This is something I have genuinely wanted to make for a while, a place to dump all my OC writing and reblogs the content of those I follow!!
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WARNING:
Due to me following quite a few whump creators, you will most likely run into quite a bit of that here, and a bit of darkness from my own characters as well. Is that is not your cup of tea, then please be responsible and don't click that follow button. I prefer all my followers to be 18+ for my own peace of mind, and I will check those who follow me.
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real talk tho ive seen ppl talk abt how long hair on men isn't intrinsically feminine & assuming so is racist can we get the same convo going for Black women w short hair can we start talking abt how short hair isn't intrinsically masculine or is that a step too far
Strange racists and homophobes on the internet seem to have access to an alternate way cooler version of TV than me. "every white character on TV is in an interracial relationship" "every show has a gay couple in it" "main characters keep having to secretly be bisexual and nonbinary" "every show has gratuitous full frontal nudity" like damn promise?? What channel???
for real though, those DO NOT WATCH OR YOU'LL CORRUPT YOUR CHILDREN lists put out by conservative christian family groups is where I find all the stellar tv shows. Like, shit I didn't know half of those existed, thanks for finding them for me, gonna go watch 30 hours of gay tv now!
For personal context, before I went to the '98 Burning Man festival, one of the things I'd read from a couple different journalists was that "everybody" runs around naked. Which, fine by me, I'd already spent a lot of time in clothing-optional spaces, I'm not fanatic about it but it's nice.
So I got there early and set up a public shade structure on one of Black Rock City's main roads and spent most of each afternoon just watching the crowds go by. I don't remember seeing more than one actually naked person the whole week. I think a topless woman passed by my intersection maybe every half an hour, sometimes once an hour. So why in the hell were people, normally pretty smart and observant writers, coming away with the impression that everybody was naked?
Then I remembered an unrelated passage from Joel Garreau's great book about the history of the outer-ring suburbs, Edge City. Mall developers told him flat-out that they tried to keep the crowds in their malls less than 5% black. Not because they themselves were racist, but because they had determined, experimentally, that if more than 5% of the people in the mall are black, the median white shopper will wrongly describe the mall as at least half black, as mostly black. And not a few of them would describe it, at 6% black, as a mall where "only black people go." Why?
Because, emotionally, they were still upset over the last one when the next one came into view.
Same as the journalists describing Black Rock City as all naked. Same as the right-wing religious culture warriors describing television as entirely mixed-race and gender non-conforming. Not because it's even vaguely true, we know that, but because they haven't gotten over their discomfort over the last one by the time the next one comes along. The anger, not the stimulus, is the part that's continuous, so their mind lies to them that it's "all" the thing they can't get over.
Similar effect for the presence/proportion of women in things, by the way: https://health.howstuffworks.com/mental-health/human-nature/perception/how-17-equals-496-the-amazing-multiplying-women.htm
Truthfully one of the most insane things to me that tumblr users have ever done is transform Dracula from a book about the Victorian scooby gang trying to defeat a vampire into a tragic time loop (which in turn makes the story even more of a gothic horror in my opinion) via the existence of Dracula Daily
Like what do you mean every single year the Harkers, the suitor squad and Van Helsing are forced to relive the worst year of their life
Sure they win in the end but over and over they are forced to loose the people they love, be striped of their personhood and fight what must have seemed like an impossible battle.
And nobody is even aware of this time loop except us and we just feed into this narrative. “Oh my friend Jonathan has just sent me another letter let’s hope this goes better than last year ;)”
And from a literary analysis standpoint this whole change is inane because it frames the book in an entirely new light. There is a meta layer of horror being applied to the book that was never possible before.
How many years will they suffer like this before someone realizes something is wrong? Before someone gets déjà vu just a few too many times?Before Jonathan and Mina realize they don’t know what their son looks like all grown up? How many years before they are free?
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I watched some videos by that guy who set up a fake ICE hotline to get people to snitch on members of their community. Not only is this very real and useful praxis- he's preventing these ghouls from reaching the real ICE- he also handles the calls in a really amazing way.
For the most part, he doesn't make accusations or insults people, he just repeats back the appalling shit they're telling him. And they get fucking furious. The example that went viral was him fielding a call from a kindergarten teacher who wanted to report one of her student's parents.
This absolutely disgusting piece of shit thought that the parents were "illegals" who were "taking up resources" because they weren't born in the US. The child was a US citizen because he was born here, but she wanted the "ICE" agent to "look into it."
So this dude just starts repeating stuff back like "so you want me to load the parents of the 5-year-old child you teach into a van and deport them, right?" and this bitch has the gall to say "you make it sound terrible 😅" in a self-conscious way. And then when he finally makes a more direct insult by nonchalantly saying that the 5-year-old "must be a major threat to national security," she demands to speak to his supervisor (which he agrees to and then makes no effort to change his voice for lmao).
This is far from the only call where the whole "repeat their rhetoric back to them" tactic pisses the caller off, too. As rotten, immoral, and disgusting as these ghouls are, I believe there's a tiny part of them that is aware of how fucked up their beliefs and behavior are. Being forced to confront that leads to painful cognitive dissonance and they'd rather lash out at the person who criticized them than look inward and do some self-reflection. Forcing people to confront their own cognitive dissonance of "I'm a good person" clashing with "I have objectively gross and harmful beliefs" is useful, even if it will never go anywhere.
Something that also got me was how the teacher kept looking for OP to soothe and assuage her ego/conscience and got progressively more agitated when he wouldn’t. This is someone who desperately needs to think she’s a good person who is doing good things when what she’s doing is objectively heinous.
She thought she was in the right because she was trying to tear apart this family in a “polite” and indirect way. She’s not the one holding a gun and herding people into an unmarked van, after all. The fact that her call would have directly led to that outcome doesn’t register as culpability to her until OP makes her connect the dots. THAT’S why she got upset, because she was forced to acknowledge the blood on her hands.
You need to post a comment on this website right now.
The FDA is considering a petition to make all trans women on estrogen enroll in a registry as a condition of our prescriptions.
If you are in the United States, you have the power to comment on this proposed regulation. The instructions for doing so, and more about the petition, are here. I just left a comment, and it took two minutes. You can do so anonymously.
The petition is bad for other reasons too. It blatantly singles out transgender women and asks for mandatory psychiatric gatekeeping of lifesaving gender affirming care.
right now there are 61 comments on the petition and all are in support of it. Being one of the voices that pushes back is the easiest thing in the world.
If you don't like those posts about how everyone on this website doesn't care about trans women, and wouldn't lift a finger to save us from genocide, here's your chance to prove them wrong.
If you are an expert, a medical professional, or a researcher, we especially need your voice. Please do not hesitate to leave a comment. Again the link is here.
Even if you're not an expert, it doesn't need to be an essay. I left a comment last night that was basically "This is stupid, baseless culture war bullshit and you know it. Grow up" in maybe twice as many words, with the last sentence literally being "Grow up."
I think Sir Cameron was tricky for some people because it involves absurdity escalating to levels that some people found genuinely upsetting in a "no, you can't do that, go back to how it was before" kind of way, but the spider/alien book will be a smoother ride because the opening premise already peaks the absurdity, and the rest after that is just smooth maintenance.
I mean if your benchmark is something like 100 Years of Solitude, then Sir Cameron is a bland nothingburger, but because it was marketed by my publisher as a romantasy a good portion of that target audience got really scared and threw up when a microwave appeared.
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Can we pretty please take a moment to understand and appreciate the fact Mensah probably put the fear of God and Hell into the crew on the company Gunship? Think about it.
They don't know Murderbots history with Mensah, just that she bought its contract.
They don't know it doesn't want to hurt her or make her afraid of it.
All the crew knows is this woman literally grabbed a SecUnit by the collar, looking into its face, and told it 'No' like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. You know the thing that's so dangerous it is classified as an unsecured deadly weapon and has a history of mass murder? (yeah it wasn't actually mass murder but they don't know that) They were probably shitting bricks and I love it so much.
The setting that prevents your work being used to train AI models is turned off by default! I had no idea about this until now! Artists, go to your settings, click “visibility”, and turn on this setting! Protect your work!
One thing I wonder about irt the Fall of the Dragon Riders is the effect the sudden extinction of dragons would have on Alagaësia's ecosystems. Dragons are mega huge super long-lived apex predators that would require a ton of food to survive and would have a key role in the ecosystem in general. Keeping herbivore populations in check. Their waste fertilizing the soil. The big dragons changing the terrain in a similar manner to elephants or bisons, felling trees when they move through forests, burning meadows when they fight one another, creating temporary pools with their footsteps where frogs can spawn, etcetera etcetera
Galbatorix's hunger for power wouldn't just affect the lives of the sentient races, but life on the continent as a whole
You know that trope where the land becomes barren as like a symbol of the Evil Ruler's negative effect on the kingdom à la Scar from the Lion King? Galby would actually achieve that
content: captivity, starvation, dehydration, cold whump, begging, vomit mention, mind control, blood drinking, non sexual nudity, drowning, non permanent death, defiant immortal whumpee, creepy vampire whumper
SURPRISE BRC CHAPTER!! ITS BACK AGAIN. HAVE FUN (i also had no fucking clue what to title this one so it may change lol i just wanted to post it NOW)
—
Aspen woke up to a rough nudge to his shoulder. He blinked his eyes open, the dim light of the basement allowing him to see the vampire looming over him, nudging him with his foot and holding something in his hands.
“Get up, corpse,” Silas said, backing up and sitting down in a wooden chair across from Aspen that had probably been placed there while he was out.
Aspen swallowed and timidly sat up, squinting his eyes and curiously looking at what the vampire was holding.
“I have food for you. And water.”
Aspen’s eyes lit up, and he almost jumped up in joy if not for the crushing, gnawing weight of starvation and the chain around his ankle holding him down.
“Can I—” Before he could finish his sentence, Aspen broke out in a series of dry, raspy coughs. “W-water,” he rasped. “Please?”
Silas considered him for a moment, then tossed him a plastic water bottle. Aspen scrambled to catch it and after a few seconds of struggling to open it, and ignoring Silas’s amused grin as he did so, he quickly brought it to his lips and took a drink.
The fresh, cool water felt like heaven on his tongue. He gulped it down faster than he could think, relishing as the cool liquid slid down his dehydrated throat. It was gone as fast as it came, and Aspen looked up at the vampire with pleading eyes.
The vampire smiled a wicked grin. “Aww, you want more?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then beg me to go get some.”
Aspen’s heart sank. “What?”
“You heard me.”
…Well, he didn’t really have a choice. He was thirsty. Aspen looked to the ground, and carefully moved to sit on his knees in front of the vampire. He peered up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and let out a shuddering breath. “P-please. C-can I pl-please have some more water? Please please please—”
“Not perfect,” Silas interrupted. “But you’ll get better in time,” the vampire hummed. He handed Aspen another bottle of water, and he drank it gingerly. “I would have given it to you anyway, but I just love hearing your cute little whimpers.”
Aspen ignored what he was saying, just waiting for the food. The food. His gnawing pit in his stomach grew at the thought of finally eating soon.
Silas sighed, feigning sympathy. “You must be so hungry. I’ve had to go a while without eating too, before. But not anymore. Not with you here. We’ll keep each other from going hungry from now on, isn’t that right?”
“I-I guess so.”
“Good. I’ll feed you first, and then you can feed me. Here,” Silas said, tossing something at Aspen.
Aspen scrambled to pick up a store-bought sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap, his mouth watering just at the sight. He ripped it open and dug in immediately, devouring it down so fast it was as if he hadn’t eaten in a week… which he hadn’t.
He finished the sandwich quickly, but he was still left with that gnawing hunger. His stomach grumbled and he looked up at Silas expectantly. The vampire scowled and threw another sandwich at him, this time it hitting him in the face.
Aspen flinched, but started to eat the second one as well. “...Thanks again. For… feeding me.”
“Your food is my food. I want your blood to be the tastiest it can be. If this is what it takes, then so be it.”
Aspen said nothing and continued eating. Slower, this time. Savoring the taste. He didn’t know how often this guy would be feeding him. How much did he even know about humans?
The vampire looked bored, and Aspen felt uncomfortable in the suffocating silence. “...What else is in the bag?” he asked.
The vampire rolled its eyes. “Clothes. For you. Realized you wearing the same filthy outfit every day really reaks up the place.”
Aspen hugged his arms around himself. “Oh. D-don’t take my hoodie.”
“Oh pipe down. You can still keep it.”
He relaxed slightly at that. “Okay…” Aspen trailed off, thinking to himself. The vampire wasn’t hurting him at the moment, they were existing in the same space peacefully, for now. Maybe he could try to learn more about him. “Hey, um…” He gestured to his captor. “What’s your name anyway?”
“My food does not need to know my name.” Silas said, tapping his foot against the ground.
“…Oh.”
“Why do you want it?”
Aspen shrugged. “Just so I… know what to call you.” He frowned. “I guess.”
The vampire rested his cheek in his fist. “Since you’re gonna be here for a while,” he murmured, dark voice echoing through the silence, “I suppose you should know. It’s Silas.”
“…Silas?”
“Yes. Do not fucking make me regret telling you that. I can rip it back out of your weak little mind if I so desire.”
“I-I won’t.”
“Good. Now hurry up and finish eating. I’m hungry.”
“On- on it.” Though, Aspen really wasn’t looking forward to it. He started eating again, taking small glances at the vampire and dreading what was going to happen the second he was done.
Once he was done, he wrapped his arms around himself and eyed his captor warily. The vampire’s eyes lit up with that animalistic hunger Aspen always dreaded to see. Silas was crouched next to him in an instant, setting his hands on Aspen’s shoulders and leaning down towards his throat.
Aspen craned his neck to the side as the vampire sank his fangs into this flesh, gulping down his blood. It hurt. Aspen could never get used to the feeling of his blood being sucked from his body and into the mouth of another person— no, a monster. He squeezed his eyes shut, already succumbing to the lightheadedness and expecting to pass out at any moment.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the vampire pulled his fangs out early and licked the wound closed. Aspen blinked his eyes open, confused on why the vampire hadn’t sucked him completely dry like all the other times.
“Your blood is… better than yesterday,” Silas said, licking his lips. “You were right. Food makes it tastier. I guess you’re happy that I’ll have to keep you well fed from now on, huh?”
“You’re… already done feeding?”
“I still need you awake to take you upstairs. You smell like shit.”
“Oh.”
Aspen tried to stand, but his legs collapsed under him, his whole body now wobbly and weak from blood loss. The vampire let out an annoyed sigh and, before Aspen could even process what was happening, he was up in Silas’s arms and being carried up the basement steps. Aspen went rigid in his captor’s hold, curling up smaller as Silas carried him as if he weighed nothing at all.
The vampire opened the door and they finally walked out of the basement. Aspen looked around, chill going down his spine as he was met with the same room from the day he woke up here.
Aspen swallowed thickly. “We’re still…”
“In the mortuary? Yes. I live here. Right upstairs, but you won’t ever have to worry about that. You’ll rarely leave the basement.”
Aspen frowned, eyeing the freezers, that horrible confined space he woke up in. He hated this place more than anything. The stagnant smell of death and misery filled the air. The place was drenched in it, as if it was the only thing it could ever be. Death. His grave.
Aspen shook those morbid thoughts away and looked around. The wall opposite of him was lined with freezers— most likely storing more corpses. Around the room were a few metal tables with trays of tools and lights hanging over them. Along another wall were shelves holding an assortment of tools and dusty, old looking books, and a messy desk scattered with stacks of paper. The wall on his left had a couple of windows, but they were all covered with a thick curtain. To his right was a staircase going upward, most likely to the second floor where Silas said his room was. There was a big door on the right wall, and another door in the far corner of the room.
“Come on. I’ll show you to the bathroom so you can wash up. Smells like you haven't showered in months.” Silas grabbed his wrist and started dragging him towards the door in the corner.
Aspen scrambled to follow him, socks shuffling across the cold floor. “Hey, wait, um,” he decided to speak up now, or else he never would. “Silas?”
Silas stopped walking. “What?” he asked without turning around.
“Can I have um, my- my um…”
“Spit it out.”
“Can I, uhm, have my… my binder?”
“…Your what?”
“My- my um, chest binder. ‘Cause, you know, ‘cause I’m trans?” His chest was already pretty flat to begin with, but the extra layer would be a good comfort.
Silas sighed deeply. “Fine. You’ve been behaving today, so I’ll give it back after your bath.”
“Oh,” Aspen let out a breath of relief. “Thanks. Can I have my glasses too?”
“I already told you. You’ll have to earn those. Now come on.”
Silas opened the door, shoved Aspen inside, and grabbed the handle. “Wash up. You have twenty minutes,” he said. “That’s it. I don’t like waiting.” The vampire slammed the door shut, and the sound of a lock clicking filled the silence.
“O-okay,” Aspen replied through the door, wasting no time in turning on the bath and letting the water flow. Right away, he noticed there was no mirror. But he didn’t need a mirror to know he probably looked disgusting. Hair greasy and dirty, skin covered in blood and grime, body sunken and starved. It was probably for the best that he didn’t get to look at himself.
He noticed there was a toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter, still in the packaging as if they were just bought. He quickly brushed his teeth while the bath filled with water, and hoped that despite everything else, that there was warm water in this horrible place.
He stripped off his clothes and timidly went to feel the water. The second he felt the warm, almost scalding hot water, he wasted no time in immediately jumping inside and submerging himself fully in the warmth. He felt like he could cry. He didn’t remember the last time he wasn’t being bit at by the freezing cold that surrounded him at all hours. He sank deeper into the bath, closing his eyes and relaxing in the first actual moment of peace he’d gotten in this hell.
After a little while, he opened his eyes and winced when he realized the water had turned a dark reddish brown, caused by the blood and dirt from his skin. It was about time he actually started washing up. He took the shampoo bottle and pumped some soap into his hands, then dipped his head in the water and started scrubbing his curly hair. If he closed his eyes, he tried to pretend it was somebody else washing his hair, gently but frantically getting all the dirt out and scrubbing it in suds of shampoo. He dipped his head back under, relishing in the warmth around his skin, and rinsed the soap out of his hair.
He then washed the rest of his body. He decided to drain the disgusting water and refill the bath with new clean warmth. And finally, he relaxed. He closed his eyes and curled up, letting the warmth of the water set in and relished this moment as long as he could. He breathed steadily, feeling as comforted as he could in this place.
There was a noise by the door. Aspen peaked an eye open, suddenly remembering where he was and who was waiting for him.
He sucked in a breath, heart beginning to speed up in his chest. How much time was he given again? How long had it been?
“Aspen,” a voice growled from the other side. “Time’s up. Are you done?”
His body went rigid, wide eyes staring at the bathroom door. He felt like he could barely breathe. No! He was not done! “I- um, I—”
An annoyed sigh. “Speak up. I can’t understand you.”
Aspen swallowed thickly and pulled his knees to his chest. “Ca-can I have just a f-few more minutes?”
“You’ve had more than enough time. I don’t like waiting. Come out.”
After a few seconds of complete silence from Aspen, Silas yanked the door open, lock breaking and scattering against the floor, and stood threateningly in the doorway.
“Time is up.”
Aspen felt frozen in place, huddled up in the corner of the bathtub. His words were caught in his throat and all he could do was stare up at the vampire in terror. His heart plummeted as he watched Silas start walking towards him, and he finally found his voice.
“W-wait! I-I didn’t mean to take so long, I’m sorry! I’ll get out, I’ll go back to the basement—”
“Too late.”
Silas crouched down in front of Aspen and he violently flinched away, curling up deeper in the corner of the bathtub.
“You disobeyed me,” Silas hissed. “Aspen. Look at me.”
“And you know what happens when you disobey?” Silas said, ignoring what Aspen was saying completely and putting a hand on the rim of the tub, leaning in closer.
“N-no, please—”
Aspen yelped in pain as a rough hand suddenly found its way into his hair, yanking his head painfully forward.
“Shut up.”
His head was slammed under the water and held there. A strong hand pushed his face against the floor of the tub, nails piercing into his skull and tangling in his hair as Aspen frantically flailed his arms and legs, trying to get out. It felt like an eternity he was held there, holding his breath, almost out of air.
His head was yanked back up again and he sucked in a huge breath, coughing water out.
“What’s the matter?” Silas sneered, giving Aspen’s head a little tussle. “I thought you wanted to stay in the bath?”
“Pl-ease—” Aspen choked out, sputtering a gasp. “P-lease st-stop.”
He was shoved back down again, water filling and burning his lungs as he tried and failed to breathe. He thrashed and struggled as hard as he could, needing to get up for air.
And he was pulled back up again. He convulsed, coughing violently, trying to get the water out of his lungs and suck in as much air as possible before he was pushed back down again. Over and over again. But never given enough time, never given enough air. He gasped for breath, but only choked on the water in his throat.
When his head was dunked underwater once more, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to suck in a large breath, throat spasming and water burning his lungs. He breathed in again, gasping for air that wasn’t there. The vampire yanked his head out of the water, but it was limp in his hands.
“Shit,” Silas muttered under his breath. He gave Aspen’s face a couple light slaps. “Hey, wake up.”
Dead silence. He laid limply in Silas’s hold, face blue from the lack of oxygen, eyes wide and lifeless.
“Aspen?” The vampire shook him. But he didn’t wake up. “Fuck.”
. . .
Wet coughs broke the silence. Aspen gasped and leaned forwards, coughing out all the water that drenched his lungs. He heaved deep breaths, sucking in the cold air.
“For the record, I wasn’t planning on killing you. I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”
His head shot up towards the voice. Silas was standing in front of him.
Aspen looked around, realizing he was laying up against a wall in the morgue again. He leaned his still damp head of hair against the concrete wall behind him and glared at his captor.
“What?” Silas hissed. “It took you four fucking hours to wake up from that. I didn’t plan for that!”
Aspen flinched back, curling up tighter. “S-sorry.”
As Aspen became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed he wasn’t wearing his old clothes, but a thin t-shirt and shorts. He was also wearing his binder. …The vampire had actually given it back.
“I went ahead and dressed you while you were out. Your old clothes were disgusting.”
That wasn’t Aspen’s fault. He didn’t choose to be held captive in a dirty basement for a week, constantly covered in his own dried blood. But his dino hoodie was gone. His favorite hoodie. One he wore everywhere and all the time. The thought of the vampire disposing of it or destroying it made him want to cry.
“What did you do to my hoodie?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s in the wash.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll get it back if you behave. Now,” Silas pulled Aspen to his feet. “Since you’ll be staying here for the rest of your life and mine, I might as well tell you how things work around here. This is my mortuary. I live here, so we’ll never leave. And before you so stupidly ask, no, there aren’t any other employees. It’s just me and you here.”
Silas started walking, showing his human around the place. They walked by the freezers, metal tables, some treys of particularly sharp looking surgical tools stained with blood. “Y’know,” Silas murmured, grabbing a scalpel and holding it up to Aspen. “I might just have to strap you down to this table one of these days… I’m curious about what your insides look like. I mean, I’ve seen them, but only while eating. I never got a really good look. What do ya say?”
Aspen’s face went pale. “I- uh—”
“Oh Aspen. I’m only joking with you.” Silas giggled, setting the scalpel back and continuing walking through the morgue. “Of course I wouldn’t give you a choice.”
After Silas was done showing him around and only slightly tormenting him, explaining what he does to the corpses here and filling his brain with so many different ways he could be hurt in this place, Aspen only became more terrified. Of all places a vampire could live…
“Why do you live… here?”
“Because I’m a mortician, Aspen. Mostly for the free meals. I mean, I get human corpses delivered straight to me on the regular. Sure, the blood is old and stale and not as filling, but it keeps me sated for quite a while. It also speeds up the process of a few things,” Silas murmured, “like how corpses have to have their blood drained anyway as part of the embalming process. I’m just making the job more efficient for myself. And fun.”
“Of course,” Silas continued. “I can’t just eat corpse blood forever.” The vampire cupped Aspen’s face in his hands, smiling sweetly. “Which is why I’m just so glad I have you now, Aspen. You’re really helping me out here.”
Aspen shuddered, eyes glued to the floor.
“Oh, I eat them, too, sometimes,” Silas teased. “If the corpse is unidentified or gonna be cremated, I sneak a bite every now and then. That’s what I did to you when you first showed up here.”
“W-wait,” Aspen mumbled, furrowing his brows. “How did I—”
“And oh, I know us vampires can only digest human blood, but that doesn’t stop me, sweet Aspen.”
“Wait, but, how—”
Silas continued talking, paying no attention to what Aspen was saying. “I do it because it’s fun. Because I can. The meat… The flesh and bones, they’re just too good to resist. The fear my live prey feels when I tear out parts of them… it’s exhilarating. It makes it all worth it, when I eventually throw up all their insides. I couldn’t care less that other vampires find this disgusting. It’s their loss.”
“S-Silas!” Aspen shouted, trying to get the vampire’s attention.
Silas turned to him. “What?”
“I- I want to know how I died. Th-the first time. Why I was brought here, and what happened to my friend. Y-you have to know, right?”
Silas smirked. “Oh, Aspen,” he purred. “Of course I know how you died, but I’m not going to tell you.”
“P-please!” Aspen grabbed the vampire’s arm and continued begging.
Silas shoved him to the ground. “Don’t touch me, corpse,” he hissed. “I’m not telling you. You have no reason to know.”
Aspen cried out in pain as he hit the ground, stumbling back up and taking a few steps away from the vampire. “...Okay,” he grumbled. “But what about my friend? What about Lyle?”
“Why are you asking me? All I know is that nobody showed up to claim your body. You’re dead to the world. Your friend simply must not have cared.”
“That’s- that’s not true! She would’ve come! She wouldn’t just abandon me like this!” Aspen began frantically wiping at the tears falling down his cheeks, but they just kept coming. “She will find me, Silas. She’ll figure out I’m alive and rescue me any day now!”
Silas smirked and patted his head. “Sure she will. I’m sure she’s so close by. She might even be here already!”
“What is that supposed to m—”
Before Aspen could finish, Silas clamped his hand over his mouth and pounced, fangs violently digging into his neck. Aspen cried out and thrashed, but the vampire held him still. Silas quickly pulled out his fangs and glanced at his face. “Sorry,” he mocked. “All that talk about feeding got me hungry. See you tomorrow.”
After biting back in and drinking just enough to leave Aspen conscious but woozy from blood loss, Silas dragged him back to the basement door. He threw the human down the stairs and watched him tumble to the ground. Aspen looked up, his face filled with hurt and betrayal. “Wait!—” Aspen screamed, but Silas only smirked and slammed the door shut. Time to get back to work.
—
i’m not too proud of this one but i had to get it finished so i can post more!!! MORE!!!! MORE TO COME!! SOON!!!!!! (because i have over 30k words of unfinished future chapters okay. i need to get this out there or i will lose my mind i love these characters so much..)
tw: suicidal thoughts, abuse, blood drinking, temporary character death
November 1820
It must be nearing winter, because the manor was becoming chill and musty again, and Lex found himself needing a woolen blanket at night. From the few glimpses he had out of the windows, only brown and dry leaves were left on the trees, but there hadn't been snow yet. These were the ways he tracked the changing of the seasons, because he had only been outside of the manor three times in total since that night the Maestro had revealed his plan to turn him.
It was a dread that sat in his mind every day, and by now it felt more numb than fearful. He'd grown accustomed to it, just as he'd grown accustomed to his master's cruel punishments, something he thought would never happen. It was normal for his young body to ache with scars and bruises, his muscles crying out with fatigue. There were no mirrors here, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection from a window, he could see that he was thin and pale, with dark marks under his eyes and a deadened expression. He looked more like a dead thing than like the handsome student who had once sang in a choir.
That other Lex, the one who had friends and talents and a promising future, would have been finished with his schooling by now. That was the Alexander who had been buried in the churchyard, that his parents and friends must have mourned.
One of the other thralls, one that was allowed out into the yard, had brought in firewood, and there was a meager fire burning in the hearth of the parlor. Lex had finished his dusting quickly, and he had enough time to spare a few moments by the fire, warming his hands, before taking his evening meal and moving on to his next task.
Truthfully, he probably could have spent even longer. The Maestro was in one of his rare moods where he didn't emerge from his chamber for weeks, only opening his door to admit a thrall to feed from. It meant no training, no punishment, a chance to heal and rest -- but not too much. Lex had once made the mistake of sleeping for an extra hour on one such occasion, believing his master wouldn't emerge from his room, and had caught an extra whipping. He didn't dare risk it again, and neither did any of the other thralls, broken things that shuffled quietly through the halls and never spoke to each other, following their inscribed routines like automatons.
Lex wished he could spend the whole evening warming himself by the fire, dozing, dreaming of nothing, but if he didn't tear himself away, he wouldn't have enough time to eat. With great reluctance, he made his way to the kitchen. No one had heated the stove today, so it was particularly frigid.
Lex was in no mood to heat the stove, either. The food deliveries had been ample lately, so instead he helped himself to a loaf of fresh bread. It was strange that his master had increased both the quality and quantity of the food, because no new thralls had been added to the household in some time, but none of them dared question a small bright spot in a bleak existence.
He slowly carved the bread with a knife. The knife was sharp and long.
He could plunge it into his wrists, or slit his own throat open, and be free.
As always, his hand trembled as he moved the knife to press against his flesh. He knew it was what he must do. He must do it before his master decided to turn him into a truly dead thing, condemning him to an eternity in this state of purgatory. That fate would be much worse than death, he knew.
There wasn't anything here worth living for, anyway. Each night only differed in the amount of punishment he endured. Nothing else ever really changed. He couldn't remember what sunshine felt like, could hardly imagine a warm touch. If he didn't take the only escape afforded to him, and soon…
All he had to do was muster his bravery and press down, opening up the veins that his master opened regularly. His precious, valuable blood would be spilled across the kitchen, pooling underneath him as he slept at last, for as long as he wanted. That is where his master would find him, the thrall who disappointed him one last time. One of the other thralls would bury him in the yard, a shallow grave in hard ground, and no one would mourn.
And he would be free.
But as always, he couldn't. Fear stayed his hand. Fear, and perhaps a longing for better that had dimmed but not gone out.
He returned to carving the bread, knowing that he'd come to regret his cowardice.
The bread and cheese were dry in his mouth, but he did try to enjoy it a little. Soon it would be winter, and the whole manor would be frigid, and he wouldn't be able to eat without his hands going numb. Soon his master would emerge from his torpor and resume the endless cycle of practice and punishment. Lex would continue to perfect his musical skills for an audience that would never be pleased.
The clock struck midnight.
One of the other thralls, an older man who resembled a skeleton, entered the kitchen. "Your presence is required in our master's chamber."
He wished to feed, then.
Lex followed behind the other thrall silently, steeling himself for the unique pain of his master's feeding. It was one thing that he couldn't quite get used to, his body instinctively rejecting the fangs that drained out his life. Still, it was over quickly, and he usually fell asleep against his will afterwards, forcing his master to leave him be for some time.
When he entered the chamber, his master was sitting on the bench at the foot of his bed, his eyes boring into Lex. There was something different about him, though -- Lex had become an expert at picking up his master's subtle moods, out of sheer necessity. There was something almost sad in those eyes. He beckoned Lex forward.
"Alexander," he said, "tonight is the last night I will feed from you. Tonight is your final night as a human."
And all at once, the cold fear returned to Lex. All at once, he felt so dizzy he thought he might pass out, so nauseous that he might evacuate his food. His time was up. He would die, and a monster would arise in his place, a monster still bound to his master, birthed into misery. Would the monster even remember being human? Or would he believe that this was all there was, no world beyond the cold, dark manor?
"No, sir," he said, surprising himself with his first act of actual defiance in years. "I don't want to be one of your kind. Please, simply kill me instead."
The Maestro's eyes hardened, but he didn't slap Lex -- not that it would have mattered if he did. No punishment his master could administer would be as awful as the promise he'd made that day in front of Lex's grave.
"I will do as I please with you, as you are my property," he said. "And you will be my property forevermore, until the day I return to dust."
"Please, sir, please," he said. It'd been so, so long since he had actually begged. "I've tried so hard to be perfect. I've attended to all of my lessons, I've done all of my assigned work, I've fed you my blood -- is none of that worth anything?" Hot tears were streaming down his face now. "Have I not ever pleased you, sir?"
It must have been Lex's desperate imagination, but for one brief moment he saw something in his eyes, something other than anger and hardheartedness. "You have," he said finally, "or else I wouldn't consider this."
"Then please, sir, if you have even a shred of mercy for me, please allow me to live at least a little longer."
Lex was a fool to have any hope. He'd spent so much time surgically extracting it from every corner of his thoughts, and he knew that mercy was a foreign concept to his master. And yet, the way his master actually seemed to consider the request --
"If such mercy was not shown to me," he said, "then why should it be shown to you?"
"If you understand my position, sir, then why would you do this?" Lex said.
"I have no intention to explain it to you."
"But it's my life, sir, I deserve --" Lex's mouth was clamped shut.
"You deserve nothing," said the Maestro, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and pulling him in close. "After all these years, have you forgotten your gratefulness?"
Lex wanted to protest that he'd never be grateful for this, even if he were punished for it, but he was no longer able to speak.
"If you think that your insolence will steer me from my chosen course, you are gravely mistaken," he said, as though reading Lex's mind. "You will be still, you will be obedient, and you will die when I choose."
Lex's body was made to maneuver into position, sitting rigidly with head slightly tilted to expose his neck, a vessel from which to drink. Lex himself was trapped inside, in bindings strong as iron chains, unable even to struggle against the end. He thought back to the knife, wishing he would have had the courage to protect what remained of him.
And now, he'd be condemned to hell for his cowardice.
His master's fangs slid into his flesh, the familiar pain made so much sharper by the knowledge of what was to come. All the stoicism and numbness he'd carefully cultivated over the years he'd been trapped here, all of his defenses against the mundane horrors, all of them were crumbling now that the end was near.
Lex's imagination filled with all of the things that were lost to him, the things he had shut away and not allowed himself to think about. He thought of his room at the university, reading a book by the warm fireplace. He thought of crisp autumn days and warm summer evenings. He thought of his parents' house, of his mother's embrace. He'd been safe and happy then, and he hadn't appreciated it properly, regrets burning in his heart.
And his master drank, and drank, and drank, and drank.
Just as Lex was sure it would never end, the fangs left his neck, leaving behind a throbbing pain. Frozen in place, Lex could only watch as his master pulled his silver knife from his coat and used it to slit his own wrist, opening his vein, an action that might have killed him if he were human. A drop of deep red blood welled up, and it was pressed to Lex's unwilling lips.
It tasted putrescent, and Lex wanted more than anything to push it away, to prevent the infection from entering his own body. But it was no use - his lips and tongue and even his throat were manipulated to force him to swallow. Lex could feel his body trying to retch and being stopped unnaturally. Although it could only have been a few drops, Lex felt as though his throat were coated in it.
His master returned to drinking. He didn't make any additional wounds, instead simply drawing more of Lex's blood through the punctures he'd just made, and it wasn't long before Lex grew weak and woozy. A profound sense of drowsiness flowed over him as his body began to give up. If the sleep were merely death, Lex might have welcomed it. But he was about to enter a nightmare, and so he fought with the last of his strength to stay awake.
He was so cold.
Lex struggled to keep his weary eyes open even as his mind fogged and his strength flagged. The room seemed to be fading from sight, almost as if he were floating far away. He couldn't feel the pain, he couldn't feel the fear.
Perhaps tiring of Lex's fruitless struggles, his master paused for a moment to whisper in his ear, "Sleep, Alexander."
It was the last thing he knew.
Previous > Masterlist
Next week, Alexander turns.
Thanks for reading and for all your comments! The last chapter was difficult for me so it was good to get so many nice words about it.
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tw: leg injury, body control, mind control, abuse, ableism, murder
October 1925
Oliver was trapped in nightmares that he thought would never end. Intense pain was radiating from his right leg, and his head pounded, all while the sleeping draught pulled him down into uneasy sleep that gave no rest. At some point, a nurse was trying to rouse him, but he couldn't understand what she was saying, couldn't answer her questions before dropping back into the abyss.
Among the twisted and terrifying images that his mind conjured, he kept seeing Alexander, Alexander pleading for help, Alexander turning to dust. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, his mind kept circling back to them every time he lost his grip on his thoughts.
And in so many of those nightmares, he was falling.
By the time he became more fully aware, the sun was shining bright on his eyelids. He opened them -- mercifully, he could keep them open this time -- and found that he was in a hospital bed. Curtains separated him from what was probably beds on either side of him, and through the large window he could see trees bedecked in autumn leaves.
The relief didn't last, because the next sensation that crashed into him was pain. It was if his left leg had been dipped into a fire. Through watering eyes he looked down and saw that his left leg was entombed in a vast quantity of plaster.
What had happened?
He couldn't remember. He'd fallen in so many imaginary ways that he had no idea which one was true. The last thing he remembered clearly was arguing with Vivian over killing Alexander.
And now, he realized fearfully, the sun was up. Alexander could be dead by now.
And if he wasn't…
Any thoughts he'd had about escaping the vampires were out the window now. He wasn't going anywhere, and it probably wouldn't be long until he was found. If the worst had happened and Alexander had been killed, it would be Lily coming to collect him, or worse…
And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do about it.
He sank into his pillow, trying not to sob.
"Oh, you're awake." A young nurse pushed back the curtain. "How are you?"
Normally Oliver didn't like to complain, but he felt he had to make an exception here. "I'm in a lot of pain," he choked out.
"I'm sure you are. I'm not sure if you were aware of it, but the doctor had to do a surgical procedure on your knee to set the bone. Otherwise, we might have had to amputate," she said. "I can go fetch the doctor to talk to you, and something for the pain, too."
"Thank you." The sleeping draught must have kept him unconscious during the surgery, or perhaps he'd been given something else. Everything from the night before was such a blur of the real and imagined that he had no idea. Oliver had never had surgery before, never even been in a hospital as a patient.
"Hello, Oliver," said a man with a white coat and a silver mustache, pulling back the curtain once more. "I'm the doctor who treated you last night. Seems that you had quite a fall."
"Sorry, but I don't remember." Oliver realized his throat was parched, and he choked on the last word. The doctor kindly handed him a glass of water from a nearby table.
"As the nurse told you, you had to have surgery to set the bones in place. Hopefully, that makes it more likely that your leg will heal. However, it's still going to be a long road to recovery."
"Will I be able to walk?"
"In time, if you heal well and exercise regularly, you may be able to walk with assistance --"
"With assistance?"
"You will likely need a cane or some other aid for walking. But first, you're going to be in the hospital for some time, while we keep you in that cast. After that, the staff here can help you procure a wheelchair."
"A wheelchair," Oliver repeated, seeing his brief hope for independence go up in smoke. Trapped in the hospital, the vampires could so easily subdue him if they found him; and if he required the use of a wheelchair, if he couldn't even walk, he'd be even more at their mercy. A thrall that couldn't walk, that could be pushed anywhere they wanted him to go.
How would he even climb the stairs at Alexander's manor? Would he require Alexander to carry him up and down the stairs every day?
And what of the Maestro, who strictly punished any flaw, no matter how minor? How would he treat a severely injured thrall? Would he convince Alexander that Oliver was useless, broken? Alexander could no doubt obtain another thrall, a healthy and able-bodied thrall, if he wanted one. He didn't know what vampires did to thralls that outlived their usefulness and he didn't expect to like the answer.
"I know it's a lot to take in," said the doctor. "But let me assure you, you can lead a very full life still."
Perhaps that would be true if he hadn't ever crossed the path of a vampire. "I suppose so, doctor," he said blankly.
"Do you have any family that will be able to take care of you?"
"No," he said.
The doctor looked concerned. "I see. Well, you'll need to consider what your options will be once you're released from the hospital. There are also some charities and homes that can help you -- I can have the nurses provide you with some brochures, in case you want to get in touch."
Oliver didn't care to explain that he already knew what his only option would be. "Thanks," he said.
"By the way, the person who brought you in didn't have your last name. Can we have it for our records?"
"Pines."
"Pines," the doctor repeated.
The nurse came back, holding a small cup. "Pines, is it? Who was it that brought you in? She wasn't very forthcoming about your relationship to each other."
It must have been Vivian, he supposed. "An acquaintance."
She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "Well, I don't want to pry," she said, even though she obviously did want to pry. "Here, I've brought you some syrup that will dull your pain. Drink it all and take some water."
Oliver drank it without a second thought, eager to have some relief from the mind-bending pain. The doctor and nurse left him, probably expecting him to sleep, and as the pain loosened, Oliver's eyelids began to droop. He had just woken up from a deep, magic-induced sleep, but he was still so exhausted.
He didn't fight the sleep. Sleeping during the day would help him stay awake at night, in the likely event that a vampire came to collect his possession.
As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of his bookshop crammed wall-to-wall with bookcases, the narrow aisles just large enough for a person, the rickety old staircase leading up to his tiny apartment. Even if he were somehow completely free from the vampires, he wouldn't be able to navigate any of that with his injured leg. He might never be able to do that again.
---
The Maestro arrived at midnight precisely.
Oliver knew this, because he was wide awake and staring at the clock, terrified of the possibility. He had been expecting Alexander earlier in the evening, assuming that if he knew where Oliver was, he would arrive shortly after sundown. Oliver far preferred that to the alternative.
But he didn't have a choice. He didn't have any choices, any more. He couldn't escape from Alexander's sire any more than he could with Alexander there ensorcelling him. So he smoothed down his hair, his hospital gown, and his blanket as much as he could, knowing that no amount of trying to make himself look presentable would make up for the enormous, glaring injury sticking out of the sheets, encased in plaster.
The room seemed to grow darker and colder as he entered. Some of the other patients in the ward had been groaning or muttering or snoring -- all of this ended immediately, and the only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the tapping of shoes on the scuffed linoleum. It felt unreal, Oliver wondering if he were still somehow trapped in the hallucinations he'd experienced the night before.
All too soon, he was there, staring at Oliver in the hospital bed with sharp, dark eyes.
"Good evening, sir," said Oliver shakily.
"It can hardly be a good evening in a place that reeks of diseased and rotting humans. Even the blood stench is foul," he said.
Oliver could feel the control wrapping around his body. He wasn't moving Oliver, or doing anything but holding him still. Just a threat, a reminder, and a promise.
The Maestro could do anything to him, absolutely anything, and no one could stop him. Not even Alexander was there to plead for mercy. Surely this ruthless vampire didn't want Alexander to have a thrall that was below his exacting standards, and a freshly made invalid was no doubt far below those standards.
It would be so easy for him to dispose of Oliver then and there, and disappear into the night. Only Alexander would mourn him, and not openly, lest he incur more of his sire's wrath. The burning, throbbing pain of his leg made it impossible for Oliver to think of anything but his own impending death.
But death didn't come. The Maestro was still standing there, observing him.
"Your master will be punished for his irresponsibility," he said, finally. "Allowing a hunter to steal one of his thralls is an utter disgrace. Still, this sort of disappointment is what I expect from Alexander."
"Yes, sir," said Oliver meekly, remembering how badly it went when he tried to defend Alexander. Alexander wasn't even here; the Maestro would certainly do as he pleased with his sireling regardless of Oliver's protests, anyway. "I'm sorry, sir."
"As well you should be. When a dog runs away, the owner is most at fault for allowing it the opportunity; but the dog must also be punished, so that it learns a lesson."
And Oliver could feel pressure on his broken leg, a deceptively subtle twisting that produced unthinkable agony. Oliver couldn't stifle his scream, couldn't keep himself from crying, until the controlling force sealed his mouth and stilled his tongue. He thought that whatever surgical measures had been put in to save his leg must surely be torn out, that any faint hope of walking again was disappearing before his eyes. The moment dragged on for what seemed like years.
Just as suddenly as the torture began, it abated.
"I trust you have enough of a reminder not to defy your master's will, even if his enthrallment was crudely torn from you."
"Yes, sir," he said, gasping from the pain.
The Maestro was staring at him as though he were lower than a bug. "You should understand that I ordinarily would never attend a thrall at such a lowly place. Nor would I care to preserve a human whose capabilities have been thus reduced. But you have a certain potential which cannot be ignored. What's more, disposing of you would likely result in Alexander obtaining a far less suitable thrall. His taste is decidedly uneven. I trust you are grateful for this mercy."
Oliver nodded, trying desperately not to cry.
His leg was twisted again. "That will be 'yes, sir'."
"Yes, sir!" he yelped, and the terrible pain was eased.
"Hmm." There seemed to be plans in those cold eyes, plans that Oliver was certain he would not enjoy. "See to it that you recover quickly."
With an artful flourish, he produced a single, perfect red rose from the inside of his coat, and handed it to a bewildered Oliver. Then, without a further word, he stalked out of the door.
Around him, Oliver could hear the stirring of the other patients. He wondered how much they'd heard.
He pulled the thin hospital blanket over his head, hiding himself from the world. He shuddered to think what the Maestro meant by his potential. He thought of Miriam, wiped of most of her memories, her mind so addled that she didn't know where she was sometimes. That was what Lily had done to her to shield her from the effects of whatever "training" the Maestro had administered. Wouldn't Alexander have the same thing done to him? And what would happen to him first, to make that treatment necessary?
Reasonably confident that the vampire was gone, Oliver tossed the rose onto the floor and out of his sight, pricking his finger on a thorn in the process. His leg throbbed, still in agony, as his mind churned in terror. He had been a fool to even consider that he might be able to gain his freedom. Perhaps it would have been better if the Maestro had deemed him useless and disposed of him.
Oliver assumed he would never be able to get to sleep after that, but at some point he must have, because he opened his eyes to a terrified shriek. The patients all turned to the door to the hall, and the more able-bodied ones were getting up from their beds to take a look. "There's nothing to see," said a nurse, blocking the doorway. "Get back to your beds."
"Is she dead?" a woman cried out, looking over the nurse's shoulder.
"It'll be a matter for the police. Back to your beds!" The nurse was joined by a janitor, who successfully herded the patients back and closed the door.
"What did you see?" The patients crowded the woman who had caught a glimpse.
"There was a woman, dead, bent over the desk. Her neck was all bloody, like someone slit her throat."
"It was one of the night nurses," said another patient. "Betsy, her name was."
As the group of patients near the door murmured in horror, Oliver shrank into his bed, wishing it would swallow him whole. A nurse dead of a neck wound, on the same night the Maestro had come to pay his visit. That wasn't a coincidence. That was a warning, a show of power. A demonstration that Oliver couldn't run and hide, not without leaving a trail of innocent bodies behind him.
He had known deep in his gut that something like this would happen if he tried to escape. Vivian was probably dead as well, and maybe even the rest of the people at the safe house, including Emily. Dead because Oliver, who had never been wanted by anyone, now had the most desirable blood in the city.
And what could Oliver do? He didn't want to go back, he didn't want to face any further punishment the Maestro had in store for him. But he was helpless with his shattered leg, and even if he wasn't, where would he go where the Maestro couldn't find him?
The only one who might be able to help him now was Alexander, the root cause of the problem, and Oliver knew he'd be seeing him soon.
Vivian's scream echoed through the safe house as Oliver, disoriented and hallucinating, tripped and fell down the stairs before she could catch him. She'd seen many gut-churning injuries in her time as a hunter, but it still didn't prepare her for how Oliver's leg was bent in an unnatural way. Blood trickled down his face, and his eyes were glassy, staring at nothing.
"Oliver!" She rushed to his side. "Oliver, can you hear me?"
"…Yes," he said weakly.
"All right. Don't try to move. I'm going to take you to a doctor."
So much for hunting her vampire quarry this evening -- but there was nothing that could be done about it unless she was okay with leaving Oliver to suffer and maybe even die.
"What happened to Oliver?" Emily had run over. "Oh my god, his leg…"
"It's broken. I'll need help loading him into the car so I can take him to the hospital. It isn't far."
Emily looked pale as she helped Vivian pick Oliver up. He looked pained as they accidentally jostled his leg, but he didn't cry out, seemingly lost in a place far away. His eyelids were drooping, and Vivian knew that he was still under the effect of the sleeping draught she had given him.
She thought she was doing him a favor. He was panicking about the possibility of his vampire master being killed, even though most of the enthrallment should have been cleared from his mind. The vampire had such a strong grip on the unfortunate man, and he was clearly going to be a hindrance in his own salvation. It seemed like a mercy to put him to sleep until the morning, when hopefully the vampire who tormented him had been returned to hell and he could think clearly once again. She had never expected this.
The two women struggled to get a semi-unconscious Oliver into the car. He was pale and shivering now.
This was all her fault. She shouldn't have been a coward, terrified of enthrallment, a fate far worse than death. She should have killed Alexander when she had the chance. She'd been so intensely gripped by panic when she felt his spell starting to breach her defenses -- if this was how she reacted to Alexander, how could she ever hope to destroy his vile sire and avenge her mother?
And now, he would be hunting her. Oliver was bleeding, and that would make him easier to track. What if Alexander picked up the trail, and it led him straight to the safe house? What if he brought the Maestro with him? She wasn't remotely prepared to try and kill both of them at once, especially not with the former thralls' lives on the line.
"Emily, listen to me," she said, pulling a wad of cash from her wallet. "You need to run."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Just trust me. Take this money, go to the train station on the corner of 7th, and get a ticket going anywhere, enough to put some distance between you and vampires. Gather up the rest of the thralls and take them along too."
"What about Bobby?" Emily asked.
"Try to get him out, but if you can't, lock the doors and leave him. Hopefully I'll be able to get back soon and get him myself." It was an awful thing to consider, but she wasn't willing to tell Emily and the other thralls to sacrifice themselves to save someone so far gone he might never return.
"But what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to take Oliver to the hospital, and then I'm going to hunt vampires." It was the only thing she could do. Oliver made a low noise of distress, and Vivian knew she couldn't wait any longer. She waved goodbye to to a frantic Emily and drove off.
"I need to go," murmured Oliver, half-asleep. "It's the only way. I need to go."
Perhaps taking Oliver had been a mistake. He was so deeply ensorcelled that her magic couldn't fully dispel it. She would have just tossed him back at the vampire to make her escape if it hadn't been for Emily's request to help him.
Vivian looked over at Oliver, his face screwed up in pain even as the sleeping draught kept him mostly asleep. A hopeless case -- she could see that now. Even if Alexander died, he was the sort that would be selling himself back to a vampire within three months, no doubt. The way he defended that monster sickened her. He'd rather see her condemned to a lifetime of mindless servitude than to have her slaughter the creature that'd kept him captive. Even if it wasn't his fault, even if it was just the spell that had been placed on him, she could hardly stand to hear it.
Then again, Oliver had given her by far the most information she'd had on the Maestro. That made his rescue worth it.
Unfortunately, if the Maestro were actually on her trail, she was not prepared to fight him yet. Her rune's effectiveness had faded before she could finish the job with Alexander, and the Maestro was no doubt stronger than that. She needed better safeguards if she wanted to stand a chance.
The car sputtered to a stop in front of the hospital. Thankfully, Vivian was strong enough to carry Oliver, who was in no shape to walk on his own. He groaned as she took him through the double doors and into the dingy lobby. Vivian was very well acquainted with this hospital, as it was the only one in the city open throughout the night.
The night nurse behind the desk put down her magazine. "What happened to him?"
"He accidentally fell down a flight of stairs and broke his leg. He also hit his head and may have other injuries."
She nodded and stood. "We'll get him into a bed right away. There are no doctors on staff right now, but one of the nurses can examine the fracture, set the bone, and give him something to ease the pain. There will be a doctor to see him in the morning."
"That'll do." Vivian followed the nurse into a hall, where patients lay on thin white mattresses. They were mostly asleep or half-awake, but a few stared at them with wide eyes as they passed. The nurse gestured to an open bed, and Vivian lay Oliver down on it, trying to be careful with his battered leg.
"Are you his wife or his sister?" the nurse asked.
"Nothing like that. I hardly know him. He was… in need of a room, and staying at my house temporarily."
"I see. Does he have any family we could contact?"
"No. In fact, if anyone comes by claiming to be his family, you should turn them away." It wouldn't do much good if Alexander came calling, as he'd have this nurse's mind in his grasp in seconds, but she might as well try.
Vivian and the nurse returned to the lobby, and the nurse waved a piece of paper at Vivian. "Could you at least fill out the intake form? We'll need his name and --"
"His name's Oliver. I don't know his last name or anything else about him. And I need to get going." This unexpected emergency had burned a critical part of her night, and she needed to get back on track if she had any hope of finding Alexander before he found her. With Oliver's blood in the air, she was at even more of a disadvantage.
She'd done what she could for Oliver. With the way his leg looked, he might never walk properly again, but that was the doctors' problem. The best thing she could do for him now would be to dispose of his vampiric master.
Vivian got back in the car and slumped in the driver's seat. She took out her knife and carved the familiar rune, something she might need to do several times tonight in case she were ambushed. Where was Alexander most likely to be? If he caught the scent of Oliver's blood -- and depending on how keen his senses were, he might be able to do so from miles away -- then he'd be either here at the hospital or at the safe house. Hopefully the thralls had evacuated for the train station by now.
With any luck, she'd be able to catch her quarry prowling near the safe house. As she drove, she considered her strategy. She knew now that she couldn't rely on the rune for long, not when Alexander began to sing, so she would have to make it quick. She had an incapacitation spell, but it probably wouldn't be enough to stop his voice, and --
Vivian screamed as a pedestrian appeared in the road in front of her, swerving the car and driving it halfway onto the sidewalk. She'd been so absorbed in thought that she hadn't even seen the woman in time. Heart pounding, she opened the door and went to the poor soul she'd nearly hit. It was a young woman in a floral sundress, with an innocent and sweet face, a visage that would have fooled anyone but a seasoned hunter. As it was, Vivian realized her mistake before she'd taken even a few steps.
"Don't move," said the woman, her voice carrying an air of authority. Vivian's rune burned as it absorbed the command, and she could tell immediately that this vampire was extraordinarily powerful. With Alexander lurking out there, this was the worst time possible for her to run into another vampire.
And it would be much, much worse if it wasn't a coincidence at all, if the two vampires were working together.
Vivian pulled her silver knife with one hand and a strength draught with another. The possibility that she was working with Alexander meant that her usual trick, pretending to be enthralled to get the vampire to let their guard down, wouldn't work, and that meant she had to rely on physical prowess to quickly end it. The vampire was at least a foot shorter than Vivian, a bit plump with no muscle, and if she were a human, she'd be no match for Vivian. With vampires, though, their appearance was a poor indicator of their abilities.
"Oh, dear, is that any way to treat me after you nearly ran me over?" said the vampire, honey sweet. "Why don't you just lay down that weapon and relax, and we can have a nice chat."
Vivian didn't bother to respond, as there was no point. Anything this vampire said was intended for the sole purpose of trapping her mind. She downed the strength potion in one gulp, trying not to gag on its rotten meat smell, and charged.
The vampire seemed to be taken off guard by the force of Vivian's blow, staggering backwards and losing her footing. Vivian didn't hesitate, jumping on top of her and pinning one arm, aiming her silver knife straight at her heart.
"Stop!" she cried out, and although her rune absorbed the magic, it was enough to make her hesitate for just one second, enough time for the vampire to toss her off and stand up again. Vivian leapt to her feet and was about to try again when she heard an echoing song from nearby. Alexander. He was here too.
"I don't want to hurt you," said the vampire, weaving her spell. "You'll feel much better if you calm down and stop fighting."
Sleep, said the song in her mind. Give up and rest. You're exhausted. Close your tired eyes and go to sleep.
The rune was searing itself into her arm, its power draining too quickly with the enthralling spells of two vampires prodding at her mind. She had to take one out quickly, and judging from the fight last night, Alexander was the weaker of the two. She feigned as if she were lunging at the other vampire again, and as soon as she braced herself for the impact, she turned and leapt in the direction of the song.
"Oh, no, you don't." The other vampire grabbed her arms from behind, restraining her. "I told you, you need to calm down and stop fighting."
Alexander stepped out of the shadows, his song more insistent. Surrender. Obey. Sleep.
"No, let go of me!" Vivian managed to free the hand with the silver knife, only to have it caught by Alexander. Her potion gave her the strength to shake him off, trying to plunge the knife into his chest, when the other vampire dragged her backwards, causing her to swipe at the air.
"None of that. You don't need to fight," whispered the sweet voice in her ear. "You don't need to think. You just need to surrender."
Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Surrender. Open your mind and listen.
The brand on her arm was flickering, and now Vivian was truly scared. She was at a severe disadvantage now that she'd failed to take either vampire down quickly, and if her protections faltered, it would be impossible to resist their spell. She kicked backwards at the vampire holding her, managing to sweep out one leg and sending them both toppling onto the road.
"So feisty!" she said, laughing. "Oh, you're going to be a fun one. All you have to do is surrender, and then we can play together."
Alexander wrenched the silver knife from her grasp, cutting himself in the process and tossing the knife half a block away. Even as he clenched at the wound on his hand, his singing didn't falter.
But Vivian's brand did. She could feel her muscles relaxing against her will, her mind clouding.
The other vampire pulled her close, speaking seductively in her ear. "Good girl. Just submit to me. Submit and surrender yourself."
Surrender yourself, Alexander's song echoed. Sleep and obey.
She pushed against the insidious commands with all her might. This was it. She had one last chance. The other vampire had made the fatal mistake of allowing Vivian to be close, believing her to be enthralled. She would only have one shot at this.
As quick as she could, she pulled her second knife from her belt and thrust it towards the vampire's heart.
"Lily!"
Time seemed to slow. Alexander shoved the vampire aside, the silver knife catching him in his upper arm. He cried out, clutching the burning wound, as Vivian reeled.
Lily. The expert in human subjugation, the name on every other thrall's lips when they were asked who had hypnotized them. The vampire who'd captured and enthralled every hunter who'd gone after her. The vampire that scared Vivian more than any others save the Maestro. She was here, ready to silence Vivian's mind forever.
"Oh, no, you don't, you rotten little brat!" said Lily, grabbing Vivian around the chest. Vivian's hand was still free enough to plunge the knife into her side, earning an agonized shriek. Lily collapsed onto the road, the gash steaming where the silver had burned her.
The triumph was short-lived, however, because Alexander grabbed her from behind and sang a pure, clear note in her ear, one which stopped any thoughts in their tracks. Vivian pulled away, but he was singing of sleep, sleep, sleep -- and her defenses were faltering. She swayed uncertainly on her feet, lifting up the knife to defend herself, even as thick drowsiness enveloped her mind and body.
When she swung the knife at Alexander, it was clumsy and slow, not like the blow she'd used against Lily. He caught it easily, disarming her of her second knife and grabbing both of her wrists.
The brand on Vivian's arm went numb, shedding the last of its protection, and with that, Vivian felt herself sinking into a fatal stupor. She'd never felt this way before -- like she was going to lose.
So this really was it. This was her end, captured and forced into servitude. It was just like she'd told Oliver would happen, if she lost.
And this was the vampire Oliver thought she could reason with! He'd brought a specialist in human enslavement as his backup. All vampires were the same deep down, just as she'd thought.
Surrender, he sang. Submit to me and obey.
"Oliver… thought you… were better than this…" she said.
"What?" That startled the vampire out of his perilous song, giving Vivian a moment to try and collect herself.
"Focus, Lex," said Lily from where she was curled on the floor. "She's trying to get a rise out of you."
Alexander resumed his song before Vivian could truly catch her breath. Go to sleep, go to sleep and surrender, let your mind sleep and open to my words.
"That's it, go to sleep," Lily coaxed. "No more fighting. Off to dreamland."
Vivian had never been this exhausted before, so utterly spent that no matter how hard she fought against it, she couldn't stop her head from nodding forward and heavy eyes from closing. Alexander caught her as she pitched forward, holding her gently and stroking her hair. He smelled of soap.
And Vivian's tired mind finally gave up.
It was like a rubber band finally snapping under tension. As soon as she lost the battle against enthrallment, she fell deep and hard into enchanted slumber, immediately dropping down into the hypnosis she'd fought so hard against. Alexander continued to sing to her, his voice dark and sure, and Vivian opened to it, allowing the song to pour into her defenseless mind.
"There, now, you are truly under my control."
"Yes, sir," she said, without a second thought. That was what thralls said, and she was a thrall now.
"Very good. You will tell me the truth."
"I will tell you the truth, sir."
"Lex, be careful. She might be trying to trick you again," said Lily.
"If it's a trick, it's a damn good one."
"Not a trick, sir," she murmured. "I'm under your spell." It felt so right, in the strangest way. She knew what thralls did, what they acted like, and so she knew exactly what she was supposed to do. She'd never felt so at peace, forgetting what had made her so frightened.
"Where is Oliver?" he asked.
"In the hospital, sir."
"The hospital!"
"He broke his leg falling down the stairs, sir."
"Damn," Alexander swore. "Which hospital?"
"Mercy, sir."
"I know where that is," said Lily. "I had to take a thrall there once."
"I have to go to him," said Alexander. "But I can't just leave you, and we'll need to make sure the hunter doesn't wake."
"A broken leg isn't fatal. Oliver will be just fine in the hospital, with human doctors to treat him. You can go to him tomorrow night."
"But my sire --"
"Will do what he pleases regardless of what you do. But I can't get home by myself like this, Lex, especially not with the risk that the hunter might wake up."
"You're right. I hate to leave him there in pain, but -- you're right." Alexander hummed a tune of obedience and docility, sinking Vivian further. "I can't carry you and tend to the hunter all at once, though. You'll need to heal up enough to walk. You need fresh blood."
"I was thinking the same thing," said Lily. "Her blood smells amazing. It's just the thing."
"And drinking from her will help subdue her as well. Here, let me bring her close."
Vivian felt herself being set down on the road. She was dimly aware that the vampires were going to drink from her. She'd never had a vampire's fangs on her neck before, except in her nightmares.
Alexander's song changed. Let her feed, give your blood, be still and quiet.
Vivian couldn't move, could hardly even breathe, as her shirt was pulled aside and her body arranged to make her neck more convenient for Lily to access.
"Good girl," said the sweet voice in her ear. "This won't hurt at all. This is going to feel wonderful, and then you'll know what your true purpose was all along."
Still and quiet. Feel no pain.
The cold fangs settled onto her vulnerable neck for just a moment before biting down, and Vivian was lost, so utterly lost.
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She'll be fine, probably. Next week: One of Alexander's worst days.
