Work Text:
*calibrating crack plot*
*author is writing stuff*
“I’m writing stuuuuuuff~ “
“I’m writing stuuuuuuuuuuuff~ “
“I’m writing stuff stuff stuff stuff STUFF!”
“Bro what are you doing?”
I immediately stop flailing my arms wildly and singing and attempt to regain my composure. “Uhm. The author temporarily possessed me in order to jump start her motivation to write this scene.”
Chosen gives me a very befuddled stare. “Pardon?”
I sigh in a frazzled manner. “The author. Possessed me. To jump start her motivation. To write this scene. Is that clear enough for you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes. But why the weird song and dance?”
I glare very directly at chosen. Did he not hear what I just said? “I’ve told you twice now. No more questions.” I punctuate my statement with another whack of the metal rod in my hand. It slams into Chosen’s side and he grunts, jerking sharply. The chains clink but he does not make any other noise, which is really so unfortunate. What’s the whole point of torture if the prisoner won’t make those delicious noises? Not even a whimper!
“Dude, seriously. You’re acting as though you’re not in any pain at all! You need to start screaming, crying, and begging right now so that I can go eat breakfast. The author won’t let me stop until her friend deems that you’ve been sufficiently whumped.”
Chosen scrunches his nose and eyebrows as though he is very confused. Honestly, I can understand. This whole situation is absurd. “The hell does whumped mean?”
“Uh… the simple version is it means that you’ve been beaten with this rod enough times.” I shake it a couple times in the air for emphasis before slamming him again in the arm. It leaves behind an ugly bruise but no blood. Dang it…
Actually, his whole body is very battered, covered in all sorts of bruises from today’s encounter, plus various burns and scabs from the days before, but somehow the blunt force trauma has not caused him to start bleeding. This sucks because one of the criteria for today’s whumping (and by extension for me to be able to eat breakfast) is to make Chosen bleed.
The stick very stubbornly refuses to do that, shrinking away as far as the chains will let him, eyes wide and terrified. I wish I could say that he’s terrified of me but… “Who is requiring you to beat me with that? What is going on?!” The author and her friend are scarier than me, unfortunately.
“Okay, fine. I’ll be straight with you.” I step closer to Chosen and crouch to his level, shrunken against the wall as he is. His eyes keep darting to the blunt object in my hand but I ignore that. I am happy he’s at least somewhat worried about me though.
“The author made a deal with her friend. In exchange for drawing a couple of pictures of you chained in various configurations…” and wow, I did not realize that Chosen’s expression could get any more repulsed. I almost laugh but stifle it and continue, saying, “the author must write this very scenario between the two of us in order to repay her friend. They are both psychopaths because her friend requested that I beat you with a blunt object until you bleed, slap you at least once, and uh… I think that’s it.”
“Wha– haven’t I been tortured enough for peoples’ sick sense of humor?”
I shake my head, because honestly Chosen is very fun to whump, and I can understand why the author and her half-insane friend enjoy this so much. “No, truly this is very entertaining to me. However, they won’t deem your torture acceptable until you’re screaming or pleading for mercy or at least whimpering. So do me a favor, will you, and then we can be over with this faster and I can go and eat breakfast.” I raise the rod again threateningly to continue.
Chosen’s eyes grow even wider and he starts pulling at the chains despite knowing that it won’t help. “Wait- wait! If… if the author is making you torture me then doesn’t that mean you don’t actually want to do that? Wouldn’t it be better to not listen to some psycho’s recommendations and make your own decisions?” he babbles frantically.
I stop sharply, the rod about to come down onto Chosen’s body and stare. A second passes. Then I burst out laughing.
“Chosen… Chosen I’m not sure you understand this but–” I have to pause, suck in deep breaths of air between hysterical giggles, but eventually I gather enough air to keep going. “I AM a psychopath! Why the hell do you think I enjoy this so much?” More laughter spills from my mouth and I can see that Chosen is anything but amused. An eyebrow is raised as if saying ‘don’t patronize me.’
I suck in another breath and tell him, “I love when you cry out in pain and flinch away as though it will actually help you. When you frantically yank at your shackles or plead for a scrap of mercy it delights me to no end. The authors have not made me this way, this is just how I am! They do not have control over me!” To drive the point home, I slam Chosen with the rod once more. The dense metal catches on his shoulder and sends him toppling over, too weak to stay upright. “I did that without them explicitly telling me to! Simply for fun! Isn’t being a psycho delicious?” I cackle some more but am too out of breath to keep going, so I sputter out rather quickly.
The chains jangle lightly and Chosen wheezes, barely audible but I heard it. I smile delightfully, because now he’s making some sort of noise! Progress! He pushes to a half-sitting position and looks at me, red eyes still bright despite inadequate nutrition and all the uh… torture. He doesn’t look as defeated as I’d like though… more like he’s thinking about something. That’s not good.
“If… if the authors don’t have any control over you like you said… why were you doing that ridiculous dance before?”
ah crap
“Uh… what ridiculous dance? Shut up before I whack you again.”
Sadly, Chosen seems to know that I’ll whack him no matter what he does, so he says, “The one where you were singing ‘I’m writing stuff’ and doing this over and over.” He tries to demonstrate, moving his arms back and forth but it lacks vigor because of how exhausted he is, and the chains are too short to allow for that much movement. “Aren’t you supposed to be all stoic and intimidating and stuff? You literally said that the author possessed you–”
“BE QUIET!” I interrupt Chosen’s rebellious tangent, hitting the rod into his side with more force than necessary. I don’t stop there, slamming it over and over into his legs, ribs, stomach, even his face. I don’t notice if he makes any noises because how dare he assume that The Dark Lord doesn’t have complete control?!
Of course I do!
Definitely!
right?
A particularly cruel whack at Chosen’s hands makes him gasp, and the next onto his fingers makes him cry out. JEREMY no nononono not jeremy
*author needs a tiny break mhm Imma go leave…*
“NO! *wheeze* No break!”
I stop suddenly, confused at why Chosen is uh… detaching from reality? Speaking words that make no sense in the context? Going insane? I mean… torture does drive some people to insanity but… I thought he’d be stronger…
“NO! Author you will write this scene. Now. GET IT OVER WITH!”
I drop the rod, which clangs against the stone floor and turn incredulously to face the author who has materialized once again.
“Wh- All you have to do is appear and threaten to stop writing and he’s already begging! Are you kidding me?!”
Psynerd appears to not even hear me, saying, “but… but I lost my metaphorical jumper cables! I can’t jump-start my motivation anymore! If I can’t write crack… how could I write anything at all!” She looks very distressed for some reason. I don’t understand. If I can torture Chosen all day, she can write torturing Chosen for one scene! It’s not that hard!
“I will give you motivation!” To my surprise, Chosen somehow has the strength to stand up, despite multiple scabs opening and bleeding. He staggers over to Psynerd and stares her straight in the eyes. “I am bleeding and very beat up. Now just write Dark smacking me and then we can be done! That’s all you have to do! Then he can go eat his breakfast and I can lay here and wish for death! Everybody wins!” Chosen is very desperate, shaking Psynerd by the shoulders as he speaks.
“Oh… uh… okay. I’ll write that part. Dear lord… I’m writing crack inside the crack! I didn’t even think that was possible!”
“Oh yes, it’s very possible.” Chosen nods solemnly, somehow he looks serious despite half his face bleeding and swelled. “You are done with your break.”
Psynerd thinks a moment before agreeing. “Ah yes, but you see, the break was actually just more writing. Isn’t that incredible! Thank you for the motivation!”
*Psynerd rewinds time to approximately eleven paragraphs earlier and erases Chosen and Dark’s memory. Then she procrastinates some more but eventually writes actual stuff mhm. :D
A particularly cruel whack at Chosen’s hands makes him gasp, and the next onto his fingers makes him cry out. Yes! I hear a crunch as the rod slams into his ribs, sending another wheeze out of his throat, along with a stream of coughing. Blood has spattered on the walls and floor of the room, and it takes a second to register before I stop bringing the rod onto Chosen’s body. I’ve whumped him until he bled! I accomplished half of the mission! Success!
Chosen is breathing heavily, trying to regain the air that was forced away when I whacked him in the chest repeatedly. He weakly looks at me and I see that his face is swollen and bruised. “Look,” he spits, motioning to the blood-spattered ground. “Blood.”
I nod proudly. “Yes, I did make you bleed. You look most unpleasant right now, so it appears I’ve done my job!” Chosen scowls at me and closes his eyes, trying to disappear from the situation.
Too bad for him, because my whump services are still required. I toss the rod, now stained a somewhat darker color, to the floor and crouch to Chosen’s level. I study him for a moment before I grab a fistful of hair and pull him to face me. His eyes snap open and he tries to shrink away, but I have a firm grip on his head.
“You don’t get to sleep. Not yet. I still have more planned…” I say, slapping Chosen so fast I doubt he even saw my hand go up. Unfortunately, he does not make any more delicious pathetic noises, but I suppose we could work on that another time… because I’m hungry, okay?! On cue, my stomach growls very audibly.
“This has been fun and all… but I really must go. The ‘more planned’ is still true but I seriously need to go eat breakfast before my stomach eats itself.” And– Chosen’s expression is so hilarious that I can’t help but cackle. “Ah, don’t worry, perhaps I’ll bring you some leftovers!” He looks partially repulsed and indignant… but that changes to a sort of instinctual, desperate desire. Which makes sense considering I haven’t actually given him any food in… uh…
well uh that’s fine! I totally meant to starve him and didn’t forget nope. That would be irresponsible of me. Anyway…
“I think I did all the whumping that was required of me. Good bye,” I declare, because even though I am a psychopath I am not allergic to giving proper goodbyes. I stand and leave the room without even closing the door.
Chosen is chained to the wall anyway, it’ll be fineee. Also because I plan to come and eat my delicious breakfast of burned eggs in front of him very soon. Simply for demoralization purposes. And… because his pain will make them taste better, because burned eggs do not taste that good, as it turns out. Suffering is the best seasoning.