My Whumperfly Collection

Everyone has been affected in some way. Everyone, that is, except Whumpee. Whumpee, the most ordinary and unremarkable member of the entire Team. While everyone else is in varying states of bloodied, drugged, and brainwashed, Whumpee is...fine. Sure, they woke up in a cell like everyone else, but other than a few scrapes and bruises, they're untouched. Apparently, Villain didn't consider them a threat.

Of course, with Whumpee currently being the only properly functioning member of the Team, it falls to them to get everyone to safety. So Whumpee keeps going, ignoring the rising nausea, the worsening dizziness, and the vague stomach cramps that have been plaguing them ever since they woke up. They can't afford to stop and check themselves over. Not when the Team is counting on them.

Fallen Royalty Whumpee being dressed in a mock-crown, turning the very thing representing their former title into an object of humiliation

Living Weapon Whumpee with shirt cuffs carrying their boss' symbol, binding their wrists too tight. Insignias embroidered on their shirt collar. Both serving in place of metal chains.

Knight Whumpee who gets distraught when their armour gets torn from them. It was the nicest and most expensive thing they owned. But the loss of all the emotional value it held hurts more.

Noble Whumpee who's been demoted to a servant. They're clothed, of course. But the quality is so unlike anything they're used to, so rough, ill fitting and chaffing against their skin...

War Trophy Whumpee whose clothing is resembling an art piece. Every stitch, every embroidery, every sheer piece of fabric and lace, every piece of jewellery is there to show them off. There to show how their kingdom lost and was subjugated.

Whumpee who prides their long hair, who spends hour taking care of it. Only for uncaring hands to roughly shave it off, not giving a fuck if their scalp gets bloodied along the way.

Whumpee who has been forced to grow out their hair. It's long, and heavy and even when pinned it sends aches through their head. They aren't allowed to touch their own hair, let alone cut or shape it the way they want.

maybe whumper used to use a shock collar on them. maybe it was just a regular ol' collar, designed to remind them of who they belong to.

regardless, they're safe now, aren't they? at least, that's what they try and tell themselves. but their body seems to have different ideas.

maybe a team member playfully clasps their necklace around whumpee's neck and looks at them in horror when they start yanking at it and babbling whumper's name.

maybe whumpee has to attend a fancy event and has to spend the whole night trying not to sob because the collar of their button-up shirt is too tight around their neck and it reminds them of whumper's collar. maybe they spend the entire event in a daze, dissociating so hard they're barely there. maybe whumpee is normally outspoken and bold, but for the duration of the event they are perfectly mild-mannered and agreeable -- except every time they make a mistake, they brace for a shock.

maybe caretaker is bandaging a broken arm and goes to fasten a sling around whumpee's neck, only for whumpee to break down and injure themselves even more in their haste to get away.

Expecting a punishment for everything they believe they've done wrong and getting really confused when there's none of it.

"Yes, sir/ma'am.", "I'm sorry, sir/ma'am."

Straightening their posture whenever caretaker sounds angry.

Treating every small suggestion and off handed comment caretaker makes as an order. "It's quite dirty in here." becomes "Clean up this mess, now."

Getting confused and scared at the lack of established rules and punishments. Every move could be the wrong one. Every action they make risks being hurt. They constantly wait for the other shoe to drop.

"I'm fine," Whumpee said, swallowing back a wince.

Caretaker snorted. "You're eyes are fucking crimson, you are not fine."

Alternately, Whumper figures out what each eye colour corresponds to and uses it to taunt Whumpee.

"I'm not afraid of you," Whumpee snapped.

"Oh, blue again. Lonely tonight?"

"Hmm, what a pretty red. What if I...ah that did it. Orange now."

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.