#blackroseswrites

CW: 2nd pov from whumper's perspective, brainwashing (obvi), general Gothic whump

In the shadowy dining room, whumpee sits alone, candlelight flickering across his expressionless face. His folded hands lie motionless in his lap. His eyes stare at nothing, two blank windows that open into emptiness.

Perfection. Just what you always wanted. A beautiful, flawless doll of your own.

“My dear whumpee,” you murmur, “I see all our hard work has paid off. You look exquisite.” Gently, you brush the back of your hand against his collar and down his silk vest. Its embroidery glimmers like stars.

Whumpee remains statue-still at your touch. Just what you always wanted.

“Not a single thought in your head,” you muse aloud, walking around whumpee to examine him from all angles. “Of course I can always change that if I want. But for now, this emptiness is—”

With an echoing crash, the door to the dining room slams open. Caretaker. The ferocious glint in his eyes delights you. Such a contrast to the magnificent blankness sitting before you.

“You’re too late, as usual.” You stride forward, shielding your precious whumpee from view. “I’ve already completed the process. And only I can reverse it. If I choose.”

“Then do it,” caretaker growls, drawing his weapon, “or I’ll make you beg for death.”

How silly. Threats mean nothing to you now, in the wake of your triumph. You step aside, revealing whumpee’s seated form, frozen and lifeless as if made of porcelain. Caretaker gasps and rushes forward.

“And why would I undo this,” you ask, gesturing at whumpee, “when at last I’ve created the perfect living doll?”

Meme things || accepting but answering at the rate of molasses@blackroseswrites

“I thought you were dead, Nicklas.” The words were already choked in her throat before she’d even managed to get them out. “No calls, no letters, no contact at all. Over a year I thought you were-” those words too, choked coming out, and she took a breath in a vain attempt to even out her voice, backing away from him when he tried to cross the space between them to her. She needed to say this, needed him to understand that she hadn’t just forgotten him, that she hadn’t watched him leave and gone looking for a replacement Nicklas. He needed to know that she hadn’t confessed that damnable l-word for nothing. “I thought I was never going to see you again, that that day at the taxi was the last I’d get with you.” Her tears hadn’t fallen, but it was getting hard to see past the blurriness of them in her eyes. 

“It’s no excuse, for seeing Oliver, for allowing my father to set that up. And it’s especially no excuse for accepting a proposal from someone I don’t love. I love you, Nicklas. I did then and I do now. And I’m sorry that this is what you came home to. Please understand, I was mourning you.” Alone, she didn’t have the heart to add. “I didn’t have the strength to defy my father at the same time.” And now it was so much more complicated, she’d truly tangled herself up this time. It was no longer just about defying her father, it was about humiliating him and Oliver both, about risking her father disowning her, or hurting her beyond recovery, for that humiliation. 

idek where this is from or who i reblogged it for but here’s a tag || accepting @blackroseswrites

Her eyebrows furrowed, wondering if this was a trick question of some sort, if he was waiting for her to give the obvious answer just to tell her she was wrong. But Nick wasn’t like that, at least not with her, so warily she answered, “Fight... fires?” 

Send ❣ to kiss my muse at midnight,  💞for my muse to kiss yours || accepting

She hadn’t been allowed to go to the party- her father didn’t like her being out that late- even though she’d actually wanted to, if only because Nicklas was going. She didn’t much care for parties- the last one she’d been to she’d almost missed curfew and had a panic attack in the middle of the room until Nicklas had appeared out of nowhere and gotten her out and home just past curfew. She’d still gotten in trouble, but not as much as she would have if she’d been later. 

She lay on her bed, on her stomach, reading one of her favorite books with only a single lamp on to avoid her father realizing she was still awake, hoping to be able to send Nicklas a ‘happy new year’ text to let him know she was thinking about him... and hope to keep him from forgetting about her. 

Clink. She startled at the small sound, unsure what it was until it happened again. Clink. She looked to her window and rolled from her bed to pad over to the pane to look down. 

Nicklas stood in her front yard, a handful of pebbles from the front walkway, grinning up at her window. Another pebble hit the glass as she recognized him, and he winced when he realized she’d already come to the window and dropped the remaining pebbles and waved up to her. She opened the window and smiled bemusedly down at him. “What are you doing?” 

You didn’t really think I was going to let you celebrate alone, did you? 

“If my father finds out- ” 

Then be quiet. He grinned, and she couldn’t help the one she offered in return. “I’ll be right down.” She closed the window and put a pair of flats on her feet and a jacket over her nightgown, and stepped carefully out of her room and down the stairs to the front door. She turned off the alarm that would let her open the door- there weren’t sensors on the second floor, just the first- and slipped out the door, shutting it almost silently behind her. 

Hands suddenly touched her sides, and she squeaked a surprised laugh as she turned to smack Nicklas lightly. “Don’t do that.” She panted, a hand to her chest. 

Gotcha. She rolled her eyes but nodded. “That you did. Congratulations, Mr. Williams.” 

Guess what? “What?” He lifted his phone, lit and flashing 11:58. We’ve got perfect timing.

“You’ve got perfect timing, you mean.” He preened teasingly and she laughed, rolling her eyes. “You make it so difficult to compliment you sometimes.” Hasn’t stopped you yet. “Perhaps I’m just a glutton for feeding your ego.” 

I’m certainly not complaining. She glanced back to the door behind her, as though expecting her father to come barreling through it any moment, and she felt his fingers graze her jaw, drawing her attention back to him. I won’t keep you, or let you get in trouble because of this, okay? She nodded, dark eyes taking him in from under her lashes. I promise. 

His phone started chiming, and the seriousness between them melted a little as he grinned. Happy New Years, Cers. He whispered, his fingers brushing from her jaw to cup her face and tilt her head toward his for the kiss he leant down to give her. She smiled as their lips parted after a too-short moment, a blush creeping across her cheeks and down her neck. “Happy New Years, Nicklas.” 

some meme || no longer accepting 

@blackroseswrites

She twisted her head away from him, not wanting to talk about it anymore. But he wasn’t about to let her get away with that, and she felt his fingers gripping her chin- not hard, but firmly enough that she couldn’t ignore the pressure- and turned her face back to him. Hey. Finding them isn’t going to make you expendable. 

“I didn’t say that.” She muttered, still trying to avoid his eyes. 

You’re thinking it. 

“You don’t know that.” She was; she worried every day, every trip that brought them closer to his family, that once he found them he wouldn’t need her anymore, that she’d be left on her own again. She’d only been by herself for a day before they’d met; she wasn’t sure she was even capable of being on her own at this point. So much of her survival was tied to him, they’d come this far, learned to work together, learned to cope together. 

He only gave her a droll look, didn’t add anything to his statement, and as the seconds passed in silence, she finally gave in and spoke, as they both knew she would. “I just don’t want to be left behind.” 

"Don't leave me." | chains | failed escape attempt | abandoned building

CW: captivity, torture, superpower whump

As the iron manacles lock tight around whumpee’s wrists and ankles, claiming him once again as a prisoner, his exhausted mind races in time with his pulse.

Shouldn’t have tried…impossible…can’t ever escape…hopeless…

It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake. A waste of time and energy and what remained of his life. Because here he was, back again in whumper’s clutches, the way he always would be. Hopeless.

A second pair of manacles click shut around his ankles, chaining him to the wall. Whumper crouches and leans close, staring at whumpee while his gloved hand trails idly down a section of chain.

“I do hate seeing you like this, whumpee,” whumper croons with feigned sympathy. “You could be so useful to me. But you just can’t seem to understand the truth.”

Whumpee flinches back, away from whumper’s sour breath. He should keep his mouth shut, bite back the retort burning on his tongue, but it tumbles out anyway, two words that he immediately regrets.

“The truth?”

And just like that, whumper’s face changes. False sympathy gives way to cold ferocity. His gloved hand flashes upward and closes around whumpee’s throat.

“Yes, whumpee. The truth,” he growls. His hand tightens. Whumpee splutters and chokes, chains clinking together as his own hands scrabble at whumpers’s grip. “You can never escape from me, no matter how hard you try.”

He lets go abruptly and straightens, turning away as whumpee slumps back, gasping.

Hopeless…I can’t escape…I can never escape.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Whumper turns to face whumpee again, a smile pulling at the corner of his thin mouth. “I have a present for you.”

He snaps his fingers, and just like that, pain shoots through whumpee’s body, a thousand miniscule needles piercing the flesh of his wrists and ankles. He can’t breathe, can’t move. A single, desperate plea dies in his mouth as a wave of terrible weakness overcomes him.

…can never escape.

“…my special ability,” comes whumper’s voice. “For every hour of your captivity, these chains will drain a little more life from you until there’s nothing left. Perhaps then, I can finally use you.”

CW: branding (obvi), Gothic whump, winged whumpee, 2nd pov from whumper's perspective

Whumpee’s wings gleam like obsidian in the firelight. His face is hidden in shadow, partly concealed by his feathers, but you already know his expression. Fear. Trepidation. A hint of defiance, persistent despite the way you’ve treated him.

He cowers back as you crouch next to the fire.

“Please, no…you can’t do this…please don’t do this to me—”

“And why not?” you interrupt, turning to him. The tip of the red-hot brand glows like an ember between you. “You belong to me. I don’t want anyone to steal you away.”

Whumpee’s wings tremble. You watch him and see that he’s caught between fear and anger, defeat and rebellion. His eyes, his ebony feathers, all beautiful beyond price or reason. Half-angel, half-creature, whumpee stares back at you, begging silently. His bare chest is a waiting canvas.

“I’m sorry, whumpee,” you murmur, drawing close to him. “I have no choice. But I hope you will wear it well.”

With that, you lunge forward and press the brand to his skin.

An inhuman scream bursts from whumpee’s mouth. The air fills with the odor of burned flesh. You pull the brand away, revealing a perfect, red-raw symbol. Your symbol. Your creature.

Whumpee’s black wings close tightly around him, creating a shield. A broken whimper issues from beneath. You thrust the branding iron back into the fire and dart forward, prying the wings apart. You have to see it, the mark in his flesh. You have to see that he’s yours.

Whatever resistance whumpee had before has been decimated by pain. His wings come apart easily, and he looks up at you between them, his pale skin framed by swathes of gleaming black.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice rough and cracking.

“Because,” you answer, reaching out to touch his trembling feathers, “this is your new life. You belong to me now.”