#medieval torture

[generic-whumperz]

Is this a universal experience for connoisseurs and creators of whumpy content?

#whump #whumpblr #whump stuff #whump blog #whump poll #whump whump whump #medieval torture #spanish inquisition #torture methods

[victimeyez]

Professional//Victim

Darwin

CW: captive whump, drugged whump, graphic depictions of torture, intimate whump

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter

~

The nausea starts when they roll off the highway. An unfamiliar town lies here, sporting lots of fancy diners and shops for wasps. 

“It’s coming up. Get ‘im lively.”

Tommy had been awake for a while now, but a bump of coke made him “more lively” for clients. The bitter taste didn’t help his stomach when he rubbed it into his gums. Sure, it was more direct up the sniffer, but one time he sneezed blood into the passenger window, so they switched strictly to the oral route. He didn’t like the taste or the buzz, but it helped with the pain a little. Not that it mattered. 

His stomach drops to his knees when they turn off onto a long side street and begin passing houses. Only a few down and they turn onto a long, neat driveway that slithered into the woods. Finally, a house emerged from the foliage.

(Brown, drab. Not a mansion, but expensive. Groomed lawn. Driveway, maybe a quarter mile. Isolated. Definitely not a client we’ve seen before. New clients are always crapshoots.)

Caius dragged Tommy up the path to the door. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell, making Tommy face him while he fixed his curls and looked him over. He pinched his cheeks and his lips to give him a flushed look, pinching some of his eyelashes between his fingers and tugging them painfully. He repeated it on the other side, making Tommy’s eyes water so they were tearful and moony. He then pressed the gold-framed button next to the door. A twinkling classical piece played inside in lieu of a standard bell.

A middle-aged man answered too quickly, surprisingly well dressed in a tortoiseshell suit and matching glasses. He looked like a professor. He smiled kindly at the two of them.

“Please, come in.”

Caius put a firm hand on Tommy's shoulder and pushed him through the doorframe into the house, while the client politely held the door for the pair. He closed it behind them and activated an electronic lock, hidden from the outside. A heavy deadbolt slid into place with a loud chink. It resonated with an ominous finality that made Tommy’s stomach clench.

“I am Darwin. I take it this is Tommy?” He gestured to Tommy. 

“I’m Caius, and this is Tommy.”

Darwin nodded, and then hesitated as he began to turn. 

“Forgive me if I’m new to the etiquette of these…arrangements. Could I offer you a water, or maybe some wine?”

“Don’t worry about formalities, you’ve paid for us to be here. Let’s not waste your time.”

Darwin's eyebrows raised just a touch, but he seemed relieved to dispense with niceties. He began up a flight of stairs, which Caius ensured Tommy followed close behind. His heart was starting to pound and his feet felt heavy. Upstairs rooms were less common than basements. They somehow felt so much more intimate. Tommy had long since learned you can’t tell what a client wants based on appearance. He wasn’t sure what he feared more - a dungeon, or a bedroom.

He could feel himself starting to shut down already, and he embraced the dissociation. 

(Left, right, left, right, keep walking, just follow. Don’t feel anything, just exist. There’s nothing you can do now. Just breathe. Disconnect from the feeling of desperation. We don’t have to remember this part.)

He walked robotically behind Darwin until he was led into a room that looked like an enormous study, with a fireplace at one side and rows of nice bookshelves and displays lined the walls. The display closest to him looked something like fireplace tools, but not like ones he had seen before. The floors were of a rich hardwood.

“Remove your shoes, Tommy.”

He hated it when they used his name. As if they knew him. As if they were friends. All it took was a warning look from Caius and he peeled off his tennis shoes, setting them awkwardly to the side. (Avoid eye contact. Makes it easier.)

“Are you wearing underwear?” 

Tommy didn’t like where this was headed. He despised the romantic ones.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Strip down to them.”

Tommy mechanically removed his shirt, and then more hesitantly, his sweats. He was down to plain black boxers, a stark contrast to well-dressed Darwin. He handed them off to Caius while his eyes scoured the room.

The center of the room was filled with precariously placed items that looked very old and worn. There was a big lumpy looking chair made of wood, a kind of bench-like table with three rolling pins attached in the middle, and a big sort of horse-shaped wooden structure. It looked badly built, and had a big triangle for the saddle.

(Don’t panic. Don’t run. You don’t have to know what’s happening. Don’t think about it. Don't think at all. Turn your brain off. It makes it easier.)

“I curate for the museum here, and over the years I’ve become a bit of a collector of sorts myself. When the museum here wasn’t interested in these pieces, I knew I just had to buy them up. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten the chance to play with them, and they’ve gone without use. Then I found a video of Tommy here online, and I thought I found the perfect person to try them out.”

Thomas felt like his body was moving without his will as he was led to the chair, which upon closer look, was more than uncomfortable. It had no open slats but was made of uncut pieces of wood with a high back, wide arm rests, a flat seat, and another solid plate between the front legs, almost to the floor. Every inch of it was covered in neat rows of small, wooden spikes. 

“Which video?” Caius asked conversationally. 

(Market research.)

“It was some kind of flogging scene, with Mistress Alice. A few months ago now.”

Tommy’s head swam before he realized he was holding his breath. He felt a little shaken by the mention of Alice, and struggled to stay adrift from his feelings. 

“It looks like he’s healed up marvelously though,” Darwin appreciated, looking him over hungrily. 

“He cleans up well, and we have excellent doctors on hand. We cannot allow certain things that will damage him beyond repair, so I will be staying with you for our time. Most nerves can be fixed, but no severing of central tendons or arteries, and go easy on the spine to keep basic motor controls intact.”

Darwin nodded. “They shouldn’t puncture too deeply. Everything is antique, but sanitized.”

Without ceremony, Tommy was shoved back into the chair.

He took a sharp breath in when all the points sank in at once, biting into the sensitive flesh of his ass and thighs. The shock of It was like being submerged in icy water. He instinctively leaned forwards away from the back of the chair, but he could feel beads of blood forming where he had knocked into them initially. 

Hands appeared from nowhere, wrapping a leather strap across his throat and pulling him flat against the back of the chair. The shock of the pain winded him, and he gasped for breath as Darwin fastened his restraints. His ankles were locked with leather and pulled taut hard to force his legs into the spikes, and his arms were pulled hard down on the spiked armrests. Thick leather cuffs bound his wrists in place, and slight sides built into the back ensured his outer arms were also penetrated.

The best he could do was try to arch his back away from the back of the chair, but with his neck fastened it only seemed to drive the ones in his shoulders deeper. The awkward position made his back start to cramp immediately, and he doubted he could hold it for long. The urge to fight the restraints was overruled by the pain that the slightest movement caused, and he found himself paralyzed by it. Even breathing agitated the punctures, and on instinct he started to breathe shallowly to avoid it. A muted thought came to him, of the sharp wooden skewers used for shish kabobs, and he suddenly related to being a piece of skewered meat.

He vaguely registered that Darwin had stood back and was watching him, a great grin on his face. 

“This piece is called the ‘Armchair of Inquiries’ - a bit of a cheeky name, in my opinion. This one was actively used a bit longer than most, with the last recorded use being May 8th, 1868. I’ve had it thoroughly cleaned and disinfected just for you.”

Tommy tried to pull his head away from the pins, only resulting in choking himself against the leather collar.

Darwin smiled. “I had that strap attached as an extra, from a heretic’s fork. I think it makes a good addition, even if it wasn’t the original.”

There was something deeply sickening about the pride in Darwin’s voice, while he gladly explained history that hardly mattered to the butterfly he had pinned. 

The initial shock was starting to wear off, but the pain was blooming. He doubted there was enough coke in the world to shield him from this. His shallow panting took on a whine to it on every exhale as the pain began to steep. 

Darwin had walked away, and returned with quick steps holding some sort of miniature harness. It consisted of metal bands arched and connected, with an adjustable leather strap. Tommy couldn’t identify it, but the glee with which Darwin presented it made him think he would find out the hard way very soon. 

With a surprisingly gentle hand, Darwin guided his head forward as far as it could go against his neck restraint, and slipped the harness over his head. 

“This one has many names, and many forms. It was the first piece in my collection. There are other ones that are shaped like pigs, or fools with long noses, or even a cone coming out from the mouthpiece. Just to name a few.”

At being masked, Tommy started to panic and struggle, shoving hard against his restraints only to have the spikes impale him again and again, agitating the wounds with every movement.

“Wait, wait, wait, fuck, fuck, wait you don’t have to do this-”

Tommy finally begged, which Darwin only acknowledged with a soft smile as he worked the cage mask on. There was a metal band that ran down the back of his head, parting his hair, but pushing him off of impalement on the spikes there as the metal band rested atop the points. 

The other band came down the middle of his face, forking into a triangle around his nose. Right below, it connected to a thicker metal band across his mouth, and a sharp obtrusion from it pressed hard against his lips. He clenched his teeth against it to try to keep it out, abruptly ending his ability to beg with words. His pleas reduced to panicked keens of fear and pain.

“It’s called a bridle mask, a scold’s bridle, a mask of shame…” Darwin rattled off idly. He tapped a finger against the metal bit against Tommy’s lips.

“If you can’t feel it yet, there’s another spike in here. I’m about to fasten this tight across your jaw, and if you don’t let it in, it’s going to puncture through your lips and cause you quite a bit more…discomfort. Open up for me, Tommy.”

Darwin’s hands cradled his face with a disturbing intimacy, stroking over his cheeks. His fingers found the hollows of his cheeks and pushed into them sharply, forcing his jaw open. A long metal spike followed by a thick metal bit pushed in, and he had to curl his tongue to keep it from skewering straight through. The metal bit held his jaw slightly open, but if he tried to speak, he would pierce his tongue. 

The strap at his jaw was pulled sharply taut and secured. Darwin’s hands returned to his cheeks, stroking his face gently between the gaps of the mask. 

(Don’t spiral. Just another - just ignore it - the pain is - how much -)

His best guards against the pain were failing, easily overwhelmed by this unfamiliar torture. A new hysteria was building deep inside of him, and he was starting to grow light-headed from his shallow panting around the gag.

Darwin’s lips were parted and he was panting a little too, his face so close, hungry eyes roving over Tommy’s own caged face. His thumbs tenderly stroked comforting circles over the apples of his cheeks, and Tommy felt a wetness there. (When did we start crying?) His eyes felt so heavy as they spilled over without relief. 

Darwin closed the gap between them suddenly, pressing his lips intensely against the outside of the gag. Tommy tried to turn away from him, but Darwin’s gentle hands became restraints holding his head in place. He slowly kissed and tongued and licked the dark metal there, and Tommy couldn’t help the harsh whimpers escaping his opened mouth. 

Darwin finally pulled away, his lips wet. A strong urge to wretch boiled in Tommy’s gut. 

“You look so beautiful.”

His stomach lurched.

“I have one more piece for you,” Darwin murmured, mostly to himself. 

Tears ran down the sides of his face, wetting the metal harness as it started to warm against his skin. 

“But before that…can I take a picture?” 

Tommy was confused for a moment until his brain finally caught up to the fact that Caius was still there, sitting off to the side and witnessing his agony with a look of profound boredom. 

“Sure. I have a camera in my bag if you’d like me to take some nice ones for you. It doesn’t cost extra if you let us also use them for promotional materials.”

Darwin licked his lips. “Of course.”

Tommy let out a miserable moan of protest, with heavy tears of humiliation and pain dripping down his face and cooling uncomfortably at his neck.

Caius kept a calm demeanor of cool indifference while he circled Tommy, collecting photos with his camera. Tommy was only addressed with a sharp snapping of fingers, directing him to look one way or another. He could see a dark reflection of his face in the wide lens of the camera, and he closed his eyes with a sob. 

Darwin emerged to be front and center again, holding one of the metal tools that Tommy had noticed when he entered. It was a crude, thin piece of metal, with two fork-like tines on each end. He held it up so Tommy could see it, and then playfully tapped one side of tines against his cheek. 

“The heretic’s fork. It fits right in here,” Darwin offered, and slipped it into a leather buckle of the collar around his throat. Tommy tipped his head back to try to avoid it, but yelped when he felt one pronged end pushed shallowly into his neck behind his collar bones. This firmly locked the fork vertically against his throat, the tines on the opposite side baring threateningly against the soft flesh under his jaw. 

“If you can keep your head up, this won’t hurt.”

With this last attachment, Tommy suddenly felt entirely overwhelmed with helplessness. He couldn't move an inch, couldn’t even breathe without disturbing the bed of thorns beneath him. His tongue was cramped in the back of his throat, and he was starting to drool around the gag. Lowering his head at all would impale him on the tines of the fork, driving it both into his jaw and into his sternum. He couldn’t think of a time he was held in such strict binding, and his brain was starting to short circuit with the horror of his situation.

Darwin seized this opportunity to lean in and press another kiss over his gag. Tommy whined impotently, hyper-aware of his inability to pull away.

Darwin stood back and took a long, shuddery breath of excitement. He ran his tongue over his lips.

“P-pictures, please,” he called breathily. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas could see Caius toss his cellphone aside and get back up to take pictures. 

Tommy stared at the ceiling, blinking tears of terror. He always hated the feeling of something stuck inside of him, the gnawing urge to pull it out only growing with the many barbs penetrating his skin. He thought his regular collar was bad enough. He could no longer see anything around him, and he had no idea where Darwin or Caius were in proximity to him. The anxiety made him tense, agitating his wounds. 

“This doesn’t quite fit in with the others, but, well…we only have so much time. I think this will speed things up.”

He sounded close. There was a popping, crackling sound Tommy couldn’t quite place. 

(How much time do we have? How long has it been? It felt like an hour, at least. Maybe. It always feels slower than it is.)

Something touched him, two dull points maybe an inch or two apart. Pressed to his diaphragm. He braced himself for it to puncture him, but for a long minute it just rested there. Darwin was breathing heavier. (Psyching himself-)

His body was on fire. 

It almost felt like relaxing. He lost all control while a painful, hot tingling went through his body. He spasmed, shuddering violently until it stopped as suddenly as it had started.

He sagged back into his bindings, but the damage had been done. There were a thousand points on his body that throbbed in urgent pain. It was a full-body pain like he had never experienced before. It was terrifying not being able to look down at his body to see how bad it was - he felt like his skin must be shredded, vivid imaginings of his flayed corpse pinned to this throne.

A touch against his diaphragm, heavy breathing in front of him. Excited sounds from Darwin. He was lit up once more, for a longer time. He could feel himself tearing around the spikes. This time he was vaguely aware of the sound it pulled from his, a deep, guttural cry as the breath was knocked from his body. It was a unique sound he didn’t recognize as his own voice, but a deep wail of anguish. It felt entirely disconnected, like the sound was coming from the prod pushed to his stomach, not his body.

When it ended, his vision was swimming. Everything was black, gray, yellow, dancing shadows. He blinked a few times as he slowly started to come back to his senses.

This time, he noticed the foam in his throat. He coughed, and blood burned on his lips, long dried from the gag. He finally registered the taste of blood on his tongue, the pain in his mouth. His tongue had been speared on the spike inside of the gag. His brain couldn’t process where or how his tongue was pierced, but he drooled blood out the corner of his lips and struggled to swallow the rest pooling in his throat. He couldn’t identify an exact moment when, but the fork under his chin had been driven into his jaw, and judging by the burning pain in his chest, it was up to the hilt on bottom as well. 

Darwin let him stew with the tip of his device pressed to his stomach again. Tommy sucked in a breath, his only chance at pulling away from it, but his movement was easily followed.

He writhed in his restraints as he was electrocuted again, spasming uncontrollably even as it tore him open. Everything was pain, every breath, his nose burned, his eyes rolled back into his head. It let up again and he shuddered to stillness. He could still feel the tingle, and he continued to twitch in spite of his best attempts. He dry wretched, blood in his throat, in his stomach, making him sick. The still room reeled around him. 

“Next time…you can call me Arthur.”

It felt a bit like sweating, an intense sweating across the entire side of his body. As the blood trickled out underneath him, he was starting to feel very cold. The shocks left him feverish, and he felt quite sick, like when he had the flu and felt hot and cold at the same time. He hoarsely barked out sobs that wracked his body. Every surface he touched pooled blood, making his seat feel wet and tarry underneath him. He was limp in his restraints, his heavy head supported solely by the prongs driven into him. 

He numbly felt a prodding against his naked torso, and unconsciousness took its mercy on him.

~

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#captive whumpee #intimate whumper #sadistic whumper #medieval torture #professional victim

[necrohag]

Medieval Torture Museum

#medieval torture #torture mask #medieval torture museum

[fulcrumwrites]

Speaking is a Privilege

Summary: A prince is taken captive by a rival kingdom. The enemy king attempts to make the prisoner of war his slave, but the prince refuses to break. Luckily, he has an arsenal of tools at his disposal. The prince will soon learn his place.

CW: Medieval torture, scold’s bridle, POW, dehumanization, slavery, humiliation, brief sexist idealism from the villain

He’s a pompous brat, seethed Cor as he glared up at his enemy.

He didn’t choose to be on his knees before that ridiculous throne on a raised pedestal and that pathetic excuse of a king draped upon it. The man didn’t even sit upright and regal, deserving of his title and honor. Instead, his knees dangled over the arm, swinging in the air, with his back braced against the other arm. A goblet of wine swirled in one hand while the other picked from a gold plate of treats; the very image of aloof laziness. It was a mockery to monarchy… Ha, mockery monarchy. Okay, his brain had definitely rotted in that cell.

He didn’t choose to be kneeling before the throne, filthy and weak in chains compared to the exaggerated wealth surrounding them. No, he’d much rather be relaxing in the cold, wet dungeon, which was what he was doing before he was so rudely dragged from his cell before the brat and had his knees kicked out beneath him.

And now he had to entertain his captor’s outlandish fantasies. It’s as if he had some delusion that just because Cor was his prisoner of war, he could make him do whatever he wanted. Good thing Cor was here to set him straight.

“No.”

King Darius leaned forward, cupping a hand around his ear. “Please speak up. I can’t hear you all the way down there.”

Cor licked his chapped lips, scowling. “I said no.”

King Darius balked and placed an offended hand on his chest, like they didn’t play this game a thousand times before. “I beg your pardon. Did you just tell your king no?”

“You heard me. And you’re not my king.”

“So long as you reside in my lands I am.”

Cor rolled his eyes. ‘Reside’, he says. As if he wasn’t a prisoner and could leave anytime he wished.

King Darius dropped his legs and sat up properly. Finally. He brushed the crumbs from his lavish clothes made from the finest textiles and with bright colors that clashed so badly it made Cor’s eyes ache.

He stood and marched down the steps, looking exactly like a proud peacock. He stopped so that Cor was at his feet, peering down at him over his squashed nose. Though Cor could not stand without the guards knocking him down again, he refused to be meek and returned his gaze with his own steely glare.

King Darius threw back his head and laughed. Anger boiled in Cor’s gut as he willed himself not to tackle his enemy. They danced to this song too. Many. Times. Darius would make some ridiculous demand, Cor would be defiant and, instead of lashing out in anger, Darius would laugh in his face and force him to do it anyway. It was exhausting to be so stubborn and yet so powerless. A captive prince was nothing more than a slave in the hands of his enemy.

Still chuckling, Darius fisted Cor’s dark hair at the roots and dragged him to his feet. The manacles around his wrists clinked as Cor instinctively clawed at the hand pulling his hair. A guard stepped forward, but was halted by Darius’ dismissive wave.

“You may be weary of this game, Cor, but I’m not.” The king’s breath was hot on his skin. He jerked him by his hair once, twice. Unbidden tears pooled in his eyes. Cor furiously blinked them away. “In fact, I find your obstinance amusing. No slave would dare treat his master this way, and yet you continue to do so even though you know I hold all the cards. It’s truly a marvel you can keep this up for as long as you have.”

Cor gritted his teeth. “I’m not your slave.”

Darius released his hair and gently patted the spot as if he were a child or a dog. “Believe it however long you’d like, Cor. It has no effect on reality.”

Darius walked off to the left. Cor watched him with suspicion. He stayed standing under his own power, the granite tiles cold beneath his bare feet. Darius approached a silent servant carrying a wooden box. His neutral expression betrayed nothing to Cor.

“You know how this ends, Cor,” the king continued as he opened the lid. “You defy me, and I get what I want anyway because I am king and you are my prisoner.”

He carefully lifted the contents out. It was a twisted shape made entirely out of metal, like a birdcage only the bottom was missing. A short chain dangled from it. Darius turned it in his hands, nodding approvingly.

“As we speak, the palace is scrambling to finish preparing for the feast I demanded. We all have a role to play, and yours is to be at my side: a symbol of my coming victory over your kingdom. I originally planned for you to be chained to my throne merely by your cuffs so you could sit or stand as you please. Now I realize I can’t have you ruining the pleasure of my guests.”

Cor swallowed, throat suddenly dry by more than just a lack of water. “What the hell is that?”

Darius tore his eyes away from the contraption, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “What, your country doesn’t use scold’s bridles? How very primitive. What do you do when women nag?” Darius shook his head. “It’s a device that locks over one’s head. This piece of metal right here slides inside the mouth, effectively silencing the wearer. This little chain is a handy thing to pull the wearer along or attach them to a wall for all to ogle. Makes a woman think twice about running her mouth.”

Darius laughed again. Cor didn’t see the humor in it. In his father’s kingdom, women were always treated with respect and dignity. Such a punishment was unheard of. As if his hatred for Darius and his kingdom couldn’t run deeper…

Cor was trembling with anger as the king approached him. If he could think through the white hot rage, he would’ve realized the danger. As two guards grabbed his arms, Cor realized what was happening.

“Wait. What are you–?” Darius raised the scold’s bridle over his head dramatically as if crowning him. Cor’s eyes followed it and he began to thrash against the guards’ grips. “Get that thing away from me. You’re crazy, Darius. Don’t you dare.”

His words did nothing as the metal cage slotted over his head. Yet it was the only defense Cor had, and he’ll use it till his last breath.

“You sick, pathetic excuse for a king! You’re a pompous, spoiled brat unfit to rule! We’ll win the war, and it’ll be you at our mer–”

“That’s quite enough now.”

The thick stub of metal was shoved between his lips and held down his tongue as Darius pushed together the sides. It tasted of rust. There was a click by his ear, followed by tugging as the king checked the strength of the padlock. A finger tilted his chin up to look Darius straight into his blue murky green eyes.

“Speaking is a privilege. By all means, be defiant. You know deep down your privileges are mine to give and take away.”

Heat crawled up Cor’s cheeks as he was forced to stand there silent, looking through metal bars as Darius examined him like an exotic animal in its enclosure.

The king nodded and smiled. “Yes, I think this will do.” He tugged the chain as if urging a dog to follow. “Come along, Cor. Let’s get you set up.”

The boy had no choice but to let himself be led by a leash up the stairs to the throne. A forceful yank on the chain threw him onto his knees as Darius attached it to the base of his throne.

“A shame you don’t understand the workings of a scold’s bridle,” Darius remarked as he fiddled with the chain. “Men in my kingdom consider this one of the upmost embarrassments should the bridle be used on them.���

Once he was done, Darius gripped the device, twisting it so Cor was forced to look up at him.

“My guests will be arriving in one hour. Your only task of the night is to be my trophy, a symbol of my power and victory. I would tell you to behave, but we both know you don’t have it in you. That’s why this–” he shook the bridle, causing Cor’s mouth and jaw to ache–“does all the work for you.”

With a triumphant smile, he released the bridle and turned his back, leaving Cor tethered to his throne. “Don’t go anywhere!” he couldn’t resist calling over his shoulder as he and his guards and servants swept out of the throne room.

Left unguarded, of course Cor couldn’t let the opportunity pass up. He raised his chained hands to his face and pulled at the metal encasing his head. It refused to budge. He wound his hands in the chain and pulled with what strength he had as if uprooting a stubborn weed. After a few minutes of struggling, Cor sagged against his heels, muscles burning, hands red, face sore.

Instead of despair or fear as others may feel in his situation, hate burned through every emotion like a purifying blaze. He hated Darius. He hated the guest who would come in and ogle. He hated this kingdom.

He hated losing.

Darius was right. No matter how hard Cor fought, his enemy would win. He was the puppet-master holding his strings. The one who held every card in the palm of his hand. The one who could strip a prince of all his honor.

The one who always wins.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #whump #tw restraints #prisoner of war whump #prisoner whump #royal whump #prince whumpee #scold’s bridle #medieval torture #fantasy #defiant whumpee #i love defiant whumpees #tw muzzle #unconventional restraints #restrained whump #wrote this instead of sleeping #pow whumpee

[coentinim]

#it's 7am #i need to get all my bones broken and joints dislocated #mondays... #medieval torture

[the-aprilfools-bitch]

Babe. Infodump. Now

Okay Okay Okay

so i dont know the names for all of the things i know a bunch about but we obviously know the castration device, the chappy chopper

and then there was like a massive pair of pliers that they would heat over a fire till white hot and use to met the tongue to the metal and staight up rip it outta their mouths and then ther was the hook, quite simple, theyd just jam it into the fleshy bit at the back of your neck hooking the sharp point into the base of your skull and use a system of pulleys to hang you by your neck muscle, however the torturer really could do whatever they liked so some would hang them by their eyes or noses or mouths and occasionally they would have the person being tortured turn around face the chair they were being tortured and well jam the hook into another hole

theres also some fun death meathods where like, they would put a basket around someones head, put them in a shallow pool of water and slowly fill th basket with rocks until they physically couldnt hold their head up no more and theyd drown

also random fun fact one of the ways for testing for witchcraft was pricking their skin with somethings sharp and if they didnt bleed they were a witch but the witch catchers had pricks with blades that would retract into the blade and give a mark that looks like its been burried to the hilt but really didnt even prick the skin enough to bleed

also back to torture methods, some popular among prison aurd crowd were thumb screws (much like the name implies, a screw/small drill that is screwed directly through the thumb) and teeth pulling, which i am not explaining

also some fun crimes you could be aressted for/ hung in the gallows include

being drunk on a sunday; owning a black cat; spilling another mans whiskey; nagging; causing mutiny

okay this was more of a random all over the place infodump but i do probably know more i just made this post quite long

#fools saying shit #fools rambling #fools infodump #whore™ asks #<3 #cursed polycule #medieval #torture device #medieval torture #witch trials #medieval crimes #gah im so fucking autistic

[medievalistsnet]

#medieval #torture #medieval torture #history

[lovertm]

i ❤️ ... (button sets, part 1) by Claire Thompson

#claire thompson #clairethompson #transparent by me #buttons #pins #objects #trinkets #pngs #transparent pngs #devotion #fun #self flagellation #rot #decay #cute #love #medieval torture

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

The brazin bull I think it's called it's a copper bull that you put someone inside and set a fire under it and when they scream it just sounds like a bull

That's a good one. But the boys like to control how much damage they inflict on the targets.

@moonlit-dreamers and I discussed this question, and we decided that the perfect medieval torture device they'd use would be The Rack. The one that stretches out the body.

They would even make a sick game out of it.

warning: graphic depictions of the torture game below the card-

They would take turns, and slowly turn the wheel to stretch out the target's body a certain number of times based on a dice roll. This is to see who can go the furthest without ripping or dislocating a limb. Whoever dislocates a limb is the one who has to clean up the mess, and the other gets to kill the target. With each turn the target is slowly being stretched and pulled apart. Sun and Moon will ensure that they stay alive just long enough for them to have their fun.

Arguments may or may not ensue over who wins, possible accusations of cheating. Sibling banter at its finest, all while the target is just in agony.

#answered ask #dca!serial killer au #serial killer duo #serial killer sun #serial killer moon #SK!Sun #SK!Moon #SK!boys #medieval torture #cw mention of torture #cw bodily harm #graphic depictions of violence #they are a little unhinged #The Rack #thank you to moonlit for helping me answer this

[whumpninja]

For whumpee: favorite and least favorite kinds of torture

(Medieval whump ask game)

This is a really fun question, and even though the medieval ask game was posted before I got around to this I still wanna answer it just by myself!

My favorite method of medieval torture has got to be the pillory/stocks. So underutilized. So many variations you can do. So much fun.

Least favorite…gonna go with the rack. I’m not a fan of one-and-done kind of torture methods where you can only do them one time and then your whumpee is pretty much ruined. And the rack is one of those. It’s fun while it’s happening, but it can only really happen once or maybe twice, and I just like a little more repeatability.

#this answer makes me sound so very deranged #jack be whumpy #whump #medieval whump #medieval torture #jack be answering #answering asks

[zoethehead]

Here's an idea that's currently in my head...

Imagine a whumpee who's badly injured, their body tied to a breaking wheel after having their bones broken one by one as they're left out in the freezing cold elements... A bit later, a caretaker finds them and frees the now unconscious and half-frozen whumpee, carrying the whumpee off to somewhere warm...

-----

They reset every broken bone, which elicits cries and groans of pain from the whumpee, but the caretaker comforts them, the whumpee's injuries are then patched up with bandages, with splints being placed on the whumpee's broken limbs and secured with more bandages before laying the whumpee down on a bed and tucking them in.

#medieval whump #medieval torture #breaking wheel #nursed back to health #hypothermia #exposure to the elements #bandage #whump #bandages #bandaged #broken bones

[squorttle-pox]

oh to be a medieval goat licking tasty salt water with your goat pals while the radio plays classical music

#salt lick #torture methods #medieval torture #like sure poor victim and all #but damn those goats must have had it all

[another-anonymous-idiot]

Ok this might be a longer post but I've been thinking...

So you guys know that trope, most common in like, medieval fantasy and similar settings, where The Main Character has to transport a prisoner from point A to point B and it's portrayed as a "I'm just following orders sorry dude" type of thing.

I feel like this has a lot of Whump potential both in a "Medieval Whump" and "Travel Whump" setting.

Whumpee could be an innocent bystander who got captured by Whumper, or they could actually be a criminal, depending on how you'd like your story.

Lemme tell you folks medieval society was CREATIVE about punishing criminals. So many horrible devices to use!

Example:

1. Scold's Bridle or Branks

Is your Whumpee's begging getting annoying? Do you wanna shut them up in a way that also makes them feel sub human? Well this device is perfect! A bonus is that eating with it on is quite impossible, so they have to depend on Whumper's mercy even more.

2. Shrew's Fiddle or Neck Violin

A very ridged thing which still allows for walking. Though, it's quite heavy, I can't imagine it would be comfortable to wear for long periods of time. I mean, holding your arms at a right angle in front of you must get heard, but if you let them fall you have even more weight on your neck... But hey, you can use it for multiple Whumpees!

3. Pillory, Stocks, or Stockade

Passing through town and have some errands to run? Well why don't you just leave your Whumpee in the town stocks for a day! They are very common and usually set up in the town square where everyone can see. That way you don't have to worry about Whumpee running off, and the prominent position lets you keep an eye on them. Could even leave them longer, if you don't wanna look at Whumpee in your room for the night.

An over all bonus of these devices, is that they are used to denote a person's crime. This is nice because then other people will know to also treat Whumpee poorly.

And the process of getting from town to town could be interesting too.

Is Whumpee tied up in the back of a cart, or are they being dragged behind one and forced to walk. Are they given proper traveling clothes, shoes? Maybe Whumper wants to humiliate them even more by taking their clothes away. Are they walking freely, or are they hobbled? Are other travelers seeing them?

Sooo much Whump potential folks!!!

#whump prompt #whumpee #whumper #whump #medieval torture #fantasy whump #dehumanize your whumpee

[kiradical]

Stretching is not enough, I need to be tied to a medieval rack and pulled, just a little. As a treat.

#mine #medieval torture #the rack #chronic pain

[cringeworms]

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal s3 #hannibal season three #hannibal lecter #fannibal #fannibals #medieval torture #text post #hannibal memes #hannibal shitpost #hannibal textpost

[corinthiansenamel]

I thought we all had a medieval torture phase as a child

#torture #medieval torture #children