of a vampire who knew what you were going to do before even you did. A smirk cane upon his lips and he took a step back, allowing for you to leave the room. He followed you out and into your bedroom. This, you did not realise until you were sat fully in bed and turned to see him sitting causally in the arm chair by your door.

You inwardly grumbled.

Surely a man of his age would be able to realise what was crossing a boundary? Were you going to have to spell it out for him? He simply stared at you for a moment before sitting up and ridding himself of his navy suit jacket. Now he sat with his white shirt and black waistcoat. You glared as he made himself comfortable.

“What are you doing?” You snapped.

“Sitting.” It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“You do realise why I’ve come in here, right?”

“Yes, I’m not stopping you from sleeping, [First]. I’ll wait here until you wake up.”

“What so you can feed on me when I’m out cold? Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“[First],” he sat forwards once more, resting his elbows on his thighs and pacing his hands together with his fingers, “had I wanted to kill you, be assured I would have done it the first time we met. You are lucky you were so ballsy as to shut the light out just to talk to me.”

“Drac, I’m not sleeping in here with you sitting there.”

“Sleep or don’t sleep, I’m comfortable here.”

You groaned and flopped back on to the mattress. You cursed at yourself. Only an idiot would invite a vampire so intrusive into their house at bedtime.

~^Taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat -cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx

Thank you all for the support!

[thethistlegirlwrites]

“Numb”-Whumptober Day 27 (Extreme weather)

Since torrential storms are definitely extreme weather for LA, here’s some vigilante Kira on a hunt during one! (Note: this one’s a little more violent because...well...vampire hunting)

Kira waits until the prescription sleep aids her mom's been on since the attack take hold, then pushes open her window. Her back muscles scream in protest as she scrunches herself through the frame and swings over to reach the fire escape. A vampire threw her backward into a brick wall last night. Her messy bun cushioned her head, but her shoulders and back took the impact pretty badly. But if the posts are right, the vampire who hunts the corner by Jose's bodega does his prowling on Tuesday nights. So this is her only shot. Rain splatters her hood and hands the moment she's on the wet metal of the fire escape. There's been a drastic increase in storms in the city this year. Some people on the online forums are claiming it's because a strong vampire has moved into the city, one with Dracula's powers over the weather. They claim he's using the weather to stalk the city and prey on humans, or to help his coven move contraband cargo. Instead of going up, to the roofs, she climbs as carefully as possible to the ground and hops off, boots splashing in the collected puddles beside the dumpster.

She's used to navigating a rain-soaked city. The weather has pushed her off the roofs, but the streets are less crowded than usual anyway. She makes her way along them, a forgettable shadow. If this had been an ordinary day, she'd have worn her raincoat. But the bright blue would have made her stand out. Made her memorable. So she trudges along, water soaking through between the laces of her ankle-bracing boots and through the shoulders of her sweatshirt and the tank top underneath. The rain's slowed the city down, and this time, it's slowing her down too. People move slowly, heads down. She has to be careful not to bump into anyone. No one needs a reason to remember her. Becoming invisible was a survival skill in mainstream school. The fewer people who paid attention, the fewer who bullied her behind her back. She could make herself vanish even with the interpreter following her from class to class. It's almost too easy when she's alone.   Mom used to call Kira 'her little ray of sunshine'. Back when they still lived in Portland, when Kira danced to the thumps of the radio shaking the thin walls of their little apartment. Before LA. Before the Mainstream school. Before the...before the vampire, and the sleeping pills, and the stakes and the parkour and the sleepless nights. She's not sunlight anymore. She's a shadow. By the time she reaches the corner, it's too late. The body, hastily tucked behind a couple newspaper vending boxes, is pale and still. She doesn't bother to check for a pulse. She can't leave her prints, and if she put on her gloves she couldn't feel one anyway. Not that her numb fingers would be much better. She stands up and walks away, blurring into the storm before anyone realizes the unmoving figure isn't just a passed out junkie. She has one option left. This vampire doesn't just feed and go home to sleep it off. According to the information she's painstakingly gathered and cobbled together from multiple users of the online forums, he seems to get a high and ride that for a while. He's been spotted going into some of the local dead-only clubs on the nights bodies are found. One of which is only a block away. There's a line at the door stretching out into the street, and even with her hearing aids out (she can't risk them in this weather), she can feel the pounding bass of speakers. Kira steps into line and pulls her sweatshirt off, tying it around her waist, tensing her jaw to keep her teeth still and her muscles to mask the shivers. For this to work, she has to have more than just some cold fingers. The line moves at a reasonable pace, but by the time she's at the door, her muscles are aching from holding back the shivers. She holds her breath and prays her cold skin will get her past the bouncer's wrist check. The hand that latches onto her arm doesn't press into her pulse, there's too many vamps waiting in line for the check to be anything more than a formality. She's waved past, and forces herself not to let out a sigh of relief. She pulls her sweatshirt back on and takes short, shallow breaths of the air that smells like alcohol and chemical-sharp fake blood, 'Synth-blood', apparently, to those in the know, and glances around the dimly lit space. Vamp clubs are something out of her nightmares. Full of danger and so dimly lit she'll never see a threat coming. She makes her way through the fringes of the crowd until she sees what (she hesitates to ever say who, it makes using the stakes ten times harder) she's looking for. A vampire leaning on the bar, shirt sleeves dripping water onto the floor. A single piercing, a gold ring at the top of his ear. Her contribution to the myriad of information in her makeshift file on this vampire was the swiped security hard drive from Jose's. She felt bad about that, she really did, but the footage of the vampire walking across the street with his victim that she pulled off last month's video was worth it. No one else on the forums knows what he looks like other than vague descriptions. Now she has to get him somewhere where driving a stake through his heart won't immediately get her killed. She knows the moment she speaks her warm breath will give her away. So she doesn't speak. She just steps up beside him and leans in toward him, making a low growl in the back of her throat. Just like a real vamp would at the scent of fresh, real blood. Then she holds her breath and waits. He moves away from her. Just like she expected him to. He doesn't want attention drawn to himself. Now it's safer to speak. "Hey, there more where that came from?" She keeps her voice quiet, feeling the faintest slip of air through her lips. She knows how much force and pressure her voice can have. More so than most people. She also knows how to control that. "None of your business. I'm not a dealer. Scram, fledge." She does. Her lungs are screaming for air and she can feel her pulse throbbing in her temples. If she can feel it, she's sure he can hear it. But she's done her job. He's unsettled, she put attention on him. And five minutes later he gets up and walks out a side door. She follows him, pulling on her leather gloves. "Wasn't kidding, where'd you get that?" She calls. He stops. She reaches for the stake in her pocket, fumbling with numb fingers to pull it out. There's going to be a split second window. He turns back toward her, his eyes turning crimson as he prepares to call on his vampire powers. She just made herself a threat, and he's going to get rid of the problem. Or so he thinks. He lunges, suddenly, to tear out her throat. And her hand, holding the stake tightly in her grasp, comes up under his ribs. There's a sudden groaning gasp, and then he topples forward. She lets him fall, the impact driving the stake home. She leaves the body in the rain and vanishes into the alley. It's not until she gets home and peels off her sodden sweatshirt that she realizes not all of the dampness was the rain. Two long gashes, starting at her collarbone and ending at her shoulder, have ripped open her hoodie, shredded the strap of her tank top, and carved a pair of sluggishly bleeding gouges in her chest. She patches them up in the light of the flickery fluorescent over the bathroom mirror, tucks her hoodie out of sight to dry on the back of her closet door, and barely remembers to pull on a t-shirt that covers the bandages before she topples into bed, pulling the covers around her shoulders. A hot shower is out of the question, that much noise would definitely wake Mom up. But she doesn't exactly even feel cold anymore. Nothing really hurts. She's just...numb. 

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts

[ghstandpucks]

Misguided Ghost Ch. 8

A.N.: Hey everyone! So this chapter is a little shorter than usual, it just flowed better that way though! In other news, I have finished writing my thesis and presented it! All that I have left for the program is my student teaching. But as of now, I basically have two masters degrees :)

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!

Cheering Up 

           I helped the guys load up the van, just following what Billy told me to do. I was feeling a bit drained emotionally, and upset with myself for losing it. I hoped that the guys weren’t going to hold it against me. They all checked on me while we packed and seemed genuinely concerned, but I was still worried that they would think I couldn’t investigate with them. I had since put on Zak’s jacket, letting the sleeves dangle over my finger tips in a comforting way. Climbing into the back of the van, I let myself sink further into the jacket. “You ok?” Aaron asked as he sat in front of me, turning around so he was facing me. I smiled lightly and nodded.

           We got back to the hotel and headed to our rooms. The plan was for everyone to wash up and change really quick, then meet in the continental breakfast room. The first thing I did when I got back to my room was take my contacts out and wash my face. I didn’t even bother with putting make up back on as I changed into a pair of black leggings, an oversized knitted light pink sweater, and my white converse. I put on my large framed grey glasses and threw my hair up in a ponytail. I grabbed Zak’s jacket and walked over to his room, knocking lightly in hopes that other guests wouldn’t wake up. He answered the door rather quickly and smiled at me. “What’s up?” he asked.

           “I’m just bringing back your jacket. Thanks for letting me borrow it,” I said holding it out to him. Right then though I got a chill and shivered slightly. Zak caught it and chuckled softly.

           “Keep it for now, you seem cold,” he said, walking out of his room so we could go get some breakfast. I slipped it on and internally sighed as I felt its warmth. “Nice glasses,” he smirked at me.

           “Thanks, they have glitter in them,” I giggled. “Same to you.” I had noticed Zak had the same idea as I did and put his glasses on once we got back to the hotel. He chuckled.

           “How are you doing?” Zak asked me. I could hear the concern in his voice.

           “I’m fine. A little emotionally exhausted, but I’m ok,” I answered him, looking down. “I’m sorry about that. I hope you don’t think that I can’t do this. I don’t know what came over me.” I began fiddling with his jacket sleeves.

           “Y/N, it wasn’t your fault at all. You were being affected. Honestly all the information you were able to give us was impressive and I have no doubt that you’re a benefit to this team,” Zak reassured me. Who would have thought two weeks ago he would be the one to comfort me. I looked up at him and nodded.

           When we walked into the continental breakfast room, Billy and Aaron were already sitting with plates of food in front of them. Zak and I went through the buffet line, thankful there was not a ton of people in the room with us. Once we sat down Nick came in and tapped Zak on his shoulder. He whispered something to him quickly, and it seemed like I was the only one who was actually curious at what he said as Billy and Aaron were stuffing their faces. Breakfast was quiet, with little remarks of how good the food was going back and forth. When we all finished eating, it was around eight in the morning. “I know we are all tired, but I want to go over a few EVPs that we captured,” Zak announced. Billy nodded while Aaron groaned and went to fill up his coffee. Nick agreed, and we set off to Billy’s room. Nick grabbed two chairs from the balcony for him and Zak, while Billy sat at the desk and went to work on the digital recorders. Aaron sat on the edge of the bed and I plunked myself down beside him, leaning my head on his arm. I could see out of my peripheral vision Zak glancing at me from time to time. I couldn’t really read the look on his face as he was a bit stoic. He could be worried, I thought. After about an hour of going through some audio evidence, and me falling asleep for about five minutes, Nick stood up.

           “I can’t sit here anymore, do you guys want to go into town?” he questioned, and everyone agreed a little too enthusiastically for my sleepy state of mind. I could sense all their attention on me as I stood up, and I raised my eyebrow.

           “Are you guys planning on leaving me somewhere or something?” I asked. They chuckled.

           “No. Let’s go sleepy head,” Aaron said, leading the way out of the room. We all climbed into the van, the guys quietly talking along the way. I remained quiet, still feeling the emotional drain from the investigation. The van came to a stop outside a cute brick building. I climbed out of the back and looked up, seeing a used book store sign. A small smile graced my lips. I looked over at the guys who seemed to be judging my reaction. “Surprise!” Aaron did little jazz hands. I let out a breathy laugh as I pieced together what just happened.

           “Wait, did we come here for me?” I asked.

           “I found it this morning before breakfast and told Zak. Figured you had an emotional night and this might cheer you up. We got used to your smile over the past few days. Seeing you cry was just sad,” Nick stated. I walked over and gave him a hug.

           “Thank you. I’m about to start crying happy tears cause I’m tired, but I swear it’s all good!” I said, wiping my eye that started to blur. Billy walked over to the door and held it open.

           “After you miss,” he said in a posh accent. I giggled.

           “Why thank you kindly sir.” I walked in with the guys behind me. The store had two floors and smelt of dusty paper, I smiled. All the newer, more popular books were down stairs. I wondered around a bit, until I reached the stairs at the back of the store. The guys had all gone into their own sections to look around as well, so I slipped upstairs peacefully. They had remembered what I said about loving to go to used book stores when I would travel, and I thought that was so kind. The upstairs held the discounted classics, mythology books, and ancient writers, aka, my favorite section. I slowly walked from section to section, picking up and flipping through titles that piqued my interest. There was no one on this level, so it felt nice and peaceful. With an armful of books, I settled on the floor in one of the back rows. There was a window letting in natural sunlight and it warmed my skin nicely, nothing like the coldness I felt last night. I ended up lost in my own literary world until I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up quickly to find Zak smiling down at me. The look in his eyes though were something else, like he was trying to be gentle, like he was staring at a wounded animal and wasn’t sure how to approach it. I don’t know what is worse, him giving me a hard time, or looking at me like I could break any second so he had to be soft. “Stop looking at me like that,” I spoke quietly, returning my attention to my books.

           “I’m not looking at you in any certain way,” he copied my tone, moving over a chair to sit in front of me.

           “Yes, you are. You’re looking at me like I’m a wounded animal who needs help. You have been since everything happened in the lockdown. I…”

           “You aren’t smiling. Not really at least,” Zak cut me off. I furrowed my brows.

           “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

           “Over the past two weeks that we have known you, you always seem to have a smile on your face. Seeing you that upset last night was unnerving. And even now when you smile, it’s not the same,” I could feel by face start to flush at his words. I looked down hoping I could hide it. Zak sighed audibly and continued. “Look Y/N, we help each other out in this group. We aren’t just work friends, we’re family. And when we see a part of our family hurting, we try to cheer them up. The moment you accepted the position, you became our family. So accept the fact that we’re trying to cheer you up. It doesn’t make you seem weak, if that’s what you are worried about,” I nodded and smiled softly, a real smile.

           “What book did you find?” I asked him. Zak shook his head in disbelief at the topic change, but smiled anyways.

           “A hardback Dracula. Only $5” he chuckled.

           “Aren’t used book stores the best?” I questioned, motioning to my stack of growing books.

           “How many do you have there?” Zak asked, getting up and offering his hand to help me off the floor. I took it and he pulled me up easily.

           “Only seven,” I shrugged, picking them up. Zak grabbed a few to help me since a few were large volumes on ancient Greece and we walked downstairs to meet up with the others and pay for our finds.  

[ragingbookdragon]

To Challenge The Flow of Fate PT. 1

An Adrian Tepes (Alucard) x Reader Story

Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence Author’s Note: So, after binge watching seasons 1 and 2, of course, I started a mental story, and I’ve finally put it down to word. Enjoy! Cause I have no idea where this is going tbh. -Thorne <3 Update: I changed the title from ‘To Challenge The Flow Of Immortality’ to what it is now, because I feel that it fits better with the story!

Her eyes snapped open the second after they hit the ground, and she shoved at the legs across her torso. “Trevor. Get the fuck off me before I amputate both your legs.” His chuckle quickly dissolved into a groan as he rolled off her, clutching at his stomach, and she leaned up, hands coming to her side to help push herself up. She muttered to herself as she dusted off her pants, slipping the sword back into its scabbard, “What type of genius lands on metal beams that have been under the goddamn ground for who knows how goddamn long?” Trevor rolled his eyes as he helped Sypha to her feet and retorted,

           “Will you stop complaining (Y/N)? You’re alive, aren’t you?” She jerked around, narrowing her eyes into a glare.

           “You won’t be in the next few minutes if we don’t find a way out of here.” When Sypha found her feet, he looked over at (Y/N), pulling a smug face.

           “And what are you gonna do? Stab me?” Her hand went to her hilt and she spat,

           “Don’t tempt me you arse.” Trevor stuck his tongue out at her, but stopped when the Speaker next to them groaned,

           “Will you two please stop fighting? You’re acting like children.” The siblings glared at each other for a moment before they scoffed and began walking to the hallway. They entered the room, and (Y/N) immediately drew her eyes around the walls.

           “Wow…look at this place…it’s amazing.” She drew her gaze to the center of the room, scanning the large coffin. “Is that what I think it is?” Trevor shrugged and muttered,

           “Won’t know ‘til we find out.” No sooner did the words leave his mouth, did his foot sink into the ground. The sound of gears turning echoed through the room and he blurted, “I didn’t do that.” (Y/N) glowered at him from his right and quipped,

           “Nice goin’ loser. You just woke up whatever’s in there.” Before he could retort, a cloud of gas released from the coffin and they stared at it as it rose, the top sliding off. She leaned over slightly, voice soft as she murmured, “Trevor…is that…” He nodded, lips pursed into a thin line, and (Y/N) gripped the hilt of her sword. The lid dropped against the marble with loud thunk, and she felt it resonate in her chest as the man rose from it, coming to levitate above it. He hunched over, voice low and gravely as he asked,

           “Why are you here?” Sypha’s eyes grew wide as she exclaimed,

           “The story…the Messiah sleeps under Gresit! The man who will save us from Dracula.” The man didn’t respond, simply turning his attention to (Y/N) and Trevor.

           “And you two? Are you in search of a mythical savior as well?” (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as her brother remarked,

           “I fell down a hole.” She grunted, elbowing him in the side.

           “Will you fucking shut the hell up before you say something even more stupid?” He eyed her from the corner of his eye, tempted to stick his tongue out again, and she turned to the man. “We need your help.” Sypha nodded, adding,

           “Dracula is abroad in the land. He has an army of monsters and is determined to wipe out all human life wherever he finds it.” The man’s head simply tipped as he acknowledged her, but then asked,

           “Is that what you believe?”

           “That Dracula’s released his horde on Wallachia? That’s fact. There’s no belief involved.” (Y/N) watched carefully as her brother spoke, hand tightening around the hilt of her sword as his voice dropped and he questioned, “But that’s not what you’re asking.”

           “No.” Trevor drew his gaze up and clarified,

           “You’re asking if I believe you’re some sleeping Messiah who’ll save us and no, I don’t.” Even Sypha’s shocked call of his name didn’t stop him as he growled, “I know what you are.” (Y/N) knew a grin was on the man’s face as he challenged,

           “And what am I?”

           “You’re a vampire.” At this, the man finally looked up at them and with Sypha’s gasp in her ears, she caught sight of pointed fangs. “So, I have to ask myself, have we come down here to wake up the man who’ll kill Dracula…or did we come here to kill Dracula?” The man rose to his full height, but before he could speak, (Y/N) announced,

           “He’s not Dracula.” Everyone’s eyes turned to her, and Trevor scoffed,

           “He’s a vampire (Y/N). Under Gresit. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for misinterpretations.” She side eyed him before glancing at the vampire, eyes scanning his face.

           “And Dracula’s forces are attacking Gresit in a war on humanity. No person, not even a vampire, would sleep as they waged war. You have to be awake and present.” She observed the man for a moment. “Trevor, he might be a vampire…but he isn’t Dracula.” The vampire lowered towards the ground, eyeing (Y/N) as she inconspicuously moved to Trevor’s blindside.

           “One calls me Dracula…the other doesn’t.” Trevor grunted at him.

           “I’ll call you whatever you like if you’re gonna show me your teeth.” The vampire gestured to Sypha.

           “She called you Belmont…are you from the House of Belmont?” (Y/N) could feel the tension rising as Trevor affirmed,

           “Trevor Belmont. Last son of the House of Belmont.” The man glanced at (Y/N).

           “And you? The one who is standing at his back?” (Y/N) met his eyes, amazed at how they looked like pools of molten gold.

           “(Y/N) Belmont. Last daughter of the House of Belmont.” The man’s eyebrows pulled together, and he explained,

           “The Belmont’s fought creatures of the night, did they not? For generations.” Trevor barely spared the two women glances before he moved, ignoring (Y/N)’s hum of concern.

           “Say what you mean.” He threatened, stepping to the sides, watching as the man’s eyes followed him.

           “The Belmont’s killed vampires.” Trevor huffed.

           “Until the good people decided they didn’t want us around.” The nonchalance made (Y/N)’s fingers twitch as she started moving the other direction, opposite of Trevor. The vampire’s eyes darted to her moving figure, letting her know he was aware as he said,

           “And now Dracula is carrying out an execution order on the human race.” He paused, then raised a hand. “Do you care Belmont?” The question gave Trevor a pause, and he looked at the wall in front of him.

           “Honestly, I didn’t, no.” He took a breath and continued. “But now…yes, it’s time to stop it.”

           “Do you think you can?” Trevor turned, hand moving to his whip and declared,

           “What I think…is I’m going to have to kill you.” Sypha grunted, taking a step forward.

           “Belmont! No!” She argued. “He’s the one we’ve been waiting for.” Trevor moved back a bit, (Y/N) doing the same.

           “No, he’s not. He’s a vampire. And he’s not been waiting here for hundreds of years, have you?” The man’s eyes narrowed into slits as he warned,

           “I don’t like your tone, Belmont.”

           “This place is old, but it’s not been abandoned. It’s alive and working. So, go on, vampire, tell her exactly how long you’ve been waiting down here.” The man’s attention turned to the Speaker.

           “What is the year of your Lord?” Her voice was clear as she responded,

           “1476.” He turned back to Trevor.

           “Perhaps a year, then.” Trevor nodded.

           “There. And on top of that, what kind of messiah creates mechanical death traps to buy himself an uninterrupted nap in a stone coffin?”

           “My defenses we not for you.” Trevor huffed.

           “You could’ve told your defenses that.”

           “They are machines, nothing more. They were not intended to protect me from you.” The vampire’s tone was clipped, and (Y/N) quickly concluded,

           “Defenses of that power would give even the best monster hunters trouble.” She regarded him with a look of suspicion. “You’re protecting yourself from something more dangerous than simple monster hunters.” He nodded at her, turning to look back at her brother.

           “I asked you a question. Do you care?” Trevor leaned forward and announced,

           “I care about doing my family’s work. I care about saving lives.” He turned his body. “Am I going to have to kill you?” At this, the man’s tone colored with anger and he sneered,

           “Do you think you can? If you’re really a Belmont and not some runt running around with a family crest, you might be able to.” He flicked a finger, and (Y/N) heard a clinking sound before a silver sword spun through the air. He caught it and slung it back, the air cutting before it with a sharp slice. “Let’s find out.” Sypha leaned forward.

           “Belmont you can’t do this!” She turned to (Y/N). “(Y/N)! Stop him, please!” Trevor cut her off before she could speak.

           “Tell it to your floating vampire Jesus here.” The man’s face pinched and he countered,

           “You’ve got nothing but insults, have you? A tired little-” The whip cracked the lower end of his torso, sending him flying. He skidded across the ground, and looked up, a hiss passing his lips, and (Y/N) warned,

           “Trevor.” He didn’t look at her.

           “Stay there (Y/N). I’m fine.” The two began to fight, and (Y/N) moved back near Sypha, knowing she couldn’t help her brother.

           “(Y/N), please! Stop them!” She glanced at the woman and grunted with laughter as she watched Trevor knee the man in the groin. Her laughter quickly faded into shock as she watched her brother’s short sword snap, then get punched to the ground. The vampire dropped his sword, moving to Trevor, one hand gripping the hair at the crown of his head, the other shoving his shoulder down.

           “Do you have a god to put a last prayer to, Belmont?” A grin played at Trevor’s lips and he quipped,

           “Yeah. Dear God, please don’t let the vampire’s guts ruin my good tunic.” The man’s bled with confusion as he asked,

           “What?” He let out a pained grunt as the dagger entered his chest. He leaned forward, hissing, “I can still rip your throat out.”

           “You can, but it won’t stop me staking you.”

           “But you will still die.”

           “But I don’t care. Killing you was the point. Living through it was just a luxury.” The vampire let out a chuckle, but stopped as a hand tightened in his hair, pulling him back, and an edge of a blade rested against his throat. He made no movement as he felt breath next to his ear.

           “I might be the only Belmont willing to talk my way out of fights, but make no mistake, I will cut your head off if you kill my brother, vampire.” A bright light appeared in the vampire’s gaze and he looked forward at Sypha, who stood in front of him.

           “And I will incinerate you before your fangs touch that man’s throat.”

           “I thought I was your legendary savior.” Sypha’s head lowered.

           “So did I. But he saved my life.”

           “You’re a Speaker-Magician.” She nodded.

           “Yes, and his goal is mine…” Her eyes shone bright as she added, “To stand up for the people.” The vampire regarded her for a moment before looking down and muttering,

           “Good. Very good. Two vampire hunters and a magician.” The cut began to heal on his torso, and he leaned up off Trevor’s dagger. “You’ll do.” He let go of Trevor’s hair, but made no more movement when (Y/N)’s blade didn’t move.

           “You won’t kill us?” She queried. He nodded, as best he could and added,

           “On my honor.” With his confirmation, she drew back her blade, and released her grip, smoothing the hair down from where she had it gripped. He stood up and turned to them. “I am Adrian Tepes. Known to the Wallachians as Alucard…son of Vlad Dracula Tepes.” Before he could continue, (Y/N) leaned around his body, pointing at Trevor.

           “Fuckin’ told you dumbass.” Trevor’s blue eyes filled with annoyance and he gave her a sarcastic clap.

           “Congratulations sister, shall I give you a pat on the back for your excellent deduces?”  She scowled at him.

           “How ‘bout you bend over and let me plant my foot up your ass.”

           “Children, please!” The two went silent at Sypha’s exasperated call, and Adrian continued.

           “I’ve been asleep here in my private keep under Gresit for a year,” He placed a hand over his chest, and (Y/N) caught sight of the angry red scar across his pale skin. “to heal the wounds dealt by my father when I attempted to stop him unleashing his demon armies.” Sypha’s hand lowered and she marveled,

           “You are the sleeping soldier.” Adrian turned to her.

           “I’m aware of the stories. I’m also aware that the Speakers consider the story to be information from the future. Do you know the whole story?” A dust of crimson touched the tips of Sypha’s cheeks, and she ignored (Y/N)’s snicker as she nodded.

           “Yes.”

           “The sleeping soldier will be met by a hunter and a scholar.” Trevor’s neck disappeared into his shoulders as he muttered,

           “No one told me that.” (Y/N) waved him off and questioned,

           “The hell am I then? Chopped liver?”

           “You smell like it.” She flipped her middle finger at Trevor who snorted, and Adrian turned to her, golden eyes zeroing in on the onyx raven crest at her chest.

           “A huntress from the Order of Shadows…I never expected to see one in person.” (Y/N) blinked in stunned silence. When she found her senses, she asked,

           “You know the Order?” Adrian nodded.

           “Only by the outstanding reputation for being protectors of the innocent and oppressed.” He eyed to silver sword in her hand. “And for being deadly in combat.” He looked back at Trevor. “I think I might’ve lost if she’d engaged me instead of you.” Trevor rolled his eyes, ignoring the barb, and Sypha took it as a chance to speak.

           “Why do you think my grandfather tried everything to make you stay?” Trevor picked himself off the ground, groaning,

           “I hate speakers.” The three waited for Adrian to dress, then Sypha inquired,

           “So, what happens now?” Adrian shoved the scabbard into his belt.

           “I need two hunters and a scholar. I need help to save Wallachia…” The sword lifted from the ground, sheathing itself. “Perhaps the world and defeat my father.” Trevor glanced at him, suspicion coloring his tone.

           “Why?” Adrian’s feet stopped and he murmured,

           “Because it is what my mother would have wanted…and we are all, in the end…slaves to our families wishes.” The words made (Y/N)’s heart heavy, but she ignored it, tightening the armor at her wrist.

           “You’ll help us kill Dracula and save Wallachia?” The four met at the doorway, and Adrian nodded.

           “My father has to die.” He glanced at them, eyes stopping to rest on (Y/N). “We four…we can destroy him.” For a moment, no one spoke, then (Y/N) pointed to the doorway, deadpanning,

           “Not to break the dramatic silence here, but numbnuts broke the gears and shit coming down, so how the fuck do we get out of here?” Adrian passed her by, his eyes so focused on her, it almost made her sweat.

           “Follow me.” The vampire walked ahead, Sypha following him, but the two siblings stood solemn. The two didn’t speak at first, then she whispered,

           “Are you sure about this Trevor?” She looked aver at him, watching as he glared daggers into Adrian’s back.

           “No…no I’m not.” (Y/N) took in a breath, then let it out.

           “Well…nothing we can do about it now.” Trevor nodded, following her as she jogged to catch up with the other two. “So, Goldenrod…do you prefer Alucard or Adrian?”

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary: It is public knowledge that Zoe Van Helsing is the last of her blood line. Not to mention that, in a sense, Count Dracula is too. However, after an unexpected night of passion, both their lives dramatically change when Zoe becomes pregnant. Two unconventional parents, one extraordinary pregnancy. What could go wrong?

Rating: M

Pairings: Zoe Van Helsing/Dracula implied Agatha/Dracula

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Decided to update this really early in the morning. Like, REALLY early in the morning. I’m still half asleep so if this author’s note is wonky, I apologize. Thanks for the support as usual! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                          Chapter Six

Pregnancy, hormones, and dreams-perhaps nightmares if one is so unlucky. Stress plays a major factor. Anxiety weaving itself into the intense sleep waves of one's mind. Such happened to be the case for Zoe Van Helsing as she stood over two empty cribs, the sound of infants wailing all around her and yet, no babies to be found. Panic over-swept her as she desperately searched every corner of the room, the crying only intensifying the longer she looked. And just as she began to feel the very walls start to crumble around her, the scientist's eyes flashed open.

As Zoe slowly sat up, ignoring the pain in her lower back, she wondered if she was still asleep. The wallpaper. The carpet. The furniture. None of it belonged to her. It wasn't until the bedroom door creaked open and a familiar set of dark, brown eyes met hers that the true reality came crashing down like a tsunami. Count Dracula smiled at her, but the expression leaned more towards amusement than to friendliness.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up." He commented as Zoe scrambled backwards, bumping against the headboard. "I just finished making breakfast-"

"Why am I here?!" The woman snapped, cutting him off. "What...Did we…"

"I assure you there was no sex if that's what you are getting at...which was, in my opinion, much unfortunate." The vampire smirked as he moved over to where she sat. "You wore yourself out last night crying-I suppose human hormones are complicated like that." He sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. Zoe only slid away further. "Anyway, I thought it best to let you sleep here rather than risk you driving back home all tuckered out."

"If you're expecting a thank you out of me, I'm certainly not going to give you one," she frowned. "That act was nothing more than a scheme on your part."

"Must you always assume the worst intentions, Dr. Van Helsing?" Dracula scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And I wasn't anticipating on one. Now, how about you straighten up and have something to eat? I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you don't plan on staying around?"

That was a correct assumption on his part. Ignoring his question, the researcher climbed off of the bed. As exhausted as she still felt, the motivation derived from not being here pushed her forward. Zoe felt Dracula's eyes watch her as she strode out of the room. She tried not to look at the hot breakfast he had set out on the table. Eggs. Toast. Bacon. Christ, did it smell good. Maybe if she swiped one strip…

Swallowing hard and shaking her head at the thought, she grabbed her purse and went straight for the exit. The vampire didn't stop her as she left-much to her surprise, and Zoe couldn't help but wonder if the entire neighborhood heard the echoing bang as she slammed the door behind her.

                                                        XXX

"I'm not sure how you want to proceed with this further, Dr. Van Helsing, but based on what the Jonathan Harker Foundation was built upon and the current situation, I'm not sure where we stand at this point."

Zoe stared idly at the basket of fruit and muffins that sat in the center of the conference room table. Though they would look positively appetizing in any other situation, right now she wasn't hungry. Far, far from it. Her stomach twisted into knots as Bloxham watched her with keen interest. Part of her had known this moment would be coming from the very beginning and yet, she still didn't feel prepared for it.

"Dracula has yet to cause any sort of known threat," Bloxham continued. "And without any means of interacting with him-studying him, the purpose of this facility has been deemed…"

"No longer necessary," Zoe finished quietly. "So, in other words, you are saying that it's in our best interest to shut down the Harker Foundation." She paused, trying to remain level headed. "And fire everyone involved."

"That's not what I was getting at." Bloxham sighed, folding her hands onto the table. "Look, Zoe, we've been weighing some options and maybe there's a chance to save the place. To keep some of our employees employed." The scientist tried to force a smile onto her face. It wasn't working. "We've been talking to other companies who might be willing to buy the institution. Use it for their own research purposes. They have no idea what we've been doing, but this place...it can be used for good. State of the art practices even."

Mina Murray. The money her family had invested into the Foundation. Created. Everything in the name and memory of her beloved Jonathan Harker. Now no one was left to put up a fight to save it. No family left. No heirs. What remained left to those dedicated to discovering who and what Count Dracula was and is. With him out of the picture, there truly was no Foundation. And it was becoming clear things were beginning to fall apart.

"Dr. Bloxham, we're talking about letting go several dozen people!" The scientist exclaimed, looking around the room at the others who sat silently. "There has to be another way. Think of the Murrays…"

"We've exhausted all options, Zoe," the other woman said solemnly. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but what choice do we have? And the money supporting this place. The Murrays were quite wealthy, yes, but we are looking at eventual bankruptcy. The only reason we've kept going is on the whim that Dracula was still out there. Which he was. But due to legal issues and without him...we have nothing." Bloxham frowned, her lips pursing slightly. "We need to consider selling the lab and the potential that comes from that. This could be what we needed all along."

"But you don't know that!" Zoe countered angrily. "Please, there has to be something we can do." She didn't like to beg. To seem visibly weak. But she thought of Meg. Of Jack. Of all of her other colleagues who might be out of a job. "There has to be some other option."

Options. Suggestions. The scientist's mind was racing. Anxiety building from the pit of her stomach and flowing up, up, up to the inside of her skull. So tight. So much pressure. Zoe massaged her temples trying to ignore the many eyes that were fixated on her. It was always one thing after another. Always. And finally, when a dreaded thought came to mind, she bit the inside of her cheek.

"What if I could…" She began, not even sure if it was in her best interest to continue. "...What if I could convince Count Dracula to come back on his own free will. To allow us to learn more about him without defying his rights by locking him up?" Absentmindedly, a hand rested on her stomach. "Would the Harker Foundation be able to continue as it was?"

The other people in the room exchanged glances, their eyes flickering between each other and Zoe. Surely questions would be aimed in her direction like arrows from a bow. She remained still, poised. If she had to think of a reason, she could do so on her feet. The scientist was creative like that. Even if the situation was a lot more severe than others she'd faced before. If they knew her secret...she didn't want to think about that. Need to think about that.

"You truly believe you can convince the vampire to return?" Bloxham ventured, the tone low. Calculated. "And how, pray tell, do you think you can manage a feat like that?"

"If I can do it," Zoe responded. "Will the Harker Foundation remain in our hands?"

The other woman was silent for a moment. "Maybe arrangements can be made." She looked to the others who all nodded in agreement. "Alright," Bloxham sighed. "Dr. Van Helsing, if you can somehow manage Dracula to return on his own accord, perhaps there is hope for this place."

A small flicker of a smile twitched briefly on Zoe's face. "I can promise you my very best," she stated. "Count Dracula will return." Or so she very much hoped.

                                                           XXX

The Count's dark eyebrows narrowed as he studied the pamphlet in his hands. Every so often he'd glance up, meeting Zoe's gaze as she stood in front of him, arms folded. Finally, he delicately folded the flyer closed and held it out towards her.

"Yuma, Arizona…" He said slowly, a small smirk crossing his features. "Planning a vacation are we?"

A second unexpected surprise. When the researcher had randomly showed up at his doorstep without so much as a text, he had been somewhat caught off guard. But now she'd presented him with information about a state. A place not even located on their continent.

"Actually, more so of a move." Zoe replied simply, noticing the amusement on the man's face fade to confusion. "I was doing some research and learned that Yuma is, in fact, the sunniest place on Earth. Sounds quite lovely actually. Not that you'd understand."

"So, you have a sudden desire to move across the world?" Dracula inquired, an eyebrow cocked. "Might I ask why?"

"Well…" She pretended to muse. "There's the weather...an added bonus. But more importantly, and I'm sure your lawyer Mr. Renfield has you all caught up on this, but the Harker Foundation's doors are threatening to close."

"Oh my," Dracula's voice dripped with sarcasm. "What tragic news! I must say it's such a shame really. You all appeared to be working so hard. These things happen I suppose." He interlaced his fingers and gave them a loud, sickening crack. "So you now want to go to Yuma?"

"I'm going to need a job," she shrugged. "And The University of Arizona is currently looking for a medical research professor. I'm sure Dr. Bloxham will write me quite the recommendation letter." Zoe smiled as the corners of Dracula's lips turned just the slightest bit downward. "A change in scenery might do me some good."

"And what's to stop me from following you?" He countered, tone much more serious now. "I'm not afraid to go after you, Zoe. I told you, I will be in my children's lives."

"Oh I know." She answered calmly. "But it'll be just a little more difficult with it always being so sunny." The scientist patted her stomach lovingly. "Did you know sunlight actually has positive effects on pregnancy? Physical and mood wise? You know, the more I think of it, the more Arizona really calls out to me."

"What do you want, Zoe?" Dracula's voice was flat. Irritable. "What are you getting at?"

"The Harker Foundation can't continue without you." Zoe said, momentarily dropping her act. "Without you, we'll be forced to close our doors and open to someone else. A lot of people will lose jobs. People…" she paused. "People I care about. So I'm asking you to come back on your own terms."

"Why would I want to do that?" He scoffed. "So I can be your lab rat?"

"It won't be like that," she promised. "I…" Zoe averted her eyes, not wanting to meet his. "I won't let that happen. And I think you very well know I won't." The researcher inhaled, closing her eyes. "You want to be in their lives. You've shown that. But if that's the case then you…You're going to have to be in mine too." God how she hated the sound of that. "And if even the smallest molecule in you has some care for me, you'd do this. For them. For me."

There was a long pause. Silence heavy between them.

"If I agree to attend whatever it is your beloved Foundation wants, you won't move to Yuma?" Dracula watched her as he spoke, trying to read her face for a reaction. "Your idea of family commitment is quite strange, Dr. Van Helsing."

"We're not a family," she frowned. "We're not...look, think of this as quid pro quo. Just over and over again. Nothing more." Zoe let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Do we have a deal?"

Dracula pondered her words before nodding. "I think that's reasonable."

For the first time since she arrived, Zoe gave a genuine smile. "So we have a deal."

And a very odd one at that.

[chelsfic]

Inherited - Chapter 4 - Dracula/OFC - Dracula (2020) fanfic

Summary: The Count’s innocent housekeeper falls further under his spell.

A/N: Hooooo boy! This started out with a lot of imagery and some boring stuff about chores and then it just turned buck wild. Major NSFW warning. Smut! There is also more bloodletting. If you’re at all questioning the way blood drinking/sharing works in the context of this fic I did a post about it last night.

As always if you’d like to be tagged in future updates just send a carrier pigeon or comment or reblog or whatever. And endless thanks for reading!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Emilie woke the next morning with the taste of Dracula’s blood on her lips and the lingering memory of his touch ghosting over her skin. The misery caused by his callous and cruel behavior at dinner was forgotten. A smile curled the edges of her lips as she opened her eyes to a new day. She mentally reviewed her task list. She would start by clearing the dining room and washing the soiled china in the scullery annex. Then her morning chores: dusting the downstairs rooms, sweeping the corridors. She’d been meaning to polish the silver candlesticks for sometime, perhaps she’d have time for that before nightfall. The Count tended to keep nocturnal hours, so she always waited until just before sunset to creep into his room and build up the fire in the hearth, refresh the water in his wash basin and put out fresh towels. In any other household these chores would be performed before dawn. 

She braced herself for the chill morning air and threw off her blankets in one swift movement. Just because her master kept late hours did not excuse her lying in bed late into the morning. It was difficult to adjust to the long hours when she first came to Carfax. Emilie woke at seven and frequently stayed up past midnight depending on the master’s plans. But she was accustomed to the schedule now and found it a bit of a comfort after the chaos and emotional confusion of the last couple days. 

She stood and grabbed a heavy knit shawl off the back of her rocking chair, pulling it tight around her narrow shoulders and moving to stand at her tiny window to enjoy the sight of the rising sun lighting the kitchen garden. The colors were somehow more vibrant this morning. The grass, trees and plants seemed to positively glow with verdant, pulsing green life. The sunlight crept over the earth and she could see its progress, inch by inch, with more clarity than she’d ever before experienced. Emilie had always been slightly near-sighted, but this morning she saw ever leaf and blade of grass with crisp definition. Not only that, she could smell the sweet scent of the morning dew dissipating into the warming air. Her senses were enchanted and she found herself lingering at the window for several minutes before finally shaking off the feeling and turning away. It was simply an extraordinarily beautiful morning, she reasoned with herself. Nothing more unusual than that. 

When she entered the dining room a little later she expected to find the dirty china from last night’s meal still set out on the table. But the table had been cleared and a fresh cloth laid out. There was nary a crumb or crumpled napkin left for her to tidy. She quirked her head and frowned in confusion for a second before her thoughts were interrupted by a haughty voice from the hallway behind her.

“Finally!” Miss Lucy strode into the dining room wearing the same gown she’d had on the night before. She’d tidied herself as best she could and looked well. She was a little pale, the flush of wine and seduction having faded from her cheeks, but otherwise she looked merely annoyed. “I’ve been waiting here for half an hour, don’t you serve breakfast for guests in this house? I’ll be informing the Count of this abysmal treatment you can be sure.”

Emilie cringed and rushed to the china cupboard to begin making a place setting for the Count’s guest, apologizing profusely as she worked.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss Lucy! Of course I’ll get you your breakfast directly. I didn’t...I didn’t realize you’d be staying overnight or else I would have had something prepared for you,” her words were sincere. Emilie took pride in her work and hated to be seen as lazy or inadequate. Her obvious fretting seemed to assuage the young aristocrat slightly.

“Very well,” she sniffed and took a seat at the table. “I’ll have fresh fruit and porridge. I prefer a light breakfast.”

Thank goodness for that, thought Emilie. She wouldn’t need to call for Cook at his little cottage on the outskirts of the Abbey’s park. She curtsied and apologized again before rushing down the discreet servant’s staircase to the kitchen.

Miss Lucy’s surly attitude persisted after breakfast and she kept Emilie on her toes all day with petty requests. Her morning chores went neglected as she made up Miss Lucy’s guest room, just next door to Dracula’s chamber she noted with a pang. Fresh linens, hair combs, water, dainty snacks and an order sent out to the village for spare dresses and shifts. Emilie did it all and was grateful, at least, that she was too busy to examine the jealous feelings that rose up within her at the thought of Miss Lucy spending another evening with Dracula.

Finally, as the sun lowered on the horizon, Emilie excused herself to tend to her master’s needs before he rose for the evening. Miss Lucy at least seemed to understand that Count Dracula would come first in this household despite her guest status.

Emilie left the guest in her room and stepped out into the corridor, heaving a great breath and leaning her weight into the wall for she feared she might simply collapse with fatigue both physical and mental. It wasn’t just that Miss Lucy was demanding and rude. She also insisted on making little pointed comments about the Count’s obvious admiration of her. Emilie worried that Miss Lucy was aware of her...feelings toward her master and delighted in hurting her. Perhaps she was reading too much into things. Perhaps Miss Lucy was simply jealous of anyone else who might have a claim on Count Dracula’s attention. A satisfied little smirk appeared on her lips before she quickly squashed it. Miss Lucy had no idea how much attention the Count paid to his housekeeper.

She entered the Count’s room silently and tiptoed across the plush oriental carpet balancing a pitcher of steaming water and a basket of kindling, fresh towels draped over her shoulders. She looked quite foolish but she managed. She got to work right away, bustling about the room while Dracula slept on. Once she’d finished all her tasks she stole a moment to look over at him, cold and still as the grave in his slumber. The lines of his face were smooth in repose and his sharp nailed hands rested over his stomach. Her mind flashed back to last night and the sight of him slicing into his own skin with one wickedly sharp claw, the feeling of his hot blood dripping onto her lips, sliding down her throat. 

Emilie’s feet moved of their volition carrying her to the master’s bedside. She looked down on him with adoration written plainly on her face. Her hand hovered over his and she bit her lip fearful of being discovered but unable to resist settling her palm over his clasped hands. They were cool to the touch and she willed her own warmth to flow into him and feed his spirit. 

“Really, Emilie, I’m quite shocked,” the Count’s sardonic voice whipped her out of her reverie and she took a step back from the bed, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry, Count--milord,” she stammered, voice trembling with nerves. He had wrapped his body around hers only last night, ravishing her with kisses. But she still felt impertinent and untoward, a servant daring to aspire to her master’s affections.

Dracula sat up against the headboard and she realized with a shiver that he wasn’t wearing a nightshirt. His broad, muscular shoulders and dark-haired chest were bare to her. Emilie lowered her gaze and clasped her hands before her, the perfect image of a prim housekeeper awaiting orders.

The Count smirked and patted the bed beside him, “No need to be sorry, little one. Come here, won’t you?”

Emilie stood frozen for a long moment, her warring thoughts apparent on her face. She should not let this continue. Miss Lucy was getting dressed at this very moment for another evening of debauched seduction with the Count. It was entirely inappropriate. What would her grandmother say?

Dracula’s voice turned cold and he commanded, “Come here. Now.”

She snapped into action and scurried up onto the bed beside him. Despite her nerves and qualms she had the presence of mind to enjoy the ultra plush feel of his feather mattress so much more luxurious than her simple bed. She sat primly beside him, hanging her feet over the side so as not to dirty the blankets with her shoes. 

Dracula watched her with eyes lit in amusement. He snaked an arm behind her and hugged her against his bare chest. Emilie gasped as she felt a flame of heat light up her core. Being so close to him had an undeniable effect on her. 

“Don’t tell me you’re still shy with me, little one?” he teased, walking his fingers up her leg and settling his hand flat against her thigh. “Not after last night?”

“Milord,” she whispered, trembling under his gaze, “it’s not proper. I am a servant…”

The Count shushed her and he tugged at the fabric of her skirt, raising the hem and dipping his hand underneath to skim along the smooth skin of her thighs. Emilie couldn’t help a muted moan of pleasure at the sudden contact. 

“Emilie, I want you to call me Vlad. When we are alone together. Can you do that?” his voice was cool and matter-of-fact even as his fingers danced over her inner thighs and crept upward.

“Yes,” she breathed in response to his question or perhaps merely to encourage his hand between her legs. “Vlad.”

Dracula smiled and plunged his hand upward, pressing the heel of his palm against her and stimulating her sensitive clitoris through the thin fabric of her drawers. Emilie gave a rather undignified shout and he leaned down, touching his cheek to hers and whispering into her ear, “Good girl.”

He loomed over her, naked and humming with masculine energy. His hand cupped her sex and he pistoned his wrist to grind his palm against her over and over again eliciting little hiccups of pleasure from his inexperienced young housekeeper. She squirmed against him, arching her back and bucking her hips against his hand. Dracula brought his forearm down across her chest to keep her pinned in place. 

He watched her face, the pretty blush of blood rushing beneath her pale skin, the artery in her neck dancing with the pump of her racing heartbeat. He felt his fangs elongate and saliva pool in his mouth. He descended on her then, biting into her lower lip and growling in pleasure at the small stream of intoxicating blood that flowed into the kiss. He tore the waistband of her drawers away and dove his hand inside to brush over her bare skin. He inserted one elegant, long finger inside her, delighting in her startled squeak. He pumped into her as he sucked the blood from her lips, all the while barely containing the animalistic blood lust raging to be unleashed. When he thought he could resist no more he felt Emilie’s thighs clamp down on his wrist and the pulse of her muscles as she reached her climax. 

He pulled away from the kiss and watched her face in fascination. Gone were her charming little worries about impropriety. The girl was lost to wanton pleasure. She locked her arms around his neck in a fierce hug as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Dracula slowly removed his hand from between her legs and patted down her skirt in deference to her feminine modesty. He lay beside her on the pillow and watched her heaving breast and half closed eyes. She is perfect, he thought to himself, idly drawing his wrist up to his lips and grazing a razor sharp fang across the skin. Or...she will be perfect, once I’m finished with her.

“Come now, darling,” he cooed, cradling her head and bringing her lips up to kiss against his wrist. “It’s time for a little drink.”

Tags:

@charlesdances​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @just-mimii @irrelevantwriter​

[aion-rsa]

House of Dark Shadows: The Craziest Vampire Movie You’ve Never Seen

https://ift.tt/37TdnN3

This article contains House of Dark Shadows spoilers.

In 1970 House of Dark Shadows flipped the vampire subgenre on its head. While certainly a B-horror in the Hammer mold, this chiller wasn’t satisfied with one bloodsucker, or even two. Instead Dark Shadows would turn nearly its whole cast into the ravenous undead, indiscriminately slaughtering beloved heroes and heroines, not caring for a second that they were also the stars of a daytime soap opera—one that was appointment TV for millions of kids across America.

Clearly it was a different time. And therein lies its charm.

When the television series Dark Shadows premiered in 1966, it wasn’t an instant pop culture phenomenon. Creator Dan Curtis was savvy enough to see the appeal in a daytime melodrama draped in a Gothic aesthetic, but he didn’t yet have the necessary hook for his central character as she stepped off a train in New England. Sure, mysterious Victoria Winters (Alexandria Isles) would meet the Collins family, who more or less ruled over the town of Collinsport from their ancestral home of Collinwood, but the reason to stick around only came about a year into the series’ original run.

That eureka moment turned out to be the dapper and effortlessly suave Jonathan Frid. Cast as Barnabas Collins, the Canadian theater actor was initially hired for a single storyline (a set number of episodes) as the heavy: Barnabas was an ancient and forgotten vampire, who’d been buried alive like the family’s dirty little secret after a curse condemned him to drink blood in 1795. Now he was out and wreaking havoc by feasting on the locals and obsessing over Maggie Evans (Kathryn Leigh Scott), whom he was convinced was the reincarnation of his lost love Josette—a fiancée who threw herself off a cliff in the 18th century rather than become Barnabas’ corpse bride.

It was morbid, obviously, but also romantic at a time when vampires were defined by the coldness of Christopher Lee or the goofiness of Scooby-Doo. Instead here was the most pitiable of creatures, one who doesn’t wish to be a vampire, and through impeccable manners and courtesies revealed a soft love for the Collins family, even when he preyed on them. Rather than create a great villain, Curtis inadvertently invented a tragic hero who audiences flocked to, both the typical daytime target demographic and also, surprisingly, kids and teenagers, who’d rush home from school to be lost in a melancholy land of eternal loves, ancient curses, and of course fangs.

Thus Dark Shadows became a blender for all things Gothic. Following in the success of Barnabas’ introduction, the series would go on to add ghosts, werewolves, séances, multiple stints of time travel, and one particularly devilish 18th century witch named Angelique (Lara Parker). It also appropriated every classic horror trope from Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, the Brontë sisters, and Edgar Allan Poe, and synthesized them for an audience that was now consuming it along with kid-friendly board games and trading cards.

So why not a movie, too? As early as 1968, Curtis began pursuing the idea of making a Dark Shadows movie, even while the series was still going. Eventually, House of Dark Shadows was the result. Released 50 years ago this week, this toothy amusement was the chance to do everything Curtis wanted with the series, but was prohibited from by Broadcast Standards and Practices censorship, budget constraints… and maybe even audiences’ good taste.

“Blood flows,” actor Roger Davis observed in The Dark Shadows Companion: The 25th Anniversary, which was edited by Scott. “It’s not like the serial. You have a few dabs of blood and the network brass have apoplexy. TV does a mock-up on life. This is in living color. And the vampires really bite.” 

Whereas Dark Shadows, the television show, was appointment TV for those still in middle school, House of Dark Shadows was aimed directly at the drive-in crowd with its emphasis on blood gushing from neck wounds and stakes violently going into almost every character’s heart. As Scott’s book surmised, the film was “entirely the child of its creator,” who would at last have his evil Barnabas. And at a glance, it is an American riff on what had already become kitsch by 1970 thanks to Hammer Film Productions’ seemingly endless line of Dracula movies, plus the knockoffs.

And to be sure, House of Dark Shadows is in many ways a Dracula movie. It’s also insight into how Curtis originally viewed the Barnabas character before Frid went on a charm offensive. Playing almost like a CliffNotes version of Barnabas’ first several storylines on the show, the vampire is awakened during the film’s opening moments because of the foolishness of groundskeeper Willie Loomis (John Karlen). Barnabas then forces poor old Willie to become his living slave and creates a fictitious narrative about being a distant cousin descended from the original Barnabas Collins, whom family lore claims sailed away to London in 1795, never to be heard from again.

Bringing back the “original” Barnabas’ family jewels to ingratiate himself, the Barnabas of 1970 is free to attend family gatherings, fix up an old ruined house on the estate, and even feed on cousin Carolyn (Nancy Barrett), a dear relative who becomes a dead ringer for Lucy Westenra in Bram Stoker’s famed novel. Even so, Carolyn cannot displace Maggie (still Scott) in Barnabas’ eyes, who he is sure is the reincarnation of Josette.

It very much has the narrative beats of a traditional vampire movie, but the charm that lingers a half-century later comes in part from seeing these actors, who are intimately familiar with their characters, going through the paces with better production values. That quality also manifests in Curtis’ sense of atmosphere, now liberated from the stage-bound quality of daytime drawing room drama. I would even argue House of Dark Shadows is one of the more satisfyingly atmospheric vampire movies to come out of the 1970s.

Curtis filmed in the upstate New York’s Tarrytown area, mostly on the actual Gothic Lyndhurst Estate, built in the 1830s, and shot much of the exteriors in the legendary Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Whereas Hammer films tended to rely increasingly on sets during this period, and most B horror movies had no budget for evocative locations, House of Dark Shadows was filming its sequences in between tours of the Lyndhurst Mansion and in the same atmospheric cemetery that helped birth the myth of a Headless Horseman.

Regarding the filming location, screenwriter Sam Hall remarked, “It’s a wild house. I’d hate like hell to live in it.” 

This is only accentuated by the fact Curtis knows how to drain a spooky location dry. Images like vampire Carolyn standing in a window, draped in white, beckoning her lover to become one of the damned is a better use of Lucy iconography than any Dracula movie made before House of Dark Shadows. And the film’s ending sequence reaches an operatic opulence rarely seen, even in vampire cheapies. Barnabas, bathed in a blue light and shrouded in inexplicable fog in the interior of his decrepit home, beckons Maggie, now in a wedding dress, toward him as the famous melody of Josette’s music box twinkles, only now in a weeping minor key.

The corruption of that wistful melody is intriguing. An original part of the Dark Shadows television series, Josette’s music box, and Frid’s soliloquies about it, is what first gave Barnabas his soul, distinguishing him from the general depravity of other pop culture vampires. One could even say Barnabas is the first significantly sympathetic male vampire in fiction. In House of Dark Shadows, he has a more sinister mean streak, but the pathos remains.

Hence why the film plays at times like a gonzo delight. It may feature the original, more wicked Barnabas, but it is still derived from the genteel series, and many of those elements carry over. Take Dr. Julia Hoffman (Grayson Hall) spending half the movie trying to cure Barnabas, a subplot that eventually ends happily for the pair on the show, but less so here. It’s soapy pulp, yet it’s given as much stone-faced gravity as the Collinsport Police Department unquestioningly agreeing to patrol around town with standard issue police crucifixes. One might ask if they keep silver bullets in every squad car too?

The overall effect is bizarre, but endearingly so. It’s also fairly influential, as confirmed by what happened after Dan Curtis dropped Barnabas in favor of another vampire.

Read more

TV

Dark Shadows’ Witch Was As Influential As Its Vampire

By Tony Sokol

Movies

Bram Stoker’s Dracula and the Seduction of Old School Movie Magic

By David Crow

In 1974, following Dark Shadows’ cancellation, Curtis wrote and directed a Dracula TV movie for CBS that within its opening titles billed itself as “Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” Far removed from Stoker’s novel, the little remembered television film nonetheless starred Jack Palance as the vampire, and introduced several significant elements to the story by overtly making Dracula an undead version of historical figure Vlad the Impaler (which he is not in the novel) and turning Lucy into the reincarnation of his great lost love.

Curtis was in essence trying to recast Dracula as Barnabas Collins. Like House of Dark Shadows, Curtis even sought to build a Gothic atmosphere by filming in real locations, albeit now Eastern Europe. The result was effective in those scenes, even if the rest of the movie failed in no small part because Palance could never wear the tragic cloak so well as Frid.

In spite of its shortcomings, many have fairly speculated on whether Curtis’ Dracula influenced James V. Hart, the screenwriter of Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Hart was certainly more successful at turning Dracula into a lovelorn prince, and Coppola made that idea permanent in the pop culture imagination. Yet, at the end of the day, they were still remaking the pop culture image of Dracula so as to be closer in line with Barnabas Collins, instead of the other way around.

I would even argue that Coppola’s film is closer in tone with Dark Shadows, at least in its romantic moments, than Tim Burton’s big budget Dark Shadows movie was in 2012. Burton of course attempted to avoid some of the mistakes of House of Dark Shadows, namely by keeping Barnabas as the good guy who is trying to save his family instead of ultimately destroying them, as well as retaining the other fan favorite character, the witchy Angelique (who like all other non-vampire elements was omitted from House of Dark Shadows). But Burton also played her and the whole concept as pure camp, making the Collins’ a subject of ridicule, and their problems a punchline.

Admittedly, there is something faintly camp about the 1960s daytime series and its ‘70s drive-in remake; plots turn on ludicrous developments like Julia falling in love with Barnabas, and then intentionally sabotaging his vampire cure when she realizes he loves a younger woman. But they were sold with absolute sincerity, and in the case of Frid, a palatable conviction.

House of Dark Shadows continues that conviction, no matter how batshit things become. Thus the ending where, accepting he’ll never be cured, Barnabas transforms family patriarch Roger Collins (Louis Edmonds) and even the film’s version of Van Helsing (Thayer David) into vampires. And we get to a finale so madcap that it turns “Renfield” into the last remaining hero. Madness, indeed.

Ironically, House of Dark Shadows was blamed by some for the eventual death of the series. Every character in the film, including Barnabas, had to be written out of the show, for some weeks at a time, so the actors could go shoot a movie upstate (another reason Angelique and other significant characters were left out). This correlated with some of the series’ weaker storylines that lost audiences’ attention.

Additionally, it’s believed parents who went with their children to see the movie in October 1970 were appalled by the amount of blood and sensual subtext in the film. As a result, some may have forbidden their kids from watching the series further… with the show getting cancelled in April 1971.

“The TV ratings fell after the movie,” Scott’s The Dark Shadows Companion revealed. “It has been suggested by some that House of Dark Shadows led to the series’ eventual demise. Perhaps it was the audience’s reaction to seeing their hero Barnabas in an evil light. Perhaps it was because parents attended House of Dark Shadows with their children and, seeing the amount of blood spilled across the screen, discouraged their children’s choice of television viewing material.”

Star Frid was even more unsparing in his final analysis.

“[The film] lacked the charm and naivete of the soap opera,” Frid said. “Every once in a while the show coalesced into a Brigadoonish never-never-land. It wasn’t necessary to bring the rest of the world into Dark Shadows, which is what the film did.”

Nevertheless, both the series and movie left a few marks on the throat of pop culture. The series certainly paved the way for more multidimensional portraits of vampires to be explored, opening the door for, yes, the Coppola Dracula movie, but also Anne Rice and True Blood. In fact, even if House of Dark Shadows might’ve been considered too brutal by parents in 1970, decades of pop culture refinement would find a way to make the sympathetic vampire archetype much more tolerable when instead of drinking from his cousin, he sparkled in the daylight and told his prey they needed to wait until marriage.

Without Barnabas, his series, and his slice of bananas role is House of Dark Shadows, we may never have gotten Lestat, Edward Cullen, or Gary Oldman’s Dracula. At least not as how we know them. Fifty years on, that’s a bloody good legacy for a daytime drama and a B-movie you’ve never seen.

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[serahsanguine]

Vacation Series Pt. 2. Halloween Surprises Ch, 5

This is the second book in a two-part series

Book one. - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

Book Two. - pt. 1, pt, 2, pt. 3, pt. 4,

All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen

**********************************

Notes;  This chapter is to fill the prompt 'Boo' all will be revealed.

************************************

 Today is Halloween which only meant it was Halloween party later on that night. There was a lot of preparations to be made before then. Mulder woke up several hours ago to a very naked Scully, her skin was quite warm to the touch, she must have disposed of her clothes during the night.  He could feel his erection already starting to build. How could it not, he had the women of his dreams sleeping peacefully next to him her perfect breasts so round full and exquisite, her little round ass crushing into his pelvis. 

He kissed into her neck and she woke up slowly to them, he could tell she was awake but simply enjoying what he was doing. He scooted towards her knowing it would make her hum or moan.

“Happy All Hallows Eve Scully.”

“Mmm, Good Morning Mulder.”

“I’m very thirsty for you,”  he said in between bites and nibbles in his best Dracula type voice.

He couldn't see her but knew she rolled her eyes at the comment. She soon lost all cognitive speech as she felt his fingers thread over her stomach. He nuzzled into her hair as her hand reached behind her and started stroking his length from root to tip.

“Scully, Jesus.”

He felt her giggle as he placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing her back flush to the mattress. He looked deeply in her eyes seeing nothing but love and adoration from her. They were nose to nose just staring at each other. He lay there on top of her sketching her face in his mind forevermore.  His heartbeat was getting louder and louder inside his ears. Feeling the rush of blood flow down into his body he brought his mouth to hers.

 In that split second before his very touch on her body made every nerve electrify.  It's the anticipation, the suspense, the build-up. Making her crave his body more and more. His mouth wasn’t enough, his touch wasn't enough she needed more, she wanted to feel every inch of him covering her body filling her up making her cry out in pleasure. 

He stopped kissing her and looked down at her face, her lips pink and swollen and body flush with arousal he kissed the way down her midsection leaving little red blotches in his wake. He kissed one breast, taking the whole nipple and flesh into his mouth sucking and biting she was writhing and moaning calling his name over and over. He soon moved to the other breast giving that one the same attention as the first. 

He moved his mouth down to her thighs then to her knees slightly pinching them and tickling them. He opened her legs to get better access as he worked his mouth on the inside of her thighs before stopping at the apex of her legs. He could smell her arousal so beautiful and sweet like honey, her smell so addictive he could never get enough, he moved his fingers down the sides of her body and through her slick folds before his mouth descended on her clit. 

Her body was shaking uncontrollably his actions perfect and magical she didn’t know what he was doing with that tongue to make it feel so perfect and she didn't care. Her hands wove through his soft silky hair. Her body was buzzing, his every touch even a slight one as light as his shoulder next to her thigh felt electrified. Then all at once, he felt like he was everywhere from the tips of toes to the top of his head, his body ignited with a flurry of sensations as her body writhed beneath his, her climax taking over every millimetre of her body. 

He lay there and watched as her body came undone, she honestly didn’t know how beautiful she was especially in the heightened sense of pleasure where all inhibitions and exceptions went out the window and she became completely primal it was completely breathtaking to watch. He watched her come back to reality, his body once again flush against hers.

She opened her crystal blue eyes and stared at the depths of his hazel ones. He began to speak and she was mesmerized by his voice. She felt him slip inside her she hummed but listened to what he was saying

“You are my drug, Scully. One-touch and the intoxication is instant. Whatever you want to do is what we'll do and there isn't a thing I can do to stop you - not that I'd want to. Just your scent sends me into a heady trance, one that doesn't end until our bodies are still once more, just warm and snuggled in as close as two souls can be.”

He was slowly pumping inside her taking his time like they had all the time in the world. She was rendered speechless as one lone tear slipped at the corner of her eye. He saw it and looked instantly worried. She saw his face and hushed words to reassure him.

“They are happy tears I promise I just feel truly blessed,” she wanted him to feel some of the passion and love that he was showing her. She felt her hand on his lower back, her legs on either side of his naked body as she squeezed her hips to let him know she was ok for him to lose control.

His rhythm increased and his body felt slick against her own, his head fell to the crook of her neck, her hand raking his back she was close but she also knew he was closer. Her breathing changing, she heard her moans timed to his thrusts. Her heart was racing and matching his, in seconds his lips were upon hers again and it was just long enough to intoxicate her mind before he stopped again. His body went rigid his thrusts stopped he emptied himself inside him.

“Oh, God, Scully,”  he mumbled out in the heat of the moment and hearing her name from his lips sent her into the abyss right alongside him feeling her walls clutch him hugging him her body soul melding with his and floating off into the sky, floating away with the morning sun. 

He lay on top of her and suddenly feeling guilty for his weight so he moved by her side but she soon missed him and he felt the rush of her heat at his side as she placed her head on her chest. Each listening to each others breathing letting the moment sink in and not letting it pass by. 

//

A few hours later mid-morning/early afternoon. 

The sun was high in the sky and it was semi-warm for October. They had been in the main house for a while trying to help make the house suitable for a party.  The french doors were open creating a small breeze. Scully had been pretending to bake some sort of chocolate blood orange cookies, but instead, she had been watching Mulder move furniture. He had taken his shirt off several minutes ago he was dripping with sweet his hair was going in several different directions. She could not help but admire his physique with his toned chest and ripped stomach muscles. His little patch of hair that started just underneath his trouser line and up his stomach. She licked her lips and she started at his arms they had got a lot bigger in recent months everything had. She knew he had been running, and swimming a lot more but she also knew he had been boxing at the FBI gym she just never really found the time to appreciate it. 

She stopped looking at his body and looked up at his face to find his green eyes staring at her, watching her watching him. She turned her head away quickly hoping he didn't catch her blush. Next thing she felt was his wet body come behind her his hands wrapping around her stomach and he kissed her neck. 

“If you got it to haunt it.” 

She fully belly laughed and her head fell back into his wet naked shoulder.

“How much more do you have to do.”

“Not much, I need to move two more tables and then place the food trays on them, the boys said they're hanging the decorations since they have the ladder and then it's time for us to start getting ready for the par-tay.”

“How many people are coming?”

“Not that many or so I've been told,  as you know they don’t trust many.”

He let go and she nodded and placed the last batch of cookies into the oven.

“What’s got, you so worried Scully?”

“Nothing I just want it to be special, it’s our first Halloween as a couple.”

He looked at her in a certain way and let her words sink in, he couldn’t be any more in love with her it wasn't possible. The fact she was worried it wasn’t going to be special because it was their first Halloween together made his soul hurt.

“The fact that I am with you and knowing you love me makes it special because without you I am nothing.”

She placed the oven mitts on the kitchen table and gave him a kiss as a thank you they stayed like this for a few minutes before they broke apart to start on the finishing touches for later this evening. 

//

Early evening.  

They had agreed to get ready in separate rooms and then they would both be surprised at each other's costumes but Mulder made Scully promise they would end up in the same room after the party. And her reply was ‘as if it were a question’ which made him laugh.

Mulder was putting the finishing touches on his Beetlejuice outfit there was half an hour left before the party would begin. He had sprayed his hair green before putting on the black and white striped outfit. He took one last look in the full-length mirror before walking across the landing into their shared bedroom. He knocked and heard her shout to come in. He walked in but she was nowhere to be seen. And within a couple of seconds, his heart fell to his stomach as he saw Scully's outfit.

She was wearing a white shirt with jagged rips all the way through with splattered fake blood on it. She was also wearing a tartan mini skirt also covered in fake blood, her legs covered by an off white knee-high sock with a small bow. At the top, her hair frizzy and wild. Her face paint was grey with black sunken eyes her lips bright red and fake blood dripping from them. 

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing his little angel Scully had dressed as a schoolgirl zombie.

“You’re a Zom-babe.”  

She watched as his eyes went as black as little saucers as he raked his eyes up and down her body watching his eyes made a blush creep onto her face. Thank God for this face paint. 

“Mulder you don’t look too bad yourself, I didn’t know you were a Beetlejuice fan.”

“It’s a classic Scully.”

“I have something for you Mulder.” she walked towards him holding a white envelope and suddenly he had a worried look on his face. “It’s nothing to be worried about Mulder I promise.”

He nodded and took the white envelope from her hands. He looked at both sides and it was completely blank and she was giving nothing away. He opened the envelope careful not to rip the contents which lay within. 

He took out the card and flipped it to see what was on the front. His eyes scanned what was there. Which was a cartoon ghost with a speech bubble that read, “Boo there is a surprise that waits for you.”

He smiled and opened the card and inside the card it read, “No Trick.. Just A Treat! Our family is growing by two little feet. Introducing Baby Mulder due March 2020.”

He couldn’t believe what he read so he read that page over and over again he was in shock. He finally looked up to see her smiling from ear to ear her eyes were alight with joy. 

“Is this true?” he managed to stutter out in his shocked state. She nodded her face still plastered in a smile 

“How far along are you?”

“About 12 weeks I'm due about the 11 March. ”

“How? 

“When the birds and the bees get together the stork brings...”

“Alright I get it,” he said sheepishly, “I didn’t think you could have children?” he asked confused. 

“The doctors always said there was a 98 percent chance I could never get pregnant as there wasn’t enough ova that reside there but it seems that you have super sperm.”

Now he was grinning from ear to ear, he was like a boy in a candy shop and the shopkeeper told him he could have anything he wanted.

Tears of joy started slipping from his eyes, “Me.. You.. A baby?”

He hugged her and kissed her with a passion of a thousand suns before kneeling down in front of her stomach kissing it.

“Hi baby I’m your Daddy, you’re Mommy and I are going to love you till the end of the universe,”  he was the happiest man alive he loved her and he loved this child they had created together. 

She watched as he felt her stomach and talking to the baby she knew that he or she could not hear Mulder but she wasn’t about to ruin this moment.  

“Mulder we need to get going or they are going to send out a search party.”

“I love you Scully.”

“I love you too Mulder, always.”

He stood up and smiled taking her small hand inside his large one and interlocking their fingers he lead her outside the bedroom and down the stairs and towards the main building. It took no more than five minutes for them to arrive at the main building the sky was dark and the stars shone brightly above them and everything had changed for the better. The party was in full swing as they arrived. The disco lights were shining from corner to corner, highlighting the walls with decorations, balloons, cobwebs and fake spiders. A smoke machine was making everything foggy it would truly be a Halloween party to remember. 

“Mulder. Scully Nice to see you”

“Wow, Frohike the Ghostbusters really?” Scully said laughing.  

“Yeah, the plasma guns even shoot real plasma.”

“I really don’t want to know,” she smiled. 

“Hey, my man what's got you so happy?”

“Nothing just brilliant surprises that’s all.”

“If you say so,” he muttered but soon picked up again “Right, you two no sex in the bathroom this time because  I  am not cleaning it up.” They both turned bright red in remembrance of that night. “Anyway enjoy that night you know where the alcohol and food so help yourselves.”

Mulder leads Scully towards the punch bowl as promised there weren't many people at the party and knowing the Lone Gunman the way he did he told Scully to stay away from the punch as it was packed full of alcohol to get everyone blitzed. He grabbed a cup full of juice and grabbed himself a beer finding a small table to sit and talk about the last hour. 

Lucky the music was on low and they could hear themselves.

“Thank you for not telling the Lone Gunman.”

“My pleasure I took the initiative that you wanted to tell you, mom, first ”

“Yes I do, but you’re the first person I told.”

“You’re my everything Scully always,” he put his hand inside her’s and they smiled at each other truly happy in the moment. 

They spent the next couple of hours just enjoying the company around them as well as spending time with each other. His hand kept returning to her stomach and he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. They both joined in with the classic party song and even joined in on the Time Warp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. and seeing Mulder sing the song over ecstatically made Scully laugh so hard, everyone stared at him but she knew he was only singing for her. 

They were now slow dancing in each other's arms her head was on his chest listening to the lull of his heartbeat.

“We should get going before it starts back up.”

“What do you mean?  Everything is winding down.”

“Trust me, Scully, it doesn't stay that way for long.

She did trust him with her life and her heart and she linked her arm inside his and headed home for the night but managed to grab a few pieces of chocolate cake before exiting the door. He looked at her suspiciously and she smirked mischievously.  

Several hours later Mulder was sitting staring out of the window into the open ocean as waves hitting the sand silently. The small grains of sand being washed away swirling, turning, floating into open waters. The moon cascading its white glow of the ocean's surface. His mind was in a whirlwind of emotions, Scully had told him they were having a baby. That she got pregnant, that he had got her pregnant. Their love had blossomed, this was a miracle and he was ecstatic, he had wanted a family since the last time they were in the quaint house. He didn’t mine a boy or a girl he just wanted it healthy. Though if he thought about it he could imagine a little girl with Scully’s hair and freckles but with his eyes and her nose.. Or a little boy with his hair and blue eyes with small freckles he smiled at the thought. 

He turned away from the view and he wanted to keep up the tradition of reading a story or two a night and maybe reading will help settle his mind and let him fall asleep. He crept into the room and watched as Scully's body rose and fell with her deep breathes. She had fallen asleep virtually as soon as she got through the door. He crept in the room grabbing the book from the bedside table before exiting and creeping back down the stairs grabbing a blanket along the way. He got comfortable on the sofa and began to read out loud. 

“In a conversation with Mrs. Peggy Balley at the bus station in Williamston, my first book ‘Historical and Traditional Tar Heel Stories’ was mentioned. Legends are among my favourites, Mrs. Bailey said that her mother, Mrs. John Mobley, who lives on  Prison Camp Road, might give me some stories. I got in touch with Mrs. Mobley, and the following story was the result.” he was very intrigued and carried on reading. 

“On one occasion Mr. and Mrs. Mobley visited his mother, Mrs Jane Bowen, who lived near Bear Grass, During the night they were awakened by a noise in the yard. Mr.  Mobley went to the door and called out ‘What’s going on out there?’ The noise stopped for a few minutes and they returned to bed Mr. and Mrs. Mobley were not satisfied, so they went back into the yard and listened closely. This time they heard a baby crying. They followed the cries, which led them to her sisters home a short distance away.”

“Upon reaching her sisters home, they called her. She came to the door and Mr. and Mrs. Mobley told her about the babies cries. She went into the yard with them and they all listened carefully, hearing the baby crying again. They searched all around the house and the area near by, while the cries grew more faint the finally faded away. The mysterious phenomena were never solved. however, a short time after this Mrs. Mobley’s brother dies. Prior to his death, his baby girl had died. The family often thought that this peculiar occurrence, in some strange way, was concerned with the babies cries and the father’s death they wondered if, by some coincidence, the baby was crying for her father to meet her in heaven. After all, he died soon afterwards.” his eyes grew heavy and everything went black.

[writingismyhappytime]

Crime and Punishment (Part 1)

Chris Cerulli x Reader

Warning: language, vampires, witches, Magic.

A/N: hi guys! Here's something new I hope you like, it's going to be a little different from the recent fics I've been posting. Let me know what you think!

Description: Vampire King Cerulli and you, the witch coven leader, have to team up to take down something attacking both of your people in the city you coexist in. You don't exactly get along, but with the help of his trainee vampire Vinny, and your ghost Claudette, you're sure you can work together long enough to figure it out, or die trying.

You hate waiting, especially in lobbies with the fluorescent lights and elevator music. It's been a long enough day as is, and now you've been drug to the museum over some nonsense you're sure.

You cut your eyes at the vampire standing a few feet from you, a bored expression on his face as he typed on his phone. He looks more like a businessman than the king of the undead, black coat with the collar flipped, tie the color of blood.

"You look nice today," you say after a moment, your voice full of sarcasm. "Drink enough virgins dry? You have a little color in your cheeks."

Cerulli glances at you. "I can see the sacrifice of children has done nothing for your personality."

You snort, crossing your arms as you stand beside him.

You're a witch, a snooty, brazen one at that. You lead the strongest coven that has ever graced the world, and therefore, you're sort of the wiccan leader. Your kind looks up to you for advice and leadership, which you've always been rather reluctant to give; you didn't exactly want to be the boss, but it sort of happened.

Cerulli is the vampire king; tall, dark, and handsome, he looks like he stepped right out of a Dracula movie.

You're not sure how old he is, you've never asked, but his mannerisms remind you of someone from the eighteen hundreds. You know he only became the king after his creator died, passing the unfortunate title off to him. He's always so cold, unreachable, it's like you're talking to a brick wall most times.

But then there are other moments when those hazel eyes of his seem so soft, so... human.

But he's about as human as a bear is.

"So, to what do I owe the misfortune of being in your presence?" You say after a moment, glancing over at him beneath black lashes. You don't dress like a typical witch leader, Cerulli will give you that. Your hair is long and loose, you wear many bracelets, but you don't wear flowing skirts or walk around burning sage; he's seen you most often in combat boots and clothing fit more for a rock concert. How you've been successfully leading anyone for the past thirty years is beyond him, but somehow you seem to make it work.

He knew your mother, Clarissa, and he respected her. She built the coven you now rule from nothing, finding stray witches and building bonds with them. She was a people person, full of laughter and sunshine, where you're like a beam of darkness bouncing off the walls. No one knows who your father is, not even you do he supposes, and Cerulli thinks the poor man probably got off easy escaping while he had the chance.

"Charles called a meeting for us, obviously." Cerulli responds, checking his silver cuff links. His black hair is slicked back, revealing the unnatural paleness of his skin, only made more obvious by the ink coursing it. He's always dressed so sophisticated, you look out of place standing beside him in his immaculate suit and tie, spikes jutting out the many piercings in his ears.

You wonder what he was like as a human.

"Charles never calls us in together, though. What do you think is happening?" You respect Cerulli, he's smart and conniving --- the only disappointment in your mind is that he's the stereotypical brooding, dark vampire and has absolutely no personality! He could like kittens, or enjoy knitting, or something interesting! Instead, you're fairly certain he lives in a cave with bats hanging from the ceiling, skulls and other bones skittered about and maybe a harem of enthralled groupies in chains for aesthetic.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here," he responds coolly, arching one black brow down at you. Doesn't help the bastard is so tall, he towers over everyone. You don't like him glowering down at you all the time, but even in the most tolerable heels you can't reach his height.

"Right. Because you have so much to be doing right now." You scoff, tapping your nails impatiently; it's so easy to insult him. "Got fresh meat waiting for you back home?"

He rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable."

"Thanks, do my best."

"Chris! (Y/N)! Wonderful the two of you could make it!"

You and Cerulli look over, spotting the smaller man standing in the doorway opposite of where you bicker. He's only about four feet tall, with wide rimmed black glasses and a beaming white smile. His hair is thinning in the middle, gray mixing in with the white, and you can practically smell the stress rolling off of him despite his misleading smile.

"We didn't have much of a choice, you summoned us." You say after a moment, straightening. You know you and Cerulli are standing rather close, and despite the fact you tease and torture him, you don't dislike him entirely. You trust him if it comes down to it, against yours and everyone else's better judgment.

You're sure he can hold his own, he's lived as long as he has for a reason.

"Oh, (Y/N), I know you wouldn't have come if you didn't want too," Charles sighs, and turns, walking back into his office, leaving the door open in invitation. You and Cerulli exchange a look before following him, the heavy double doors shutting behind you by themselves.

You glance around the small office, noticing the files piling up on the oak desk, how the bookshelves in the corner are in disarray. There's a potted plant turned over, some papers still in the floor on the red rug that has... scorch marks?

"It smells of magic in here," Cerulli says after a moment, his nose curling at the acrid scent. He raises a hand to his mouth against the hideous smell. "What's happened?"

"We were robbed last night," Charles answers, pressing stubby fingers against his suit jacket. He adjusts his glasses before he goes to his chair, sitting down rather heavily and disappearing from sight. You give it a moment before the chair slowly rises, making it possible for him to sit at a normal height and see the two of you. "Someone broke into the museum."

"What could you guys possibly have in this place someone would want?" You ask skeptically, your skin prickling. What would someone want with dusty old artifacts? Everything in the museum is from the humans, nothing magical --- anything with any sort of magic tie is immediately turned over to the community it belonged too, whether it be witch, vampire, or etc. The museum is more like a tomb, full of artifacts from long lost civilizations. Charles runs it, and typically during the day, it's open to the public and bustling with humans. You don't visit often, you don't see a point in revisiting the boring past, and Charles rarely asks you too.

This must be extreme circumstances.

You're sure Cerulli must love walking down memory lane when the dinosaurs roamed and virgins were sacrificed in flames.

"I'll have you know, this museum is very interesting!" The shorter man huffs indignantly at your comment, displeased; must you always toss on his career? "We are keeping history alive here, reminding everyone of where they came from! You might find no use in it, but others disagree!"

"Charles, what has been taken?" Cerulli asks, irritated; is it possible for anyone to stay on task? He has important matters that are being postponed due to this meeting, he doesn't have time for it to take much longer! He wants to know what was taken and how it pertains to him. Listening to you agg on the short man will only lead the conversation to hell!

"Well," Charles fidgets slightly in his chair, causing the metal to creak as it rocks back and forth. "As you both know, we were housing a very special artifact from the medieval era."

How are you supposed to know that? "Okay, and?"

"This artifact was made by Aradia."

You straighten immediately at the familiar name. Aradia, the original witch from Tuscany, is basically looked as the "mother" of all witches for lack of a better term. Most think she's just a myth, but you're a descendant of her line, your family tree is so detailed it dates back to her... just nothing before her. It's as if everything started with her, that magic suddenly existed only once her presence became known to the world.

"You had something made by her and you didn't tell me?" You demand, staring at the smaller man incredulously. The hell? He's supposed to tell you when something comes in, that's the agreement! Why else would your coven still be offering funds to keep his stupid tomb of artifacts going? "Why would you keep this from me? She's ---."

"We were studying the artifact, it just arrived two days ago." The museum curator interrupts quickly before your rant can get started; he'll never get a word in edgewise if he let's you go too long. "We were still unsure of its connection, I didn't honestly believe it held any connection to her until it was taken, only suspicions!"

"Are you kidding me!? You should have told me the instant that thing arrived so I could have protected it! Anything made by Aradia is sacred, it's powerful and needs protection --- no wonder the blasted thing was stolen!" You fume; how could he not tell you? You're the leader of the witches, you're supposed to protect them and magic from any and all threats, and there was an artifact who belonged to the mother of all witches in town and you didn't even know!

"What, exactly, is the artifact you keep speaking of?" Cerulli asks after a moment of silence. He's heard the name Aradia before, but it holds no significance to him. He doesn't care of its origin, only its supposed worth. He checks his watch. "And what does it do?"

"It's a goblet, made of immaculate wood. We think it's dated back to the original times, and the condition," the curator starts, only to stop at the two very unimpressed expressions he receives. He sighs, then continues. "It was excavated out of an old abandoned site in Tuscany, where the supposed goddess lived."

"She wasn't supposed," you snap, your hands going to your hips; everyone always wants to speculate if she was real or not, when obviously, she existed. She wouldn't be written as so and hailed in so many oral stories if she didn't have some origin. "She's as real as you and I!"

"I never said she wasn't real, obviously she was." Charles says calmly, the light glinting off his glasses as he adjusts them nervously. "Not much is known about Aradia except she taught witchcraft."

"She was a goddess, the mother of all witches. Without her, I'm not sure that any of us would know about magic," you respond, frowning. "Why were you excavating a site in Tuscany, anyway?"

"We were just doing some digging, you know how it is. Harmless, really, just searching for any treasures that may have been overlooked by the human eye." Charles quickly brushes off the question, which immediately annoys you. "We found the goblet buried deep within the earth."

"How do you know it was hers?"

"You can feel the magic on it, even now. It makes the skin prickle, which means it holds some sort of significance."

"Maybe. Doesn't necessarily mean that she made it, now does it?" You're skeptical. "There's been many powerful beings throughout the ages. Besides, Aradia was poor, she ---."

"Are you really arguing with me about this? I know it's an artifact, it came from a very popular place she used to visit. Can you just take my word for once?" Charles interrupts, looking annoyed. "Point is, it's been stolen, and was the only thing as well. They tore up my office until they found the file on it, got it out of the wards, and disappeared with it!"

"Well, see if you'd told me about it, I could have put up stronger wards," you grouch, not about to be deterred. "Being robbed is your own damned fault, and I hope you haven't doomed all of us because of it! Really, Charles ---."

"Don't patronize me, I was going to tell you eventually! I just wanted to be sure!"

"Eventually isn't good enough!"

Cerulli groans out loud, leaning back on his heels as he casts his eyes to the heavens.

"Enough of this bickering!" He snaps, interrupting the two of you mid-hiss. He glares at you before turning his black gaze on the curator. "Why does this pertain to me in any damned way?"

"Oh, well, we're pretty sure it was a vampire who took it." Charles shrugs, as if the words aren't going to completely upset the man standing in front of him. He actually summoned you both at once so he wouldn't have to face you separately, at least the presence of the other is sort of a damper.

Cerulli's expression darkens. "You think it was one of mine?"

"Well, not necessarily yours," Charles fidgets uncomfortably; this is the part he was dreading. Cerulli rules his roost with an iron fist, and anyone who crosses him doesn't have a happy fate. He's not known for his mercy or his kindness, and Charles isn't necessarily saying that it was one of his vampires that stole the goblet, just... "Just... a vampire."

"And you've proof of this?" It's quite brazen to accuse a vampire of such theft, especially in the king's district.

"Whoever stole the goblet may have been quick, but they obviously didn't think about the security cameras." Charles turns, and he opens the drawer of his desk, lifting out a remote and clicking one of the buttons. You turn, eyes flicking to the wall where a painting slowly rises, revealing a TV hidden behind it.

Fancy.

The screen is in color, and you can see the warehouse where the artifacts are stored. The lights are still on, as they always are, crates and other large boxes dotting the concrete ground, a light flickering in one corner as it goes out. There's some statues covered in white sheets, which you find creepy, and some empty glass cases.

You don't immediately notice anything, and you wait impatiently, wondering when the thief is going to strike.

"You see, it was around midnight when he took the goblet, right out of that crate. I had wards all throughout that warehouse, there's no way he could have gotten through unless he was thoroughly educated in their removal. Even then." Charles sighs as he takes his glasses off, rubbing his tired eyes.

You purse your lips.

Did you miss something?

"I can see why you would think it was one of my kind, but I can assure you, none of my brood would be so foolish as to touch an object such as that. Should it not be cursed, it would be of no use to us." Cerulli scowls, displeased; he saw the vampire moving across the screen, much too fast for the regular eye. To any mortal watching, it would have just seemed like the lid of the crate moved an inch, nothing more. "However, I know of no rogue vampires in the city either."

"So it seems we have a mystery on our hands then," Charles sighs, nudging his glasses back up his thin nose. "A witch object, stolen by a vampire. You two must understand why I wanted you directly to be here, not one of your advisers."

You didn't even see anything get stolen!

Shit, maybe you should invest in some glasses. You glance back at the screen unhappily, but you know there's no way you'll see what they did. Vampires move so quickly, it's hard for your kind to even see them, unfortunately.

"I wish you'd told me of this sooner," you finally say, your voice completely serious this time. You're troubled over this. "I wish I had known."

"I know, and I apologize. I meant no disrespect, I was just unsure if it held any magical qualities that would be of any interest." Charles says as sincerely as he can muster; he'd been worried, admittedly, about the consequences of this conversation. He knew it could go one of several different ways, most of them ending with his head on a plate or turned into a tree, which seems to be your fondest type of torture.

Where Cerulli is known for his merciless kills, you... rather like to be creative with them.

What a pair of leaders you two make.

You run your ringed fingers through your hair with a sigh.

"Alright, so take me to the warehouse, I need see what I can find out. If he broke the wards, there's going to be some sort of trace of it." Honestly, vampires are not handy with magic, so you figure he didn't do the job alone. There had to be someone else who broke the wards, meaning another witch, meaning one of yours. You're sure Cerulli has already made the connection, although he would never mention anything to you; well, he avoids talking to you if he can, so anything he finds out, he's not going to share no matter how significant.

You doubt this is going to go well.

~~~~~~~~

Cerulli is silent as he watches you pace around the box where the goblet was stolen. He'd decided to accompany you to the warehouse, leaving Charles back in his office. He stands completely still, watching you just out of the circle of light zeroed in on the crate. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he's just... waiting.

Your face is serious for once as you pace, and he can tell you're doing something. Your fingers are trailing above the box, never quite touching it, light glinting off your painted nails. Your brows are creased in concentration, and your lips are moving wordlessly.

He can feel your magic, it makes his skin prickle and burn, and he much dislikes the scent of it. He can smell it all throughout the warehouse, it makes his nose feel numb it's so strong here. He knows he shouldn't linger, he has a very important meeting in an hour, but curiosity has gotten the best of him.

"Alright, so every single ward on this warehouse is gone," you say after a moment, your fingers finally going still. "Whoever was with the vampire made sure he wouldn't trigger a single one to alert anyone to his theft."

Ah, so you've caught on that there must have been an accomplice, good for you.

"So a witch then," Cerulli says after a moment, seeing your nose curl. He says it quite point blank, but not with any judgment.

"Possibly." You allow, disliking the thought of one of your own being so deceitful. "It's the only explanation for the way the wards were broken. It's darker magic that did this, anyway."

"Why do you say so?"

"Well, these wards," you gesture vaguely, glancing suspiciously at the sheets covering the statues; you have this phobia of them moving beneath them, that really there's someone standing there and you just don't know it. They're suspicious and you've seen your fair share of horror movies. Being a witch won't stop someone from shanking you, after all. "They're powerful, Charles doesn't mess around. Whoever did this knew where they all were and were very meticulous in canceling out every single one. But there's no way they could have known where they all were unless they've been scouting the place a week, but..."

But Charles said he's only had the artifact two days, which doesn't make sense. So either Charles lied to you, or... well, he probably just lied to you to cover his own ass, which only pisses you off more.

There's no telling what he just let happen.

If the object does belong to your ancestor and used in any ritual, it's sacred, and it has the residue of her power. The mother of all witches has been dead since the 1300's, and you'd prefer she stayed that way; the only reason someone would want a possession of hers is to either resurrect her for worship, resurrect her and steal her power, or something just as bad!.

You chew your lip worriedly; this is... a really bad situation.

"I'll inquire around my brood," Cerulli says after a moment, reluctantly gliding forward after a moment. He comes to a stop beside you, sniffing slightly; he can smell the vampire that was here, but he doesn't know the scent as one of his. "Find out if there's a stray in my area."

"Alright." You rub the back of your neck, grimacing. "I'll check around too."

Cerulli inclines his head. He doesn't honestly intend to keep in touch with you, there's no point. Any information he finds he will relay to Charles directly, or at least, that's what he would typically do. However...

"I find it strange that they were able to cancel out every ward," he comments after a moment, leaning back on his heels. "Don't you?"

You send him a look. "Obviously."

His lips twitch. Perhaps you're not as dim as you act, if you've already caught on that this was an inside job. He just can't understand why Charles would bring the two of you into the fold and go through so much trouble; obviously he could have kept the artifact hidden and neither of you would have ever known.

Interesting.

"Well, I must be going," Cerulli glances at the silver and black watch on his wrist for probably the hundredth time. "I have appointments to keep."

"Guess you can't leave those virgins waiting, huh?" You say thoughtlessly, seeing his eye twitch just the slightest; okay, so you don't mean to be snotty towards him all the time, sometimes it just comes out. You pick at him, you try to rile him up so he can have some personality! He doesn't need to be so stoic and stereotypical all the time.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," He mutters, turning on his heel sharply. You sigh as he stalks off, heading for the open bay doors where his town car sits, lights on and the engine rumbling. Of course he has a driver, waiting for him behind the wheel.

Cerulli glances back at you as he gets into the car, opening his own door instead of waiting for someone else to do it like you expect.

You're not looking at him anymore, you're gazing down into the crate where the goblet once was, lost in your own thoughts.

Sometimes, he feels bad for you, thinking about your life. Only daughter of renowned Clarissa, a descendant of the mother of witches, you never stood a chance at being average. He wasn't surprised when you took over the leadership of the coven, just pleasantly amused when you actually did well and keep everyone in line.

Discipline is never easy but always needed.

Still, there's something about you --- you're more than you appear to be.

Perhaps he will keep in touch after all.

Perhaps.

~~~~~~~~ "My lady, I do not think this is wise," the ghost worries, wringing her hands as she follows you back and forth across the room. You're gathering your clothes together, shoving them in an overnight bag. You have intentions of paying a visit to an old friend, one whose magic you easily recognized from the scene of last nights crime. You'd kept the information to yourself, you didn't want Cerulli knowing about it.

"You never think anything is wise, Claudette," you grumble, zipping your bag. Claudette is the ghost of a housemaid, who died at an unfortunately young age and has haunted the house for as long as you remember. When times are peaceful, she's transparent, but the ghost can almost pass for human when she tries. She was your nanny when you were young, keeping you out of trouble while your mother ran the coven and the front of a bookstore.

"I am cautious and concerned of your well being is all," the ghost reminds, clasping her hands in front of her. She wears a dress from the 1800's, with a high black collar and long sleeves, a white apron over her clothing. Her dark hair is wound up into a tight bun at her head, and her eyes were once a pretty green. You're fond of her, one of the reasons you've not vanquished her or sent her soul on to the afterlife when you're perfectly capable of doing so.

Your house was once the home to a wealthy gentleman, complete with chandeliers and gas lamps that are pure decoration now. Claudette may keep it spotless, but you can't imagine she enjoys being in the home that she died in, especially since her late employer stabbed her to death with a fire poker in the upstairs study and shoved her out a window; lots of laudanum will make you go a bit bonkers.

"I know, and I appreciate it. I really don't know what I would do without you," you say, giving her a genuine smile as you slip your bag over your shoulder. "I'm just going overnight, I won't be gone long, so don't worry. Just keep the house safe and I'll be back before you know it."

Claudette frowns. "What if you are gone longer and some of the witches notice? You know one of them will fight for your position!"

"You act as if I'm going to the Bermuda Triangle." You shake your head. "I'm just going out of town like four hours drive, tops. I just need to check on Lydia."

"Lydia is a troublemaker, my lady. Tis why your mother banished her," Claudette warns. "She's not one to be trifled with."

"I know." You remember Lydia from when you were young. Her and your mother were close when you were a child, but then she just suddenly disappeared. It was only later when you realized she had been banished. Your mother never worried about just having one type of witch in her coven, she didn't discriminate between light or dark, and somehow the mixture has always worked. Lydia just couldn't get along with the other witches, and would use her powers to torment them instead of playing by the rules.

You understand why she was banished, although she obviously didn't go far from the city. You could have picked out her magic anywhere, it was so unique. She's the one who deactivated all of the wards meticulously, that much is clear to you.

Just not why.

Is she after a relic of Aradia, hoping it will give her a power boost? Does she intend to put it on the black market?

Why is she involving herself with vampires after she spoke against them for so many years?

That's what you're going to find out.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Should anyone ask, tell them I had to make a trip and they can always reach me." It's like Claudette ignores the existence of cell phones. "Alright?"

"Yes," Claudette says reluctantly, following you out of your bedroom and towards the front of the manor. "Although I still do not believe it wise. Those who are banished should not be brought back into the fold."

"I'm not bringing her back in, I'm just going to visit," you respond; you're not an idiot. You haven't been leading the coven for thirty years just on luck.

You turn just as you reach the front doors, looking at your friendly ghost.

"You're going to be alright for a night, aren't you? No more staring forlornly out the attic window and causing more rumors?" you say lightly; everyone believes the place haunted, and they're not wrong, it's the entire reason your mother decided to move in. What better place to live then somewhere no one wants to visit?

Claudette looks miffed. "That was a hard time, I was trying to come to terms with my situation! You try being dead and trapped in the same house forever!"

"I grew up here, I know it can be a prison." you shrug, shifting the weight of the bag on your shoulder. "Just keep it safe for me while I'm gone."

"As you wish," Claudette bobs her head. "Just be safe, and protect your amulet."

Your hand rises automatically. The gold amulet you wear is always tucked beneath your clothing, out of mind, out of sight. It's the entire reason you're not aging, why you still look young and not in your fifties. It belonged to your mother, and kept her alive and youthful for a good hundred years before she was killed. Of course it went to you, and it keeps you going. Should you take it off, you would begin to age like normal again, but you'd rather not. You're not ready to give up on life just yet.

You're sure others know about the amulet, but it's not something that's to be brought up in casual conversation. You don't mention it, and so no one else does. Not even the vampires question why you stay so young and leading your coven whereas the members themselves age and die off.

Circle of life, unfortunately.

Ah, well.

You'd better go witch hunting.

~~~~~~~~

"Allen, you say?" Cerulli says the name, disliking the taste of it. He stands at his study window, overlooking the fountain in the center of his garden. His hands are tucked carefully into his suit pockets, eyes thoughtful. "He's the stray?"

"He's not entered the city that we know of, sire. He's always stayed on the outskirts, so we took no worry of him," Vinny says hesitantly, unsure of his king's response. He's new to the position of the messenger to the king, as the last one died rather abruptly when he forgot to inform the King of some crucial news.

"Well, it seems he has entered the city under our watch, which is rather unfortunate." Cerulli mutters, glancing over his shoulder.

Vinny flinches.

Cerulli is in his office, where he conducts all of his business. The window he stands at leads out to a small balcony, the black curtains drawn back to allow the moonlight inside the room. Thick carpet covers the floor, wooden bookshelves lining every wall covered in tomes and manuscripts of old. Strange, unorthodox skeletons in little glass cases dot every other surface, and a large globe of the world stands as decoration at the far side of the room. A red velvet sofa sits against the wall below a painting of Cerulli in his youth, as a human, and before his large curving desk sits two more antique chairs.

The room fits him entirely, and Vinny always feels out of place when he has to come inside.

"Where has he been lurking? What is the residence?" Cerulli asks, his voice sharp. He's impatient to know what's going on and how it's connected to the witches, he certainly doesn't want any trouble. It's hard enough keeping a pack of vampires peaceful and not ripping out the throats of humans every time they lose their temper --- cleaning up the mess is such a hassle. He certainly doesn't want a war with your kind, you more specifically.

You're both leaders, of course of completely different kingdoms, but uneasy allies just the same. He has to admit, he's used to you leading the witches at this point and can't imagine a new monarch, he doesn't like change. He wants this situation to go away quickly and quietly.

"Some house out near the swampland, I can get the address."

"Who lives at this house?"

"Lydia St. Thames, I think."

"Is she human?"

"Witch, but banished." Vinny only learned all of this a few minutes ago, and he quells before Cerulli's withering look.

"One of our kind has been fraternizing with a witch and I was not told of it?" He hisses, turning abruptly to leave the moon at his back. He glares at the quivering vampire a few feet away from him. "How incompetent are you fools!?"

"We, we were unaware of her status! Our scouts didn't feel the information pertinent as the vampire was just supposed to be passing through!" Vinny gasps, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "I'm sorry, my king ---."

"Excuses! Have the scouts brought in immediately and questioned of all their knowledge on the witch and the vampire! I want to know everything about them by the time I return!"

"Return?" the messenger squawks in surprise, watching as the King strides towards the door.

"Yes. I'm leaving. Don't disappoint me." Cerulli growls, his black eyes brushing over the other vampire and making him feel very, very small.

"Yes, sir." Vinny wouldn't dare.

Vinny lets his breath go the moment the king leaves the room, pressing his hands against his knees as he tries not to panic. How he got stuck with this job, he'll never understand, he's new anyway! Only around a decade old, and he only transferred here because his maker was disappointed that he didn't quite turn out as planned, that he wasn't vicious and wanting to rip the throats out of virgins or steal candy from babies.

He literally got kicked out of the nest, and Cerulli took him as a favor, he knows that. The king hasn't been terrible to him, he's actually a decent guy, but yeesh, can he be terrifying! It's those black eyes, the barely controlled rage that sometimes pushes at the precarious hold Cerulli has against it.

Vinny isn't sure why the king is always so on edge and ready for a fight, but he has more self-control than the young vampire has ever seen in anyone. The king always just breezes through, pretending he's calm and calculated, amused at certain situations and not at all affected, but Vinny's been around him long enough to know that's not the case.

The king is ruthless, and the fact he actually let his anger show makes Vinny even more concerned about what might be happening.

What's so important about a banished witch, anyway?

Is she going to herald the end of their world as they know it?

Vinny sighs, and runs his hands through his brown, frizzy hair, trying to smooth it out of his face. He better do as the king said, bring all those scouts in for questioning. Pity the poor vampires who didn't relay the important information the king wanted. At least he's not one of them.

He never wants to be on the receiving end of the king's wrath.

[atundratoadstool]

A Brief Guide to Early Literary Dracula AUs

One of the coolest things about being a Dracula fan in the 2010s is all the recent publication of materials shedding light on all of the really bonkers alternate Draculas that either nearly became Dracula itself or spun off from the original 1897 text. So yeah... here’s a rundown of the three weird psuedo-canonical AUs that this fin de siecle vampire novel just sort of... comes with.

Stoker's Notes/Typescript/"Dracula's Guest"

Bram's notes for Dracula indicate that he worked on the novel for at least seven years, that it went through many substantial changes in its plot and cast, and that he had a lot of completely metal ideas that either fate, his editors, or his slender grip on good taste did not permit to appear in the final novel. Some of these things appear in fragmentary form in the typescript for Dracula. Some of them got recycled into a short story later published as "Dracula's Guest." Some of them only appear scrawled in Stoker's atrocious handwriting on the various papers collected at the Rosenbach in Philadelphia.

Highlights:

Things initially were going to take place in Styria and the villain's name was going to be Count Wampyr.

Arthur doesn't exist and Jack/Lucy is canon.

Jonathan Harker has a "shrewd, skeptical sister."

There's a third heroine named Kate Reed (or Kate Lee) who is school chums with Lucy and Mina and apparently helps to spread the flow of gossip about Lucy and her curly-hair beau going to St. James concerts.

There's a painter named Francis who probably discovers that the Count (in addition to having no reflection and showing up as a skeleton in photographs) cannot even be painted.

Other unused characters include a philosophic historian, a paranormal investigator, and a pair of deaf/mute servants in the Count's employ.

The Count has a secret chamber where everything is blood red, and it's apparently really scary.

Quincey might be a professional inventor named Brutus Marix. He also might go to Transylvania in the middle of the book. Also, he just might SAVE THE DAY DURING THE FINAL BATTLE BY OPENING FIRE WITH AN EARLY FORERUNNER TO THE MACHINE GUN.

There appear to have been werewolves planned.

Jack has a spooky party at his house where everyone has to tell a ghost story like they're living it up at the Villa Diodati. Dracula shows up and is the thirteenth guest at this super goth affair and presumably tells the spookiest story of all.

Jonathan spends three chapters/100 pages doing all sorts of crazy stuff that happens before what we now think of a Chapter 1 of Dracula. These shenanigans include encountering the Count pretending to be dead in a Munich leichenhaus, going to see a performance of The Flying Dutchman, and doing all that incredibly spooky stuff in "Dracula's Guest" where he has adventures with wolf friends on Walpurgisnacht.

Castle Dracula sinks into the earth in a VOLCANIC EXPLOSION after Dracula dies.

There is also mention of Dracula FLYING out of his coffin into the air during the final confrontation and the Brides getting taken out by chance BOLTS OF LIGHTNING. 

Seriously. We have legitimate evidence that were we but in the true and righteous timeline, Dracula would have ended with lightning bolts and machine guns going off in an aerial vampire battle before a volcano explodes.

Makt Myrkranna (AKA Powers of Darkness AKA Icelandic Bootleg Porno Dracula)

So a few years after Dracula was published, it appears that somebody in Sweden ripped it off, made it much much more Hammer Horror, and published it as their own thing called Mörkrets Makter (Powers of Darkness). Then, after that, Valdimar Ásmundsson in Iceland ripped that off and republished it as his own thing called Makt Myrkranna (...also Powers of Darkness). This latter work just got translated into English in 2017, and there's been intense speculation as to whether or not whomever originally wrote this thing had anything to do with Bram Stoker and his early drafts for the novel, given that it is headed by a preface that is controversially claimed to have been written by Bram, himself. 

Highlights:

The first four chapters of the book (the ones everyone tends to really like) are now massively massively expanded, and Jonathan Harker (now named Thomas) gets to spend much more time exploring the castle, trying to escape, having the Count tell him creepy sexual anecdotes, and watching busty women get murdered.

The three women in the castle have been condensed into one woman, who seems to be the Count's vampiric, incesty bride/cousin/whatever and whose death involved her being locked in a bedroom with her lover until he went mad and threw himself out a window.

Instead of finding a secret room of boxes with dirt in them, Jonathan Thomas finds a secret ritual orgymurder room where primordial ape men engage in forbidden revels while the Count bites hypnotized virgins to death.

Everything that is not in the massively expanded castle section is barely sketched out summaries of lots and lots of wacky things happening with no real explanation (apparently these portions were treated with more detail in at least one version of Mörkrets Makter, but that's not available in English yet).

Lucy (now Lucia) becomes a vampire, but she is never staked, and her plot is never really resolved. Arthur, convinced she is alive after people watch her get back up from being dead, orders that people leave out some blankets and snacks for her (very considerate), and then that thread just sort of ends.

Renfield doesn't exist. Jack sort of makes up for this gap in the novel's tragically dead madmen quota by going mad and dying himself.

Said going mad and dying is facilitated by him attending one two many freaky mesmerism parties at Carfax with the Count's posse of debauched, anarchist, international conspirator, orgymurder cultist noblemen. 

Then like... a mysterious violinist shows up at his asylum and the next thing you know, the Count & Co. have taken over the joint, Quincey has to pretend to go crazy to infiltrate, and the entire place burns down. 

There is actually some sort of police investigation into all of the many many many illegal things going on. After Van Helsing knifes Dracula to death, Quincey takes the fall for him, but the investigators don't end up taking him to trial.

Kazıklı Voyvoda (AKA Impaling Voivode AKA Dracula in Istanbul AKA Turkish Nationalist Propaganda Bootleg Dracula)

Taking a cue from Ásmundsson and whomever the Mörkrets Makter guy is (or not...), Turkish author Ali Rıza Seyfi wrote his own pirated version of Dracula and published it as his own work in 1928. Unlike the Makt Mykrannaverse, the world of Kazıklı Voyvoda is fairly faithful to the original text... save that the action is transposed from London to Istanbul, the events of the story now postdates the Turkish War of Independence, and the entire cast (Dracula excepted) is now very Turkish and very fond of waxing eloquent about their immense national pride in being very Turkish.

Highlights:

Dracula is explicitly identified as being Vlad III, and he is a marauding terrible foreign menace from the exotic West, persecuting the good Eastern folk of Istanbul just as he historically persecuted and impaled their ancestors before them. Anyone who has ever read and enjoyed any academic essay on Dracula and the colonial gaze may begin to salivate uncontrollably.

Forty-seven years before Salem’s Lot, Seyfi establishes that pretty much any religious symbol works on a vampire if you believe in it, and everyone throughout the text waves around charms made out of suras of the Koran and such to great effect.

Azmi (Jonathan) gets the tiniest scraps of expanded backstory in which we learn about his childhood predisposition towards fainting and the existence of his pious mother who took him to saints’ shrines in the hopes he might faint less.

Güzin (Mina) is no longer one of Dracula’s victims (unlike in the 1953 film adaptation of this book). She is, however, still an incredibly hardcore researcher nerd who makes sure to tell her fiance all sorts of cool Vlad III history facts.

Turan (Arthur), Afif (Jack), and Özdemir (Quincey) all served together during the war and became bros that way instead of just being three guys who went on crazy globetrotting adventures together before all independently deciding to propose to the same girl. 

Resuhȋ (Van Helsing) makes sure to drop a line reminding everyone of that time they all did blood tests and found out their blood types are compatible... you know... just in case anybody in this post-blood-typing era might be doing a bunch of blood transfusions and worrying about fatal hemolytic reactions.

[skaikruswan]

Will our world come tumbling down - chapter 3

Summary:  „Holy shit.” Hank mutters and you share the sentiment. You thought that deviants were the real deal, but nothing could have prepared you for the view of Connor with red eyes, red LED and red blood-stained lips. “Fucking vampire androids.”

Pairing: Connor x female detective!reader

What to expect from this third chapter: Getting ready for the party, exploring the relationship between Connor and reader, some fluff. 

Important: Please go into the notes of this chapter and look for the first reblog. You’ll find the links to Ao3 and the previous chapters. Tumblr must really hate me. 

“Considering your rapid pace and your determined facial expression, I conclude that you have a plan?” Connor breaks the silence and you decide to turn around and face him. You didn’t really notice that you’re basically running through Detroit. Truth be told, you’re afraid, even terrified. You’ve been undercover, but never truly on your own. Yes, you have Connor, but not having backup frightens you. And yes, Connor is skilled, apt, he can be all the support you need, but still, there is so much that could go wrong. Besides, this is Cordelia Lorde and her fancy party. How can you survive an evening in the cut-throat glamour society of Detroit and also find deviants? Moreover, what if someone finds out about Connor, he’ll be deactivated, and you’ll never see him again?

“(Y/n).” Connor calling your name rips you back to reality. He’s come closer, and both of his hands are resting on your shoulders, his forehead puckered. “Based on your increased heart rate, the short breaths you’re taking and the trembling of your hands, I’ve determined that you’re having a panic attack.”

You can only stare at Connor and blink. Your confusion grows into petrified bafflement when you feel Connor’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m hugging you, all right? Hugs are the best way to give physical contact and comfort. It will help you. You need to calm down.” You can only nod. You shift your head, so it rests better on Connor’s chest. Although there is no heartbeat, you can hear a very faint buzzing and you like to believe that it comes from Connor’s Thirium pump. You put your arms around Connor and pull him closer. You close your eyes and just focus on the sensation of the hug; you already start to feel better. It’s not a bad hug per se; Connor’s grip around you feels a little mechanical, as if he doesn’t know whether he’s hugging too loose or too tight, but you don’t mind.

“Don’t let go.” The words escape your lips before you can do anything about it. Connor’s grip tightens around you and you take a deep breath. This moment should last forever, but you know it won’t. Besides, there’s work to do. So painfully slowly you unlink your arms, letting them fall to Connor’s side, and open your eyes again.

“Thank you so much, Connor.” You hope that these five words are enough to express the deep gratitude you feel right now. Like an anchor, Connor keeps you grounded, keeps you safe.

“You’re very welcome.” Connor murmurs softly and he lets go of you too. You know it’s sappy, but suddenly you feel colder without him. Truth be told, it has become colder in Detroit and you’re glad you’re wearing your warmest jacket.

You roll your shoulders and give yourself a mental shove. Your next mission is finding costumes for you and Connor. No point in looking at the small costume shops scattered across town. At best, you’ll find a costume you might even like, but can’t take, because it’s not fancy enough. At worst, you run into one of these dubious shops, aimed at people who like dressing up their androids. No, your destination is the biggest shopping mall in Detroit.

You feel immediately warmer as you step into the mall. You’ve come to know the mall like the back of your hand, strolling through the shops, enjoying a hot drink in the small coffee houses, or doing grocery shopping. Not today.

Your destination is Hills Fashion, the first clothes shop that pops into your head when you think about timeless, fashionable clothing. It used to be reserved for the upper side of Detroit. However, nowadays the wealthy middle-class can afford some pieces too. Several shop assistant androids roam the boutique, eager to give advice or fetch the right-sized piece of clothing. They are giving you polite smiles as you stride through the boutique. At the right end of the boutique, close to the evening gowns and the tuxedos, hang the Halloween costumes. The costumes look so authentic you don’t even know what to look at first.  

Connor will get a costume first, so you move towards the men’s section. The first costume immediately catches your eye. Perfect, you think, a smirk spreading on your face and you take it. You walk towards the dressing room, eager to see Connor trying it on.

“Please try it on. No talking back, trust me on this.” you say, preventing Connor from expressing his opinion. He does raise an eyebrow, but you press the costume into his hands and gently push him towards one of the cabins.

“I wonder what your perception of me in this costume will be.” Connor says after a short moment and pulls away the curtains.

Oh no, he’s very hot; it’s the only coherent thought your mind can come up with. You’ve always considered Connor handsome. Cyberlife has never held back when it comes to designing attractive androids, and Connor really is the prime example of how they accomplished to create good-looking machines. But Connor in the costume is something else. The black pants, although similar to those he usually wears, cling to his hips perfectly. He’s wearing a gray vest that fits him so well, you wish that Cyberlife had made him wear one from the start instead of his jacket. The black cape flows around him to his hips. On other men, it might have been over the top, but with Connor, it just completes the costume.

Your mouth wide open, you wish you could force your brain to work again, but all it does is processing the sight of Connor, dressed up as Dracula. Hot! Sexy! Perfect! – your brain is not doing much right now.

“You look really nice.” you finally manage to say, tilting your head so it seems as if you’re further analyzing him. Connor gives you a court nod, then looks around in the dress room, as if he’s checking something.

“(Y/n).” It’s the way he pronounces your name, in a cautious and hushed tone, that makes you immediately snap out of your bubble. “Given my current predicament, do you consider it wise for me to dress up as one of the most iconic vampires?” How casually he talks about the fact that he drank human blood – although it was only once – still continues to baffle you.

“My mother once told me that the best lies were the ones closest to the truth. So dressing up as a vampire is the best way to hide your current predicament.” you explain, and you can’t help but pronounce the two last words more than you needed to.

“Your reasoning does make sense.” Connor answers after a while, scratching his chin, another human tic he must have adopted. You watch as a muscle in his jaw tenses, he stands up straighter and an iron resolve washes over his features. You call this Connor in his mission-mode.

“Wait here. I’ve already spotted a costume for you.” Connor announces and before you can do or say anything, you watch Dracula leave you. It doesn’t take long for Connor to return, carrying a stunning pale blue dress in his arms.

“Try this on, please.” Connor requests and you look at the dress more closely. The cerulean, strapless corset is close-fitting, adorned on the sides with small pearls and moon stones. The A-line skirt reminds you of the sea, gradually changing from arctic blue to azure, ending below your knees. A tulle layer peaks out underneath the skirt to make it flare and the stones and pearls look like stars reflecting their light on the endless ocean.  

You take the dress to try it on, careful not to make the smallest tear. The silky skirt slithers over your skin and the corset fits like a glove. You look like a fairy as you twirl around, the skirt billowing around you.

A fairy, you ponder. A memory flashes before your eyes: you see yourself sitting in her lap as your grandmother tells you a fairy tale about Pinocchio, a puppet boy who wishes to become a real human boy for his father and gets his wish granted by a blue fairy. Your reflection stares back at you with a wistful expression on its face. What if the fairy also wishes for someone to become human? The thought has barely slipped through your mind before you reprimand yourself for it. Do not give into hope when there is none. You have to accept reality as it is.

“Voilà!” you shout happily as you jump out of the cabin into the dressing room. You feel Connor’s assessing gaze on you as you await his judgment, spinning around.

“The costume suits you and it will serve its purpose for the evening.” Connor states and you try to ignore the blow of irritation his words make you feel and school your face. His LED turns yellow and after watching him processing information, you could swear that Connor blushes, a slight blue shimmer on his cheeks. “This was not very socially adept of me. What I mean to add is, you look really nice too.”

A content giggle escapes your throat and you skip closer to Connor, looking at both of you in the reflection of the giant mirror hanging across the cabins.

“We look great.” you proudly announce. Your reflection beams back at you, with Connor’s corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

“I agree.” a woman announces, and you notice the third person inside the dressing room. Helena Mills cuts a striking figure, her auburn hair, free of any gray strands, are coiffed in an elegant bun. She’s wearing a green jumpsuit complimenting her slim figure, red hair and her fair complexion.

“Thanks Ma’am.” you answer politely. Helena is approaching, circling both of you. However, her interest seems to belong entirely to Connor, who she’s eyeing with interest. She’s almost ogling him, and you’re reminded of someone standing in front of the butcher, trying to find the best piece of meat. It unsettles you.

“How peculiar. I pride myself on being up-to-date with the latest android models, but I can’t figure out what model this is exactly. A new companion model?” It’s the way she says it that almost drives you over the edge: condescending yet self-reliant, believing she knows everything. You can’t do anything about it, you put yourself in front of Connor, ready to shield him from her.

“It’s fine if you don’t know this, but Connor is the newest prototype, an RK800 model investigating deviant cases. He’s not a companion model.” Your voice is sugar hiding the sweetest poison and you almost hiss the last sentence. You’ve inched closer, your back almost hitting Connor’s chest, but you don’t care. This woman has no right to stare at him this way.

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” Connor says his trademark sentence, but you notice that he’s saying it with a chilly undertone.

“My apologies. You two look close, you had me fooled.” Helena’s last words still ring in your ears after she’d left, and now you’re putting your clothes back on. Connor’s already waiting for you, dressed in his usual clothing, his jacket letting everyone know what he is; there would be no mistaking him now.

Before heading to the exit, you quickly check the accessories section and find what you need to make the costumes perfect: a silver wand for you and fake fangs for Connor. You choose not to look at the price as you pay at the exit, hoping that the department will refund at least a small part.

With Connor carrying the shopping bags, you wonder what to do next. You know that going back to the police station is out of the question. You can almost hear Hank bellowing at you to get out of here, to gather your strength for the evening. It’s still too early for lunch and you’re in no mood to take a stroll through the mall.

“Let’s go home, Connor.” you say and you secretly like how easy, how natural the little sentence rolls over your tongue. Connor doesn’t say anything but gives you a court nod and you curse Helena internally. Damn her and her comment about you and Connor being close. While your heart agrees, your mind knows that this has made Connor put some distance between himself and you. He’s walking two steps behind you and you know that unless you say something, he won’t converse either. His body language says enough: not only is he keeping his distance, he’s also leaning backwards, walking as straight as he can. He’s not turned towards you. Truth be told, it upsets you.

This is going to be a long day, you think as you enter your apartment. You walk into the living room and have no clue what to do. After putting down the bags, Connor stops in front of your little library, apparently picking up where he has stopped yesterday. You take your tablet to occupy your mind and your hands, switching between articles about Cordelia Lorde and videos of cute animals. Connor is reading Pride and Prejudice. Interesting choice of books, you think as a small smile spreads on your lips at the sight of Connor, completely immersed in Netherfield, his gaze glued to the pages, leaning forwards as if he wants to fall into the book.

After watching enough dogs in the snow, you decide to quit wasting time and do something. You catch up on your shows. You tidy up your bathroom. You rearrange your pillows. You clear out your wardrobe. Not in the mood for cooking, you just wolf down a few pieces of toast. You take out the trash. In fact, you do all the things you’ve postponed because you’ve never had the time to do them. A small voice inside of you hisses that the chores keep your mind and hands occupied, but you don’t mind it, as it is true. Better to clean than to have another panic attack.

You’re about to clean the living room when you notice that Connor is no longer sitting, but he has stood up. His arms are crossed, and he gives you a sharp glare.

“Stop.” he says firmly, almost ordering you and you raise your chin up. “You’ll only tire yourself out. I advise you to rest before the evening party. I gather that such events can take long, so you should be as rested as possible.”

“God, I hate it when you’re right!” Secretly, you’ve had this thought more than once after meeting Connor, but this time you actually voice it. You turn around and storm off into your bedroom. You regret your sudden outburst the moment you close the door. Connor only meant well. Yet your hand hovers over the doorknob. Maybe it’s best to take Connor’s advice. A nap can only do you some good. Maybe you just need to cool down.

You’re gone the moment your head hits the pillow.

You wake up, rested but with a fuzzy feeling in your head. How long did you nap? You check the alarm clock on your nightstand and let out a loud yelp. Dashing into the bathroom, you confirm your worst suspicions: your hair is a tangled mess and you’re sweaty because you’ve slept in your clothes. You burst into the living room to see Connor sitting in his armchair, already dressed in his costume, still reading Pride and Prejudice. At least he’s ready.

“(Y/n)”, he greets you. “It’s good that you’re awake. I was about to wake you up. We mustn’t be late.”

“I know. Now I may be rested, but I’m stressed!” you answer, your voice shrill. You grab the bag from Hills Fashion and return into the bathroom. This time you shower faster. No time to lose.

Your heartbeat slows down the moment your reflection shows you dressed in the fairy costume. Your hair is in a braided chignon, a few strands framing your rouged face. The fake LED is sticking to your temple. Silver stilettos complete the outfit. You reach into the bag to retrieve your wand and notice that the fake fangs are still lying in it.

This time you don’t burst into the living room but enter it calmly, crossing the distance between yourself and Dracula.

“Connor.” you call out kindly, and he rises from the armchair. He hasn’t said anything, his expression guarded. His gaze darts towards your temple and his eyes widen, only for a small moment. You open your hand to reveal the fake fangs and he immediately perceives what must be done.

“You don’t mind?” Connor asks, allowing you instead of him to choose what will happen next.

“Not at all.” You hope that Connor understands that this is your way of making up for your last outburst. Putting the glue on the fake fangs, you wait for Connor to open his mouth a little. You steel your heart to remain calm while you press the first fang against Connor’s incisor. Satisfied with the result, you repeat the procedure with the second one.

“Now you look perfect.” you say with a smile. Connor really looks like a vampire now. He looks dashing, as if he’d jumped right out from the cover of a vampire novel. Fake blood would make it complete, but there’s a reason you chose not to buy the vials of red liquid you’ve seen in the store. One mustn’t tempt fate. You pray that this incident with human blood won’t happen again. You’re terrified that it could only bring misery to Connor and heartache to you.

“So do you.” Connor sounds genuine and you blush at his words.

Bringing some distance between you and him, you twirl around, grab your black coat and your silver clutch containing the invitations, and head to the door. The taxi Connor had called arrives immediately. You’re too lazy to walk to the precinct at this time and with this weather.

You can’t explain the weird unreality you feel as you enter the precinct, your makeup and hairdo flawless, wearing a blue silken dream, with Dracula walking next to you. You move slowly, careful not to get a wrinkle in your dress and you wish that you were better at wearing high-heels.

“A fairy and a vampire walk into a police station…” Chris jokes good-humoredly, his smile reaching his eyes. As you and Connor close in to Hank’s desk, you flash Chris a joyous grin. The grin fades away when you notice Hank’s empty chair. You’ve hoped that he would be here.

“Who knew that you could dress up so nicely.” Gavin sneers and you roll your eyes. He’s leaning against the wall and you hadn’t noticed him before. Why must he be such a prick? You know that Gavin does have a good side. It’s just very easy to miss.

“And you dress up as a douche? Really nailed it.” Your quip seems to hit a target, as Gavin leaves in a huff, grabbing his jacket and heading for the exit.

You hear Hank’s barking laugh and turn your head to see him coming from the cafeteria, a hot beverage in hand. If he looks any grumpier, he would scare children, you think as you wait for him to arrive at his desk. There are coffee stains on his shirt and even your best concealer couldn’t hide his eye bags.

“Good one, kiddo. Gavin deserved it. Hell, he always deserves something.” Hank says after sitting down in his chair and you watch him take a big gulp of his drink. Before he can say anything, you hear the captain’s office door opening and watch Fowler approach you. His authoritarian presence always makes you stand up straight. His stern gaze flies over you and Connor and he nods slowly. Coming from Fowler, this is as much praise as it can get.

“As Hank has already explained to you, you will be on your own. You can’t imagine the hell I went through just to get these two tickets.” Fowler’s stern gaze loses focus for a moment, and his flat tone doesn’t hide the chagrin in his eyes or that his shoulders sagged a little. “Find deviants. We need to advance in this investigation.” Fowler doesn’t waste any more time and heads back to his office. You know that there’s nothing more to do here either. Your instructions are clear, you know what to do. Now it’s up to you and Connor.

A small part of you wishes that the lieutenant would say something to you, that he would encourage you, but you know that this isn’t Hank’s style. His eyes are glued to the screen of the PC and from the corner of your eye, you quickly read Lena Williams. Guilt coils up in your stomach; Hank is doing your work. This is the report you’re supposed to write and he’s covering for you.

You turn around to leave, clutching your purse, your eyes fixed on the ground, the clicking of your stilettos echoing the clicking of Hank’s keyboard.

“(Y/n), Connor, come here!” Hank barks and you turn around to see him standing close to the windows. When did he get up and why? You do as he demands, and watch Hank take out his phone. Everyone knows that Hank is not fond of technology. You once saw him screaming at his phone because he had accidentally deleted a picture of Sumo.

“You two, don’t look as if you’re two deer in headlights. Smile!” His order snaps you out of your confusion and now you understand: Hank wants to take a picture of you and Connor. Joy warms you up from the inside better than any alcohol could, and you beam at Hank. With a subtle side glance, you notice that the corners of Connor’s mouth are also turning up.

You watch Hank take several pictures and pray that they don’t get deleted. You’ll absolutely ask Hank if he can send them to you. You need these pictures. He checks them, but the slight frown on his face seems to indicate that he’s not satisfied yet.

“Get closer. On the picture you look as if you two are strangers.” Hank instructs, and you take the initiative to move closer to Connor. He’s taller, so you take a small step forward, choosing the position that can only be described as standing in front of him and next to him at the same time. Your arms make contact, your bare skin touching his shirt. You will your breathing to be even and hope that Connor doesn’t pick up on your rapid heartbeat. You could reach out for his hand, but you’re a chicken. Instead, you gently incline your head so that on the picture it will look as if you’re resting your head on his shoulder. Somehow, this reminds you of parents taking pictures of their children and their date for the high school ball and you have to fight to keep up the smile.

“All right then, that’s enough.” Hank says and puts his phone away and you release your breath. Hank looks at both of you for a second, his jaw locked. “Show these rich bastards how to party. Take care.” The last two words are almost whispered and a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen takes over Hank.

“We’ll do.” Both of you reply at the same time, causing you to giggle about the fact of how in sync you are. No longer wanting to waste any more time, you leave the station, heading towards the cab that will take you to Cordelia Lorde’s mansion. You stare out of the window, anxious to keep your mind empty.

“Wow.” you gasp when the cab pulls into a circular driveway, parking next to foreign, expensive cars and even a few limousines. Like moths drawn to a flame, you watch people walk towards the brightly-lit mansion of Cordelia Lorde. Even from afar it looks magnificent, the white marble structure shining like a star in the night.

The doors of the cab open and you step outside, the cold immediately cutting into you. You hiss in the crisp, freezing air and you head for the mansion, walking as fast as you can in your heels, trying not to slip on the frozen concrete.  

“I hope the cold is not too uncomfortable.” Connor says next to you, easily keeping up with you and you raise your hands to blow into them. The cold will never bother him. One of the many perks of being an android.

“You have no idea. I’m turning into a human Popsicle.” you whimper. The cream tights you’re wearing underneath your dress could as well be made from paper, for they don’t keep the cold from your skin. You snuggle into your black greatcoat, grateful for the warmth it provides.

Before you can enter the mansion, you realize, you have to show your invitation to the people – androids or humans, you can’t tell – dressed in black who roam the space in front of the massive iron front door. Several sleek outdoor heaters are providing the much-desired warmth and servants dressed in white walk around with steaming cups. There aren’t many people outside, but the few who are still waiting for their invitation to be checked, all wear masks.

“Connor why do all these people wear masks?” your voice is calm, but inside of you, anxiety raises its ugly head. Did you miss something? You look again, careful not to miss something. Not only is everyone wearing LEDs, but also breathtaking Venetian masks. You and Connor stand out. Great.

“I don’t know. There was no note of masks in the invitation.” Connor replies and you fight the urge to rub your hands. You’ll have to roll with it. After your invitations are controlled, you are granted entrance.

As you enter through the front door, the first thing that happens is that Cordelia Lorde’s staff relieves you off your coat, bringing it into an adjoining room. You see black-dressed people keeping a watchful eye on the entrance. It eases your mind that Cordelia does have security. One can never be too sure, especially at such events.

As you watch the room you’ve just entered, the first thing you notice is the big staircase occupying the foyer. Red carpets mark the path to go on the marble floor, with golden chandeliers illuminating the room and bathing everyone in a warm glow. Pictures you can’t imagine the worth grace the ebony-lined walls. You think that some of the art could be by Carl Manfred. In short, you’ve only entered but you already feel abundance, the extravagance and the wealth overwhelm you.

Slowly walking forwards, you realize that the red carpet doesn’t lead you towards the staircase, but to a big double door made of mahogany. You notice a signpost at the bottom of the staircase, advising everyone not to explore. Dear guests, please do not cross this point. Respect the private quarters. Trespassers will be excluded.

“Connor look.” you whisper and nudge him gently, your head tilting towards the staircase. “I don’t like it that there are quarters we shouldn’t visit. I like to know the whole area. Who knows what could happen there? Moreover, it could leave us exposed.”

“I agree.” Connor replies in hushed tones, leaning towards you, his breath tickling your ear. You watch as his LED turns yellow, focusing on his face. Whatever Connor is processing, he doesn’t seem to like it. His eyebrows are furrowing, a muscle in his jaw tenses and his gaze wanders over the whole mansion. “This doesn’t make any sense. I can’t find any information about this mansion, especially the layout.”

“Guess we’re going in blind.” you say and let out a weary sigh. Not the best start.

“Not only blind, but also mute.” Connor grumbles and you cant your head. His LED is still yellow, and his right hand is tapping against his left upper arm. He’s turning towards you. “As you know, androids can communicate between each other and make calls. However, an interference is running in this house, preventing this communication.”

Your mouth falls open and you scan the room in the fruitless attempt to find the source of interference. However, if Connor can’t find it, chances are big you won’t either.

“Why would Cordelia Lorde do that?” you ask incredulously. Authenticity aside, it implies a source of risk for the evening. Connor doesn’t seem to have an answer, but rather puts his hands on the small of your back, gently pushing you forward.

As you approach the door, you see a man dressed up as a medieval herald, sporting dark gray tights and a feathered hat.

“Good evening, fair lady, noble lord.” he greets you, deeply inclining his head and you fight the urge to curtsy. “Who may I announce?” His questions comes out of the clear sky and you freeze. You must keep up your cover, but don’t be suspicious. What to say?

“Tinkerbell and Dracula.” you impulsively blurt out and while you cringe internally, you force yourself to stand tall, lifting your head. If you’re convinced that this is right, so will other people, you hope.

“Very well.” the herald says with a twinkle in his eyes, and he opens the door. “May I present Dracula and Tinkerbell!”

Your first reaction is thinking that you might have tumbled into a fairy tale; this ball room is made for princesses and princes, for queens and kings. Intricate swirls make every beige marble tile look like a piece of art. Countless chandeliers, lit up with real candles, dangle above you. The largest one in the middle of the round room immediately catches your eye. Made of countless crystals, it sparkles so beautifully that you can’t help but gasp in delight. The big marble pillars lining up form the basement for the second floor of the ball room. There are no stairs and no other way to access the second floor, so you suspect that it can only be reached through the private quarters. No people are to be seen upstairs, so until now, the private quarters restriction seems to be respected. Brown settees invite to take a break and relax, with champagne glasses and appetizers waiting on small vitreous tables. Classical music is played by a small orchestra in the left corner of the room and you close your eyes, listening to the beautiful tunes of a piano and a violin in perfect harmony. Moonlight falls into the room through the big, arcuated windows.

Connor clears his throat and you shake the melody’s grip on you. You have a mission after all.

“Okay, let’s mingle, talk to the people here, so we can at least try to identify them and have at least a chance to find out who’s human and who’s android. You go left, and I go right, let’s meet again in the middle okay?” you suggest and Connor nods. After being around Connor the entire time, your right side feels empty without him, but there’s no time for sentimentality.

You carefully approach the many knots of people in the ballroom, mindful not to get to close, but close enough to overhear the conversation and to get a good look at the people. Damn these masks! They may be beautiful, some so artistically crafted that you would have never dared to wear them, too afraid to break them, but they seriously hinder your investigation. So many of the masks cover more than half of the face.

After the second knot of people, where all you’ve learned was boring chit-chat, who’s dating who and what the best colors are to wear this season, you start to become frustrated and anxious at the same time. You almost run your hand through your hair but remember the pain it was to get the hairdo, so instead you just flex your fingers and take a deep breath. There’s no need to panic. The evening has just started. Maybe Connor has more luck. You continue your way through the crowd.

“It’s such a shame that Elijah Kamski didn’t come.” a black-haired woman dressed as devil, wearing a red and black jumpsuit, whispers to her neighbor, Marie-Antoinette, complete in 18th-century gown and a red line across her ivory neck. This comment piques your interest. Elijah Kamski has been invited? You haven’t heard something about the Cyberlife founder and creator of androids for quite some time. All you know is that he has disappeared from the public, living reclusively somewhere close to the city.

“I wonder why he hasn’t come.” Marie-Antoinette whispers back. You’re glad these two have only eyes for each other, because otherwise they would surely notice the way you’re blatantly eavesdropping. They don’t even notice that you almost stand in their personal space. “He just doesn’t show up anymore. Is he ill? Dying? Bored? Working on new androids?” They start discussing reasons why he didn’t come and the more unlikely they get, the less interested you become. You continue on your way.

Finally you spot a person you’re sure you recognize. Chatting with a good-looking man dressed as a knight, you see Lily Watson, who played the female lead in your favorite teenage drama. You’ve watched the show religiously and would recognize the freckled face, brown eyes and honest smile of the main actress everywhere. You’re ready to add yourself to the conversation when you notice that across the room, close to the orchestra, you see someone standing with a striking resemblance to Lily Watson, the only difference being the color of the dress and the hairdo. Your eyes narrow. What’s going on here?

You pick up a quicker pace and crane your neck, your gaze flying over the crowd. The more you focus on the people in general, the more you notice that many people here seem to have a doppelganger. Androids who are the same model all look the same, but Lily Watson is human, you’re sure of it.

You feel like a fool when it suddenly strikes you: these people must have dressed up their androids, so they look like themselves! You let out a groan as you storm towards the middle of the ball room. Connor is already waiting for you, leaning against one of the pillars, still as a statue. If people were paying attention, they would notice his inhuman motionlessness and calm. He has chosen the best position to keep an eye on the whole room. He notices your arrival immediately.

“These people here have dressed up their androids, so they look like them!” you hiss indignantly, shooting daggers at yet another celebrity you can’t recognize because of the mask and because he has a doppelganger only standing a few feet away.

“I see you’ve come to the same conclusion.” Connor replies, pushing himself off the pillar in one smooth move, his gaze shifting from the whole room towards you. A+ vampire move, you think as your cheeks warm up. The way he quickly crosses the small distance between you has something ethereal, almost hunting to it.

“I have the feeling as if Cordelia Lorde has thought of everything to make this undercover mission our personal nightmare.” you whine as you shake your head. Your hope of finding deviants is pretty much gone.

Speak of the devil, you think as all the chatter in the ballroom dies down the second a woman enters. Cordelia Lorde seems to glow. Her long, white sleeveless gown almost touches the ground. Several white gemstones shine in competition against each other, drawing patterns on the lace. Her platinum blonde hair falls around her face in soft curves, a white gold tiara crowning her head. Red lipstick is in stark contrast to the pale, even features of her heart-shaped face, her gray eyes highlighted with silver kohl. She really looks like a queen, you muse, watching her stride into the center of the ballroom.

“My dear friends.” Cordelia Lorde has that kind of melodious voice that makes people immediately listen to her. “To have each and everyone of you here warms my heart. Thank you for your presence. This evening, we celebrate harmony. We welcome those who look like us, who think like we do, regardless of the color of blood. We also celebrate secrecy and the freedom it gives us.” She’s really good, a real socialite. Although speaking to a crowd, you feel as if her words are meant for you. She knows how to capture a crowd. As you quickly glance across the room, you see everyone hanging on her lips. “Let us put our mind and our body at peace with a little dance.” She claps into her hands and the orchestra starts playing, filling the room with classical music.

You can’t help but freeze when people around you start getting into position to dance. Oh no. You can’t dance to save a life, especially not a waltz. Everyone in this room is gathered in pairs and you have to act now.

“Connor, help.” you stand on your toes to whisper into his ear, a rebellious streak of your hair brushing against his jaw. His LED blinks amber and you pray that there is a dancing module or software. Connor takes your hand and leads you into the ballroom. His left hand holds your right hand, his long fingers locked with yours, while his right hand is resting on the small of your back.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.” Connor instructs, and you comply, putting your hand on his silky vest. Dancing implies body contact, and the waltz is no exception. The closed position you’re currently holding really is close. Your toes almost touch and you’re so close to Connor that you can count the freckles on his face. You’ve always liked his brown eyes. A hot chocolate during winter. The rich, soft ground on which you lie on a summer’s day. Your favorite teddy bear. All these fond, warm memories fill your mind while you lose yourself into his eyes.

“Don’t worry, (y/n), everything will be all right.” Connor says, his voice reassuring and you feel his fingers tighten around yours. You barely notice that you two have started moving, Connor pulling you with him. You have no experience of dancing a waltz, but still you think that he’s an exceptional lead and you’re glad that all you have to do is following him. You float across the room and from the corner of your eye, you see some people give you impressed, even envious glares.

“I never thought you’d be such a great dancer. Cyberlife really thought about everything.” you tease Connor and just for a second, he stiffens, and you lose focus, your feet no longer under your control. In an effort to keep you from falling, Connor catches you by lifting you up and twirling you. For an instant your feet no longer touch the ground and a fleeting thought crosses your mind – that’s what flying must feel like – before you’re gently put back on the ground. You cling closer to Connor, your left hand no longer on his shoulder but on the nape of his neck, your fingers touching his hair. His hand is no longer resting on the back but on your hips, steadying you. The first dance seems to have ended for there is no more music. You and Connor are locked in this tight embrace and you finally find the courage to search his face for a reaction. His stoic look is replaced by an almost content expression, an avid twinkle in his ever-fixing gaze.

Your mind is a blank space and your heart is a thundering mess. Even with the music gone, you’re not capable of any clear thoughts.

The sound of gun shots catch you by surprise.

[ragingbookdragon]

To Challenge The Flow Of Fate PT. 3

An Adrian Tepes (Alucard) x Reader Story

Warnings: Explicit Language Author’s Note: I’m still pissed about S3, and I don’t think that will ever change. Enjoy! -Thorne

Molasses. She thought. Molasses moves faster than this. She heaved a sigh, rolling onto her back as she stuck her head against the edge of the wagon, eyes directed to the night sky above. She blinked lazily, watching a few bats fly across her vision, then she let out another sigh. “Trevor, how much longer are we going to be stuck in this stupid, fucking wagon?” She listened to her brother snort from the front.

           “As long as it takes you to die from boredom, dear sister.” She groaned, laying her arms across her face.

           “The way this is going, it’s not going to be very long because I am so fucking bored.”

           “Hmm…I spy with my little eye-”

           “No. I’m not playing I spy.”

           “You don’t want to play with me?”

           “Play with yourself.”

           “I do that already.” She reached over, grabbing an apple from her pack, and chucked it at his head.

           “You’re disgusting.” Trevor rubbed the back of his head as Sypha laughed beside him, then he glanced over his shoulder at her.

           “Look, we’ll get there when we get there, so shut up and stop complaining (Y/N).” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at his head but shut her mouth and laid back down. For a moment, she sat still, then she began to fidget, and rolled onto her stomach. She turned her head to the side, laying it on the bed and stared at the solemn vampire beside her. His chest rose with each deep breath he took, but he looked so peaceful, his expression not as guarded as he’d looked since they left Gresit. His eye lashes were long and dark, but delicate, and they framed his gold eyes perfectly. She drew her gaze to the golden tresses that flowed down his shoulders. (Y/N) had to resist the urge to run her fingers through it, because no matter how he moved or what he did, his long hair still looked so silky and soft.

           “Is there something on my face (Y/N)?” At first, she didn’t even hear him clearly, but then he looked down at her.

           “What?” Gilded eyes narrowed with amusement and he reiterated,

           “You’ve been staring at me for almost ten minutes. Is there something on my face?” (Y/N) shook her head, propping her palm under her chin.

           “Nah…just enviously admiring how pretty you are.” Evidently, he hadn’t been expecting that answer because a faint dust of pink colored his cheeks and he smiled awkwardly. A grin set onto her lips and she reached up, twirling one of his locks between her fingers. “Seriously, what do you use in your hair? It looks like spun golden thread.” Adrian glanced at her.

           “Soap and water, along with oils and such.” (Y/N) let out a ‘hmpf’, pulling her hand away.

           “I assumed it was your vampiric genes that gave you such good features.”

           “Oh, they do.” She jerked her head up and stared at him, before letting out a laugh.

           “Good to know that no matter how hygienic I get, I’ll never look half as pretty as you do.” Adrian chuckled and propped his legs up on the back of the wagon, looking over at her.

           “I think you look beautiful…especially when you’re fighting.” (Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, but she countered with,

           “Adrian Tepes, are you flirting with me?” He leaned over, voice lowering as he murmured,

           “Do you find it offensive?” She smiled, shaking her head, and opened her mouth to respond when a voice interjected,

           “If you flirt with my sister again, I will cut your cock off and shove it down your throat, Alucard.” The two shifted their eyes to the front of the wagon, where Trevor was glowering at them. (Y/N) scoffed at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

           “Trevor, why don’t you mind your own fucking business?”

           “Because you are my business.” (Y/N) glared at her brother and mocked quietly,

           “Because you are my business.” She ended her quip by sticking her tongue out, and expected Trevor to make a retort, but was surprised to watch him sit up and stare off into the distance, murmuring,

           “There.” He pointed out, continuing, “That’s our tree.” (Y/N) could hear the grin in his voice as he reminisced. “(Y/N) and I used to play in that tree…we’re nearly at the house.” As they passed it, (Y/N) looked over at it, remembering a far easier time.

           “Come on sister! Climb higher!” (Y/N) stared up at Trevor from the branch she stood on, a frown on her lips.

           “But I might ruin my dress! Mother said not to get it dirty!” Her brother laughed, holding out his hand.

           “If anything happens, I’ll take the blame for it.” He stuck his hand out farther to her, and she reached up, letting him pull her to the higher branches. They stood atop the tree, gazes drawn to the family castle in the distance.

           “Trevor?” He looked over at her.

           “Yes sister?” (Y/N) met his eyes and whispered,

           “Do you think Mother and Father are keeping secrets from us?” At that, her brother went silent, no doubt pondering for the proper answer. It wasn’t a surprise that she would ask that. Too many church officials had been to the castle in the last few months-it was only natural that she was curious. He reached over, taking her hand in his.

           “Whatever secrets they might be hiding, they’re hiding for a good reason.” The frown grew on her face, but he squeezed her hand and reassured, “But no matter what happens, I will protect you, dear sister.”

           (Y/N) let out a quiet sigh, drawing her gaze from the old tree, listening to Sypha wonder, “It’s hard to imagine you two playing.” Trevor huffed.

           “Yeah…I suppose so. But it was everything, that tree. It was our house, and our boat, and our fort. Anything we wanted it to be.” He let out a sigh and murmured, “Goodnight, tree.”

           Sometime later, they finally arrived, and as Adrian helped (Y/N) down, she couldn’t help but grimace at the ruins. “Are you alright?” She looked at the vampire and nodded.

           “Yeah…just…” She turned her eyes to the tallest tower and muttered, “This place isn’t exactly full of great memories for us.” (Y/N) shook her head and pulled on her coat. “Then again, I can’t imagine a place that’s been razed to the ground is.” The four began to head into the grounds, and Sypha asked,

           “This was your home?” Trevor nodded.

           “Yeah.”

           “You grew up here.”

           “…Yeah…” Sypha shook her head, running a hand along the staircase railing.

           “I can’t imagine what it was like to grow up in a single place.” The comment gave her brother a cause for concern, and he paused, then stated,

           “It…it was fine.” He drug his hand through the dirt. “It wasn’t the worst way to grow up.” Sypha looked at (Y/N).

           “How did you feel about it?” (Y/N) pursed her lips into a thin line, then replied,

           “It’s been said that familiarity breeds contempt, and after living here for as long as I had, I was extremely familiar with it.” Sypha nodded, but dropped her gaze awkwardly as Adrian asked,

           “How old were you both when your family home was taken?” Trevor let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

           “(Y/N) was eleven? I was, thirteen? Maybe fourteen? Something like that.”

           “You’ve…you’ve been on your own since you were that young?” He shrugged at Sypha’s question.

           “Maybe twelve.” (Y/N) knocked her hand against one of the bricks and added,

           “I was ten when the castle was taken. Trevor was twelve.” She looked at her brother, meeting his saddened gaze. “I didn’t even know the Belmont’s had been excommunicated until I was eighteen.” Sypha and Adrian’s eyes widened, and they stared at her in shock.

           “What? Why not?” (Y/N) flicked the crest on her chest.

           “I was at the Ravensguard fortress in the north, training to be a huntress. Since it’s not tied to the outer world or the church, we didn’t get any news pertaining to the circulating events. The scholars and trainers are finicky about what comes in and out of the fortress.” She grimaced but plastered a smile on her face and waved her hand. “But who remembers that sort of thing anyways.” Adrian turned away from them, gazing at the broken-down walls.

           “Ten and twelve.” (Y/N) watched her brother dust off his pants, looking over his shoulder at them.

           “Is there a point to these questions?” Adrian dropped his eyes to the ground and hummed,

           “I’m disturbed to find that I had more of a childhood than you two did.” Trevor scoffed, standing up.

           “And your dad’s fucking Dracula.” For a moment, no one spoke, then the four started laughing as they moved deeper into the ruined home. Trevor shifted a few broken pieces around and nodded. “I think this is it.” He bent over, grunting as he tried to lift a chunk of rock; Adrian looked down and observed,

           “Your hidden entrance looks like a hearthstone.” Her brother grunted again.

           “Just. Help me clear it.” Trevor bent over as he dropped the stone but turned back around when he heard chunks flying. (Y/N) stared in amazement as Adrian continued to move more, and she elbowed her brother in the side.

           “He’s stronger than you’ll ever hope to be.” He said nothing, simply taking the torch back from Sypha.

           “Congratulations,” Adrian remarked. “You’ve just discovered a big piece of stone.” Trevor glared at the vampire and assured,

           “It’s the door.” The Speaker eyed him and questioned,

           ���Do we lift it, or…?” Adrian moved his hands to the corner, grunting as he pulled, then he stopped.

           “That’s odd. I don’t seem to be able to get any purchase on it.” The four bent over, watching Sypha run her fingers along the indentions.

           “Hmm…ah, I see now. You won’t be able to lift it.” Trevor scratched the back of his neck and gestured to the stone.

           “Well, my family got it up somehow.” He ignored (Y/N)’s quip of ‘that’s what she said’, save for a grin, and continued with, “I was taken down there as a child.”

           “Did you see them lift it?” Sypha asked.

           “No. They brought me through it once it was open. They told me they’d teach me how to do it one day. I suppose there as a special trick.” He looked over at the three and Sypha questioned,

           “Were your parents magicians?”

           “Not as such. I mean, they knew a lot, but this door was put in by one of our ancestors.”

           “Well, I guess the special trick was passed down the generations. The way we Speakers transmit knowledge. Your parents knew the trick, but didn’t know where it came from or what it really was.” Sypha stood and ordered, “Stand back.” The three moved behind, watching as her hands glowed a bright blue. “Invocatio. Mahorela. Sor. Gru. Odo. Teloch.” A flash of light momentarily lit up the ruin, and she smiled, “Open sesame.” (Y/N) peered around her at the open entrance.

           “What the shit?” Adrian passed Sypha back the torch.

           “Was that an Enochian ward?” She smiled.

           “Yes. I know that language.” The vampire huffed a laugh.

           “Well, well. Naughty Belmonts hunting all the terrible things of the forest, but sitting on a magic door opened by occult language.” (Y/N) knew the jab was directed at Trevor because she watched his face set in annoyance.

           “I didn’t know it was a fucking magic door. Doesn’t make us black magicians.” He started into the entrance, listening to Adrian counter,

           “But you know that the word, ‘Teloch’, means ‘of death’, right?”

           “Shut up.”

           “It’s the magical door of death, Belmont.” (Y/N) snorted as her brother kept walking.

           “Are you coming or what?” When they entered the Hold, (Y/N) stood beside him and whispered,

           “Does it still look the same?” She looked over at him and watched him nod.

           “It’s been a long time since I was here, but nothing seems to be out of place.” He glanced at her. “You were never brought here, were you?” (Y/N) shook her head.

           “No…I was sent off before then.” The two fell silent, moving to the stairs.

           “Belmont isn’t even a Wallachian name. That just dawned on me.” (Y/N) hummed, stepping in between Sypha and Adrian.

           “You know what just occurred to me? The fact that Alucard is Dracula pronounced backwards.” The comment made everyone stop and look at her; she waved her hand. “But that’s a conversation for another time when we aren’t preoccupied with this. Trevor, continue.”

           “No,” Trevor said. “The family’s originally from the Kingdom of France. But we moved out of there a few hundred years ago.”

           “Moved or chased?” Trevor tipped his head up haughtily at Adrian’s question.

           “Moved, thank you very much.”

           “With people behind you waving pitchforks and torches?”

           “No. No, we’re professionals. We move where the work is.”

           “What does that even mean?” Sypha asked him. Trevor walked over to the door.

           “It means, all the dark things moved into the east. I think it was a Leon Belmont who entered the region first.” He pushed open the heavy armored door. “And he built this house, and dug the foundations for everything under it.” The torches only pushed light so far, and with a raise of her hands, Sypha lit the lamps all around the giant room. The lot stepped forwards and (Y/N) stared in amazement.

           “Holy mother of god…look at all this!” She and Sypha ran to the railings, staring down at all of it. As she was searching, something caught (Y/N)’s eye and she gasped, “Oh my god I know that armor!” Sypha looked around.

           “Where! What armor!” (Y/N) pointed to an armor case in the far corner of the room holding a set of black leather armor with silver accents.

           “That armor right there was used by Anastasia Belmont! She was one of the first Belmonts to go into the Order of Shadows!” She started towards it, hopping down the stairs. “I’ve dreamed of getting into that armor since I was a kid!” Sypha was quick behind her.

           “Is it organized? Is there a way to find things?”

           “I imagine one sacrifices a chicken, and divines the location of the book you want from the intestines. Maybe, Belmont has a crystal ball in here you could ask.”

           “Piss off Adrian!” She looked back at Sypha. “The index down on the table there! It’s alphabetized!” The two seemed to become giddier and giddier as they descended the stairs.

           “Your ancestors were apparently mentally ill hoarders. I fully expect to find family cats mummified under some of these shelves.” Adrian paused, chuckling a bit. “Unless your family preferred to eat them.” (Y/N) whacked the vampire in the arm.

           “Don’t be a dickhead, dickhead.” He narrowed his eyes into a glare, but was surprised when she met it head on.

           “So, this really is a managed collection then.” Trevor nodded at Sypha’s words.

           “It’s the work of generations. An archive of everything we’ve found and learned since the days of Leon Belmont.” The four split up, Trevor and Sypha walking in one direction, Adrian in another, all except (Y/N), who stood at the bottom of the stairs.

           “What was your Leon Belmont doing in Wallachia?” Neither sibling responded to her question, simply looking to the rows of vampiric skulls that Adrian had stopped in front of.

           “Hunting Dracula.” The group spread farther as Sypha poured over the index.

           “It’s all here. You’re right. This is quite amazing. Isn’t it? It’s amazing.” (Y/N) crept quietly behind the vampire, listening to him mock,

           “Charming.”

           “You’re not even a little bit impressed?”

           “It’s like a museum dedicated to the extermination of my people, so no. Not thrilled.” (Y/N) stepped beside the vampire, silently peering at the hundreds of skulls in the cases. For a moment, neither said a word, then she murmured,

           “It makes you wonder how many of them were guilty of heinous crimes, and how many were innocents.” She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. “They called us heroes and saviors, but I say we’re a family of murderers and slaughterers. Hunting the supernatural to levels of extinction…it’s cruel…and it’s wrong.” (Y/N) clenched her jaw to stave the anger away, listening as Adrian observed,

           “I’ve noticed something about you in the past few days we’ve known each other.” She eyed him.

           “And that is?” He turned to her, his expression soft.

           “You don’t hate creatures of the night like everyone else does. And anytime someone says, ‘monster hunter’, you’re quick to say, ‘hunters of the supernatural’.” (Y/N) faced him, crossing her arms over her chest.

           “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but in the wise words of my brother, say what you mean Adrian.” He huffed a laugh then went silent and inquired,

           “Why don’t you call them monsters like the rest?” (Y/N) shook her head, glancing back at the case.

           “Because I refuse to believe that everything is inherently evil, and that all supernatural life are monsters.”

           “Hasn’t Dracula proved that all vampires are evil monsters?” She went silent for a minute, then turned back to him and placed a hand across his heart; she offered him a kind look and whispered,

           “I’ve known you for three days, but I can tell you right here and right now that you are not a monster Adrian.” His jaw went slack, and she offered him a heart-filled smile, removing her hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a set of black leather armor calling my name.” He watched her walk down another row, then reached up, touching the spot where her hand had rested just moments before. If felt like his skin was on fire, and before he could stop it, a warm smile crossed his lips.