Renfield is just always crying whimpering and pissing his pants and its the best. Renfield just wakes up in the morning already making kicked puppy noises. I love him.
HE JUST WAKES UP LOOKING LIKE THIS
How are we not supposed to simply fall in love??? He's like the walking epitome of a kicked puppy submissive. And he's 6'3". Unbelievable. Every day we are blessed, anon.
Also someone tell me to stop being so self critical because I have a 'Renfield humps a pillow because he's horny about Dracula but Dracula is dead' fic and its currently under 1k and I'm over thinking because I feel weird if I write too "short"
It is the worst thing, I know I'm allowed to write short but I feel like I HAVE to be over 1.5k every time and like. Ugh
The more I read of your writing, the more I love it!
Prompt/request: a time when Dracula cleaned Renfield up and took care of him after he got seriously hurt, going beyond the usual dripping-blood-on-the-wound, and actually being tender towards him 🖤
Thank you so much!!! For the compliment and the prompt!!! This one got weird and gory!!!!!!!!
Count Vladimir Tepes Dracula, Prince of Walachia, was never known for kindness. Indeed, if there were any historical annotation alluding to a modicum of kindness in him, it would be quickly followed by an abrupt rebuttal, as in the following example:
"Count Dracula would smile and gently stroke their hair... Before mounting the heads on wooden spikes."
The faintest, feeblest glimmer of humanity still surviving within the monster is quickly stifled by the overwhelming miasma of hatred and horrors that animate his undead body. "Humanity" is to Dracula as "hamburger" is to your average American- "food."
And yet.
Dracula was not a one-dimensional entity. He was complex as he was vile. He contained multitudes. Most of which were ghastly, but this is not a story about those.
-
Renfield is proving to be quite the familiar. He is what would someday be called a go-getter. He's fast, he's punctual, he's utterly and madly, obsessively devoted to Dracula. Dracula finds he enjoys having Renfield sitting beside him. Renfield makes little noises of delight as Dracula scratches at his scalp. Renfield rests his chin on Dracula's knee and looks up at him with wide, wild eyes, more black pupil than blue iris these days. He drools sometimes, but one must endure some drool when one keeps a dog. And Renfield is by far the best dog Dracula has ever had. A hunter and a pet. A good boy.
One late evening Dracula rises to find that Renfield is not curled up beside his coffin. The vampire winds his way out of the castle crypt and finds a meal- seven freshly-dead young women- waiting for him. But no Renfield.
Dracula reaches down for one of the bodies. But stops. He hears... something. It's not any of the castle sounds to which he is accustomed- not the steady slow groans of structural decay, nor the shuffle of rats through dust, nor the delicate sigh of tattered tapestries rustling in drafts. No, no. This was... Crying. He is pretty sure that is what it is called, anyway.
The count seeks out the sound and finds Renfield in one of the long-unused bedrooms. He is curled in a little ball on the old bed. Dracula steps closer, assessing, analysing, avian. Renfield opens his eyes in time to see Dracula reaching down and he flinches as a claw grazes his cheek. Dracula looks at the drop on his claw with curiosity.
"What is this?"
Renfield sniffles and blinks up at his Master. "Thi- do you mean my tears, Master?"
Ah, yes, that's what those are. "Why are you crying?"
Renfield's lower lip trembles. He unfolds, and it's clear from the look on his face that it causes some sort of agony for him to do so. "I didn't get away without a fight," he says, his voice ragged with guilt and weeps.
Dracula now sees that his familiar's right arm is dislocated at the shoulder and broken. His sleeve is ripped and the pale skin beneath is purple and blue. The amount of blood soaking his right pant leg makes it hard to tell the extent of the damage there- lacerations, certainly; fractures, possibly. His unruly hair is matted with blood, and it had at one point covered his face but he made a valiant effort to wipe it off on his intact sleeve with his intact arm.
Dracula's expression is unreadable. He leans down and presses his ear to Renfield's chest and Renfield startles at the closeness. "Breathe deep," he commands. Renfield obeys. Dracula can hear fluid in the lungs and hitches in the heartbeat. He stands and then sits down on the bed beside his familiar, situating himself so they are facing one another. He places his cold hands on Renfield's shoulder and arm and says, "this will hurt."
Dracula snaps Renfield's shoulder back into the socket and Renfield lets out a strangled cry. Dracula smoothes his hands over the shoulder and says gently, "shh, shh. Brave boy." Renfield whimpers.
Dracula carefully runs his hands down Renfield's broken arm and squeezes the familiar's hand. Keeping one hand clasped around Renfield's, he uses his other hand to softly grip Renfield's chin, locking eyes with him. he can't help but grin. "I have not shown you everything I can do," Dracula purrs.
The vampire lets go of Renfield's chin and hand. He uses a claw to tear open Renfield's blotchy skin and uses the same claw to open his palm. Renfield looks confused but opens his mouth to receive the blood but Dracula carefully grips the familiar's arm where he made the cut and rubs it a bit, making good and sire that his black blood is steadily creeping into his familiar. He removes his hand and watches Renfield's confusion melt into amazement as the bruises recede and the bones squirm back into place and the skin zips up. The healing power flows up into Renfield's long fingers; the feeling returns and he flexes his hand with a newfound glee.
"Master- this is amazing- you are amazing!"
Dracula nods. Of course he is. He then helps Renfield out of the tattered shirt and Renfield blushes despite everything they have already been through. Dracula tears a deep hole in Renfield's chest, digging through the tight, lean muscles and cracking the bones to ensure his healing blood could get deep down into the wounded places. Renfield gasps and moans and pants and fervently praises his Master. Dracula brushes his claws against Renfield's frantic heart and says, "shhh, my brave boy." He withdraws his bleeding hand and licks Renfield's blood off as the familiar's lungs fill with fresh cells and new air and the ribcage reconfigures. Renfield's blood is stale now, tainted with sins and madness, but there is a subtle sweetness there, the taste that is wholly Renfield- light and naïve. The process of fixing Renfield's leg is not as involved but it does necessitate the removal of the blood-soaked trousers. When Dracula is finished with his works, Renfield is almost entirely naked and covered with his blood, the blood of his attackers, and Dracula's blood. He looks up at his Master.
"You could do with a wash," Dracula says. "Come, let us get the water warming," and he scoops Renfield into his arms. Renfield yelps in confusion and Dracula chuckles and says, "I care about your well-being, Renfield. You are my prized possession."
I cant stop thinking of Renfield running into Draculas from different universes, the BBC version, Lee, Lugosi or all of them at once like... They'd actually obliterate that twink. Fucked to hell and back six times over.
omg yes,,,,
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