#sadistic choice

[whumblr]

In your hands

Custody masterpost - Previous chapter

-

“Got somewhere to be, asshole?”

Eric just smiled at the provocation and pulled at the long black coat he was wearing. It covered an impeccable three-piece suit, which he revealed by pulling the lapel aside. “I do, yes, unfortunately.” He closed the door behind him. “But I wanted to see how my guests are doing, first.”

Said guests seemed rather exhausted; both didn’t even make to get up. They just sat closely together on the floor, weary expression, only wanting to move when they absolutely had to.

“You’re staring, Nat, do you like it?”

Nat instantly cast their eyes down. “Yes, sir,” they muttered. They honestly didn’t care a thing about the stupid suit, and going by the glint in his eyes and his accusing yet playful tone Eric knew that full well. They just had to know he wouldn’t suddenly snap forward.

Jeff too kept his eyes on the threat, scanning for weapons. But Eric kept his hands in plain sight, nothing hiding behind his back. Until one hand slipped into his coat pocket and he pulled out two sets of handcuffs.

“I’d hate for you to have nothing on your hands while I’m out, though. So I thought of… something of a game for you two while I’m out.”

With a low growl in his throat, Jeff rose and shifted in front of Nat.

“I don’t recommend you switching sides in this one, detective. Not with that bust up shoulder.” He walked past Jeff without a care in the world, knowing the man couldn’t risk a fight in his condition, and he touched over the bandaged shoulder. “Or, well, maybe it doesn’t really matter…”

Jeff had to resist swatting at him and had no choice but to allow him to walk past. A fight, hell, even sudden movements, would only make things worse. He needed to heal up as fast as possible.

“Nat, come over here, please.”

Nat froze and exchanged a quick glance with Jeff, who also seemed to tense up. They forced themself to stand up and walk over to where Eric was waiting near the other side of the large room. They both avoided that spot like the plague; during their first days locked in here, trying to find some way to bust from to room, they’d found two metal loops bolted to the floor, a few feet apart. If that wasn’t unnerving enough, there were vague dark specks around them, staining the carpet.

Unfortunately it was right where Eric wanted them and he got them to kneel easily simply by pointing a finger at the ground, near one of the bolts. Without a word, Nat obliged, kneeling at the man’s feet.

“Detective, over there.” Eric pointed to the other loop across from where Nat sat.

Jeff hesitated, but Eric simply brushed a hand through Nat’s thick hair and lightly pulled their head back. It wasn’t a hard yank, not even painful; he merely exposed their throat with their head tilted back, as if ready for execution. It was more than enough. Jeff relented at the sight, walked over and knelt at the loop.

“Maybe you first…” Eric muttered and disappeared behind Jeff. He hooked the handcuffs to the loop, shifted Jeff forward a little, and cuffed his hands behind his back. “I’m sure you’ll have a bit of a feral reaction to this…”

And sure enough, when his hand slipped into his coat pocket again and he pulled out a length of rope, which he slowly twirled around Nat’s neck, Jeff snapped forward. “No!” The handcuffs yanked him back and he could do nothing but watch as Eric fashioned the rope into a noose.

Nat too shot up high on their knees in alarm, but Eric simply guided them back down with a hand on their shoulder.

“That’s exactly it, Nat,” he purred. “Just the position I want. But not yet… hold on…”

Fighting back the tears prickling behind their eyes, Nat had no choice but to allow Eric to handcuff them. He tied them down, tightened the noose around their neck, and threw the rope over one of the beams overhead, hoisting Nat up into a position high on their knees where they couldn’t sink back down. They tried of course, to lessen the stress on their legs. But as they did, the noose dug into their throat, cutting off their air.

And they were stuck. Air wheezing in their throat. Their lungs already screaming for more air, the muscles in their legs for relief.

Eric took a few steps back to take in the spectacle, standing next to Jeff. He knelt down next to the bucking, snarling figure.

“So if you can break free… and uncuff your dear friend. You’ll both have the afternoon to recover, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I can't break free out of handcuffs!”

“No?” Eric said in feigned disbelief. “Let me give you a hint then. You ever watched those movies where people dislocate their own thumbs to get out? Easy. In your case you’d have to do two...” He pulled at the chain linked to the bolt, “but I’m sure you’ll manage. If not you can just watch them suffer.”

“That’s impossible!” Jeff’s voice broke. In despair, anger, Eric didn’t really care.

“Really? That’s strange. Hollywood has led me to believe it’s quite easy. As a cop you must know the finer details. You’ll work something out.”

Eric stood straight.

“Well then, I’ll see you in a bit. Both of you.” He turned to Jeff and growled under his breath, “Let them die, detective, and I’ll make you wish it was you.”

A total non-threat, because Jeff would certainly wish that if he let Nat choke out here right in front of him.

“If I find you with both thumbs attached, I’ll assume you aren’t that committed to the safety of your friend.”

That stung. The door slammed shut and Jeff immediately tried to twist his hands free from the metal. To Eric’s credit, he hadn’t actually tightened the cuffs that bad. There was more wiggle room than Jeff was used to. If he could just… fold his thumb and— he flinched as the metal bit into the flesh of his thumb.

“Don’t,” Nat croaked. “Just don’t. I won’t—hnng! I won’t die from this.”

“Save your breath! Don’t talk!”

Don’t, they said… as if the sight right in front of his eyes could let him sit back and simply wait until that bastard returned.

Nat was already struggling. The position was merciless; handcuffs pulling them down into the rope, having to make an effort to nudge themself up to their knees just to get that full breath of air. Jeff’s own legs were already cramping. He couldn’t imagine the strain and the stress Nat’s were under.

What if they… passed out? And they’d just… slump down. Held up only by the rope around their—

Lead filled his stomach. The mere thought of it made him double his efforts.

“Don’t— Please,” Nat wheezed, pausing between each word, using each exhale efficiently. “It’s not… possible.”

The cuffs scraped against the joint just above the wrist, scratching at the skin, painfully squeezing the tendon. In his struggles, the bullet wound throbbed right along, reminding him to exercise caution.  While seeing Nat just pushed him to ignore caution and go all out. If he could just… see what he was doing instead of twisting wildly! He knew Nat didn’t just say it was impossible to make him stop, he knew Nat didn’t have the air to explain the semantics… But he also knew he couldn’t just sit here and watch them.

A scream tore from his throat, loud, angry, not even in pain so much as channeling a rage that would hopefully just crack something. All it did was lubricate his skin with blood and that didn’t help much either. He sagged in defeat, head down, panting.

Nat winced, pain shooting through their legs and they braced themself for a fresh spike, more pins and needles added when they’d push themself up again. They had to. They had to keep going. Panic wouldn’t help. Loss of oxygen would only make them weaker, would deprive their muscles even more and make the whole thing even worse. It would fuel the despair for that next breath. So they tried to settle into a rhythm; brace, force up, breathe, back down.

Every breath cost them. They shook like a leaf. They tried to keep breathing like normal, just a little deeper. But after a while, they just gasped in the needed oxygen and didn’t even have the strength anymore to lower themself. The noose chafed their skin every time they fell back down and the sudden yank only fueled their adrenaline and the need to lessen the pressure. Making things only worse. And worse.

Making Jeff’s wrists bloodier and bloodier as time passed.

Jeff leaned forward; trying to alleviate the pressure on his legs and to just keep a constant pull against his thumb joints, fiercely hoping it would just slip free.

“Try twisting your thumb.”

“I’ve tried fucking twisting my thumb!” he snarled back at the voice behind him.

A chuckle this time, a little closer. Eric squatted down behind him, black coat pooling around him, and he brushed a finger just under a drying drop of blood on Jeff’s wrist. “So I see.”

He pulled away and walked over to Nat. Desperate eyes glanced up to him. “So he couldn’t help you, hm? Such a shame…”

“Let them down!” Jeff raged in despair, toning it down a bit when those amused eyes fell on him. “Please… let them down.”

“Not until you manage to get at least one hand free.”

“I can’t,” Jeff whispered. “I trie—no, don’t!” He snapped forward when Eric closed a hand around the rope holding Nat up and pulled ever so lightly.

Nat immediately bucked up, face twisting in pain.

“Would you like me to help you?” Eric said, ignoring Nat’s attempts to get more air, eyes fixed on Jeff.

“Yes! Yes, please, just—”

“Say it.”

“Help me! Break my fucking wrist just let them down, please!” Jeff nearly cried when Nat went red.

A broken gasp tore free when Eric released the rope. “Very well.” Without even a glance back to see how Nat was doing, he settled behind Jeff again.

Two hands clamped just above the handcuffs, both thumbs settling just under Jeff’s.

“One… two…

Jeff actually snarled out a yelp like a wild animal when his thumb was forced from its joint. But the pain wasn’t that bad. His attempts to break free on his own had hurt more, really.

Even with his joint forced in this position, he couldn’t slip out of the cuff as easily as he’d thought. It nudged painfully against the unnatural position of his thumb. And when he did finally pull free, Eric’s hand immediately clasped around his wrist.

Jeff hissed in pain. “Let go!”

“Just putting it back,” Eric said with a cruel smile. His hand tightened around the already swelling wrist until Jeff screamed and only then did he snap the joint back.

Jeff slumped down, limply on the floor, one hand still stuck in the handcuffs keeping him from leaping at Nat.

Eric took his time to fulfill his promise, sauntering back over to Nat. Again he took hold of the rope, but this time he cut it, and slowly, very slowly to let Nat adjust, he lowered them down.

Nat fell forward against him, gasping for breath.

“Shh,” Eric crooned in their hair. He cut the other rope keeping Nat tethered to the ground and let them drape over his shoulder as all strength left them. He shifted under them, carefully letting them down, hands catching them to turn them and gently lay them down on their back, on their still bound hands.

Nat winced and whimpered when their legs stretched under them. Every rushed intake of air punctuated with a small cry as the pain stabbed through their legs.

“I’m not going to let you die,” Eric murmured, hovering over them. “Not for a long time.”

-

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @hurtmebeautifully @im-just-here-for-the-whump @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @queenofthenoobs @gala1981 @whumpifi @whatwhump

[whumpshaped]

Prompt: emotional whump, psychological whump

ok so this is 100% a product of talking to @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night and sharing ideas please enjoy

tw emotional whump, psychological whump, conditioning, creepy/intimate whumper, sadistic choice, noncon (somno specifically), self-blame

Every single night, Whumper presented them with the same choice. Every night it sounded absurd. Easy. Straightforward.

"Would you like to sleep in a soft bed, or be in pain for the entire night?"

Of course, there was a catch. There was always a catch. The soft bed came with Whumper attached, a warm body against their own, holding them, suffocating and invasive. Who knew what Whumper would do to them? There was no telling whether it was even the better option.

On that first night, they had chosen the pain without hesitation. They hadn't known then, the fact that Whumper would keep asking the same thing over and over. They had endured torture for eight hours without a single break, and their entire body ached afterwards. They thought it was over.

The second night, Whumper had asked the same question, all nonchalant. "Bed or pain?" Whumpee was starting to realise that this was the beginning of a process, one of breaking them down and having them choose the bed instead of forcing them in there. They had told themself they wouldn't break, half-heartedly. They had already known they would. Of course they would. Who wouldn't? They hadn't gotten any sleep, they were in excruciating pain, and they had to have the strength to utter the word "pain".

The third and fourth night had been a blur of sleep deprivation and torment. They were in equal parts grateful and furious that once they'd made the choice, there was no going back on it. On one hand, they only had to be brave for a single second. On the other hand, a single second of foolish defiance cost them hours and hours and hours of torture.

"Bed," they rasped on the fifth night. They were distantly aware that they hadn't even lasted a week, but they couldn't have cared less. "Bed, please, god, I can't– can't do another night, please–"

"It's okay." Whumper gently scooped them up, hushing them as if they weren't about to leave them in the cell otherwise for others to torture. "You made the right choice, pet. I'm so proud of you."

If this had been the first night, Whumpee would've said something dramatic, like 'the words hurt more than the torture itself'. As it was on the fifth, Whumpee knew that the tightness in their chest and the churning of their stomach couldn't even compare. It was a different kind of pain, but one that was infinitely more bearable, even if it meant giving up a piece of themself.

It was survival. It was all for survival. Whumper would've forced them in the bed either way, they wouldn't have just let them die. At least they told themself that.

They were given a warm bath, and Whumpee thought they hadn't ever felt as gross as in that moment. It felt futile. The water might've washed away the blood and filth, but Whumper's touches brought a different, even worse kind. One that was invisible, seeping into their pores and settling under their skin, making it crawl and tingle.

The softness of the mattress was appreciated for all but a fleeting moment before Whumper climbed in after them, pulling their aching body close. They were so stiff it hurt, and they were halfway sure that not even the level of exhaustion they felt would be enough to lull them to sleep.

They fell asleep for mere minutes at a time, always jolting awake shortly after. Whumper didn't do anything but hold them tight, and they were starting to be convinced that they were nothing but a body pillow. The anxiety didn't subside, but it was worth it to have a night away from the pain. A break. They'd go back to choosing the correct option the next day, right? They would be strong.

As night approached, their inner voice changed its tune. Maybe just one more night without pain. Just so the body would heal. There's always tomorrow.

They told themself the same fairy tales of bravery the third day, their trembling getting worse as the time of choosing drew near. They couldn't do it. They didn't understand how they'd done it for five consecutive days. Even the thought of saying the word made them want to cry now. Besides, Whumper wasn't hurting them, were they?

They fell asleep instantly in Whumper's arms, the constant anxiety having exhausted them beyond belief. They were warm, fed, even– even safe. They were okay. Whumper allowed them to be okay.

Until they didn't.

They woke up with a start, confused for a moment. Was it a bad dream? Where were they? Who... there was something– someone inside of them.

Before they could've cried out for it to stop, Whumper used a free hand to cover their mouth, their other one going to rest on top of their broken ribs as a warning. They gave Whumpee a few seconds to calm down and reevaluate the situation they were in, pressing down more and more until they finally stopped squirming.

"There you go," Whumper whispered quietly as they started moving again. "It's okay. It's just me."

The breathy moans punctuating their... reassurances did nothing to help the situation. In fact, the only thing that could've helped it was Whumper's quick and sudden death, a heart attack maybe, whatever, but Whumpee saw little chance of that happening. So they stayed good and still, quietly sobbing into the pillow until it was over. They weren't allowed to move from the bed and get a bath. Whumper... didn't even pull out.

They threw up all over the bed before the sun rose.

They told themself they'd choose the pain again. This time they would. The night had been awful and disgusting, and they had been too shocked and afraid to fight back then, but this time they would show Whumper that this was too much. They'd choose the pain over their bed until they died trying.

And yet... they found themself freezing up with anxiety. The lump in their throat wouldn't allow them to say anything other than "bed, please". Whumper didn't mock them, and maybe that was the worst part. They didn't look surprised or satisfied, it was something entirely anticipated. Whumpee was likely just one in the long line of victims they'd had, a line they were terrified to step out of.

So they let Whumper have their way. They let them do more and more. They attempted to stay in their cell once, on a day when they felt extraordinarily brave stupid, and they realised they couldn't handle a single night like that anymore.

Eventually, they didn't have a choice anymore, not even formally. Their few belongings were moved to Whumper's room – their permanent residence now.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[whump-queen]

(tw gore)

forcing whumpee to choose what gets poured into their wounds—

salt

lemon juice

hydrogen peroxide (think of the fizzle)

[whumpsday]

I tell Kane he has three options

1) He can stay in the sun for four full days

2) He can have his heart in the silver heart cover that keeps him conscious for the same four days

Or 3) He can be left in the sun for one full day, sun up to sundown, with the silver heart treatment. After the time he will be taken inside, and it will be removed

Kane chooses the second option, but he agonizes over it. He's sobbing by the time he names his decision.

[auroragehenna]

Whumper: „So…What will it be?“

[whumpster-dumpster]

Do you have any prompts for the "Sadistic choice" trope?

Hmm, let me think. Forced to choose:

Between a human friend and a beloved animal companion

Between saving one vs. saving many

Between their mother and their father

Between themself and a loved one

Between a lover and a sibling

Between a child and a parent

Between two close friends

Between two strangers

Between two whumpees

Between two caretakers

Between two whumpers

Between two punishments: fire or ice, starvation or dehydration, beating or cutting, broken bones or dislocation, isolation or put on display, etc.

Between a reunion with their loved ones or leaving their life behind to keep those they care about safe and out of their troubles

[hurtthemgently]

Prompt: A game of poker, but each mistake whumpee makes earns them a jab from a fire poker. Bonus points if whumpee is actually skilled and is trying to remain unaffected throughout the ordeal, playing of the pain with a strained chuckle or a stray curse word. But they slowly lose their calm collectedness as time goes on

Ooh okay I don’t really have any more prompt ideas to add to this, but it’s really good I love this idea so much.

[lbibliophile-sw]

Until the Music Stops

Also on AO3 @whumptober - day 19: psychological, day 21: "see the chains around my feet" @clonefandomevents - Coruscant Guard Bingo: hard choices

The thing about Palpatine is that he likes to toy with Fox. Likes to offer him the illusion of control but with no good options, watch as he struggles to choose who to protect, see how far he’ll go for the scraps of mercy held tauntingly within his reach.

The thing about Fox is that he learns to play along. Every terrible choice is still an opportunity; he’ll take what is given and willingly pay the price that comes with it.

Because the thing about Palpatine, is that the game only lasts as long as he thinks he is winning.

[whumpitisthen]

Do you have any prompts for the "Sadistic choice" trope?

Oh yes i do, i very do, sadistic games in general are immaculate

Sadistic Choices to force upon your innocent little characters :) :

The classic "You're left handed right?"

Whichever whumpee chooses, the other one will be done to caretaker

Choice between torture or really bad phobia being forced onto them

Choice between creepy comfort or no comfort at all

Choice between hurting or being hurt

Choice between humiliation or physical pain

Of course, if whumpee doesn't choose then it's both in all of these, that's a given

Have one of the choices be something that sounds way better, only for it to turn out to be even worse

"You have ten seconds, choose wisely."

"Oh, don't look at me like that. Unless you want me to choose for you." "..." "Wait, you actually want me to choose instead?"

Whumpee chooses on the basis of which one Whumper would enjoy more

"Lovely choice, lovely choice! If we have time, we might just be able to do both."

"Don't cry. It'll be fun! We haven't done anything like this until now, it's a new experience!"

"I, I don't know! I don't know which one, please, don't make me choose!"

"Left or right? One of my hands holds nothing, the other holds about fifty nails and a hammer."

"I don't know, do whatever you want." "You won't choose?" "I don't care, both of them are horrible and you might do both anyway, so why would I entertain the idea of choice here? You've told me a hundred times I don't have one."

Make up a game. Figure out a list of fun and engaging activities for your captive, number them, then have them choose by throwing dice. Have one or a couple in there that's a good thing, or just nothing harmful at least so they have something to look forward to

"I changed my mind, I want the other one, I want the knife instead!" "Too late, you have already made your decision. But we can do the other one next time if you want to try it so badly."

Hope you liked these because I sure did!

[quietly-by-myself]

An Earthly Cosmological Redshift - Chapter 4 - The Burning of the Stars

Masterlist

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta reading this and @whumpsday, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen and @sparrowsage for helping me with brainstorming!

CW: mafia whump, vampire whumper, whumper-turned-whumpee (sort of), vampire whumpee, multiple whumpees, sadistic choice, forced to hurt, forced to hurt a loved one, torture, branding, known whumper, intimate whumper, fainting, captivity, disabled whumpee (blind/total loss of vision)

===

La voix du sang est la plus forte. Jules knew it translated roughly into “blood runs thicker than water,” but he preferred the literal translation - the voice of blood is the strongest.

Though Fearon and him weren’t related by blood, the rings they wore on their fourth fingers, on their left hands showed a bond that was perhaps thicker than water and spoke louder than blood. 

Archimedes had peeled him off the floor, clasped him in chains, and dragged him down a hallway, to a room that smelled of tansy. He knew the smell well, though Archimedes also stunk of it. As Archimedes opened the door, Jules was met with the sight of his fiance, laying on the ground, staring blankly.

“Jules?” Fearon’s voice sounded awful and raspy. From the looks of him, Fearon hadn’t had blood in at least a week. 

“Fearon!” 

Jules was weary - every bone in his body ached and standing took just about all his energy. He was pretty sure that Hypatia had sprained his ankle and standing on it was agony. Bruises lined his face and body. He knew that Fearon would be horrified, looking at the mess that Jules had become. 

However, those eyes still stared blankly and his limbs moved ever so slightly, like they were fighting invisible restraints.

A chill shot down Jules’ spine. Something was wrong.

A scoff came from Archimedes, but he didn’t lay a hand on Jules, not the way that Jules had come to expect in his week of torture with the other vampires. 

“You always had a good nose, Fearon, but even this surprises me.”

Jules had half the brain to not say anything, but the words shot out of his mouth before he could think. “What do you mean? He looks horrible! What the hell did you do to him?

“He can’t see you, my dear.” Archimedes stroked the bruises on Jules’ cheek.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

Archimedes grabbed Jules’ face and pressed into the bruises on his jaw. Jules whined under the pressure, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. He hated that he was surprised that Archimedes hadn’t hit him. 

“Now, now. Be quiet or Hypatia will have a word with you.” Archimedes cleared his voice. “We poisoned his eyes with holy silver.”

Holy silver. If the utterance of Hypatia’s name didn’t scare him enough, the idea of holy silver in Fearon’s eyes did. Why would anybody do that? Fearon was going to be blind forever. There wasn’t anything that could heal a vampire who’d been poisoned by holy silver. 

Jules wanted to say something, but he felt sick to his stomach. His heart hurt for Fearon. What were they going to do to them?

Fearon had mentioned the names of Hypatia, Galileo, and Archimedes to him before, but he never really understood it all. Yes, Fearon had been a mafioso. Yes, he’d killed his Boss to escape. But, perhaps naively, Jules never expected them to be like this. Torture for torture’s sake. 

“Now, Fearon.” Archimedes dropped his hold on Jules’ jaw and walked over to where Fearon laid on the floor. “We made a little deal that I would let your fiance go if you gave yourself over to me. Now, I said he wouldn’t be harmed, but I never agreed to not harm you, Fearon.”

Jules stayed still. His hair prickled. He tried to calm his nerves, but found himself unable to rip his eyes away from Archimedes, as he picked Fearon up, dragging him to stand by his hair. The whimper of genuine pain from Fearon - Fearon who never hurt - terrified Jules. 

“I know how this shit works, Archimedes. There’s no need to lecture me.”

Had Fearon really been like Archimedes and Hypatia? Torturing other vampires for the hell of it? The thought unsettled Jules, more than the torture had. The Fearon he knew was kind and gentle. Not brutal and ruthless like Archimedes and Hypatia. How could Fearon have ever been like these vampires?

Archimedes laughed. “Then you know that we like to send people off with a warning.”

Fearon growled a little. 

What does he mean?

“Jules! Pay attention. I have a lesson for you.”

Jules automatically stood at attention, too afraid to do anything else. He didn’t want to be tortured. He didn’t want more pain. He couldn’t keep going like that. Nobody could.

“Now listen carefully, Jules.” Archimedes cleared his voice. “We like to brand our property. Now that Fearon here is the property of the Clan, he needs a brand. You’ll be helping me do the honors.”

“What?” Jules choked. Help hurt his fiance? Help brand him for a bunch of sadists that wanted nothing more than to rip screams from their chests? The thought was unbearable.

“I’ll hurt him worse if you don’t help. It’s your choice, Jules.”

Jules looked at Fearon. Fearon looked blankly in his direction. The sadness in those purple eyes that Jules had learned to love broke his heart. He hadn’t seen that melancholy since the beginning of their relationship.

God, that was more than one hundred years ago now.

It was an impossible choice - be forced to watch Fearon suffer more because of him or help torture him. Jules couldn’t be selfish. He was normally a selfish person - vampire, whatever. For once, he couldn’t be.

“I- I’ll help.”

Archimedes smirked. “Now, you know how we all have abilities, us vampires. I’ll heat the iron branding iron, you’ll brand him. It has silver alloys to ensure that it stays forever.”

Jules swallowed the bile in his throat. “I’ll do it.”

Tears formed in his eyes. Archimedes took the branding iron from a cabinet of tools that lined the farthest most wall of the cell and handed it to Jules.

“Hold it while I heat it.”

Jules looked at Archimedes in confusion. Did he have the power of fire? Surely not. 

Archimedes closed his eyes and held his palm near the branding iron. Soon enough, Jules felt heat radiating off of it. It was hard to hold, even with the rubber handle. 

Eventually, after a minute or two, Archimedes was satisfied. He motioned to where Fearon laid, shirtless. 

“His ribs.”

Jules knew from his experience of getting tattoos as a human that the ribs hurt more than most other body parts. Jules closed his eyes, tears falling from his eyes.

“Come on, Jules. Unless you want to watch your love be tortured.”

Jules shook his head.

He needed to be strong.

He needed to be selfless.

He needed to do this. For Fearon.

The scream that followed him pressing the iron onto Fearon’s skin sounded like it came from a million miles away. The smell of burning flesh filled Jules’ nose.

A glimpse of the mark, something that Jules didn’t recognize, burned onto the skin of the love of his life, was the last thing that Jules remembered before the world turned dark and pain filled his body as he fell to the ground.

===

Tags: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @darkthingshappen

[a-class-attempter]

Do you have any prompts for the "Sadistic choice" trope?

Let’s see…

Whumpee having to choose between two body parts- one will be left alone and the other will be cut off or smashed to pieces

Classic one, where the character has to choose between two or more people to save

Alternatively, a character having to choose one character to get tortured

Whumpee A gets an option from two different torture methods. Whumpee B will take whichever Whumpee A doesn’t pick

Character having to betray their friend’s trust in order to save them. (Ex: having to steal something personal to them in order to stop them from being killed)

That’s all I got for now. Anyone, feel free to add on if you have more ideas!

[redd956]

Do you have any prompts for the "Sadistic choice" trope?

Sure! I'm not a fan of the sadistic choice trope, but I have no problem at all conjuring up ideas.

Whumper forcing Whumpee to choose between their two caretakers; threatening maybe death, the creation of Whumpee's replacement, or other maniacal things

Whumper allows Caretaker to free one of two Whumpees. Both characters have to watch and listen to Caretaker decide on it, while Whumper stands by there sides.

Forcing Whumpee to choose between two severe punishments.

After Caretaker/Whumper decides their choice, a grin comes across Whumper's face. Whumper then decides to go with their opposing choice.

A whumper is captured by Whumper 2 is left at the mercy of Whumpee. Whumpee is given two choices, free them or make a terrible sadistic deal to have Whumper 2 return Whumper to Whumpee at a later date as "theirs". Caretaker watches in horror as Whumpee makes the latter decision.

"Save caretaker/whumpee & turn yourself in" or "leave them here and get out while you can"

Whumpee being forced by Whumper to decide the fates of one or more other whumpees

Whumper catches onto Caretaker freeing and treating the nonhuman whumpees that they offer all too well. The next time Caretaker comes to save another Whumpee, Whumper promises that it will be their last choice of Whumper's collection. Caretaker has to look at the handful of nonhuman whumpees, and make their final rescue.

"I'll let Caretaker/Whumpee 2 go if you drink this..." (Poison, memory erasing potion, mind control potion, love potion?!)

[apokolyps]

Look at me, trying to write more bc it's good for you. This is a response to a prompt I saw a while back, kinda lost the original prompt but eh

Masterlist

Non-sexual nudity tw, non con touching tw, non con stripping tw

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs as Whumper slowly descended into the basement, wearing their customary steel-toed boots. Their Whumpee shuddered and pulled himself up into a kneeling position before them as they approached.

“Awe,” Whumper said with a lazy grin, hands held behind their back, “don’t you look pretty all ready for me?”

Whumpee held their tongue, staring straight ahead as Whumper sauntered over. He really was a stubborn one. Tonight should help with that. Whumper gave them a salacious once over and licked their lips at the plethora of colored bruises decorating Whumpee’s shirtless form. He really was gorgeous like this.

Whumper moved in a slow circle around Whumpee, drinking in the bold colors contrasting with pale skin. The coarse brown rope bound Whumpee’s wrists behind his back, leaving them red and raw. The dirt from the concrete floor, smudged across Whumpee’s body, hiding bruises and highlighting a ruggedness to Whumpee that Whumper loved probably too much. Gorgeous.

Whumper really wanted to add to the canvas with a thick cane or perhaps their own fists, but alas, places to be and people to see.

They stopped in place behind Whumpee, watching them twitch in anticipation and very well hidden fear. That defiance was undoubtedly playing behind his eyes, smothered by resignation and a significnat amount of self preservation. Delicious.

With a gentle grip they carded their fingers through his greasy, unkept hair. Testing just how compliant their Darling was going to be today. He didn’t pull back this time, that was good, they would hate to have to drag this part out now. He kept still, resigned. Resignation from their Darling was always so perfect. They were just in that sweet spot before they break. They might even beg soon.

Perfect.

They could sit here for hours, just petting and watching their Darling grind his teeth together, trying to school his emotions. Because he knew this was far, far better than being beaten bloody. The war of revulsion playing across his face was almost as good as hearing him scream.

But they had places to be, and Darling here was going to be perfect for tonight.

They slowed the hand in his hair, grabbed a fistfull of the filthy strands, and pulled his head back slowly. He could fight, maybe get them to release his scalp. He might even get a lick or two of his own in before Whumper could subdue him.

Whumpee would have, early on. He would never let them touch him without three beatings and two days withought sleep.

Now though, now the threat of what could happen helps him make it through what is. Now he lets them stroke his hair, pull his head back and bare his throat. Now he closes his eyes, grits his teeth and undoubtedly plays: it could be worse, on repeat in his mind. Perfect.

They pull Whumpee’s head back until he was staring at the ceiling, eyes alight with fury and shaded by fear.

“Stay.”

Whumper released Whumpee’s skull and he kept it in the position Whumper left him in.

“Good boy,” crooned Whumper as they strode across the room and selected a length of rope attached to a carabiner clip. Whumpee had taken to staying as silent as possible during these sessions, not talking or engaging with Whumper. It was cute how he tried to shut them out while remaining compliant.

“You’ve been such a good boy lately,” they said as they turned around, “That I think you’ll be perfect for tonight.” They returned to Whumpee, and kelt behind them while they fastened the rope around Whumpee’s neck, looped around his bound wrists, and attached the clip to the D-ring set into the concrete nearly underneath him.

They stepped back and around Whumpee, admiring their bobbing adam’s apple and exposed throat. In this position, they would be completely unable to lean forward or straighten. He might be able to get their feet out from underneath himself and get into a more comfortable position. But doing so would only earn Whumpee one hell of a punishment.

XXX

Whumpee’s face and neck burned red with the humiliation of being so vulnerable and on display for Whumper. He shifted uncomfortably in his restraints, testing them as much as he was trying to shift half a milimeter into a position that wouldn’t hurt, one where his ribs weren’t broken and his shoulders didn’t throb and where that god damned rope wasn’t digging into his windpipe and forcing him to lean back.

He wouldn’t be able to hold this position for very long, but he doubted he was going to be left in a stress position overnight again, not with Whumper’s talk of tonight. Somehow, he thinks that he would prefer to be whipped bloody than go through what is planned for tonight.

He heard Whumper walk over to the side of the room and squeezed his eyes shut.

The sink was along that wall.

He found himself trembling and forced himself to still before Whumper started cooing and calling him adorable in a voice that would sound patronizing if Whumpee wasn’t completely convinced it was genuine.

He just had to breathe. Take a moment to appreciate the ability to take full breaths that didn’t burn his lungs. Just breathe In, 2, 3, 4.

Whumper pulled something out from the cabinet under the sink.

Out, 2, 3, 4.

There was a squeaking sound as the hose was screwed into place.

In, 2, 3, 4.

Just breathe, feel your lungs expand with air as you choose to breathe.

Out, 2, 3, 4.

The water turned on.

Whumpee let out a whimper and immediately cursed himself for it. This was no time to lose his nerve. He is gonna be tortured. It is gonna fucking suck. And then he’ll be left alone for a few hours to sleep before it starts all over again. This is just his fucking life now and whimpering isn’t gonna make it any fucking easier.

Unless it will. He stamped the thought out the second it popped into his head. He is not nearly broken enough to even consider that, and right now he has to be strong because Whumper is walking closer.

His breath picked up in his chest despite his efforts as he heard the water from the hose hitting the concrete floor. This was gonna fucking suck.

The gentle spray of freezing water hit his left knee first, soaking through the filthy sweatpants he has been wearing for weeks, and chilling him to the bone in seconds. Whumper shifted to spray to soak his other leg and meandered up his stomach and chest, teasing at his neck before going over his back with a lazy pace.

So they were freezing him out first, making him miserably cold before drowning him in the same fucking cold water. Delightful.

XXX

Whumper watched their darling whumpee in delight as he flinched every time they worked further up his neck, how he was racked with shivers from the icy water and the look on his face that let them know he knew it was only going to get worse from here.

Delicious.

They quickly put a kink in the hose to stop the water and cause whumpee to flinch at the change. They return to the sink and turned off the water fully before unkinking the hose and detaching it from the sink. They pulled out a bucket as they replaced the hose and let the water run hot for a moment before placing the bucket in the sink to fill up.

Whumpee was still facing the ceiling, as if they were trying very hard not to think about what was going to happen next. As the bucket filled Whumper pulled out several bottles from under the sink and walked over to Whumpee.

Whumpee was still trembling, but they suspected it was more due to cold than fear. Their whumpee was excellent at managing his fear and keeping still for them, a trait they often take advantage of.

They set the bottles down and comb their fingers through their darling’s greasy hair again. It was getting longer as the weeks went by, hanging in front of whumpee’s face and giving a wild dog look to him that only enhanced their artwork. He could do without the beard though, it gave an almost paternal look to his face. Aged him in a way that made you think he was a father of four instead of a recent collage graduate.

Yes the beard will have to go.

The sound of water running over the side of the bucket and into the sink pulls them out of their head. They give whumpee’s head a gentle pat that whumpee pointedly doesn’t flinch at and returned to his side a moment later with the bucket, a comb, and a set of clippers.

XXX

Whumper took several moments to arrange the things they brought over, meaning this probably wasn’t going to just be a simple drowning, meaning this is just gonna get a hell of alot worse.

Images flash unwittingly to mind, and he unsuccessfully tries to shove them away. Whatever is gonna happen, he will survive it. When this is over, he will take breaths with burning lungs, shiver with his hands tied behind his back, and laugh at himself for how he thought he wouldn’t survive.

Because he was going to survive. He is going to walk out that door one day and never have to resist flinches or hold his tongue to survive ever again.

The sound of water being scooped out of the bucket pulls him out. This is it.

He forces himself to take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

Those damned fingers return to his hair, warm and sickeningly pleasant. He wants to wrench his head out of their grasp and away from them but he doesn’t. He holds still. He endures the unwelcome touch while he has to, just like how he will endure the drowning. Just like how he has endured every other goddamned torture he has been put through while trapped in this goddamned basement.

A clear, plastic, cup-shaped tupperware container filled with water enters his vision as it’s brought above his head. He closes his eyes and his breathing speeds up.

Burning heat is poured across his face and he gasps in shock as another scoop is poured along his hairline and into his hair. Then another, and another.

Soon his hair is soaked in the hot water and whumper’s fingers return to his hair, combing tangles out and making it lay straight

The terrible, gentle hand in his hair mixed with the warm water feels far better than he would ever admit. He is unlikely to be hurt now, but there is always the chance that the next douse of water will be ice cold and that the hand in his hair will tighten into a fist and hold him in place while the other fist pummels his unprotected face.

He wouldn’t be able to force himself to relax if he tried, the threat of this humilation giving way to pain an all too real possibility. Torture was far far worse than this, this might be the best he’s felt in weeks, but this was still not good. He’d still rather be anywhere but here, under the hands of someone who has beaten the shit out of him for ‘artistic purposes’.

Both the hand and the warm water stop as something is popped open. Whumpee tenses, ready for this to go from not okay to god-awful at lightspeed.

Whumper let out a small chuckle and cooed at him, patting his shoulder in ‘mock comfort’, not unlike a person patting the flank of a horse to calm them down.

Is it mock if Whumper really sees it as comfort? Does it even matter if its mock if being touched where he can’t see only reminds him how fucking helpless he is?

“Shhh darling, you’re being so good for me.” Whumper cooed in a voice that made part of Whumpee want kick out and struggle just to be contrary, but fear is controlling most of his fucking brain. Kicking out will definately turn this creepy, uncomfortable experience into a fucking nightmare.

It might be worth it to avoid whatever was gonna happen tonight though.

He swallows his pride and stays fucking still when whumper’s hand returns to his hair and something cool is massaged into his scalp with Whumper’s blunt nails, irritating the small nicks and cuts along his scalp.

He can’t fucking believe it. They’re fucking washing his hair?

Whumper is cleaning out the blood and grit and sweat and torture from his hair? Not only that, but once his hair was deemed clean, the suds and later the conditioner rinsed out, Whumper took a cloth to wipe his face clean of dirt and blood and all that other good shit that gets on your face when you’re being tortured, and did a fucking skin-care routine on him. They did a whole ass routine with exfoliating and a fucking face mask. They even took an electric beard trimmer or clippers or something and shaved his beard down to stubble, humming something about how that was much better.

What. The. FUCK??

He half expected them to get a tweezers and start plucking his eyebrows or some shit like that.

But whumper just put the things they had brought back to the sink and did what sounded like them rinsing and drying their hands before they came back and stood behind Whumpee their head tilted forward to look Whumpee in the eye.

Whumpee shifted under their gaze, sore from staying in the same position for so long, his feet already numb underneath him and his neck ached fiercely from craning backwards.

“How’re you doing darling?” they asked with a grin.

Whumpee didn’t respond.

“Ready to move on then I see,” Whumper said more to themself than anyone else and straightened to pull two chains down from the mechanism in the ceiling. They attach each manacle to each wrist and cut the ropes that have been digging into his skin for weeks.

The basement air feels pleasantly cool on his torn wrists, until the manacles shift down his wrists and settle into place digging into his open wounds. Terrific.

Whumper cuts the rope holding his neck in place and he leans forward slowly with a groan, muscles burning from lack of movement now equally furious with being moved out of position.

Wary of Whumper, and not wanting to be viewed as trying to get a beating, Whumpee remained on his knees and only rolled his aching shoulders forward. Fuck they hurt, they had been bound with each wrist tied individually and a short length of rope connecting them to allow for some mobility but simply the act of shifting them from back to front hurt like hell.

“Awww, are you sore?” Whumper cooed at them.

Whumpee tensed.

“We just have a little bit left to do before tonight so up up, on your feet,” Whumper commanded with a grin.

Whumpee leaned forward with a groan and braced his hands on the floor to slowly stand. At his full height he was at least several inches taller than Whumper, who stood to the side of the room next to the mechanism that will raise the chains toward the ceiling.

The chains that right now have slack. The chains that might just let him reach Whumper and kill them with his bare hands.

Whumpee froze in place. His moment of opportunity slipping by without him doing more than freezing. They might kill him. If he tried that, they might kill him. Would that be better? No. No it fucking wouldn’t be. As long as he is alive theres a chance.

A chance he might’ve just fucking missed.

Whumper cranked the mechanism, unaware of Whumpee’s internal battle. His arms began to be pulled upward by his shackled wrists and he let them be tugged upward until they were hanging loosely from the ceiling at about eye level, spread in a vaugue ‘I come in peace’ way.

Whumpee flexed his hands anxously. Whumper began humming the tune to a pop song Whumpee was unfamiliar with as they began filling the bucket again with hot water. They pulled out a tall wooden stool that they once tied Whumpee to with his front exposed so Whumper could flog his chest, and set it up within kicking distance from Whumpee.

Whumpee doesn’t do more than contemplate knocking it down. If it comes to it, and Whumpee can’t take it anymore, he can knock it down to get a minute or two of respite. Not that there’s not gonna be hell to pay afterward, but having some semblance of a plan is comforting.

The water started overflowing on the bucket again, so Whumper shut off the water and tossed a sponge in it before hauling it out of the sink and setting it on the stool.

Whumpee watched with detacheted interest and was preparing to brace himself for unwanted contact instead of torture. His mental fortitude however, shattered at the sight of Whumper pulling out a switchblade and flicking it open with a practiced grace.

Whumpee’s breath stopped in his throat and he chastised himself for it. What, you think that the torture will stop for one fucking second as long as Whumper is in here with you? Are you really that nieve, thinking that this will ever not end in blood.

Whumpee took several deep breaths to calm himself as Whumper chuckled and moved toward him menacingly. He wrapped his right wrist around the chain suspending it from the ceiling and gripped it tightly, bracing himself for whatever Whumper is going to do to him.

Whumpee feels the cool blade against place where their stomache meets their hip and holds in a whimper. This is gonna suck this is gonna suck this is gonna suck plays over and over in his head, waiting for the slice.

Whumper chuckles as pats his hip in that same condescending, spooked horse, way and Whumpee wants to kick them. He could. They were well within kicking range, his legs are free and Whumper is about to hurt him. Why the fuck isn’t he kicking them? He should still be fighting. What a few weeks of consistant torture and beatings and he’s fucking conditioned like a dog. Great. Fucking fantastic to know that he’s so easy to break.

He looks down to see Whumper staring up at him with a look of glee on thier smug fucking face. Anger boils inside of him as they soak in all his expressions, fucker was probably gonna say ‘delicous’, he thinks in a mockingly highpitched voice.

“What are you waiting for!” he shouts at them. And he can’t bring himself to regret doing it, even when Whumper’s grin extends to a full out smile and they grab onto his hip to brace themself to cut him. He can’t regret shouting at them. He can’t.

He refuses to regret the only show of defiance he has given in days. So instead, he steels himself for the knife.

XXX

Their darling really was a masterpiece. How he blends defiance and obedience is fucking perfect.

Delicous.

Whumper chuckles and draws the knife down, cutting through the ratty sweatpants from hip to ankle in a single slice of the recently sharpened knife. Whumpee jerks forward and gasps, trying to curl in on himself but keeping his leg perfectly straight. His weight was already shifted to the other side in anticipation of not being able to stand.

They threw their head back and laughed as Whumpee opened their eyes and saw that his leg was in fact fine. If completely bare and leaving him, eh, exposed.

Whumpee flushed a beautiful shade of red - they should get a pair of heels that color, it would match so well with their blue suit - and spat out “fuckin bastard” under his breath.

In half a second Whumper was pulling Whumpee’s hair back and holding the blade to his throat.

“What was that?” They ask in a low and dangerous tone, right next to Whumpee’s jaw.

Whumpee remained silent, difiance overriding fear for a few extremely stupid seconds.

Whumper kicks his knee out from under him and he falls with a painful jolt, his knees inches from the ground with his shoulders and wrists holding all his weight. He sobs and tries to get his feet under him, but Whumper stops him by grinding thier booted foot down on Whumpee’s ankle from behind.

They lean down next to Whumpee’s face and say in an unsettlingly calm voice, “I don’t like repeating myself. What. Did. You. Say?”

Whumpee lets out a gloriously pathetic whimper, but remains silant.

Whumper sighs and mutters a ‘stay’, before walking over to a cabinet and pull out one of their favorite whips, designed to bruise and leave beautiful welts instead of lashes they would have to disinfect and clean and bandage and yadda yadda yadda. This was simpler, meant for quick but effective punishments or drawn out beatings.

And boy did their darling need a punishment.

“You already have four offenses Whumpee,” they punctuate it with a crack of the whip on the concrete floor while circling in front of Whumpee. “One for each swear word,” another crack, “and one for each time you refused to answer.”

They slipped the handle under Whumpee’s jaw and tilted his chin up to see tears dancing in his eyes.

“You don’t want a fifth, do you?” They ask in a low, gentle voice.

Whumpee shakes his head, careful to not accidentily dislodge the handle from underneath his jaw and further add to his punishment. He’s learning. Slowly, but he’ll get there.

Whumper cracks the handle of the whip across his face and grips his jaw with their hand. Squeezing their fingers painfully into his jaw. “Words Whumpee. Use, your, words.” They tighten their grip with every word. “Do you want a sixth?”

“No, no I don’t want a sixth, sir.”

Whumper released his jaw with a shove. “Then what did you say?”

Whumpee hesitates a second too long.

“Thats six, you must really be a glutton for punishment darling. Are you? Are you a glutton for punishment?”

Whumpee swallows, eyes downcast, “No sir, no I’m not a glutton for punishment sir.”

“You know I don’t like repeating myself darling, you have ten seconds to answer.”

Whumpee licks his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fucking bastard. I called you a fucking bastard sir.” Whumpee swallows and seems to brace himself for a slap.

Whumper grins to themself, this was going to be fucking fun.

“Thats four more, I think you’re finially getting the hang of this.”

Whumpee’s eyes open in confusion.

“Fucking. Bastard. Fucking. Bastard.” Whumper held up their hand, and lifted a finger for every word they said, “Four.” They shrug and let their hand drop, “You did this to yourself darling.”

They start circling around behind Whumpee again, soaking in the angry mess that was Whumpee. “What are we at then Whumpee?”

No answer. Thats eleven

“Whumpee, I asked you a question. How many offenses are you at?”

A soft “ten,” came from Whumpee. Twelve and Thirteen.

“What was that?”

“Ten.” Whumpee states, louder this time.

“Nope, now we’re at Fourteen. Keep up Whumpee. Jeez, I haven’t given you a concusion for a while, seriously.” They crack the whip again, barely an inch from Whumpee’s bare feet. “Now, what are we at?”

“Fourteen.”

“Good, thats good whumpee. You’re doing great, except now we’re at 15 because you forgot to say sir. Again.”

Whumpee shuddered and tilted his head forward between his outstretched arms. He was no doubt gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut to regain some kind of control of his envoirnment, even something as small as shutting his eyes to the world around him.

“Now Whumpee,” They tap the handle of the whip against their chin, “ Just to recap and make sure we’re both on the same page, how many offenses are you at?”

This time Whumpee’s voice came loud and clear, “Fifteen sir.”

Affection bloomed in their chest and they stepped forward to pet their darling’s hair, the movement causing them to sway in their chains. “Good boy Whumpee! I knew you had it in you.”

Whumpee stayed completely still as Whumper ran their fingers through his hair.

“Now Whumpee, I do have to punish you. But I need to know that you’re learning from this,” They walk their fingers along his scalp, “so I can either give you 30 lashes, or I’ll give you 15 lashes and all you have to do is say ‘Thank you for punishing me sir, I deserve it’ after each one. How does that sound eh?”

Whumpee tensed more under their hand, they knew which he would pick, but it was important for him to see that there was always an option, always a way out for him if he ever needed it.

He took longer to debate than Whumper thought he would, honestly they almost expected him to wrench his head away from their hands and spit insults at them. But he doesn’t.

“Come on buddy, we don’t got all day. Choose and say please and thank you, otherwise it’ll be 60 and I’ll leave you up all night.” They put their other hand - still holding the whip - on his shoulder and touching his neck so they could have better leverage to claw their fingers through his still damp hair.

They felt Whumpee swallow and the vibrations from him saying, “Please give me 30 lashes, thank you sir.”

Whumper chuckled and backed up a few feet, “As you wish,” and struck.

Continued

[lumpofwhump]

Whumper gives Caretaker two choices.

They can let Whumpee (continue to) suffer. Whumpee wouldn’t even have to know that they could’ve stopped it; after all, it was a pretty dire situation, and what else could they be expected to do?

Or they can protect Whumpee… but only by shattering Whumpee’s image of and trust in them, and probably losing Whumpee forever.

Maybe Caretaker is a dangerous magical creature of some sort, or has a terrifyingly destructive superpower. Maybe they’re a former enemy or even a former whumper with a distinctive skill who’s taken on a new identity. Maybe they’re just calculating, manipulative and ruthless under a harmless façade.

Whumper gleefully taunts Caretaker, coming right up to the line of revealing the secret themself but leaving the ultimate decision to Caretaker. Whumpee is painfully clueless, begging Whumper to leave perfect, gentle, beloved Caretaker out of this.

Caretaker’s choice is clear. They didn’t have even a second of doubt. They just need one more moment of Whumpee thinking well of them.

Then they break it all to pieces. Whumper’s body. Whumpee’s trust. Their own heart.