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oddsconvert · 21 days

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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…

---

@octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday @thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump @the-cryptid-finch @snowstuffscuff @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @wolfeyedwitch @interdimensional-chaos @termsnconditions-apply @whump-blog @leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien @onlybadendings @darlingwhump @sparrowsage @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed @idkmansomeusername @whuarri @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @the-whumpers-grimm @damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kadeee00 @that-one-small-world @doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme @anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them

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

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whumpninja · 1 month

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Ask Me About…Vampire Whump!

That’s right, the first ask game in this project is for you, Fang Gang! (I’ve accepted using that name for vampire whump creators.) Since vampire whump takes so many different forms, I’ve split the twenty questions in this ask game into different categories. So no matter what type you write, there’ll be questions that match your characters! Stick to one section, or mix them up- whatever fits your OCs best!

I’m accepting suggestions for next week’s ask game genre, and soon the “order form” for custom ask games will be up! Hope it isn’t a pain in the neck waiting a bit longer, but while you do, sink your fangs into these delicious questions!

Warning: these are whumpy questions, so they involve some dark content! Blood, death, et cetera.

Taglist: @sleepyiswhumping

QUESTIONS FOR A VAMPIRE WHUMPER

🦟- what’s your favorite blood type?

🍷- how does your thrall/bloodbag/juicebox’s blood taste?

⏳- what is it like being so powerful and/or immortal?

🩸- what do you think of humans?

🦇- do you have any remorse?

QUESTIONS FOR A VAMPIRE WHUMPEE

🫗- do you still get to drink blood?

🧛🏻‍♂️- what was your life like before this?

🕸️- are you a monster?

☀️- what’s the worst thing that’s been done to you?

🌙- what would you do first if you could escape?

QUESTIONS FOR A VAMPIRE HUNTER

🧄- what weakness do you exploit the most against vampires?

💀- how many vampires have you killed?

😈- what’s your motivation for being a hunter?

⚰️- what’s the best way to deal with a vampire, in your opinion?

🕷️- have you had any close calls?

QUESTIONS FOR A THRALL/BLOODBAG/JUICEBOX

🥀- are you happy?

🦷- do you like being fed from?

👠- is your owner/master cruel to you?

🗝️- if you were to try to escape, how would you do it?

🪦- do you think you’ll die here?

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumper #vampire whumpee #bloodbag whumpee #vampire hunter #whump ask game #ask me about #jack be whumpy

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whump-queen · 1 year

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whumpee being kept as just a blood source~

it’s just so much more dehumanizing, getting tossed around and kept restrained and covered in bruises and bite marks all the time, always on the precipice of deleriousness from the constant blood loss. weak and angry and desperate but too drained of blood and energy to do anything but snarl and struggle weakly against the ropes that keep their hands behind them

#found this in my drafts so here *throws it at you*#vampire whumper #bloodbag whumpee #vampire whump #whump prompt #whump vibes #whump scenario #akia.txt #my post #my prompts

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fallenwhumpee · 1 year

Text

Meal

Part 1 • Part 2 • Masterlist •

Whumpay Day 11: Intimate Whumper

Warnings: Intimate whumper, vampire whumper, bloodbag whumpee, poisoning

Whumpee tried to get smaller in the blanket Whumper had given to them. They were so cold, and they had no strength to lift themselves from wherever they collapsed.

"We have to get you into an actual bed, dear one." Whumper said, their teeth still painted with Whumpee's blood.

Whumpee made agreeing noises, but they had to stop to focus on again. They felt cold sweats run through their back over their now boiling skin, and they tried to keep breathing steadily as they let go of the blanket.

They were seeing everything in doubles, and headache wasn't helping.

"Did I go too for now, sweetie? I should've stopped before draining my best meal." Whumper reached to them with their cold hands.

"You're too thin. Didn't I feed you enough? I should've had someone check on you." Whumper pulled them to their feet, but Whumpee couldn't stand by themselves, and leaned on Whumper as they felt the ground shake under their feet.

"Easy, now. Let's go out to a fancy restaurant. I bet you'll look stunning in one of the clothes I brought you. "

Whumpee did nothing to resist as they were dragged to one of the guest rooms in mansion and given nice clothes. They dressed as best as they could, their arms hard to move and shaking. They slowly made their way to the entrance, a pair of new shoes waiting for them.

"You look as pale as me, dearie." Whumper fixed a part of their clothes and offered their arm. "We will look well together."

Whumpee took the offer, and they really went to a fancy restaurant with elegant guests. Though, Whumpee noticed how thin and pale one of every couple eating looked. Fellow bloodbags.

Whumpee really didn't mind, Whumper was nice enough to stop whenever they noticed Whumpee wasn't able to go on anymore. They were fed and taken out to the gardens for every meal they could provide for Whumper. They were given a warm bed, and Whumper was never too mean to them, Whumpee could even go far and tell they cared. So, Whumpee assumed others were also like them and didn't care the other as well as they were good enough to go out after being drained.

Whumper ordered them a nice meal, enough to keep them full for the week. But halfway through their meal, they started to feel worse, and this was not supposed to happen. They never felt this dizzy and weak—

Whumper growled as they caught Whumpee falling from their chair.

"Who had done this?!"

#whumpay2023 #whump #whump writing #vampire whumper #intimate whumper #bloodbag whumpee #poison whump

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whump-in-the-closet · 4 months

Note

“Tell me, what do you fear?”

The vampire entered the basement loudly.

Their human swayed suspended from the ceiling, clothes torn and hair matted. They opened one eye— the other swollen shut. Their toes barely brushed against the floor.

The vampire grinned and set down her coffee on the bloodstained counter, next to a pair of pliers.

“Hello again.”

The human’s breathing was ragged, like each breath was painful. “Leech,” they said with a small gasp. Talking was also painful.

The vampire ran her hand over her tools but didn’t pick any up. “Is that how you address me? If you had any fingernails left, I’d take them.”

The human, despite their defiance, flinched. They didn’t doubt it. Their hands were crusted with dried blood.

“I—”

The vampire grabbed their shoulders and sent them spinning before they could finish talking.

“I like it better when you’re quiet,” she said.

“You think you’re so scary?” The human only saw glimpses of the vampire as they spun, but they spat the words out all the same. “You don’t scare me.”

The vampire yanked their head back, stopping them mid spin. They cried out, head tilted at an awkward angle and shoulders tight. Their neck was exposed, two red marks swollen and bruised.

The vampire leaned down, teeth bared.

The human shuddered, panic suddenly bright in their eyes. “Wait— wait p-please—”

The vampire saw the terror and grinned. “Tell me,” she hissed in the human’s ear, “What do you fear?”

The human bit back a sob, all defiance gone. “You. You’re a monster.”

She laughed softly. “And you’re a pest.” She bit down and the human sobbed.

#vampire whumpee #bloodbag whumpee #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #implied torture #female whumper #whump scenario #hope you like it <2 #no proofreading we die like men #troy talks #answered asks

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whumpy-writings · 5 months

Text

Bloodbag is now available!

You can grab an ebook or paperback copy here, and if you want a signed paperback you can order one over on my kofi.

This story is a prequel to Cry of Fangs and tells the story of Tobias, a vampire cobbler who rescues a human from a fire and gets more than he bargained for. This story is the classic whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-new-whumper trope (a personal favorite of mine) and gives the backstory of two of my favorite side characters in Cry of Fangs.

#of vampires and men #vampire whump #vampire caretaker #bloodbag whumpee #whump books #whump community #whumpblr #whump

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

Text

Treasure of Ruin - Part 1

Welcome to my interactive story to commemorate 300 followers! Here, you'll be able to play as purely a whumpee or a whumpee & caretaker (caretaker options might not appear depending on what you choose). I plan for this to be 5 parts

CW: bloodbag whumpee, noncon drugging, vampire whumper, mafia whump, dislocation, stress position

===

The smell of must and mildew fills your nose as you awake. The next thing your senses present you with is pain. Pain beyond measure. Pain beyond what you’ve felt before. Well, perhaps not. You’ve been through a lot, being the bloodbag of a mafia underboss. So maybe, just maybe, the pain is familiar.

Your vision is blurry. Your Master was always fond of drugs, but you don’t quite understand why you were given them.

That is, until the memories come back in one big rush. You defied a mafia underboss. You’d never been strong enough to do it before. Not to one so old, powerful, and violent as your Master.

However…

What he’d promised, you couldn’t comprehend.

As you awake more from your drug-induced slumber, you take in your surroundings. You’re hung by your arms, dangling, feet off the ground. One of your shoulders is surely dislocated. You aren't sure of where you are and aren't sure you've been here before.

What’s in front of you is perhaps more pressing in your mind than the dislocation in your shoulders. There are piercing violet eyes in front of you, ones that stare deep into your soul - your Master.

“My dear, I see that you’re awake.” He has a wicked smile on his face. “Are you ready for your punishment?”

He hums a little. “Though it’ll probably have to wait. I have bigger things to attend to than you right now.” He nods to himself. "You understand, I'm sure, after all this time as my bloodbag."

#treasure of ruin #interactive whump #bloodbag whumpee #noncon drugging #vampire whumper #mafia whump #dislocation #stress position

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dragonfireridge · 1 year

Text

Livestock

Part 2

@whumpsday

The vampire doesn't grab him, doesn't beat him, doesn't choke him.

The human can't help but be absolutely, utterly confused.

Why? That's all he can think about. Why, why, why?

The vampire turns, and the human's heart beat just stops.

Impossible.

And yet, it happened.

The human had said the word out loud.

Bellamy turns back to face the human, eyebrows furrowed with sadness. Still, he's glad the human is speaking to him.

"I'm sorry you've been subject to such cruelty in your time here," he says softly. "There will be no violence in my home. You are safe here. I can bring you back to human territory, should you like. Though it would have to wait for tomorrow night if I'm to make it back before sunrise. Would you like that, dear? To go home?"

The human almost laughs outright.

What home was left for him?

It didn't matter, anyway--it never did.

The human's owners would most certainly come after him.

Well... he's not entirely sure, who his owners are anymore. Either way, he can barely remember his life before the vampires. It seems like existence is nothing but constant pain and darkness.

The human doesn't know why the vampire (who said he called himself a Bellamy. What's a Bellamy?) is even asking. But he knows his new owner is expecting an answer.

Sullenly, he shakes his head.

Bellamy is surprised by the answer, but tries not to let it show. "That is alright as well. You may stay here as long as you wish. No harm will come to you."

It occurs to Bellamy that this human has to be thirsty—and hungry, too. Heaven knew what they feed them in the farms, but Bellamy guesses it isn’t the best.

Crossing the room, he goes to the sink and fills a glass, returning to the crate and holding it out. "Here you are, have some water."

The human is utterly grateful. This is something he understands.

Deep inside, his stomach always aches with hunger, and his throat is always dry. But this? Extra food or water is a treat--and a treat to be savored at that.

Eagerly, he snatches the water, and happily drinks the whole thing. A faint smile crosses

his face when he's done.

"There we go, dear, what a lovely smile you have." Bellamy smiles back, mouth closed. Careful not to bare his fangs. "Would you like to come out now? I could show you to a guest room, and get that garish thing off your face so you could have a meal. It would surely be more comfortable."

The human can't help but whimper. He isn't sure what this... Bellamy is talking about. What's a guest room? What's a garish?

It doesn't matter. He knows what the vampire wants.

It hurts his heart. Feeling like he's being stabbe physically, he shakily climbs out of his crate, kneels in the appropriate positon, and bares his neck to the side. Silently, he looks down at the floor--he hopes this vamprie is one of the nicer ones.

#vampire whump #vampire #bloodbag whumpee #vampire caretaker

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whump-and-other-misfortunes · 4 months

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cw vampire whumper, conditioned whumpee, past nonconsensual blood drinking

"Why do you keep letting them do this to you?" Caretaker asked, eyes narrowing at the fresh bite mark on Whumpee's neck. Subtle bruising surrounded the puncture wounds.

Whumpee frowned, quickly tugging the collar of their shirt to cover the mark. "I'm—it's not really a big deal."

Caretaker sighed. "I hate seeing you like this. You keep getting paler and thinner and...quieter. I keep wondering how long it will be before there's nothing left of you."

"It's not like that," Whumpee insisted. "Whumper isn't hurting me. And besides, did you ever consider that maybe I like what they do to me?"

They didn't tell Caretaker how they used to wail and thrash against Whumper's hold, before they understood their place. Before Whumper taught them how incredible it was to provide for someone else with your very life force.

Whumpee didn't tell Caretaker that underneath their clothes, their body was littered with bruises and bite marks. Some were old and fading, others were fresh and still sore, but each of them was a claim Whumper had made on them.

And they didn't tell Caretaker that some nights Whumper would take too much when they fed, leaving Whumpee drained and lightheaded as their blood soaked the bedsheets. They would wake up in Whumper's arms the next day, disoriented and achy, with gentle praises whispered in their ear. "I like seeing you this way," Whumper would murmur. "All dumb and empty-headed. How a good little human is meant to be."

Whumpee didn't tell Caretaker any of this; they wouldn't understand. They didn't explain that the more Whumper fed from them—owned them—the easier it got.

"How could you possibly enjoy being treated that way?" Caretaker asked softly.

Whumpee shrugged and looked away. "I don't know. Whumper makes me feel...needed. I guess that's the part I enjoy the most."

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #vampire whumper #noncon blood drinking #conditioned whumpee #physical whump #bloodbag whumpee #possessive whumper #requests open #snippet

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avvail-whumps · 2 years

Note

A prompt if you’re interested! A young (teenaged) whumpee who is the familiar/pet of a sadistic centuries-old vampire whumper. Whumper likes to hear whumpee scream, so defiant whumpee does everything they can not to.

content warnings: pet whump, pet/bloodbag, it as a pronoun, dehumanisation, whumpee, defiant whumpee, minor whumpee, vampire whumper, sadistic whumper, manhandling, blood, blood drinking

In the middle of the party, they can feel their master’s hand press into the small of their back.

They try not to tense under the gentle touch, knowing it was anything but, keeping their eyes glued to the ground of the extravagant palace. Whumper was smoothly talking with another vampiric guest, unphased by the effect they had caused.

It increased in pressure for a moment, prompting Whumpee closer. They didn’t want to. They would have wrestled from their grip if the consequences weren’t looming over them so heavily. Whumpee was hardly allowed to leave the vampire’s grounds anymore, not after the attempts they had made to escape.

It was a miracle they had even brought them along to this party.

Whether to show them off like they were some trophy, Whumpee couldn’t find it in themselves to care, because they were frustrated with the fact they hadn’t found a single opportunity to escape. It was a dangerous game, with so many vampires around, but Whumpee needed to try.

They need to get out of here.

“Cute thing, isn’t it?”

Whumpee was dragged from their thoughts. The conversation they had tuned out as nothing but background noise quickly smashed into their brain, causing them to lift their eyeline up a fraction. The other vampire was staring at them with a crooked smirk, and a hungry look in their eyes.

Whumper chuckled and drew them closer, pressing them against their side protectively. Whumpee shuddered and resisted the urge not wrinkle their nose in displeasure.

“Oh, yes,” Whumper drawled, their gaze heavy against the side of their face. “Don’t you think?”

The vampire hummed as they swirled a glass of liquid in their hands, sharp gaze falling up and down their body. “So young, too. Where did you find it?”

Whumper’s lip curled into a crooked smile. “Picked them up myself.”

The other vampire laughed as if the comment was actually amusing to them. Their hand stretched forwards, brushing against the human’s cheek with an icey touch. “Perhaps you’ll let me have a taste?”

Whumpee acted without thinking. The touch sent horrible shivers down their spine and they ripped away, narrowing their eyes.

“Don’t touch me!” They hissed, having to press further into Whumper’s side to get away. Their heart increased in pace instantly at the words, clenching their jaw firmly. The other vampire paused, a bittersweet smirk on their lips.

“Impudent, isn’t it?” They scoffed. Whumper’s arm wrapped around their shoulders, bringing them closer into their warmth. Whumpee stiffened under the soft, almost affectionate hold.

“I must apologise, but my pet is a little anxious around others,” they smoothly explained, flashing their sharp teeth. “You understand, don’t you? Besides, I feel quite possessive over them; I’m afraid I wouldn’t allow another vampire’s fangs in their skin.”

Whumpee flushed with embarrassment, too afraid to squirm. The weight on their shoulders was heavy and prominent, a clear warning that Whumper wasn’t pleased with their outburst. Nausea rose in their throat.

“I suppose,” the other vampire grimly bit out, gaze pinned onto Whumpee.

Whumper only chuckled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I feel a little peckish.”

Fear seized the human in a vice grip, rendering them useless as they were guided away, pushed into the vampire’s side. They watched with frantic eyes as they left the huge ballroom, past the guests and away from the music, until they were walking down a corridor Whumpee didn’t recognise.

Was this their chance? Maybe if they could get Whumper to loosen their grip, just a little bit...

Their hope was squashed when the vampire gripped them by the throat, smacking them against the wall. The human felt the air being knocked out of them, a choked gasp tumbling from their lips before they could stop themselves. Their hands flew to the vampire’s wrist, clinging on.

“I told you I wouldn’t tolerate rude behaviour in front of others,” the vampire growled, tightening their grip on their throat until Whumpee couldn’t breathe. “You are quite lucky I do not care for that pipsqueak.”

The human’s eyes pinched shut, unwilling to let the vampire see the pain and terror dancing in their pupils. They knew they liked it when they could.

Whumper’s eyes narrowed, before loosening their grasp ever so slightly, allowing Whumpee a chance to gladly suck in any air they could. The vampire seized their arm with their free hand, yanking it towards their mouth, before sinking their fangs into the sensitive flesh of their wrist.

Whumpee almost hissed in pain, their eyes flying open, but they clenched their jaw to stop them from crying out. Whumper fed with an ounce of anger in their eyes, pulling away after a few moments. They licked the blood off their lips, and Whumpee instinctively pulled their arm to their side, still wary of the hand around their neck.

“You are a defiant little thing, aren’t you?” Whumper smiled, but it was cruel. The human tried to ignore the burning pain in their wrist, keeping back the tears.

“I hate you,” they whispered, trying to add as much conviction in their voice as possible. They didn’t fear death; Whumper had no use for a human this young and untainted dead. They would be forfeiting a very special prize if they did.

The vampire chuckled. “That’s no way to speak to your master, now is it?”

Whumpee grit their teeth, words bubbling over with an influx of anger. “I will never see you as my master. It’s disgusting – you’re disgusting. Keeping me like a pet; I’m a human being. I deserve to live freely.”

“Such a way with words,” the vampire cooed. “But being a human is precisely why you are completely worthless as an individual. The only thing valuable about your kind, is your blood.”

The human considered barking back a response, but they were promptly cut off when the vampire pinned them further into the wall, hand winding in their hair. It was wrenched to the side, exposing the flesh of their neck as those strong fingers uncurled from their skin.

The human’s breathing began to quicken. Whumper had never fed from their neck. Only their wrists, or their arms, but never anywhere else. It took all of their willpower not to let any noises slip past now, no doubt it would be an agony they had never faced before.

The human shuddered pathetically and shoved against their chest.

“Let go!”

The vampire didn’t budge. They only chuckled at the fear, making the blood swim swiftly through their veins, and sank their fangs into the flesh. Whumpee was gripped by a blinding hot pain, white flashing across their vision.

They hadn’t even realised they’d screamed until the piercing noise finally registered in their ears. They squirmed and thrashed against the relenting grip, but it was utterly useless. The whumpee sobbed and pleaded, clawing at their shoulders, screaming and begging for them to stop.

The vampire relished every single second of it.

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oddsconvert · 9 months

Text

Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

---

The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless.

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul.

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him.

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity - he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries.

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family, lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear… I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed.

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees, “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,” Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal. August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow.

Has August always mistook help for harm? He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists. “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost?

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

---

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 1 year

Text

Eden VAU part three

TW: blood, wounds, scars, blood loss, captivity, pet whumpee, bloodbag whumpee, multiple whumpees, creepy/intimate whumper, multiple whumpers

Ezra awoke wrapped up in Christopher's arms. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing only darkness.

Judging by his sense of touch alone, he was still laying in his bed, and at some point after sunset Christopher had cuddled up under his blankets.

In his weary state, Ezra simply laid still, not announcing his consciousness to Christopher. To his vague surprise, he found cuddling with him very pleasant. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this close to anyone else.

Chill lips pressed to the back of Ezra's neck, granting some relief to the built up body warmth trapped beneath the fur blankets.

"Good evening," Christopher whispered in Ezra's ear. "How did you rest?"

"Good evening." Ezra yawned, cuddling closer to Christopher. "I slept well."

Logically, he knew that he should be afraid of a vampire, especially in such close quarters. But after the ordeal of last night, softened and blurred by the first good sleep Ezra had experienced in over a month, he found himself accepting his situation far too readily.

He couldn't feasibly escape, and he needed to stay on Christopher's good side. It seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement for the time being.

Christopher would keep Ezra around for companionship, and possibly his blood. Ezra had received mixed signals on the second point. And in return Ezra would have a place to live and good food to eat, without having to work fifty hours a week.

It couldn't last. Ezra had to escape eventually, or convince Christopher to let him go. Then he would run. Run to the nearest phone booth. God, he had never used a phone booth. Perhaps he was close enough to just run back to his apartment.

Part of him wanted to keep a record of his time spent as Christopher's captive. This could sell big time.

But he didn't have a journal, or anything else to keep note on. He didnt know shorthand to keep it secret. And he didn't have his own Mina Murray, someone to send letters to and keep his spirits up with the thought of.

Truthfully, Ezra was soul crushingly lonely. Christopher was the closest person in the world he had to a friend. Which was just about the most pathetic thing he could think of, even amid the general ongoing, never ceasing patheticness of his life.

But how long was he going to stay a prisoner here? A few days would be a nice break from reality. A few weeks would lose him his job, but might cure some of his mental health issues. A few months would spark a missing person investigation, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was police. A few years would destroy his desire to escape, and prove it wholly impossible.

He couldn't imagine spending decades with Christopher, or even centuries. God, that was a terrifying possibility.

"Are you going to lay here all night?" Christopher asked.

Ezra groaned softly. "Yes sir."

Christopher chuckled. "Very well. I will make you food when you are ready."

"Thank you sir. Mmm, this is nice."

"You're very warm." Christopher kissed the top of Ezra's head. "Thank you for allowing me. And I apologize for coming in while you were slumbering. Very rude."

"Oh feel free," Ezra said, far too sleepy to think his words over. "I don't mind."

"Thank you, my darling Ezra."

They laid in warmth and silence for over an hours, perhaps two or three. Ezra had never been the best judge of time.

"Alright," he finally groaned. "I have got to get up and stretch."

Christopher moved the blankets, stood up, and helped Ezra to his feet. Ezra stretched, his back cracking marvelously.

"Maybe I should have a bath then something to eat, if that's okay."

"Of course, my dear Ezra. I will start on cooking if you would like to run a bath."

Ezra held onto Christopher's arm as they walked down the hall, a little dizzy. Probably from stress, same as the dull throbbing headache.

He knew that a steaming hot bath might make the dizziness worse, but that didn't stop him from drawing one while Christopher's footsteps faded out of hearing.

Well, lowering himself into the hot water lowered his stress tremendously, even if he was still dizzy. He didn't bother washing his hair, just waking himself up properly and scrubbing the sweat from his body.

All of his provided clothing was soft and cozy, pajamas in different colors and styles, all lacking buttons or zippers.

Comfort was such a subjective thing, so Ezra had no idea how Christopher knew his taste so utterly. Not to mention how a vampire of over four hundred years knew about binders and being transgender.

On that last point, Ezra supposed that he had argued of transgender people always having existed on enough occasions to warrant their existence in seventeenth century Russia.

Looking through the small black box full of straight razors, scissors, files, and nail clippers he hadn't noticed yesterday, Ezra fought the strong impulse to cut his hair without a mirror.

This impulse usually popped up in his own bathroom at three in the morning, and he supposed this situation seemed close enough for his brain to supply him with it. What time was it, anyway?

This new annoyance in lacking a mirror was yet another reason to add Jonathan Harker to his kin list on Tumblr, right next to Narcissus, who was also there for the bit.

Ezra found Christopher sitting up the the kitchen table, with food already laid out. It smelled amazing, and was oddly American compared to yesterday's dinner.

Bacon, pancakes, and grape juice. Orange juice would have been more typical, but Ezra couldn't stand the texture.

"Thank you sir."

Ezra sat down to eat. It tasted as good as it smelled, and he realized how much he had been missing out on actually cooked foods in his regular life when he binge ate junk half the time.

"Am I allowed to ask your for something, sir?"

"You are always allowed to ask questions or make requests, but I am under no obligation to answer or provide you with what you want. Is that in fairness?"

"Yes sir." Ezra took a sip of grape juice. "I would like a mirror. I know you probably didn't think of it, but not being able to see my reflection is inconvenient."

Christopher blinked in surprise. "I was under the impression that you disliked seeing your looks in mirrors and taken pictures. Was I mistaken?"

"Oh, well...usually I don't like the way I look. But a mirror does come in handy sometimes, for brushing my hair and what have you."

"I will have no problem acquiring one. I do understand from what direction your statements come. Though I have grown very used to it."

Ezra heard the door creak open, and turned to see a man stumbling into the kitchen on trembling legs, his gaze held firmly to the floor in front of him. He looked to be in his forties, but the dried blood on his face and neck, tangled locks of blond hair, and the darkness of the room made it hard to tell.

"Oh," Christopher said. "Hello."

The man looked up, a look of pure terror etched on his face, his body shaking far worse than it had before.

Christopher stood up with a closed lip smile, and offered him a supporting hand as to prevent him from falling over.

Ezra's mind reeled, trying to come up with any possible explanation. He hadn't been aware of any other people in the house. How many were there exactly? Were there other vampires?

It didn't seem feasible that Christopher, so terribly sweet and loving, was capable of harming someone so brutally as the many fang marks, now visible as Christopher moved the man closer to the table, would suggest.

Ezra reminded himself that Christopher was a vampire, who had probably murdered people before, and that propping him up as some kind of saint after being kidnapped wasn't a good idea.

"Would you like something to eat?" Christopher asked the trembling man.

"Y-yes- I mean, yes sir." He licked his lips nervously, not seeming to take notice of Ezra.

Christopher walked to the stove and came back with a plate of leftover food from what he had made Ezra, then grabbed him juice from the ice box.

"Please remind me of your name."

"Liam, s- sir."

He started eating, trying to be neat, but very quickly losing his composure trying to eat as much as possible in as short time as he could manage.

Christopher's smile faded as he examined the fang wounds on Liam's neck. Despite his over abundance of fear, Liam automatically exposed his neck and held still the best he could.

"Who takes responsibility for this?" Christopher asked softly. "Lucille?"

Liam forced himself to stop eating. "N-no sir. It was your- your- it was your broth- brother. Michael, I- I think."

Christopher clicked his tongue. "You would assume him to be capable of cleaning up after himself. You need to wash thoroughly after you are done eating. I will leave a medical supply kit in the bathroom down this hallway for you. And there is plenty more for eating."

He slipped out of the room, apparently to get a first aid kit, leaving Liam to eat and Ezra to think. It seemed to make perfect sense now. There were at least three vampires residing here. One of whom was Christopher's brother. And another of whom was a woman named Lucille. A much more American name which shed doubt on familial relation, unless she changed her name at one point.

There was at least one other human living here, a man named Liam. He was apparently being used as a blood bag, but by Michael and possibly Lucille, but probably not Christopher.

Ezra wished for his bullet journal or notes app to jot these things down in, to thwart his piss poor recollection skills.

"My name is Ezra," he said. "Ezra El Farrah. What's yours?"

"Liam Marshall."

He seemed much calmer now that Christopher had left the room, no longer stuttering or trembling. His hands still shook slightly, but not enough for him to lose his grip on his fork.

"I'm guessing you're the new girl next door," he joked. "God, how old are you?"

Ezra had a brief crisis about how he ought to approach the subject of gender,then decided to simply ignore it for the time being.

"Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three...Jesus Christ. I can't believe they've started taking them so young. What the fuck?"

He stood up and cleared his dishes, going back for more grapejuice but abstaining from the food on the stove top.

"What are you doing here?" Ezra asked.

"Getting my blood sugar up." Liam took a sip of grapejuice. "My head has mostly stopped spinning. You know, there's a reason phlebotomists at the red cross give you juice afterwards."

"I'll keep that in mind. But I meant to ask what you were doing in this house. I woke up here yesterday to Christopher explaining that he had stalked and kidnapped me. I don't know what's happening."

Liam laughed, but looked utterly horrified.

"God kid. Um...I'm under the ownership of one Michael Kotev. Actually meaning that I'm under the ownership of one Michael Kotev and his annoying siblings who won't stop stealing his food."

"I see..." Ezra fought the urge to laugh.

"You're lucky. For someone in hell, I mean. At least Christopher is one of the nicer ones."

"I can tell." Ezra couldn't help rubbing his neck, as though to check if it were still fully intact. "He's really...affectionate."

"You've got that right. He's the 'hug it out' sort when anyone's fighting. The oldest, and first turned, so he's head of the house. All the other vamps are his younger siblings and their spouses."

"That's...a lot. How did you end up here?"

"I got my ass dragged here kicking and screaming two years ago by Michael because he was feeling a bit peckish and I happened to smell tasty."

"That's terrifying, and almost the exact opposite of what happened to me."

"Oh, do tell." Ezra cleared his throat. "I woke up yesterday, cuddled up on the sofa with Christopher. He was playing with my hair, as casual as anything. We talked for a while, and he explained how he had been stalking me for months and that he loves me. Whatever that could mean. He's been trying to keep me as comfortable as possible. It's been absolutely insane, actually."

"Holy fuck." Liam stared at Ezra for a moment, trying to puzzle something out.

Ezra took the silence as an opportunity to remind himself that it didn't matter how nice Christopher was, he was still holding Ezra captive.

"I haven't talked to Christopher much," Liam said. "But I'm fucking terrified of all the vamps. I've had by throat ripped open one too many times."

"I'm starting to get very worried myself. Though he doesn't seem that bad. I mean, he was concerned about you."

"Yeah...My advice is to ask Jun. He's Dasha's pet blood bag. Christopher just tends to ignore us humans unless he's having one of his weirdly parental, 'Oh, are you hurt? Do you need food? Do I need to lecture my siblings about not closing your wounds again?' moments."

Pushing aside how truly atrocious Liam's mock Russian accent was, gratitude overcame Ezra at the notion of someone being so willing to help him.

He couldn't be sure how much time he would be spending around the other occupants of the house, but knowing that they were stuck in almost his same situation was enough.

"My advice is for you to stay in your room as much as possible," Liam said. "Don't put yourself in harms way. For the love of God, just do what you're told. This isn't the time or the place for struggling or throwing around slurs."

"I understand. Thank you. It means a lot that you're trying to help out."

"I'm gonna get cleaned up."

Liam walked swiftly down the hallways, almost running, and slammed the bathroom door behind him as quickly as he could manage, like a little kid afraid of monsters lurking in the nightly shadows of their house.

Ezra cleared his dishes and walked back to his bedroom, pulling the blankets over his head in a way he hadn't done since he was eight.

Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenly-whumper @melancholy-in-the-morning @suck-my-clit-loser @anomalys-taxonomy @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chibichibivale @skittles-the-whumpee

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tidalwhump · 11 months

Text

Untitled Bloodbag Story - The Attempt

Previous , Masterlist

Taglist: @deluxewhump , @whumpycries , @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @whump-on-a-log , @pigeonwhumps , @annablogsposts , @d-cs , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @inkstainsonmyhands12 , @zillastar13

Warnings: Aftermath of consensual drugging, broken bones, attempted escape, mentions of previous abuse and potential future abuse.

Casper slept, his mind filled with drug haze dreams. Some were of his time at the vampire lair, some were of him flying or swimming, and some were of his old life, causing pangs of pain to expand in his chest.

He was surrounded by water, he was floating, down, down, but he could still breathe. He took a deep breath, the water smelt like salt and got darker as he sank. Casper started to swim up towards the surface, the light filtering through getting brighter as he approached. Instead of breaking the surface, he hit a clear wall, the surface of the water blocking him out. He slammed against it, but it was no use, he was stuck.

He looked around, and down, at the water. There was nothing but the deep blue sea around him, so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. He spun around, hands pressing against the top of his boundary, looking for anything, something. But alas, he was alone.

Then he saw something in the distance. He swam towards it as fast as he could and when he got there, he saw it was a door. A door to the outside, to above the water. It rippled like the waves, but he could touch it, it was solid. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Casper looked around frantically for a way out. He pounded against the door as hard as he could and screamed out for something, anything, to save him.

— — — — —

Casper wandered the flat like a ghost, feet dragging as he walked. He couldn’t tell what time it was, only that he had finally slept off the effects of the drug cocktail and was back to his normal, pain ridden self. Every part of his body hurt, every ache different from the next. Some were a dull ache, some were sharp pains, some were shooting. Some of the pains only hurt when he moved, some were constant, but all varied in degrees and kinds of hurt.

When he stopped his wandering, he found himself at the bottom of the staircase. He felt trapped, suffocated. Casper looked up to the door at the top of the stairs, and thought about his boredom. Before he’d even realised it, he was climbing the stairs to the top.

He tried the door handle, and to no surprise, it was locked from the outside. His mind flashed back to the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt sliding into place, and he sighed. Casper turned to walk back down the stairs, but he only got a few steps down before something in him snapped.

He ran back up to the top of the stairs and started to pound on the door with both arms, ignoring the pain that shot up his broken arm as he slammed it against the door.

“Let me out! Let me out you bastard!” He screamed.

Listening closely, there was no response, only a silence throughout the house. In a rage he kicked the door, then started pounding on it again.

“Let me out goddammit! You can’t keep me down here forever! Fuck!” He kicked the door again.

Frustrated, but unwilling to just give up and be a prisoner down here, he sat down on the stairs a few steps down from the door, leaving enough room so it could open, waiting for Zola to come down so he could try and make a break for it.

He wanted out.

— —

The deadbolt slid out of place and Casper perked up, crouching on the stairs, ready to pounce. As the door slowly started to open he got ready, and when it was open he ran for it, pushing past Zola and trying to squeeze out between him and the doorframe.

Zola turned as he approached and stuck his arm out, grabbing him around the waist, picking him up under one arm and starting to descend down the stairs, closing the door behind them. Casper started kicking and screaming, wiggling in the vampire’s grip that crushed his ribs and made it hard to breathe, trying to escape.

“Let me go!” He wheezed.

When they got down the stairs Zola walked up to the couch in the living area and grabbed Casper, throwing him down on the cushions, then he put his hands on his hips, looking down disapprovingly at the boy.

“What was that?” Zola asked.

“You can’t keep me here! You have to let me go!” Casper shouted in between pants.

“And you’ll do what? Go back out there?” He pointed. “To a world full of vampires who know your scent like the back of their hands?”

“You can’t just keep me prisoner here! You can’t just do this!”

Zola leaned in, voice stern. “They know your scent! One trip out and you’re done for! That’s it! Besides, aren’t you the one that was worried about what they’ll do to you once they find you?”

Casper swallowed, looking up at Zola.

“I’ll — I’ll leave! I’ll flee the city and never come back! Move to the Muskokas, stay in my family’s cottage! And — and, I’ll find a job, buy a house there someday!”

Zola shook his head. “You think you can get out of the city fast enough? One night, one night is all it takes, and you’re a dead man, and I can’t save you.”

Casper bit his lip, trying to think of something to say.

“Well, not a dead man,” Zola corrected, “but a heavily abused, barely alive bloodbag.”

“You don’t know that.” Casper said quietly.

“What was that?” Zola asked, putting his hand up to his ear and leaning closer.

“You don’t know that.” Casper said slightly louder, voice wavering.

Zola raised his eyebrows pointedly. “I do know that. And you know it too.”

Casper went silent. He couldn’t deny what Zola was saying, Casper knew firsthand what he was talking about. Casper also knew what the vampires told him they would do to him. He sighed.

“So what am I supposed to do? Just stay here forever?” Casper sat up, resting his head in his hands.

Zola sat on the couch beside him. “Not forever, but awhile. Who knows, maybe one day I can hide you away somewhere far, far away. Europe or something. But for now, while you heal and learn to trust me, you’re staying here.” Zola put a hand on Casper’s back.

Casper lifted his head and looked at Zola. “How can I learn to trust you when you’re keeping me locked in your basement? How can I heal when you broke my fucking arm?”

“It’s for your safety, trust me. And that — that was an accident.”

Casper scoffed. “An accident, sure. How can a creature that’s centuries old not know how to control their strength?”

Zola went silent.

Casper let out a big sigh. “Why are you keeping me down here anyways? What’s so dangerous about upstairs?”

“It’s to keep you safe, no one can know you’re here. If they knew, I don’t know that I’d be enough to stop a hoard of vampires breaking into my house. Besides, their leaders are very powerful, you know this.”

He nodded, he did know this. “What am I supposed to do down here?”

“Heal,” Zola said. “You need to heal.”

“Healing is not an activity.”

“I can bring you some books from my personal library, if you tell me what you’d like. What did you do for hobbies? Before…” Zola trailed off.

“Pottery, ceramics.”

“Really?”

Casper nodded.

“Okay, well I can go to town tomorrow to get some supplies. Until then,” he stood, “I’ll get you some books, I assume you read?”

The boy nodded again. “Yes, I do.”

Zola started towards the stairs. “I’ll grab some books, and bring down some food later.”

Casper stayed on the couch, and just before he reached the stairs he turned back towards Casper.

“Do you… feel better now? I know this isn’t ideal, but we’ll make it work.”

“I… think I just need to digest this for a bit, if ya know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

#whump #whump writing #writing #recovery #hurt/comfort #carewhumper #caretaker #vampire caretaker #rough caretaker #bad caretaker #bloodbag whumpee #vampire whump #grey caretaker #tidal writes #tidalwhump writes #sorry everyone <3

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