#vampire emeto

[sickybubbies]

Baby Fangs (4/5)

Synopsis: The youngest in the pack, Jungkook, still has a lot to learn. And that includes the difference between safe, and not so safe blood.

TW: Graphic description of illness, pain, vomit and blood.

Vampire AU

A/N: hallo my loves, I'm aware I haven't posted in nearly over a year or more... So I thought this would make up for it. Word count possibly over 5k? Lol. Please excuse any mistakes I'm still recovering from what feels like a decade worth of writers block. Anyways! Let me know what you guys think! I hope it doesn't disappoint and that I am able to write more soon. Love you all muah <33

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“P-Poisoned?” Jungkook’s eyes crack open slightly, his ears perking up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice. He could hear a couple panicked gasps behind him and a chorus of disagreement, in a desperate attempt to soothe the younger. Jungkook keeps whimpering- enough of a reason to understand the commotion. The youngest of the pack was the strongest, the most vigilant and daring. He’d stick his hand in a blazing fire to give himself a human touch if he wants, but he doesn’t cry.

Yet, clear droplets were sprinkling off his lashes, His jewel-like eyes reflecting its aura underneath the layer of tear in his eyes, or the anxiety that blankets over his chest and holds him tight in a bitter embrace. After chundering his organs that always mimic his attributes, of being barely alive, that is. Perhaps that is the reason why he’s a weak leaf within the arms of his brother.

“No, No.” Jin is quick to snub Jungkook’s worries, his voice a notch deeper by the final syllable whilst he shoots a stern look at the boys. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems, Kook. Now now” He soothes, his arm around Jungkook’s firm shoulders and petting his silk hair. Namjoon leans over, gingerly swiping the tear that is about to burst out of the eye with his thumb.

“Hoseok, could you bring me my books? I could do some research on this, I think we need to figure out what type of poisoning this may be-”

“You mean the p-word” Hoseok interjects, meeting with the leader’s scrunched brows before his eyes dive towards the youngest and the aged vampire. An invisible shiver runs down his back, if stern looks could kill them, earlier; all of them would be meat on a skewer to be served to Jin next time.

“The what?” Namjoon can’t help but question, making a mental note to study the man’s sunshine brain next. Looks like it’s needed, he thinks. Jimin clicks his tongue, gives a sassy eyeroll before nodding in agreement: ‘we’re not supposed to say the word poi-’ there’s a pause, his pretty lips pucker in continuance ‘poisoned’ Jimin mouths and hopes that’s enough of an explanation.

Namjoon nods, putting two and two together. “Right. The p-word” He purses his lips, “As I was saying, may I have my books so I can see what type of ‘p-word’ this is” He says, the men talking like they were in an upscale secret mission. Except it was a mission to nurse vampire Jungkook, their baby (as humans call it) back to good health.

Yoongi merely snorts. “I live with clowns from the afterlife” He shakes his head and from the corner of his eye, he can see Jungkook’s head burrowing into Jin’s shoulder and his eyelids drooping. He zooms over, placing his hand on the back of his head to support the tired boy.

He was sleepy. Vampires don’t sleep.

“Why the afterlife?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, sliding backwards as he notices Jin pull away from the sick boy. “Tae, we’re not exactly alive are we?” He raises a brow, “I wouldn’t consider over 100 years of age as living anyway” He lifts Jungkook carefully, scooping him upwards and laying his head somberly onto the pillow.

“Someone clear out the bucket, keep him away from the puke”

The brunette shrugs, grabbing the bucket. “That’s a shame. I’ve always wanted to say that I’m glad I've lived to see this day” Taehyung sighs, peeking into the plastic and grimacing before holding it under his armpit and leaving with it. His timing for jokes has always been awful, but it earns a chuckle from everyone. They all had rainclouds swarming above their heads, especially after the incident of Jungkook vomiting.

“He’s pretty warm” Yoongi mutters, his fingers gliding across his forehead and tucking his fringe aside. The atmosphere is tense and content, the only contentment was stemming from the sweet image of Jungkook sleeping, so far his chest was rising and sinking with ease.

Like a playstage Hoseok is next to scurry back in, no one misses the sound of his gag and a very grossed out ‘ew’ from him at the bucket. Jin looks over at him to find it’s a false alarm and he’s handing Namjoon a book whilst putting the rest of the pile down with Jimin’s help. He looks at Jungkook again and hums. “I know, it’s everything we vampires don’t do. Can’t say it isn’t worrying me to say the least”

Jimin climbs onto the bed, at the far top of the mattress he allows himself to sit there so he can look at Jungkook. “He’ll be okay right?” His voice is quiet, focused on the Maknae before he bends over and gives him a soft kiss on his temple.

"Once we get to the bottom of this, he should be fine," Namjoon replies, giving him a sympathetic smile as he sits back in the rocking chair and opens the book to read from. Yoongi hums in acknowledgement, he repositions himself to look at all the members.

With his chest upright, a serious stance. He starts dishing out orders. "Namjoon's right. Okay. I'll take Hobi and Tae, back to the market to dig up who'd do something so fucking heinous" He ignores Jin's remark about his language pretty swiftly. "Namjoon can carry on looking for a cure. Try to get your hands on a healer too."

"Don't forget to keep an eye on Kook, I mean- I better belong here than in the kitchen right?" With his thick glasses he adds, followed by a sheepish look. Jin's eyes widen, like saucers bulging out of his head. "Yeah no, not my kitchen Joon. Keep your impending doom trail to yourself. I'll be in there fetching him some blood and cleaning it out, I could boil it in a cauldron to make sure it's safe before consuming."

"I'll clean up then, in case any of you haven't realised this room looks like a crime scene. We've been walking around in upchucked blood for the past hour" Jimin's eyes don't leave Jungkook's, he cards his fingers through the boy's hair and presses another kiss to his head when the boy's get busy.

Yoongi, Taehyung and Hoseok had already left, Jin was steaming up the kitchen, Namjoon was flipping through pages and pages, getting antsier by the minute and Jimin had just finished wiping down the floors and cleaning up when Jungkook begins to stir.

His eyelids are heavy, he can't seem to open them and his limbs follow suit. Like a brick weighing on his body. There was heat rushing through his veins, cracking his skin into more shiny sweat around the green palette of his body. His brain is foggy, it felt like his head was being bludgeoned by an axe as it throbbed and pounded painfully. He whimpers again.

Jimin pauses, his still heart begins to shrivell. “Kook? Are you awake?” He drops the washcloth and watches Namjoon also lean past his book to check. The black haired climbs onto the edge of the bed again, he can see Jungkook’s eyeballs dancing underneath his eyelids as he struggles to wake up. His face is stiff, frustrated, chest lifting and Jimin has to fret. “Hey, easy. No rush here. Take your time” He coos, the younger easing under the scratches to the crown of his head.

The pale vampire groans, his middle clenches with a painful and burning sensation. With his ancient like bones that shake as he tries to bring his hand over, he slides it onto his middle and presses as firmly as he can despite how frail he’s feeling. Namjoon is closing his book, joining the two on the other side of the bed; he’s there to hold the youngest and his shoulders when he begins to roll over. “I think it’s his stomach again– It looks like it’s hurting” He looks at Jimin with a frown, his fingers rubbing against the broad shoulder bones.

“Oh.” Jimin replies, his plump lips part slightly as he strokes Jungkook’s hair aside and away from his nape. He hovers over his body, instinctively patting his back lightly when the boy moans beside him. “Aigoo” He expresses, a bit startled and biting his lips. Jungkook curls in further, his knees just below his abdomen in a loose foetal position. His eyes peel open slightly, through tears he can make out that Namjoon’s lips are moving. “C'mon kid, talk to us. Tell us what you’re feeling, okay?”

“B-Burn…ever-” it's the sort of pain that twists and tugs against the stomach lining like a rabid dog, feeling his insides bubble as his innermost muscles contract painfully. There's a certain softness to his skin—to the way his fangs jut out from his mouth as a gasp hisses out of him when he's seized with sudden, tortuous agony.

In his eyes, there's an unquenchable hunger... but not quite for blood. The thought makes them widen with a certain lust. His pupils, like pits of shadow at the end of a dark tunnel. His stomach is a mass of churning, twisting flesh—a writhing thing of terrible need. It is the most honest pain he has ever felt: the sort which burns and gnashes, making one wish for a quick death. Sharp as a knife, a piercing pain cuts through the front of his abdomen. This is a stabbing ache right below his chest. He grimaces and as the pain subsides, with a shaky exhale he begins to quietly weep.

"No no, just tell me what is it? What do you think is the matter, hm?" Namjoon demands, his voice filled with tension and frustration, the furrows of his brow drawn even tighter as if a thought has occurred to him, and he needs Jungkook to validate the hypothesis that he's constructed in his head. But what he doesn't realise is that all that Jungkook's mind is preoccupied with is the horrible burning sensation that's working its way through his insides.

Jimin looks on at Jungkook, his heart shattering at the sight of the young man who’s clearly in pain. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on himself, but he can see how upset Jungkook is. The worry and empathy only grows for the clustered vampire as he sits there, unable to do anything.

Then to Namjoon, hoping to find some kind of guidance or instruction on what he ought to do, he sees Namjoon staring at him expectantly, his features set into an expression of frustration, almost as if he's about to snap.

"Please, Kookie, we need to know how to help you," he pleads softly, sharing the deep bond they had forged over centuries of existence. Jungkook tries to speak, to communicate his distress, but every time he opens his mouth, a wave of nausea washes over him, making it impossible to articulate the pain he was experiencing. He clutches his stomach tighter in return whilst trying to suppress the urge to retch, his body was struggling to fight the potent poison coursing through his immortal veins.

In the meantime; Jin, coven’s skilled herbalist is up and ready. He swiftly moves to the mansion's well-equipped kitchen, where he prepares a soothing herbal soup known for its calming effects on the vampire stomach. Lavender, chamomile, and peppermint, all carefully measured and mixed in a delicate ceramic bowl. The fragrance of these herbs combined is both comforting and refreshing, a balm for the senses. He retrieves a pot made of cast iron, ideal for preserving the herbal essence and providing gentle heat. As Jin places the pot on the stove, he adds a small amount of pure water.

Jin pours the herb mixture into the pot, turning his attention to other ingredients. He grabs a small vial of honey made from flowers specially cultivated to enchant and invigorate vampires. With great care, he drizzles the honey into the pot, sweetening the brew just enough to make it palatable for Jungkook's sensitive vampire taste buds. Finally, Jin adds a touch of powdered moonstone, a rare and powerful mineral known for its ability to strengthen a vampire's natural resilience. The moonstone dissolved into the soup, shimmering like stardust and infusing the brew with its mystical properties.

With the bowl of herbal soup cradled gently in his hands, Jin makes his way to Jungkook's room, the soft flickering light of the candles illuminating his path. Upon entering the room, he finds Namjoon and Jimin hovering worriedly over the youngest, who still appeared quite pale and stricken with sickling ailment. His chest rose slightly, sucking in a quick breath. "What's going on?" Jin asks, concern lacing his voice as he hands the soup to Jimin. He moves to sit on the edge of Jungkook's bed, his eyes never leaving the youngest's face.

Jimin takes the bowl with a grateful nod, his fingers trembling slightly. "He's been in so much pain, Jin. He keeps saying everything is burning, like he's on fire from the inside. We've tried to get him to tell us more, but he just can't seem to form the words." Jimin's voice cracks, his worry palpable as he glances back at Jungkook, whose face is contorted in agony.

Jungkook lets out a weak, pained moan, his eyes fluttering open briefly before squeezing shut again. Jin's heart aches at the sight of his youngest brother in such a state. He gently brushes a damp strand of hair away from Jungkook's forehead, whispering soothing words, though he knows they might not reach through the haze of pain.

"Jungkook, we're here," Jin says softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "We're going to figure this out. Just hang in there, okay?"

Jimin sets the bowl of soup on the bedside table and gently takes Jungkook's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "We won't leave you, Jungkook. We promise."

The room falls into a heavy silence, the worry gnawing at them as the three deeply reflect on what has transpired and how helpless they feel. Namjoon’s gaze is fixed on the floor, his mind racing through possible solutions, while Jimin's eyes remain on Jungkook, silently willing him to recover. Jin sits quietly, the gravity of the situation settling over him like a dark cloud. Minutes tick by, each one weighed down by their collective anxiety. Jin's mind churns, replaying the events that led to this moment, the image of Jungkook’s pained expression etched into his thoughts.

Finally, Jin breaks the silence. "Jungkook," he murmurs, leaning closer, "I'm going to rub your belly, okay? Maybe it will help a little." Jungkook's response is a faint nod, barely perceptible. Jin gently lifts Jungkook's shirt, exposing his stomach. As he places his hand on Jungkook’s abdomen, he feels the warmth radiating from his skin, the surface taut and unyielding. Jin begins to rub in slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle but firm.

The first thing Jin notices is how hard Jungkook's stomach feels, the muscles beneath the skin clenched in a relentless spasm. It’s as if his entire abdomen is locked in a battle against itself, every inch of it painfully tense. Jin can feel the subtle rise and fall of Jungkook's belly, each breath a struggle. As Jin's hand moves, he encounters patches of skin that are particularly tender to the touch, eliciting small, involuntary flinches from Jungkook. The tautness of his belly is interspersed with areas of uncomfortable bloating, the skin stretched and swollen. The sensation of the cramps is almost palpable through the tender skin, a series of sharp, knotted contractions that ripple under Jin's fingertips.

Jimin’s heart aches with each flinch, each sign of discomfort. He continues to watch the gentle ministrations that the eldest is doing, hoping to provide even a modicum of relief. "You're doing great, Jungkook," Jimin whispers, his voice soothing. "Just breathe, okay? We're here with you."

The room remains quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of Jin’s hand moving over Jungkook's stomach and the occasional, muted whimper of pain from the youngest. The silence is filled with a growing tension, a palpable sense of dread as Jungkook's condition continues to worsen.

Jungkook's nausea is like a storm brewing in his stomach, a relentless wave that rises and falls with increasing intensity. Each motion of Jin's hand, while intended to soothe, only serves to agitate the turmoil within. His belly churns violently, the queasiness intensifying until it feels like a heavy, rolling sea inside him. The sour taste of bile lingers at the back of his throat, a bitter reminder of the impending onslaught.

The nausea escalates from a persistent discomfort to a full-blown assault on his senses. The room seems to spin around him, and his stomach lurches with a force that leaves him gasping. His skin grows clammy, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and upper lip. He can feel the contents of his stomach rising, an unstoppable force pushing upward, and his mouth starts to fill with saliva in preparation."I...I think I'm going to vomit," Jungkook croaks through his chattering fangs, his voice trembling as he shudders.

Jin responds with a calm nod "It's okay," he assures him. "I've got you baby." He helps him sit up, supporting him with gentle hands and the help of Namjoon, even as he feels a rush of urgency surge through him. "Jimin, grab something." Jin instructs, his tone calm but with an edge of urgency he tries to conceal. Jimin nods quickly and hurries to find a suitable vessel, coiling at the thought of having to clean blood or whatever bodily entities there will be again.

In the meantime Jin takes a napkin and holds it under Jungkook's mouth, catching the drool that begins to spill from his lax jaw. Jungkook's body trembles, his muscles tense as he fights the inevitable. His breath comes in shallow, rapid gasps, and his eyes squeeze shut as another wave of nausea crashes over him.

The words of comfort begin to drown out of his ears slowly. Namjoon watches as Jimin and Jin do their best to comfort Jungkook as he jolts with a harsh gag, “Mmbhh!—” the youngest's pain and sickness weighing heavily on all of them. Realising that they need to expedite their efforts, he decides to check on the progress of the others.

"I'll go see where the boys are," Namjoon says, his voice resolute. With a swift, deliberate movement, he teleports, vanishing from the room in an instant.

In a small, secluded clearing in the woods Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok stand in front of a tiny, hutted house. The structure is old and weathered, with vines creeping up its walls and a faint, mystical glow emanating from its windows. Just as they are discussing their next steps, Namjoon materialises beside them. "How are things going?" Namjoon asks, his voice filled with urgency. "Hyung. What's taking so long?"

Yoongi turns to face Namjoon, his expression serious but tinged with hope. "We've found this place," he begins, gesturing to the hutted house. "The lady inside supposedly has an antidote for the poison. She's a well-known healer for our kind." Taehyung nods in agreement, his eyes reflecting the same urgency. "We were just about to go in and speak with her. We didn't want to waste any time, but we also didn't want to rush in unprepared." Namjoon nods in understanding.

Hoseok turns to Namjoon, his eyes filled with concern. "Namjoon, how is Jungkook doing? How is our little one?" Taehyung and Yoongi also turn to Namjoon, their expressions expectant, hoping to hear some positive news. Namjoon takes a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly under the burden of bad news. "He's not doing much better," he admits, his voice heavy with worry. "I left just as Jungkook was about to go for round two. Jin hyung and Jimin are with him, trying to comfort him, but the nausea and pain are getting worse."

Hoseok's face falls, and Taehyung's eyes reflect a deepening worry. Yoongi clenches his jaw, frustration and helplessness etched into his features. "The poor kid," He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't deserve this."

The four vampires move towards the door, their steps deliberate but swift. Namjoon knocks, and a moment later, the door creaks open to reveal an elderly woman with kind eyes and an air of ancient wisdom. "Come in," she says softly, stepping aside to let them enter. "I doubt you four are wandering around tonight for no good reason."

The inside of the hut is dimly lit, filled with the scent of herbs and the crackling warmth of a small fire. Shelves lined with jars and vials filled with mysterious substances cover the walls, and the atmosphere hums with an almost tangible magic. Yoongi steps forward, desperation clear in his voice. "We were told you might have anantidote for a poison that’s affecting our brother. He's in terrible pain, and we don't know how much longer he can hold on."

The healer nods, her expression thoughtful. "I may have what you need. Describe the symptoms to me, and I will see what I can do." Namjoon quickly details Jungkook's condition—the burning pain, the nausea, the debilitating cramps; the regurgitating of his blood. The healer listens intently, her eyes never leaving his face. When he finishes, she nods once more. "I believe I know the poison you speak of," she says, moving to a shelf and selecting several jars. "There is an antidote, but it must be administered carefully. I will prepare it for you."

Her fingers move with a steady grace as she reaches for a black-stained mortar and pestle on the worn wooden counter. Her hut smelled of dried herbs, bitter roots, and something old—something metallic, like rusted chains left in the rain. The air thickened with anticipation as four heads watched, silent but tense.

She plucks the first jar from the shelf. Inside were brittle, pale green leaves, a serpent's kiss; Namjoon recognised. Toxic to humans, cleansing to a vampire’s corrupted bloodstream. “This will draw the poison from his marrow,” she murmurs, crumbling the leaves between her fingers and letting them fall like flakes of ash into the bowl.

Next came a tiny vial of shimmering silver liquid, pulled from a hidden drawer below the counter. “Moonroot sap,” she explains. “Harvested under a lunar eclipse. It binds the antidote to the vampire’s blood, fusing it with the body’s natural regenerative rhythm.” She adds three precise drops. Each one hisses upon contact with the dried leaves, releasing a faint vapor that smelled of ice and ozone.

Hoseok and Taehyung lean forward slightly, careful not to interrupt. Well, attempted. Out of the pair, Taehyung’s hand haphazardly knocks into an idle jar which he catches in time, the two looking each other with their faces drawn in mimed screams.

Then, she lifts a small pouch, unties the string, and taps out what looked like powdered bone. “Phoenix ash. A purifier. Dangerous if mishandled.” It's handled like a priest offering incense—reverent and restrained. When the powder touches the mixture, the contents spark, glowing briefly with a dull crimson pulse before fading.

Finally, she opens the last jar, this one is made of obsidian glass and sealed with wax. As she prys it open, a pungent and earthy aroma spills out. The substance inside is thick and black, almost like tar and has everyone's nose wrinkling in disgust. “This is the heart of it,” She says softly.

“Corvus ichor. Blood drawn from a raven corrupted by shadow. It seeks out dark enchantments, binds them, and unravels their hold.” Yoongi stiffens. “That’s nearly impossible to find.”

“I don’t find it,” she says, her eyes gleaming faintly. “It finds me.” She dips a twisted silver spoon into the ichor and swirled it into the bowl. The mixture hisses again—this time more violently, the contents turning from green to red to an inky violet-black as she grinds everything together with the pestle.

The glow beneath her skin brightens. Old, quiet magic radiates from her bones. “The antidote must be ingested,” she warns. “But only after the sun has fully set. If he takes it too early, the poison will rebel; and it could kill him.” Namjoon exchanges a quick look with Yoongi. The sun was barely an hour from vanishing behind the horizon.

Yoongi takes the vial from the healer’s hand, fingers trembling slightly despite himself. “And if it works?” he asks.

The healer nods, sealing the empty jars with practiced movements.“He survives. The poison will be purged, but it will leave him weakened. He’ll need two full days to recover before his strength returns. Keep him warm. Keep him still. And don’t let him feed until the antidote has run its course.”

Namjoon bows his head, his voice tight. “Thank you.”

No more words are needed. The four vampires vanish into the twilight, their cloaks snapping behind them like wings of night.

Back at the safe house, the atmosphere is stifling. The fireplace crackles feebly in the corner, but the warmth does nothing to soothe the chill sinking into everyone’s bones. Rain lashes at the windows, wind howling like a warning through the cracks.

Jungkook is sprawled on the makeshift bed, pale as bone, a sheen of sweat glistening across his skin like morning dew on gravestones. His body convulses without warning with an ugly, wrenching heave that rips through his frame. Jin barely manages to tip his head to the side before the boy is retching again, a thick, dark spill that reeks of bile and blood staining the basin Jimin frantically holds beneath him.

His lips are cracked, flecked with old blood. Drool hangs in strings from the corner of his mouth, trembles with each breath. His chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow bursts, as though breathing has become a punishment. Each gasp sounds like it's being dragged through shards of glass.

He’s getting worse,” Jin says, voice hoarse, one hand still braced firmly on Jungkook’s sweat-slick forehead to stop him nose-diving into the basin again. His other hand trembles where it supports the back of Jungkook’s neck, trying to keep him upright between waves of sickness.

“It’s like his body’s rejecting everything,” Jimin whispers, crouched close with his fingers white-knuckled around the bowl. “Even his own blood.”

Jungkook groans—barely a sound, more like a whimper dragged up from some abyssal place. His limbs twitch intermittently, his stomach visibly knotting under the strain. It’s not just sickness. It’s war. His body is turning against itself, a chemical battle tearing through every vein. "You're okay love, you're absolutely fine" he's hushed.

Jin sits at the edge of the bed, jaw clenched as he presses a cool, soaked cloth to Jungkook’s burning forehead. The youngest vampire trembles beneath the tousled layers of blankets, his once-pristine black hair now damp and sticking to his skin in limp, sweat-drenched strands. Jin continues to whisper comfort with a kiss to his head.

It then lolls forward suddenly, but Jin is quicker—his hand shoots up, steadying him with a firm grip on his forehead again before he can slump face-first into the ceramic bowl once more.

“Easy,” Jin mutters, voice low but stern. “Don’t move. Just breathe.”

Jungkook however, can’t. His throat contracts with another violent retch, though there’s nothing left in his stomach. He’s already vomited more blood than any of them care to think about, but his body refuses to stop and keeps twisting in on itself with the force of dry, painful heaving. “Hhh…hhuuhh…” His breath crackles through each pant.

His fangs have elongated, not in hunger, but in sheer agony. They're grinding together as he clenches his jaw through each bout of nausea. The veins along his neck and arms are prominent now, dark and angry, almost bruised in appearance.

Jimin’s eyes glisten as he wipes at Jungkook’s chin with trembling fingers. “He’s already thrown up everything. His stomach won’t stop fighting.” The oldest purses his lips, “Oh dear devil wings” He sighs heavily, chewing at his lips to keep his anxiety at bay.

Jungkook sags forward again, mouth parted, a line of drool spilling from his lips as another choked gag wracks his body. Jin’s palm stays firm, keeping him upright, the other hand dabbing the cloth gently along Jungkook’s temple. “He’s not lucid,” Jimin whispers. “I don’t even think he knows we’re here.”

The door crashes open, and the scent of wet earth and adrenaline fills the room as Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung rush inside. Rain streaks their cloaks, their boots leaving damp imprints on the wooden floor as they converge on the bed like a dark tide of urgency.

Jungkook’s body seizes violently in Jin’s arms, and the sound he lets out is no longer human. It’s a raw, agonized choke that cuts straight through everyone in the room. It prompts Jin to rub his back harder.

“We have it,” Yoongi breathes, lifting the small glass vial. The liquid inside swirls a soft purple-green, pulsing faintly under the lamplight like it’s alive. Jin doesn’t look up. His entire focus is on the boy in his arms, the youngest vampire trembling like a wire pulled too tight. “Oh good, good. Hurry up, give it to our boy” He mumbles, stringing Jungkook into another chest hug.

Jimin looks up, frantic. “He’s burning, even though he’s freezing. His body’s confused—he’s trying to reject everything. Even us.” Taehyung crosses the room in two strides, his jaw set, eyes wide with panic, he's trying desperately to cage. He kneels on the opposite side of the bed and gently brushes Jungkook’s soaked bangs from his face. “Kook… you hear us?”

Makne lets out a low whimper, barely audible. His lips are cracked, stained red-black. His eyes flutter open for a brief, fevered second; glassy and unfocused.

“H-Hyungs…"

[gauze-valley]

Whumperless Whump Event Days 3 + 8

no shh no it's not the 18th it's both the 3rd and the 8th of july right now (thank you very much to @whumperless-whump-event for allowing out of order entries lol)

today i bring some Psychic Whump !

oh yeah and also a side of vampire whump to go with it i guess! i don't know if this falls under that since the focus isn't on it, but it's still a factor and I WILL be writing more vampire-focused stuff in the future!

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Prompt: Day 3 - Vertigo, Struggling to Stand | Day 8 - Migraine

CW (doesn't apply to preview): Pain imagery, collapsing due to vertigo, emetophobia warning for mentions but no actual events

Preview:

"I, uh, I don't think I can walk." A twinge of panic shakes his voice. This will always be nerve-wracking no matter how many times it happens, but it's worse now, here, with whatever's trying to reach him. He can still feel that presence crawling all over his skull, skittering down his neck, like it's looking for a way back in.

More under the cut!

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"I know boiler rooms are creepy, but honestly, my money's on that men's bathroom near the second entrance. Four of the reported sightings are-" Nick falls quiet as Tiegan holds up a hand and turns to him.

"There's something here. I need to focus," he explains. At first, it was just an itch in the back of his skull, but as the two continue to survey the decrepit room in total silence, that itch turns to a- it's almost like a tapping, something pleading to be let in, growing in force the longer he ignores it. So he does, before he no longer has a choice, closing his eyes and willing his mind open.

The things that enter do so in a cacophonous rush. Images flicker through his mind like a slideshow on fast-forward, projecting countless faces, and a repeated flash of something that doesn't have one. Each picture is a different scream, a plea, a choking last breath, over and over and over and-

Tiegan takes a deep breath, willing it to stop, almost begging silently. A minute or so passes with all of his concentrated effort and it seems to quiet. Something's still not right in his head, though. The glow of his flashlight burns in his retinas, and then it starts to move. His vision turns and whirls like the floor is tilting underneath him.

"Shit-" Nick catches him under the arms just in time to lower him to the floor before he hits his head. He squeezes his eyes shut on instinct, but he can't hold them still and he can feel the room continue to spin.

"Oh God," he mumbles, a sense of dread stinging his chest as he notices a tight throbbing in his temples, especially the left one. The eye on that side is starting to water.

"You're okay. Don't try to get up," Nick says, and then pulls back and presses on his mic, speaking into the radio. "Victor, can you come down into the boiler room?"

The radio crackles. "Yeah, be right there."

Tiegan winces as light pierces his eyelids a few moments later, the colors all swirling together in the dark. Victor turns off his flashlight before rushing to his side.

"What happened? Migraine?" He asks, though his question is directed to Nick, who nods. "Probably."

"Definitely," Tiegan corrects. The thrumming tension has spread to his forehead, and it's slowly building into an ache. He opens his eyes and immediately regrets it as everything in his field of view divides into doubles on top of that godawful spinning.

"I, uh, I don't think I can walk." A twinge of panic shakes his voice. This will always be nerve-wracking no matter how many times it happens, but it's worse now, here, with whatever's trying to reach him. He can still feel that presence crawling all over his skull, skittering down his neck, like it's looking for a way back in.

"There's so many of them, oh God. It's- there's- they're trying to-" He can't speak. His own voice is starting to rattle his bones and surge in his aching temple. It hurts more by the second, and for a brief but agonizing moment, it builds into a stabbing crescendo, like someone drove a knife through the side of his head. Tears are streaming from both eyes now.

"Shh. It's okay. You don't have to talk if it hurts," Victor assures him, trying to keep his voice as soft as he can. As much as what he's trying to say could be important, keeping him comfortable and getting him out of here is the first priority.

He looks over as Nick. "Should we see if we can get that strong guy from group B to carry him?"

"Too risky," Nick shakes his head. "We'll have to explain the blood if he throws up." The only explanation they could possibly give besides the truth would be "internal bleeding", and outing him as a vampire isn't ideal either.

But it's not safe here. Even if they could say with confidence that this haunting wasn't malevolent, there are still things trying to communicate.

Victor looks back down at Tiegan. His eyes are screwed shut again, though it doesn't exactly help, and he's trembling despite the unnatural flood of heat suffocating his skin. "T? Do you think you can walk a little if we both support you? We'll go slow."

All he can manage in response is a noise of confirmation. At this point, he can't really tell whether the intermittent sensation of something trying to crack a hole in his head and pry it open is the ghosts or the migraine.

[frantic-fuck]

Snakelet - Chapter 6

@augustofwhump Day 9 - Caged @augusnippets Day 9 - Overheating

Word count: 494

Masterpost

Content: Nonhuman/vampire/reptilian/satyr whumpee, very small cage, burning, overheating, delirium, some emeto

Back to your regularly scheduled Ziri torture~

~

He begged not to rest in the freezing cold next time.

He can't stand the way it slows every organ in his body to a stop, forces him into an uncomfortable half-hibernation, only for the next asshole to force him back out of it.

Of course, they said.

How cruel of us, they said.

We'll make it up to you, they said.

Their mock sympathy echoes in his ears as they fold him into a horrifically tiny cage and suspend it above the ground. All at once, the dark room brightens in every direction, and he can't help but quietly laugh when his eyes adjust.

Reptile lamps. He's surrounded by giant reptile lamps.

How thoughtful.

It's not too bad, at first. It's comparatively comfortable, if a bit warm.

Soon enough, though, he finds himself panting, the warm light beating down on him, soaking into his scales, his fur, his feathers, the metal bars pressed against his bare skin.

He can handle it, he tells himself. He can handle a little heat.

But his panting gradually gets heavier, more desperate. The air rushing through his mouth is the only temperature regulation his cold-blooded body has, and as time goes on, it's clear that's not enough.

The lights start to dance around his vision as he gets dizzy, his eyes struggling to focus. The metal bars are almost searing his flesh. His insides feel wrong. Everything feels wrong. He feels sick, sicker than he's felt in centuries.

When he vomits blood, the sight of the little food that was left in him, now in a puddle far below his reach, terrifies him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He needs that. He can't afford to lose any blood, not if they won't feed him.

Too desperate to feel ashamed, he laps up the few droplets left stuck to the bars. The burnt tongue he earns only exasperates his heat-fueled panic.

He needs shelter. He needs to cool down. And he needs it now.

His thoughts blurring more and more, he instinctively tries to leave the light, to hide, to move at all, surprised by the cage every time he sears himself by pressing further into it. With each frantic movement, the cage swings and spins more and more, compounding his dizziness, scrambling his thoughts, further disorienting him.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

He weakly headbutts the bars over and over again, the impacts and clangs doing nothing to help his growing delirium, until his horns get caught in the top of the cage. He jerks his head wildly, only managing to get himself more stuck.

He can't move.

He can't leave.

He can't hide.

Everything's wrong.

Everything's wrong.

MAKE IT STOP.

Black dots swarm across his vision as his head starts to feel heavy.

He's dying. He's dying. He's dying.

No no no nononononono—

His panicked struggles only serve to exhaust him more and more, until all he can do is succumb to the darkness.

[girl-named-sandoz]

newly turned vampire pete not having self control when he's feeding. patrick goes with him when he hunts to try and keep pete in line but it doesn't help. drinking too much and making himself sick. patrick trying to comfort him while he pukes it all up but the sight of so much blood makes him lightheaded. pete looking down and realizing he's soaked in red, and the memory of what happened floods back as he starts thinking clearly again. feeling like a monster and being glad vampires can't cry, because he feels pathetic enough as it is.

[zoethehead]

Welp, here's the full moon aftermath, I may or may not draw something later, but here you go.

Tw for a mention of queerphobia and emeto

Also some capslock, as i wanted to emphasize how freaked out Elijah was, same with the swearing.

Daylight started to break over the dark night sky, Elijah saw this, his wolf side still in control; yet a feeling of instinct to make it somewhere safe had taken him over. He made it to somewhere; nearly safe from the outdoors. But--it wasn't quick enough, as he felt himself painfully turning back to his more human form. Simon had seen a blood covered Werewolf making it towards his home, the Werewolf soon collapsed a few mere feet from shelter.  Elijah had hit the ground, shivering as he turned back into his more human form, his Wolfish whimpers soon giving way to pained human groans.

It took an hour before Elijah slightly awoke, he opened his eyes to a bright sunny sky, the world beneath him felt like it was spinning. Elijah tried to get up, he only made it a few feet before falling onto his knees, a nauseous sensation took hold of him, and he vomited up the poor forest animal that he had devoured earlier, he then fell face first into the bloody puke, finally passing out. Simon had seen all of this, he was clearly unimpressed with the sight before him. Simon picked Elijah up and carried him inside into his home.

Simon laid Elijah down in the bathtub and started to clean off the blood and dirt on Elijah's body; now noticing how much Elijah had changed; where once he was scrawny, his body had changed to that of a more Stocky build. That wasn't the only change, though. Elijah's teeth were sharper, his hair was longer, and he had gotten hairier, growing hair on his back, legs, arms, and torso. And his face now had stubble, he looked like a completely different person!

Simon had finished cleaning Elijah off and started on patching up the afflictions; sticking adhesive bandages on the cuts and scrapes, and wrapping bandages around the larger wounds and sprained areas, even going as far as to stick an ice pack near the huge bruise on his ribs.

So much for being told of the rumor that werewolves healed really quickly.....

Simon laid Elijah down on a bed and covered him up with a thick quilt, he sat on a chair and waited for Elijah to wake up.

It would be a few days til' it happened....

-

-

-

-

Elijah started to come around from his ordeal, his vision was too blurred and smudged up to even tell where he was. His body felt warm, though. He let out a groan as he started to feel the pain ebbing through him, and he squinted his eyes closed for a few seconds.

He tried to get up, but an aching pain seared through each and every muscle, sinew, tendon, and nerve, causing him to let out a hiss.

"Easy there, you've been out of it for a couple of days." A voice said, placing their hand on Elijah's shoulder. Elijah turned his head to see that Simon was nearby, and he was the one who had tried to ease Elijah back into the bed. Elijah tried to push simon away, thinking that he could do it with ease due to him being slightly stronger, Simon was able to keep him in place though.

"Ah, shit." Elijah muttered under his breath, realizing that he was signifigantly weakened.

"Fine, you win...." Elijah said as he eased himself back into the bed, wincing at the constant pain pulsing in his body.

Elijah noticed that there were various adhesive bandages stuck to tiny little scrapes and cuts, bandages were wrapped around both of his sprained ankles, same with the bandages around his forearms that covered the wounds and helped put pressure on the sprained and strained muscles, and there was a melted gel icepack that was next to the huge bruise on his ribs. He then noticed that he was wearing nothing but some spare boxers. Elijah let out a tiny shriek of embarrassment and quickly jolted up and covered his body with the quilt, wincing as his muscles gave out on him and he collapsed back into the bed. "Yeah, your clothes were wrecked up and covered in blood, and you were pretty banged up when you made it back to my place." Simon explained.

"Did I at least make a good impression on you?" Elijah sheepishly asked.

"NO." Simon bluntly said.

Elijah frowned.

"Dammit, okay, what did I do?" Elijah asked.

"You vomited on my lawn and then faceplanted into your own puke, not to mention that the puke was blood red and had chunks of unknown animal flesh and bone in it." Simon explained.

"You also kinda changed in appearance, what happened to you?" Simon asked.

Elijah was confused, "what do you mean by saying that my appearance change---oh." Elijah was gonna ask before he was cut off mid sentence as he looked at his hand, it was seemingly hairier, he then saw that he had hair going up his arms, hair on his legs, and hair on his chest. Elijah then looked at his reflection in the mug of now melted ice water on the nightstand, seeing that he had grown stubble, where once his eyes were an ocean blue-- they were now as orange as the amber resin that trapped many prehistoric creatures, and his ears were now pointed. He then looked at his teeth, seeing that they had somehow grown sharper, more canine-like.

Now Elijah was clearly freaked out.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" Elijah screamed as he grabbed simon by both of his arms and slightly shook him.

"What do you mean? I had tended to your injuries and let you rest here." Simon explained, freeing himself from Elijah's grasp.

"Why am I hairy? Why are my teeth sharp? Why did I wake up covered in scrapes? Why are my ears pointed? Why are my eyes orange?! AND WHY DOES MY VOICE SOUND DEEPER?! " Elijah asked.

"Eli, calm down. What do you remember from that night?" Simon asked.

"I remember being at the party, and I was feeling unwell, and then I remember feeling unimaginable pain and turning into....." Elijah trailed off, soon coming to a dreadful realization.

"Oh......oh.... FUCK." Elijah stammered.

"Yep, you're a werewolf, now." Simon bluntly said.

"FUUUCK!!!! MY DAD'S DEFINITELY GONNA KILL ME NOW, AS IF HIM LEARNING THAT I'M GAY WASN'T ENOUGH OF A REASON TO BEAT MY ASS!!!!" Elijah thought to himself, or so he thought.

"Y'know that you said your thoughts out loud there, right?" Simon asked.

Elijah turned his head to stare at Simon for a few seconds, before turning his head back and laying down; burying his face into a pillow and screaming...

It took awhile before Elijah calmed down..

"This is my life now, huh?" Elijah asked.

"Yep, pretty much.... but hey, would it feel any better if I told you that I'm a Vampire?" Simon answered.

Elijah laid back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling....

"I-i dunno, I need a lot of time to process this...." Elijah stammered.

"Look, how about you get some rest, i'll be back in a few hours with some food, ok?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, that would be nice..." Elijah said, a soft smile adorned his face.

"Alright, rest well, Elijah." Simon said, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Elijah sighed, he would have to get used to his new life, now..... and it's gonna take awhile to adjust.

Elijah stared at the ceiling for a bit before falling asleep.

[angstyaches]

that was SO cute, elliot and felix abducting shayne for gossip is TOP tier lmaooo i love them so much

ooh also, if you’re taking requests for full fics, we haven’t had a sick felix in so long!

how about felix absolutely flattened by a stomach flu and a very Very sweet and gentle Elliot? ooh and bonus for shayne, nancy and ryan randomly dropping in to take care of him too! (now i know it’s technically impossible for him to be THIS out of commission because of his vamp immunity but let’s pretend? or maybe he can be sick because of something else?)🍄

Sleepy Prompts (1: "Come on, love. It's time to get up." 9: "You're always so beautiful first thing in the morning. Must be the way the sunlight hits you.")

CW: sickness, mentions of poor mental health, anxiety, Alzheimer's mention, emeto, stomach noises, sickness, mention of poor immune system.

Word Count: 3,000ish

___

Not that he ever gave it much thought, but if he could have chosen a supernatural ability, Felix would have chosen the power to wake up beautifully. Maybe then he wouldn’t have greeted the gentle kiss that Elliott pressed to his sleeping lips with a snort and a groan and an immediate, abrasive throbbing in his head.

Oh, if only he could have rolled over, leaning his cheek into the palm that Elliott used to cup his face, and break into a slow smile as his eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion yet eager to feast on that day’s first glimpse of Elliott’s face. How lovely if mornings could be as glamorous as they were in movies, when the main character finally woke up in the bed of the right person, having made the right decision to stay with them.

But Felix rarely woke up with beauty, or grace, or romance.

And today was no different.

“Come on, gorgeous,” Elliott cooed. Through the slitted gaps in his eyelids, Felix saw that the curtains had been opened a crack, and soft yellow light danced about the outline of Elliott’s long, sweeping hair. “Time to wake up.”

“No-o-o.” Sickly, watery saliva was gathering in Felix’s cheeks, and the effort of swallowing it was almost too overwhelming to even attempt.

“Aw, boo, you’re sweating. Let’s get you out of these covers.” Elliott slipped into using a frustratingly clinical tone as he rolled back the blanket and folded it along the bare, inward curve at the base of Felix’s spine. The initial trickle of cool morning air was a bit of a relief, if Felix was being honest.

He felt Elliott’s hand slide back up towards Felix’s neck, fingertips scooping up strands of hair from his clammy neck. He swept it all up onto the pillow, as though he were posing Felix to look like he was underwater, hair drifting out behind him.

Felix’s brows gathered as his bones began to throb in time with the pain in his head, already missing the warmth and weight of the blanket.

“How much sleep did you get, boo?” Elliott asked.

“Gosh, I don’t remember, darling,” Felix mumbled, gulping as he realised that the spit pooling in his mouth was also seeping through his lips and onto his pillow. “I was… asleep.”

“Mmm, very funny,” Elliott hummed, though Felix wasn’t sure he’d been trying to be funny.

Regardless, he wrestled one half of his face – the part that Elliott could see, that wasn’t buried in the pillow – into a weary excuse for a smile. As much as he despised mornings, he also despised dampening his partner’s mood.

“I know you’re not going to the nursing home until later this afternoon, and… it’s a beautiful morning outside.”

There was a wistful note in Elliott’s voice now, and Felix could already tell where he was going with this. His voice was like a warm blanket that made Felix want to wrap it all around him, but his words were like a draught creeping through the knitted surface.

“I thought we could take a nice, relaxed walk by the river and end up at the bakery that makes those scones you like.” Elliott’s fingers brushed against Felix’s temple. “We could have a little picnic breakfast. Er, I mean, you can. I’ll be there to… observe. And to scare off seagulls.”

As sweet as the whole plan was, and as much as Felix enjoyed the image of Elliott scowling at brazen birds who wanted to steal the food right out of Felix’s hands, Felix’s stomach and throat clenched at the thought of eating.

Oh, but then again, something dry and fluffy like a scone might have helped to soak up the bubbling goo that was currently nipping at the base of his oesophagus. His throat and his lower organs both tingled with dread, neither one of them wanting to be the one to deal with whatever was brewing in his stomach.

“What do you think?” There was no impatience, no rush, in Elliott’s voice this morning. There was just sheer curiosity, a simmering desperation to understand what was going through Felix’s head that he wasn’t telling him.

I don’t deserve him.

“I don’t… feel good, Elli.” A twinge of guilt mingled with Felix’s nausea. In the rational part of his brain, he knew it wasn’t his fault that he’d ended up so sickly, so weak as a vampire. He knew it wasn’t his fault that Elliott held onto the guilt of instigating his abnormal transformation. And yet, he couldn’t help picturing how different Elliott’s life might have been if his partner had been as strong, as adventurous, as energetic as he himself was.

“Mmm. I know, boo,” Elliott frowned.

Relief fluttered in Felix’s chest, but only for a split second.

Elliott bent forward, smoothing a portion of Felix’s hair flat against his scalp before pressing a kiss – then a second one, for good measure – to the same spot. “We don’t have to go to the bakery, or out for a walk. All I want is to cheer you up somehow, or just…  show you some of the light that’s waiting for you on the other side of this.”

Felix shut his eyes, shivering under the pressure of Elliott’s fingers massaging over the back of his head and along his neck. He wished it were a soothing touch, not one that intended to rouse him from bed.

“But… you know something?” Elliott said with a boyish twist to his lip. “You're always so beautiful first thing in the morning. Must be the way the sunlight hits you. It’d be a damn shame to hide that beauty from the world.”

Gosh damn this boy who always knows how to make me blush.

Felix sighed in resignation and pushed himself upwards. The world tilted on its axis as he reached a seated position. His hair dropped to his shoulders, sticking once again to the cool layer of sweat on the back of his neck.

“See? You’re halfway there.” Elliott gave an irritatingly handsome smile as he slid from the bed.

Swaying with the spinning in his head and the roiling of his stomach, Felix turned onto his hands and knees. “M-my belly feels funny.”

“Well, it usually does, unfortunately,” Elliott said, “after you’ve had a rough night. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, because your brain is adamant on convincing you otherwise, but you always feel better with some sunshine on your skin and some food in your stomach. Always. I’ve seen you transform right before my eyes, boo, after just a tiny bit of effort.”

Felix groaned, his eyes stinging with frustration because he wasn’t sad.

He had been sad; beneath everything else, his throat was scratchy, and his eyes felt like they’d been scraped dry from how frequently and hard he’d cried the previous day. But right now, the only thing making him sad was the fact that his stomach was rebelling against him, and his head felt like it’d been hollowed out and stuffed with bees.

Maybe Elliott was right. Maybe it was all just the aftermath of crying and feeling too much. An emotional hangover of sorts.

“I’ll get the shower going for you, shall I?” Elliott sauntered into the ensuite, as though he hadn’t bothered framing his intentions as a question at all.

“Okay,” Felix croaked. Gosh damn that man and his confidence. Elliott could sell fake fangs to a vampire at Halloween, Felix swore.

But he couldn’t deny that the clamminess of his skin was contributing to how bad he felt, so a shower couldn’t hurt. He held himself, hands clamped on opposite shoulders, as he wriggled out of bed and onto his feet. The light that streamed through the window cast weak pulses of warmth through his skin where it touched him, which only made the chill in the rest of his body all the more miserable.

As he attempted to steady himself in the centre of the bedroom, Felix felt his stomach give a low, squelching sound, and his diaphragm twitched tightly, painfully. He moved his shivering hands down from his shoulders and held his belly. He really had been out of it yesterday, and as a result had eaten very little – certainly too little for his stomach to feel so bloated, pushing against the elastic in his shorts.

Now that he was standing, and his body was adjusting to the effects of gravity on a vertical human body, it felt like the unsettling sludge in his belly was congealing, gathering mass by the second.

Oh, gosh. How had he been able to – even momentarily – convince himself that he was just psychologically drained?

He could barely hear the hiss of the shower starting over the piercing sounds that swarmed in his eardrums, but it guided him as he began to shuffle his unsteady feet in the direction of the bathroom.

Next thing he knew, his knees were smarting something awful, his throat felt like it was being wrung like a wet cloth, and his nose was full of the scent of toilet bleach. This new state of being lasted for about… two seconds, before the nausea that was coiled in his stomach promptly uncoiled, and a torrent of foul liquid spilled from between his quivering lips.

“Felix!”

Felix flinched. For Elliott to call him by his proper name, he must have given him quite a shock. Elliott clamped his hands around Felix’s waist, as though he thought he might pitch forward and disappear into the depths of the sewage system forever, along with the lining of his stomach.

 The shower was still hissing, slowly filling the room with steam that felt even worse on Felix’s skin than his own swear. Felix choked on a sob before heaving again. Such a waste of water. But if he had the mental stability to worry about the environment, was it at all credible that he was really, truly sick?

“Oh, boo,” Elliott hushed, sliding one hand from Felix’s waist towards the small of his back. “Alright, let’s get the toilet seat up. Give you a fairer chance…”

Felix blinked in sheer confusion, though he couldn’t deny that it was nice to feel himself being scooped towards Elliott’s tree trunk of a body, momentarily letting go of the responsibility of keeping himself upright. He clung to the fabric of Elliott’s shirt out of a desire for comfort rather than necessity. The fabric softener scent of Elliott’s clothes was a giant improvement on inhaling toilet bleach.

“There we go,” Elliott murmured, wiping toilet paper across the toilet seat, which Felix had evidently managed to swear with acidic yellow vomit. “Man, you’re really not well, are you, boo?”

Felix shook his head. He lifted a hand to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, and remembered he didn’t have any sleeves. All he could do was blearily try not to get anything on Elliott’s lovely, clean-smelling shirt. Although he’d probably already tainted it with his clammy, half-naked body…

“I can still help you into the shower, if you’d like?”

Felix nodded, which he reckoned was the right call, since the sheer act of nodding made him aware of the sticky portions of hair that were stuck to his neck. Whether they were stuck with sweat or something more viscous –

His stomach roiled again, and he scrambled out of Elliott’s light embrace and belched deeply over the toilet bowl. The bleary sight of everything he’d already heaved up made him gag again, this time digging up a thick, sticky string of vomit.

“’N a minute,” Felix murmured, spitting and blowing through his lips while bile and saliva stuck to them.

“Take your time, gorgeous,” Elliott whispered. “Take your time.”

___

“Felix, I will now take your temperature.”

“Mmrrbbuh?” Felix pushed through the cotton-like fog of sleep, almost batting away the plastic cone that was being directed inside his ear. His hand brushed against cold, almost too smooth skin that made his heart feel warm. He curled both hands around the wrist joined to the hand that was holding the electronic thermometer, and hummed in both pain and contentment. The hand of his saviour. His protector. His guardian.

“Well,” Ryan murmured, “it’s certainly been a while since you’ve shown me this much affection…”

Eyes fluttering open, Felix felt a flush in his face, beyond even that brought on by the fever. Ryan’s gaze was piercing as she looked down at him, as though he were a scribbled-upon piece of paper, or some unidentified lizard she’d happened upon.

He groggily let go of her arm. She remained like a statue towering above him, clad in all-white as though carved from marble, until the thermometer bleeped for her to remove it. Her heavy-lidded expression didn’t shift at all as she took the reading.

“Standard norovirus, by all appearances,” she said, “largely due to Felix’s diminished immune system. Undoubtedly a consequence of having been turned by an inferior member of the strain.”

“Love it when you rub that in my face,” Elliott’s voice came mumbling from somewhere beyond Ryan’s shoulders. Felix shifted his head for a better look – a better squint, more like – and saw that his partner was standing with his arms folded, mouth turned down in a subtle sulk.

“I am merely making observations.” Ryan paused, folding her slender arms. “However, if my assessment of Felix’s condition also happens to reiterate and reinforce a crucial point, then perhaps its function can be twofold.”

___

“Seriously, man, do not come in here,” Elliott droned, spinning his desk chair around and looking as though he was about to send himself rolling across the room to tackle Shayne in the doorway. “This thing Felix has is contagious for humans, and I cannot deal with it if both of you are vomiting your guts up.”

“Alright, whatever.” Shayne held up his palms, half-turning to leave already. “Just wanted to tell you guys that I went to see Trish, and she’s… I don’t know, she’s fine. She’s doing fine.”

“Hear that?” Elliott said softly, squeezing Felix’s thigh.

Felix smiled, a shiver of relief undoing some of the knots in his back and legs. He swallowed over the urge to ask Shayne if his mother had inquired about him, but with the day he was having, he thought it’d be better to spare himself the disappointment. If there was any fantastic news to share – they found an instantaneous cure for Alzheimer’s today, and your mother has been selected for the first round of treatment! – surely Shayne would already have shared it.

The main thing was that she hadn’t been left lonely for the day just because Felix’s belly was too upset to make the journey.

“I-I… really appreciate that, Shayne,” Felix said. “Thank you.”

Shayne blinked and seemed to be somewhat infuriated at being thanked. He hesitated as he turned to leave, pausing to shrug and glance back at the floor. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you appreciate it, Fee, because those buses are the fucking worst. Honestly.”

Felix’s stomach burbled uneasily at the thought of the motion, and the heat, and the smell of human beings packed into an enclosed space.

“Oh. Feel better, or whatever.”

“Thanks, bud.”

___

“Elli?”

Elliott blinked away as soon as he heard his name. He sat up as quickly as he could without jostling the bed too much.

A little of the colour had returned to Felix’s face, but not much. He was supine in the bed next to Elliott, eyes open and brighter than they’d been in days.

“Yes, my boo?” Elliott whispered, reaching over to smooth a hand over Felix’s hair out of pure habit. “Are you alright?”

The corners of Felix’s lips twitched upwards at the touch. “I don’t feel entirely well, but… I was wondering if you might do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

Felix’s hands – mere bulges in the duvet from Elliott’s point of view – moved lightly over his own belly. With his attention drawn towards it, Elliott became sharply aware of a low, consistent burbling sound coming from it. Shit. Was Felix nauseous again? Was he going to ask for stomach rubs, or a bin to vomit into, or some medicine –?

“As soon as it’s past the opening time,” Felix said softly, “could you go to that bakery and get me those scones I like?”

Elliott raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Listening again, he realised that the noises coming from Felix’s body must have been the painfully empty hunger growls of a stomach that hadn’t eaten in almost two days, due to a combination of stress and sickness. Elliott’s own lack of a human appetite had stopped him from anticipating this.

“Of course I will.” He glanced over his shoulder, searching for the streaks of light through the curtains that would give him a sense of the time. “It might be a while. Are you sure I can’t bring you something from the kitchen?”

A somewhat guilty grimace split Felix’s face as he shook his head. “Those scones are all I can think about.”

“In that case, try to get a little more rest, gorgeous,” Elliott smiled, draping himself close to Felix’s swaddled-up form. He rested a hand over Felix’s belly, surprising himself as usual with how small Felix’s torso always seemed when he touched it, even with the added bulk of the duvet between them.

“Thank you, darling,” Felix murmured, eyes fluttering shut, already beginning to drift off again.

[sickybubbies]

Working on another part of Baby Fangs, expect it tonight! <33

[thatvampireblog]

It's probably gonna be a few days before I poast again because of Life Things, but here's day 6 (stage fright) of the Ghost Writer's Discord's Whump Month as hosted by @cirrus-ghoulette! This one's Gross.

[multi-lefaiye]

i have some writing to share

under the cut is a scene with salvatore, the first time he tries to smoke after he's turned into a vampire.

content warnings: smoking (obv), specific references to murder (non-graphic), aaand a pretty graphic description of someone throwing up. tread lightly!

--

The first time Salvatore tries smoking after he's turned is less than an hour after his escape from the warehouse.

He's standing before the churning inferno of the building he was killed in, staring at the flames. The crackling of the fire is loud even over the roaring in his ears, and he's dimly aware of the fact that his torn suit is soaked in blood. Not his own, of course--this blood is from the human lying crumpled in the smoldering building before him.

Salvatore can't find it in him to feel bad for killing that stranger. He feels numb, a sour taste in his the back of his throat that feels like it's choking him. But he doesn't feel remorse--that sorry sap was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Salvatore doesn't have it in him to pity a victim of circumstance. He's dead, and Salvatore isn't.

Just as he doesn't have it in him to pity the other bodies being burned to ash in the building.

He hears something crash inside and flinches, startled out of his racing thoughts, as he glances down at his hand. Between his trembling fingers is a single cigarette, singed and stained from where he'd swiped it off the human's corpse.

He just needs a smoke. He just needs a smoke and everything will be okay.

Salvatore lights the cigarette by holding it up to the flames before him and brings it to his lips, taking a long, shuddering breath to inhale the acrid smoke. It curls pleasantly in his lungs, stifling him and burning him from the inside out. The feeling only lasts a few precious seconds, though, before he realizes something is wrong.

He can't breathe with the smoke in his lungs, but he doesn't have to anymore. His lungs burn, but not from a lack of oxygen. Breathing out the smoke isn't the same when there's no relief tied to the action, no catharsis.

And so the smoke comes spilling from him in a flood, choking him raggedly as he coughs to get it out of him. He drops the useless cigarette to the concrete below as he collapses, grabbing his throat with clawed hands and doubling over to retch.

He vomits a moment later, disgusting black bile dripping from his bloody lips. It smells rancid, like death and rot and everything wrong with Salvatore and churning inside his broken body. Tastes even worse. He's done only seconds later, and he stumbles back from the pile of rot left at his feet.

Salvatore's eyes fall on the flames again, on the roaring inferno destroying the remains of seven people--seven--whose lives ended tonight.

No. Not people. Only one of the bodies in there is a person. The rest are monsters--just like him. The only difference is that they're the ones burning, and he's still out here rotting.

And there's no going back now.

[zoethehead]

Aaaaand, back to your regularly scheduled vampire x werewolf story thing

I chose to make this scene kinda funny, essentially; Elijah wakes up after turning into a werewolf, only to puke up blood from the poor animal that he ate last night during his transformation-caused conscious blackout.

Only to pass out in that same puddle of animal carcass blood infused puke.

It's not a good start to his day, and Simon(vampire) isn't impressed by it at all.

[angstyaches]

if you’re still taking requests for the halloween drabbles, may i put forth 🎇 for felix? i love that bean and i can just see so much whumpy potential for vamps getting too much sensory input on a night like halloween with kids running around the neighborhood and fireworks going off every other minute

Sick or Treat Game

CW: sensory overload, body horror/transformation mention, emeto, slightly awkward caretaking (a.k.a. Elliott's trying, bless him)

EARLY DAYS FELIX

___

Felix flinched as fireworks went off.

And off.

And off again. In an unrelenting string.

His fingers were aching from tightening the grip he had on his own shins. He swore he could feel his joints grinding beneath the skin, and yet couldn’t force himself to let up. His teeth were jammed together, otherwise they’d have rattled themselves loose by now.

The roar of blood in his veins almost masked the sound of a creature approaching from the dark, but Felix’s survival instincts kicked in at the last second. He uncurled his arms, slapping randomly at the air in the hopes of protecting himself. He sat forward, eyes squeezed shut, fangs exposed –

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

Elliott.

"Felix, it’s just me.”

Felix opened his eyes a crack and hissed as he sank back against the wall, hugging his knees to his chin.

“S-sorry,” he tried to say, but the word could have drowned in his throat for all he heard them over the clamouring, whistling, snapping nightmare of sound.

Every burst made him jump, like he was a popcorn kernel in a microwave and he needed to be popped, popped, popped, over and over and over again, until his insides were fried.

Elliott hadn’t touched the light switch as he came into the bedroom, but his amber eyes practically glowed in the gloom. He edged across the bedroom with his hands in full view and only the balls of his feet touching the floor, as though Felix were some spooked animal.

With a sinking sensation of horror in his gut, and the hollow sensation of feeling outside of one’s own body, Felix realised that he practically was a spooked animal. If he’d had fur, it would have been shifting into spikes along his spine, and if he’d had claws, they’d have been scraping at the bones of his shins by now.

A shattering crackle sent a jolt down his spine, and his tailbone collided with the floor as he involuntarily jumped. The terror lodged itself in the pit of his belly, settling into a throb.

“Whoa – hey,” Elliott whispered, slipping into a crouched position on the floor. “It’s okay. It’s okay, boo, you’re safe.”

Shivering through the next few clatters, Felix nodded, even if he didn’t believe it.

“You should see Ryan with the kids down there,” Elliott half-smiled. He brushed his palms against his own thighs. “It’s… kind of like watching a bird trying to communicate with a spider.”

Felix gulped. Opening up the townhouse gate to trick-or-treaters had been his idea – well, less of an idea and more something he’d hounded Ryan and Nancy about for months. He’d been so excited, and then…

And then the fireworks had started all across town.

He had no recollection of bolting upstairs. One moment, he’d been handing out fistfuls of sweets and theatrically flashing his fangs, much to the delight of the children, and the next, he’d been huddled between his bed and his dresser, shivering like a kicked puppy as tears dried on his cheeks and his breath rasped in his throat.

He didn’t even have it in him to feel guilty for abandoning his post. All he could feel was the irrational certainty that all of the clamouring was going to make his head explode and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Wh-why?” Felix tasted his own blood and it turned his stomach; his chattering teeth must have bitten into his tongue at some point. He eyed Elliott with a pained squint; clearly, he wasn’t experiencing the festive explosions as though they were being let off directly into his ear canals.

He cried out as a particularly loud boom reverberated through the floorboards and the walls and every single cell in Felix’s body. Gosh, even the sound of his own scream was just too much. Covering his ears did nothing; he’d already known this, yet that didn’t stop the instinctive urge to slap both palms against the sides of his head.

“Why?" he gasped again, "wh-wh-why is it this… bad?”

Elliott pinned his gaze to the floor, looking a lot like a man trying to decide how to deliver some bad news.

“It… gets easier,” he whispered.

Felix shook his head, hugging his legs violently to his chest again. That was far from what he’d wanted to hear. No promises, no solution, no end in sight.

“Only advice I have is to just… pick one thing to focus on, if you can.”

Asking Felix to make a decision while his brain was stuck fighting for his life was as useless as asking a crow for fashion advice.

His breaths were barely making it in and out. Nausea pulsed in his stomach, in perfect time with the pounding in his head and chest. Cold waves prickled his skin. It was a disturbingly familiar set of sensations, one he associated recently with a bite of food with just an iota too much salt; with a perfume being worn by someone in the next room over; with the flash of a headlight on the highway that felt as though it had burned a hole in his retinas.

Except none of those things had sent him into a panicked spiral like this.

“Darling… I f-feel sick,” Felix admitted helplessly. He didn’t have it in him to unfurl and let his body do what it needed to do. He needed to be curled up in the smallest, tightest ball possible, so that when the next string of pyrotechnics went off, he wouldn’t jump so hard that he’d crack his head on the bedframe. Or projectile vomit across the floor. Or slice the insides of his cheek with his fangs.

Crack, jump. Sizzle, jump. Boom-boom-BOOM, and there went his teeth into the inside of his cheek.

Mouth wide in a grimace, Felix let out a silent wail, because anything louder than a silent wail would have been too much to handle. His hands found their way over his ears again, and although Felix knew it wouldn’t make any difference to the noise level, he was hit with despair once again. There was no escape. No escape from it, no –

He gasped as he was bundled against something warm and solid and good.

“One thing,” Elliott’s voice whispered nearby, dulled by a much closer, much more urgent sound. “Focus.”

___

Felix opened his eyes and realised he’d lost time again. This time, he reckoned it was a mercy, because he was no longer flinching every couple of seconds. The city had calmed itself in time for returning trick-or-treaters to make their bedtimes. The street outside was quiet, save for a lingering cricket and the fluttering of some trash that had gotten stuck on a gate post. The room was quiet, save for the thumping next to Felix’s ear. The sound was soft yet steady, and slightly wet when he picked it apart in his mind.

He hugged Elliott as hard as he could with arms that felt like jelly now that the adrenaline was all gone.

“Hey, boo,” Elliott whispered, kissing the top of Felix’s head. “Feeling better?”

Felix managed a single shake of his head before he found himself clambering away, putting as much space between his mouth and Elliott's torso as he could before the grumbling in his belly could reach the back of his throat.

"Oh. Felix," Elliott whispered, planting a hand over the ridges of Felix's spine. The younger vampire sagged and heaved weakly, barely needing to retch, over the side of the bed, his stomach finally able to empty itself now that his body wasn't rigid and convulsing with primal fear.

[flora-bigs]

What if there's a period in the very long vampire life cycle where they're "in heat" and can't help themselves to feeding as much as possible

there’s no such thing as enough blood, the more they have the stronger they become. it just becomes an issue when her silly mortal stomach reaches the limits of how large it’ll stretch to…

[emeto-film-critic]

The Last Voyage Of The Demeter - 2023

SAFE

[whumpsoda]

Coming Back To Bite You, Part 4 - Caught in Her Web

Masterlist

cw: hypnosis, vampire whumper, coarse language, emeto

——————

Marshall hummed, a sort of sound of agreement. He didn’t really know what he was agreeing to, possibly the buzz in the back of his mind, but couldn’t reach enough of himself to decipher it. Not that he could really care at the moment, mind swirling in circles along with the fingers on his temples.

He was floating, gently dancing through the wind of his head like a cloud. His limbs were somehow numbed, disconnected from the rest of his body. All Marshall could feel was the flutter of his eyelids and the grunt of his voice, echoing beyond the emptiness.

Someone was speaking, and he recognized it, clawing out for it. The voice was smooth and kind, something he was unable to make sense of. His face scrunched, wriggling his body awake.

The buzzing grew clearer and clearer, and so did his mind with it. “And up, up, up.”

A gasp, sharp, slipped out from his lips, eyes falling wide. “Get-,” Marshall shot up, rushing out from his spot the vampire’s lap, brain dashing back to it’s full power. “Offa’ me!”

She rolled her eyes, as if she had the right to be irritated. “Okay, dear. No need to shout. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.” Putting her arms up, she held them in the typical stance to say I won’t hurt you.

“Yeah, sure. Like I’d believe you after-,” the memories slapped him across the face, and he hung his head. A flame lit in his chest, toiling around the lump in his throat. “You-,” fucker.

“You-,”

The word wasn’t coming out. It was hanging there, right in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, he just couldn’t push it into reality. Brows furrowing, Marshall’s hands twisted over the fabric of the mittens into fists.

“You-!” He shrieked, the end sticking in his throat like a weight, heavy and sticky, unable to push any further. It was as if it was choking him, blocking air from getting around it.

And the vampire wasn’t speaking, her mouth was stuck in a firm smirk, like she was enjoying his confusion. At the same time, he heard her words.

You mustn’t call your betters by such foul names, my dear. I am your sir, and you will treat me as such.

“S- sorry. Sir.” He muttered, sheepishly.

Marshall clamped a hand over his mouth, unbridled shock plastered across his face. He just-

Apologized?

To her?

Shaking, overtaken by fury, he sipped in a quivering breath. Again, stopped by the strength of chains, he was prevented from tearing her face right off with his teeth. All he was really able to manage was a rippling snarl.

He had called her sir, sliding right over his teeth like an instinct. The bile was bubbling, growling up from his tummy.

“It’s alright, dear.” She cooed, swift and nimble motions grazing his cheeks. “Oh, surprised?” She was taunting him. He grit his teeth. “I may have done just a little bit of quality control while you were under. Just enough to keep you from calling me names, and establishing my title.”

“You-,” he spat, voice trembling. “Um, you-!” The words were piling up in his mind, vile curses, but none of it was breaking through her blockade. It just couldn’t.

“As much as you try,” she started, eyes sweet and glittery, catching him in them, “you won’t be able to get around it. I know that must be scary, but you must accept it.”

“I-,” he sputtered, before he hardened. “Let me go! Let me out!” Shrieking, he fought his very best with the restraints, diving at her.

“Goodness, me.” She scoffed, pushing herself to her feet as he slipped around the wooded flooring of her bedroom, growling and squealing demands. “You really aren’t the smartest, are you? I suppose that only makes my job easier, though, so I should be thankful.”

“Anyways, I want to have a little talk, if you would humor me.” She crouched back to a kneel, a safe distance to where he couldn’t reach her, gracefully keeping her skirt in place. “My name is Evangeline, although you may call me sir, and for the time being I will be your vampire owner.”

He scoffed. “Like hell you will.”

“Oh, you will see, dear. Once under enthrallment you’ve already proved to be very polite and willing. I’d be surprised that you were still up for grabs if you weren’t a hunter. But that didn’t last long, did it?”

Five years. Five years, which seemed like a mere blink of the eye for a vampire.

“I want you to be comfortable here, and I can assure you, if you stop fighting me and just accept it, you will be.”

“Go-!” Fuck yourself! Again, nothing came out, throat shriveling up in a second. He roared nonsense at her, wriggling helplessly at the chains.

Evangeline shook her head. “If that’s how you want to be, then I will simply have to change that.” With the clap of her hands, her sired were back to surrounding them. “Ladies, please escort him back to his enclosure. I think we’re done here.” Crouching above him, she gifted him a little, delighted smile, before pressing a finger to his forehead. Fuck. “And, a little something to keep him complacent on the way.”

When Marshall came to, tired eyelids creaking open, he was walking through the tallest, widest hallway he’d ever seen in his life. Gold encrusted candles littered the walls, keeping it lit as he followed behind the vampire’s sireds. One of them, the one in front of the group, held the end of his chain, guiding his body along on autopilot.

His feet, bare and chilly, followed along dutifully beyond his own accord. Every couple steps they tripped over each other, and a yank on his chain was the only thing to bring him back to obedience.

He needed out, and fast. She already had him calling her sir, what could she have him doing in one more session of conditioning?

Marshall didn’t even want to think about it.

He did his very best to imitate being entranced, although a part of him still was, drowsiness pulling at him like gravity. Scanning the walls for anything to aid him in an escape, he lit up.

A door, humongous and made of dark wood stood between Marshall and the outdoors, between him and freedom.

A breath in, a breath out.

A yank on the chains with all of his might took them right out from the vampire’s grip. The closest vampire, looking to him in shock, was clocked to the floor by his two fists and connecting cuffs, allowing him his very own chance at freedom.

He wasn’t exactly the fastest around, but he managed, even with a fucked up knee. That was until he reached the door, and realized no one was so much as chasing after him. His brows furrowed, slowing down as he reached for the door handle.

His legs ceased any and all movement, right then and there.

Marshall could still reach the door handle, going right for it, before his arm stopped as well, unable to move any further.

And his head-

Marshall lurched forward, gagging on an oncoming of burning bile, bitterness washing ip his throat.

“You are already proving to be a real pain in my ass, you know that?” Evangeline called, stepping up behind him.

He had to get out, he had to get out-

But-

Keeling over, grabbing at his belly, Marshall was unable to handle the searing pain splitting his head in two. What was going on? He managed a weak, shaking laugh, loud and sharp, spit flying at her high heeled boots. “Good.”

“Listen to me.” She hissed, gaze glowing with enthrallment, calling him to her gaze and trapping him in it. “You are a pet as much as you are a food source for us, for vampires as a whole. That is what you are made to be, that is what you were put on this Earth to do.”

“I’m not-,” his fight was melting, just as his mind was under her control. “Not… not a… pet…” jaw losing the fight, a dribble of drool peeked out from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, why don’t you look at that. All of this talk of lives and futures seems to cease once you’re under even just a smidge of enthrallment, doesn’t it? That is because you are merely a lost soul requiring a vampire’s guidance. None of you are fit to live on your own, to make decisions.” She cupped his face, and the thought of biting at her vanished in an instant, in favor of her swirling bliss. “You all fight for the lives you want to keep, that only make you sad and unhappy creatures. That is why I do what I do, dear. To give you the help you need.”

“H… help…?” Innocence scrawled over his features, and he looked to her with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Yes, my dear.”

Her fingers dipped into the delve of his temple, bringing his eye to a falling flutter. “Need… help…” he mumbled, with the last of his consciousness, before slipping his mind back to sleep.

——————

Previous

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @justletmereadmywhump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @thelazywitchphotographer @when-the-muse-is-over

@legokiwi @enigmawriteswhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[valtsv]

and yes. i will vomit blood into your mouth <3

if you try to run me through with your blade i'll just pull it in deeper until we're face to face and kiss you on the mouth. with tongue.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Hungry

TW: Blood, captivity, emeto (soft)

Masterlist

- Hungry, leech ?

The vampire was jolted awake by the sound of the hunter banging on the bars of his cell. He instinctively curled up to protect himself, a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach as he finally made sense of the words. Hungry ? Of course he was hungry. He hadn’t been fed in… years. He was starving. But…

- You’ve been so quiet recently, we thought you deserved a reward.

No. No no no. They knew about his weaknesses, everything about him. He scrambled away, his back hitting the wall behind him as the hunter unlocked the door and entered, a bloodbag dangling from one of his hands. He shook his head desperately, trying to convey silently his panic. Please. He was already hurt. The hunter smirked, noticing his expression. He knew, of course he knew.

- You don’t look very grateful, leech. You want more, maybe ?

The vampire struggled, but he was frail and weak from the torture and starvation, and he was soon pinned on the floor, the hunter straddling him and holding him down. The blood bag was opened, and the hypnotising smell made him salivate heavily. He could not control his body’s reaction, the way his lips parted, his jaw aching where his fangs used to be. The hunter chuckled, and pried his mouth open further with his free hand. The vampire whined, the gesture pressing the silver implants in his mouth against his gum, but he didn’t struggle. All his will had disappeared, replacd by a wild and uncontrollable hunger.

When the blood was poured down his throat he gulped it down eagerly, like a mindless animal. The hunter stood up with the empty blood bad, an amused smile on his face.

- You leeches love to pretend you’re people. But it doesn’t take much to show your true nature, does it ?

The vampire didn’t answer, too busy licking the blood that had dripped down his face. He suddenly stopped, tears pricking his eyes as realization dawned on him. He stifled a sob and looked up at the hunter pleadingly, before suddenly lurching forward, his hands clenching on his lower stomach. The tears were streaming down his face now, both of pain and helplessness, the blood like acid in his tummy. It hurt, it hurt so much. He gagged, covering his mouth with both hands. He needed to keep it down, just a little bit longer. But he couldn’t, the pain and the nausea overwhelming him. His shaking grew stronger, and he cursed the genetics that had made him so unnatural his body was unable to digest the thing that it was made for.

The hunter looked with a grin as the hybrid jolted forward again, emptying his stomach from the blood he had just ingested.

The miserable creature didn’t look up as the hunter locked the cell and left, curled up on the cold concrete, shaking with silent sobs. He just wished he could feed like a normal vampire, instead of being destined to suffer and starve endlessly.