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darkthingshappen · 21 days

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I absolutely love this entire arc. These are two precious beans that don’t know they need each other. It’s beautiful. I absolutely LOVE what you’ve done with. August’s family SUCKS! But also, thank God they do. You never cease to amaze me with your talent and story telling. 🫶🏻🤌🏻🥰🥳

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

Previous / Masterlist

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery?

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him.

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor.

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips: "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling.

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture.

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly.

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take. He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human.

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground.

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom. August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed.

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand.

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

—

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away. Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached?

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow, even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August. August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him. “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain.

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror. He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable.

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe.

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up. “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.”

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?”

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely.

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder – will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

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#shattered #lucas slater oc #august crinamorte oc #vampire caretaker #bloodbag whumpee #defiant whumpee #whump #whump writing #whump community #whumpee #captivity #blood mention #vomit mention #forced to be whumper

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darkthingshappen · 23 days

Text

Promising start to another excellent story from you. I’m hooked from the beginning.

The Rose's Thorns - Chapter 1

Masterlist

What I've been working on while I was away. Tread carefully with this story! It's dark dark.

Thank you to my lovely beta reader @darkthingshappen

CW: cancer, vampire-human relationship, EXPLICIT NONCON, drug addiction (barbiturates), trans/nonbinary whumpee (she/they, afab), lady whump, gender dysphoria, prostitution, dehumanization/degradation, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, genderless whumper, nonhuman whumper, vampire whumper, gag, referenced vivisection, slapping/physical abuse, blindfold, referenced whipping, conditioned whumpee, vampire whumpee, dissociation

===

The fire crackled, blowing slightly as the wind rolled over the crisp meadow the two women were sat in. Such was the life that Hayden had always wanted. A woman she loved, a woman she spent her nights with, a woman she could tell any secret to - yes, this was perfection. At least, it had been in her dreams. It wasn’t perfection, not now.

“Hayden?”

Hayden had to look up from her guitar, smiling a bit, though Hayden could tell that Casey saw right through it.

“What?” The smile continued to play on Hayden’s lips, her fangs poking out from the corners of her mouth.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” The wringing of Casey’s hands told Hayden that it was serious.

Hayden stopped the strumming of her guitar, putting the worn wooden instrument to the side. “You know you can tell me anything, Casey.”

“I know.” Casey looked away. “I...” Tears filled Casey’s eyes. Hayden’s heart, if it could beat, would’ve jumped to her throat. “I have cancer.”

Hayden froze. Words that came to her tongue lost their way.

“Acute monocytic leukemia. Stage four.” Casey stifled a sob. “I’m not gonna survive, Hayden.”

With all these years of immortality, sitting in that ethereal garden of willows, Hayden, for the first time in ages, felt that fleeting mortality from her human years. She, the vampire who always had something on her tongue, couldn’t seem to find any words.

After too long a silence filled with the chirping of cicadas, Hayden finally found words. “You’re really going to die.” The words hardly sounded like they came from Hayden herself at all. “It can’t be true.”

Of course, mortality always surrounded the two, one being an undead immortal and the other being a human. However, that mortality always felt distant, fifty, seventy years from now. Hayden hadn’t felt the dread of being around mortals in some time. The last time she’d felt this way was hundreds of years ago now, when she was newly turned into this torturous life of hers. Casey was the only thing that eased the pain and now, she might be gone.

“It is. I only told you once the staging came back for a reason.” The shame colored Casey’s face red.

With mortality came desperation - that will to live that Hayden still had for reasons she could not comprehend. “I could turn you.”

“Hayden, you know I don’t want that.”

Yes, Hayden did know that. She knew that all too well. The sire-fledgling relationship was one that was always unequal. Sires had too much power, too much control. Even if Hayden would never use that power, it was a question that lingered for a reason.

“I-” Hayden swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

What else was she supposed to say? Hayden had brought up that sort of forbidden topic that always hung over them like miasma.

The fire popped. Casey looked at Hayden, eyes red. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not scared of you, Hayden. I’m scared of your sire.”

Wren. Hayden broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of what Wren would do if Hayden turned someone. No, it wasn’t an option. She couldn’t turn Casey. Hayden couldn’t subject Casey to the life that Hayden lived.

“I-” Hayden swallowed. “I know.”

Why had Casey fallen in love with her? Hayden didn’t know. Casey didn’t deserve to die. If anyone deserved to die, it was Hayden: Hayden, the sinner. Love was strange. Hayden knew that from her work. It came and went. Most were lucky to get more than forty years, even vampires. Maybe it was a good thing that life came to an end, then. Most weren’t trapped in an eternal hell like Hayden was.

It was a selfish thought. Hayden knew it well. Casey was pure, untainted by the world. She was cynical, yes. She had a wry sense of humor, sure. The world hadn’t treated Casey kindly. Yet, Hayden felt a sense of innocence from her. Casey still had hope for things.

“You don’t deserve this.”

Hayden’s words did little to comfort Casey. Why Hayden said them at all was a mystery to her. After all, hadn’t Casey told Hayden the same thing?

Finally, Hayden settled on something. “I’m gonna make you a promise, Casey.”

Casey looked at Hayden attentively. Casey’s tears stopped for a moment, though her eyes were red and puffy.

“What is it?”

Hayden took a breath. “Casey, I will be with you ‘til death do us part. I know we can never be married because of who we are, but I love you all the same. In richness or in poorness; in health or in sickness; ‘til death do us part, I will be yours forever, Casey, if you’ll be mine.”

Casey hesitated. Hayden’s heart dropped. That was, until Casey began to laugh a little. Hayden watched Casey’s laughter with a sense of disbelief. Was that rejection? From the one she loved? The one she’d be lucky to have a year with?

“You’re already dead! How can death do us part?” Casey smiled, wide and jovial. For a while, the laughter and the smile felt very much like rejection. How could death do them part if one would live forever?

“Oh, Hayden, of course. I’m yours.” Casey stood up and held her arms out. “You’re always so formal. You vampires and your decorum, always so regal.”

Hayden looked into Casey’s eyes and saw happiness, not mockery. Hayden walked up to Casey and embraced her, holding her close.

“We’re already past the point of death do us part, Hayden.”

“But death will do us part.”

“It will, but I know I’ll be immortal in your memory, Hayden.”

Hayden was torn as she held Casey in her embrace. Casey was right, in a way. People lived on in the memories of others and if she lived on in the memory of a vampire, Casey was as immortal as a vampire.

Suddenly, the chirping of a phone going off interrupted the pair.

It was Hayden’s. Hayden’s heart sank.

“I-I need to answer. It might be Wren.”

It was Wren.

“Hayden, darling, where are you?”

“Oh, Wren.” Hayden felt the sudden urge to wring her hands. “I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Were you, darling?” Wren asked incredulously. “You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Where are you, darling?”

Hayden swallowed. “I’ll be right there, Wren. I promise. I’m leaving.”

“Answer me, darling.”

What was Hayden supposed to say? Casey looked at Hayden, anxiety in her eyes.

“I was stargazing at a park. I lost track of time. You know, the fireflies are really beautiful this year.”

It was a piss-poor excuse.

“The fireflies?” There was a laugh in Wren’s voice. “Yes, of course, the fireflies. Hayden, you’re over two hundred years old. There will always be fireflies. Now get your ass over to the manor or there’s going to be serious consequences.”

Serious consequences from Wren were no joke. Even Casey knew that.

“I’ll be right there. I’m sorry, Wren.”

“You better be.”

Click.

Wren’s fierce, amber eyes greeted Hayden when she returned to the manor. The dull headache Hayden had expected by then was beginning to pound as dread filled her heart.

“You better not have been out buying dope.”

“I wasn’t. I swear I wasn’t, Wren.”

“I don’t want you to touch that fentanyl shit. It’ll make you too dull on set and with customers.”

“I- I know, Wren. I promise I wasn’t buying shit without your permission.”

Wren grabbed Hayden by the collar of her shirt. “You smell like smoke. Don’t tell me you were out with that girl again. You know the rules, Hayden. No relationships outside of work.”

Hayden swallowed, feeling tears in her eyes. “I wasn’t, Wren. I told you. I was out looking at the fireflies trying to cope with all the shit you-!”

Slap.

Hayden fell to the floor, holding her cheek. Even before becoming a vampire, Hayden had always bruised easily. Now, it seemed like she bruised more than ever.

“I have killed my offspring for less, Hayden. Just because I made you doesn’t mean that I value your life. Am I clear, Hayden?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

“Good. You’re pushing the limits too far, Hayden, darling. If you didn’t make me so much money, you would be dead. Now, go get your whore ass ready. I have a line of customers waiting for you, Hayden.”

To the basement Hayden went where the rooms of the other offspring of Wren’s found their respite. The basement was somewhere between a dungeon and an apartment complex. Everyone had their own rooms, but the rooms were hardly anything to brag about. Even Hayden, being one of Wren’s highest earners, had little more than a bed and a dresser. Bathrooms were unnecessary luxuries for vampires, but Hayden at least had her own shower. That much was a “gift” from Wren.

Into the shower she went, quickly washing the smell of the smoke off of her body and hair. Then, the hair dryer dried her short hair and makeup covered the bruises of the day. No matter how much dysphoria the makeup gave Hayden, she still had to use it. She couldn’t possibly look like bruised fruit in front of the humans and vampires she served.

Off came her regular chest binder and on went a binder with black lace and sheer panels. Off came her usual boxer shorts and on went a pair of sheer panties that made Hayden cringe. It was a small courtesy to be allowed a chest binder by Wren, even if most of her customers enjoyed seeing her fully nude.

Tying a robe around her waist, Hayden left that haunting basement and into the room she always did her work in. In contrast to her dingy room, the room she did her work in was well-lit, painted in adoring colors, and the bed was nothing short of luxurious.

However, instead of a customer, the person in front of her was Wren. They had a cross look on their face.

Hayden’s heart, if it could beat, was surely racing.

“S-sir,” Hayden swallowed. “Wasn’t I supposed to be working tonight?”

“You took too long to get ready, Hayden, darling. I found others to do your work for you. You know what that means.”

Though begging words filled Hayden’s mouth, she couldn’t voice them. She knew better than to disobey Wren.

“Lay back for me, darling.”

Wren was the worst to fuck. They were so much more sadistic than any of Hayden’s customers, and, unlike those customers, Wren didn’t want to see Hayden enjoy it.

Still, Hayden did as she was told and laid back for Wren. Wren was quick to tie restraints around Hayden’s wrists. Spreading Hayden’s legs, they rubbed her pussy. Their hand eventually trailed up to a large scar on Hayden’s abdomen.

“I remember cutting you open, darling.”

The gentle touch of her brutal scar sent chills down Hayden’s spine. She remembered that day, too, though perhaps all too well.

A small chuckle. A light brush of the scar. Her panties coming down her legs.

“Yes, I remember that well. Your voice has become so beautiful on testosterone.”

Hayden swallowed. Wren’s fingers dipped into her pussy, spreading lube inside it, much to Hayden’s relief.

“I remember you begging me to turn you, yes. So you could get away and transition. You didn’t inherit my abilities, though, so I had to do it all myself.” A sharp slap wiped away most of Hayden’s makeup. “You ought to be grateful to me, Hayden, darling.”

“I am! I swear I am!” Hayden was desperate.

“Really? Because you keep running away to be with that girl. That human. The only humans you should be fucking, Hayden, are the ones I bring you.”

Whip scars covered the inside of Hayden’s thighs, a stark reminder of the times she’d tried to fight Wren. As Wren went to the closet, Hayden could only think of the whip.

However, it was a blindfold and a ring gag that Wren brought out of the closet. “I’m tired of your voice, Hayden, no matter how beautiful it is.”

The blindfold went over Hayden’s eyes. The gag went into her mouth with little trouble. She wasn’t ready for what came next. She never was.

Wren’s cock entered her mouth, pumping in and out at a punishing rate. Hayden gagged as it grew and hardened.

“Fuck, you’re as good as ever, Hayden.”

It wasn’t long before Wren withdrew from Hayden’s mouth and took their place over her. Pushing into Hayden, Wren let out a loud moan. “Fuck, even with all those customers, you’re as tight as ever, Hayden, darling.”

Whining a bit at the fullness of her pussy, Hayden wrapped her legs around Wren’s hips. Wren chuckled. Soon, the punishing thrusting started as Wren forced themselves in and out of Hayden. Wren let out a long moan, warm cock filling Hayden with each thrust. Its thickness always hurt Hayden and made her bleed, but Wren didn’t care. Wren never cared.

Soon enough, Wren was pushing deeper and deeper, hitting where Hayden’s cervix used to be. Hayden moaned a bit as Wren hit the sensitive scar tissue. She never orgasmed when it was Wren, but damn if it didn’t feel good to be used and stretched sometimes.

Hayden was, after all, something of a masochist. It was why she made so much money; she was a transgender masochist that could handle just about anything. Sometimes, she even enjoyed it, never with Wren, though.

“Oh darling, you’re so good for me.”

Wren bit down on Hayden’s collarbone, fucking her deeper and deeper.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me that I own you.”

Hayden hesitated. The gag fell off of her face as the fucking stopped for a moment.

“I’m yours, Wren. You own me.”

“What exactly do I own?”

“You own my body. You own my pussy. I’m yours to do with as you please. I will always be yours, Wren.”

Wren chuckled before going in for a kiss, their teeth sinking into Hayden’s lips, making her bleed.

“Good, my little barghest.”

The fucking was soon to stop. Wren’s cock was starting to twitch. Soon, hot semen filled Hayden. Wren gave a few more thrust, before they pulled out.

A wry grin was spread across their lips as they quickly changed form into a woman. Wren, after all, a pureblood, had abilities that Hayden could only dream of.

Wren adjusted their clothes, hiding any evidence of the crime they’d just committed. Wiping the blood off of Hayden’s face, they let Hayden’s restraints go.

“You want a pill before you head to bed?”

Hayden, feeling like a ghost in her own body, nodded a bit. Wren dropped a pill into her hands, then left, shutting the door. Hayden had little time to get out, as much as she wanted to just freeze and lay there forever.

Finally back in her room, Hayden took the pill in her shower room, washing it down with a paltry quantity of blood. Then, like every night, Hayden stepped into the shower, dissociated and numb. Her body didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real. She’d died a long time ago. Maybe this was what hell was.

Hayden stood in the shower until it turned off. Having exhausted the water she was allotted for the day, Hayden stepped out, put her usual binder and boxers back on, then rummaged to find something to sleep in.

It was only when she got to her bed that tears found her eyes. What had just happened? It was rape. Like every night of her life, it was rape.

Soon enough, the pill began to kick in and Hayden could finally feel, even if she didn’t want to feel anything. Fuck.

She was still bleeding a bit from Wren’s roughness. Hayden would have to go see Wren’s doctor in the morning if she wasn’t healed. After all, she had more customers, more work to be done, even if it felt impossible.

Perhaps it was impossible.

Hayden didn’t even realize she’d cried herself to sleep until she woke up the next day, tears staining her pillow.

===

Taglist: @whumpsday @i-can-even-burn-salad @pigeonwhumps @oddsconvert

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darkthingshappen · 23 days

Text

The Rose's Thorns - Chapter 1

Masterlist

What I've been working on while I was away. Tread carefully with this story! It's dark dark.

Thank you to my lovely beta reader @darkthingshappen

===

“Hayden?”

Hayden had to look up from her guitar, smiling a bit, though Hayden could tell that Casey saw right through it.

“What?” The smile continued to play on Hayden’s lips, her fangs poking out from the corners of her mouth.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” The wringing of Casey’s hands told Hayden that it was serious.

Hayden stopped the strumming of her guitar, putting the worn wooden instrument to the side. “You know you can tell me anything, Casey.”

“I know.” Casey looked away. “I...” Tears filled Casey’s eyes. Hayden’s heart, if it could beat, would’ve jumped to her throat. “I have cancer.”

Hayden froze. Words that came to her tongue lost their way.

“Acute monocytic leukemia. Stage four.” Casey stifled a sob. “I’m not gonna survive, Hayden.”

“It is. I only told you once the staging came back for a reason.” The shame colored Casey’s face red.

With mortality came desperation - that will to live that Hayden still had for reasons she could not comprehend. “I could turn you.”

“Hayden, you know I don’t want that.”

“I-” Hayden swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

What else was she supposed to say? Hayden had brought up that sort of forbidden topic that always hung over them like miasma.

The fire popped. Casey looked at Hayden, eyes red. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not scared of you, Hayden. I’m scared of your sire.”

“I-” Hayden swallowed. “I know.”

“You don’t deserve this.”

Hayden’s words did little to comfort Casey. Why Hayden said them at all was a mystery to her. After all, hadn’t Casey told Hayden the same thing?

Finally, Hayden settled on something. “I’m gonna make you a promise, Casey.”

Casey looked at Hayden attentively. Casey’s tears stopped for a moment, though her eyes were red and puffy.

“What is it?”

“Oh, Hayden, of course. I’m yours.” Casey stood up and held her arms out. “You’re always so formal. You vampires and your decorum, always so regal.”

Hayden looked into Casey’s eyes and saw happiness, not mockery. Hayden walked up to Casey and embraced her, holding her close.

“We’re already past the point of death do us part, Hayden.”

“But death will do us part.”

“It will, but I know I’ll be immortal in your memory, Hayden.”

Suddenly, the chirping of a phone going off interrupted the pair.

It was Hayden’s. Hayden’s heart sank.

“I-I need to answer. It might be Wren.”

It was Wren.

“Hayden, darling, where are you?”

“Oh, Wren.” Hayden felt the sudden urge to wring her hands. “I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Were you, darling?” Wren asked incredulously. “You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Where are you, darling?”

Hayden swallowed. “I’ll be right there, Wren. I promise. I’m leaving.”

“Answer me, darling.”

What was Hayden supposed to say? Casey looked at Hayden, anxiety in her eyes.

“I was stargazing at a park. I lost track of time. You know, the fireflies are really beautiful this year.”

It was a piss-poor excuse.

Serious consequences from Wren were no joke. Even Casey knew that.

“I’ll be right there. I’m sorry, Wren.”

“You better be.”

Click.

Wren’s fierce, amber eyes greeted Hayden when she returned to the manor. The dull headache Hayden had expected by then was beginning to pound as dread filled her heart.

“You better not have been out buying dope.”

“I wasn’t. I swear I wasn’t, Wren.”

“I don’t want you to touch that fentanyl shit. It’ll make you too dull on set and with customers.”

“I- I know, Wren. I promise I wasn’t buying shit without your permission.”

Wren grabbed Hayden by the collar of her shirt. “You smell like smoke. Don’t tell me you were out with that girl again. You know the rules, Hayden. No relationships outside of work.”

Hayden swallowed, feeling tears in her eyes. “I wasn’t, Wren. I told you. I was out looking at the fireflies trying to cope with all the shit you-!”

Slap.

Hayden fell to the floor, holding her cheek. Even before becoming a vampire, Hayden had always bruised easily. Now, it seemed like she bruised more than ever.

“I have killed my offspring for less, Hayden. Just because I made you doesn’t mean that I value your life. Am I clear, Hayden?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

However, instead of a customer, the person in front of her was Wren. They had a cross look on their face.

Hayden’s heart, if it could beat, was surely racing.

“S-sir,” Hayden swallowed. “Wasn’t I supposed to be working tonight?”

“You took too long to get ready, Hayden, darling. I found others to do your work for you. You know what that means.”

Though begging words filled Hayden’s mouth, she couldn’t voice them. She knew better than to disobey Wren.

“Lay back for me, darling.”

Wren was the worst to fuck. They were so much more sadistic than any of Hayden’s customers, and, unlike those customers, Wren didn’t want to see Hayden enjoy it.

“I remember cutting you open, darling.”

The gentle touch of her brutal scar sent chills down Hayden’s spine. She remembered that day, too, though perhaps all too well.

A small chuckle. A light brush of the scar. Her panties coming down her legs.

“Yes, I remember that well. Your voice has become so beautiful on testosterone.”

Hayden swallowed. Wren’s fingers dipped into her pussy, spreading lube inside it, much to Hayden’s relief.

“I am! I swear I am!” Hayden was desperate.

“Really? Because you keep running away to be with that girl. That human. The only humans you should be fucking, Hayden, are the ones I bring you.”

Whip scars covered the inside of Hayden’s thighs, a stark reminder of the times she’d tried to fight Wren. As Wren went to the closet, Hayden could only think of the whip.

However, it was a blindfold and a ring gag that Wren brought out of the closet. “I’m tired of your voice, Hayden, no matter how beautiful it is.”

The blindfold went over Hayden’s eyes. The gag went into her mouth with little trouble. She wasn’t ready for what came next. She never was.

Wren’s cock entered her mouth, pumping in and out at a punishing rate. Hayden gagged as it grew and hardened.

“Fuck, you’re as good as ever, Hayden.”

“Oh darling, you’re so good for me.”

Wren bit down on Hayden’s collarbone, fucking her deeper and deeper.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me that I own you.”

Hayden hesitated. The gag fell off of her face as the fucking stopped for a moment.

“I’m yours, Wren. You own me.”

“What exactly do I own?”

“You own my body. You own my pussy. I’m yours to do with as you please. I will always be yours, Wren.”

Wren chuckled before going in for a kiss, their teeth sinking into Hayden’s lips, making her bleed.

“Good, my little barghest.”

The fucking was soon to stop. Wren’s cock was starting to twitch. Soon, hot semen filled Hayden. Wren gave a few more thrust, before they pulled out.

A wry grin was spread across their lips as they quickly changed form into a woman. Wren, after all, a pureblood, had abilities that Hayden could only dream of.

Wren adjusted their clothes, hiding any evidence of the crime they’d just committed. Wiping the blood off of Hayden’s face, they let Hayden’s restraints go.

“You want a pill before you head to bed?”

It was only when she got to her bed that tears found her eyes. What had just happened? It was rape. Like every night of her life, it was rape.

Soon enough, the pill began to kick in and Hayden could finally feel, even if she didn’t want to feel anything. Fuck.

Perhaps it was impossible.

Hayden didn’t even realize she’d cried herself to sleep until she woke up the next day, tears staining her pillow.

===

Taglist: @whumpsday @i-can-even-burn-salad @pigeonwhumps @oddsconvert

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darkthingshappen · 24 days

Text

me writing a torture scene: *typing at the speed of light, keyboard is on fire from the velocity of my fingers*

me composing a text message: *no words brain empty only eepy and nervous*

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darkthingshappen · 26 days

Text

whippings my beloved. 🤌🏻🤌🏻

Memories

"So, you remember all the rules, hm? And the punishments that go with them, of course."

"Of course," Whumpee mumbled and, prompted by a sharp gaze, continued: "The whip."

Whumper nodded, slowly circling the kneeling figure. A sly smirk crossed his lips as he threw a quick glance to Caretaker, subdued, helpless, utterly powerless as he too was forced to his knees.

"Good," he said and stopped pacing, kneeling down in front of Whumpee. "Tell me, what do you remember from that, exactly? Hm?" He brought up a finger to their chin and before he even brushed over their skin, Whumpee's eyes found his.

Reluctantly, trembling under Whumper's expecting gaze, Whumpee forced themself back to the recesses of their mind, the place that they avoided at all costs. A little corner with dark memories from their previous captivity, memories that despite all their safeguarding sometimes slipped free at the moment they were least wanted, when Whumpee was least prepared.

What did they remember... The pain, obviously. That blinding sharp pain crossing into their skin. How it didn't fade, how the pain just spread and lingered and worsened with every following lash.

But those weren't the memories that slipped free. In unguarded moments, they heard a voice crooning, echoing in their mind.

"I... I hear the lashes of the whip. And... your voice. Cold. Counting after every crack."

Whumper nodded. "How about your own voice? Do you hear your own screams?"

Whumpee thought for a bit, tensed up, reliving the memories in vivid detail. The pain, the despair, the rotten sound of the whip. How their lips parted in a scream, how their voice rasped in their throat... but they couldn't recall the sound. "No..." they simply said in barely more than a whisper.

Whumper hummed. "I do. I remember them well, especially how your voice cracked."

He stood and with the lightest brush over their cheek, Whumpee followed right along. "But I don't mind if you refresh my memory."

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

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darkthingshappen · 26 days

Note

iloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingIloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingIloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingIloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingIloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingIloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingIloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwritingiloveyourwriting

hello :)

Awwwwww. Thank you. And hello back, Anon. ☺️

#Asks #answered asks #lovely comments #🥰

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darkthingshappen · 28 days

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Katsudon looks like… tangled up. Do u need some help? (≖‿≖ )

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darkthingshappen · 1 month

Text

I want to talk about conditioning for a minute, from someone who has undergone it.

It has been 15 yrs as of March 30th since I left for basic training (probably why it's been on my mind A LOT lately, so sorry guys). In those 15 years, I've undone most of the programming, but you know what, there are some things that just will not go away.

For example, reveille, if you want to see me go from fast asleep to moving like something is on fire and have me dressed and out the door before the song ends, wake me up with that, even hearing it during the day gives me a minor adrenaline rush. I have not heard that tune in like 2 years, and I'm pretty sure I will still react the same way. I have been completely Pavlove's dog to it, and it only took 8.5 weeks.

Next is my hands in my pocket - it feels rebellious and taboo when I do it, even now I still feel a slight jolt of excitement when I do it. I actually put my hands in my pocket a lot now because it feels weird, and I like that 🤣

Even how I walk has changed, I still have no bounce in my step, I still roll my feet to walk quieter, I still find myself falling in step with people I'm walking next to. I have done my best to undo this one, but it still shows up every now and then. I will also still walk to a beat if music playing is anything similar to a Jodie.

It has been 15 years with active work done to undo this, and it still shows up! I was in for a total of just 5.5 years.

It also took me years (3-4) to stop standing at parade rest and over using sir/ma'am. That only got better from being constantly called out on it.

My point? A conditioned whumpee will likely have behaviors just show up even years later. there will also likely be completely normal things they will likely have to actively think about doing or not doing, and it may always feel weird or foreign to them (like me putting my hands in my pocket). This won't be something that goes away in weeks or months. They are going to have these internal reactions to certain stimuli, likely the rest of their life. Also, these responses can be exhausting for a caretaker! That's a lot of emotional burden on them, depending on what the whumpee was conditioned to.

Hopefully, this helps someone somewhere somehow with some inspiration! 😊 feel free to pick my brain further if you want.

Thank you for letting me talk a bit about my experiences, it's refreshing. I promise after March I'll be less military again. 🤣

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darkthingshappen · 1 month

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their "never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf" moment

(from the AU described in the second half of this ask)

Jin tried to go to his department with evidence of crimes against humanity committed by Rotorworx, not knowing the city police were paid off by the company to keep things hush-hush. After being warned several times to drop it, Jin and Wes were turned over to Rotorworx. Company employees then proceeded to (poorly) interrogate the pair to find out what they'd learned so far.

(art tag:

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpsday , @regrets-realization-acceptance , @kixngiggles , @randomlifeunit , @darkthingshappen

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darkthingshappen · 2 months

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Love that answer. Damn I’m intrigued. What is this villain planning???? 😈😈😈😈

🗝 Ivan, how far are you willing to go to get Leo back?

this ask game

"This will not be hard," Ivan says, thumbing the rim of his glass. "I will barely have to lift a finger to get my Leo back, when the timing is right.

"Five men can show up at Senator Luca's door and take my boy from his goddam bed if they need to, but I do not think this will be the case. Leo is smart. He's special. He won't put up a fight, if I apply just the right amount of pressure.

"And that fucking guy running things at the site doesn't have it in him to tell me 'no.' He would have done it already, if he did. It was some fucked up shit luck that things played out the way they did at the last renewal, but I've really warmed up to the idea of Leo taking a little breather. Luca can keep my boy warm, get him nice and cozy, bring a little bit of that softness back. It'll be more fun that way.

"I think the more interesting question is how far will I go to get Luca fucking Bennett in my care. That. That's an interesting question. Watching him on the TV. Looking at the pictures my men bring me. God, how far I might go to make that happen... an entirely different story." His eyes light up as he thinks about it, and he smiles, just a little.

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darkthingshappen · 2 months

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Awww Leo. Great display of the fucked up system he’s stuck in. This was deliciously brutal. I loved it. Fucking Ivan is such a bastard. Great update. Thanks for the tags. Now give Leo some comfort please. Hahahahaha

A prompt: Ivan has Leo strung up and is doing something unpleasant to him

tw: forced to fight, electrocution, restraints, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch

notes: somewhere early in ivan days

Strung Up

“It’s different from the collar,” Ivan says, somewhere just outside of Leo’s line of sight. He tries to crane his neck, to twist his body, to get eyes on what's to come. He can't pinpoint what exactly it will be, but he knows it won't be good. He's been in this room for what could be hours, what feels like hours, his wrists bound tightly above his head, his body hanging.

From above the door, the red light promises as much.

He isn't made to wait long. Without warning, Ivan materializes in front of him, his fingers digging into Leo's chin to lift his head.

“You know it fucking frustrates me that you make me take these measures, Leo,” he says, peering up at him through narrowed eyes.

Leo can feel himself shaking, with every movement sending shooting pain through his shoulders. He doesn’t look away, though.

He can’t, however, form the words he knows he needs to form. The, 'I’m sorry, sir,' that he knows Ivan craves. His throat is raw, and even if he wanted to say it, he doesn't think any sound would come. He can't apologize, and he can't promise it won't happen again, because he's not sorry, and it will, he thinks. It will happen again, and again, and again. Because something in him is broken, and he's almost positive he won't make his way out of this contract, and at night, when that becomes its most obvious, his resolve gets stronger and stronger.

He's drawn back to the moment by an unexpected blow and his vision swims, and almost mercifully his head drops, and the world goes dark.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Come back to me,” Ivan is saying, almost lovingly. And then, as Leo forces his eyes open, Ivan says, “There you are.”

Leo's stomach turns over, and the inescapable pain momentarily overcomes him. Through dried, cracked lips, Leo whispers a nearly-silent, “Please,” and Ivan steps back.

It’s in that moment that Leo sees the long, almost definitely electrified baton, come toward his stomach, and a moment later, the world is engulfed in a fiery pain that consumes every part of him.

He can’t quite tell when Ivan stops, but he knows that it happens, because eventually he becomes aware of parts of himself. The screams that pull from deep within his chest, sending fresh flames through his already raw throat. Each thrash against the restraints that lights his shoulders ablaze. The sweat that drips from his hair, down his face and neck, onto somewhere below him.

“Easy, easy,” Ivan is saying, his voice close. “Take a breath, Leo,” he whispers. Leo sucks in as much air as he can, and Ivan laughs softly, his lips touching Leo’s forehead. “My boy,” he says, pulling back enough to see his whole face. "You are doing fine."

He’s distantly aware that it’s no longer just Ivan and him in the room, but further back, a man stands next to Ivan’s doctor.

Ivan is speaking to the man, who walks over to Leo with a hunger in his eyes.

He’s young, maybe no older than Leo himself. He rolls the sleeves up on his crisp white shirt and puts his hand out. Leo flinches as the man makes contact, first cupping the back of his neck, then running the same hand down his chest.

He holds Leo’s gaze for a moment then smiles, taking a step back.

“You think more?” Ivan asks, and the man nods.

Ivan looks at Leo then, and says, “You lost him a shit ton of money tonight.” Ivan sucks in a sharp breath, and continues, “Granted, it was fucking stupid to bet on you, wasn’t it? You are not ready for all that. Yet.”

Leo swallows, steeling himself against the pain that he knows is coming.

“I have been brainstorming with some of my guests, what to do with you.” He clicks his tongue. “A consolation prize would be interesting, I think. We have to keep the clientele happy, don’t we?” This part, he says softly; a secret between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Leo finally chokes out, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation.

“You say that a lot,” Ivan whispers back, with bite behind the words. He retreats and hands the tool to the other man, winking at Leo as he does. “Enjoy your time with him,” Ivan says, louder now, more a message to Leo than to anyone else. “I don’t prefer to share my boys in this way, but sometimes, it is justified.” Ivan gives Leo a once-over and Leo wonders, briefly, what he sees. How bruised he’s become, just in the two weeks he’s spent here. How thin he is, how desperate for any kind of reprieve. If he can see how he shakes, if he knows how bad it hurts. He blinks slowly, on the edge of losing consciousness and simply drifting away. He knows Ivan won’t allow it. If he knows nothing else, of that much he’s sure. Breaths come harder and slower, and he hears, distantly, “If you feel that he is dying, send Mikhail a text message. He is prepared to deal with it.”

Through heavy, salt-burned eyes, Leo watches Ivan retreat, and the doctor follows. Without warning, the man turns to him, and as instantly as a thought of mercy crosses his mind, it vanishes, and the world is once more engulfed in flames.

✥ ✥ ✥

When Leo awakens, he’s being carried through the maze-like halls of the basement. He tries to lift his head, to give some indication that he’s conscious, but no part of his body will cooperate. He doesn’t have the strength to hope that the man carrying him is not the same man who did this to him; he doesn’t have the strength to hope for anything.

“It’s alright,” he hears, but the sounds are warbled, the voice unfamiliar. “Almost there.”

He’s carried into one of the bathrooms and placed carefully into the shower stall. Through blurred vision, he can see that the light is yellow, and he lets himself drift away.

He's distantly aware of time passing, of being moved, of being spoken not to, but about. When he opens his eyes again, it's another worker, familiar only to him in passing, who leans over him, washing away the evidence of what was done. Leo begins the agonizing process of trying to speak, but before he can, the man says, “Don’t.” He moves the rag down Leo’s side, his touch light but not light enough to avoid reigniting the dulling pain. Leo flinches.

“Sorry,” the man says, his voice devoid of any real emotion. “Petrov won’t tolerate camaraderie.” The worker repositions Leo, rinsing away more blood and exposing more of the damage to his body. “I’d be lying if I said I knew what exactly he wanted me to do to you here.” Leo isn’t sure if the man is talking to him or not, so he stays silent. “Mikhail, the doctor, will see you once you’re cleaned up,” he continues. “You’re Leo, right?”

Leo urges himself to focus on the man, nodding.

“I’m Dante,” he says. There's silence as the worker, Dante, continues dutifully washing Leo's wrecked body. Several minutes pass in this way, before Dante says, “I’ve been here for almost two years." Dante keeps his eyes off of Leo's face, but keeps speaking. "I saw your fight tonight, if that’s what you want to call it.” He pushes Leo forward, letting the water flow down his back. Leo cries out softly, the pain in his ribs electric, and squeezes his hands into fists.

There's another silence as Leo catches his breath, longer this time.

“My best guess is Petrov wants me to talk sense into you,” Dante eventually continues, running the rag down Leo’s spine. Leo hisses in a breath, automatically pulling away. Dante pauses in his movements, briefly this time, before taking some unspoken signal that Leo is ready to continue. He moves to sit back on his heels, taking Leo’s hands in his. He turns them over, running soap over each finger, under each nail, and rinsing away all remaining evidence.

“You can’t survive this way,” he finally says, his tone colder now. “Being under a contract like this… it could kill you. He’s killed more than a few workers since I’ve been here, but he always finds a way to get new contracts. You don’t have to fight every night, but when you do… you have to at least try... or, if not try, pretend. Even if you have no intention of winning. Even if you have full intention of sticking it to him. If you want to survive, you have to figure out what you're okay with.”

Leo nods. Dante drops his hands, standing abruptly.

“He’ll make you fight again tomorrow,” Dante says. “The doctor will tell him not to, but he won’t care. He’ll do it over and over until he thinks you’ve figured things out.”

“What if I don’t–” Leo chokes out, swallowing back a new wave of agony. “If I don’t figure things out?” He closes his eyes in a desperate bid to compartmentalize the pain.

“If you don’t tomorrow, you will the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that, maybe. There’s no long term opt-out. There’s only participate, or go through this, night after night, until you do.”

Dante opens the door, then turns to look back at Leo. “We’re not friends now, we’re not coworkers, and we’re not allies. I am doing what I can to survive, and if you get in the way of that, if it comes down to my safety versus yours, I’ll choose mine.” His face, and his voice, soften almost imperceptibly, as he says, “Just pretend. That's all he wants right now."

He leaves then, letting the door close behind him.

#leo #the fighter #luke petrov #whump #BBU #i think?#whump community #captivity

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