#redacted imp!vincent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinksparkl · 1 month ago

Text

Long Live The King - chapter 2 - descent into depravity

It's time for Lovely to wake up; they know better than to keep Vincent waiting.

Tags in previous chapter [non-exhaustive warnings for blood, gore, possessive behaviour]

Rated: M

4802 words (read here or on ao3)

If anyone had asked Vincent Solaire why he stayed there, remaining unmoving like a statue hewn from cold marble, he couldn't have found an answer, no matter how deeply he searched for one. He sat as if bound to the chair, watching, staring, waiting. But deep down he knew there wasn't anything to wait for.

Nothing physical held him there but his own will. He should have left. Should have dragged himself to where he kept the other bloodbags; the oh-so simple act of Turning nearly drained him – of blood, of magic, of energy – he was hungry, but he stayed. He waited. He watched.

He didn't know why, but he did.

He felt like he needed to.

He had no other choice.

Being their master and their would-be Maker, he was responsible for them, even if… the ritual was left incomplete without their waking. As impetuous as the young Prince could be at the best of times, Vincent understood all too well the significance of what he had done, and the risks it held. Even if they ultimately didn't.

They had accepted everything he gave them, everything he put them through, without any question or plea for explanation. Every twisted manifestation of his anger and spite, every gluttonous feast he pulled clean from their veins, and every hissed insult as he took whatever else he needed from them. But they also accepted every short break he had to almost force them to take, every meal served to them to ensure their survival that was devoured just as hungrily as he had taken them just moments prior, and every condescendingly soft word that fell from his lips like the droplets of their vibrant, addictive blood. Whatever scrap of humanity was left in his cold heart only chilled further at the thought of them dying so needlessly for the sake of his own ill-thought-out, reckless endeavour.

"I was so stupid for thinking it could work," he scoffed in his mind, finally admitting defeat.

But still nothing could draw his eyes away from the way they lay across the bed, noiseless, motionless, colourless – save the red smeared and dripping across their body. Over the last number of months, Vincent had grown so accustomed to their whines and squirming, even when they were all too willing in their treatment, that the lack of either was so unfamiliar to the unfeeling Prince.

Not the sun rising, nor it setting again hours later could remove him from their side – a silent sentinel – yet even now he could not fathom why. They were just a distraction, a source of entertainment in the bleak monotony of life under the Imperium. Even as a Free Vampire, he was beholden to their laws to some degree.

Free from their control, but not free to do as he pleased.

Nearly a whole day passed as they lay there, as cold and still and quiet as the moment he stole their life from their body. He could no longer sense the sweet nectar that once flowed through their veins with an unceasing rhythm that had all but called out to him by name all those months ago. Soon, whether he liked it or not, he would have to feed, to go about his life again, to dispose of the corpse – it held no use for him now.

But for now, he stayed, he waited, and he watched.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Cold. So cold. And the pain! White hot and blinding, searing, scorching heat! Freezing me to my core.

"Breathe! I can't breathe!

"I am shackled and I cannot move. My throat is slick, both inside and out, yet raw and burning at the same time. Dizzy but motionless. I am here but not here at all.

"What is- what is happening to me?!"

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Sighing, Vincent raised himself up off the armchair, the wooden legs scraping the floor as he pushed it away to stand. Straightening his back, he reluctantly accepted whatever dull tedium was soon to follow without the bright taste of their blood to return to and refresh him whole. But just before he turned to face the door – the very first time he let himself tear his wakeful gaze from them – he watched in silent awe as their breaths came in fits and gasps. Stiff rigour retreating to allow movement again to their twitching limbs, restricted severely by the chains that secured them to four corners of the bed.

He listened as weak, strained breaths gurgled deep in their chest, like they were fighting against an almighty weight seeking to compress them flat. Each cycle of air was a struggle, but one they continued with a defeated kind of defiance, as if they were aware that the very act of it was pointless, but they knew how to do nothing else.

Their behaviour reminded Vincent of a trapped animal, startled, and filled with incomprehensible fear. Straining their wrists and ankles, they tried to free themself from the chains with unfocused effort. Pulling and straining at the metal bindings, the bedposts creaked with their strength. They knew they were trapped, but didn't seem to have enough understanding of why they were there, or how to even attempt an escape. The metal fastenings that bound them in place were uncomfortable at best, and knowing that at least was enough for now – they needed to break free, they needed to run.

In the hours prior, Vincent had lamented their silence, wishing for their soft hushed voice or their pitiful, tear-filled cries, but now the room echoed with awful roars and screeches as they rattled and pulled at the cuffs. Had the Prince been a weak man, he would have run in horror of what they could do – of what he had created – but Vincent Solaire was no mere weak man. He was a Prince. A Prince of the Vampire House of Solaire. Taking a seat to the side of their convulsing body, half-annoyed at being ignored, he waited and watched as their initial frenzy tapered off; no need in wasting the effort calming them down now, they'd tire themself out soon enough.

Frantic eyes scanned the room, attention darting here and there, squinting away from the bright lights. They were disinterested in the… rather tasteful decor – old blood smeared on the walls, caging them in memories of feedings and fuckings past. As they took in their surroundings, Vincent observed how different their eyes had become during their slumber. No longer were there any distinctions between pupil or iris or sclera – all had been reduced to a pitch black, inky darkness that threatened to consume everything.

A clear symptom of the Bloodlust.

Very common for a Newborn, but left unchecked, it could pose a danger to those ill-prepared to face an force nigh-unstoppable. They would become true hunger given human form.

But to Vincent, this meant only one thing. It worked. He had become a Maker. He had given them a new life, a new purpose. It was exceedingly easy to control an unempowered human, even with their tenacity being as delicious as their blood, but as his Progeny, they would be his little puppet, bound to his every word if he wished it.

Cocking his head to the side, he rested on an elegant hand, giving off the well-practiced illusion of boredom. Vincent knew hunger would creep in eventually –it was their curse of course; to be forever hungry – he just didn't expect them to feel the effects quite so soon. "Maybe I indulged in their fatalistic tendancies a little too much." The thought took him by surprise, made him laugh under his breath a little, unknown to himself, to think that he, a Prince had been doing anything for the benefit of a lowly human.

Unaware of him finding his realisation so humourous, they continued to cry and screech and moan, in a pain so intense there were no words to capture it.

"Sshhh," he responded their baying wails, if not for his own sake. He saw how each noise they made fuelled the next, every sound crashing against their new senses and sending them further into distress. "Hush now, little one."

The quiet words caught Lovely's attention, and when they turned their head to meet his gaze through the bright glare of the lights above, it was as if everything else ceased to exist. Their jerky, erratic, unhuman movements halted immediately as if his presence alone soothed their unspoken fears borne of confusion and desolation.

“That's it. You know who I am,” he crooned softly. “I'm your master, have been for a while now. And now, I'm your Maker.” Recognition flashed across their features as he spoke, a small gasp that merged into a sigh as they settled back into the mattress. They remembered him, knew what he had done to them. But there was more. He could feel something else lingering in their mind, it wrapped around his thoughts through the Bond, twisting and pulling and clawing desperately at the edges. Their hunger dwarfed even his own, their Bloodlust was immense, overwhelming all of their senses and threatened to pull them down where they would be helpless to fight it.

Would they try? Would they even want to? Or would they slip down into its endless depths without any hesitation?

He saw the hunger in their eyes, could feel through the Bond how desperate they were, teeth aching for the blood that hung in the air around them both. Their blood. His blood.

Maybe this would be easy, for both of them, maybe it wouldn't, there was only one way to find out.

Staring them down, he asserted his control over them, showed that they were no match for him. Not even five minutes old and chained to a bed, they had to see that he was in control. But still they writhed, seeking to free themself, to feed their hunger with more blood than they could stomach. A low whine slipped past their lips as they bared their fangs, though not in an attempt at aggression, as that would be the wrong move, but in submission as they pleaded for something, anything to make it all make sense.

Everything Vincent had – once, long ago – despised in himself, he saw in them now, the monstrous appetite, the inhuman stare, their perfectly shaped fangs! Oh, how they peeked out between their lips, catching the light on their razor points. And it was all… so… Beautiful. Their heaving chest slowed as their mind soon caught up to the fact that they no longer had that human need for oxygen to survive, allowing the room to fall into complete silence once again.

Only this time, the air felt unimaginably lighter with their time as a corpse set firmly behind in the past.

“You're a Vampire now," he explained once they had settled back against the bloodstained sheets in a position that could possibly be called comfortable. Since finding him amongst the bright lights, they had not looked away, entranced by his prescence, they clung onto every word that came from his lips. "You're mine. More than you ever were before, bloodba-" The insult-turned-nickname halted on his tongue, it didn't quite fit them now.

Puzzled, he frowned, thinking of an alternative. “Hmm, I guess I can't call you “bloodbag” anymore… a shame; it suited you so well. But still, you're mine.” Stroking a finger across their cheek, still stained with a dried mix of their own blood and his, he looked on them almost fondly.

A body to die for, powers yet to be tested, and the blood of a soon-to-be King. They were a vision.

He had thought they would stay sated a little longer and give him some time to come up with a plan, but perhaps their time of constantly circling the cloudy brink of hypovolemia had affected the lasting effects of his blood. How was he to know? He wasn't a damned Healer or anything. Human health wasn't something he was very familar with, and his own Maker had been very frugal in his education, so his lack of knowledge betrayed him and unsettled his nerves once more.

"Though," he reflected. "Keeping them half-drained had kept them quiet and pliant, the way all good bloodbags should be." But now they weren't a bloodbag, they were Progeny now, and the empty silence was starting to get to him.

Vincent watched patiently as they opened their mouth as if to grace the room with their voice but then closed it again, instead pressed their fangs into their bottom lip, denting the flesh, willing it to puncture under the sharp pressure. They were starving and painfully desperate for blood. If none could be found elsewhere, surely their own would suffice?

Immediately Vincent recognised the action, remembered all too well the way he'd sliced his own lip in the midst of starvation, and how William had forced upon him the truth of what happened to Vampires who succumbed to their own blood.

Death.

Excruciatingly painful death.

These cautionary tales, aside from the "gift" of this new life, were the only things his Maker had ever given him, no doubt to scare him off making Progeny of his own. He knew little of how to care for a Newborn Vampire, but it had been drilled into him that were wont to harm themselves in search for sustenance if their needs weren't met. "Impatient little things" as the old King had called them.

But this little one wasn't going to give in to something as unbecoming as petty impatience; Vincent wouldn't allow it. They were going to learn. He contemplated his words carefully, exceedingly aware of the shiny allure of finding loopholes in commands, not that William made it easy for him. Having a Maker five hundred years his senior had its own set of difficulties, and getting the upper hand against him was a pointless task.

"Stop!" He held their face with one hand, his fingers and thumb pressing hard into the sides of their jaw, inhibiting their ability to sink their teeth into their own flesh. Rings and nails biting into their skin were familar sensations, but now he needed to squeeze tighter than he ever had before; his Progeny was strong.

"My blood made them strong."

Vincent's grip was unrelenting, but necessary; their fangs were sharp, even for a Newborn. His complacency would be their ruin. "Biting and drinking from yourself will only bring you pain. And not the fun kind. Don't do it again," he growled, fangs bared. "Am I clear?" His silver eyes narrowed, staring them down, pushing his will against their own.

Yielding, they nodded as much as his hold would allow, conceding to the Prince, to their Maker, and making him smile in return. "Lovely," he remarked on their easy compliancy.

Content with this show of good behaviour, Vincent slowly reached out his hands towards the manacles that caged their limbs. He was not afraid, far from it, but he needed his new Progeny to recognise the meaning behind his actions, that he would not harm them if they complied.

Whatever had come before was not what would happen now, they were human then, but now? They were a Vampire. They'd been yanked up the ladder by the scruff of their neck, things would be very different.

"Don't move." The order was simple, easy to understand. From their months as his favourite live-in source of blood and stress reliever, Vincent knew how well they took commands; his little doll that did exactly as they were told.

In setting them free from the bindings, he was testing the Bond, their obedience, his control. They could easily break through the bindings now – releasing them was little more than a symbolic act – but they had chosen not to. They trusted his word, trusted him.

It could all go so very wrong in as little time it took to blink an eye, but he had faith that they would continue to choose correctly, that he had sufficently imposed his power over them to dissuade any imaginings of a fight for freedom.

What kind of freedom would it be anyway? A lone Vampire was powerless in the scale of things, and would be quickly exterminated if they failed to swear fealty to the Crown of the Imperium, their rebirth as a Free Vampire be damned. Even if they somehow managed to avoid that, all that would be left was a life of hiding and scavenging for scraps, holding onto the fractured hope that their next meal wouldn't be their last.

No, that was no freedom at all.

They were better off with him, especially as he would soon be stepping up from his position of Crown Prince to that of Vampire King. Vincent needed them to understand this.

“Stay.” Voice low with a rolling undercurrent of authority, the word not issued as a command this time, but rather a suggestion. He didn't want to have to chase them down through labyrinthine hallways; there would be no knowing where they could end up.

He turned and left the room without another word, leaving a delirious Lovely to lie in silence until his return. They didn't even think to roll their joints, to exercise movements that had been restricted thus far. He had told them not to move, so that was exactly what they did.

Dark eyes merely stared at the open doorway, waiting for him to reappear.

They were not wrong to believe so, as their Maker did return. They knew he would; doubt had not been allowed to make any attempt to cloud their mind

With him, Vincent brought two of his bloodbags, one for himself and one for them. “That should be enough, right? Enough to take the edge off and make them docile.” The years of bloodsoaked depravity had worn away the hazy memories of his own Bloodlust, and the appetite of a Newborn wasn't something that had particularly interested him in the intervening time

He shoved at the shoulder one of the bloodbags, pushing them onto Lovely's lap without further fanfare; he wasn't about to celebrate this milestone lest they expect more of that down the line.

They were still his plaything, "nothing more."

Yanking at the limp sacrifice in his arms, Vincent manipulated him into a more suitable position. He dug his fangs into the pliant neck, sucking and licking, replenishing himself as he watched to see what his new source of entertainmen would do.

But they did nothing. They simply stared blankly back at him.

Disappointed, Vincent let the fresh blood drip from his chin as he lifted the Trance on both of the bloodbags. A little struggle wouldn't hurt, in fact, it might entice a stubborn Newborn to feed like they were supposed to.

And still they did nothing.

Lovely only moved to look up with their unseeing black eyes, waiting for an order from their owner, their master, their Maker.

Were they that subservient? Would they starve themself until he finally gave them the go-ahead to feed? He thought about dragging this out and forcing them to beg for blood, to submit to the thirst choking them from the inside. The sweet sadism floated by and kissed his senses, but even he wasn't that heartless.

“Drink."

The command was basic with no further instruction or guidance to adorn it unnecessarily. He needed to see them obey. As he returned to his own meal, he kept his eyes trained on his first – only – Progeny.

Copying Vincent's stance as much as they could while still lying down, they sunk their nails into the bloodbag’s arm, not even flinching as she wriggled and weakly punched at the stronger limbs to get away from the creature that held her firmly in place with one hand. Drawing her close, Lovely took in the scent of her wild pulse, fear gunning through every vein. Instinct took over, as fangs sank deeply into soft skin. They punctured the jugular without the need for any outside guidance while pointed incisors pinched the vein in place as they drank and drank at the delicious nectar that promised syrupy satiation.

In a word, Vincent was impressed, but also relieved. A vamp that couldn't feed was next to useless, so the fact that they were quick to grasp the concept was reassuring. They would survive if nothing else.

But it was no surprise; they were of Solaire blood, of his blood. Anything less would have been an insult to the power that flowed from their newly awakened Core and through their veins.

What did surprise him though, was the sheer mess they were making of their meal. As a newly Turned, formerly unempowered human, he expected them to be careful and delicate, scared to hurt the girl, but no. Her neck was torn open, and her skin now shredded with numerous gashes and wounds where their nails had sliced through, both when she had initially fought back and then again when Lovely began to learn and appreciate the extent of their new strength.

Skin was no more a barrier to them than tissue paper. Bones might as well be made of chalk for how easily they crumbled between their fingers. No longer were mortal limitations able to hold them back.

The girl cried out, a piercing noise that reminded Vincent of a bird that had died slowly – needlessly slowly – after Adam had shot it down with a well-aimed rock. Tortuous and choked, calling out all those in the vicinity as complicit in its tragic demise.

He might be unmoved by such soft sentiments, but he never could affiliate himself with those who felt they could gain anything from mindless violence. Pain for pain's sake never was the Prince's style.

But this? This was majesty.

With each greedy gulp of the girl's blood, Lovely felt the thrumming of her pulse quicken further and further, like a rabbit caught in a trap, her rasping breaths shallowed as her resistance faded away.

The creature that Vincent watched now was more beast than human, that much was obvious. Their only aim was to drain the girl dry without a second thought. The only things that mattered to them now were blood, and how to get it. The thick, red liquid flowed like warm honey, over Lovely's tongue and down their throat. As they gulped and swallowed it whole, the bitter fear and despair giving way to a gentle sweetness; an almost reluctant acceptance of what was to come. A blissfully quiet end.

The girl slumped further into Lovely's unyielding embrace as her strength waned, and as if in response to these changes, the young Vampire began to relax their grip. Even through the bone-deep hunger and the desperation for satiation, they understood innately how pointless it was to exert unnecessary force on prey that was already dying. Only a whisper of consciousness left as the last drops were drained from her still body.

Blind eyes stared into nothing, an exhausted heart stopped pumping, empty lungs ceased to breathe.

Lovely licked and sucked around the wound for more blood as they realised the heavy weight of what lay across their lap. Partially sated, they could smell how her scent had changed, no longer was she full of life and fresh blood, but a dry husk that could no longer give them what they wanted.

Black eyes stared intensely into dull, lifeless ones that now only served as tiny mirrors of what they had done, reflecting the bloody mess of their own face, tinted with a pale blue.

Pushing the body off of them with a hard shove, it landed somewhere out of their sight, down by the side of the bed. Expressionless, they were unrepentant and uncaring of their actions. Their silence only disturbed by the measured sips Vincent was taking from his bloodbag; experience had taught him that savouring one's meal prevented the nasty headrush that often came with gorging oneself.

As the seconds slipped by, the reality of what they had just done slowly became clear. Vincent still had not said a word, watching them carefully over the shoulder of his meal. Lovely could barely see him with how bright the room was; their vision still partially blinded. Eyes opened wide in panic, they were suddenly overcome by the deep-seated fear that they had failed some kind of test, that this was all just a bad dream, a nightmare that they'd soon wake up from and all would be well. All part of the last ditch efforts of a fading humanity to steer them away from this path of blood and cruelty

They would never kill someone… but that's exactly what they had done.

They killed.

And they enjoyed it.

There was no turning back now.

Shaking in disbelief and shock, Lovely turned to where they could sense their Maker on the fringes of their senses. He was near, he was close. They could feel him like he was a part of them.

He had not looked away in disgust or contempt, they could feel his gaze on them, it blanketed them in a quiet relief. They had passed the test, done the right thing, he accepted them as his own.

Vincent waited as Lovely blinked, their vision slowly clearing and focusing on him as he held the struggling human as close as one would a lover, stealing both his blood and his body heat. At last, he saw their black eyes, pupils dilated, completely swallowing up their bright silver irises that struggled to be seen but he knew were there. “There we go, Lovely, that's it," he crooned softly, the whole world disappearing outside of the two bloodthirsty beings. "Look at me.” They were beautiful. He was infatuated by how raw and animalistic they were willing to let themself be.

He took in their form, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before gripping the back of the bloodbag's neck to direct him to look at his Vampire eyes. Reactivating the Trance, Vincent removed whatever fight was left in the human. “Pick up the other one and go back to your room.”

The human did as he was bid, silently bending down to pick up the body and left the two Vampires alone.

Vincent stepped closer to the bed once more, smile widening as Lovely leaned towards him. “My little Lovely's finally gotten what they wanted so badly, how do you like it?”

They raised a trembling arm towards him – skin pristine; the defensive wounds from the girl were already gone – not in supplication as one would imagine, but as an entreaty, a plea for something.

“...volo…plus.” Sounds that were unfamiliar to his ears, the first actual words Lovely had spoken in months; bloodbags didn't need to talk, but they weren't a mere bloodbag anymore. No, they were Progeny. His Progeny. They were of his blood, under his command.

Blood itself had memory that called back to something primal, something innate, but beyond that, things that were no longer practised became lost. Through some echo of an ancient time, they had gained access to something he himself had lost a long time ago.

So what were they saying? He had to know. Stroking a thumb over their cheekbone as they laid the weight of their head in his palm as they blinked almost lazily now. “Blood-drunk already?” He was amazed, he had never seen a rebirth before, only holding the blurred memories of his own. He faintly remembered a hunger that yearned and burned and scorched from within. Looking at them now brought that back to the fore. They were both hunger and satiety personified. If he needed air to breathe, he would be gasping for it at the very sight of them, so enraptured by their descent into depravity. “Hmm? So hungry you can't even remember how to speak English?” He chided them, a long way from the venomous remarks he had previously spat at them before.

He watched their brows and the bridge of their nose twisted up in confusion as they searched for the right words to express their meaning. “M-more. Want... more,” they corrected themself. Their raspy voice bubbled out past the thick blood that slid down their throat. Every other thought in their mind forced out by the deep hunger that sat in their bones and called out to be sated. “Need! More!”

They sat up, pushing their face into his chest, repeating their demand without pausing to take breath, staining his shirt wherever they touched him. Lips, neck and hands were dripping with crimson. His lovely thrall had become an insatiable monster, and the fact it was his blood which made that happen made Vincent all the more ecstatic.

“You want more? I'll give you more.”

#pinksparkl writes #redacted audio fanfic #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted imperium #redacted vincent #redacted lovely #redacted imp!vincent #whump #dark!imp!au: long live the king

24 notes · View notes