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.
EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS AWESOME COMMISSION @doumidas DREW FOR ME!!!! YAYYYYYYYYYYY
as of the time of me posting this his commissions are still open, please check the original post if you're from the future and/or on a reblog
walenty side content taglist (I nearly did the regular one but it's not main content): @inhurtandincomfort @sir-fenris @toyybox @loonybun @chiswhumpcorner @catnykit
taglist: @cryptozoolliegy @chiswhumpcorner (thanks for beta reading!) @paingoes @loonybun @half-duck @inhurtandincomfort (thanks for beta reading!) @toyybox @catnykit
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
It goes on and on and on, until they can hardly even scream anymore, just pathetically beg for forgiveness. By that time, it must be getting late, because Cecilia leaves them. She said something, but they can’t hear it with the ringing in their ears, and they don’t manage to ask in time.
The door shuts. Walenty doesn’t know how long it takes them to breathe soundly or regain rational thought.
Magic-fueled pain administration, then a stress position for however-long. That’s their punishment. They sigh into the darkness, aching from both physical effort and the residue of the spell. It’s going to get worse as more time passes.
They’re so tired. In their desperate attempts to avoid this exact outcome, they haven’t gotten even a blink of sleep last night. Walenty ponders trying to nap. It’s extremely unsightly, of course, but this is clearly sensory deprivation, meaning they’re alone. Still, they don’t know how long they’ll be left here. If someone walks in and sees them slacking, that’s a guaranteed extension, and they definitely won’t wake themselves up before that with the zero rest they’ve gotten lately.
Walenty sighs again. Now, what to think about to accompany mind-numbing torture...
What’s next, perhaps? They can definitely rule out this being an execution, since it’s extremely inefficient. The method has been extensively researched, and if they really have run out of use, a living body is far better for experimentation than a dead one. So they’re pretty sure they’re not being sent to be killed.
Except... maybe they are being prepared for experiment? New discoveries about healers are always being made, and a weak subject is far easier to handle... No, no, there’s no way. It was only one mistake.
…But, what if it’s one mistake out of a mountain of many, and Walenty finally ruined their last chance? It wasn’t actually a small mistake either, that report was important. It was important, and they botched it, and they’re going to dangle here until they’re too weak to move or fight back, and they’ll be taken to be strapped to an operating table for the rest of their li—
An ugly, too loud snap, and just for a second, pain shoots through them. The teen squeaks in surprise, because Holy shit that hurt, and then Oh Stars why did they shock me what’s the purpose of this? Is it sleep deprivation to speed up the process? It has to be it has to be it has to be—
Their chest hurts from not breathing, so they go ahead and do that. The literal trained torturer that should know how sensory deprivation works touches the floor with the end of their shoe, seeking stimulation beyond ache.
This is fine. There’s no way this is how it ends, right? There’s no way. Otherwise they’d have just been knocked out with the taser in their ear, maybe drugged for good measure. Yes, there’s no way. This is just a regular punishment.
They messed up, so they’re being punished. Instead of just throwing them into isolation after getting the life shocked out of them, they got shocked again some time after too. It’s far more likely to be intentional than an error. Did Cecilia — and anyone else has access to the damn thing — just feel like it, or will this accompany them?
...Walenty supposes they’ll find out in due time.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
As usual, they have practically no walking range. Being just barely able to stand is done for the sake of causing them more pain. The interrogator wonders if they should do this for their own prisoners. Hm. No, jostling grown adults into stress positions is both too risky and something Walenty just doesn’t have the physical strength for.
Yeah, they could drug them and ask a security guard to move them, but it seems like such a waste when tying someone to a chair works perfectly fine too. Not to mention they’d have to add that to reports.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
It’s boring. Right, of course it is. It hurts. Of course it does.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
Just when Walenty is settling into resting their eyes, they’re firmly brought back to reality. A sharp pain runs up their toes to their head, and if they weren’t already suspended midair, it would surely bring them to their knees from surprise alone.
They breathe in shakily. Breathe out. It’s alright, it was only one. It was only one. Their arms hurt. Is it periodic? Should they count to see if there will be a next one? Ah, they hate counting like this. It always makes everything even more boring.
Walenty sighs. They have nothing better to do anyway.
Assuming they had taken a minute to calm down earlier, This “shock” is seperated by thirty minutes. If this is the case for every instance of it, they’ve already spent an hour and a half here, and are deliberately being kept awake.
Walenty hates this kind of punishment. It’s such a waste of time. They’ve been awake for... 20 hours now, given the all-nigher they’d pulled trying to avoid punishment.
They feel tired.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
Hm. How come they’re not hallucinating? No way just aching and their thoughts are keeping them coherent.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
They wince at the simulation of agony right at their nerves. Yes, thirty minute intervals.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
They hear the door being unlocked, opened. Cecilia. She walks forwards with purpose, heels clicking with every step. The bound one can’t tell if she’s real. They beg in case she is.
“I’m sorry, please-” it’s strangely easy to make their voice crack. Maybe because they haven’t spoken? No, probably the screaming earlier. “I’ll fix it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. I’m sorry.”
She stares back.
“...are you real?” They dare to ask. They have to know. “Please tell me.”
She turns around and walks away without giving them an answer. Walenty sobs.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
They hear bugs crawling. This time, they’re certain it’s an illusion. There’s no way bugs would find their way here, after all.
There’s no way they’re rotting. Walenty’s hallucinating, that’s all. Someone will take them out soon.
Surely, someone will take them out soon.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
It hits on 31 minutes and seven seconds. Seems it’s either manual or they internally counted too fast. They hope for the latter. They hope it’ll be over soon.
Walenty closes their eyes and hangs their head. They’re so tired. They somehow haven’t lost feeling in their arms, so those still ache horribly. They just want to sleep. They just want to never make mistakes again.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · · ၴႅၴ
A handy little “alarm” wakes them from the nap they hadn’t realized they’d taken. 2 hours and 30 minutes so far, if it’s real.
They fall back asleep almost immediately. They’ll need it.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
Walenty sputters back to awareness, heartbeat going far too fast. Horribly loud chains clink against each other, making them flinch.
They breathe slowly. It stings. Are they crying? They can’t tell, it’s too dark.
It’s too dark. Everything is pitch black. Meaning earlier Cecilia must have been a hallucination. The lighting was off.
Three hours in. If this is a mid-length punishment, they should be fetched soon.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
“I’m sorry,” they practice. “I’ll fix it, I swear. Please. Please...”
They tut. It’s just for the sake of having noise. “..no, not..convincing. Too dry. I should sound frantic.. Should I ask whoever comes if they’re real?” They look out into the darkness. “...That’s pathetic enough, is it not..? Would it show that I really did learn..? or would it just give the impression of being... incapable of taking it?”
Nothing responds back. They don't want to be called out on their lie, but they don't want to appear incompetent either.
They hate this.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
What time is it? They went in three hours—
Ow.
They went in three and a half hours ago, at 18:16. Six in the evening. Now it’s been 3 and a half hours. It’s 21:46. Nine in the evening. Nearly ten. Curfew’s already hit.
They won’t be fetched until tommorow morning, then. They sigh, resigning themselves to their punishment.
They’ve gotten less than two hours of sleep in the last 38.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
They should’ve watched their grip. They should’ve checked the pen. They should’ve recalled how they tortured someone. They still can’t remember just what harm they inflicted, nor the information gained alongside it. If they really do have to fix their mistake, they’ll need to redo the interrogation.
This is so counterproductive.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
They’re terribly bored, so they count seconds in their head again. A zap marks four hours.
How much longer?
Until the morning, probably.
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
Walenty spends the next eight hours sluggishly going from perfecting their plea for mercy, studying as many subjects as can be done from memory, and spacing out. The only vivid hallucinations they get are unrealistic. It’s a relief.
They’re shocked awake every half hour. They’re sure it goes off automatically now, because they’ve spent an entire hour counting the seconds exactly and it lines up perfectly.
It's 06:28 now. Their ears are ringing. They can’t tell if they’re numb to this torture or oversensitive to it.
They sigh. They’re so bored. They just want to beg already. They want to fall asleep. They’ll have to do the whole school day as usual, homework included. It’ll be shoddy.
They hunch their shoulders at the system put in place so that they can’t rest. Hurts.
The door unlocks, creaking open. Light floods in. They squint, gasping. Yes, finally. This better not be a hallucination. No, no way, none of their other ones have been so life-like. It’s much too bright, so they tear up a little as they force their eyes to flutter open, but they wouldn’t dare not be alert.
Assorted roses in red and black. Lady Cecilia. She’s standing there. They must collect themselves.
“..permission to speak?” Walenty rasps. Their voice is rough, unprofessional, far too desperate. Chains clink from the simple act of them trying to face her better. They didn’t even try to seem panicked, but that’s what they displayed. That’s bad, they had asked to talk, so following protocol, but then displayed desperation. Two separate approaches are mixing and now they have to stick with it despite having not even gauged her mood yet.
Walenty mouths a “please.” Cecilia steps forward, looks at them. They look back, making eye contact. Glistening red with yellow and pink, like a ruby. Nothing new. If this is a hallucination, they can’t tell.
The teen can’t help but flinch when she grabs their face, obviously just for an inspection. Even though it’s normal, they instinctively look away, breath hitching before they hurry to fix it. The sound of overhead chains knocking against each other is so loud. Walenty must be shaking, then.
“Granted,” she gives her blessing, letting go of their chin — Thank the Stars — and steps back, her own hands interlocking.
“I’m deeply sorry,” they lower their head as if they’re bowing. This is the closest they can physically get to it when their limbs are locked in place. “Yesterday, I was meant to complete important work, and I ruined it, I’m sorry—” they make their voice higher for that one word, “—I didn’t intend to, I would never, I tried and tried and tried to rewrite the report, I couldn’t recall enough, I’m so sorry.” They suck in a breath, frantic. “I’ll fix it, I swear I will, please let me fix it, please,” Is this not enough begging for her? “I can do better, I swear I can, please please I won’t fail again ple—”
“Enough.”
They stop.
Walenty breathes in. Holds. They barely had time to do something as simple as breathing during the whole performance. It added to the desperation of it all, but now they’re fighting not to pant in an undignified, disgusting way that would assure Cecilia they can’t conduct themselves and need more time in here, but then their brain really would turn to mush.
“I can see that you regret your mistake.” Of course they do. “However, regret does not reverse damage.”
She steps towards the wall, easily holding down the laver to extend the chain. Walenty tries to find their footing so that they can turn around to be uncuffed properly, but they’re utterly exhausted, so of course their balance is terrible. They stand on shaky legs, trying not to step this and that way.
The sensation of being on a flat surface is wonderful. So wonderful they only snap back to reality when the cuffs are released. It wasn't particularly tight and gloves served as padding, so Walenty doesn't need to heal themselves. That’s one good thing, at least— they’re certain they wouldn't be allowed to if they had needed it.
She walks back to her previous place, staring them down. Walenty falters, unsure if they’re supposed to return her gaze, or bow, or kneel and grovel. Which is most respectful? Which one is appropriate to the situation? Usually, they’d be able to figure it out so much faster, but they just can't think.
There’s no time. Walenty settles on kneeling. Their shaking is visible and they’re having trouble holding the pose, but that doesn't matter.
“I intended on having you clean up after yourself,” Cecilia speaks, sharp as always. She’s dissapointed. She’s always dissapointed. “Nonetheless, it's clear you’re incapable of even that little.”
Ah.
She genuinely planned for Walenty to rewrite the report.
They were supposed to be able to do that.
“…I apologize,” the teen —she expects them to be able to do the work of a professional while sleep deprived, that’s insane, it doesn’t work like that— finds their voice.
She doesn’t respond. Their torturer merely approaches them and lifts their chin. They look her in the eyes.
#daffodil cyoa 1 + new poll + link for eventual next part
contents: minor whump and institutionalized whump, but those are a given when talking about daffodil lol
taglist: @catnykit
credit for divider: @/thecutestgrotto
Daffodil Academy is a Flos institution responsible for providing the orphans of the kingdom schooling and career paths. As an inspector, it’s your job to attend and check everything is in order. Every year, your inspections have been more or less the same. Everyone is notified in advance, trainers preparing the young talents of Daffodil Academy to greet you in a school assembly.
It’s a good display of discipline, but… inauthentic. When everyone is ready, flaws are swept under the rug in advance. You’ve never witnessed a version of Daffodil Academy that isn’t performative— Unruly children are hidden away, the most skilled serve you personally, and everyone watches their every move. Everyone you witness is perfect, because you’re presented nothing less. It’s unrealistic.
You considered coming in a disguise, but you’d never be allowed in, and neither would an associate the staff won’t recognize.
As such, you’ve come unannounced this time. No doubt will everyone be startled. The students will surely watch their every move, and the teachers scramble to present perfection anyway. It isn’t ideal, but it’s a small improvement. You might even see the traitor child; the staff had hidden them away last year, saying Walenty was so badly behaved that their genius was the only reason they had ever been pardoned.
After a carriage ride up the mountain road, you finally arrive at Daffodil Academy’s first gates. Having seen you long before you’d reached them, a squad of guards approach the vehicle. Behind them is Lydiya of the House of Magnolia, vice head of security. You can sense magic-charged arrows in the distance, too, ready to smite down possible intruders.
Already much different from the greeting you receive every other year.
They surely recognize your vehicle, but it cannot be assumed you’re the same person purely off of that, much less when you arrived without notice. You exit the carriage, facing the staff directly. “Greetings,” you bow politely. “How have you been, miss Lydiya?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Her eyes soften in recognition once you reveal yourself, and she steps forward. “And yourself?”
“Just as much. Much thanks to the wonderful weather, truly,” you look up at the skies, squinting momentarily as a ray of sunlight escapes the clouds.
“It has been kinder lately,” Lydiya agrees. “However, I can see the beginnings of another rainstorm.” She sighs. “Have you an umbrella?”
“Yes, yes. Who doesn’t?”
“Good…” She clears her throat. “Now, I am obligated to inquire about your visit?”
You can’t help but chuckle. You and Lydiya are good friends, but she’s so rigid when working. Considering what the work is, you wouldn’t have it any other way, but it is a little disheartening to have her cut off your conversation. “A surprise inspection,” you say. “See, every time I’m here, you’ve all went and prepared everything. I wish to view the Academy in its natural state.”
“Hm…” Lydiya crosses her arms. “I understand your reasons, but unannounced?”
“If I had warned you, this wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
“It would not…” She sighs. “I must discuss this with the others, you understand.”
“Yes, yes.”
“This way,” she steps forward, the first gates opening. Your carriage is taken through another entrance, the horse led by a handler. You notice a student shadowing the equestrian. They’re petting the horse. How sweet.
You’ve been sitting at an ornate table made of glass for around half an hour, pretending to read a book. A servant had offered to pour you tea earlier, but you declined, and now the young one is trying not to fidget by your side. Fortunately for the both of you, there's a knock at the door. “Enter,” you permit, and Lydiya herself comes in.
“It’s been approved,” she informs with a smile. She then turns her attention to the one who’s suddenly standing with much better posture. “Inform their driver, would you? He should be located near the stables.”
The child nods, scurrying off. They barely even remember to show respect, suddenly stopping at the exit to bow. You nod so they’ll leave already.
“Such poor composure.”
“I’ll arrange a lesson for them,” Lydiya promises. She seems just as exasperated.
“I suppose I asked for this,” you sigh. While your friend is fun to chat with, you mustn’t linger. It’s time to begin what you’ve come here for. You stand.
“Would you like a tour?” Daffodil’s vice head of security offers. This is how you’ve always done your duty before. Given the sheer amount of times you’ve inspected the school, you don’t need an aid, but…
What should you do?
Accept the tour.
Explore on your own. (Suggest what to do in comments/reblogs!)
Explore on your own to find the nervous child.
Check up on that traitor child. (←Walenty option)
Explore on your own, observe a lesson.
Explore on your own and head to the school library.
