#* v / 001 : the wilhelm scream

[hrker]

‘    𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝙽𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝚂𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙻,    𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙽.    ’ @vampyras​

              the count’s features seemed to soften if only for an instant . jonathan had been a guest in his home for a few days only but that moment had felt so rare and private that the young man had to force himself to look away . his eyes became fixed on the papers before him , but , as he tried to focus on the words written in ink , the image remained : a breath of softness in the count’s otherwise hard visage , forever caught in candlelight . jon did not know then but he had been caught in a web , one which strings lulled him into a state of comfort and trust .  the count bared his heart to me , he thought , then i shall bare mine as well .    ❛     that’s a touching image .   ❜     mr. harker said before raising his head to glance at his host . 

   ❛     it seems as if you love ――   ❜      jon winced .    ❛     loved your wife very much .   ❜     there was silence then .  one which had been brought up by awkwardness but also by uncertainty ; mr. harker did not wish to bore count dracula with his personal matters . he was a mere solicitor , sent there with one goal and one goal only . friendliness was not to be avoided but something about the count warned him against familiarity . at times he appeared to be genuinely interested in jon’s worldview , others he seemed to despise him . 

when he looked again , the tenderness in dracula’s features had vanished . but it was too late . he too had fallen prisoner to nostalgia . he wished to revel in the same beautiful pain as the count .           ❛     i too have watched my shadow shift in the moonlight beside another . though my heart is sure, to this day my hands still shake .   ❜         a short-lived smile touched his lips then . he thought of mina , so much wiser and braver than him , scolding jonathan for forgetting his gloves in a cold winter morning , offering her hands to warm his own . as he remembered her , jon’s heart throbbed . and , for some strange reason , he thought the count might have heard it .    ❛     you would like her .   ❜     

[hrker]

❝  my faith in love is still devout.  ❞ @emapthy​

jon’s stoic visage softened when she spoke. 

the hint of a smile touched the corners of his lips and he could not help but lower his gaze from mina’s. even now as she sat there, paler than death itself, mina murray continued to combat the curse which had been unleashed upon her bloodstream. mr. harker had been warned oh so many times to keep a safe distance, to not allow his affections for the young woman to distract him ( she will choose blood over tenderness , mr. harker, of both you have plenty ! ) and, above all, jon was made to promise that, if the moment came, he would be merciful towards his wife. mercy they had called it; they would have her dead rather than cursed! 

                         ❛  as long as your faith in love persists, so shall mine.  ❜    his larger hand softly laid upon hers. mina was cold to the touch, terribly so. but jonathan did not seem to mind. her fingers remained the exact same as before. so did the spaces between each and every one of them. perfect for jon to fill, to hold, to comfort ... when he looked at her again he could see small changes blooming across mina’s face. certain features, once soft, had now sharpened. she remained beautiful but, each day that passed, she became more and more like a marbled goddess than a woman of flesh and bone. time rolled off of her, like raindrops from tree leaves.

something in mr. harker’s throat dried out at the thought of mina being left behind. he squeezed her hand in his own and the way he stared into his wife’s eyes showed no shadow of a doubt.  ❛   but if the day comes in which you turn your face away from love or find the touch of life and all which is holy unbearable, tell me so. for i refuse to be complicit in your suffering, mina.   ❜    with that, mr. harker bowed his head and pressed a chaste kiss over her knuckles. when it came down to it, he knew he would choose mina over anyone else ( always , always , always ! ) and if loving her meant killing the light so that mina could live comfortably in darkness forevermore, so be it.

[hrker]

𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚃𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴  / 30. My muse breaks your muse’s arm. @movrningbride​

The crypt was open before him and Jon could do little more than stare. 

There she laid, beautiful Verona, as still as a corpse, very much like her husband, but somehow, untouched by time. Brown eyes stared up at him, unblinkingly, causing Mr. Harker’s very soul to shiver. The panic of being in Verona’s line of sight had plagued him countless times before. However, that morning, he knew she could not harm him. At least not yet; come evening time she’d surely have her revenge. But not before Jonathan had his.  

He gazed down at her in silence, going so far as to reach out to try and brush a loose strand of hair off of her pretty face. But his fingers quickly curled against the palm of his hand, recoiling away from her cold cheek, too weary of the rows of teeth which hid beneath Verona’s bright red lips. Jon swallowed hard. She deserved no kindness from him ; absolutely none.    ❛     Christmas is coming, Verona. But mercy is a word foreign to you. Thus, I shan’t offer you anything of the sort .   ❜    Jonathan had to look away for a moment, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the creature’s stare. How could something so beautiful inflict so much horror in the hearts of mankind? 

Mr. Harker parted his lips to speak but quickly shut them, suddenly overwhelmed by emotions he had not been aware of.

           ❛    You’ve taken ---- much from me . So much .    ❜    Jonathan rasped.     ❛    Each day all I do is watch as you greedily drink me. I did nothing to you or your own and yet, you toy with me. You take and take and I become less and less with each of our meetings.  ❜    He trailed off. Thoughts of his own blood smeared over Verona’s jaws dried out poor Jon’s throat. But the fear did not deter him from his petty goal.  ❛    But today, it is I who takes.   ❜   Jon lifted the shovel with both his arms, held the metallic end down, like one would hold a dagger and aimed it at Verona’s pale thin forearm.  ❛    And today, there is less of you.   ❜    

[hrker]

𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚃𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴  /  11 . your muse slams mine against a wall hard @hisheist​

 ❛      Uh, excuse me.   ❜    Jonathan cringed at how quiet his voice was. In that large circular room, only he and another man stood. 

Many guests had come to visit the gallery that evening. A few 16th century artists from warmer parts of Europe were being showcased at Trafalgar and many curious eyes had travelled to lay upon the equally curious collection. The most spectacular ( and bizarre ) of the bunch went by the nickname of El Greco. Jon had heard the gallery owner explain the Greek artist had developed his craft in Spain and that the stroke of his brush was unlike any other. Mr. Harker agreed. Even in this modern age, the man’s work seemed to be beyond bold. And the Englishman would be lying if he were to say he was anything but mesmerised by the work of art which had stood before him.  

The painting was named Saint Martin and The Beggar and it was unlike anything he had ever seen. To think that a man from such a distant past could paint in such a manner ... It baffled him. The long stretched bodies, the clear brush strokes, the bright colours, all of it entrapped poor Jon’s attention. And when it was time for the guests to gather in another room to drink and mingle, Mr. Harker found himself completely uninterested in any subject that did not involve the mysterious Greco. He would doze off whenever others spoke of their professions or of the weather and would instead focus on one awful thought; this could very well be the first and last time he would have an opportunity to witness to Saint Martin and The Beggar. And, for some odd reason, Jon felt as if he required one last private goodbye, away from all the ruckus and alcohol. A piece of art had truly touched his heart; it was a moment which ought to be treasured.

So, dear Mr. Harker did something he was an expert at: he left the party early. But this time it was not to return to the peace and quiet of his home but to visit the work of a dead man. He was beyond thrilled to find that the doors to the gallery had not yet been locked, so much so that Jon did not think to ask why such rare pieces were not better guarded. It was when he pushed the doors open that he found he was not alone in his quest.

Another man, one he did not recall seeing before, stood dangerously close to the large painting. Mr. Harker had to flutter his lashes in disbelief. The stranger touched the piece’s frame, running his fingers over its’ length as if it was his to take. Jon was outraged, perhaps unrightfully so, for that was not his property. But the gesture in itself felt monstrously ill-mannered.

   ❛      Sir.    ❜   He called out, firmly this time. That had been enough to call the stranger’s attention.  ❛      Please, refrain from stepping too close to the painting.   ❜    Jon warned while walking closer to the visitor.   ❛      Other guests may think you’re attempting to ---    ❜     Before he could finish his thought, Jonathan was pulled across the room only to have the air knocked out of his lungs when feeling his spine hit against hard wall. The impact had been so violent, the paintings hanging all around him shivered in their frames.  ❛      Steal it.   ❜    Mr. Harker winced.

[hrker]

“Are we so different, you and I? You take life when you have to, as do I.” / @draculyr​

 Beholding him was almost too much to bare. 

Jonathan found himself struggling to keep his gaze fixed on the count for, each time he did, he found himself glaring. And despite all the horrors he had been put through, there was still a small voice in the back of his head warning him that staring was improper. Such intensity had never touched his mundane life. Only his love for Mina seemed to rival this terrible grudge he had nurtured for the creature before him. Could it be hate then what fuelled him to move against the count? Had Jon become one of those men, overtaken by rage, turning a blind eye to reason and religion if only to have his vengeance? No, surely not. He still believed in goodness and light and healing. Even now as he glared at the count, he remembered that, the reason why he regarded him with such hostility, was because Jon had believed these things to be true for Dracula too.

          ❛    ── Which life ?   ❜   Jon demanded. He never quite managed to live up to his own expectations: he didn’t sound angry, he sounded scared.    ❛.  Before you, I had never allowed such crimes to cross my mind! Not even at my most furious. You may not believe me, but it is the truth.  ❜   Harker said, firmly this time, for he had no doubts regarding the veracity of his own words. The mere breaking of a rabbit’s spine distressed him. How could Dracula find the two of them similar?

An empty vase stood by the window. Jonathan thought of dear Lucy then. He had to look away from the count and down at his hands, lest he bring out the worst in him.   ❛   To rob a life is the most foul thing on this earth.  ❜   A murmur. In the end that was all he had to offer to the monster speaking to him. In the first stages of his captivity Harker had not fought back; in fact, he had allowed himself to go gently into the goodnight, nearly being put out like a flame by those women’s hungry mouths. Jon had even considered ending his own life before Dracula’s. Perishing at the bottom of the precipice ... as a man. Quietly. Unseen. Gone. Would the count grant him the same courtesy of considering his own destruction before Jonathan’s? Surely not. 

                   ❛   Are you alive, count?  ❜   Harker abruptly asked, turning to face the vampire again. He looked genuinely puzzled for a moment. But, eventually, all he could do was shrug.    ❛   Then how could we possibly be anything but different ?  ❜  

[hrker]

❝  i would like to give you what i think you’re asking for.  ❞ @spervier​

jon could feel the scent of metal seeping into his skin. his fingers were wrapped so tightly around the window’s bars that his flesh had begun to burn. he kept thinking that if he were a stronger man he would have broken out by now. he thought that, if he were a smarter man, he would have tricked the count and his wives into releasing him. he thought and thought but, reality was that jonathan harker was a foolish little man. he had doomed himself and all of those he held dear because he had been stubborn and blind. now he had been reduced to a trembling pitiful mess, begging strangers to whisk him away, take him anywhere ( anywhere, sir ! anywhere but here ! ) for whatever price they saw fit. 

but that only made him seem like more of a fool; begging without nothing to offer in return. no gold, no power, no favours ... even now, as jon desperately tried to stick his head through the bars so that the stranger standing in the patio could see his face, he knew he looked like a madman. and god, perhaps he was. for what sane individual would be on the verge of tears by the mere sight of another man ( a living, breathing one! his mouth freed from blood! his skin touched by the sun! ) ?

  ❛    then, please, do so, sir ! if it is within your power !   ❜    mr. harker half-shouted. it seemed as if the brides were always listening. sometimes jon feared they could even hear his thoughts. a whisper or a scream, it mattered not. once night settled, jonathan harker knew that his blood would be spilled upon the dark corridors of count dracula’s domain. 

he had tried to tell the strange fellow that he needed safe passage to varna so that he could board a ship and abandon that dreadful place for good. but he feared that the life which radiated off of the man could be taken from him simply for considering such plots. oh, how jon wished to reach out and touch him, if only  to know that he was real and not part of a cruel illusion planted upon his pillow by the vile creatures which stalked him.   ❛    if not, you may very well be the last living soul i will lay my eyes upon in this life .   ❜