I'm sick or something

My throat hurts. My head hurts. It hurts when I swallow. I was compelled by eurydice72 and gigglestheblood to stay in bed, and I sent Jaime out to buy various necessary things. I stayed in bed all afternoon, watching A Fistful of Dollars, Wayne's World, and Wayne's World 2. Now we're watching the Riff-trax for Matrix: Reloaded. I feel better and still pretty crappy. But I've already arranged for somebody to cover my class on Monday morning, in case things don't get better.

I'm reading Dracula right now, and honestly, it took me all afternoon to get through 40 pages. At this point, all that's keeping me going is shipping Seward/Arthur. I imagine them having hot, hot comfort sex. If I were to write Dracula fanfic, it'd definitely be in diary format. Like

John Seward's Diary

September 27--Art, poor old fellow, is still completely broken over his father and dear, sweet Lucy. He is inconsolable. Quincey, being a dear friend, has sat up with him every night, offering what comfort he can, but it is not enough. And I fear Quincey knows it. Still, he is a good chap, and he keeps trying. Last night, when Quincey finally excused himself to his room, I took his place on the sofa, beside Arthur. He didn't acknowledge me at first, and we spent several compatible moments in silence. Presently, he murmured,

"You should sleep." I responded with

"So should you. Van Helsing will want us both to be well rested. He has stressed the importance of sleep." After a pause, he asked

"Rested for what? What is going on here, John?" I didn't know the answer, so I admitted as much. "But you must have a suspicion?" He pressed. Oh! How my heart ached for him! I wanted to offer him the assurances he needed, but I dare not speak my thoughts on this issue. Not until my teacher has given me the proper permission. Arthur is far too fragile, despite his manly disposition, right now.

"I could give you something to help you sleep."

"You mean an opiate?" Art shook his head, and it might have been my imagination, but he seemed to be chastising me. His tone was remonstrative. "I would rather come by my sleep honestly."

"Then let me help you in other ways," I said, without considering my words. We both needed help, and in the privacy of this journal, I can admit that I had always been fond of Arthur.

"Would you like to sleep on the sofa in my room tonight? It was a great comfort to me to know you were so close last night." I didn't need to consider his invitation for very long before nodding. He stood first, and offered his hand to pull me to my feet. I could hear Van Helsing outside, and Quincey in his bedroom, and my heart was still heavy with the thought of sweet Lucy's funeral.

As to what happened next--oh. Here comes Van Helsing...I shall complete this later.

And that is how I would write Dracula slash.