cryptsleeper | 20s AU Post

20s AU Post

Current Carmilla plot outline
--Post-fire, Carmilla and Mr. Peanut team up mostly to use each other. Carmilla's spent the past several months (since November, it is now February 1925) networking, and it's clear to her that Alucard's not suited for the position and that the other two are the obvious weakness. Mr Peanut needs something back, so this is perfect on her end. Mr Peanut can only imagine the joys of vampire blood in his work, and he'd like an army of vampires for his own ends.
--Shit stirring from Mr Peanut (all of March?)
--Mr Peanut also begins to sell mis Miracle Serum, which has vampire blood in it.
--Gang is very much trying to murder Mr Peanut during this.
--Start of April, vampire gets a call from one of the blood bank contacts that 3 patients have come in and are displaying some bizarre signs. Investigation yields the fact that they're in process of turning, and they've all taken the same serum.
--Additional investigation reveals O FUCK IT MR PEANUT
--Meanwhile Carmilla's been made aware of a familiar she didn't sire, so she knows something's up. Big fight with Mr. Peanut and thus Mr. Peanut is left depowered
--Gang commits a murder
--Carmilla's well sured up on her contacts now, and it's time for open rebellion (mid-April)
--In a more subtle attempt to let Alucard just step aside, she cuts the breaks on demon car and shows up to gloat/suggest he not pull a dad and go to deal with his grief quietly while she runs the city. The how he wants to do it is up to him (black widow joke goes here.) Treffy and Sypha walk in.
--1 week of straight up rebellion; feedings, no help from allies, need to do damage control instead of fight carmilla, every dracula rule is
--MEANWHILE IN GRAVITY FALLS, triangle shows Vlad what's up to try and psyche him out, somehow this finalyl snaps Vlad out of his depression and he heads home
--Just in time for Alucard and Carmilla to be tearing each other to bits in one of the bayous, it's not going well
--Vlad coming in means the king of vampires is accosted by a belmont with a pair of blessed knitting needles and a speaker with a fucking gun and he's just like what the shit happened to the world while i was gone
--Wards around the fight means that only demon car can break the wards, everyone has to pile in.
--Carmilla gets her ass kicked AND SENT TO THE JUSTICE DIMENSION

THEN THERE WERE FAERIES.
--Prior to all of this the vampire and Sypha have done a shit ton of research on how to get their Belmont back
--Sypha has also been practicing debating with dad, which leaves everyone Very Tired.
--When Trevor is actually snatched up (1 year after marriage, it takes fae effort. Taking Arn's shape fails, so it's a lot more kidnapping by force), Sypha and Alucard go into Faerie
--But they're playing this as politics, not as heroes rescuing their damsel, so that means the faeries are just "wait what now excuse u?"
--There are 3 gates and 3 trials (the particulars we're still bullshitting.) Each is asked to sacrifice 3 things. (Alucard: voice, his titles as bestowed upon by his father and his people, i forget the third; Sypha: her human form (she's a birb), fuck what were the other two)
--They enter the court at the end of the third trial. After LITERALLY ALL THE TITLES Sypha declares she Speaks for Trevor Belmont
--Claim debate over Trevor, turns out that the rules are in Sypha's favor.
--But that means debating to leave Fae without giving up what they've chosen.
--Sypha lawyers it all out, Alucard is a safety deposit and hangs out with Fae!Trevor
--In the end, safe passage out of Faerie consists of Sypha giving up her memory of the necromancer (billed as a great mage she studied under), the vampire gives up his immortality, and Trevor is replaced with Carmilla (dad was aware of this option and OK with it), but Trevor has his ability to swear taken. He now soundslike a rubber ducky when he tries
--Everyone gets home okay, except for the AU of this AU where the gang fails, but Trevor's on their doorstep like a bat out of Hell because time doesn't work right and he's been in Hell for a WHILE.

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On that last point, we are in total agreement.

[Alucard's eyes go to the door, and from deep in his belly, a long and stressed sigh works it's way out.]

We will need to test this first. How important is volume?

It depends on the distance. A few drops, to test while we’re both in the castle. More, to maintain a connection once you leave.

[ And there may be complications, but none of them are close to being things he can bring himself to care about now. Usually he’d be more uncertain about a connection like this, about the potential for shared dreams, about the risks of shared injury-

He doesn’t care. ]

[She eases into him, tucking her face against his neck, resting heavy on his shoulder. Something like this is always a little touchy with Alucard, being as sensitive as he is about his fangs, but it's so often her instinct, too — to tuck in and bury her face in the bend where neck meets shoulder, to listen to the sound of his pulse beating and warm herself in the heat that radiates off his skin.]

Then I want your stories.

[It's quiet, but she stays back just far enough that she's not forced to mumble the words on account of how she's pressed against him. They're soft, and low, but not muddled.]

All of them. Every one of them. I want you to give them to me, to keep and to hold, and when you run out of your own stories I want you to make up others, and still tell them to me. I want you to sit up late with me, night after night, telling them like Scheherazade until we both fall asleep. I want to memorize the sound of your voice in every language you know. I want to be your Speaker. To speak for Trevor Belmont.

[She breathes in slow, shaky. She lets the same breath out again, warm and humid against his neck.]

I want you to replace in me what you take from me. Will you do even that?

And here I thought I was already spoken for.

[ Yes, he switched to english for a moment, just to make a pun. He sounds less tired now than he did before, something like warmth and humour finally finding its way back into his voice when he switches back to french. ]

They’ll be- how did you put it- bad at making you feel better. Lots of dead people, never for a good reason. Lots of shitty things that never amount to anything other than being shitty things.

[ He leans his head forward, burying his own face in her hair. ]

...should I start with what it’s like to fly?

It's all right.

[It feels as though she has to say that somehow, the same way she had to invite him to hold her, the same way she had to guide him to kiss her. Alucard is being so careful with her, so respectful, and deep down she knows that his moderation here is more than just deliberate — it's a gift to her, the agency to control how this goes even if it's on some very slim level to affect.

He's holding back, and part of her wishes he wouldn't, and part of her recognizes the sweet courtesy for what it is. So she has to invite this, encourage this, so that he knows. So that he won't stop, because she doesn't want him to stop.]

Please. I don't need you to be perfect. I only need you to be real.

Let us prove the theory to begin with.

[Has Alucard mentioned that he hates this? He hates this. He curses the concept as he exits the library, knowing full well that the easiest way to conduct this experiment is to find a syringe and enough test tubes to make this a purely clinical matter. To disassociate the blood from the man it is coming from, to pretend that this isn't compromising on principles that he takes such pride in upholding.

When Alucard returns, it is with a set of test tubes and a holder clutched to his chest, a small case tucked under his other arm along with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Clinical he reminds himself, and he looks to Trevor.]

Where will it be best to draw from?

You...!

[She shouldn't laugh, except that it's funny. It's funny and stupid and clever and so — so normal that the laughter rattles out of her throat before she's even had the chance to wonder whether she feels like laughing or not.]

You have to tell me everything. The good ones, too. You can tell me about me, if you have to resort to it.

[But this is new. This is new and strange and promises to be wonderful.]

...Yes. Make me feel what it's like to fly.

How else would you ask me to prove it?

[Sypha is not wrong. All of this, asking, having her guide, it is ensuring she has control back in her hands after being so long without. It feels as if it is the easiest place to attend to unseen wounds, to not only assure her she is back in an environment that loves her to the ends of the Earth, but to make it clear she has control over it.

He's trained the castle to let the two of them in even when he is not home. Vaguely, Alucard wonders if something tangible would be in order, but the thought is dislodged. His kisses finally move beyond the pulse point on Sypha's neck, they travel up to her jawline and then down again.

The other reason he is holding back is to not overwhelm her. Even affection has to be carefully managed at first. There are things she's not strong enough for, not yet, and that's when the whole of this shall be let out.]

I don't want you to be afraid.

[It's mumbled, absentminded, as she basks in the feeling of his kisses pressed against her skin, and that's why it's only belatedly that it occurs to her she might need to clarify that in order to make herself understood.]

You're afraid to touch me.

[That, too, might not be precisely the right word, but she's drowsing in the feeling of having him close to her, doting on her, and so maybe it's close enough.]

Be gentle with me. But I am not made of glass. You won't make a mistake. I promise.

[There's a noise that isn't quite a laugh, and it sounds against her skin. Felt as much as heard. A noise of slight embarrassment, and Alucard doesn't move from their arrangement.]

Not afraid. Just aware that passions run high.

[He pauses then, resting his forehead into the crook of Sypha's neck. A little weight there, not much. Just enough to be soft and cool and pleasant.]

...I cannot imagine how I could possibly look less attractive at the moment.

[Rumpled, sleepy, bandaged. She's teasing, sort of, but there's a part of her that sort of means it, too.]

Yet still your passions are running high?

[Counterpoint:]

You are here and in my arms. I can think of nothing else so beautiful and all consuming.

[Which also answers her second question, which is yes and he needs to calm the hell down.]

Such lofty words. Is this really the same boy who blushed when I tricked him into holding his hand?

[That's a deliberate choice of word, boy. She remembers what he looked like when he came down the stairs for her, and he was anything but a boy, then.

Not so bad, perhaps, to remind him that he still can be, with her, if he wants.]

First you call me your goddess, now you write me poetry. Where has all your bashfulness gone?

[Monster would be the closest thing in Alucard's own opinion. As close to his father as he'd ever come to being, and with the added irony of Belmont control laced up in it. If Sypha asks about the particulars, they'll have to explain but he very, very much hopes that she will let that secret remain as it is.

He pauses in smothering all he can reach with affection. Pulls back, makes sure they're eye to eye.

(Did her hand ever leave his chest? He doesn't think so, but if not, he'll guide her hand back there. Hold it in place for a moment, then bring it up so he can kiss that same hand like every romantic cliche that plays in the movie theatres.)]

It remains. The stage has simply been given over to something else for the time being.

What something else?

[As though she doesn't already know, but that's not the point. The point is to get him to say it. Preferably before he distracts her away from the thought with that soft, fond kiss to her knuckles, like the prince he is yet never claims to be.]

I want to see which word you choose.

[Before, that kiss wasn't a ploy to distract. Now Alucard considers it, then dismisses the thought. She won't let him get away with it.]

Note that I didn't pick one. [That's a choice, not choosing!]

Passion.

[She teases softly, letting the word roll off her tongue like molasses. She shifts, settling against him, and leans to let him support her weight more fully, letting her go boneless and pliant in exchange.]

I want you, too. Very much. But you're right that it's not a good idea.

[There is a low hum as Sypha picks the right word for the moment (far better than what he was going to go with, because it was going to be a babble). It reverberates in his chest as Sypha settles, puts all her weight against him.

Alucard makes a point of ignoring the change in that weight. A week and there's been a change. It'll take more time to fix that fact.

His arms are around her once again, careful of how they press but holding her to him all the same.]

I'll find other outlets for all those emotions in the mean time.

[He's quiet for a moment more, then...]

I could run a bath.

[He's so comfortable, so safe. She could be content to just stay in his arms forever like this, but the prospect of a bath is...well, frankly, it sounds almost blissful after all the floors and beds and damp cloths dabbing at her face.]

Will you be able to behave yourself, if you do?

I promise.

[It'll be overwhelming enough, if he knows himself.]

And it will be much warmer than me holding you like this.

Says you, the one who is always cold. Steal some of the bath's heat, then, instead of mine.

[Thus says Sypha, weary and burned-out and yet still the Little Furnace That Could.]

Will you carry me?

You have to ask?

[He wants it to sound shocked and horrified, but it is only warm. Laughing. Delighted.

It means the answer is yes, of course, but the prospect of moving is one they both must consider.]

Sypha, I can promise you your feet will not be touching the floor for some time.

For the test? Anywhere ought to be fine. If it works and we need more, I’ll draw the blood myself.

[ Which is to say that for the quantity they’re likely to needs, thich would be best. But also that he’s not feeling boyfriendish enough to take off his trousers at Alucard. He offers his hand. ]

Prick.

[ His tone is neutral and even enought that that’s probably permission to draw blood, rather than an insult. ]

[And here Alucard's just contemplating the wisdom of stabbing Trevor's dick.

There's a moment where Alucard takes the hand, then tsks because it isn't actually that simple. He instead rolls up Trevor's sleeve, and puts to fingers to the crook of Trevor's elbow. There. That's better. Won't be a problem either.

The rubbing alcohol comes next, applied carefully to the skin and then to the syringe. What Alucard takes out is terribly minimal. A few millimeters, and when he's satisfied with volume, he puts the syringe aside. The site is bandaged, and then Alucard walks the syringe over to where he's placed the test tube and the holder it is in.

His back is to Trevor. View obscured, and that's very much on purpose. They've seen him consume at parties because he's had to, there's an entire blood drawer in the fridge, but in the house, Alucard takes all the care to be as human as he can be. So he makes sure that Trevor can't see him drink the blood, and when he turns back around, there's only a faint look of disgust on Alucard's face.]

How does this connection manifest itself in the one being controlled?

You've carried me so much already. You might've been tired.

[But it's nice to have the reassurance, even so.]

Or sore. Or injured, yourself. Or any number of things.

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20s AU Post

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