#walenty daffodil

[floral-comet-whump]

Whumpee that deceives Whumper

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.

They have to keep going.

[floral-comet-whump]

I have decided I will do this with walenty >:3c

make sure to specify your hypothetical position and relationship with walenty!! this will impact how walenty treats you & if they even trust you

Comfort My Characters!

Send me an emoji and a character name and I’ll give my character that comfort!

🛁 - A nice, relaxing bath

💤 - A few extra hours of sleep

🎬 - An uninterrupted movie night

🍽 - A special treat of their choice

☀️ - A nice day outside

🧣 - A fluffy blanket

🌸 - Something that calms them

🤗 - A warm hug

⛑ - Some tender first-aid

🛏 - Someone by their bedside when they wake up

🛎 - Someone at their beck and call

🥰 - Post-nightmare cuddles

☺️ - Soft words of reassurance

🤝 - Some help performing a basic task

🤫 - Some peace and quiet

🙃 - Someone to share their suffering with

🍳 - Breakfast in bed

📚 - A bedtime story

😭 - A shoulder to cry on

✋ - A hand carding gently through their hair

🧸 - A soft plushie

😌 - Someone gently brushing their hair

♟ - Board games/arts and crafts inside

[sir-fenris]

(ps i know its like. way too early to break out recovery arc/rescue scenarios. BUT. cant stop thinking about rubies delta encountering cyrus….)

Heeyy <3, this was a while ago, and I remember I wanted to answer this back then, but... well, things happened, and I couldn't make this invitation in the middle of all that chaos.

I already did a roleplay with @floral-comet-whump with Cyrus (he died on the first path, and we had to rewind, btw 😅😓 second path had a better ending) so... it's not too soon <3

(Easter egg, the beginning of this ask is reference to that roleplay)

If you want to do a recovery/rescue scenario with Rubies Delta and Cyrus, I'm all for it <3

This is an invitation, not a demand (っᵔ ᵕ ᵔ)っ♡ you're free to decline too.

-

[floral-comet-whump]

I wish there was an equivalent to the good boy/girl cause like. good child just doesn't hit the same.......

[floral-comet-whump]

woa... walenty is probably 3 I think?

Five Types of Living Weapon Whumpees

The guard dog -> loyalty has been ingrained into their bones, following their handler around like their shadow. No one dares stand against the organization because of the legendary dread surrounding this living weapon. They hardly say a word but every movement is calculated, eyes always darting, always watching. (“You always were their lapdog.”)

The loose cannon -> dangerous for both sides. Always talking back and never predictable, their value is dependent on their skill. If it wasn’t for that, they’d be dead a long time ago. Their loyalty is earned, not bought. No one wants to be on their bad side, walking on tip toe whenever they show up. And they enjoy it. (“What’s everyone looking at? Aren’t you happy to see me? I even brought my rifle!”)

The broken down -> most common type of whumpee I’ve seen. They’ve been overpowered and forced into the commission. They hate their handler more than anything else but see no way out. When they’re told to shoot, they don’t even blink. It’s always “yes, sir” this and “yes, sir” that. If they feel any sympathy, they don’t show it. They’ll do anything to avoid punishment and flinch at quick movements. Nothing they face on the field is worse than the cards they’ve been dealt. (“I understand, sir/ ma’am. I-I’m sorry.”)

The dissenter -> Usually recruited into the organization or joined as a last ditch option. Not necessarily against using their abilities or skill, they just hate being told what to do. As time goes on and their disobedience is punished over and over again, they grow reluctant. Bitter. With every order, they slip in a snarky comment. Roll their eyes. Anything to assert their own identity. Or what’s left of it. (“ah ah ah, you didn’t think i’d notice? The middle finger was a bit much. I’m afraid it will have to go.”)

The ghost in the machine -> known only by their codename by outsiders and by their number in the organization, they’ve been stripped of all humanity. They live, breathe, and think by their handlers orders. They’ve been told over and over again that they are just a weapon. And a weapon does what it’s told. Their anonymity is attached to the organization in the same way a gun is simply an extension of their arm. But at night they still stare up at the ceiling with a blank stare— did they ever a life before this? They can’t remember. (“It’s not like it’s a person. It doesn’t have feelings like that.”)

[floral-comet-whump]

Spilled Ink

walenty masterlist + future link to part 2 of this

Contents: Minor (teen) whump, lady whumper, institutionalized whump, magic/fantasy setting, (non-combatant) living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, secretly defiant whumpee, mentioned whipping and isolation as corporal punishment, mentioned torture for information, emotional abuse and manipulation, pain spell, kneeling, stress position

Taglist: @cryptozoolliegy @chiswhumpcorner (thanks for beta reading!!) @paingoes @loonybun @half-duck @inhurtandincomfort

They hadn’t meant to.

They really hadn’t meant to. They were only tracing the words their past self had left. They pressed too hard by accident. It was an accident.

The accident stared back at them, a black spot surely leaking into the next page. A broken nib. A smeared hand. Itchy coldness on their wrist, air on their fingers, ink spilling from notepad to desk. They were going to need to remake the draft.

Walenty took in an inky-smelling breath, putting a cap over the pen for a start. They’d have to fix it. It’s okay, replacing a nib and ink wasn’t too troublesome. They placed it down on the notepad since they didn't want to dirty anything else. Next, they got up from their chair, stepping to their bathroom. They rinsed their hands. Stacked toilet paper. Ran their hands under the faucet again, and let a controlled amount of water drip from their fingertips onto half the tissue.

Everything’s fine. This trepidation is illogical, they can fix this. They can. They just need to clean it. They walked back, moving the chair aside, soaking up the ink on the paper on the dry tissue and wiping the desk with the wet one. It was already fixed a third of the way, the desk and floor clean, dirty tissues thrown into the bin.

The notebook looked... Well, they couldn’t read any of what they’d originally written, and certainly couldn't decipher it with so much missing. They’d have to fully rely on their memory, then. Okay, not too bad. They can rewrite it. They still have time. It’ll cost them tonight, but they rarely get work back-to-back, so they’d only have classes and homework tomorrow.

For this reason, they couldn’t replace the pen nib just yet, it took too long. It was fine since they had another pen. Satisfied for now, Walenty exhaled, sitting back down and taking a new pen. They had to restore the draft, and then they could continue writing the actual report.

Only... what had happened in the missing blotches eluded them. That’s not good. But it must just be their anxiety, so they set out to fixing their previous pen. They just had to clear their head, and then they could recall this vital information.

They couldn’t do it. No matter how much they tried, they couldn’t remember. They’d tried recounting events, they’d tried pacing, tried looking at things in hopes the words would remind them, yet all they could recall was the bare-bones. Insufficient for a complete file.

They should’ve made a backup of their notes. They should’ve just paid more attention to their grip. They should’ve never made a mistake.

Walenty groaned into their arms.

Hours of work, gone. Barely anything to show for it. They would surely be punished, and it wouldn’t even be unwarranted this time. What would it be? Flogging? Isolation? Maybe one then the other. They’d have to count. They’d have to thank their torturer. Walenty hardly ever made the people they tortured thank them, because nobody pretended it was out of love or some other lie.

They couldn’t fall asleep, worry keeping them awake.

They had to submit it today.

Walenty tried to remember during the lessons, or write during lunch. They couldn’t. The sheer amount of anxiety was surely preventing them from recounting it.

There wasn’t much time left. It made everything worse.

They completed their homework diligently. Stared at the half-assed report. Who would be punishing them for their incompetence?

Would leaving dried tears help?

They tried to recall things at the last minute. Maybe it would come to them.

Their leg was bouncing. They couldn’t think.

All they knew was that it was a criminal of average age — couldn’t remember the number or species — who hadn’t cooperated until Walenty forced him to. They couldn’t remember how. They couldn’t remember the words that were supposed to kickstart their memory.

It wasn’t enough.

Walenty hung their head low, wearing shame on their sleeve. “What is this?” she asks, and they flinch from just her voice. The usual inflection. Better to save their tears.

“..I couldn’t recall the details of the session. I’m sorry.”

“What of your notes?” She doesn’t believe them. She thinks they were lazy.

They could lie and receive a different punishment. What would it be? Spilling ink and losing information could warrant a basic punishment, like a stress position or flogging but they’d have to clean it after. But Walenty rarely slacks off. What would happen then? Maybe sensory deprivation, showing them what it’s really like to do nothing.

Maybe outright expulsion for shirking their duties.

“I accidentally spilled ink when going over them, ma’am.” They confess. “I’m sorry. I’ll accept any punishment.”

Even when not daring to look her in the eyes, they can feel Cecilia’s glare. They clench their fists even when they’re sure they’ve gone white under their gloves, close their jaw so hard they can hear it scraping. Walenty doesn’t dare utter another word.

Not without permission. When it’s like this, protocol is the foundation of it all. A soldier only speaks when spoken to. Her heels click away, and for a second, Walenty hopes it’s dismissal, a promise for the pain to come later rather than now.

Her halting and a jolt that makes them tense assures them it’s not. It was pointless to hope, Lady Cecilia dismissal’s are always verbal. They walk behind her, head bowed. Neither speaks, the only sounds footsteps.

And the ringing in Walenty’s ears, but she can’t hear that.

It’s dim in here. Cold. It always is. The noble has locked the door. The orphan stands in place, waiting for orders. She hasn’t made them remove anything yet. Walenty hopes it stays that way. “It’s always so... disappointing,” she accentuates the sentence with an administration of artificial hurt, and their breathing stops, “—when you forget everything we’ve done for you.”

They haven’t forgotten it. They made just one mistake. An honest one. “I’m sorry,” they apologize regardless, holding their hands together.

“You always are.” Lady Cecilia replies, not even needing to flick her wrist for pain to shoot through them. It makes them gasp this time. “You’re always quick to beg for forgiveness, aren’t you?” Her heels click, click, click until she’s just in front of them. She could strangle them like this. Is that why she had them keep the cape on? “Yet you always make mistakes.”

Everyone does, they want to refute. It’s impossible to be perfect. But telling her that would be horrible disrespect even outside of a punishment.

“Walk.” The high-elf combines her command with magic that makes them see static, and they feel dumb for not realizing that was what she wanted. Walenty steps back. Is she just going to use the earring them this time? It seems like it. She has them remove the cape for just stress positions. Maybe she’ll add something else. Maybe they’ll be left here.

They step back, and back, and are about to continue before she holds her hand up, so they stop. They blink, breaking eye contact from sheer nervousness. The center of the room. There’s chains above them, not modified for Walenty’s height ye—

A too-loud buzz, then pain. It burns yet freezes, stabbing and pulling out the needle and stabbing again everywhere. Walenty cries out, already feeling weak in the knees. They gasp in gulps of air as she just looks at them, then cover their face. That hurts too, some weird resonating spell. They flinch back with an audible cry, losing their balance and falling on their butt. It hurts. It hurts so much, and it’s not stopping, and their heart is racing, and they can’t talk and can barely move.

“What is this?” She reprimands —barely audible over the sound of magic in their ear, but they can tell she needs to shout for them to hear her— and they instinctively shrink, doing their best to adjust to a proper kneel. “Better,” Walenty hears faintly, and the screaming in their nerves stops. They don’t bother to hope that it’s over already, merely hanging their head and breathing.

They can feel their pulse, racing against their chest, trying to get out with every heaving breath. Hell, they can hear it, thumping alongside the long siren that isn’t real.

Even when it’s not active, it hurts so much. They still hear its buzzing, their ears are still ringing, they can hear their own heartbeat and it’s way too fast. It’s so loud.

“Get up.”

They try and their legs give out. “I’m sorry,” Walenty pleads, trying again. She lets them, and they succeed this time.

“What you did,” —the teen flinches from just the sound of her voice, hunching their shoulders, flicking their head to the side, trying to be small— “was a careless mistake. A stupid accident that you could easily avoid with a sliver of the intelligence you possess, Walenty.”

That’s not true since mishaps literally just happen sometimes, but they know what's good for them, so they bow their head like a scolded child. They are a scolded child.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes, Lady Cecilia.”

“That’s not enough.”

They scream in tandem with the unsaid spell, falling right back down, choking on the sound not soon after. “Ah--” is the high whine that comes right after as Walenty at least kneels. Every gesture matters. They’re glad they used the waterproof makeup today. The student gasps then holds, gasps then holds. In for 1, hold for 2, out for 2.

They put a hand over their mouth as if that makes their shuddering open-mouth breath look any more presentable. They look up. Blink away the tears that have gathered.

Cecilia looks back, her eyes like rhinestones.

“I’m sorry,” they try.

“Get up.” She orders, and so they do, trembling freely. The torture device pierced onto their body buzzes back to life, and they fall to their knees again. Walenty hardly even has the energy to cry out this time, just sniffling. A hot kettle rings out in the distance their auditory system, high pitched but far away.

“Are you incapable of following even the most simple of orders?” She steps behind them, forcing their head down when they try to look.

They don’t know how to answer. What can they say? Of course they’re capable of that, but saying so right now is disrespectful. Saying that no is contrarian, disrespectful too. Saying they’ll learn is an empty promise made by a begger, so she might as well give up on them. They wince at the sound of chains behind them, not needing to be verbally ordered to remove their cape.

They try not to stall for time as they remove their badge, fold their cape, and tie the ribbon around the collar of their shirt this time, but it’s hard to work fast when their hands are shaking this bad. Maybe, if they could’ve just done what they were told, they wouldn’t be getting ready for a stress position.

They position their wrists behind their back, thankful to their gloves and sleeves for making it a little less cold. She steps back and pulls up the lever, Walenty being lifted as the machine does its job, engine humming and manacles clinking. It stops when they’re barely touching the ground with the very ends of their shoes’ platforms, strung up by the wrists.

Neither teacher nor student say anything, staring at each other in the dark. Walenty ponders trying to apologize again. It won’t get them out of this, of course, but their punishment might end earlier if they’re remorseful.

They open their mouth, but all that comes out is an “Ack!” once the torture begins again, and midair this time. They tense so much worse this time, squeezing their eyes shut, hunching their shoulders as much as possible, clenching their fists, something.

It hurts. Why can’t they get used to this? Why can’t they avoid this?

They know this self deprecation is illogical, that it’s not their fault. That some reason to hurt them would’ve been found sooner or later.

But it’s so loud. A repetitive clicking, a nauseating buzzing, thud-thud-thud, burning that’s freezing, static, pins and needles, shivers, Pain.

They realize they were screaming when it ends, and then they devolve into gasps for air, both because they’re out of breath and because they need to regulate their heartbeat before it fails.

In, hold, out. Two seconds, two seconds, and two seconds. In, hold, and out. Three, three, two...

They try to look at Lady Cecilia through their teary haze. She’s watching. She’s only watching. Okay.

In for four, hold for 4, out for four. Again. Their ears are still ringing, aching somewhere in the back of their eyes, but their pulse is calming down. They look away, sniffling even as they try to blink away tears.

They hate this. They hate it so much. This is evil. She’s evil. They’re so tired. Walenty lets their eyes close. Lets themselves cry themselves to sleep in a stress position.

They’re metaphorically shocked out of it, gasping.

“You haven’t earned your rest.”

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 they’re usually left alone for stress positions, and they’re going to be sore regardless. 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...

[floral-comet-whump]

🍽 again! what if a teacher offered a treat to walenty?

walenty masterlist ask game

🍽 - A special treat of their choice

hiiiiii so glad to see you here again (I think. maybe someone else sent this ask and I'll never know)

this turned out vaguely whumpy on accident sorry. if anyone wants warnings uhhhh background child soldiers, referenced emotional abuse, light dehumanization, non-sexual non-con touching (headpat)

“...pick a treat?” They repeat the offer/order, caught off guard by the wording. They’re not some dog. Is this some weird test to see if they hesitate, or to obtain something to hold over their head later?

They can hear it already. Ungrateful child, we even gave you candy. You don’t need candy, we’re oh-so-kind for gifting you everything you need and more. Ugh. refusal is impossible, then. Might as well pick something they like. But not something that’s hard to obtain, ’cause then they’ll be greedy.

“Um,” Walenty pretends to look to the side in thought, then back at the instructor. “Are there any marshmallows left in the storage?”

Of course there are, it’s a dessert ration. The trip to the kitchen storage is short, Walenty walking behind the teacher. They don’t have the key to this room, so they don’t speed up to open the door either.

It’s always strange to be in here, there’s so much. They search through labels, gaze quickly landing on the rows of horizontal boxes stacked next to each other, sticker reading clearly. They glance at the teacher. A nod. And so they approach it, about the unlatch one of the openings for the plain flavour.

“Don’t be cheap on yourself, pick whichever you like.” The teacher says, and they blink back a blush.

“I do like those,” Walenty refutes, yet closes it back up and picks the honey-cinnamon box, pulling open the sealed lid and taking one, holding it as if it’s a precious delicacy and not an easy to produce and store candy they have hundreds of. They feel lost. Are they supposed to offer them one, too?

“Thank you, mx.” They say regardless, knowing for sure they need to at least say thanks to be well-mannered. With a glance at the teacher, they decide they’ll try to act sweet and offer them a piece too, taking a second marshmallow and handing it to them.

They smile and mutter something about Walenty being sweet while they’re closing the crate. They’re glad they hadn’t put it in their mouth, because the hand on the top of their head would’ve surely made them choke and sputter instead of just freezing.

“Thank you,” they regain their bearings, supposing petting them aligns with asking them if they “want a treat”. The marshmallow is fluffy and overwhelmingly sweet in a pleasant way. They don’t chew it yet, since they don’t want it to be gone so soon.

It’s nice. It doesn’t melt for roughly 20 minutes, which is enough time for them to walk to their dorm and start to finalize their report. The candy doesn’t last the whole way through, but they remember its taste and that’s enough.

They wonder what was up with that.

[floral-comet-whump]

"I... I forgot." + whumper

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

[floral-comet-whump]

walenty sleeps "too much" because they're constantly exhausted

messy sleeper!! the one time they act their age I swear (saying stolen directly from @/chiswhumpcorner)

Sleeping <3

The way they sleep can tell a lot about a whumpee

-Whumpees who don't sleep. Maybe they're plagued by terrible nightmares and flat out refuse to sleep until they physically can't stay awake anymore, and that sleep never lasts long before they wake up with night terrors. Maybe caretaker ends up slipping something into their drink - they feel guilty but they're getting so worried, it's dangerous to go so long on so little sleep.

-Or maybe whumpee just can't sleep at all. Maybe whenever they close their eyes they see whumpers face. Maybe it's a medical thing. But no matter what they do they just. Cannot. Sleep.

-Conversely, whumpees who sleep too much. Life's easier, when you're asleep; you don't have to deal with any bad feelings or memories, you don't have to face the world or look yourself in the mirror. Being asleep is the only time they feel some peace.

Now let's talk positions!

-Whumpees used to being chained to a table sleeping that way even once free, flat on their back with limbs sprawled out.

-Whumpees who sleep tightly curled up, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around their chest as if hugging themselves.

-Whumpees who just stay poker still the entire time. They were forbidden from moving an inch, maybe even wore electric bands that sent a shock whenever they detected movement, and now even in sleep they lie perfectly still.

[floral-comet-whump]

template stolen from @inhurtandincomfort ty zeroooo

neka

and template ofccc

[floral-comet-whump]

I wanna do the whumpee writes their needs tag game but walenty wouldn't even know what it is that they need other than bare minimum stuff :(

also they never have a traditional recovery arc, so I can't base their approach off of who they're writing it to because that matters for walenty!!!

closest possible conclusion is them deliberately presenting themselves as fragile so that they'll have less responsibilities and stand a better chance in court if they have to do that. walenty ily but this is NOT the time to be manipulative

[floral-comet-whump]

"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

[floral-comet-whump]

hiiii I got inspired :3

Content warnings: Captivity whump, implied past torture, execution via slitting throat, captive whumpee, whumper pov, minor/child whumper, child abuse, institutionalized whump (hardly noted), fantasy whump (hardly noted)

taglist (I forgot I have one soz): @lordcatwich @chiswhumpcorner

The senior investigator skims the report a final time, nodding. They make a spinning motion with their free hand, and Walenty scurries to get a pen from the counter, walking on their toes to negate the limp. They look away as the other writes something, trying not to fidget or look at the captive.

It's not difficult. The muffled screaming has grown into background noise, just as normal as the scratching of steel on paper or the humming of magic.

The stench of misery haunts the air.

“Alright,” their instructor starts, and Walenty nearly squeaks, quickly remembering to place their hands behind their back. “Kill him.”

They blink, looking up. The older’s gaze doesn't waver. Walenty feels like a dumb child. Why? They want to ask so, so bad. They still hesitate, looking at the floor, then at the still captive, at their eyes, practically frozen. They hear the nigh-silence occupying the chamber now, a stark contrast to the prior white noise.

“You’re not questioning my orders, are you?”

“No-!” The apprentice speaks before they think, racking their brain for an excuse. Lesson, strict teacher, mistakes. “I, um.. I just wanted to ask how! So that I don’t do it wrong. Sir.”

Their teacher raises an eyebrow, fully aware it’s a lie. They hum, deeming it acceptable.

“Whichever is most efficient, then.”

Walenty nods, taking back the dagger they’d used. It’s already plenty dirty and none of the other tools are suitable. It might splash, but the floor is bloodied anyway.

“Is slitting the throat fine, sir?”

“Sure.”

And so they walk up to the ruined human, ignore the muffled screams and squirming as they tilt the head upwards with a firm grip, and slash. They’re fast with it as to not hesitate, immediately ducking away to avoid the blood spray. It doesn’t come, only oozing out. Huh.

Walenty flinches at the touch on their head. They don't dare reject it, though. “You minimized cleanup. Good job, Walenty.”

“...Thank you, sir.”

“Kill him.”

“…Wh—what?”

The young man stared at the kneeling criminal before him, his specific crimes forgotten. He couldn’t do that, not him, he—

The king interrupted his thoughts, carefully and gently setting the knife in the young man’s hand, even curling his fingers around the handle.

“Was I unclear? Kill him.”

[floral-comet-whump]

"No, no, no... please, not again-!" + Reluctant Whumper

I FUCKING LOVE RELUCTANT WHUMPERS 🗣️🗣️🗣️

posts coloured in red are of walenty, my oc! that means the reluctant whumper is a minor.

1. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have to.”

2. (Sigh) “Just sit still...”

3. (Flinches) “Fuck, did I use to sound like that?”

4. “Shh. I don’t care. Say something beneficial instead of whining.”

5. “You can sleep after, okay? It’s just for a little bit. I promise.”

6. “...Am I that scary?”

how to play

full credits to @/seth-whumps for the idea!! avoiding actually mentioning them, but they're linked

[floral-comet-whump]

walwal spa day :D

I made thjis on such a whim while talking to chi about kev doing skincare (HE DOESN'T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SOAP AND SHAMPOO) and getting one of those sanrio spa headbands so we went out searching for a sanrio character that fits kev. it was chococat. originally walenty's was cinnamoroll but chococat also suits them better so they match now ig

[floral-comet-whump]

khiyophor masterlist

GR THIS IS NOT THEM THIS IS A WALENTY REACTION IMAGE. HERE IS KHIYOPHOR

LOOK AT THEM. CUTIE.

contents: child abuse, institutionalized slavery, so much child abuse

hiiii thanks for clicking read more :3 here is a 🥺(pien, since walenty's design does take light inspiration from jirai jei fashion) khiyophor

so!! unlike the au where walenty takes paris's place, they swap with delta this time. they're lowkey thriving compared to their own canon it's amazing... ANYWAYS one of the first things I did was discuss khiyophor (χ-04, the ∆ of beldam institute got replaced with a χ because I didn't wanna name walenty delta) and what powers they could have! I still think telekenisis would've been an okay-ish fit but I wanted to be original...

I didn't have a lot of good ideas, so at the end it came to choosing between aerokinesis (air manipulation) and portal making!! I really liked the vibe of aerokinesis and the possible visual of soldiers wearing gas masks because there won't be any oxygen on a planet, or a horrible tornado that completely destroys a civilization and leaves nature to retake its course. it's also reminiscent of delta basically nuking cities by squeezing them with telekenisis while still being its own thing :3

however I also liked the possibility of khiyophor stalking people through mini portals! lil peepholes... they're also weaker in terms of raw power so they'd need way more precision..... that's so walenty I love my control freak.......

also! whereas delta's powers have an electric aura and johanna's a floral one, khiyophor's are cold/icy :3 this also corresponds to the rest of their overuse symptoms!! but first I gotta explain other stuff LIKEEEEEE THEIR DESIGN! rah I love character design

look at their little outfit.... it's actually quite inaccurate to empire design conventions since alia's and mine aesthetics are so different but it's okay......

they're taller in this au than in their canon! not by a lot, but a little. also a bjd (ball jointed doll) like paris! originally this was for thematic reasons (already being porcelain doll-like, control symbolism, dehumanisation), but their visual similarity to paris (or more importantly, sabina) does actually play a role! I also changed them to be strawberry blonde rather than purple haired to really zero this in 😭 khiyophor is not related to paris, they're just the same species (actually I think paris is only like half doll while khiyophor is full) and both blondes (different blondes but still) and have black eyes

oh also small detail! I stole @/sir-fenris's hc of doll ppl constantly being tiptoed because of doll feet being built for heels. this is why khiyophor has platform heels instead of their usual platforms

here is them colorized in gl2 <3 if anyone wants the import code it's in this post!!!

I love their outfit sm.. it's based off of this ouji coord!! as for collar you can actually find me asking alia about it here in the tags :3c

look at it... also despite empire's jewelry typically being gold, khiyophor has silver because they're a walenty and walenty has silver jewelry. also it doesn't actually have a lock like the one in the back, it locks like delta's does, I just wanted to add something there 😔

okay I think that's it about design for now.... uh uh I was talking about psychic stuff. SOOO khiyophor has portals, but how are those used?

sniping :3

similarly to how delta can sense "touch" with his telekenisis, khiyophor's portals have their own senses! for sight and sound it's like watching something from a camera monitor but that monitor is its own eye, for touch smell and taste it's like doing it through a bag that dampens it sorta? so often during attacks they just have a portal at the sky as a vantage point and overview of the battle. alia compared it to the eye of sauron....

anyways how they're deployed issss actually among other soldiers! their portals close inwards and have sharp edges, so they stay at the ship, get coordinates called out to them, and snip off heads while the rest of battle is happening. yay? khiyophor can have multiple portals at once when uncollared!! so if they're not reaching their limit when the battle is over then they even teleport leftover body parts that fell to a storage bin

speaking of their limit!! the overuse symptoms have stages! gradual deterioration >:) I started a drawing with this but haven't gotten back to it bc I'm me

at first it's shivering because they're still feeling heavy winds and blood sprays and all the other sensory stuff! quickly goes into like. small twitching and muscle spasms, then the shaking is more violent (clack clack clack bc of doll joints!) and they start slouching at this point 😭 martino gives them a slap on the back of the head like you do with old computers to restart them... it works......

but yeah they are shaking twitching hardly even keeping their eyes open. also they do the thing where you tear up not as a crying thing because your body is trying to expel something dirty from your eyes or cleanse them or smt. they do that. also fall at the next stage, has to be caught so that they don't hit their head 😭😭😭 poor baby tbh

another thing!! you remember how I mentioned aura in reference to the air feeling electric around delta or floral around johanna?? khiyophor's is cold!!! the windows are frosting are frosting over. everyone is shivering. buttons and controls get locked in place. there is a guy who's entire job is to give everyone muttons. it's very cold 👍

in the worst cases there'd even be frost forming around khiyophor but if they've been pushed that far they're half delirious already so that's when the attack is called off!! khiyophor is bedridden for an average of 4-7 days. this is the estimate because it happens often and khiyophor has a weak immune system and some unspecified disability that would have killed them long ago if they haven't been heavily medicated since it surfaced at beldam (spikes and worsens from stress khiyophor just crushes occasionally)

also!! this is in direct contrast to canon!walenty's own insanely strong immune system. χ-04 is sickly frail victorian child core to balance that

HI THIS IS AN EDIT. I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS TOO SOON IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE STORY STUFF 😭 MORE COMING OUT EVENTUALLY!!!!

please answer this ask so that I can repost with a huge infodump abt khiyophor 👍

KHIYOPHOR