angst-after-dark - Tumblr blog

angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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characters on the run

always so tired. driving for hours and hours in whatever shitty beater they find or steal, downing caffeine and too many five-hour energy shots pickpocketed from some gas station

sleeping cramped up in some bus or train seat, slumped over in a transit terminal, hoodie pulled up tight in the hopes of not being recognized

nodding off but jerking awake every single time, exhausted but hardwired to be paranoid even with caretaker's gentle touch and quiet reassurances trying to get them to rest

so much time spent running or fighting they eventually just crash. stoic characters slumped and snoozing, trying to keep watch and instead getting some much needed rest

lurching awake in a cold sweat, gasping and trembling, bandages wrapped tight up and down their torso

"we're safe here. i promise."

"it's okay-- it was just a dream, i didn't hear anything..."

shot or stabbed while trying to lose a chase. limping through crowds, desperately acting causal, traces of blood left on everything they touch

collapsing and drawing a scene, strangers asking questions and touching all over. having to slip away from concerned bystanders before actual help (or trouble) arrives

washing off in some shitty public bathroom and leaving behind a horror show of bloodied paper towels and smeared fingers all over porcelain, too out of it and in a rush to actually bother cleaning up

character bleeding out and semiconscious and caretaker doesn't know what to do, has nowhere to go. desperately trying to drag them along as the threat gets closer and closer, or hiding and waiting and begging for them to wake up

when it's too dangerous to go to a hospital. makeshift first aid in the back of some car, breaking into a vet clinic after hours, slumped over in a dank alleyway or dirty bathroom. shaking fingers and dim lighting and nowhere comfortable to recover

all of the places to lie low are sketchy as hell. trap houses, back rooms, dive bars, strip clubs, late night joints where passing acquaintances are somehow okay with shady strangers crashing on their couch. always surrounded by a bad crowd and caught up in seedy shit

wearing the same clothes which get increasingly fucked up. fabric lost to makeshift bandages or tourniquets, blood stains and sweat, the same hoodie passed between characters getting worn and sentimental

long sleeves, oversized clothes, shitty makeup, hoods and sunglasses and hats, anything to hide their identity and all of the bruises and cuts

barely any money to their name. having to choose between filling up on gas or eating, counting remnants of change, stealing food or dine and dashing out of necessity. barely scrapping by and working any job on the low, just oh so easy to take advantage of

getting sick, but it's not like they get a break from running. feverishly wandering around, catching concerned looks from strangers, never getting the chance to rest properly so they just get worse and worse

getting so desperate they eventually call for help. trembling and hunched over in a phone booth, nervously knocking on caretaker's door, so rundown and pitiful of course they wouldn't be turned away, where the fuck have they been?

#whump #damiel cartier #im a big dami fan

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angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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We Search For Stolen Personhood

-Pet whump, Box boy universe/BBU adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, past abuse, trauma, recovery, memory loss/amnesia, brainwashing, conditioning

——————

Pre-WRU:

Training:

Lucky

Prince and Mutt Captivity:

No Smiles

Stranger

At The Safe House:

The Drive Home

You’re Scared

Blue Walls

Bad morning

——————

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angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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HYPER SPECIFIC SMUT PROMPTS

note: some of these may include kinks and fetish dynamics which might be squicks for some (tw for power imbalances, dubious consent, breeding etc), proceed with caution and please feel free to cross out what you don't want to write when reblogging <3

ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

[ ARRANGED ] muses are in an arranged marriage and now have to consummate the union

[ EXES ] our muses broke up a few years ago, they run into each other at a party and end up having sex again

[ INFIDELITY ] our muses used to date but it didn't work out, they're now both in relationships but end up in an affair together. this prompt is for their first time entering the affair.

[ AFFAIR ] our muses have been having an affair and receiver tries to stop but ends up having sex again, claiming it's the last time.

[ POWER ] sender is receiver's boss and knows receiver has a crush on them. they decide to act on it late night during closing.

[ CRUSH ] receiver is sender's boss and knows sender has a crush on them. they decide to act on it late night during closing.

[ TEACH ] receiver is sexually inexperienced and approaches sender to ask them to teach them and help them get more experience after they had a bad date.

[ TAUGHT ] sender is sexually inexperienced and approaches receiver to ask them to teach them and help them get more experience after they had a bad date.

[ TUTOR ] muse A has been tutoring muse B in a subject they struggle with. after a long session which has both of them frustrated, they end up having sex on the table and ruin the books.

[ TUTORING ] continuing the above scenario, the tutor quizzes the pupil while stimulating them. every time the pupil gets a question wrong they are edged or punished in some way.

[ LEARN ] our muses are in college together, muse A is popular and socially adept but has bad experiences with keeping a romantic partner. muse B is shy and has a smaller friend group but the friendships are more emotionally deep than anything A has experienced. the two muses are in a study group together and strike up a conversation in which they come to a deal: muse B will help A become more academically cultured and emotionally sensitive enough to get the partners they want. in return muse A will help with muse B's social standing. they begin a sexual relationship under the guise of helping muse B come out of their shell but really muse A just has a crush on them all while B thinks they're being used.

[ FIGHT ] our muses are leaders on opposing sides of a war. they have known each other before the war and now their sexual tension is worsened while trying to negotiate a truce. while disagreeing on terms they have rough sex, each one trying to dominate the other.

[ BATTLE ] our muses are soldiers and on the eve of a battle they might not survive they have sex together

[ CAPTIVE ] receiver is sender's captive and has been trying to wear them down over time by connecting emotionally. they initiate sex in hopes it will buy them freedom. (up to you if it's genuine on both sides or only manipulation)

[ CAPTIVATED ] sender is receiver's captive and has been trying to wear them down over time by connecting emotionally. they initiate sex in hopes it will buy them freedom. (feel free to specific circumstances of captivity)

[ FRIENDS ] our muses have been best friends for a long time. lately one or both have had bad luck with dating and just want some comfort so they decide to have sex.

[ SPELL ] our muses must have sex for a magic ritual which requires multiple rounds from 3 am until sunrise.

[ HEIR ] muse A is the leader of the nation and has not been able to produce an heir (feel free to specify reason), muse B has been selected by their doctors and council to try and bare their children.

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angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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Intimacy/NSFW prompt list:

Aeipethy: an enduring and consuming passion

Aubade: a love song sung at dawn

Basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss

Cafuné: running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

Cingulomania: a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Commuovere: to stir, to touch, to move to tears

Eonian: continuing forever or indefinitely

Habromania: delusions of happiness

Illecebrous: alluring, attractive, enticing

Insouciant: free from worry, concern, or anxiety

Nepenthe: something that can make you forget grief or suffering

Odaxelagnia: sexual arousal from being bitten.

Querencia: a place where one feels safe, a place where one feels at home

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angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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CW: DISSOCIATION, AFTERMATH OF GUN VIOLENCE, BBU-BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, NOT A LOT OF WHUMP, JUST SETTING THE STAGE FOR THE NEXT PART

Peyton, as always, belongs to @wildfaewhump and is used with permission

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

MASTERLIST -- PREVIOUS

The freezing air hit Peyton’s lungs and burned them through like an out of control wildfire. He blew out, breathing a tiny pant that swirled around the air in a puff of white. Dawn’s early pink and purple light had faded, melding into a dull, heavy blue but he kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, intent on keeping his balance and holding his own and Damiel’s weight. They’re heavy and even though Peyton knew they were trying their hardest to keep their weight off of him, to walk on their own two feet, they weren’t quite managing it.

His legs ached. They hurt really bad. They felt heavy too.

Dami's breaths hitched and stuttered too, brows creased together as they tried to walk. They stumbled and he stumbled with them, fighting back exhaustion and trying not to fall and bring them both down. They leaned on him, their injured arm wrapped around his shoulders for support. Their injured one pressed hard in an attempt to staunch the blood now slowly seeping through their blood-stained fingertips. Their fingers were caked and stiffened with browned blood. It had bled so much, Dami’s face was grey, and Peyton’s stomach twisted, nausea bubbling to the surface again at the thought of it. He’d lost what little dinner he’d had last night next to the brains of the man Dami had shot. His dinner hadn't looked that different from the brain matter.

They hadn't even noticed until he'd pointed it out. What else hadn't they noticed? Did they know when they were hungry? Thirsty? Tired? What had Peyton missed for them? He always forgot to ask. It was his job to take care of his bonded as much as it was their job to take care of him. His stomach heaved again, roiling with hunger, something akin to guilt and, despite the chill biting through his jacket, his face warmed with shame.

One foot, one foot in front of the other. It was a slow trek but they were far from the alley and the homeless shelter and the horrors inflicted there.

Well, not all of them.

Dami had said, before falling completely silent and remaining that way, the bullet went through clean. Peyton didn't know what that meant and Dami didn't explain anything else before they’d gone silent and faraway. They did that sometimes, especially after they’d had sex with Sir. Their eyes glazed over and they stopped talking completely. They didn't like being touched when they were like this, Peyton was breaking rule number one, but they hadn't flinched when he’d helped them up.

He didn't know where he was going and Dami didn't say so he picked a direction and started walking. One foot in front of the other.

Dami groaned and stopped, panting, and Peyton glanced up at them. He bit his lip, an arm around their waist as they swayed. They blinked rapidly and finally looked down at him with clear eyes, seemingly back from wherever they went.

Sometimes, he wished they'd take him with them.

He clutched their jacket and swallowed hard. Relief almost dragged him down, almost melted his bones into the pavement like sun and snow.

“Dizzy,” They whispered. They sank to the ground with a shiver. Peyton bit his lip harder and almost yelped when his mouth filled with metal and buzzed with pain. Dami didn't get cold. They shouldn't be shivering. He frowned and sat next to them. Patted their arm. They still didn't flinch but leaned into him as much as they could. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he said, “S’okay, Dami. I'm not um…I’m not mad.”

They nodded tiredly and curled over, head between their legs. He sat next to them. Patted their arm. They needed warmth and rest - rest that wasn't on the street - at a motel or something.

“....afford a motel,” They mumbled. Peyton blinked. He hadn't realized he’d spoken out loud. They looked up and blinked hard once, twice, and then a third time before they finally focused on him and took a shallow breath. “Can’t….afford a motel, right now. Maybe to….maybe tomorrow….when I…feel better.”

"I can work," he heard himself say, "I can. I can um….I'll find a job and, and, um get us a place to sleep. Promise, Dami."

He'd take care of them too. He could do hard things.

“Stay um, stay here okay? I’ll find us something.”

They only nodded and placed their head in their lap again.

-----------------------------------------

The Cub Creek Motel and Diner lay conspicuously alongside a less-than-busy highway. L-shaped like most motels in the region, with two floors and a line of identical rooms wrapping around the parking lot, the structure looked almost deserted, with only two other vehicles parked nearby, one of which looked to be in an advanced state of rust. The paint was chipped, the roof had more missing shingles than it had shingles remaining, and the doors and windows were all covered in a thin layer of sand and dust. The only light in the building seemed to come from the front office, and even this did barely anything to illuminate the scene.

White Christmas lights lined the bottom edge of its roof. They lit up every night whether or not it was the Christmas season. The diner was difficult to miss even for drivers passing by at high speeds.

He headed for the entrance, eyes scanning its occupants through the yellow windows, and pushed on the door.

The diner was warm and the smell of grease hung faintly in the air. An old jukebox stood in one corner, and old vinyl records were stapled to the walls. The orange seats were faded by the sun streaming in every afternoon, and the floors were so worn or dirty that you could barely identify the pattern that they once boasted. There were only six booths and some worn swivel bar stools at the counter.

The patrons were well padded, slurping down coffee, pancakes, eggs, bacon, gravy and biscuits, grits and all manner of potatoes. If they were not overweight – they were like string beans, with the leathery, tanned skin and wrinkled faces of farmers and farmer’s wives - who worked from sunup to sundown – and enjoyed the diner Special every Saturday morning.

“Can I help you?”

He jumped time, and the waitress looked at him strangely as she delivered the mountain of food to her table. He pulled the jacket tighter around his body and put on his best smile. For Dami. This was for Dami. "H-hello."

Someone tapped on his shoulder and Peyton spun, heart racing. It’s one of the men; a guy a bit older than the waitress, greying in his rough stubble, adorned in a permanent baseball cap and ill-fitting shirt stretched over his beer belly.

"Whatcha want, kid?"

He pulled his sleeves down and shifted from foot to foot, shying away from the patrons giving him looks.

"A job and a, a, a room," he blurted out, "Um, please. I, um….I'll do anything. I need to, um, sleep and the cold….I can, um, I can wash dishes and clean the um, clean the floors. Please."

Should he beg? Get on his knees? He wouldn't be the first man Peyton had fucked for food and shelter. Dami said he didn't have to do that anymore, that they'd take care of food and shelter, but they couldn't.

Not right now.

His stomach roiled. His knees shook. Rule number 7 he could do what he wanted and he wanted to do this. He wanted to take care of his bonded and keep them safe and healthy. He dropped his gaze to the patterned linoleum and subtly eyed the man's pants, heart sinking. It wouldn't be too bad, right? What would it feel like to have him in his mouth? Would he be veiny and large or on the smaller side? It would be easy to slip off his pants and get his tongue around him and -

"Sure kid. Whatever. Our dishwasher just quit so you're a godsend. And the rooms are clean. Be here tomorrow. 6am."

He could kiss this man but he didn't. He eagerly shook his hand and nodded rapidly, smiling wide.

"Thank you Sir! Thank you, um, so much! I'm going to get my um bo-bag and I'll be here! Promise! I'll be here at um....6!"

#bbu #box boy universe #reblog for a reread #self-reblog

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angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, PAST REFERENCED NONCON, GASLIGHTING

TAGLIST: @siren-of-agony , @girlsjustwannadrawwhump , @gottawhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @writingbackwards, @winedark-whump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert (please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist)

Every panting breath, light and fluttering against his ribcage, caught in his throat as his fingers curled into tight fists in the duvet. Whatever nightmare it had plagued him was already beginning to slip through his fingers like sand until the details were only hazy, shapeless things he couldn't hope to grasp. And as that dissipated, the real and waking world began to seep into his senses. The sunlight spilling through the curtains to play against his eyelids; the smell of linen with each slowing intake of breath from the pillow and sheets; the distant commotion of the streets beyond the penthouse.

Wick was vaguely conscious of there being something odd about the bed that hadn't been odd when he had fallen asleep.

He could tell that Valerian wasn't in bed with him, though with the sunlight promising that it was at least late morning so that wasn't too much of a surprise. There was even a chance it was nearly noon already. Wick let out a low huff while a small, weary smile pulled at his lips, smoothing away the sharp edges of fear that still lingered within him, despite the shake that still settled in his hands.

For once, he was alone. A lump formed heavily in his throat at the thought. With considerable effort he swallowed the it back down and stood up. He wanted to go home.

He opened the door to his room and rolled his shoulders.

"Finally."

A familiar voice came from across the room. The taunting tone is impossible to miss, and Wick could just imagine the sneering grin on the their face. His eyes lifted to the source. He tensed for a second before forcing himself to relax.

He rolled his eyes. "Leave me alone, Val."

“Don't be rude, Wicky. Greet our guest.”

Valerian sat up so that the sofa was no longer hiding them.

The panic set in.It surged in his chest and gripped around his heart tightly.

Flexing his now sore fingers, Wick’s heart lurched.

As he came into view, he stumbled and stopped dead in his tracks

It wasn't a ruse nor was it a figment of his imagination; Peyton knelt at Valerian’s feet. Their nails scratched his head. Static filled his head. Static and rage and the sound of his heartbeat rushing through his ears like a storm. Unease roiled within him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, echoed a strangled noise that sounded eerily close to his name.

“It’s so nice that we could all be together again, isn't it, Darling?" Their piercing glare softened into a far more cunning look, and the corners of their mouth quirk into something like a smirk as their face set itself in an expression he couldn't fully read. It was plain they were taking some sort of pleasure in this.

Of course they were.

“It has been some time since we saw one another,” Their voice rang with amusement. Wick scowled at them, quickly, before it fell. His gaze returned to Peyton.

“Peyton..... Bunny..... you're not, not... you're not supposed to be h-here.”

Peyton paused, taken aback both by the greeting. He spoke slowly, hesitantly, hands fidgeting in the sleeves of Dami's hoodie. “You... texted. you asked me to come? You um….I saw the text. You asked for help. You were crying.”

The last sentence was said barely above a whisper. Peyton's brows furrowed, concern shining deep in his eyes. Second-guessing himself, he pulled out his phone to check and flipped the screen to show him.

Wick's body froze with the words. Oh, oh fuck. Oh fuck. When? When had he done that? He couldn't have done that. He wouldn’t have included any of them in this even if he were actively dying. No. Val had to have done something.

“And then you called,” Peyton continued, “You were, um, really upset. You had a really, um… high fever and were kinda saying things…like when Dami was sick at the motel. You were really sick, Wick.”

Confusion warred with disgust. His mind slowly processed what he was seeing in parts, images, like a series of disconnected paintings.

"It would seem like you did,” Valerian confirmed. Their lips twisted into a red-coated smirk, dark eyes gleeful. "Don't you remember, Wicky?"

They leaned across him and plucked Peyton's phone away. They didn't return his phone, and when he took off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen they tuck both into a small box under their arm.

"You, you said you wouldn't include him," Wick snapped. "I fucked him for you. I, I, I begged, Val....please."

"You did, and it was so good.”

Almost instinctively, they reached for Wick. He recoiled.

"Please, Val."

"Sshhh." They kissed him. "There's a time for begging, and we'll get to it later. For now, play along.”

“He's not supposed to, to, to be here."

He broke off the kiss with a defeated murmur, the quiet demand nearly spoken against Valerian's mouth, though there’s an undercurrent of steel in his tone. They leaned in further, nipping at his lower lip, but he turned his head, breaking away again to add, “Haven't you done enough?”

“Wicky was just saying how much he missed you, Peyton. Weren't you, Wicky?"

For a moment, he couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, could only stare at Peyton with the heavy weight of Valerian's arm wrapped around his shoulder before he managed a surprisingly calm, slightly broken and hoarse, "No."

Green eyes darted, again, to Valerian. His tongue slid out and over his parted lips. His wavering voice spoke, softly enough to break his heart, to shatter it, "That's um, okay. I missed you. I wanted to see you."

"Peyton," They swung around to look at him, "why don't you make Wick some lunch. He and I need to have a chat."

Valerian's arm tightened around him. Peyton’s eyes continued to dart between him and Valerian, several questions written in them. Wick could see his mind turning, slowly, in an attempt to answer them, to come up with something that made sense.

Wick silently let Valerian lead him into his room, and didn’t protest when they quickly closed the door open with a small crack.

"I've done everything, done everything, you've, you've asked," Wick hissed, feeling the tension of the situation winding through his aching body. He wanted to scream in frustration. "I'm, I'm, I'm here Val. You, you, you have me. I'm not, I'm not leaving you. Please. Let him leave, Val."

#whump #christopher wickham #peyton montgomery #valerian ainsworth: my problematic babe #bbu #pet whump #past referenced noncon #self reblog

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angst-after-dark · 1 month ago

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CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, PAST REFERENCED NONCON, GASLIGHTING

Wick was vaguely conscious of there being something odd about the bed that hadn't been odd when he had fallen asleep.

For once, he was alone. A lump formed heavily in his throat at the thought. With considerable effort he swallowed the it back down and stood up. He wanted to go home.

He opened the door to his room and rolled his shoulders.

"Finally."

He rolled his eyes. "Leave me alone, Val."

“Don't be rude, Wicky. Greet our guest.”

Valerian sat up so that the sofa was no longer hiding them.

The panic set in.It surged in his chest and gripped around his heart tightly.

Flexing his now sore fingers, Wick’s heart lurched.

As he came into view, he stumbled and stopped dead in his tracks

Somewhere in the back of his mind, echoed a strangled noise that sounded eerily close to his name.

Of course they were.

“It has been some time since we saw one another,” Their voice rang with amusement. Wick scowled at them, quickly, before it fell. His gaze returned to Peyton.

“Peyton..... Bunny..... you're not, not... you're not supposed to be h-here.”

Confusion warred with disgust. His mind slowly processed what he was seeing in parts, images, like a series of disconnected paintings.

"It would seem like you did,” Valerian confirmed. Their lips twisted into a red-coated smirk, dark eyes gleeful. "Don't you remember, Wicky?"

They leaned across him and plucked Peyton's phone away. They didn't return his phone, and when he took off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen they tuck both into a small box under their arm.

"You, you said you wouldn't include him," Wick snapped. "I fucked him for you. I, I, I begged, Val....please."

"You did, and it was so good.”

Almost instinctively, they reached for Wick. He recoiled.

"Please, Val."

"Sshhh." They kissed him. "There's a time for begging, and we'll get to it later. For now, play along.”

“He's not supposed to, to, to be here."

“Wicky was just saying how much he missed you, Peyton. Weren't you, Wicky?"

"Peyton," They swung around to look at him, "why don't you make Wick some lunch. He and I need to have a chat."

Wick silently let Valerian lead him into his room, and didn’t protest when they quickly closed the door open with a small crack.

#whump #christopher wickham #peyton montgomery #valerian ainsworth: my problematic babe #bbu #pet whump #past referenced noncon

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angst-after-dark · 2 months ago

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Let's Whump With Mama: a guide to children who grew up with parental whumpers.

Does your parent hold a bloodied and chained up guy in your home's basement? Does your parent come home later than expected covered in someone else's blood?

Well, you got a whumper as a parent!

Help your parent whump their prisoner. You can bring the torture tools to your parent, you could help heal up or bandage up the whumpee after a torture session, or even deliver food and water to the whumpee!

If your parent allows it, you can also join in on the fun! Whump your parent's whumpee, but not to the point of irreparable damage or death; your parent would undoubtedly be disappointed in you if that happens!

NEVER release the whumpee under any circumstances. Your parent will NOT be happy if they found out their prisoner escaped thanks to you!

(Feel free to add more!)

#whump #christopher wickham #whump writing

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angst-after-dark · 2 months ago

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reblog this if your icon could kill a man

#a few

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angst-after-dark · 3 months ago

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Shadow of Stars: Daniel’s Backstory

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, on-screen major character death (don’t worry, he’s fine), blood, descriptions of gore, vampires, vampire whump, necromancy??? Of a sort?, character having a death wish, multiple whumpers, creepy whumpers

“Run! Run Daniel! Run!”

He races into the night, clutching Rose to his chest. Her high-pitched wails pierce his ears over the rumbling thunder. Another lightning flash. He flinches, narrowly missing a tree. Copper coats his mouth from the force of his sobs.

“Run, Dan-ahh!”

Daniel stops and looks back. A mistake. His father collapses to the ground, pinned by two of the demons. Everything in him screams to look away, but his gaze remains stubbornly fixed on the sight. A scream tears his throat as they rip his father open, the cry echoed by his baby sister.

“Hush,” he whispers through sobs. “Hush, Rose, shhh.”

Too late. The demons turn from his father. Even from a distance Daniel swears he can see their smiles as they face him. He curses as thunder booms around them.

Run!

He tries. Darkness knows he tries with all his remaining strength. Racing past trees and moving around fallen logs, protecting his baby sister with everything he has. Daniel leaps over a log, registering too late the dried creek bed on the other side.

Snap!

He lands with a shriek of pain, twisting his body to protect Rose. Throbbing pain lances up his leg as he lays in the mud, gasping for breath. His ankle. Just trying to move his toes is unbearable. There’s no way he can run. Something snaps in the underbrush. No, no, no! It won’t end like this, he refuses to accept this!

Daniel grabs the mud, slowly pulling himself forward. He’ll save Rose, even if he has to drag himself across the kingdom. Another inch. Another. Another. Low laughter, the sound of the hunt. The demons.

“Well, well, well, look what we found.”

One of the demons lands next to him, mud splattering over his face. Blood covers the demon’s face and hands.

“Leave us alone!” Daniel sobs, curling over Rose.

He smiles, crouching down and cocking his head. “Leave you alone? But you smell so, so good. I wonder if you taste as good as your parents.”

“Leave us alone!” Daniel shrieks, lashing out with his uninjured leg. The blow doesn’t come close to hitting him.

The demon chuckles. “Lara, darling, do you want the boy?”

“He does have a fight to him I think we could use.”

The other demon walks down the creek bank, one bloodied hand holding her dress out of the mud. She wipes the blood from her mouth with a smile. Fangs glisten in the flashing lightning.

“I couldn’t agree more, darling.”

The male demon stands, staring down at Daniel. A shudder runs down his spine. Rose’s cries fade away as he tries to shush her.

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Please, don’t-don’t kill us. Please, let us go.”

“Let you go?” The female demon crouches beside him, running her fingers over his cheek. “Oh, my boy, we can’t do that. Certainly not to one such as yourself.”

Daniel shoes away from her touch. “Please . . . my sister, you can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Her fingers wrap around his arm, hauling him to his feet with inhuman strength. His ankle shifts under his weight and Daniel screams. Rose joins in his cries.

“Take the child,” the female demon orders.

“No! No, you can’t! You can’t take her!” Daniel thrashes in her grip, ignoring how her nails cut through his shirt and into his skin. “You can’t! You can’t! Let us go!”

“Silence!”

“Let me go! Let me-“

The blow knocks him off his feet. Daniel’s head smacks against the hard mud of the riverbank, his vision graying, Rose’s weight no longer in his arms. He screams again. Tries to push himself up. None of his limbs respond.

Muffled voices. A baby’s cries fading into silence. Someone laughing. Hands on his body. Swaying. Carrying. Someone is carrying him. Tears run down his cheeks. Black.

Clear sky.

Black.

Fresh hay.

Black.

Wood against his face.

Black.

Someone tapping his face, nails sharp against his skin as he slowly forces his eyes open. The female demon stares at him, her face breaking into a smile.

“He’s awake.”

“Get away from me!”

Daniel shoves at her, scrambling to sit up. Strong hands grip his shoulders and force him back to the ground. On his back, staring up at the two Shadows who killed his family. In the faint light of morning, they appear nearly human, apart from the blood flecks around their mouths.

“Let me go,” Daniel sobs, weakly thrashing against the man’s grip. “Please, please, please, please . . .”

“I told you we should have done it while he was unconscious.”

“Hush, Ashur. You know it’s better when they’re awake.”

“I know, darling. Hurry up. I can only hold him down for so long.”

The woman kneels next to him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Daniel sobs and turns his head. He doesn’t hear his sister. What did they do with her? Did they kill her? He opens his mouth to ask.

All that comes out is a scream. The woman’s fangs tear into his throat, cutting through skin and muscle as if it is nothing. Daniel thrashes, pain overwhelming every sense. Claws tear into his chest, ripping his rib cage open. Bones shatter. He tries to breathe. Coughs. Blood splatters over his clothes. He tries again and his lungs spasm with lack of air.

I’m dying.

Black spots crowd his vision. He can hear his fading heartbeat. Breathing doesn’t feel as important. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see any longer. Thoughts become slow and wandering.

He wants Rose. He wants his parents. He wants to be safe with them.

Mama, Papa, Rose . . . I’m coming home.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Birdsong filters through the fog of his mind. Daniel slowly forces his eyes open, squinting as his eyes adjust to the darkness around him. Everything glows silver in the faint light of the stars. Still in the barn. The Shadows are nowhere to be seen.

What happened? I . . . I thought I died.

Another look around the barn. Nothing but hay and a water bucket. And a puddle of dried blood.

Daniel gags and turns away. His blood. That’s his blood. What happened? Why is he in a new spot? What about the memories of his death? And the darkness after, a fog he can just push through. When he tries, tears burn his eyes and his head spins at memories he can’t recall with clarity. Humans aren’t supposed to come back from experiences like that. They are supposed to stay dead.

Footsteps. His gaze darts to the doorway as the barn door rolls open. The woman walks in, the man close at her side. Daniel can see their faces perfectly, even in the darkness. Can see the sharp cheekbones of the woman and the thick beard of the man. Their clothes, which are older than any style he has seen before, made of thick wool and velvet, with the draping sleeves he remembers seeing in paintings. Both of their fronts are stained dark with blood.

“Good morning,” the woman says with a smile. Moonlight glints off her fangs.

His tongue refuses to work. Words form in his mind. Slip away. He cannot catch them, no matter how much he tries.

“You’re awake earlier than we expected.”

Daniel puts a hand to his chest. Nothing. His throat is also intact. The woman sits on a barrel across from him with all the dignity of a ruler sitting on a throne. The man stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder.

“From how much it took to turn you, we were certain you would not be awake for six more hours. Oh well, calculations are such messy things.”

“Wh-where-” Daniel clears his throat and tries again. “Where is my sister?”

“The child?” The woman’s smile doesn’t change. “We took care of her.”

Daniel props himself up on one elbow, only to collapse as searing pain lances through his body. He falls back, staring at the wooden ceiling, and there is nothing. No pounding of his heart, no heaving lungs. Just silence. He forces a breath. Then another. It feels odd, wrong, like moving his foot when it is numb. Something that shouldn’t work being forced to do so.

“Don’t worry, little one. She is safe.”

“. . . where?”

“That I cannot tell you.” A rustling of skirts. Daniel flinches as the woman crouches next to him, running a finger across his neck. “That healed quite nicely. Not even a scar.”

“Impeccable work as always, love,” the man says, standing behind her.

Her fingers trace over the curve of his shoulder, cold through his shirt. “Feels like it healed well too. Look at how strong he is already.”

The man smiles at him, revealing long fangs that catch on his lower lip. “You don’t need to breathe, child. You have moved beyond such human actions.”

Daniel can’t stop breathing, even as his mind adjusts to the silence of his body. He presses a hand to his chest and his eyes burn at the lack of heartbeat. His emotions burn even more strongly for the death of his body and shatters a heart that no longer works.

Mama . . . Papa . . . Rose . . . I am so, so sorry. I failed. I tried to protect her and I failed.

He closes his eyes, tears burning down his cheeks. He stops breathing, hoping and praying the darkness he remembers will swirl around him and drag him back into the oblivion of the afterlife. Instead, his body remains stubbornly in this plane of existence. Everything inside and out hurts. Why can’t he be free? Why did he have to be brought back into this life when he was so clearly meant to die?

“Oh darling,” the woman whispers, smoothing back his hair. It’s such an oddly comforting touch that Daniel can’t help but lean into the hands that held him down during his death. “You will be alright. You’re going to love this life.”

“Please,” he begs. “Kill me. Please kill me again.”

“No, I can’t do that, darling. You’re part of our family now.”

“Please.” He shakes his head. “Please, please, kill me. Please, I can’t live like this.”

“Oh but you will, darling. You are strong, so much stronger than we hoped. You are our beautiful child and we are going to take such good care of you.”

Daniel sags against the barn floor, choking on a sob. His fingertips press against the wooden planks, feeling every single grain of wood. The thick scent of blood, old and stale, washes over him, mixed in nauseatingly with the warm smell of manure and dirt. From far away he hears each individual birdsong.

“It’s too much,” he whimpers.

“I know, I’m sorry, my darling. You’ll feel better at home. Ashur?”

The man picks him up and Daniel shouts, struggling for a moment until the woman’s sharp claws rest under his eye. She smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Behave, darling. I will hurt you if I must.”

He glares at her, but goes limp in Ashur’s arms. This close he can now hear his slow heartbeat, the irregular pounding of an organ that is no longer in use. Chills run down his spine.

They step out into the night air. The woman leads the way, walking with purpose towards the forest. They both move in silence and without talking. Daniel stares blankly at the horizon, occasionally moving his fingers, trying to remember how his body moves and works. He hates the emptiness within his chest. No heartbeat. No breath. Stillness. All around him.

After a few hours, the woman asks, “What is your name, darling?”

“. . . D-Daniel.”

“What a strong name for our child, don’t you agree, Ashur?”

“Yes, love.”

“I’m not your child!”

Ashur’s fangs gleam in the starlight. “Watch your mouth when you speak to our pack leader.”

The woman waves her hand. “He’s just a child, Ashur. You remember how Cole was when he was a new Shadow. He doesn’t understand the rules of the pack.”

“I’m not a part of your pack!”

“Oh but you are, darling.” The woman smiles, stepping close. She smooths Daniel’s hair back once again. “Listen to me closely. My name is Lara, and I am the pack leader. You will treat me with respect as both your leader and sire. Ashur is both my mate and your sire as well. Respect him as you would me.”

Danile shrinks back from her touch. “Please . . . I just want to go home.”

“We are your home now.” Lara kisses his forehead. “Come, I want to get back before sunrise.”

They arrive in a small village of ramshackle buildings and overgrown weeds. Only a few of the houses have hinged doors and lamplight coming from within. No birdsong. No skittering in the undergrowth. A forgotten place. A place left for the dead.

Daniel yelps as Ashur drops him, struggling to catch himself. He cries out as his face hits the dirt path. Someone laughs, only to be swiftly cut off. When he raises his head, four more Shadows stare back at him. A woman, and three men. The woman wears trousers, her hair resting casually on the hilt of her knife, blond hair braided back from her face. The man standing next to her has the same blond hair and build, medic bands around the arms of his thick jacket. At his side stands the third man, shorter than the others, curly hair held back by a navy strip of cloth and dual knives on his belt. Starlight glints off the cuff he wears on his right wrist, matching the one worn by the medic. The third man advances on Daniel, his dark eyes narrowed, large frame moving slowly, as if he is hunting. His claws remain extended, tapping against his leg.

“Cole,” Lara says. “Do not frighten your brother.”

“Brother?” The third man straightens with a snarl. “He’s not dinner?”

“For Darkness’ sake,” the medic sighs. “I already told you I have food provided, but did you listen? No, you were busy complaining about your lumpy mattress.”

“Well if you hadn’t taken more than your fair share of the stuffing, then I wouldn’t have to complain.”

“Owen and I have a bigger bed. We needed more.”

“Right. I’ve heard you fuck in the infirmary before. You don’t need a cushiony bed.”

“Jaxon, Cole! Stop fighting right now. We have a new member of the pack. His name is Daniel. Please make him feel welcomed.”

Daniel gets to his feet, staring back at the other pack members. They watch him with varying levels of disgust, as if he was some carcass thrown onto their doorstep. Which, in a way, wasn’t that far off. He rubs at some dried blood across the back of his hand.

“Hi,” Cole finally says, holding out his hand. “I’m Cole. That over there is Amelia, Jaxon, and Owen.”

Amelia rolls her eyes when her name is called, Jaxon raises an eyebrow, and Owen smiles, more baring his fangs than an actual welcome. Daniel tries to smile back, giving a little wave.

“I-I’m Daniel.”

Cole swings an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Daniel. I’ll show you around. Don’t worry, this place isn’t big, so don’t worry about getting lost.”

He nods, following along quietly. Cole points out the three buildings that are fixed up; the infirmary, where the pack sleeps, and Lara’s house. Moss and vines cover the other houses, hiding the last clues to whomever lived there before. Daniel swallows hard, skin crawling at the silence. Most of it is filled by Cole talking, but there is a deep emptiness to the place he cannot shake.

When the first rays of sunlight creep over the tops of the trees, Cole shows him where he will be sleeping. A corner of the living room in the pack’s house, set up with two blankets, a bedroll, and a basin for washing up.

“Amelia has the parlor,” Cole explains. “Owen and Jaxon sleep upstairs. If they get too loud, get take that broom and bang on the floor. They’ll get the idea.”

“. . . oh. Thank you.”

“Get some sleep.” Cole smiles, revealing his jagged fangs. “You’re coming hunting with us tomorrow.”

Daniel swallows hard and quickly pulls the blanket over his head. When he’s certain the rest are asleep, he sobs, biting the corner of the blanket to muffle the sound.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @pigeonwhumps @whumpinggrounds (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

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angst-after-dark · 3 months ago

Text

CW: DUBCON, RECOVERING PET WHUMPEES, HOMELESSNESS, PET THINKS ANOTHER PET IS NEW OWNER, SURVIVORS NAVIGATING CONSENT

@bbu-on-the-side community day 3, "RULES"

Peyton belongs to @wildfae-afterdark and is used with permission.

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @poc-whump, @badgerwhump, @flowersarefreetherapy, @gottawhump, @oddsconvert, @cepheusgalaxy

Dami had found an abandoned building for them to crash in. There was something of a community of six to seven bad pets - pets who'd run away - already living there. Once he and Dami had shared their designations with the other pets - Dami had lied and said that they were both Romantics. That was confusing but Peyton didn't correct them. Dami had good reasons to lie.

The others were friendly and welcoming, going as far as clearing a tent so he and Dami didn't have to sleep out in the cold and on the concrete. Peyton thanked them profusely for both him and Dami who had only nodded wearily before disappearing into the tent, rolling out their sleeping bags and blankets and crashing hard.

Peyton hadn't expected it to be so quiet with the amount of people living there but once everyone settled down for the night, a thick silence descended on them. He lay on the sleeping bag next to Dami, listening to the sound of their breathing, and turned to look at them. There's a sliver of light from the streetlamps outside of the building and Dami looked…pretty…curled up and asleep.

Peaceful.

He slid closer to them and kissed their cheek - a soft press of his lips that made them sigh and move closer to chase after Peyton. He didn't stop, kissing their eyes, nose, their mouth, chin, their neck. Peyton held his breath when their eyes opened.

They blinked up at him, sleepy and dazed, and gave him a slow, lazy smile.

For a moment, Peyton just pressed his lips against their mouth, listening to their quiet sighs. He continued to kiss them, kneeling on the stone floor, moving blankets aside, until he was straddling them. His heart thrummed, heat blossoming between his legs.

They didn’t react immediately, but they didn't have to. His tongue slid across their lower lip and then dipped sweetly inside. The silkiness of their mouth was intoxicating.

He shivered when they gave a little growl, wrapping their arms around his back and flipping him over. Dami ran a hand through his hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver coursing through his body.

When Peyton hesitantly teased his tongue over their lips again, they didn't fight it, and opened their mouth with a soft groan. They returned the kiss, messily, dirty, giving him everything they’ve been holding back from him. Dami’s lips parted and they grazed their teeth lightly over the curve of Peyton's neck, eyes slitting closed as Peyton shuddered against them.

They crowded closer, one hand still pinning Peyton's wrists overhead, the other hand gripping the back of his head, tilting it to the side to grant themself more access to his neck. The grazing turned into an open-mouthed bite, Dami's tongue laving over Peyton's silky skin hotly as they bit and sucked hard enough to have Peyton shivering again, but not enough to leave a bruise.

It was all he wanted. He was a good boy, a good pet, and they were finally seeing that. They were finally using him the way he was supposed to be used.

Dami wanted him the same way Sir wanted him.

He smiled sweetly against their lips.

It should make him happy. Didn't it make him happy?

Dami thrust their tongue into Peyton's mouth, sealing their lips together as their hand tightened on the back of Peyton's neck, holding him in place as he greedily explored Can's tongue with his own, giving in to his new addiction. Peyton moaned into the kiss and spurred them on further. They let go of his neck and ran their hand down his chest, abs, and finally the front of his pants.

They tugged his hair again and Peyton responded, putting one hand on their head while the other gently, carefully slipped down their sweatpants.

They stiffened, hovering over him, hand on his back. Hope, wild and terrible, flared in Dami’s normally inexpressive eyes.

They were awake now, wide awake. They wrenched their mouth away from him and forced his hand out of their pants.

Peyton whined. He blinked. Rocks scraped his palms. He winced, feeling a sting of pain just as he felt his nose stinging. Heat and pressure built up behind his eyes.

“Shit."

Peyton blinked again. They’ve never sworn at him before.

“Shit,” they repeated. “No. Don't….don't do that again. Don't fucking…”

They shook their head and when Peyton finally met their eyes, there was a flicker of *something*, something hot and nauseating, that painted red-hot shame across his cheeks even as confusion bubbled up in his brain. His heart dropped to his stomach. A sharp pain lasered across his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“.....what’s wrong?” Peyton whispered, “Did I….didn't I do good?”

“I’m not Sir,” they snapped, “And neither are you. *Don't touch me*.”

Peyton was still dazed from the kiss. Uncomprehending, he reached for them, sliding forward and lifting himself up. “I wanted to thank you. You’ll like it.”

“No.” They jerked as if they’d been struck and stumbled backwards and into a standing position before lurching away, humming. Their fingers rapidly tapped against their arm. “Don’t want this. Don't touch me. Don't have to thank me. Don't ever thank me or….or use words.”

Peyton frowned. They’d wanted it, wanted him. He’d felt it. They’d responded to him in a way they hadn't with Sir. Romantics lie but their body doesn't.

“You’re lying,” he whispered. They’d never lied to him before, “You’re lying. Why are you lying?”

They flinched as though Peyton had come at them brandishing a red-hot poker freshly pulled out of a fireplace. He wasn’t used to seeing much in their eyes unless he looked carefully for it but right now, their face was an open book. A tiny fissure of hope seemed to claw its way out of the bleakness in their eyes, and the tiniest spark of the happiness Peyton had seen in them a moment ago appeared.

“You want me,” Peyton said. He blinked again and tilted his head in confusion. He was aching with need for them, aching to beg them to finish him. “Why don't you….? You can have me. I want you to have me.”

“No.” They swallowed but their hand trembled as if they itched to touch Peyton, as if they itched to close the distance they’d forced between them. Both happiness and hope fizzled out abruptly, leaving nothingness behind. Fists clenched tight, Dami pulled themself upright. “You don't, Peyton.”

They hummed again, rocking back and forth on their heels before they swallowed and tugged on their braid.

“Need rules,” they rasped. Peyton blanched and looked away. He shifted, hands fluttering to his collar before pulling his knees under his ass but Dami shook their head. They shook their head. “Not positions, different rules. Boundaries. Things we….we don't do.”

They reached across the blankets for his hands. He gave them without hesitation, grateful for the touch. They were warm despite everything. Dami was always warm. All he wanted was to climb into their lap again and kiss them and stay there forever. Maybe he could change their mind…

“Don’t…..I don't like being touched without asking. It….” They hummed, taking a breath. Their voice softened. Their thumb absentmindedly tapped the back of his hand. “It scares me. I don't…like not being in control of myself. Please don't touch me without asking. That's my first rule.”

Peyton nodded but kept his eyes on the ground. He was scaring them? He didn't know they could get scared. They hadn't seemed scared at all.

“I…..you lied.”

They blinked. “I lied?”

“Please um…. Please don't lie to me. That's my….um….that's my rule.”

Was this okay? Was he allowed to give rules, too? Only handlers and owners gave rules. What did that make him if he were to give rules too? A bad pet? He didn't have an owner and Dami said they weren't his owner so was he still a pet?

His head ached. He fingered the creased leather around his throat, the smooth buckle, and listened to the soft jingle of the tag. Tears sprang to his eyes again. He missed Sir. Things were less confusing and complicated with Sir.

Dami smiled softly and nodded. “Okay. No touching without asking. No lying to each other. Good. That's good. Good job, Peyton. Another one, if we say no, then that means no. Need to stop immediately.”

“No?” Peyton asked, “Pets aren't allowed to say no.”

“No,” Dami repeated, “You are allowed to say no.”

“What if I say no to your no?”

Dami grunted. “Throw you in the river.”

Peyton smiled, imagining their strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him up, doing things to him, getting him all wet - soaked, really.

They quickly interrupted his fantasies.

“No is important.”

“......um, o-okay. No means, um, no. No is important.”

There were other ones, other rules, Peyton didn't bother to remember after he'd climbed into their lap. They didn't move him this time. He snuggled deeper when he heard their breath stutter. His suspicions were confirmed.

They had lied. They wanted him the same way he wanted them, they gave him rules, they took care of him. That meant Dami was his new owner.

#whump #bbu #pet whump #damiel cartier #peyton montgomery #dubcon tw #self reblog

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angst-after-dark · 3 months ago

Note

🗝 for Wick

CW: NOTHING TOO EXPLICIT, JUST PARTNERS HAVING A GOOD TIME

From This Ask Game

The whispers shared by the two of them overpowered the faint rustling of clothes, along with the occasional hitch of breath as rough, calloused fingers purposely, and accidentally, grazed soft, delicate skin.

Wick's giggle was infectious and despite their apprehension, the rapid thrumming of their heart, and the blood rushing in their ears from the fear of being exposed, Damiel grinned and did their best to avoid the broom handle they'd spotted earlier in the night.

Although, if their boyfriend was up for it, it could come in handy. They'd have to get him really lubed up but then they could sweep him off his feet.

They snorted to keep from groaning. He was rubbing off on them way too much. He would've been ecstatic if they'd said that out loud.

Wick wasn't so cautious, backing up into it and sending the cleaning tool clattering to the floor. He let another round of laughter loose. The sharpness pricked their ears. Bony shoulders shook with mirth beneath their hands.

They flinched. "Shhh. You're going to get us caught."

"We won't. We won't get, get, get caught, Dami."

His hands brushed over their skin, sending a shudder rippling up and down their spine. They closed their eyes, imagining his piercing blue ones, and thrust their hands into his hair. They pushed themself closer, softly inhaling, when his bare body touched their own.

"How do you know?" They whispered.

"I just, just, just know."

They shook their head and hummed, popping their lips, fingers tapping and nails digging lightly into his shoulders. Wick was full of unearned confidence. They loved him for it. Their hands drifted down from his shoulders, hums getting louder, across his chest and over his hips.

"Besides," he finally whispered in their ear. They let out a soft pop when his lips brushed over their neck. "I'm, I'm, I'm going to scream. You're too, too hot, Dami."

They shook their head, lip popping, hums, taps interrupted by a soft laugh.

"Do-on't. Should gag you," they teased.

"Save that for, for, for home." They could hear the smirk wrapped around his response.

He couldn't see them but Dami raised a brow anyway.

"I-if you don't scream," they said, slowly kneeling down, "I'll t-tie you to the s-swing."

His hands in their hair stilled.

"Deal."

Dami smirked and kissed his already quivering thighs. He was going to lose. They were definitely going to get caught.

#spicy ask game #fluff #damiel cartier #christopher wickham #🥺😁🥺😁🥺😁

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angst-after-dark · 3 months ago

Note

"I'm going to fall asleep..." + snuggling in a blanket in front of the tv from the comfort asks?

From This Game!

(They're watching The Real Housewives of New York 😉)

“Do, do, do you ever get tired of being so, so, so beautiful?” Wick asks. The fingers running through her hair stop. Her head lays in his lap. A blanket drapes over her shoulders. Heavy eyelids blink up at him, taking longer than usual to answer him. The TV plays softly in the background, the yelling and cat fight of some reality dating show muted. It's one she's into and he only watches because her reactions (and love of drama) is as entertaining as what is shown on the screen.

There are no reactions today, just bubble baths and foot massages, quiet decompressing,and no talk about work. Three countries in two days rolling out Asryn Pharmaceutical's latest drug has her wiped out and all he wants to do to thank her for taking care of the part of the job he couldn't do this time is get her to rest.

The big project is over. The next one would start in another month or so. Right now, she needed to focus on her.

Maybe he should ask Dearia to book a few weeks in the Dominican for her. She could see her grandmother, visit her cousins, have a few days in the sun, get her freckles out and plopping on her cute little nose. She could-

She frowns and rolls her eyes, looking up. “Do you ever get tired of being so corny?"

Her jaw cracks and he feigns a pout, grumbling in mock frustration when she gently laughs and picks up his hand, putting it back on her head and forcing him to resume his earlier motion.

A contented sigh escapes her and lands straight in his heart, locking it up and warming him all the way to his toes.

“I think I'm going to fall asleep," she murmurs with another jaw cracking yawn.

"I'll turn the, the, the show off when you, you do."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Her pinky peeks out from under the blanket.

Now who's being corny?

He raises a brow and holds his tongue, grabbing her pinky with his own and locking their fingers together.

#answered asks #ask games #christopher wickham #leigh kestrel #🥺🥺🥺#theyre so sweet #besties

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angst-after-dark · 3 months ago

Note

Talk to Me, Wick.

They’ve been existing in numbers.

Four panes of glass stare back at them. They’re darkened with rain splatters and mud from passing cars. They judge them. Judge their navy blue sweater, their gray sweatpants with the coffee stains that won’t wash out.

Too thin, too fragile, too broken.

That panel of wood watches, cocks its flat timber head and dares them to turn its brass knob.

Come forth, Wicky, there is a world at your fingertips. Be brave.

The door speaks in wooden whispers they barely decipher over the frenzied hiss and splash of cars pulling into their driveway.

Five news crews.

Vampires.

People with lives intertwining with their own.

There’s been more since last night. There were only four when Wick had gone to bed. They're doing their jobs. Wick knows that but they don't have one anymore, not since they stepped down from their company.

They don't have a life anymore.

Do they still know how to live? Now that Valerian isn’t here to tell them what to do? They used to be able to make a million decisions about a million things. They can’t even make a decision about what to wear in the mornings.

Everything is too big and they’re insignificant. They're home, safe, but the house is barely holding them together. Every piece of them threatens to fall apart on the pristine, plush carpet.They only exist in fragments, pieces that feel too thin, too broken to put back together and Perhaps, someday, there’ll be nothing for this house to put back together.

The wall touches their back, it listens to their frantic gasps, and touches them with cool solidarity they can’t bear to escape. Ketrel always jokes about walls being able to hear. They don't think it’s a joke anymore. These walls hear everything. They see everything. They report everything back to Valerian even as they watch them in silent concern. They have more compassion than the windows. The four panes of glass only mock them with a caricature of themself.

The rain lessens to a dull sprinkle, pattering off the flowers I didn’t plant in the garden above the balcony.

What does the air smell like outside? Their nostrils have only been filled with the sickeningly sweet smell of strawberries and chocolate protein smoothie Peyton made three days ago. They want…the outdoors. They want to be in the garden. They want to feel the rain on their skin.

They want to live.

Their hand trembles, aching like the windows are attacking them with glass words, their edges so jagged their left bleeding out on the floor.

They breathe in. They breathe out.

The windows sew blood back into their veins as they judge me still, but Wick judges them back, arguing that coffee stains have meaning. They don't need to change. Reporters will say what they wish. True or not, stories will be told over and over again.

The doorknob winks at them and again whispers its wooden words and promises them life.

Their heart is both hollow and choked.

Four breaths.

Four panes of glass. Two feet slipping into two red boots. One hand reaching for that winking brass knob.

Too thin. Too broken. Fragile, little stupid pieces. They’ve been existing in numbers.

Five news crews.

Three days buried in their bedroom.

Staring at two bright red boots.

And still they want to live.

They’ll figure it out, one brass knob and four panes of glass at a time.

#whump #ask games #christopher wickham #aftermath of whump #recovering whumpee #oh #😭😭😭

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angst-after-dark · 3 months ago

Text

do u ever just

#Damiel Cartier #Thane Barlow

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angst-after-dark · 4 months ago

Text

CW: RECAPTURED WHUMPEE, BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, LOCKED IN TRUNK, CREEPY/INTIMATE WHUMPER, FORCED DRUGGING, PET NAMES

TAGLIST: @poc-whump, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @badgerwhump, @flowersarefreetherapy, @oddsconvert

Masterlist -- Previous

It lasted long enough to get them into the car without a fight. Not that they would have.

They woke up to the cloying stench of cloves and their stomach lurched. From a small crack, some kind of hole, in their dark world and light, bright but miniscule, shone in their eyes. Even though they were unable to focus, colors and shapes clashing together and blurring in and out, they still raised their head. Wheeling brown eyes noted stray hairs in the fabric where they're laid, and freshly disturbed dust motes that flew dispersed, suspended in weighted air, taunting them with more freedom than they had.

Their vision was shot but their hearing was still good and they listened intently, straining to hear something, anything, that might get them out of this predicament.

Birds. Chatter. Muffled rasp of a pop song they didn't recognize.

An engine. They felt the vibration. Their head jerked, skull banging against something that makes a stifled, gonglike sound. There's a jolt, a bump that sent them flying and banging their head once more. There are more bumps and all of them rattled through their bones. It's not a good feeling. It's a touch Dami would put squarely in the growl at and avoid list. Their only protest was a groan, not at the pain they couldn't feel, but at the frustration of being locked away again, and the amnesia that was blocking their ability to remember how they'd gotten here in the first place. Their brain was working slowly, too slowly, but their heart was making up it's lack of speed. It raced faster than the trunk of the car Dami now found themself in.

A car horn blared somewhere close.

They tried to shift, to find a more comfortable position but they couldn't.

They could only rise up so far before their shoulder bumped into the metal above them and still their movement was further limited. They recognized the feel of the cuffs, smooth and light, but they couldn't see them. Not with their hands twisted behind their back and on the verge of going numb with most of their body weight directly on top of them.There's no space to try and get out of them. They could, if they really wanted to, dislocate their fingers and slip out but that didn't mean they'd be able to get out of the trunk.

And it didn't mean they'd be able to fight their way free either.

Cooperation was best. For now.

That didn't stop the panic bubbling in their chest and they gulped in a breath before they forced themself back to calm with a reminder that they were alive.

As long as they were alive, they were fine.

They fell into a pattern of muttered counting, pressed touches, (the car carpet is rough on their skin but it's somewhat comforting rubbing against it. It kept their mind off of the worst case scenario), and grit-teeth silence that got them through the bumpy roads and nauseating turns. In the dark, without a point of reference, the motion of the car turned their stomach even further. Dami imagined themself inside out. Not even the rollercoaster they'd gone on on their first outing with Leigh had been this awful. s both their stomachs.

They have no idea how long they've been in the trunk, no idea how far they’ve traveled or where they’re being taken. Time, in this dark and cramped space, was meaningless until the car finally, finally, jerked to a stop and the endless, painful hum of the engine finally died.

Doors opened and shut. Footsteps sounded, close and then closer still, as Dami put their head down, forehead pressed into the carpet.

They held their breath.

The trunk popped open. They tensed in anticipation.

It didn't help.

It’s light and sound and air and the blaring chorus of an inane pop song going off in their brain and stabbing their senses so bad tears streamed down their face and made everything worse.

They weren't holding their breath anymore but they still couldn't breathe.

They brushed past it and kicked at whoever had opened it, making contact with something solid and wincing as a sharp crack rang heavily in their ears. They winced again when their foot was grabbed and tried to yank it back. They failed. The person, Sir, twisted their ankle harshly prompting a growl and a sharp intake of breath.

He didn't give them any more chances to recover, his hands snapping out and gripping their hair until their head was wrenched to the side. Dami hissed, fighting, and tried to shake free again.

"N-no."

“Shh, it's alright, Sita. Be good. We can't have you trying to run now, can we?"

Their back arched as they kept trying to dislodge his grip. It didn't work and the prick of the needle in their skin, stilled their efforts. They tensed instinctively as he helped prop them into a sitting position but if he noticed it, he didn’t say anything. The change of position made them and another groan slipped from their lips. Sir brushed a strand of hair off their face gently, the grip on their braid barely loosening.

"There we go," Sir cooed, "Don't fight it, Sweetheart. You'll only make it worse."

Body heavy, the world spinning, they slumped back down and exhaled slowly. Their head rested on Sir's shoulder instead. Their hands were all prickled strangely now that the feeling was returning to them, and they tried to stay as still as possible not to make it worse.

“That's it," Sir murmured, "I have you."

#recaptured whumpee #reblog for a reread

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