❧ open rp - adrian/alucard

[reposing]

Feel free to:

❧ Start your own prompt for whatever setting!
❧ Continue from a previous PSL or meme!
❧ Request a prompt!
❧ Can be sexy or not, whatever man
❧ AUs super welcome!

Comments

[foolishjourney]

[henlo here is my proposal based on discussion from before:

-post-reverie Adrian travelling through various worlds
-he finds his way to the fake Tokyo of Imeeji where Minato (now Lily) is, under the alteration that rather than being straight from canon Minato, it's a post-reverie Minato that was taken
-he approaches Lily because that is so clearly Minato what is even going on
-end goal: they do a bang and Adrian uses a lot of teeth because blood for the blood gods

thoughts/additions/etc, otherwise I can start a thing for you]

[reposing]

[I'm into it! Only thing of note: Adrian is probably still all deviled up, but he's gotten better control and can conceal his appearance to look like his canon self. BUT I'M READY!]

[foolishjourney]

When Adrian arrives in this new world, it already strikes itself as being completely different than most.

It's a large, expansive cityscape, buildings standing tall and looking quite modern and sleek. But notably, it's completely empty. It's eerily quiet, no people lining the streets, no sounds of speeding vehicles and conversation, just... so quiet, you could practically hear a pin drop. Any and all plants are also completely fake and plastic, further emphasizing how bizarre this eerily pristine city is.

The city, whatever it is, is lightly dusted in snow, only adding to the lonely feeling it exuded. All lights are also off, no street lamps or anything are in working order, which is quite apparent as the sun is slowly setting. However, the farther you travel along in search of something, anything, a light shines in the distance -- there's a cafe lit up, and a single person sitting inside.

If anywhere, that's probably your best place to start to figure out why you're here.

[miraclewhip]

[ Adrian is not treated unkindly, so far as Trevor knows, in any way save for the complete theft of his free will. His prison is a childhood bedroom and the thick, silver-woven curtains covering the door intended more to keep him safe from the conspiracies of Dracula's court than to keep him in. He will not be hurt. Dracula makes this clear when they first arrive, when the collar is placed on him and the whip pulled away and he looks over the burns that the Vampire Killer has made upon his son's arms and orders the skin to be stripped from Trevor's wrists to match. Makes it clear that Adrian will not be harmed within his walls.

Time passes. Enough that the marks from it are just tight, too-shiny scar tissue. The vampire Carmilla makes her appearance and sends Dracula's court into disarray. It makes Trevor's job far less pleasant, so far as it was ever pleasant before. 'Keeping the court in line' becomes less about being an agent of punishment when they step out of line and more about being a demonstration of what became of what Dracula might make of those who stand against him. He sees Adrian only rarely, each time stealing away to his star-painted prison in desperate search of medical treatment from anyone other than Isaac.

(He thinks he can feel himself becoming less and less human every time he receives treatment from the forgemasters. One day he won't be able to touch the Vampire Killer, and then it'll be too late. He doesn't know what he'll do then. He promised to survive.)

But there is news, from the Transylvanian border. Better news than he could have hoped, and everything that he's been waiting for. A speaker magician leading the other refugees in battle, destroying their captors in a single night.

For the first time since they came here, he draws back the silver curtain to Adrian's prison without getting blood anywhere. ]

Hey. 're you- you know. Yourself?

[reposing]

[You are forbidden from leaving your room.
If you are attacked, you will defend yourself.
You will feed. You will eat.

Such basic orders, but still far too confining. Adrian is unable to refuse the blood given to him in whatever final act of rebellion he can manage. Otherwise, he is confined to his room, unable to leave. For the first while, he's tried to plan, tried to think, but the collar makes it impossible to execute anything. Hector is not entirely unsympathetic, but is loyal to Dracula. Isaac is considerably less pleasant by comparison, and his loyalty is firmer than the oldest stone.

On Adrian's lowest days, he sleeps. On better days, he draws, little else to do to spend his time. He looks forward to and dreads seeing Trevor at the same time, but truly he is the only friendly party within these walls. When he sees the scars on Trevor's wrists, he never hides his grimace, his anger at being unable to do anything in regard to it, his father's sense of justice and equality.

Today, he'd considered sleeping again. He almost does, but the silver curtain parts and he faces the hunter. Adrian is tense, prepared to see him bloodied, but no. Not today.

And he knows, gradually, how his humanity is less and less. It worries him, but Trevor will not abandon his position.]

At the moment.

And you?

[miraclewhip]

[ The room is so normal. It's never struck him before, because he's always come here too desperate to notice before. The stars, the toys, the little pieces of evidence that someone grew from a child into a man here. But it's still a prison, no matter what it looks like.

He looks down at his hands, at the way his fingers twist into too-long, bony charcoal-coloured things as if they were somehow stretched out and burned. They're not the worst of the change, but they're the most visible while he's clothed. They can still touch the Vampire Killer for now, at least. ]

Still a Belmont. S'all I need to be.

[ Despite everything, when he looks up, he's smiling. It meets his mostly-still-blue, too-bright eyes, just about. ]

The forgemasters were called this morning, to replace a whole squadron of creatures. The ones that were watching over the refugees. Dead, every last one of them. At the hands of a Speaker witch.

[adamic]

[hi

uhhhhh request a prompt? if it is okay with you? something that ends in biting

orz]

[reposing]

[sure!! was there anything specific you wanted to do? any AUs, what-if scenarios, etc.]

[cupiditates]

one, two, three, four, five

[reposing]

It's taken time. Not that time means much for the ageless, he supposes, but in many ways Alucard is still young; five years after the fall of Dracula, and he had worked to restore the House of Belmont as well as the engines of the castle. For a time, he had no desire to fill in the void of his father's throne, but it was people like Carmilla that showed him that the ambitious would not stop to stake their claim.

So he made his own.

After beheading her before her court and putting down his foot, he took his place. Though it comes with reluctance, he lets go of Trevor and Sypha; they are still his friends, and he will see to them, but they have a life without him. That, he can see. That, he knows well.

And so, after making his claim, it is bound to invite the attention of other courts; he is duty bound to meet with them. The faeries, elves, various clans, certainly a gathering he's not seen in sometime. It is no place for a Belmont and his wife to be, so he does not ask them to come. Instead, he has arrived with a Blue Fang escort, other vampires of his court left at the castle, which in itself is not far away.

Today, it is the court of the fae, which could be in itself unpredictable, but there is always a charm to it.

Less charming when he catches the glimpse of someone far too familiar.

Alucard does not hide his cold gaze, turning his head sharply, chin up, as if he caught whiff of a stench. In every way he can, his body language is basically telling Greed to fuck right off. He hasn't forgotten their last encounter, and it still burns him.

[reposing]

[It's taken longer than either of them are probably pleased with, but in the end they've been able to repair enough of the castle to feel like they aren't just abandoning the place to the dead and graverobbers and vampires seeking glory. Both Dracula's castle and the Belmont Hold are sealed away by different variations of magic, protecting both from anyone that isn't either of them. Only those with the blood of Dracula himself will be able to approach the land.

With one last look, Adrian silently says good-bye to all of it. His parents, the friends he's lost, and the life he once had. Not that he regrets meeting D and uniting with him, but there is still much he mourns.

So they leave.

D takes lead with his mount, the horse will trained under his mastery. Adrian is sitting behind, his hands settled on D's hips. Wherever they go, he isn't certain, but Wallachia is still torn apart by Dracula's war and the remaining vampires looking to claim the vacuum of power.

If nothing else, there's likely still some work to be done, but Adrian feels a mix of relief finally leaving.

Adrian sighs and presses his forehead against D's back, feeling his hair against his face. There's a comfort in it.]

[ghastlyaura]

[ it's finally done. their time in the castle has been long--too long for d's tastes--and now that it's stable, and locked away, they're finally free of it, whatever that freedom may bring them.

it's better for adrian to be able to see things that won't remind him of everything he's lost. in the end, d's only lost his father. adrian has lost so much more.

with both of them on the horse their weight settles easily: his horse is large to suit his own large frame, and she can take both of their weights without trouble. he snaps the reins slightly to start them off, not at a gallop but still perhaps at a little bit of a faster clip than necessary to get them further away from the castle sooner.

the feel of adrian leaning against him, of his hands on his hips, is soothing in a way. for all his avoidance of people, adrian is easy for d to be around. he says nothing about it, just lets his actions say it for him. he stays with him, his touches gentle for him, and he even opens up to him.

it's almost night when his horse needs to rest, and they're at a small town that hasn't been horribly ravaged just yet. it's enough.

he pulls up to a stop outside a small inn, hand petting over her neck just once. ]

[miraclewhip]

[ Adrian is 10 years old and has successfully learned what a wolf pit is. The good news is that he's avoided the spikes set at the bottom of it, which is probably fortunate for everyone involved.

The bad news is that he's still at the bottom of a pit, and that trappers are a superstitious enough lot to have taken precautions against werewolves that also prevent him from just floating out again. ]

Did I give you permission to sleep yet, you little shit? [ There's a man's voice yelling from not too far away, followed by a quiet, pained choked noise. ] There's something in the trap. Go finish it off before it spooks the rest of the animals. And be quick about it, unless you're keen to get another whipping.

Sir.

[ The second voice is quiet and exhausted, and after it speaks there are footsteps, too soft for anyone without Adrian's hearing to make out easily, moving toward the hole. ]

[reposing]

[Adrian hadn't really meant to stray far, but he's curious about where his father won't let him go. There's a certain fearlessness in being Dracula's son, but it isn't monsters he should fear.

At the pit, he remains huddled in a corner, arms around his knees. He wonders what he should do, but he figures if he looks like a boy then they'll treat him as one.

He lifts his chin, curious and worried.]

Hello? [He's going to be spotted anyway. Might as well call out.]

starts another thing bc I'm a monster but no hurry please do not feel pressured

[miraclewhip]

[ There's the smell of blood on the air, as his short fingernails finally dig deep enough into the flesh of his palms to break skin. He doesn't respond to the latest barb immediately, which isn't unusual in itself. If he responded to everything the vampire said, he wouldn't have time to do anything else.

Not that there's anything else to do. He's useless here.

But the silence has a heavier quality to it than it has before. And there's no reason it should. This is hardly the worst comment along the lines of 'bad Belmonts doing the naughty magic' ('and so everything that happened, right and deserved' doesn't leave Alucard's lips, it never would, but Trevor's mind helpfully appends it to each one anyway) that he's made. It's just the latest. One too many comments, a little too much awareness of his own insufficiency for his family's work, all in the worst possible place. ]

Out. [ His voice its calm, but it's the wrong sort of calm. Trevor calm is tired and vaguely annoyed-sounding. This is controlled and sharp. ] Both of you, out.

[reposing]

[The scent of blood is sharply noticed, but it draws no attention, at least not obviously. The expression Alucard keeps is a typical one; calm, almost bored-looking, and he raises a brow at the response from Trevor.

It does, idly, occur to him that it was perhaps too much. He's been snide the entire time, when it was barely a few days ago that he laughed with some ease with him on more than one occasion. But there is the cold realization that he also cannot afford to be hung up on either of them. So he pushes, and he pushes harder than necessary, has even called out to Sypha that she enjoys her time with Trevor too much, they should be focusing, listed the reasons why Trevor is unfit--

It's foolish. But he justifies himself.]

Rescinding your invitation doesn't abruptly force me out of your house, Belmont. Is that another myth you abide to?

[miraclewhip]

[ There are no witches in Lupu.

He repeats it under his breath as he hauls wood. Lisa Tepes has slipped into merciful unconsciousness for the moment, bound to the stake in the centre of the pyre. With the other workers, he stacks dry wood around her.

This seems wrong. There are no witches in Lupu. A gentle hand falls upon his shoulder. ]

Did your family teach you that?

[ The Bishop asks him, voice as soft as it always is with his faithful. There's an edge to it, hidden well by warmth and gentleness but no less dangerous for it. He grimaces, then nods. ]

Liars speak only in lies, by child, and heretics protect their own. No doubt they knew of this witch even then. Followers of satan, protecting his bride. [ One corner of his lip turns upward, and Trevor averts his gaze. ] You have done well to remember. I will add it to the evidence collected against this witch.

[ He nods again, and tries to set back to work. The bishop speaks once more before he lets him go. ]

This is the kindest thing we can do for these sinners, Belmont. Her sins will burn away with her flesh, and her soul will be entrusted to His care. You may pray for her salvation, if you wish.

[ Trevor mumbles his thanks and resumes his task. Before long, the fire is built. A crowd has gathered together, and all that remains is to light the straw at the fire's base. The witch is still sleeping and- perhaps it would be best if she remained so. Kinder. ]

Must we wake her? [ He asks, standing at Bishop's side, torch in hand. His voice is quiet, halting, uneasy with speaking, very uneasy with questioning his betters twice in one day. ] Will the sins not burn whether she suffers or not?

[reposing]

[Father still wasn't back yet. It'd be any time now, but he'd never be fast enough -- nor forgiving. Oh, but there is a part of him that understands, and Adrian himself is blind with fury, running through the evening, having long since left behind the burning cottage as it becomes cinders.

Prowling along the sides of the cathedral like a beast, he watches, his blood boiling and a growl stifled in his throat. As the fire begins, he cannot wait.

So he speaks, unafraid, knowing full well he can kill these people.]

Perhaps it is best she sleeps as to not witness what comes next.

[Sword drawn, Adrian leaps down, the crowd parting and startled as he lands.]

You have one chance for my mercy as I free her, if you all wish to live. So don't interfere.

[And he isn't waiting, moving toward the flames, looking annoyed at worst as he starts to approach the stake and its fire. He knows they'll intervene or try to. He knows he'll kill them all.

They bring it onto themselves, he thinks, furious, lacking clear sight and what these people mean to his mother.]

[miraclewhip]

[ The Speakers use old magic to protect themselves from the eyes of god, keeping them from being tracked with magic. The mirrors don't show them, and don't show any who travel with them. It's a blessing, with Carmilla out there somewhere. But it would also be something of a problem if they stopped to think that Alucard might also want to track them.

They didn't think of this. Because there was no need for him to track them, they were always going to return to the castle before long.

These things never go as planned.

Trevor and Sypha split up, because of course they did. Not out of dislike for each others' company, just because there were two separate caravans both passing through dangerous territory and both needing protection at the same time. Sypha went with one, Trevor with the other, intending to meet at the next destination before returning to the castle. Then roads were harsh, weather was harsher and every little thing that could have slowed them did, up to and including Trevor being thrown into a prison.

He's waiting for the two groups of speakers to meet again, for Sypha to realise that he's not there and come back for him. Being away from the speakers, though, also means that he can finally, finally be found using the mirrors.

He's in his cell when Alucard arrives, a tiny room furnished with a bucket and nothing else. It's a little too small to actually lie on his back and so he's sleeping on his side, curled up to fit in the tiny space. ]

that sleeping beauty au thing

[rebelling]

[ By act of love, torn. By act of love, repaired.

The blood vats attached to the great stone coffin must have been empty for over a century. The mechanism to open the coffin was unreliable, and required him to jam his knife into the gap and force the lid the rest of the way.

Gresit was one of the first cities to fall entirely, long before Firion was born. Above the catacombs, it's nothing but a massive nest swarming with night creatures. And yet he came here, because while he puts no faith into prophecy he puts great faith into people who do. And here he found a corpse. A corpse he's been trapped with for a while now, because he can still hear those creatures moving closer and closer. He picked them off with arrows at first, but he's long run out of those. Luckily, the traps are doing a good job of keeping them at bay.

He's tried everything to wake the man- that he's as much a vampire as their subjugators is clear enough, but the rebellion believes that he can help. It may be too late. Too long without blood. Firion's own doesn't seem to be waking him. Shaking him does no good. Bright light and total darkness are equally ineffective.

By act of love, torn. By act of love, repaired.

So he tries- that. It's awkward, at first. There are only so many ways one can attempt to demonstrate affection to a complete stranger who is also dead. But he's lonely and afraid and stuck at the bottom of a hole full of monsters, and that makes a lot of things a lot easier. He talks to the body at first. Tells him about his family, about keeping a vegetable garden, about the few things in his world that aren't the rebellion. Moves onto combing through his hair with his fingers to remove a century of dust, tries to massage warmth and a pulse into his hands.

And then his rations run low. ]

I think- I think I should rather die fighting than starve, friend. I'll be leaving you soon. [ His voice is hoarse, in part with emotion and in part because he's not had water in a day or so. ] Thank you for being here, for these difficult few days. I am sorry I could do nothing to aid you.

[ And he almost leaves at that to face however many creatures the traps have left. But no- he's never been good at giving up hope. One more try, no matter how entirely inappropriate it is.

He leans forward over the coffin, resting his hands upon the vampire's cheek, and kisses. It only makes sense, once he starts, to push the man's lips - cold, but not stiff with death - back with his own to reveal his fangs. To pull his lower lip into the points of them to puncture it and try to offer blood one last time. ]

[reposing]

[The strike to his chest had been deadly enough to render him needing to sleep, despite how dangerous it would be. Even worse, the curse he'd been laid with, to be asleep until true love's kiss would allow him to wake.

Was it Dracula's mercy, or his selfish act to ensure that his son would not interfere? It's impossible to say, but he tale has become an infamous one. From Sleeping Soldier to the Resting Son, waiting in an ancient hold for love to allow his eyes to open again. He dreams often; the distant memories of a hunter and a scholar arguing, his father, his mother.

More recently, the dreams of a man, speaking of his life. His loved ones, his garden, touches in the distance that he can't respond to.

The first thing he notices is warmth on his lips as his eyes flutter. The taste of blood giving him strength. Breathing in deeply, Alucard slowly sits up, pressing back as he sighs sleepily.

Finally, Alucard's eyes open.]

You...

[He touches his own lips, contemplating for a moment, then realizes the state of the hold. His tankards empty, everything worn and old from disuse--]

How long has it been?

I totally rescued this not a vampire

[miraclewhip]

[ It’s hard to know, these days, when it’s a vampire and when it’s an extremely fucked up human. He’s found that he doesn’t care as much as he maybe should. They’re a monster either way.

He’s seen this one a few times now, fallen for it himself once or twice when he was younger and stupider and desperate. Some local noble sends out a call for workers. Bed and board for a few weeks labour. The stupid ones offer money, but that’s just a surefire way to attract people who will be missed. The clever ones know how to target people with nowhere else to go. It lasts until someone gets wise to it, and then the noble vanishes along with any of their targets who are still living and the villages they targeted are left to find the bones and bodies over the next few months.

If he’s being honest? He prefers the kind of monsters who rampage through villages and tear out people’s throats. At least they’re not cowards. This kind of trickery, of targeting the people who have nobody to defend them, really gets under his skin.

It’s a vampire, in the end. He figures that out because there’s a big fuck-off coffin in the room. There are two men, talking, clearly at odds with each other, and it’s hard to tell at a glance which is the vampire he’s looking for. The other could be another vampire, but it’s more likely that they’re one of the victims. And so he tosses a bottle of holy water between them. He’ll just stab anything that hates the holy water. Easy. ]

[reposing]

[The intent had been to intervene. After all, Wallachia is of Dracula's immediate territory, and he doesn't take kindly to beasts acting outside of his interests, much less another vampire. To act otherwise would, essentially, be looked as possible treachery. Something that Adrian is trying to emphasize with this particular vampire, anyway. Maybe it was indeed a fool's errand. Let me try diplomacy first, he encouraged his father.

Kill him if he even tries to raise a finger on you, Dracula said in response, reluctant to let his dear son take the act.

Right now, he's tempted to take his blade to Marius' heart. The argument is heated, the vampire looking at humans as nothing but livestock. Many are this way, but this one is testing Dracula's patience.

Then, there's a splash of water. Adrian blinks slowly, feeling it drip down his face, watching dumbly as Marius screams in pain and rage, clutching at his burning eye.

Oh. Holy water. What?

Adrian looks over at the scruffy man that's just entered, looking confused, which could probably come off as shocked at the sudden rescue.]

yeets self into this post for s3 (spoilers)

[miraclewhip]

[ It's been a few months now since they first returned, the scales fallen from Sypha's eyes and he more aware than ever that the world is not worth protecting (and yet they do it anyway because that is who they are).

It was- difficult, the first few weeks. Coming home to a pair of corpses on spikes on the front door was not ideal. Sypha looked at Alucard with her new, clear vision and had to wonder for the first time if he really might be a monster. Trevor always knew that he was, and had to question whether he was dangerous. They cremate the bodies, in the end. Sypha speaks the words that the speakers say for the poor wretches they find on the road in dangerous times. They should ask Alucard for their names, to do it properly. They don't.

Some days, they don't speak much at all. They don't talk to Alucard about Lindenfeld. He doesn't talk to them about the people on sticks. On good days, Sypha finds those dolls of his and waves them around and makes silly voices with them and they laugh and it's like they're a family and not three people, all sharp edges and soft parts waiting to be cut. On bad days, Alucard busies himself with building and Sypha with reading and Trevor with training until they're all too tired and bone-sore to have to think about anything else and nobody needs to say a thing.

On the worst days, when even burning muscles and worn minds aren't enough to keep them from thinking, they touch. It's- probably not healthy. It's certainly not how they might have wanted to bring Alucard into whatever it is that he and Sypha share. But it's something. At the end of it, Sypha curls up against his chest and drags Alucard's hand to place it against her hip and they're just there. Connected by flesh but still all alone in their own minds.

It's unsustainable.

(He hasn't kissed Alucard yet, unless one adopts a definition of kiss that includes putting a dick in one's mouth.)

Sometimes, bad days don't line up for all of them. Sypha's only having a slightly bad day, the kind that leaves her wanting to ignore the both of them and the real world entirely for the one of one of those fantasy epics from far off lands that Dracula seemed to carefully collect in massive, ornate tomes. She loves them both, but she needs the world she thought she was in before back. The one where good deeds save people. The one where if you do everything right there's a way that you might win. And Alucard and Trevor? ]

-fuck.

[ Alucard and Trevor are having the sort of day where one of them has to be inside of the other just to be in someone else's skin. To have at least part of them be someone else and not themselves. The sort of day where they've barely said anything to each other beyond the kind of stupid noises one makes while shoving one's dick into a vampire. He reaches up. Grabs for Alucard's wrists to pin them above his head. Not to restrain - this isn't artful enough sex for anything as considered as that. Just to try to anchor him in place to shove into him more fully. ]

awww yeah

[reposing]

[He'd told himself that this would be enough, to just have the contact. Their warmth to quietly cherish where he had none of his own. It was enough for a time, to try to throw the memories he had of Taka and Sumi away. They'd been put to rest by Sypha, so it was enough to pretend like nothing had ever happened.

Some days are better than others. And he'd been fine like this, gasping under Trevor, thinking of nothing else but the two of them like this.

And he feels palms on his wrists, pushing him down--

He tenses, holding his breath, his eyes wide. There's sweat on Alucard's brow, terror in his eyes. All he can think of is what came next after that, silver strands wrapping around him and burning into his skin, tying him and keeping him pinned. The accusation in their faces, the cold preparation they had to raise their swords and kill him after he thought he finally had their care and company.

Alucard can't help how small his voice sounds.]

Stop.