Just tossing this up here, I had to do it. Let me know if there’s a need for a “translated” version of this, as the dialogue here is in an older dialect of English than is used today.
TW: Vampire whumpee, house fire mention, Dehumanization, humiliation, leash and collar mention, a flaming row/shouting match over it, domestic violence/manhandling, threat of whipping/beating.
1579
Under the newly knighted Sir William Nightley’s directions, building work was begun in earnest on the new home for his family and posterity. The people of Atcombe town had already begun to call it Blackthorne Hall, after the little hamlet of Blackthorne that had stood close by, and the old Nightley Hall itself, which had both burned down in that fatal night last Autumn. Until their new home would be finished enough to live in, Sir William rented his family the finest house he could get in Atcombe and rode over daily to oversee the work.
Yves had taken up some of his former duties in the oversight of the household but his role was still unclear, and Agnes Nightley was still not entirely at ease with having a vampire servingman in her home, and around her son or little infant daughter. She pretended to be, for her husband’s sake, but Yves could hear heartbeats now. He was learning what a tight smile but an elevated pulse meant, when people did it at the sight of him. Fortunately, she had taken the children to run about on the village green when the painting arrived.
It was brought by a courier, wrapped in clean rags and canvas to protect it. Sir William pulled the covering from it and leaned it against a heavy brass candlestick on the table in the main room of the house, where there was light enough to see it best.
Yves emerged from doing up the beds in the bedrooms, coming down the stairs. “What, is this that painting commissioned in Spring, brought from London at last?”
The breaking glass was the first thing Yves heard, followed by a scream.
“Yves!!”
The vampire dropped the dustpan and brush he’d been using and ran, taking the stairs two at a time and bursting into the Mistress’ room.
“Yves- Help!!” Miss Edith was standing in her nightdress beside her bed, grey hair sliding out of its neat bun, swinging a broken table lamp like a bat, inexpertly but with the energy of terror. Her crossbow was over the mantle, and she couldn’t get to it.
It was the other figure in the room, between Edith Nightley and her crossbow, who had Yves’ full attention- a barefoot man in raggedy clothes, with a bloodstained shirt and fingernails like claws. A feral vampire.
Am I the only one who’s tired of seeing bad liars in media like anime, manga, and webtoons? Like I get its usually done for comedic effect or to let the reader know, but honestly it’s so tiring at this point.
Give me a character that can lie with a straight face and smile. Give me a character that can bluff super well about stuff they didn’t even find out till just seconds before. Give me a character that can’t act for shit but can make up a lie so well even they’re a bit surprised. Give me a character that DOESNT LIE AT ALL but skirts around the actual truth all the time. And finally give me a character that doesn’t feel guilty for their ability to lie, because to them that’s just how they learned to protect themselves (or some other reason).
Yves is such a habitual liar it’s actually hard to get the straight truth out of him on some subjects- his entire life has been about skirting things that aren’t “suitable topics” or avoiding saying certain things. He can be a master of obfuscation.
Lies Yves has told repeatedly:
“I’m quite certain.”
“Everything will be fine.”
“There’s nothing worth bothering about here.”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“No, it’s no trouble at all.“
“We’re happy to help in any way we can.”
“I understand Sir.”
“It’ll be done, Miss.”
“No, it barely left a mark.”
“I’m quite alright.”
“Doesn’t even sting anymore.”
“I’m not tired yet, you get some sleep.”
“I accept your decision, then.”
“I will do as I am ordered Sir.”
“No I haven’t seen them all day, Sir. Don’t know where they might be.”
This is not a comfort piece :( Poor Kosta can’t enjoy himself just yet (He’ll get there soon, I swear!)
CW: needles, dehumanization, it as a pronoun, med whump, lab whump, restraints, blood, doctors being creepy and sadistic fucks
They dragged him out of the cage a little bit after sunset. He barely had time to enjoy the reprieve of not being constantly burnt through the coarse material he wrapped himself in when a couple of hunters arrived. They tore the cloth off him and grabbed him under his arms. He did not oppose them, weak as he was from the sunlight’s effect on him still lingering.
Hope rose in Kosta’s heart when he got pushed through the door and downstairs. A basement sounded rather promising – could they be tired with his whining presence outside and just decided to keep him down here so that he wouldn’t bother them with his screams? During the days he heard human voices intermittently, some of them very old, some childish. It was quite obvious he was held in a regular human settlement and not just a hunter base. Could it be that the wives and children of the hunters ordered them to keep Kosta away from them? If so, they would find no complaint from him.
He recognized the room they dragged him into and his blood froze in his veins. The table with restraints, the cold white light on the ceiling, the white tiles on the floor and the walls. He started to struggle, without a plan or a goal, he just wanted out, out, as far away from there as possible.
Whump prompt - vampire enemy but it’s forced proximity
Character A and their enemy - a vampire, join forces against a common enemy. They’re hiding from soldiers who are gradually converging on them. Vampire is weak and shuddering due to injuries and starvation. Vampire’s eyes grow feral and they become increasingly twitchy at the smell of A’s blood. A snaps at Vampire to ‘get it together’ but they are obviously not listening. So before Vampire’s erratic sounds reveal them to the soldiers, A offers up their wrist. Vampire looks at A, their face flashes apology, wanting to say no, before they’re overcome with hunger and lunge for A’s neck. Vampire’s jaw clamps on and blood sprays as they aggressively bite down. A tries to struggle against it but they slow and their expression turns euphoric. Vampire holds A in their arms, holding them closer to their mouth. A closes their eyes. The soldiers find the pair and hold weapons up to them. Vampire unclamps from A’s neck and suddenly comes to their senses. Now stronger, Vampire easily takes down the soldiers. But when Vampire looks back, A is still unconscious.
The bounty hunter didn’t mean to find an injured vampire, but sometimes jobs don’t go according to plan. And they can’t just leaveit; that would be reckless, and put the whole town in danger. So they take it home.
Content warnings for lots of dehumanization, including use of “it” as a pronoun.
This series was heavily inspired by @whumping-every-day ’s Callum and Ash series, which you can find the masterlist for here. I got to the end of the series, went I WANT MORE, and then apparently the only solution was to write it myself. So, here you go.
Another big source of inspiration for this comes from @ashintheairlikesnow ’s Vampire Chris AU, which you can find the masterlist for here. This inspired things like vampire brothels and the idea of people using vampires as drug dispensers for their narcotic-like venom.
Note: the vampire is female, but she currently uses “it” as a pronoun because of heavy conditioning. I am tagging the entries as “lady whump” and “female whumpee” because of this.
content warnings: blood drinking, terminal illness, very brief emeto mention
—
Rolith never imagined he would step foot inside a vampire’s home for any reason other than to slaughter the fiend, yet here he is, knocking on the front door of Lord Serador’s estate with no malicious intentions to be found. He’s been tasked to perform a wellness check on the behalf of Queen Juliet, the matriarch of Willowfen, or the independent human settlement they both call home. As the town’s military leader, he receives his orders directly from her and spends a sizable portion of his time advising the crown. They’ve built up a healthy working relationship over the years, and she trusts him indubitably. She told him she was worried about Serador because he returned the Empyreal Wand (the Queen’s family heirloom, which she gave him in return for his help in solving their werewolf problem). Considering how badly the vampire initially wanted the wand, her highness saw his generosity as cause for concern.
Brows furrowing, Rolith glances down at the wand. Although Serador seems to be somewhat less of a prick than most vampiric nobility, Rolith still can’t imagine him helping them for free. There must be another reason why he returned it.
As time passes and his knock remains unanswered, Rolith begins to suspect the Queen’s worry was well-founded. Unwilling to wait any longer, he reaches for the door knob and, surprisingly, finds it unlocked. Perhaps Serador doesn’t consider the animal inhabitants of his domain to be any threat to his safety. Still, in Rolith’s experience, an unlocked front door is never a good sign. He might be young for a military leader (all of the older commanders perished in the fight to free Willowfen from vampiric rule, leaving the next generation to carry the torch alone) but he’s seen enough in his lifetime to know a bad situation when he sees one.
Without hesitation or any regard for proper manners, he slips inside. As soon as the door closes behind him, he’s consumed by darkness. All of the windows are covered, and none of the candles are lit, so he unsheathes his sword and casts Daylight upon the blade. The spell causes the metal to glow and illuminate the foyer. White brightness crawls into every nook and cranny, and he takes a look around.
He isn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.
The manor is archaically well-decorated, of course, but it’s in bad shape. Nothing has been cleaned in ages: the painted portraits are peeling, the wood paneling is dusty, and the ceiling is covered in cobwebs. A shudder of unease rolls down his spine, and he heads toward the stairs, hoping to find Serador quickly so he can get out of this place.
“Hello?” he calls, marching up the creaking steps, “Serador? You here?”
He reaches the second floor and starts down the hallway toward the East Wing. All of the heavy, velvet curtains are drawn closed, but specks of light peek through moth holes. The state of Serador’s house reaffirms his suspicions about his well being. During the period of their alliance thus far, Rolith has noticed that there’s something not quite right with him. The vampire seems to have little to no regard for his health, the most prominent example being the time when he overexerted himself in battle to the extent that he was vomiting blood for hours after. At the time, Rolith tried to help, but he was brushed off. They’ve never discussed the matter. Even when he’s not visibly ill, Serador always has dark circles underneath his red eyes, and his pale skin is more gaunt than even a vampire’s complexion should be. There’s definitely something wrong with him. If only Rolith knew what the problem was.
Turning a corner, he spots an open door at the end of the hall. He heads straight for it, entering the room without preamble, anxious about what he might find.
“Mother of God,” a familiar voice groans. It’s Serador. He’s lying in his bed, his eyes slammed shut against the white glow. “Put that out.”
Rolith waves his hand to disperse the magic, and the vampire sighs in relief at the ensuing darkness. His comfort is short-lived, however, because the paladin immediately strides over to the nearest window and throws open the curtains, letting the evening sunlight in. Serador hisses. Rolith ignores him.
“Your door was unlocked,” he says, turning around to face him. Serador’s bed is ornate and massive, a large canopy frame that’s almost as tall as the ceiling. Propped up by a mountain of pillows and tucked under the covers, the vampire looks none too pleased about being seen in such a vulnerable state. His red eyes immediately hone in on the Emperyal Wand.
“What are you doing with that?” he asks brusquely. “I returned it to your Queen.”
Rolith sheaths his sword and places the wand down on the nearest surface. “But you didn’t tell her why.”
The vampire shifts. “I no longer desire it.”
Approaching his bedside, Rolith takes a moment to more thoroughly examine his appearance. Gone is the demeanor of a haughty immortal. The creature before him looks sickly, and the sheets surrounding him are covered in blood. His chin is stained red.
“What’s wrong with you?” Rolith demands. The vampire doesn’t answer, averting his eyes. He makes a face and then coughs into his elbow. His throat makes a wet, gurgling sound, and his shirt sleeve is soaked in crimson.
Alarm bells go off in the paladin’s head. The carnage isn’t from feeding. It’s not the blood of his prey. It’s his own.
“Serador.”
“What?” he gasps, breathless and clearly annoyed.
“You know what. You look like you’re dying. You need a cleric or, or something,” Rolith says, running a hand through his blonde hair and wracking his mind for a way to help. He doesn’t know much about vampire physiology. Information regarding their weaknesses is kept secret by the vampiric nobility. Before this very moment, he thought they couldn’t even get sick in the first place.
Intent on rushing out of the manor and grabbing the first healer he comes across, he moves toward the door to leave, but Serador clears his throat and makes him pause.
“A cleric won’t help,” he says.
Crossing his arms, Rolith glares at him. “So you know what’s wrong with you?”
Serador sighs deeply. He looks miserable. His cheeks are hollow, and his limbs sag with every movement as if his very bones are weighing him down. Rolith hates seeing him like this.
“I was cursed a long time ago, in a blood feud. The curse manifests as an illness of sorts, weakening me until eventually…” Rolith shrugs, “Well, I assume it’ll kill me someday. It’s been a decades now.”
The vampire’s casual tone makes it difficult for Rolith to immediately comprehend the meaning of his words, but the more he thinks about it, the more everything begins to make sense. He recalls every time he’s witnessed Serador utterly drained after battle, and the pieces of the puzzle slot together in his mind. “You’re cursed?”
Serador gives him a tired look. “Yes. I thought perhaps the wand could cure me, but I doubt it.”
Rolith raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even try?” At this, he marches over to the table and grabs the wand, determination pumping through his veins. “You’re dying. You should at least try.”
“It would destroy the wand,” Serador explains, struggling to sit upright, “and the odds of success are low. It’s more important to preserve it for future generations if there is to be any hope for an insurrection.”
Rolith looks at the wand skeptically. “I thought it was just an heirloom.”
The vampire coughs into his fist, his shoulders shaking in violent jerks. “The Queen’s father was a legendary cleric, as you know. If you and your people want to harness the power of the forbidden magics and overthrow the corrupt court, then you’ll need that wand.” He gives Rolith a pointed look. “I can’t teach you everything.”
The paladin frowns. It’s true Serador taught him illegal spells to use against the undead. The enchantments aided him in defeating an evil witch, but the vampire was burned by simply being in close-proximity when Rolith cast the spell. Serador has taken great risks in aiding them in their goal of freeing humankind… and now he would sacrifice his only chance at life for their sakes?
Rolith shakes his head. “Then there has to be another way to break the curse.”
The vampire sports a wry smile. “As much as I admire your optimism, I’ve been around for much longer than you’ve been alive. I doubt there’s a cure.”
“Well, I’ll find one,” he asserts, leveling Serador with a challenging look. He doesn’t appreciate being told what he can and cannot do by vampires, especially when he’s trying to help. He takes a step closer to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, fire burning in his blue eyes.
“You might’ve given up on your life, but I—we haven’t. Queen Juliet wishes to continue her alliance with you. Your help has been immeasurable, and I know the other paladins feel the same. You’ve saved my life multiple times. It’s only right that I return the favor.” Rolith takes a gamble and reaches for the vampire’s hand, squeezing his pale fingers in a reassuring grip. “I’ll help you break the curse. I promise.”
Serador meets his gaze with an unreadable expression. Rolith has always struggled to understand him because of their differences. He’s loathed all vampires for so long, it’s taken him a while to realize that Serador is a valuable ally and a good person. Before he can even attempt to dissect the nuances of his face, Serador breaks his silence.
“Do you ever cease to be charming?” he murmurs. It’s the first compliment the vampire has ever given him, and the words level Rolith. His breath catches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking.
“Only on my days off. Right now I’m here on the Queen’s dime.”
The vampire pulls his hand away to brush back several strands of long, white hair from his face. “Of course you are.”
Rolith smiles briefly before his face settles into a grave expression once again. Although he enjoys how far they have come since meeting each other (Serador no longer calls him ‘boy’ in a derogatory way), the pleasantness of their camaraderie is overshadowed by the revelation of a deadly curse.
“What can I do to help? You’re not going to be confined to your bed forever, right?”
“I should hope not,” the vampire huffs, smoothing down the stained sleeves of his black robes. “I should be back to normal in a couple days. It comes and goes in waves.”
“What about…” Rolith bites his lip and gestures vaguely, “When was the last time you fed?”
Serador’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “It’s been a while.”
Eager to help, an idea forming in his mind, Rolith continues, “Would that help? If you had something?”
The vampire sets his jaw. He doesn’t speak. Rolith takes that as a yes. His hand goes to his blade, and Serador makes an insulted noise.
“Whatever you’re thinking, I won’t allow it.”
The paladin unsheathes his sword and rests it in his lap. “Why not? I’m perfectly healthy, you’re on the verge of death… if I can hasten your recovery—”
“No,” Serador cuts in, his voice stronger than it has been all throughout their conversation thus far. He seems resolute in his refusal, but Rolith knows that a vampire’s morality blurs at the edges of hunger, so he takes a deep breath and presses the sharp edge of his blade against his palm. He pauses there, waiting for protest, but Serador doesn’t say anything further to stop him, so he drags the sword across his skin and slices open a thin red cut. It stings, but only a few beads of blood rise to the surface. He looks Serador in the eye. The vampire’s breathing is labored as if his fight against his baser instincts is a physical effort.
“I trust you,” Rolith reassures, even though he knows he’s already won this argument. “Just take a little bit, since you’re so worried. I’ll even get it healed later today.”
Serador raises a trembling arm and wraps his clammy fingers around his wrist in a delicate manner, gently pulling his hand closer. With his other hand, he caresses the inside of his forearm soothingly, as if calming a spooked animal. Shivers race down Rolith’s spine, but he isn’t afraid of a little pain. He’s willing to endure it for a friend.
Serador opens his mouth and slowly sinks his fangs into the cut, widening the wound a bit. An odd sensation spreads across his palm—the venom must be numbing him. The vampire seals his lips over the cut and sucks slowly, eyes closed. The whole affair feels strangely intimate, and although he knows blood is being leached from his body, Rolith can’t look away. He doesn’t tell him to stop, either. He was serious when he said he intended to find a way to break Serador’s curse. He doesn’t intend to let the vampire wither away anytime soon.
A couple minutes later, some of the color has returned to Serador’s face, and he pulls away with a wet pop. Rolith’s fingers are tingling, but otherwise he feels fine. The vampire licks the wound clean and then grasps his palm with both hands. Warmth spreads across his skin in a flash of golden light, and when Serador lets go, the cut has healed.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Rolith says, rubbing his thumb across his palm where the slice had been. Serador sits back against his pile of pillows, evening his breath. His face is placid, but underneath his calm demeanor, he looks refreshed.
“You didn’t need to offer yourself to me,” he counters with a tilt of his head.
“I wanted to.” Rolith wipes his blade clean on the sheets, earning a disgruntled huff from the owner of the bed, before sheathing his weapon.
“If I were in a better state, I would’ve never let you do something so unnecessary and, frankly, dangerous,” Serador insists, coming back to himself now. He looks embarrassed, but he really shouldn’t be, in Rolith’s opinion. “Don’t try that again.”
“Alright,” the paladin agrees. He doesn’t regret encouraging Serador to drink from him against his wishes. If it keeps Serador alive, he’ll do it, even if it makes the vampire uncomfortable. He recognizes that he overstepped a boundary, though, so he stands up from the bed and looks away. “I’m sorry.”
Serador snorts. “You’re not. But you should be.”
Rolith’s lips quirk up in a half-smile, unbidden. “I have to tell the Queen why you returned the wand, you know.”
“I suppose you do.” The vampire doesn’t sound happy about that. “While you’re at it, tell her to stop sending trespassers into my home.”
Rolith’s smile broadens into a grin. He pockets the wand, handling it with much more care than he did previously. “I might advise her to send a cleaning crew over, if anything.”
There’s a long pause, and then, “You are one of the most audacious humans I have ever met.”
Rolith laughs, daring to meet the vampire’s eyes. He looked genuinely affronted, which only amuses him more. “You clearly haven’t met enough humans, then.”
“Clearly,” Serador drawls, “Now get out of my house.”
“Gladly,” Rolith shoots back, even though he would rather stay and ensure the vampire doesn’t drop dead anytime soon. He slowly moves toward the door, hesitant. The hallway is dark. He glances over his shoulder briefly and catches one last glimpse of Serador. He’s looking down at his hand, the evening sunlight casting shadows over the bed.
Rolith steps into the darkness and leaves before he can be caught watching.
“What is this place?” August slowed his steps, apprehensive.
“This has been my home for the last 200 years. Keep up.”
Despite knowing that he was stronger and far more experienced in his strength than Azari was, August had the nagging feeling to stop. Something told him that continuing was a bad idea.
And yet…
Azari had said no tricks yet. He had said they would go to Morgan. August didn’t expect him to give warning before a trick, but he only half expected one before they reached Morgan.
Azari opened a heavy iron door and August caught sight of Morgan, lying collapsed on the ground. There was a small pooling of blood under them.
“Morgan—” Every other thought left August’s mind for a moment. One, fatal mistake.
August didn’t have time to process what was happening as he was thrown to the side and his bare arms and face hit the wall. He hadn’t really looked at the room before he had entered, but now it was painfully obvious. The walls were made of silver.
August screamed, shouting profanities as he tried to fight back. It hurt to move his arms. It hurt to move his face to scream. He was glad none of his current clothing had tears though. It was only his arms and face.
August managed to throw Azari off, but Azari was laughing now.
“You still think you’re gonna win? You think you’re gonna fight me like that?” Azari gestured to the angry red blisters spanning August’s arms and face.
“Why don’t you come here and fucking find out?” August was on guard now, ready for the attack this time. Azari was wearing long sleeves, pants, and gloves. It would be difficult to incapacitate him using the silver.
Despite expecting Azari’s attack, August was still shocked by the pain searing through his arms as Azari grabbed his wrists. Azari shoved August against the wall again, searing the other side of his arms.
While August yelled and fought to get Azari to let go, Azari bit him, making his screams even louder.
Around the time August started getting double vision, Azari dropped him. August slid down the wall, cradling his arms close to his body as he fought to overcome the pain.
“That was pathetic. You might be strong, but you’re not particularly smart.”
“Why are you doing this?” August demanded.
“Because it’s what we were meant to do.” Azari crouched in front of August. “Vampires like you out to go to the stake immediately. If you don’t have it in you to kill and turn humans, why were you even reborn??”
“Well the coven that turned me didn’t exactly ask to see my resume.” August slurred, trying to push himself off the ground, hissing in pain when his blistered palms touched the floor.
“And that’s how it should be! You shouldn’t be hesitating or asking for permission from humans! You’re their superior. I’m their superior. All vampires are superior to humans! The council has forgotten its purpose. If no one does anything, they’ll start passing laws to protect human scum.” Azari pushed August back, knocking them against the wall again. “That’s why I have to kill you. If the council finds me, they’ll have me executed. I have too many things to do still.”
“This isn’t why vampires exist!” August growled through gritted teeth.
“Oh really? And why do you think they exist?”
“We’re accidents! Freaks of nature! There is no purpose for us!”
Azari leaned in close to August. “If you really believe that, then why are you fighting so hard?”
August hesitated.
“People don’t fight for things they don’t believe in! If you really thought you have no purpose, you wouldn’t care what I think my purpose is!” Azari kicked August in the head and August toppled to the ground.
“This could have been so much easier for everyone.” Azari let go of Morgan, who fell limply to the ground, barely conscious and too weak from blood loss to stand. Azari drew the back of his hand across his lips, wiping away blood. “But you had to complicate things.”
Azari knelt on the ground next to Morgan. “I’m going to use you to take him down once I find him.” He whispered, a grin splitting his face. “And then, I’m going to kill you both.”
And Azari walked out the door.
—
August closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree in the park. He didn’t realize he was shaking.
It didn’t matter how many years went by. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand.
The pain always felt fresh when he thought about it.
Hissister.His responsibility. He was supposed to take care of her, but he didn’t.
He killed her.
Maybe he shouldn’t have walked out on Morgan so abruptly. But then again, if he had stayed, things would have only gone downhill.
Suddenly an odd feeling of uneasiness stabbed at August’s mind. He opened his eyes just in time to be knocked suddenly to the ground. He didn’t have time to register who his as a assailant was, but he could tell from their strength that they weren’t human.
August kicked them off relatively easily and scrambled to his feet.
A bitter taste settled in his mouth as he locked eyes with Azari. “You.”
“Surprise! It’s me.” He looked too happy. There was no way he was going to beat August in a test of strength— August had just proved that. So why was he smiling?
August’s thoughts snapped back to Morgan.
“What do you want? What did you do?”
“I think you can make an educated guess about that. Both of those, actually.” Azari stepped closer.
August brought up his hands to fight.
“Put your fists down. You look like an idiot. You can’t hurt me if you ever want to see your little pet alive again.”
“You know that’s not true. There’s only one way vampires can die, which means you’ve either already killed them or you have to go back to kill them. If they’re dead, what the hell is the point of leaving you alive. If they’re alive, I’ll find them after I put an end to this shit.” August lunged forward, but Azari was able to sidestep in time.
“Wrong. I mean, partially correct, except there are billions of places they could be. I’m fast enough that they could be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Or buried six feet underground— do you really think you can find them? And if so, how long will it take you? Maybe hours. Maybe decades. Maybe never. Are you really going to put them through that? When you could cooperate and save them from years of torturous waiting? Some things are worse than death, you know.”
August hesitated. Azari wasn’t wrong. He might be bluffing— Morgan could still be in his house. For some reason, though, August doubted it. He was right. August wasn’t going to make Morgan wait years to be found again. And he couldn’t guarantee he’d find him quickly.
“… So what happens if I decide to go with you? I can’t imagine you plan to just lead me straight to them. What’s your trick?”
“No trick. At least, not yet. I will lead you straight to them.”
August didn’t trust him— how could he— but he didn’t see a better option. “Fine. Take me to them.”
He could tell that there were a lot of people in the room. They were all talking in hushed voices, a warm weight in his hand, Weylin cracked his eyes open and saw it was Cass, holding his hand and in a conversation with a… police officer? No vampire control officer, he squeezed Cass’s hand, and his roommate’s head whipped around to see him.
hi! I’ve been lurking the whump community on my main account, but I would like to interact with people on this one!
it doesn’t really matter what you call me, anything is fine :)
I’ve been kinda nervous because the subject of whump isn’t the tamest, but you all seem like such nice people!
I have a lot of ocs that I use for whump. most of them are vampires.
some of my favorite things are
-obsessive whumper
-friends turned whumper
-captivity whump
-dubcon stuff (sorrrry)
-branding!!
-vampires
i’m sure there are more, but these are the only ones I can think of right now. other than that, I don’t really know what to say! i look forward to being a part of this community!
Welcome to the whump community! I love captivity whump and vampires too My series The Chimera Chronicles has a vampire main character, if you’re interested.
CW: Vampire Whumper, Vampire Caretaker, Pet/Bloodbag Whumpee, Captivity, Restraints, Muzzled, Vegetative State/Disassociation, Use of hypnosis/mind control, Starvation (brief mention of weight), Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Mentions of death, Selling of human, Illness/infection, Implied previous abuse…*I feel like I’ve missed some, please let me know if I need to add some*
-
“You understand… this is an ‘end of life’ sale? That’s why the price on the advertisement was substantially low”, Vince cautioned with a quizzing brow, leading August through the long, winding corridors of his manor. “I very much doubt the boy will live to see the light of next week. I advise that this be a temporary blood bag till you find something a bit more ‘permanent’”. Biting his tongue, needle-sharp fangs sinking into the edges of the muscular organ, August suppresses the repulsed quips and curses he wishes he could hurl in Vince’s direction. The way in which he spoke of the boy as merely food and nothing more, it sickened him to his stomach.
Was it not that the boy’s heart still beats vehemently within his chest? Hopes and desires nesting in his soul that he may now never fulfill, affection that would go unshared, goodbyes never to be uttered? This was not a matter as simple as some food going off; did Vince really not comprehend the complexities of humanity? Or was it more so that he chose not to understand, lacking the necessary compassion and empathy to care? A slight suspicion indicated it would be the latter reasoning. The boy’s suffering will not end with him upon his death, as brutal as that truth was. It will only trigger a ripple of despair amongst those who care for and miss him, and that’s why August swore to himself and will later swear to Declan if given the chance, that he will one day reunite with his family again.
“I understand. I wish to proceed with the sale.” August bluntly retorted. Keep it professional, no letting tangled emotions get the better of you. See the boy, pay Vince, take him home. Done.
Vince hums in approval, a toothy smile growing on his face. When they finally approach the brass-bound, hefty door locking away the basement, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume it imprisoned an unimaginable monster, maybe even the devil himself - instead of a measly human with a melted mind. Dozens of varying locks bolted down the entire length of the door; chains, bolts, key locks. By the time the first couple were done, the rest of them were completely redundant. Overkill. August crosses his arms across his chest, tapping his feet impatiently on the floor with a vexed huff, awaiting for Vince to go through the hassle of opening every single one. When he does, he forcefully shoves the door open, causing an almighty metallic bang to ring through the house. Outstretching his arm inside the dark abyss of the room, gesturing for August to enter first.
“After you…”, Vince grins at him, waving his hand to usher August through the doorway,
Descending into the basement, the icy hush of air instantly wraps itself around August’s body - an involuntary shiver coursing down his spine, goosebumps prickling along his arms. If August; a cold-blooded creature, is bothered by the extreme chill, he dreads to imagine how the human must be coping with it. Rusty squeaks of the metal stairs sound with each cautious step down, and then the boy comes into view. Crimson eyes widening at the sight laying before him.
Declan is crumpled onto callused, bruised knees, head bowed down towards the floor with sopping wet hair leaking water droplets off the end of his curls. The boy is violently shivering, the freezing temperature and his soaked, dripping wet skin and clothes being the culprit. Though August imagines that Declan is entirely oblivious of just how much his body is rocking and trembling on the ground, fatigued muscles involuntarily straining from the physical stress.
“I did you the favour of getting him all spritzed and cleaned up”, Vince chirps, striding towards the boy and hooking his fingers underneath his chin to snap his head up and aimed towards August - his body just limply rolls in whichever direction it’s forced towards, not an ounce of stiffness. Half-lidded, glassy eyes just wearily blink at him, completely out of it and truthfully not comprehending a single word spoken in his vicinity. But now the boy’s face is lifted, August notices the thick leather muzzle buckled around his head and swallowing the lower half of his face. Scrawny arms stretched impossibly tight behind his back, wrists and upper arms bound with lengths of scratchy rope forcing his chest to puff outwards.
“He absolutely stank; reeked of sweat and piss and well… god knows what else. But don’t worry, that service is all free of charge-”
“You said he was broken? That he was living in a comatose state?” August queried, beaming a look of perplexion towards the other vampire that was now working at flicking wet strands of hair out of the human’s expressionless face.
“That he is, indeed” Vince let out a chesty sigh, plucking his hand away and allowing the boy’s head to plummet back down onto his chest. “It’s a shame, really-”
“So then why is he muzzled and tied?” August interjected, the disgust in his voice unintentionally evident.
“Ah! That…” Vince trailed off, back and stroking a finger across the muzzle, tracing along the boy’s prominent jawline to zero reaction. “Some other prospective buyers expressed… concerns. Believed him to be faking, trying his luck at a little escape. Wouldn’t hear a word of it when I ensured the boy can’t string a sentence let alone devise an elaborate escape plan. Just a precaution, to give you peace of mind-”. August’s stomach churned, observing the demeaning way Vince’s fingers swept across Declan’s paling complexion, floating over angry scars and old, healing wounds that were seemingly painted across his entire body.
“Thank you, but that’s unnecessary.”
“Want to inspect the goods before you buy? Maybe a little taste sample?” Vince roughly forces the boy’s head to the side, shoved into his own shoulder; exposing the sore, wounded throat with two perfect puncture marks.
Infection. August immediately homes in on the sore, inflamed skin circling the two fang incisions, and can almost see the sickly heat radiating from it. Poorly scabbed over wounds, weeping and raw. It’s definitely infected.
“No. I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen. I’ll take him”. To leave the poor thing to suffer another day in that state was nothing short of barbaric and cruel, and to sit idly back and allow another vampire to swoop in and buy him first, was complicit in what would be the boy’s murder.
“Perfect!” Vince’s face lights up, clapping his hands together with anticipation, “I don’t do returns. No refunds. I believe I’ve been pretty transparent; the boy is dying. Will die. There’s no dragging him back in three days time when he’s finally kicked the bucket-”
“Understood.” August chucks the envelope of cash into Vince’s hands, a smug grin emerging as he flicks his finger through all the notes, stepping away with satisfaction from the bowing pet.
“All yours.”
August bends to his knees, lowering to Declan’s level, refusing to insinuate any derranged hierarchy of power by towering above, looking down on him. The human’s pupils were mere pin prick dots almost lost in the murky brown eyes, glaring blankly back at the vampire’s deep ruby one’s. And though his body racked with trembles from the cold, when August gently places the back of his hand against the boy’s pale forehead, he’s warm to the touch. Blistering hot and sweating in fact; August hisses and withdraws his hand, his worries of infection further confirmed. He begins scooping the boy into his arms, he doesn’t expect him and will not make him stumble to the car, doubting his abused body could handle the exertion. Even if Declan wasn’t incredibly light, reduced to skin and bones - August was more than strong enough to carry him without so much as busting a sweat.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Vince scoffs, “Walk with your new master, pet!” he bellows the order over August’s shoulder. Declan instantly obeys much to August’s horror; attempting to wobble to his feet, stumbling off balance and looking like he was experiencing an earthquake with how much every muscle was plagued with pained tremors.
“NO! Sleep!” August shouts the alarmed command to override Vince’s, watching with regretful eyes as Declan’s body crashes harshly back to the ground, eyes rolling back into his head and eyelids fluttering shut. Vince shoots a questioning look at August, glancing down at the unconscious boy and flickering his attention back up to the peculiar buyer. August really resented the idea of using persuasion on the boy, he had no intentions of everdoing it but Vince forced his hand. It was safer, kinder and merciful in the long run to force him unconscious… he’d avoid using persuasion at all cost in future.
August unclips the muzzle from Declan’s mouth, carefully removing the bit pressing down on his tongue, the saliva drooling out with its removal and tossing the repulsive device across to the other side of the room.
“You can keep that vile thing!”, August growls, the mask finally slipping and his true emotions leaking out. He wordlessly scoops Declans limp body into a bridal carry, the boy’s legs dangling to the side and freely swinging through the air with each step. This buyer absolutely befuddled Vince; acting so high and mighty, ‘holier than thou’ type bullshit. He silently judges the man, his cowardly gentleness with the pet.
“Pleasure doing business with you-” August grits between his teeth, making a point of barging past Vince with the boy cradled in his arms, and seeing himself out.
Carefully, he shuffles Declan into the car, laying stretched on his side across the leather back seats. Fiddly fingers working at the tight knotted ropes brutally restraining the poor thing. A sense of relief washing over when the binds are pulled away, limbs falling to his sides, but a pang of guilt ensues when he spots the raw, bruised skin that had been concealed underneath. August unwinds the seatbelts from their holsters and clinks both sets around Declan’s sleeping body. For a moment, he just sits with him and watches the weak, tired breaths shudder from his lips - the troubled rise and fall of his chest. Circling soothing rubs on his back that he is well aware have no effect on him, it won’t calm any nerves because there are no nerves to calm. Just hollow. But August is determined to fix that, certain he can breathe life back into the boy and nurse him to health.
It may not work. Not oblivious to the fact that a rough journey lay ahead. Maybe it will all be fruitless and fighting for a lost cause. But he can at least try, right?
CW: Vampire Whumper, Vampire Caretaker, Pet/Bloodbag Whumpee, Captivity, Restraints, Muzzled, Vegetative State/Disassociation, Use of hypnosis/mind control, Starvation (brief mention of weight), Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Mentions of death, Selling of human, Illness/infection, Implied previous abuse…*I feel like I’ve missed some, please let me know if I need to add some*
-
“You understand… this is an ‘end of life’ sale? That’s why the price on the advertisement was substantially low”, Vince cautioned with a quizzing brow, leading August through the long, winding corridors of his manor. “I very much doubt the boy will live to see the light of next week. I advise that this be a temporary blood bag till you find something a bit more ‘permanent’”. Biting his tongue, needle-sharp fangs sinking into the edges of the muscular organ, August suppresses the repulsed quips and curses he wishes he could hurl in Vince’s direction. The way in which he spoke of the boy as merely food and nothing more, it sickened him to his stomach.
Was it not that the boy’s heart still beats vehemently within his chest? Hopes and desires nesting in his soul that he may now never fulfill, affection that would go unshared, goodbyes never to be uttered? This was not a matter as simple as some food going off; did Vince really not comprehend the complexities of humanity? Or was it more so that he chose not to understand, lacking the necessary compassion and empathy to care? A slight suspicion indicated it would be the latter reasoning. The boy’s suffering will not end with him upon his death, as brutal as that truth was. It will only trigger a ripple of despair amongst those who care for and miss him, and that’s why August swore to himself and will later swear to Declan if given the chance, that he will one day reunite with his family again.
“I understand. I wish to proceed with the sale.” August bluntly retorted. Keep it professional, no letting tangled emotions get the better of you. See the boy, pay Vince, take him home. Done.
Vince hums in approval, a toothy smile growing on his face. When they finally approach the brass-bound, hefty door locking away the basement, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume it imprisoned an unimaginable monster, maybe even the devil himself - instead of a measly human with a melted mind. Dozens of varying locks bolted down the entire length of the door; chains, bolts, key locks. By the time the first couple were done, the rest of them were completely redundant. Overkill. August crosses his arms across his chest, tapping his feet impatiently on the floor with a vexed huff, awaiting for Vince to go through the hassle of opening every single one. When he does, he forcefully shoves the door open, causing an almighty metallic bang to ring through the house. Outstretching his arm inside the dark abyss of the room, gesturing for August to enter first.
“After you…”, Vince grins at him, waving his hand to usher August through the doorway,
Descending into the basement, the icy hush of air instantly wraps itself around August’s body - an involuntary shiver coursing down his spine, goosebumps prickling along his arms. If August; a cold-blooded creature, is bothered by the extreme chill, he dreads to imagine how the human must be coping with it. Rusty squeaks of the metal stairs sound with each cautious step down, and then the boy comes into view. Crimson eyes widening at the sight laying before him.
Declan is crumpled onto callused, bruised knees, head bowed down towards the floor with sopping wet hair leaking water droplets off the end of his curls. The boy is violently shivering, the freezing temperature and his soaked, dripping wet skin and clothes being the culprit. Though August imagines that Declan is entirely oblivious of just how much his body is rocking and trembling on the ground, fatigued muscles involuntarily straining from the physical stress.
“I did you the favour of getting him all spritzed and cleaned up”, Vince chirps, striding towards the boy and hooking his fingers underneath his chin to snap his head up and aimed towards August - his body just limply rolls in whichever direction it’s forced towards, not an ounce of stiffness. Half-lidded, glassy eyes just wearily blink at him, completely out of it and truthfully not comprehending a single word spoken in his vicinity. But now the boy’s face is lifted, August notices the thick leather muzzle buckled around his head and swallowing the lower half of his face. Scrawny arms stretched impossibly tight behind his back, wrists and upper arms bound with lengths of scratchy rope forcing his chest to puff outwards.
“He absolutely stank; reeked of sweat and piss and well… god knows what else. But don’t worry, that service is all free of charge-”
“You said he was broken? That he was living in a comatose state?” August queried, beaming a look of perplexion towards the other vampire that was now working at flicking wet strands of hair out of the human’s expressionless face.
“That he is, indeed” Vince let out a chesty sigh, plucking his hand away and allowing the boy’s head to plummet back down onto his chest. “It’s a shame, really-”
“So then why is he muzzled and tied?” August interjected, the disgust in his voice unintentionally evident.
“Ah! That…” Vince trailed off, back and stroking a finger across the muzzle, tracing along the boy’s prominent jawline to zero reaction. “Some other prospective buyers expressed… concerns. Believed him to be faking, trying his luck at a little escape. Wouldn’t hear a word of it when I ensured the boy can’t string a sentence let alone devise an elaborate escape plan. Just a precaution, to give you peace of mind-”. August’s stomach churned, observing the demeaning way Vince’s fingers swept across Declan’s paling complexion, floating over angry scars and old, healing wounds that were seemingly painted across his entire body.
“Thank you, but that’s unnecessary.”
“Want to inspect the goods before you buy? Maybe a little taste sample?” Vince roughly forces the boy’s head to the side, shoved into his own shoulder; exposing the sore, wounded throat with two perfect puncture marks.
Infection. August immediately homes in on the sore, inflamed skin circling the two fang incisions, and can almost see the sickly heat radiating from it. Poorly scabbed over wounds, weeping and raw. It’s definitely infected.
“No. I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen. I’ll take him”. To leave the poor thing to suffer another day in that state was nothing short of barbaric and cruel, and to sit idly back and allow another vampire to swoop in and buy him first, was complicit in what would be the boy’s murder.
“Perfect!” Vince’s face lights up, clapping his hands together with anticipation, “I don’t do returns. No refunds. I believe I’ve been pretty transparent; the boy is dying. Will die. There’s no dragging him back in three days time when he’s finally kicked the bucket-”
“Understood.” August chucks the envelope of cash into Vince’s hands, a smug grin emerging as he flicks his finger through all the notes, stepping away with satisfaction from the bowing pet.
“All yours.”
August bends to his knees, lowering to Declan’s level, refusing to insinuate any derranged hierarchy of power by towering above, looking down on him. The human’s pupils were mere pin prick dots almost lost in the murky brown eyes, glaring blankly back at the vampire’s deep ruby one’s. And though his body racked with trembles from the cold, when August gently places the back of his hand against the boy’s pale forehead, he’s warm to the touch. Blistering hot and sweating in fact; August hisses and withdraws his hand, his worries of infection further confirmed. He begins scooping the boy into his arms, he doesn’t expect him and will not make him stumble to the car, doubting his abused body could handle the exertion. Even if Declan wasn’t incredibly light, reduced to skin and bones - August was more than strong enough to carry him without so much as busting a sweat.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Vince scoffs, “Walk with your new master, pet!” he bellows the order over August’s shoulder. Declan instantly obeys much to August’s horror; attempting to wobble to his feet, stumbling off balance and looking like he was experiencing an earthquake with how much every muscle was plagued with pained tremors.
“NO! Sleep!” August shouts the alarmed command to override Vince’s, watching with regretful eyes as Declan’s body crashes harshly back to the ground, eyes rolling back into his head and eyelids fluttering shut. Vince shoots a questioning look at August, glancing down at the unconscious boy and flickering his attention back up to the peculiar buyer. August really resented the idea of using persuasion on the boy, he had no intentions of everdoing it but Vince forced his hand. It was safer, kinder and merciful in the long run to force him unconscious… he’d avoid using persuasion at all cost in future.
August unclips the muzzle from Declan’s mouth, carefully removing the bit pressing down on his tongue, the saliva drooling out with its removal and tossing the repulsive device across to the other side of the room.
“You can keep that vile thing!”, August growls, the mask finally slipping and his true emotions leaking out. He wordlessly scoops Declans limp body into a bridal carry, the boy’s legs dangling to the side and freely swinging through the air with each step. This buyer absolutely befuddled Vince; acting so high and mighty, ‘holier than thou’ type bullshit. He silently judges the man, his cowardly gentleness with the pet.
“Pleasure doing business with you-” August grits between his teeth, making a point of barging past Vince with the boy cradled in his arms, and seeing himself out.
Carefully, he shuffles Declan into the car, laying stretched on his side across the leather back seats. Fiddly fingers working at the tight knotted ropes brutally restraining the poor thing. A sense of relief washing over when the binds are pulled away, limbs falling to his sides, but a pang of guilt ensues when he spots the raw, bruised skin that had been concealed underneath. August unwinds the seatbelts from their holsters and clinks both sets around Declan’s sleeping body. For a moment, he just sits with him and watches the weak, tired breaths shudder from his lips - the troubled rise and fall of his chest. Circling soothing rubs on his back that he is well aware have no effect on him, it won’t calm any nerves because there are no nerves to calm. Just hollow. But August is determined to fix that, certain he can breathe life back into the boy and nurse him to health.
It may not work. Not oblivious to the fact that a rough journey lay ahead. Maybe it will all be fruitless and fighting for a lost cause. But he can at least try, right?
CW: vampire whumpers, bloodbag whumpee, pet whump, referenced blood drinking, hurt/comfort, fragile trust, past abuse mention, fear of punishment, nightmares, dubious caretaker
By one in the morning, the snow had stopped. The clouds parted and a waxing moon rose white as bone over the bare treetops. As Maxim was preparing his things to leave for Baltimore for the rest of the evening, his new pet knocked timidly on the doorframe.
“Sir?” he asked politely, hair mussed from sleep. He was usually still awake when Maxim stirred at dusk, and went to sleep in the wee hours of the morning either off on his own or stretched on the settee in the study. Having mortal company had been undeniably pleasant the last few nights. Max hadn’t bothered with them in a long time, but he was surprised at how much he enjoyed looking over and seeing the soft rise and fall of this one’s chest.
“Good morning, earth-angel,” he teased, sitting in a chair to lace his shoes. “Did you have a good nap?”
Carlo hesitated at the door, looking nervous and more timid around him than he ought to, after last night.
“What is it?” Max frowned.
The boy came forward, falling to his knees at Maxim’s feet, in front of his half-laced shoes. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, hanging his head.
Max stared. He’d seen small shows of emotion from this one, including a very touching display of affection when he had crawled into his arms last night after offering him his wrist. But mostly he was reserved, shy and unassuming. This was something obviously ingrained in him— a habit of literally begging at the feet of a Vampire so not to be hurt.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he whispered at the floor. “I— I didn’t mean to, I fell— I fell asleep when it was still light out, I swear! And then I woke up and—” The boy lifted his face, cheeks so lively and pink— the blood right there, his skin golden as Achilles’. But his eyes were wet, shining with fear.
They feel pain so acutely, Maxim thought. Though he did not understand this one’s distress, he reached out all the same to soothe it, stopping in midair when the boy flinched. The young ones may have hit him, he thought sourly. If Erik ever struck him it was with much restraint, or he would not have survived long.
“Carlo,” he said gently. “You and I have nothing amiss but a misunderstanding, I’m sure of that.”
The boy swiped at his eyes and crawled closer, inserting himself between Maxim’s knees. He pulled his shirt collar away from his neck, exposing his collarbone and half his shoulder and tilting his head to the side. “Please.”His voice wavered. The neck was a dangerous escalation, and it appeared he knew it. “Please, take it this way. I’m sorry.”
Maxim’s fangs itched at the sight of a bared throat. He would have to exercise extra care to take from the neck. It would be easier to cause harm that way— all those vital and vulnerable parts so fragile in his arms, the pulse of his living heart and the sweet, scented heat of his blood…
“What are you doing, little one?”
The boy closed his eyes, waiting for him to— what? To bite him while he was on his knees and in tears? Once again, he was disappointed with how Erik had treated their bloodbag for him to think so little of Vampires now— to assume the worst.
“What do you take me for?” he patted his knee. “Come up here.”
Carlo hesitated.
“I’m not gonna bite you,” Maxim promised. “I want to hold you again.”
That did the trick. The boy rose from the floor and climbed into his arms, all long legs and elbows until he settled with an audibly shaky breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t mean to sleep past dusk,” he said, as if that explained why he was so upset. “I would never mean to. And you’re leaving, but you’re supposed to drink…drink from me before you go.” He fell quiet before adding, “Right? That’s- that’s what I’m for.”
“That’s not what you’re for,” he told the boy softly. Though it does help. This all made some sense to him now. Carlo felt he had not made himself available, and unavailable was something a bloodbag was never supposed to be. It made sense Erik would have drunk from him before outings. It’s the Vampire’s equivalent of doing a bump, he thought dryly.
He held the mortal closer, petting the back of his neck. God, the heat on him. It seemed so cosmically unlikely to him now that human bodies could be so warm, but this was closer contact than he usually had. He wanted to lay his hands on the warmest parts, where the blood was hottest— his neck just under the hairline, his underarms, the soft backs of his knees…he remembered for the first time in a while that their breath made little puffs of smoke in the air when it was cold enough outside, and that thought reminded him he had to buy this one warmer clothes, which for some reason endeared him further.
How quickly he was coming to care for his supposed bloodbag. Mortals were funny this way. Like standing on a beach of a million pebbles, one begins to think of them as a whole, and a handful is of no consequence one way or another. But if you picked up a singular small stone and looked at it closely, if you smoothed over it with your thumb and thought about its greys and greens and the salt lines the water has made on its side, then it is the only stone in the world to you now of any consequence, and you find you don’t want to give it back to the sea.
He knew Stella and Simon were waiting, but he could not yet bring himself to ask the boy to move. He held onto him, telling him quietly all the ways things were going to be for him now.
It had been months, and Jim’s broken arm still wasn’t better. Well, it was better than it had been, at least. For the first two weeks, he was in constant pain, crying himself to sleep every morning. It wasn’t like that anymore, at least. Now it was just a dull ache that never fully went away, the bump slightly jutting out under his skin making him feel sick whenever he looked at it. It had healed wrong, Jim knew that much.
It was probably never going to get better than this. If he ever got out, it’d have to be re-broken. The thought made him squeamish, but he didn’t think too hard about it. The possibility of ever getting out seemed more distant to him by the day. It was likely he was going to live the rest of his life as Kane’s property.
The door to his room unlocked. Jim dropped to his knees silently and craned his neck to the side, eyeing his captor.
content: vampire whumpee, vampire caretaker, rescue, mind control / forced suicide, minor character death, begging
a bunch of little butterfly effect things such as “liz kept in touch with caroline” and “the hunters actually made liz aware they were torturing kane” coalesced to make this happen! kane is much more injured here than he was when jim picked him up in canon.
Jim was a good bloodbag, and good bloodbags don’t try to run.
He’d seen three potential opportunities to escape over the years since his last disastrous attempt, but they’d all been too risky. All he could think of was Kane towering over him while he lay helpless on the ground, and he just couldn’t do it. He was too scared. It would be worse than last time if he was caught, he was sure. So he stayed good, and didn’t run.
Jim didn’t like his life, but he was used to it by now. It had been five years, after all. The five-year anniversary of his capture had just passed last month. Jim didn’t say a word the whole day. Kane didn’t bring it up either.
He wondered if Kane even noticed that it’d been half a decade since he stole Jim’s life away from him. He probably hadn’t.
The fact that it worked because Kane simply forgot about him. The moment of standing in the sun while Kane is right there but can’t get to him (something about knowing what’s going to happen to Kane makes this even more… !!!) The ticks were such a nice touch - bloodsuckers everywhere! And then poor Jim clutching on to his stick! I love this!
