They rack their brain to memorize every little movement, every indicator of Whumper's mood, every pattern. At some point, they even learn to predict Whumper.
They know what Whumper likes to see. They know what they want within a few minutes, what's going to happen to them. They're powerless to stop it.
Sometimes Whumper wants them to silently cry on the floor, so they do. It would be foolish not to conserve energy while they can.
Sometimes Whumper is already in a bad mood. They probe, both because the knowledge is invaluable and because then Whumper will take it out on them.
Whumpee has a little internal guide to how to take punishments. Begin as defiant, but still shake. Look like they're trying to conceal their fear. Gradually break. It starts off as a yelp or sob or whimper followed by an immediate insult, then Whumpee goes quiet for a bit until it's “too much,” begging quietly. And then it's as if a dam has been broken, frantically pleading for mercy, for a reprieve. They look at Whumper with wide, teary eyes, and both their true self and their facade just want it to stop.
Their cries turn quiet as their energy runs out, until they can't bear to look at anything. Their flinch at Whumper's hand on their chin doesn't need to be faked. Their distress is real, and they let themselves whimper. Whumper likes displays of exhausted weakness, it makes them feel as if they've won.
They lean into the little coos and pets Whumper gives after, trying not to gag. Alarms of panic ring through their head, and they acknowledge them.
It would be easier to lose themselves in the comfort after the torture. It would be so much easier to become a shell of a person. They already act like one. Why can't they give up?
The emotional exhaustion after they've been left alone. The dark quiet. Their steadying breath. The scent of both blood and anticeptic. The locked door. The pain.
They can escape once Whumper deems them broken enough to let out unsupervised. It's just a matter of time, just a matter of maintaining this act. A matter of trust from a sadistic torturer that keeps Whumpee in a basement for no reason other than their own pleasure.
[Start ID. A drawing of Walenty, a pale teen with shoulder-length dark hair, short horns, and a long thin tail. She's wearing a green button-up patterned with imitations of flowers, black pants and boots, and his typical square glasses. Kit's smiling, holding up a stuffed fish by the garvey tag as if it were dangling from a lure, and sitting down with one leg crossed under the other. The drawing is warm-toned, as reflected by the wavy orange background. End ID]
i have heard. that it is someone's Date of Birth today. so here's my gift to @cyberiada featuring a subjectively walentycore object i have in my room :]
answers coloured red are of my oc, walenty! they're a minor, so that's a minor whumpee-turned-whumper in an institutionalized whump setting. they're an interrogator. you have been warned!
1. “Pff..- Hahahaaa...” (Sigh) “Oh, Whumpee.”
2. “...what?”
3. “No you didn't, I’ve done nothing to make you develop amnesia.”
4. “Truly? That’s perfect, Whumpee. I can finally love you.”
5. “Have you? Or--” (Scalpel at eye) “Did you just not try hard enough?”
6. “Try again.”
how to play
full credits to @/seth-whumps for the idea!! avoiding actually mentioning them, but they're linked
hello! this was supposed to be the original post where both I as a whump writer and walenty debut, but I got inspired by this post and wrote a snippet
contents: captivity whump, fantasy whump (hardly mentioned), institutionalized whump, interrogation whump/tortured for information, restraints, mention of suicide attempt, discussion and threats of death, off-screen past and future torture, lady whumpee (she will probably never appear again sorry), attempted conditioning, defiant whumpee, cold/impersonal whumper, remorseful whumper, minor whumper/whumpee (16-17), (non-combatant) living weapon whumper
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Walenty blinks. That’s not the answer they wanted. Ruby looks right back, damp hair sticking to her face. They’d offered to move it out of the way if she answered a question.
“No,” Walenty puts their cheek into their palm, using it as an unneeded crutch for their head. “I don’t.”
“You do!” The prisoner snaps, yanking her head forward as best as she can. They internally note to secure it to the back of the chair before they leave so she can’t kill herself by slamming it back until her skull breaks. “You- You keep saying I’ll get stuff if I talk! I see what you’re doing with that reward system,” she hisses out, “And that incentive, and good behavior. I’m not some dog you can train!”
That’s literally just how interrogation works, they bite back. They wait to see if she’ll continue, tracing the stitching of their chair. Ruby's eyes are just as full of rage as when they’d gotten here. Maybe because they’ve cleaned her wounds? It doesn’t matter so long as they receive correct intel.
“Answer me, dammit!”
Their free hand pauses at the shout.
“This is my job,” gloved fingers interlace on their lap. “I need answers, Ruby. If tying your hair back isn’t enough, what would you like I do?”
“Let me go!” She demands loudly again, and they don’t flinch this time. “I’m not cooperating with the likes of you.”
She’s like a broken record, they think.
It’s gone in a loop for hours. They question and she refuses to answer. They threaten and she answers and they don’t know if it’s true. They question again, and she refuses again. They go through with the threat. She caves. They question. She refuses. She refuses. She refuses. They threaten something else. She caves. They question. She answers. They question, she answers. They question, she hesitates. She refuses to answer, and it restarts.
“That’s not how this works,” Walenty, too, is a broken record. “So give me something. At this rate, your wounds will get infected and you’ll die. Do you seriously want a torture chamber to be your deathbed?”
Silence settles over the dim room.
“...I’m not getting out alive anyways.” Her voice breaks, and so does eye contact with the interrogator. “At least I’ll go out nobly.”
Walenty looks down at their notepad. Everything’s encrypted anyway, so there’s no reason not to write draft reports in front of her. They close it, bookmarking their page with elastic and adding a loop for their pen.
“This isn’t working,” they finally say it out loud, standing to put the logs on a seperate surface. “And you’re obviously not gonna talk.” Walenty takes the scalpel and wipes it with already-wet cloth. “So I’ll leave you to rot down here.”
“...What?”
The enby finishes, putting both on the tray of to-be-cleaned instruments.
“You can’t be serious.”
They walk to the door, “You said you wouldn’t mind dying,” they reminded, removing their badge and imbuing the password in it, unlocking two of three locks. “So have fun succumbing to nature.”
“I haven’t told you everything.” Ruby points out as they walk back and fetch a blindfold. She’s returned to glaring. “You’re bluffing.”
They put the badge back and return to tie the blindfold around her eyes, utilizing the chair’s high back and fabric’s stretchy material to secure— “Stop that!” —the girl’s head too.
Walenty strolls over to the counter they left their notebook on and puts it in their bag. They detach the only key that’s actually just a key for this room.
“You’ll come back.” She insists, and they simply hum, inserting the key into the lock.
They twist it.
“They won’t let me die until they know everything and we both know it.”
She’s right, but she’ll begin to doubt herself soon. The heavy door creaks open. They slide the light glyph off, and only then take the key. They step out and slam it shut, showing the still-enchanted badge to the mechanism’s sensors. They hear it lock. Walenty inserts it once again, spinning counterclockwise this time. Click.
Walenty sighs, deflating. They resist the urge to actually slouch. Instead, the interrogator remains standing there. It’s so damn bright every they step out that it has to be its own kind of torture. They extract the key from its hole and clip it back in its place.
They sigh a second time, turning around to lean back against the closed entrance.
This is enough information for just one session, they think. She’ll get desperate next time, and start to believe that they really had left her to die in there, only to have her reality reshaped again when they're back.
It’s going fine.
It’ll work. Ruby will break, Walenty will have information, and then they’ll kill her. Or maybe she’ll be recruited, she’s young enough. They’ll ask around. Can’t risk wasting resources.
A third sigh leaves their lips, and the human glances around to make sure nobody is watching before resting their forehead on the door.
Breathe in. Hold.
They really have become heartless. It’s reasonable to get desensitized, they know that from observation and experience. It’s still jarring. They wish they could leave it all behind. Run away from the suffering they’ve inflicted and been complicit in without facing consequences.
Breathe out.
But they can’t. There’s no way. They’ll be found. They’ll be found again and they don’t think desertion will be pardoned this time. Even the execution will be extremely painful, but it’s not as if it’s nothing compared to the suffering they’ve inflicted. Screams and healing spells and bloodied clothes and the stench of vomit and disgustingly damp fabric and compliance and—
Don’t think like that.
Walenty sharply inhales at the still locked door, touching the corner of their eye with a glove. Flaky blood stays flaky. Phew. They spin around and begin to walk out of this dreadful place, because they’ve broken both themselves and others to have that privilege. Walenty won’t fall apart. They want to live. Even if they torture again and again, they don’t want to die.
"I didn't want to do this... shit! Hey, get the decommission team!" + living weapon whumpee
answers coloured red are of my oc, walenty, in a more conventional living weapon setting. they're a minor in their canon, and I'm unsure about this au but here's a heads up!
1. “Shit..- No, no, I’m sorry, please-”
2. “...Ah. Understood. May I have last words, sir/ma’am/handler?” / “...fine.” / “Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry for being defective. You deserved a competent weapon.”
3. “...Ah. Understood. May I have last words, sir/ma’am/handler?” / “...fine.” / “I hate you.”
4. “Wait, wait-! What’s the problem? Is it the talking? I can stop! Am I not good at my job, I can improve, it’s just training you won’t even have to instruct me. I know I’m still sentient and that’s not what you want but please it won’t get in the way I’ll do everything you say I swear I will please don’t kill me.”
how to play
full credits to @/seth-whumps for the idea!! avoiding actually mentioning them, but they're linked
I don't think this is a very noticeable detail but in 1 I tried to make whumpee have similar speech to handler :3
