Heyo, ma name's Kat (she/him) I'm a writer and lover of whump, horror, and all things queer 'n uncanny!
(Also on Bluesky) (pfp artwork)
My favourite tropes are things like: mind control, drugging, kidnapping, captivity, body horror, and psychological whump. Also love a bit of unreality, Lovecraftian, and existential horror.
Also while nsfw content isn’t a frequent occurrence on this blog, this is still a space for adult themes and I may occasionally reblog stuff that is outright horny or explicit, hence the 18+ warning. For the most part I’ll trust folks to self manage their content but if you decide to interact with me and I click on your blog and find you’re a minor, I’m afraid that is a block from me for my own comfort. Adult content will be tagged as needed (I am kinda bad at remembering to tag tho so please feel free to let me know if you think I’ve made a mistake/forgotten something) and anything vaguely horny will be tagged #ba-hump
Always open to asks! Unsure of what to say? Ask me what game I'm playing at the moment, or what songs I have on repeat, or something about my OC's (you can find links to posts with general info about them below)!
Masterlist of playlists I've made
Get to know my OC's
Ollie and Jeremy - a supernatural Caretaker and Whumpee duo
Dr. Valerie Hemlocke - a (technically not a Doctor) scientist Whumper
(I have more but their 'get to know me' posts are pending)
Keep reading for links to my writing
World of Arethia
My first WIP: A fantasy series that takes place in a world of my own creation
(I promise I'll write an actual chapter one eventually! Sometime someday I swear I promise! The brain worms have just been elsewhere unfortunately)
Introductory lore post
Augusnippets 2024 Masterlist (chapters are non chronological)
The Star and the Darkness
Rare Bookseller fanfiction crossover masterlist - A self indulgent crossover. Features mind control whump, deception, mystery, plot twists, and a tasteful smattering of blood and gore
Vampire!Ollie AU Hypnosnippet - A snippet that was just an excuse to write some hypnosis
Like This - A snippet where I’m being mean to Jeremy :)
Subject Acquisition Record - a uhh… random medical document from some institute place? Huh, what’s this doing here?
One-offs
In Darkness - A short story of Lovecraftian horror style hypnosis (completely unrelated to Star and the Darkness btw, just poor planning means similar names lmao)
Here Boy - A little hero whump mind control request
Please Look at Me - A prompt about a caretaker with mind-control powers
The Problem with Torture: Part 1 - A little conversation between an interrogator and her charge
An eldritch horror takes human form to find its ancient enemy who escaped consumption by being reborn into a human.
It kidnaps the human, trying to shape her into the paracausal entity she once was, so it can truly kill her, destroying her human self. It also, through living as a human, begins to develop more human adjacent emotions. And feels both guilt and even love and lust boil from its sea of obsession and hate.
Stopping at nothing to get its enemy (that it’s maybe down bad for) back.
[cw: institutional whump, guns and knives, explicit violence, emeto, death, drug mention, suicidality (not acted upon or planned), emeto mention, bureaucracy]
Nathan felt dizzy following the facility employee down the sterile, white hallway. Their pace was quick and they were silent. He knew they introduced themself, but his head had been swimming between his pounding heartbeats since he arrived. He tried to recall a name and simply couldn’t.
They were passing by many doors now. Each one illuminated by a red or green switch above the top jamb. He remembered reading a handout in the lobby that claimed the rooms were very nearly soundproof. He strained to hear a single thud or a cadence of voice. He couldn’t, and he jumped when the employee stopped in front of him and spoke.
“Well, here we are,” they said in front of a green lit door. Nathan swallowed and rubbed his sweating palms against his pants as he watched them scan a key card from their lanyard. The door slid open with a low whir. The room inside was larger than he had anticipated. The same eerie, sterile white infected the entire space. On the wall to the right were tools set up like a workbench in a handyman’s shed. Some of the items were out of place maybe: namely the knives, needles, and a collection of gags, whips, and chains. In the center of the room was an operating table fitted with restraints.
The most notable fixture in the entire room however, was a figure—a man—with a black hood covering his face and fastened tightly around his neck. He was gagged through the hood, and he had a pair of bulky black earphones on. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the metal chair he was sitting in. Nathan watched him scratch absently at the arm of the chair. His heart slammed in his chest.
The employee set their clipboard down on the surgical table. They approached the man in the chair from behind and pushed his head forward. They scanned the back of his neck with their watch and tapped away at the small screen for a few seconds. The initial touch had seemed to activate the captive. Nathan watched as he pulled at his restraints and shook his head violently. His muffled voice sounded terribly hoarse.
“This is J. His handler apparently neglected to give him a full name. Feel free to refer to him however you’d like, or not at all if you prefer. He’s been selected for you based on your stated preferences on your intake form. His file claims he’s mild-mannered. That’s a unique description for Product here, at least in my experience,” Nathan froze as the employee pulled a handgun from inside their white coat.
“Please pardon me, The Owners insist on proof of quality. Please cover your ears.”
Nathan obeyed right away, and not a moment too soon. The employee wasted no time before pulling the trigger, and blowing a hole straight through J’s skull and out the front of his forehead. He stilled in an instant, before slumping forward. His dead weight carried the chair with him as he fell forward, and cracked brutally against the white tile.
Nathan watched with wide eyes as what seemed like an impossible amount of blood spread out from beneath the black hood. The gun was quickly re-holstered, and the employee walked back to where Nathan stood, with their clipboard in hand.
“Some house rules and info while we wait,” they adjusted their clear rimmed glasses and flipped through the pages.
“You’ve paid for…two hours with us. That‘s quite long for a first timer," they commented quietly, "Your time will begin when I leave the room. A tone will sound when you’ve reached half of your allotted time, and then again when you have ten minutes remaining. When I re-enter the room all activity must cease immediately. You will be led back to your locker where you can collect your personal items, change into the clothes you arrived in, and leave your loaner clothes in their place. I see you've paid the premium fee so you may freely access any of the tools you see. Everything is unlocked. That also means you are permitted to sexual contact with the Product should you wish. Removing anything from this room is strictly prohibited. This includes any Facility tools or equipment, and anything from the Product itself. Hair, teeth, bones, etcetera. In the same vein, you may not consume any part of the Product, in whole or in part. Disregarding these rules will result a permanent ban on your use of our facilities. Your session will be recorded in both audio and visual and stored for 24 hours. You may discontinue your session at any time, but you will not receive reimbursement for time unused. The Facility is not responsible for personal injury perpetrated by the Product. In the event that you feel unsafe, out of control, or at imminent risk of personal injury: you may use this,” the employee produced a small grey remote and placed it in Nathan’s hand.
“The single button will send a debilitating, and deadly shock to the Product via its electric collar. Overuse of this device as a method of pain delivery is not recommended, as it will put the Product out of commission for seven to ten minutes after each use.”
The speech had been perfectly practiced and executed. The moment they finished speaking, J gasped so loud that Nathan jumped at the sound. His ragged breathing turned into a coughing fit muffled behind the gag, as he wriggled uselessly against the floor and his restraints.
The employee watched emotionlessly for a moment and then turned back to Nathan.
“Do you have any questions?” they asked.
“I don’t…I don’t think so,” he answered. Part of him wanted to cut and run. Maybe he couldn’t do this. Maybe fantasy and reality needed to stay separate or he would shake apart entirely.
The employee cocked their head.
“Will you require any assistance?” they asked. Nathan imagined what that might mean. Getting J out of the chair and strapped to the table? Or something more intimate? Nathan shook away the images of them with blood slicked up to their elbows and wild grin on their face.
“I’ll be fine alone,” he spoke evenly as he could. The employee blinked and nodded, before leaving the room. After the door slid closed the only sound left was J’s slowly settling breaths. Nathan pocketed the remote, and took careful steps closer to the toppled figure. He gripped the back of the chair, and hauled it back upright. Blood further darkened the black fabric of J’s hood and the rest of his garments. The earphones were left in the tacky pool on the floor. Nathan had never been around so much blood that he could smell it before. J’s head hung low.
“Hi, J. My name is Nathan,” J turned toward the sound of his voice almost imperceptibly. Nathan swallowed hard, his fingers moving to unbuckle the gag. He let it clatter to the floor, and couldn’t help but hold his breath as he peeled the blood soaked hood off of J’s head revealing his choppy deep auburn hair. Yet more blood from a now completely absent head wound, streamed down his face and neck. Tears left two clean lines down his cheeks. J squinted in the bright light, and Nathan faltered when he looked up at him with his big cognac eyes. With a clean portion of the hood, Nathan tried to wipe away what he could, even as J cringed.
“Wow. You—you’re very pretty. Were you altered?”
J cleared his throat.
“All original,” he said softly. It sounded like it could have had some bite, but it didn’t.
He seemed exhausted. Nathan had no frame of reference for what coming back from the dead must do to a person. J watched the way Nathan gently twisted the hood in his hands with what felt like understanding.
“Have you ever done this before?” J spoke perfectly evenly, but fresh tears were already tipping over his eyelids. The tears seemed completely reactionary and outside of his control. He really was quite pretty.
“I haven’t. I was hoping to talk some first,” Nathan said, still winding up the fabric in his hands. He caught J’s eyes flitting to the workbench before he nodded dutifully.
“Of course. Sure, we can talk,” J’s voice was shaky, but practiced.
“You don’t need to be tied down, do you?” Nathan asked, wondering how much like a threat it sounded. It wasn't.
J opened his mouth and then shut it again. It seemed as if he were still in the process of catching his breath. Resurrection must be tiring.
“Not if you don’t want me to be,” he finally answered.
“You won’t attack me?” Nathan asked.
J shook his head.
“Have you ever? Attacked someone?”
J’s eyes glazed over as he stared a hole through Nathan’s pocket. The one with the shock collar remote shaped bulge in it. He nodded, slowly.
“Not for a long time,” he said and swallowed thickly. Nathan inched closer and started working the ropes undone. The pair was quiet for the minute or so it took. Nathan glanced up from where he was crouched and caught J‘s eyes wandering the room absently. He rubbed at his newly freed wrists. Nathan stood and J‘s eyes were back on him.
“I um, I did my research before deciding on this place,” Nathan started awkwardly, “I know they have a debt agreement program here. And the facilities are more…humane than some other places.”
“Humane?” J asked, though it didn’t sound like much of a question. A laugh played at his voice, but he forced a straight face when Nathan didn’t participate in the joviality.
“You mean like three hots and a cot?” J asked.
“That seems like the bare minimum. All I’m saying is things could always be worse,” Nathan said. J watched the man in front of him for a moment, and then let his gaze drop. He picked at his fingernails. Nathan winced.
“I’m sorry. That was—I don’t know why I said that,” Nathan cleared his throat, “Are you? Part of the debt program?”
J shrugged without looking up again.
“I don’t know. They memory wipe the intake process, and poke a bunch of holes in whatever came before. It’s in the documents you signed. Something about keeping us on level playing fields. If I knew when I’d get out, that I’d get out, I’d be feistier. According to them anyway.”
“I must‘ve missed it,” Nathan said regrettably. J looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He tensed up watching Nathan walk over to the table of instruments.
“Do you mind the questions?” Nathan’s voice carried the short distance.
“No,” J answered, and Nathan believed him.
“How often do they have to dose you?”
“With Reserrine? It used to be like every other day. It’s more like weekly now. Y'know, I heard a rumor some guy missed his dose. It was an accident, like a clerical mistake. He didn’t notice. They usually do it at night through an IV when we’re sleeping. Anyway, no one realized and when they took him up next, they blew his brains out like always. He never got back up.”
Nathan had turned his back on the workbench to listen to the tale.
“I don’t know how expensive an error like that is, or what kind of fail safes were put in place after, or even if it really happened at all. But every single time they bring me up, I hope someone made the same mistake with me.”
Nathan stared even while J wouldn’t look at him.
“You want to die? For good?” He asked.
“I think so,” J replied in a soft voice. There was a moment of silence between the two and then Nathan spoke.
“What is it like?”
J knew what was being asked, but he stayed quiet—waited for surer context.
“After. Or between. I’m not sure how to word it,” Nathan walked closer and J looked to see if his hands were still empty. They were.
Nathan caught the way J glanced up at the camera mounted in the top corner of the room.
“I’m not permitted to speculate about what I experience when I’m out of commission.”
Nathan was taken aback by the sudden bureaucracy with which J spoke. Until now he’d been disturbingly casual.
“I see,” Nathan said, “Do you ever get used to it?” He circled back to the table and J watched him drum his fingers over a selection of knives. When Nathan glanced back he saw fresh tears tugging at the boy’s eyelashes.
“No,” the question seemed open-ended but it didn’t change the answer. The fear. The pain. The dying. The lurching back into a body tearing itself back together. The coming face to face with another human being there to do it all over again. No, he never got used to it.
J shut his eyes when he heard the familiar, nauseating sound of knife being lifted—dragged from its place on the table. Nathan stepped closer. He held the knife flat with both palms up, like he was holding an offering plate. J watched him, his hopes for Nathan copping out dashed. But if it wasn’t him it would just be someone else.
Nathan turned the blade in his hand and held the handle out for the boy in front of him. J blinked at it and then looked up at Nathan. He squirmed uneasily in the chair.
“Take it, please,” Nathan said, inching his hand closer.
“I-” J stilled when Nathan grabbed his arm and pushed the tang into his shaking hand. Once J held the knife, Nathan retreated just a step or so. He seemed largely relaxed but his right hand did dip into his pocket.
“I know this is something I want,” Nathan started, “I’ve known for a long time that I have…urges. I don’t want to hurt anyone, not forever. I don’t want to kill anyone. This is all I can do. I mean, harm reduction is a real concept, right? Maybe it’s not perfect, maybe it’s not really fair but it’s better?” Nathan sounded like he was close to frantic and J felt ill-equipped to help guide him through whatever this was.
“Why am I holding the knife?” J asked.
“Because I’m nervous,” Nathan said, a pained smile working at his lips, “I want to see you do it first.”
“You want to see me—?”
“Yes. Just—here, like this,” Nathan traced a line up his own forearm. J felt like he couldn’t keep the shock off of his face. This was new. He looked down at the knife and started to roll his sleeve up.
“Don’t cut too deep at first. I don’t want you to go right away,” Nathan looked antsy, “I’ll take it from you when I’m ready.”
J wished he really was as numb as he felt watching the knife in his hand dip into the sun-starved flesh of his arm. He hissed quietly, glancing up for direction but finding only new hunger in Nathan’s eyes. The shift scared him. He was starting to look just like everyone else before him. Drops of blood pattered to the floor. J started a new cut, this time a little deeper. The first one was too shallow; he could already feel the itch of it trying to pull itself shut.
Nathan started to sweat. There was a buzzing in his head that made him wonder if he’d faint. His heart and stomach seemed to switch places as he watched the blood, dark and thick, and the way J’s hands shook. The boy was sporting a sheen of sweat of his own.
“Stop,” Nathan said, hungrily. He cleared his throat as J froze and flexed a blood soaked fist.
“Just for a second, I want to see it close up,” he continued.
J watched Nathan watching him. His eyes dancing over the wounds as they slowly disappeared underneath the blood. Nathan nodded after about two minutes of silence.
“Keep going. Deeper,” he said.
J imagined lunging forward out of his chair. He imagined slamming the knife to the hilt through one of Nathan’s watchful eyes. Instead he slid the blade down his forearm again, this time nicking an artery. He gasped and then did again when he noticed Nathan approaching. He grabbed J’s wrist and took the knife.
J looked up at him and kept his face neutral. He hadn’t been given any instruction or script to follow. Nathan seemed more experimental than anything else, sweat gathered at his pulsing temples. He doubted Nathan would ever come back to a place like this again. He still seemed so scared, so wary. J doubted he’d even go down before Nathan’s time was up. He twisted his own arm gently to expose the untouched inner skin of his left arm in Nathan’s grasp.
Before he could even process the movement, Nathan jabbed the knife into the side of J’s neck. His carotid snapped like a rubber band. Blood filled his throat and flooded inside it on top of the flat side of the blade. He swallowed, or at least tried to. Nathan looked shocked and starved.
J‘s head bobbed uneasily as the knife was pulled out of him. The pool of blood was now free for him to choke on, and choke he did. His hand shot up to cover the wound. He had no idea why he still did that. It was like an unstoppable force. The knife fell out of Nathan’s shaking hands. Those hands grabbed both sides of J’s face when he started slumping in the chair.
“No, no, stay awake,” Nathan sounded perfectly sincere, but J couldn’t help but laugh. It only came out as a strained hoarse sound that Nathan wouldn’t recognize as laughter.
“Keep your eyes open. I need to see when you go,” even in his state, J could feel how bad Nathan’s hands shook. He was genuinely surprised when Nathan slapped him.
“Look at me!” He snapped and J tried to through tears and his rapidly narrowing vision. The familiar impending doom gripped J in his gut. No amount of experiencing it built up any kind of immunity to the terror. He tried to stand, but toppled to the floor immediately. There was always this imperative to run, to escape. Seconds, he had seconds. He was gone.
Nathan stayed perfectly still. He even stopped breathing until he became too light-headed to continue. He stumbled back catching himself on the surgical table. Without thinking, he wiped his face and left a smear of J's blood across his cheek. When he looked down at his hand he lurched forward and vomited onto the floor.
"Fuck, fuck," he panics, "I'm done, I'm done. I want to stop," he waves frantically at the camera in the corner.
"Initial apprehension is perfectly normal. If you would like to end your session now please raise your right hand," an unfeeling, staticky voice buzzed back at him.
Nathan stared at J's body: unmoving, lifeless, empty, by his own doing. The shakes set in. Buck fever, he thought absently. Slowly, as if worried the corpse in front of him will spontaneously combust, Nathan took a few steps forward, crouched low, and retrieved the knife.
J wheezed a few seconds later, but didn't try getting up yet.
"If you would like to continue your session, please raise your left hand."
J held his breath. They almost never left. He almost never caught a break, but the staff did not interfere this way without the possibility of time forfeiture. He stayed face down in his own blood and waited, hoped, agonized.
"Acknowledged. Please enjoy the remainder of your session."
“I miss you so much,” Felix spoke low. Javi made a cloying, sympathetic noise through the phone that spread chills up Felix’s back. He shrugged the comforter off of himself and sat up in bed.
“I know, I miss you. It’s just another week,” he sounded sleepy. Felix loved the gravel his voice took on when he was tired.
“Come with us next year!” Javi blurted out after a few moments of silence.
“To Argentina? Really?” Felix beamed.
“Yeah, really! You can meet everybody. It would be awesome, we could—” he paused, and then laughed, “my mom is nodding. Enthusiastically. Okay, okay. Bueno, gente, me voy a dormir. Buenas noches. Besos.”
Felix listened as Javi’s extended family wished him a good night and it was too many voices to make out well. He found himself smiling, imagining a family so big and full. He stayed quiet listening to Javi huff his way up the stairs.
“Okay, I’m in bed. You still there?”
“Mhm,” Felix mumbled.
“You’re so cute. And I’m serious, I want you to come next year.” Javi’s voice sounded so much closer now.
“I don’t know—I mean, I want to, of course I want to, it’s just, my mom. I don’t know if we-if she—”
“Don’t worry about that. I wouldn't offer if we couldn’t afford you, you know. No one’s worried about that. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. And your Spanish is getting really good, you can show off.”
“Oh, right,” Felix snorted, rolling his eyes.
“What, I’ve heard you, Ayy sí, papi…”
“I have literally never said that,” Felix replied with playful exasperation, and Javi cackled.
“I know, I know. I haven’t gotten you to yet. Fuck, I’m tired,” Javi said, sighing.
“Me too,” Felix settled back into his bed.
“I love you,”
“I love you.”
——————————————————
I miss you so much.
Felix doesn’t remember when he stopped crying. Every shallow breath aches against his battered ribs. He stares without really seeing at an unremarkable spot on the stairs. His vision narrows fuzzily in the dim light.
He hears the door open, but doesn’t react. A stream of daylight spreads across the steps before disappearing again. The man walks down the stairs and Felix doesn’t look up, too focused on the molten anxiety filling his throat. The man wrenches the blanket out of Felix’s fists. He hears him muttering something about mold while he shoves it and the rest of the damp, mildewing blankets into a black trash bag. There’s a thick unease filling the air.
The earlier outburst is not brought up. Whatever the man thought he heard and why, isn’t worth anything to Felix. All he cares about is staying quiet and small and becoming invisible. He feels the man’s eyes on him as he ties up the trash bag. It plops to the floor heavily, and the man grabs Felix’s face.
“You still in there?” the man snaps a few times with his other hand until Felix finally looks up at him. The man’s eyes are bloodshot. He releases the boy’s jaw and hikes up the hem of his shirt. Felix stays frozen while the man prods at the nasty bruises littering his abdomen. He jerks forward a few times whenever the man finds a particularly tender spot.
“Shit,” the man mutters to himself. He stands up straight, heaves the bag over his shoulder, and disappears back up the stairs. Only minutes later, he returns with a new blanket, a thick, heavy quilt. He tosses it and a water bottle on the ground nearby, and leaves again wordlessly.
Felix reaches for the water first. It’s almost nauseating on his empty stomach, but he forces a few sips down. He pours a bit into his hand and wipes his face. Then he drags the quilt closer. It‘s soft and dry and when he pulls it up to his face, he sighs, breathing in the clean, new smell. It must be brand new because it smells like a department store and hardly like the man at all. Felix drifts to sleep wrapped in it.
The man’s erratic behavior continues throughout the following visits. It’s not like Felix knows him, but it’s like watching a mask slip. He is occasionally himself in a way that Felix recognizes, but more and more often he is frantic and volatile in ways he never was before. His familiar amusement is often replaced with razor thin irritability. His sardony gives way to more and more anger that Felix cannot begin to find the source of.
Felix stays silent as often as possible. He cries and screams and begs when he’s supposed to, but he stops engaging when he has any control at all. This he does in the same manner in which the man seems to be able to crank up the charm as long as the cameras are rolling. The cameras and lights come in and out of the room regularly and Felix remains a prop along side them. The man stops bathing him and treating his wounds upstairs. He seems content enough that the boy is still breathing at the end of each stream.
Felix forces himself to learn how to subsist on the gentle, incidental touches between the pain—the way the man steadies his head before landing another blow or cards his fingers through Felix’s hair when he’s teetering on consciousness. It’s a buried bar to settle for, but there is nothing left below it. The days bleed together and Felix finds it easier to sleep, sometimes clear until the next time the man returns, often with the cameras, rarely, with food. Felix hates it most when he comes down with nothing at all. The man will come down the stairs reeking of booze only to tear into Felix with his belt or stomp on his legs with his heavy boots. He’s never careful anymore.
Felix hears nothing more about Christine, or anyone looking for him, or anything at all. The man treats him the most like a human being when the audience is watching and then he is shoved aside until the next stream or drunken maintenance session. Felix asks for nothing, protests nothing. He takes and he accepts and he puts on a brave face for the lens until he’s left alone again. He's not content, he's just nothing.
One night he hears a struggle upstairs. It’s not often that any noise makes its way down here, let alone this loudly. He holds his breath and listens intently. He hears raised voices—two distinct voices, and sound of something crashing to the floor shakes the ceiling above him. Glass breaks and someone yells, cursing wildly. It’s a male voice, but not the man’s. For the first time in what he can only assume is months: Felix feels a spark of need.
“Help,” Felix rasps out, and his voice is hardly loud enough for himself to hear.
“Help! Help me!” he tries again, louder, “Down the stairs! Please, I’m here—please help me!” Felix pants, and listens but only hears more sounds of the scuffle.
“Help me!” he screams, tears springing to his tired eyes. No reply comes and a few tense moments later, all the noise stops.
“Please,” Felix breathes to only himself. The silence is sickening. He pulls away from the wall as far as he can to raise himself up to hear.
“Hey!” he tries once more and his voice shakes in his chest. The door opens and Felix freezes, wide-eyed and watches the shadows and gasps when a body comes tumbling viciously down the stairs. He scrambles back against the wall and tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. The person in front of him groans and writhes on the floor. His hands are tied behind his back and a pillowcase covers his head. His disappointment is short lived as familiar fear demands its place. Creaks on the steps redemand his full attention.
The man is lumbering down the stairs, bearing weight against the wall with one arm as he descends. He makes eye contact with Felix when he reaches the bottom as he drags the back of his hand across the blood dripping from his nose. He’s visibly winded, but it doesn’t stop him from landing a vindictive kick to the figure on the floor’s stomach as he walks past before pausing to catch his breath. Felix stares at the figure. He hasn't seen another person in so long, it hardly feels real. The presence of another consciousness presses into him as if he taking up too much space in the basement that now feels suffocatingly small.
"I got you something," the man huffs, pulling a something out of his jacket. Felix eyes it. It's a collar. It's bulky and made of dark leather and metal. A tiny red light on it blips on and off and regular intervals.
"It's just for tonight, maybe," the man says, completely ignoring the other person in the room as he dips down and fastens the collar around Felix's neck with no resistance. He tightens it at the back with a mechanism that purrs like a zip-tie. It's tight enough that Felix feels a jolt of panic when he swallows, and the device catches it midway. The man stands back and tilts his head while Felix looks up at him, fear and confusion apparent.
"Looks good. Now listen," he says, and then holds up something small that Felix can't quite make out in the low light.
"I got this from a friend. They tweaked it a little for me, and it wasn't cheap. Let's see how they did together." Felix hears a tiny click and then every nerve in his body ignites. His muscles lock up as he tries to claw the burning source of the pain around his throat. His voice catches in his clenched teeth and when the current running through him finally stops he collapses backward against the wall. Each time he pants, a bit of his voice is dragged out with it. When Felix opens his eyes the man looks satisfied, even as he continues grabbing and yanking at the collar.
"You probably disagree, but it looks like it's working perfectly. These are originally intended to be fatal if you can believe it. You'd probably prefer that, wouldn't you?"
Felix barely registers the words he's hearing as his brain seems to buzz with aftershocks that travel all the way down his limbs. He finally starts to come around when he hears the muffled and seemingly gagged protests of the person on the ground. He remains ignored where he is. The man hasn't even looked his way since kicking him.
"I need you to keep in mind that if you don't cooperate with me tonight: I'm going to press this button again, and I'll do it over and over until you decide listening to me is the more preferable option," the man says.
Felix looks up at him, just shy of bewildered.
"I listen. I always listen," he says quietly. The idea that measures this severe feel needed after he has fundamentally broken himself down into only the most palatable pieces feels unbearable. The man crouches in front of him and Felix flinches when his hand holding the remote moves. The man simply uses the device to brush some sweat soaked hair from its place, plastered against the boy's forehead.
"I know, I know you do," he almost looks sympathetic, "But you're going to be tested tonight. It's going to be different than normal."
Felix looks past the man, at the person on the ground who has begun struggling in earnest once again.
"Who is that?" Felix finally asks, and the man smiles.
Felix watches the shadowed figure in front of him silently as the man sets up his equipment. What does he mean by "test." He is horrified by every intrusion that enters his thoughts. Is he going to be replaced? Will he have to fight this new person for survival? One of the studio lights flashes on, granting him a better look at the writhing person on the ground. Felix sees his bloodied knuckles and how his wrists are tethered behind him with a thick cord. Panic strikes him in his gut suddenly as he takes in the sight of tan skin. He can only see his hands and bit of skin under the neckline of sweatshirt. He glances over at the man, who isn't paying him any attention, and then looks back at the person on the floor. He desperately tries to remember the voice he could hear upstairs during the fight. It was too muffled, too drowned out by everything else. He couldn't say for sure that he hadn't recognized it.
Could he?
He would have. Wouldn't he?
He stares at the figure looking for any kind of defining feature. His clothes are too baggy and it's too hard to estimate his height with the way he's curled up. He's gone mostly quiet now, breathing heavy but slow.
Terror and paranoia turn in Felix's otherwise empty stomach, and when he opens his mouth to speak he has to shut it again immediately because he can't force the sound out. He tries again.
"J-Javi?" he's shaking so hard.
The man turns to look at him from behind the camera stand.
"What was that, darlin'?" and then after only a second, like his brain caught up to his ears, "Oh."
The man walks across the room and pulls the bound figure closer to Felix by his arm. Felix pushes against the wall.
"No, no, no, please," the tears are already falling, "Don't-please, I can't."
The man has a vice grip on the hooded figure's arm with one hand as the other one clutches tightly around the pillowcase over his head. He's going ballistic beneath it.
Felix locks eyes with the man desperately, like if he really, really means it, it will work. He grabs at the man's pant leg with his uncuffed hand.
"I will do anything, please look at me--fuck--I will do whatever you want. Please don't hurt him. Please let him go," his voice teeters, but never breaks. The man is smiling at him.
"What do you have to offer me?" he asks icily.
"I don't care. It doesn't matter, anything you want." Felix promises, his vision narrowing.
The man yanks the pillowcase off. It's all Felix can do just to keep his eyes open. He finds himself staring into deep brown eyes. Not green. He's looking at a complete stranger.
The man laughs cruelly as Felix visibly deflates. The guilt that accompanies his relief clenches more tightly around his throat than the collar.
"God, you should have seen yourself. I wish I had the cameras running. I told you months ago I'd leave your little beau out of this didn't I? I'm not fucking insane. Do you have any idea how much attention him disappearing after you would get? The news cycle has already replaced you a dozen times over. I don't need the fucking heat."
"Who is that?" Felix asks shakily while he rides his adrenaline crash down.
"I don't remember, I know he told me at the bar," the man rummages through his pockets as he flails and screams angrily through the cloth gag in his mouth. The man retrieves a wallet and flips through it casually. He pockets some bills, pulls out a mini Polaroid, and cocks his head at it.
"Pretty girl. Now what in the world were you doing talking to me tonight?" he teases, letting the photo fall to the ground before finally pulling out an ID.
"Ah right, David," the man says and tosses the wallet. The other man, David, growls out some estimation of a curse. He lurches, startling Felix. He's furious in an animalistic way that Felix has never been able to muster.
"Don't worry about him, he'll start losing the fight against the stuff I slipped him any minute."
David starts yelling again.
"You two get to know each other while I finish setting up," the man reaches down and tears the gag away, before walking back toward his setup.
"What the fuck is this?" David screams, struggling up to his knees. He tries to stand, but one of his legs isn't cooperating. He hisses in pain and falls back onto his side, and gives up for the time being. Felix notices how his eyes roll back when he blinks. Whatever drugs the man mentioned seemed to be kicking in as promised.
"Who are you? What's going on?" his voice is losing its edge.
Felix watches the man working for a second. For some reason the thought of talking to another person feels...wrong? Impermissible.
"I--My name is Felix. I'm sorry, I-"
"Why am I here? Get-get me the fuck out of here." David starts trying to get up again.
"I can't. I can't, I'm stuck here too. It's been," he glances at the man again, "It's been awhile." Felix cringes when he falls down again.
"I'm gonna kill him. I swear I'll fucking kill him," David slurs and his eyes flutter before closing. Felix watches the man anxiously, and sees him strap the mask to his face. The cameras beep on and the man claps his hands together once.
hmmm how about a newly turned vampire is trying their hardest to stay good, but now they’re feeling veeery tempted by the blood they can smell from their drunk and slightly helpless friend 👀
Is that a good prompt? I’ll leave it up to you whether you want the vampire to give in or not!
~ @ba-bhump
Liquor:
⚠️ Slight blood, intoxication, and usage of vampire and friend in place of character names
The porch creeked under the soft padding of their best friend. No matter how hard they tried to be quiet, the porch seemed to be a built-in alarm.
"Psst," Friend unnecessarily whispered. "Wanna get fucked up?"
"Do I ever not?" The vampire whispers back equally unnecessary. Super hearing and all that jazz.
Now, forty minutes later, the pool table became an impromptu counter.
The paper mache bats strewn about all over were a product of friend's intoxication. Every time they got drunk, they wanted to paper mache.
So the vampire sat and drank a vodka and coke they'd mixed for themselves.
Friend preferred tequila mixed with all kinds nonsense to make it old-fashioned.
Friend's long hair always fell in their face, so the vampire had clumsily pulled it up.
Never having been around anyone with long hair for their foreseeable future, they'd better start learning, or that's what Friend told them.
But something glinting caught their eyes. Scissors. When did Friend find the scissors?
They'd made sure to cut up all the supplies that need to be cut before they started drinking. Friend hadn't been watching them, or so they'd thought...
"What're you doin'? You don't need those." The vampire hollars suddenly rousing their lean friend.
Who'd been nearly stabbing themselves with the scissors trying to cut towards themselves.
"I'm cutting!" They hollared back with renewed vigor and a jolt.
A jolt that send the tip of the dual blades down their forearm.
Though nothing was pierced, luckily, there was still a mile long scratch with blood welling up.
Friend kissed their teeth, sloppily taking some colored tissue paper to the cut.
The vampire gave up watching the television, the music videos forgotten in favor of preying on helping their friend.
Who was audibly chocking back cries suddenly terrified by whatever they saw, looking back at them.
I'm imagining someone who's a trusted friend and ally, powerful, skilled, and yet, in some way, underperforming. Perhaps they're not brave enough. Perhaps they don't see how to best apply their skills. Perhaps they can't unflinchingly hurt someone, even when they really should.
And all of it could be fixed if their own self gave way to my control. Maybe they're reluctant but see the wisdom of it. Maybe it was their own idea. Or maybe they don't want it, say so in no uncertain terms, but there's too much at stake to honor that decision.
And then they're mine, and I put them to good use. And no matter what, now they'll know they're more efficient, more useful, when it's me at the controls. A heavy thing to have to live with.
Perhaps someone realizes they liked being useful more than they like being free, and comes crawling back for more.
