Content warning for Dehumanization, Blood, Muzzles, Referenced Torture, Alcohol Mention
(Ao3 link)
1.8K words, Vampire Whumpee, Human Whumper.
Beau woke up collared with a chain connecting him to the wall. He had been gagged, a dirty rag shoved in his mouth. It tasted strangely sweet, like fruit just on the verge of rotting. He had been ordered to kneel the floor, and he was doing so, with his hands in his lap as he looked up through his eyelashes to watch his master without making eye contact.
"I do wonder if you've ever heard of vampires before this." Beau's master's tone was light, curious. He lounged in a chair, almost dangling his nearly empty wine glass between pale, uncalloused fingers.
"They are quite rare these days, but a few centuries ago they were nearly everywhere. Much like rats." He mused, not waiting for a response. He carded a hand through his normally tidy blonde hair, the gel he always used barely working anymore.
"And like rats, they were in every shadow, wallowing in filth. Vermin that drank blood, preying on the living. Oh sure, there were a few wealthy vampire families, but they were more cults than anything- rather gauche, if you ask me." Icy blue eyes flicked over to Beau before continuing to examine the wineglass. The smallest bit of white wine remained, slipping around the glass as he toyed with it.
"Eventually the powers that be started movements to kill off all the bloodsuckers- paying a pretty penny in bounties. By the time the twentieth century rolled around, most countries proudly declared vampires an extinct breed. Forgotten about, even by those of longer-lived races who experienced it." His nose scrunched, the expression of distaste still refined on his face somehow.
"But I paid attention in my history classes. I knew what they were. And it came in handy when the right opportunities came my way. They wanted to sell that thing off for cheap, but I knew its true value." There was a manic light in those blue eyes as he set the wineglass down.
He stood, imposing and looming over Beau.
"I knew there were rumors of secret enclaves, isolated with their own little vampire societies." He began to pace, the racks of weapons and tools behind him a sinister backdrop.
"No need to feed it or clean up waste like with a person." He turned on his heel to walk back across the room.
"The perfect punching bag." Another turn.
"Unable to die." Another turn.
"I thought any tales of vampirism being transmitted were fiction, fear mongering and propaganda." He finally stopped pacing, right in front of Beau, staring down at him.
"But you, servant of mine, are living proof." His master smiled, not the disarming grins he gave to guests, not the barely there twitch of his lips when he was alone, but a wide, unhinged grin.
Despite spending his whole life serving his master, Beau had never seen such an expression from him. It made him want to run and hide.
Then came laughter. Not jovial chuckles from bantering with his colleagues, but something darker, more genuine. Beau was shaking with fear.
Beau had never had reason to fear his master before now. There had been clear rules to working and living as a servant in the estate. And Beau had followed all of them, taught at his mother's knee.
He had followed his master's orders, not struggling when he had been gagged, kneeling when told, and he still felt like he was in danger. It didn't compute in his brain, a complete divergence from how his life worked for nineteen years.
"Well- 'living proof' is a bit of a misnomer, hmm?" His master said, laughter dying down. His eyes bored into Beau, making him feel small.
Beau was still shaking, knees aching from kneeling for so long on the unforgiving concrete floor. He didn't feel as cold as he should- he knew this. He had visited this room for only minutes at a time before, and it had felt colder then.
It was sinking in now. Beau had died. He didn't know how long ago- minutes, hours. But the body of the thing- the vampire- that had previously resided here was gone, leaving only its slowly draining blood as proof that it had existed at all.
Except it had also left Beau behind. Dead, but not.
He was dead. That was why everything felt so strange. Why he wasn't hearing the usual dull roar of blood rushing in his ears and the rapid thud of his heartbeat even though he was terrified.
Why there was a collar around his neck, heavy and chaining him to the wall.
Beau hadn't been given permission to speak- he had never spoken in his master's presence before, not when he was a simple servant rarely in the same room as his master. He wanted to speak now, to ask if he really was dead. If he was a vampire as his master claimed.
Beau dared to lift his head, meeting his master's eyes for the first time in his life. He immediately regretted it. All that was left in himself was animal fear, clawing and begging for him to bow his head, submit, curl into the corner and hope he didn't die again.
"I think you'll be the best behaved yet when it comes to my toys, yes?" His master nodded to himself as he spoke, not acknowledging the eye contact.
Beau nodded as well before bowing his head once again. He stared down at the bloodstained concrete floor and resolved to not look up unless ordered to.
The sigh that filled the room sent another cold shock of terror through Beau, grasping at his dead heart and squeezing. Why did he feel so much if he was dead?
"I can't have you spreading your disease, though. It wouldn't do for the government to come knocking down my door for hosting a parasite like you, would it?" Another rhetorical question, his master walking away and towards the racks on the wall.
Beau hadn't realized he could do what had been done to him to others. He didn't want to attack anyone, he'd never been in a fight in his life. He wasn't a violent person. Surely he wouldn't devolve into that feral beast that had killed him?
It wasn't inherent to being a vampire, was it? If that's the case, no wonder everyone tried to kill them all off.
Beau didn't want to hurt anyone. He couldn't bear to imagine any of the estate's staff entering the basement and being hurt by him. Those were his friends, his family.
His master spoke in a lower tone, mostly to himself. "We can try defanging, but that seems rather arduous, and I have a meeting scheduled early tomorrow. For now… yes, this'll work."
The sudden clinking of metal made Beau startle, unnecessary breath catching in his chest. Footsteps drew closer.
His master clicked his tongue. "Take out the gag and raise your head."
Beau followed the orders, grateful to have them, to have something to follow and cling to when he's been left unmoored from normality, from life itself. He kept the rag that had been used to gag him in his hands, glancing down at it.
The scrap of cloth was more red than its original white, splotched with blood. Had it tasted sweet because he was a monster now?
A small cage of metal with black leather straps dangled from his master's hand. Beau had seen many of them on the hunting dogs in the estate's kennel.
Relief made his shoulders relax, some of the tightly wound tension fading. He wouldn't be able to bite anyone. He wouldn't be able to tear into anyone like that thing did to him.
Beau kept his chin tilted up, eyes downcast to not make contact with his master's. The metal was cold, pressing tight enough to bruise against his cheeks. The straps were buckled around the back of his head, parting through cropped black hair.
"There's a good dog." His master's hand was warm against his scalp as it ruffled Beau's hair. He turned and left before Beau could react, the door to the room shutting and locking.
Beau had been too shocked to duck his head away from the hand, but now that he was alone shame and embarrassment washed over him. He wasn't a dog. He was a person! He was a nineteen year old man! He was…
He was collared, and chained, and muzzled. Like a dog. And he had just sat there and let it happen because he was a servant of the house and didn't know how to disobey his master. There was always punishment for orders left unfollowed. But he didn't have a job to lose anymore.
His mom did, though. She spent most of her life in the estate as a servant. She had nowhere else to go, no one outside of the estate to rely on. Their master could dismiss her and she'd have nothing.
The stakes for Beau were different now. It wasn't about losing his job and getting kicked out onto the streets. He wasn't a human being anymore. He wasn't even alive. His master had no reservations about chaining and muzzling Beau, and why would he stop there when he had tortured dozens of people in this very basement.
That was probably Beau's purpose. Why keep him down here otherwise? He had all the traits of the previous vampire that made it the perfect 'toy', except he already was trained to obey.
Indignation rose. He may not be human anymore but he wasn't a dog. He had his pride even in death.
It wasn't like he could do anything about it now. His mom's livelihood was on the line, even if she didn't know it yet. He was already chained. No victims had ever escaped the basement.
No one escaped Beau's master.
The thought chased away all the fear and indignation, replacing it all with the heavy weight of dread.
Beau was trapped. No one ever escaped before. No one would be rescuing him. Everyone he knew worked here, and wouldn't risk their jobs to save him. His mom couldn't afford to.
He wondered if this was it, if he would live as his master's dog forever. But he wasn't alive, he reminded himself.
In times like this where his thoughts became to depressing, he would usually lose himself in washing dishes or peeling potatoes or something else mindless. Now he had nothing. No tasks to complete, no orders to fulfill. Just a concrete room full of tools that would be used in his torture.
Beau found a patch of floor with the least stains and curled up, resting his head on his arms and bringing his knees to his chest.
I have not forgotten the drawing requests for wizard, I got sick. So until i get over the junk I have I wont be filling requests. Sorry. I’m tagging on this post people who made request before hand, @vdreamblood @bouquet-of-knives @alien-arcanum @theartofwarlord @laughs-at-clouds
I WILL STILL BE DOING REQUESTS. IT WILL JUST TAKE ME LONGER TO FILL THEM. That’s all, thank you for making requests.
Content warning for: Major Character Death, Gore, Violence, Blood, Torture, Human Trafficking (mentioned), alcohol (no described drinking/drunk characters), dehumanization (it/its pronouns & animal comparisons)
(Ao3 Link)
2.5K words. Vampire Whumpee(s), Human Whumper
Beau had always been a good servant. Silent, obedient, efficient. Able to work ahead, as if he knew his master's wishes before they were spoken, but was in fact reading behaviors and routines that even his master did not know he was exhibiting.
He had always known his master was an angry man. One with much responsibility and authority, and no outlet besides violence.
The anger only came out at home, where it was private. No good servant betrayed their master's secrets, after all.
Beau had been trained by his mother in the kitchens of the large estate. The rest of the staff was his family, as he had no other parent or siblings. All throughout his youth, it was impressed upon him the importance of silence, of obedience. Able to act as if one isn't there, to be as unnoticed and inconsequential as a piece of furniture.
He had attended school, but had little in the way of friends. Graduating high school was where he ended his academic career anyway, as his job in the estate's kitchens was more sure than any attempt at getting into a college or university. He wasn't smart enough to get a scholarship anyway.
Beau was good at his work. A natural, the chef would say as she ruffled his hair. Quiet as a church mouse, his mom would praise.
He had once attributed it all to his looks. Black hair and brown eyes, average in every way. On his mother, those features looked pretty, at least to him. On Beau, it was plain to the point of invisibility.
One of the maids he had grown up alongside, Eun-Yeong, insisted it was all skill, though Beau took that with a grain of salt considering her clumsiness.
Whenever Beau denied it, she tried to whack him with whatever rag or feather duster she had on hand and declared that she wished he could be as invisible to her as he was to the master and his guests. Supposedly being humble didn't suit him.
Whatever the case, it was because of Beau's skills as a servant that he had been enlisted as one of the servants that took care of the thing his master kept in the basement.
Ever since he was a child, Beau's mother told him to never pay any heed to the screaming that came from the basement of the estate. To never ask about it, to never peek down there, and to never, ever venture down those stairs without permission.
A good servant did not pry into their master's affairs, after all. It was no business of theirs what happened down there, only to clean up the aftermath and do what they were told.
It hadn't been until the most recent of his master's victims had arrived that Beau was assigned down there. It was only to bring meals to the master- the thing his master vented his anger onto had no need to eat.
There was an air of hope regarding the thing in the basement. Rumors among servants said that it had no need to eat, to sleep, to breathe. That it healed from any wound, even those that would be lethal on a normal person. It would be around for a long time, they said. So none of the estate's staff would face their master's untimely wrath with it around.
And for a while it seemed true. Their master was less irritable. In the kitchens they knew it because he was not as particular about his food or drink, only sending a single dish back every week.
People wondered at what the thing in the basement was. It certainly didn't have any elven blood, the head butler affirmed, as despite its pointed ears. The more worldly of the maids was able to deny any rumors of it being beastkin. Even with its regeneration, it had none of the strength or build of an orc or troll.
The strongest rumor was that it was some sort of ghoul or zombie, not even alive, not truly able to feel. The kind of thing that existed only in horror movies. Some kind of botched soul magic had been attempted, only to resort in what screamed and pretended to be a person down there in the basement.
It could scream, could cry, could bleed like a person. But note the near black color of its blood. Note how it didn't need to breathe or eat. How it hissed like a feral animal at the sight of silver. How its fangs tore at its own lips like a rabid beast.
Never pity those in the basement, Beau's mother had told him long ago. That was when the master's victims had been people, homeless vagrants, those trafficked from foreign countries that used the few words of English they knew to beg.
It wasn't a kind world out there. Beau and his mother were only human. All they could do was work for their shelter and food. They had security here, knowing what was expected of them. Outside of the estate was an unknown element to Beau, who had only attended school and done little else, spending what few days he had off from work resting in the servants' quarters instead of exploring the outside world.
Beau's world was the estate. He had never known life without the occasional desperate screams emanating from the basement once every few months, lasting for a few days or a week at most until it was blissfully silent again.
This time it lasted longer, a week turning into months. The master had invested in remodeling part of the basement, making it soundproof, so he could have guests over despite having a 'guest' in the basement as well.
Something about the silence made everything more eerie. Beau had long since been inured to the screams, not startling at the sudden noises. He had always been grateful the servant's quarters were outside of the main building, so their sleep wasn't disturbed.
Once the silence filled the mansion, Beau had been assigned to bring the master meals, to ensure the man did not go hungry during the long hours spent torturing and tormenting the thing in the basement. Simple things, snacks the master could eat with one hand, the other dripping with that dark, unsettling blood.
The thing in the basement haunted Beau's nightmares ever since he began bringing the master food. It was rake thin, truly as ghoulish as the rumors said. It had unkempt hair so matted with gore that Beau had no clue what the original color had been. It had piercing red eyes, ones that gleamed even in the dim light of the basement. It had fangs, its canine teeth elongated and razor sharp.
Most of the time Beau saw it slumped on the floor. It was so corpselike that he was always surprised to see it move from where it lay in a pool of its own blood.
Beau had never thought he would grow to pity such a wretched thing. Not when he held no pity for the past victims. But he had never seen the past victims of his master, only heard their cries and screams. He had never been haunted by the sight of them, the taste of rotting blood in the air, the look in its eyes. Not even begging, but resigned. Like an old sick dog wasting away on the side of the road, knowing there would be no rescue or premature end to its suffering.
Every once in a while he was sent to leave snacks preemptively, as the master would in all likelihood visit the basement that evening after a stressful day at work.
Those moments down in the basement, leaving a charcuterie board or platter of fruit with only the thing down there to keep him company, they were the most harrowing.
Sometimes Beau was able to live up to his reputation, silent enough to leave the food at a side table and escape without waking the thing as it rested between its tortures. Most of the time he did not. The thing would be awake, eyes gleaming even in near darkness, its unnerving gaze following Beau.
It never spoke to him. Beau didn't know if it was smart enough to speak, to be honest.
This time was seemingly the same as always. The thing lay in a pool of its own dark blood, limp like a marionette with its strings cut. It wore little in the way of clothes, covered in healing wounds and its own blood as it was, there was no modesty to preserve, Beau supposed.
Beau placed the polished silver platter onto the table, opening the bottle of wine so it could breathe in anticipation of his master's arrival. The dry, almost sour smell of the white wine made Beau's nose wrinkle as he poured a careful amount into the glass, careful as he left the cork on the tray and pocketed the metal wrapping to throw away.
Thinly sliced meats and cheeses were arranged artistically, no flaws to be seen. Beau turned to leave the basement, his job done for now.
Then he caught sight of the thing. It was kneeling, closer than ever before. The chain connecting it to the wall was taut, and Beau was surprised it could withstand the strain with its emaciated body.
Its matted hair covered its face as it swayed on its knees.
Beau couldn't help but worry, not in the way of a servant fretting over a potentially broken possession of his master's, but how a person felt concern and compassion over someone obviously hurt.
He shouldn't let himself worry. He should turn and walk back up the staircase, to the kitchens where he would continue the tasks assigned to him. This was just another task, one already done, he couldn't-
The thing began to keen like a wounded animal. It slowly raised its head up to look at Beau, glimpses of scarlet between dirty locks of hair.
"I can't help you." Beau found himself saying before he could think better of it.
The keening died off and it slumped back, the chain finally lowering as it was given more slack.
"…" Beau looked between the pitiful creature and the platter of food. "…I can feed you? Just a piece of deli meat, would that help?"
Truthfully he didn't even know if the thing could eat, only that it didn't need to. It raised its head, eyes glimmering and looking so human, like it understood everything Beau had said.
Then it nodded.
"Okay." Beau spoke softly. He slipped a thin cut of capocollo off the platter, the marbled ham somehow looking more grisly in the lighting, with blood splattered on the floor.
He held it with pinched fingers, slowly crouching down and reaching out towards the thing. He could've thrown it, but that felt too demeaning when he was just trying to help.
"Here you go." Beau murmured.
The thing stirred again, straightening up, but already at the end of its chain. Beau felt bad for forcing it to exert itself so much, and leaned closer.
Bloodstained and cold hands grabbed at Beau's wrist. Every knuckle and bone seemed to be trying to escape its body, skin stretched over its skeleton like a horrific Halloween prop. Its nails were ragged and uncut, split and chipped with its own blood stuck under them.
Beau's pulse raced, and he pulled back, dropping the meat with a soft splat into one of the puddles of blood. One of the thing's nails sliced into his soft, pale skin.
Beau's blood welled up, glittering garnet under the light, the same shade as the thing's eyes.
And then it was truly over.
The thing pulled with strength Beau hadn't known it had, and Beau was swept off his feet, falling forward. His white dress shirt and black slacks soaked with blood as he sprawled onto the floor, breathless.
It still had a hold on his wrist, hunched over his hand, uncaring for the food now soiled on the ground.
"Let go-!" Beau gasped out, already trying to struggle and failing.
Then the creature bit down into his wrist, razor sharp fangs like knives through his flesh, scraping at his bones.
Beau screamed as a hot, searing pain zipped up from his wrist to his shoulder. He struggled again, feeling the fangs rip at muscles and nerves with every vain attempt to free himself, still screaming, hoping anyone could hear him, save him.
But the basement was soundproofed. Even if it weren't, all of the house's servants had long since learned to ignore the screams coming from the basement.
Beau grew faint with bloodloss and shock, held up only by his arm. He couldn't keep his head up, unable to even gather the air to scream again despite the agony. He could taste the blood pooled on the floor, foul on his tongue, yet his body had no strength to retch.
He couldn't resist as a hand sank into his hair, pulling his head up and baring his neck. His pulse was thready in his ears, the room darkening.
A agony bloomed from his neck, and Beaumont Mallory died, his throat ripped out by a vampire.
Soon enough, the master of the estate would make his way down the basement, leisurely as he anticipated a nice evening of wine and torture to destress from the day. He would find the his most recent and favorite plaything- a vampire he had been gifted by a business partner, a rare find in their circles with how isolated and secretive those enclaves could be- sobbing over a corpse.
He didn't remember the poor boy's name, or even his face, but it must've been one of his servants considering the clothes.
With a shout, the master would grab the stake from its place on one of the tables, a constant threat he had no intentions of using before now. He had enjoyed his toy that wouldn't break, a punching bag after his long days of work. But a dog that bit once would do so again.
The vampire didn't resist, still crying as its heart was staked, as it finally died the true death it had been wanting for months.
The master spat on the vampire's corpse, disgusted. He glanced to the corpse of the poor servant boy, only to watch the shredded skin of a pale throat began to knit back together.
Just like his now dead plaything.
Yet this one was once his servant and would be far more obedient.
He grinned, elation he hadn't felt since he was a young man washing through him.
Transferring the collar took just a moment, the silver chain enough to hold the beast. He went to his chair and sat, grabbing the wine glass. He delicately sniffed the white wine and tasted it.
It had been aired out perfectly, a great companion as he waited for his new toy to wake.
A kick to the ribs woke Beau. He instinctively curled forward to protect himself, the chain connecting his collar to the wall clanking and rasping against the concrete floor.
"Good morning sunshine." His master drawled. There was a warm amusement to it, his anger abated at the sight of Beau in pain.
Another kick, this time to the gut. Beau retched despite having long since vomited any bile left in his body. His throat burned from stomach acid and thirst. He had thought vampires didn't need to drink- after all, none of the servants had given his predecessor water- but he had a headache from dehydration, mouth dry and throat parched, and a weird ache in his teeth.
Beau heaved, trying and failing to control his body. It was dead, why did it still go through the motions of living when it only made everything worse? Yet his only method of control was attempting deep breaths while his numb fingers grasped at his stained and torn dress shirt.
The clicking of dress shoes on the concrete floor of the basement filled him with dread. Beau spared a thought for Maude, the maid in charge of the master's wardrobe who would be spending her evening cleaning bloodstains out of the patent leather's seams.
Beau reached out, bracing himself and sitting up, leaning on hands wet and sticky with blood. He was nearly against the wall, dread filling him as his master grabbed a weapon from the shelves and racks on the opposite wall.
The dimmed lighting cast strange shadows when combined with the nearly black bloodstains on the floor. His master turned. The long, thin weapon he wielded reflected light off of its metallic surface.
Beau's mind could only compare the sight to depictions of avenging angels.
His master approached Beau, the light filtering through his blonde hair and gleaming like spun gold. Pale blue eyes were alight with rage, a usually pleasant and placid face twisted, nostrils flared and teeth bared in a snarl. Weapon in hand as if completing some righteous, God-given task of punishment.
Beau tried to brace himself but he was still reeling from the previous attacks and could barely stay upright.
Then his master changed his posture, and it was something Beau recognized, finally able to see the weapon in full as it was brought back and up. The face of the golf club flashed in the light, gold plating on iron.
Then the club was swinging down in a devastating arc.
The head of the club struck Beau's sternum with a heavy thump and a series of crackling pops that Beau felt more than heard as he was flung into the wall. His head knocked into concrete so hard the world went black for a moment.
Pain exploded and encompassed his entire being. His existence narrowed to the agony, piercing and rending flesh and organs alike, his own ribs jagged claws reaching inwards to rip him apart.
Beau barely processed the rain of blows on his body. He kept his eyes closed tight enough to see bursts and flashes of colors in the darkness, arms up to protect his head, not that it mattered.
Beau had already learned in the past few days that begging didn't appease his master. It did nothing but piss his master off more. While his master seemed to enjoy Beau's subservience, excess pleading just annoyed him. Considering the fact that his master only came down into the basement when he was already mad, annoying him only made the beatings worse.
All he could do was endure. His body would regenerate from bruises and broken bones, betraying him by becoming a clean slate for his master's torture yet again.
So far he had only suffered beatings at his master's hand, but Beau knew it wouldn't last forever. The wall across from him was a constant reminder, taunting him with what he would be subjected to in the future. Knives, scissors, whips, pliers, saws… and more that he hadn't even noticed in the poor lighting, like the golf club he was being beaten with.
And of course, the stake.
A large carved piece of ash wood, splattered with the black lifeblood of Beau's predecessor. His master had lectured about it at length- how he had been forced to dirty his hands due to the vampire that turned Beau, as a dog that bites once will do so again. And the only ways to kill a vampire that stuck were decapitation and a wooden stake to the heart.
Beau had spent hours just staring at the vague silhouette of the stake where it lay on a table. He hadn't noticed it as a servant, so innocuous among the blades and tools. Now it was a threat, the sight of it scaring him as much as the basement's door opening and the clicking of dress shoes did.
The cloying, rotten taste of his own blood brought Beau back to reality as he choked. The spray of blood from his mouth splattered against the sleeves of his shirt, as he had still been trying to protect his head in vain. The metal of the muzzle dripped with blood as more and more bubbled up Beau's throat, pooling in his mouth.
Despite knowing logically that he can't die- not unless his master permits it- Beau was still terrified that this would be the time he succumbed to his wounds. He should have died a dozen times over now, from the torn throat, the beatings, the bleeding, the cold. His existence had become unending suffering for the sake of his master's temper.
Regardless of the monster he was now, Beau still felt human. He didn't want to die. Even if his heart didn't beat and he didn't need to breathe, even if he was already dead, he didn't want to die.
It was nonsensical. It was ridiculous. Enough to make Beau's body attempt to laugh even if it only meant more blood to choke on as his body convulsed.
A clatter rang out as the golf club fell onto concrete, far enough away that Beau couldn't reach it even if he wanted to. The thought of doing so didn't even cross his mind.
"This is getting boring, you know." Beau's master was already leaving the room. "Maybe next time I'll finally get around to defanging you like I promised."
The door to the room slammed shut, his master's anger left unsated.
All Beau could do was lie there in a pool of his own blood and breathe, even though his body didn't need to. His mind did, convinced that he just needed to keep breathing. As if it were proof that he was alive, that things were going to be okay.
When he would pass out in a few minutes his body would stop breathing. A servant would come down to clean and avert their eyes from his corpse. They didn't like the reminder that any of the estate's staff could become the victim in the basement.
The pretense that as long as their master continued to torture strangers down in the basement the staff of the estate would be spared from his wrath was gone. Constance Mallory's sweet boy, quiet Beau, had died down there. The gardeners had buried another corpse, though plants refused to grow where it had been entombed in the soil.
The servants were gossiping about this new development in the estate, though they kept it out of earshot of the kitchen's staff. They were saying that the corpse carried out of the basement hadn't been Beau's, but the ghoulish monster that had resided down there. Beau was still down in the basement, suffering at their master's hands.
And none of them wanted to be the one to tell Constance, so they didn't.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I finally posted this double life/dream smp fic. listen you don’t have to read it but the thought of posting it here is too funny to pass up. dead dove do not eat and all that.
