Next up is drabbles. Or at least fics that are somewhat near 100 words, even if I hit that actual, fabled mark very rarely. Fun game! Try to pick which ones I didn't actually manage to pull it off in! No cheating!

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His duty was to protect his child.

This was obvious. Even the lowest of animals protected their young.

And obviously cloistering the boy in the castle was a solution soon to fail. Eternity was long and the castle small.

So he needed to teach his son how to protect himself, so that when he was no longer around he wouldn't have to fear for the thought of the humans finding him and the hunters coming with their painful crosses and stakes.

But hunters would not give up easily, so killing was the only answer. He had learned this long ago.

Killing was hard. But it got easier the more you praticed and the younger you started, like all things.

His logic was perfect.

Still, Dracula couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness as he watched Adrian's small, too young hands close around the peasant's neck.

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#OMG RONDO FIC IN ENGLISH

The zombies came and the doves ripped through them. She ran on, deeper into the castle. The knights with axes came and Quinglong destroyed them. She lept up stairs and across deep pits. The small ghosts that spun and danced in the air came and the metors burned them. She doged and slid and flipped. Camilla wept her bloody tears of fire and the alter-ego, the other that called the animals and brought power stabbed and stabbed until that vampire fell as well.

Maria kept moving. If she stopped she might hear the all too human screams that followed.

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# This is Sara, at some unspecified point after LoI, and she is speaking/thinking about Mathas/Dracula. Gee, aren't all pronoun fics fun?

She hated him.

It was a constant, painful anger and hate that bled through her body (such as it was, now), pooling in her heart and cycling out again to engulf all of her and back again, an endless pulse of bitter rage against him for her being trapped here, for bringing everyone this pain, for the coldness she had felt then, for how he had sat there and promised he would help her escape, the treasonous two-faced bastard, for the loneliness, for the immobility here in the dark, for the lack of all senses, the lack of all feelings and sensations besides the constant pain and anger...and she knew he hated in the same way, and the knowledge that they were kin in this anger, fueled from the same source and it was all a matter of changing your viewpoint, that she was as base and heartless a murderer as him...that was the very worst thing of all.

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One night, the little girl couldn't sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours, but nothing worked. She grew lonely in her bed, and finally that was enough to convince her to brave the midnight kitchen with it's unfamiliar lights and shadows. She went to the phone, and carefully looked up the phone number she wanted by the faint moonlight, of the man who was always awake. She slowly walked back to her room and buried under her blankets, dialed the number.

"Hello? Mr. Arikado?"

"Mina? Why aren't you in bed?"

"I can't sleep. Tell me a story."

"...All right. Once, a long, long time ago, in Europe, there lived two brave knights..."

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#SLASH

He wasn't Lisa. He would never be Lisa.

He was strong and hard where Lisa had been delicate and soft, straight where she had curved, rough and scarred where she had been perfect and smooth. He smelt wrong as well, of red and gold, of battle, anger, and holy, when she had been of green and growing, of forests, joy, and light.

But Richter was warm and living, and that was all the really mattered; so after the passions were spent Dracula would try and look past all that and pretend it really was Lisa he held in his arms.