#my whump stories

[the-modern-typewriter]

"Your blood is so, so special," the vampire murmured. They stroked their fingers, oh so gently, along the trembling curve of the human's jaw, nudging their limp head up so that the two of them could look at each other. "Do you think that makes you special?"

The human squeezed their eyes shut. Their fragile breath fluttered out of them. They were smart enough not to jerk away again, swaying on their knees in the vampire's grip.

"Hm?" the vampire pressed. "I asked you a question, my dove."

"No."

"No?"

"Not about me. Just the blood. I'm a sack of meat. I'm nothing."

The vampire smiled at that. Their thumb caressed up and down again, just above the bloody bite marks on the human's neck. "Look at me."

The human shook their head.

"Look. At. Me."

The human's jaw clenched, but they opened their eyes once more. The vampire's smile grew a little more as it hazed in and out of the human's vision.

"My darling," the vampire said. Their other hand rose, until they were cradling the human's head proper. "My dearest." They leaned in, pressing a claiming kiss to the human's lips, drawing blood. "That's exactly right!"

Then, just as quickly, the vampire was on their feet by the door.

The human crumpled without the support, hitting the ground with a thud. Panting.

The vampire sucked the blood off their fingers with a wet pop. The smile fled their face. The light left their eyes.

"You don't ever pretend you have power over me in public again."

Then, they were gone.

[whumperofworlds]

I hope you don't mind me sharing my work based off of this! I love this prompt so much!

TWS: Blood, beating, homophobic slur, panic attacks

TAGS: @painful-pooch @randomlifeunit @thequestingbunny

_____

"Drus, babe?" Keme called, adjusting his trademark green bandana. He was usually the last person to get ready for the day, but Drusus falling behind was… unusual.

Keme was ready ten minutes ago. Drusus had yet to leave their shared bedroom. Perhaps he had overslept again? While he had since broken that habit once he and Keme were living together, it was still odd that he wasn't up yet.

Keme walked from the living room to their bedroom…

Only to hear what sounded like items being thrown around, along with frantic whispers from his husband. Keme raised a brow. What was going on in there?

"Uh… Drus?" Keme asked.

When he got no reply, he opened the door, and he froze upon seeing what was inside. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped at the sight.

The bed sheets were on the ground, and every item, from clothing to even candles, were littered across the floor. In the middle of it all was Drusus, shaking and breathing heavily, his back facing Keme.

What Keme noticed, however, was the lack of his red headband tied around his head.

...Oh. Oh no.

"Drusus?" Keme called.

Hearing his full name caught the Monk's attention, and he turned to face his husband. Upon seeing the panicked expression on his face, Keme's heart broke. Tears were welling up in Drusus' eyes, and Keme could see nervous sweat beading down his face. His breathing was erratic, as if he was struggling to breathe.

Keme knew those signs. He had seen Drusus in that state before.

Panic attack.

"Love," Keme gasped softly, trekking through the mess to reach his husband. He took Drusus' shoulders, and he could feel the trembling from his usually calm husband.

Drusus opened his mouth to say something, but Keme interrupted him.

"Shh. Don't speak. Come on," he whispered in a gentle tone, leading Drusus to the bed. Drusus' body shook as he sat down on the mattress. His breathing was still quick and uneven, but Keme noticed him calming down a little bit thanks to his touch.

"Take a few deep breaths, love," Keme commanded in a soft voice. He took Drusus' hand, caressing his rough skin in order to tell him that he was here to help.

Drusus did as he was told. The first breath was shaky, but after a few more breaths, his breathing slowed. Eventually, it somewhat returned to normal.

"There we go," Keme said, rubbing Drusus' hand for comfort.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, with Drusus still trying to keep his breathing normal.

Seeing Drusus in such a state shattered Keme's heart. Drusus was usually a calm, no-nonsense man who always got the job done. Seeing him like this? It pained Keme to see him dealing with an attack.

"What happened?" Keme asked, rubbing the back of Drusus' hand. "Where's your headband?"

"I-it… it…" Drusus stuttered, but couldn't get the words out, as his breathing grew more erratic. He took the moment to take a deep breath, before letting it out through his nose. After a few seconds of deep breaths, he continued, "It's gone! I-I had it on my nightstand…" he gestured to the nightstand that was currently turned over. "And it-it's not there! I-I looked everywhere and I-I—"

"Shh," Keme shushed him gently, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's okay, love. It must have fallen off of the nightstand somewhere."

"I-I looked! I looked everywhere and—" Drusus reiterated, but was stopped when Keme placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Breathe, dear," Keme whispered. "We'll find it together. It should be here somewhere."

He knew how important the headband was to Drusus. It was a special gift from his old friend, Than, and Drusus had always taken excellent care of it after his passing. Even though eight years had passed, the headband was good as new.

Had Drusus misplaced it? No. He would never do that. He always made sure it was where it was supposed to be. He wouldn't be so reckless, especially with something as important as his headband.

Drusus sniffled, wiping off the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He nodded to accept Keme's offer to find it, and he said, "Th-thank you…"

"Of course." Keme said with a smile.

_______

Despite their best efforts, the headband was nowhere to be seen in the house. Drusus had since calmed down, but the fact that he couldn't find his headband frustrated him. It had to be somewhere in the house. It had to be. It couldn't just disappear off the face of the earth like that.

The next day came, and still no headband in sight. Drusus was close to another panic attack, but kept his cool. He had to find it later. For now, he and Keme had work to do.

During work, Keme had to do double takes whenever he passed by or talked to Drusus. The Monk was usually recognizable with his headband, but without it? He appeared to be a different person. It looked wrong. So very wrong.

Keme sighed, returning to the fort after a mission. Drusus was currently at his office, working on paperwork, so he was sure that he wouldn't see him for a few hours. As he walked through the hallway, his thoughts were on his husband.

Drusus appeared to be calm during work, but Keme could see that flicker of worry on his face. He knew what he was thinking—he was worried where his headband was. After thorough searching yesterday, it was nowhere to be found. He wasn't sure what happened to it, but he was sure that it was in their house somewhere. It couldn't just grow legs and walk out.

Keme shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about that now. He had to focus—

"Did you see the look on his face?"

Keme stopped upon hearing a voice in the nearby room. The voice was unfamiliar; who was that?

"Yeah, that was hilarious!" Another voice said.

Keme raised a brow, before he backtracked to the room the voices were coming from. He peeked from behind the wall and spotted two men standing and looking down at something in one's hands. From his view, he couldn't see what one of them was holding.

He recognized them almost immediately. Jed and Bob, two new recruits who were working here for a few weeks now. From what Keme had gathered, they were excellent with their work, but they were poor at teamwork when it came to the other mercenaries. Keme had remembered lecturing them to buck up at it, but besides that, he didn't really interact with them much.

"It was surprisingly easy to get it. Picking the lock wasn't that hard!" Jed laughed.

"Right?" Bob agreed with a chuckle of his own. "How stupid can he be?"

"For a so-called Warrior of Light, he sure didn't have any smarts."

Keme's eyes widened. He wasn't sure who they were talking about, but he knew that he and three others were the only ones who were the Warriors of Light.

And that included Drusus.

"He'll never find it," Bob chuckled. "That headband would probably get us a few hundred Gil."

At that mention, Bob inadvertently moved his hands slightly, and Keme could see a line of red.

Keme's heart nearly stopped. He recognized what it was—he would recognize it anywhere.

Drusus' headband.

"I don't think so!" Keme suddenly piped up, now revealing himself from behind the wall. His eyes narrowed at the two, his arms crossed on his chest. The two men jumped to see the Thief, their eyes widened.

"Ah, Sir Keme!" Jed greeted, trying to calm himself down. "What brings you—"

"Don't give me that crap," Keme interrupted. "You took his headband, didn't you?"

"Who? Drusus?" Bob glanced at his friend for a moment before they chuckled. "Yeah! Did you see the look on his face? I figured you would get a good laugh at it!"

Keme gritted his teeth. "I may be a prankster, but even I wouldn't go as far as taking something important from him!"

"Important?" Jed questioned, an eyebrow raised. Before Keme could open his mouth, the two laughed. "It's just a headband. He could just easily replace it."

"He had a panic attack!" Keme shouted, his face growing redder in anger. "That headband is from someone he cared about deeply who passed away, and you literally put him in emotional distress!"

"So?" Jed said with a shrug, as if all of this was an everyday occurrence. "Faggot doesn't need his dead lover's headband anyway. Like I said, it's replaceable."

Keme could only see red at that point. His hands balled into fists, and his teeth gritted so hard it hurt. How dare they treat this whole thing as a joke. How dare they call his beloved husband that.

Before any of them knew it, Keme decked Jed right on the nose. Thanks to Drusus' training in fists, it left Jed with a bleeding nose as he tumbled backwards. He held his nose, before pulling back to see red in his hand.

"What was that for?!" Bob cried, his eyes narrowed at the furious Thief.

Keme merely turned to deck Bob next, this time on the mouth. Bob tumbled back and into a shelf, nearly knocking it down. He held his mouth, and he could feel blood touching his tongue.

"No one calls my husband that," Keme growled, and lunged with a yell. He tackled Bob to the ground, the shelf swaying slightly behind Bob. Keme held him down by straddling him with his legs, before he let out a flurry of punches towards his face. He ignored everything around him; all he could think of was beating the tar out of this guy for hurting Drusus.

Jed got up from the ground, before he rushed to the scene. He grabbed Keme from behind, trying to pry him off of his friend.

"Leave him alone, you lunatic!" He yelled, but was stopped when Keme elbowed him in the stomach. He cried out in pain before he doubled over, holding his injured stomach.

Keme kept up his assault towards Bob, his heart beating in his ears and his jaw clenched. Everything around him was a blur—he could only see Bob's bloodied and beaten face in front of him, as he continued to beat him for his crimes.

"Keme?!"

Keme stopped his flurry of punches, frozen in place. He breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath as he heard footsteps approaching.

He turned to see none other than Drusus beside him, his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open in shock. Keme glanced at Bob for a moment, then at his hand.

Bob, somehow, had held on to the headband while Keme attacked him. His grip was firm, as if he was afraid of losing the item.

Drusus seemed to have noticed it too, before his eyes narrowed at Bob. He turned to Jed, who was still doubled over in pain, before he shouted, "In. My. Office. Now!"

_____

"He attacked us out of nowhere—" Jed tried to reason, his voice muffled behind the office door.

"I will not hear any of your lies, Jed," Keme heard Drusus' booming voice from inside the office. "Keme told me what had happened. You broke into our home and stole my headband!"

"B-but…" Keme could hear Bob stutter. "It was all a joke! We did it as a prank, I swear!"

"Prank or not, you have committed a crime of breaking and entering. Not only that, but you had also disrespected me, your boss, mind you."

"W-we're sorry, Sir Drusus!" Jed pleaded. "It won't happen again!"

"I'll make sure it won't happen again," Drusus growled. "Because you're both fired and blacklisted from joining the Mercenary Group."

"B-but we—"

"Get out of my sight! If we ever see your faces here again, we will report you two to Queen Sarah. Surely she wouldn't appreciate you both disrespecting a Warrior of Light."

That was the end of it, as Jed and Bob left the office with a huff and glares towards Keme. Keme glared back at them, unfazed by their intimidation. From what he had gathered, they wouldn't be around here again.

Drusus also left his office, his face red from anger. He wiped off the sweat from his brow from blowing his top off, before turning to Keme.

"Sorry you have to hear that," Drusus sighed. "I never thought that two of our best employees would do such a thing."

"It's okay," Keme waved it off. "Those guys got what they deserved. I'd do the same."

"Just…" Drusus began, but stopped before he took Keme by the wrist, pulling him into a hug. Keme froze for a moment, but returned it nonetheless. "If that ever happens again, please don't assault them. I'd hate to see you get hurt."

"Aw, love," Keme chuckled. "I'll do my best. You would do the same for me if our roles were reversed."

"...You're not wrong," Drusus chuckled back, kissing the top of Keme's head.

When they released, Keme pulled out the headband from his pocket. "May I?" He offered.

"Yes, of course," Drusus nodded with a small smile, before bowing his head.

Keme had to get on his toes to do so, but he managed to tie the headband around Drusus' forehead. Once he was done, Keme could see the large smile on his beloved's face as he played with the tails of his headband for a second. Finally. He needed to see that rare smile again after that entire ordeal.

"Thank you, love," Drusus said. "Your actions mean everything to me."

"Of course, Drussy."

Whumpee having a comfort item and someone stealing it as a joke, not realising how attached Whumpee is to said item.

Great opportunity for some angry/protective Caretaker if you ask me

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

The internet whenever I come up with a fun whump method:

[whumpsoda]

I. I love vampire hunters turned thralls. Brainwashed into adoring little pets to creatures of which they once chased down with the goal of killing… UGH just someone who used to hate the thing they now address as master… bonus points if they get their memories erased and have no memory of their hunter past :3

[wolvietxt]

⋆𐙚₊˚ grumpy x sunshine prompts!

holding hands: grumpy always insists they’re not the hand-holding type, but sunshine slips their hand into grumpy’s anyway, and despite the grumbling, grumpy’s grip never lets go.

sick day: grumpy catches a cold and insists they're fine, but sunshine shows up with a blanket, soup, and a movie to keep them company, ignoring all of grumpy's protests and making sure they're well cared for.

late-night talk: grumpy can’t sleep and finds sunshine sitting on the porch. instead of going back inside, grumpy sits down too, reluctantly opening up as sunshine listens, not saying much but offering quiet comfort just by being there.

rain-soaked rescue: sunshine gets caught in a downpour, soaked through and shivering, and grumpy rushes out with an umbrella, grumbling about how sunshine should take better care of themselves while wrapping them in a warm jacket.

grumpy’s soft side: sunshine accidentally finds grumpy’s secret stash of cute little things they’ve kept as mementos - like a doodle sunshine made or a pressed flower from a walk they took together. grumpy tries to act embarrassed, but sunshine can see the fondness in their eyes.

[dontbelasagnax]

@codywanfirstkissbingo: kiss of life

It shouldn't be like this. He had plans. Dreams.

He'd thought of a gentle kiss shared one late night when the hum of companionship and longing looks spilled over. Lips tasting of herbal tea and ration bars.

Or, hidden away in a dark corner of Coruscant on a rare shore leave, they'd find comfort in giving into what they've both wanted for so long. Hands tangled in hair, remnants of their meal licked from blisteringly hot mouths, not a care in the world.

Perhaps they'd wait till after the war. Reach for one another amidst cheers and find joy and relief in their embrace and long awaited kiss.

Instead, he presses his lips to Obi-Wan's for the first time and does his best to breathe life into unresponsive lips and lungs. He can't ignore the acrid taste of blood and ash. There's nothing but terror and heartache lancing his chest.

'Not like this', he thinks, a hot tear running down his cheek. 'Please, stay with me.'

(bingo card under the cut)

[automeris-io-moth]

Reunion

That morning Hero felt particularly tired. 

Perhaps Villain had noticed early when greeting them at breakfast, such was the reason the servants were fetched to help them shower, help them dress and eat, fed by hand as if not humiliated enough by then, trapped by the fact they were indeed unable to lift the cutlery. 

Perhaps it had been Villain’s doing. Perhaps it had been the tea, perhaps it had been something else. 

Later, Hero was taken to the main hall of the former gubernatorial palace right in the heart of the city, where a wood and gold throne laid. Hero had once, long ago, made a joke about Villain compensating for something with such a cartoonish display of power, but then they had no energy to obnoxiously repeat it, as they did every time they entered the place. Mockery was one of the few things Hero had left after all. 

Yet, that day they could barely keep their head upright, a foggy sense of nausea crepting up their throat, a heavy weight pushing them down from the top of their head kept them glued to Villain that morning, head laying on the other's shoulder as Hero laid across their lap, their enemy's hands stroked up and down their arms and back, warming them from the coldness of the room. 

"Let them in," Villain's voice boomed across the hall, the echo remaining a second longer. 

The old wooden doors creaked open, uneven steps entering the room, as if being rushed, and Hero hid their head from the sharp noise. 

"What do you think I should do, love?” Villain asked the Hero this time, pressing their lips against their hair  “Four intruders wandering around, trying to enter our home to steal god knows what.” 

And Hero tried, tried to twist their head to look at the people standing before them, distinguishing them on their knees, half aware of the number mentioned, half aware of their factions, of what they wore. 

Half aware that they knew them. 

“I told you, Leader,” one said, a whisper too sharp to fulfil its purpose of being discreet “they sold us out.” 

“Shut up, Teammate, what about that?” The called answered, face straightening and, for a moment, Hero could swear they made eye contact “What are you looking to prove with this display, Villain?” 

Villain huffed a laugh, turning Hero’s head back to them  “Come on Leader, do you really think I put this show just for you?” 

They had, Hero thought, Villain usually preferred if they weren’t seen. Just for their eyes, they had once said, when they were, as that day, too out of their mind to talk back. 

“What did you do to them?” 

“I would never hurt them, if that’s what you’re thinking,” they answered, hands pulling them ever so close to their chest, curling if only lightly to embrace them “I’m not like you.” 

“We never…” 

“Yes you have,” they answered “I’ve seen every scar in their body, and I’m responsible for only one. Don’t lie to my face please.” 

“They knew what they were doing! It was for the greater good,” Teammate answered this time, sweat dripping from their forehead to the blood, taking the dirt with it. 

“Such a funny concept is the greater good. I can assure you it holds no meaning to me, there is nothing greater than keeping what's mine close and unblemished, and you have scarred it, sadly.”

With a hand on their hip, and the other on their neck, Villain twisted Hero’s head slightly to the right, where their team knelt, eyes glazed, barely open enough to discern their shadows, they could see one turn away from their unintentional stare. 

“So what would a fitting punishment be,” they asked in the air, looking down at Hero “I accept suggestions, my light.”

_

Masterlist

[kikker-oma]

A late birthday present for @telemna-hyelle !!

You're a lovely writer and I've been meaning to draw something for you for ages🥰 this story was so so sweet and soothed my soul❤️

[chaotic-orphan]

Helo helo, just asking...r u planning to update heroic betrayal? 👁👁 NO RUSH THOUGH IT'S JUST REALLY GOOD AND I CAN'T WAIT SJSJHSHSH

GOOD DAY!!

Heroic Betrayal (X)

Read part one // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to everyone who commented under the last part, that made me cackle like a maniac, and everyone who asked for a continuation of this series that warmed my heart— I’m so sorry it took so long, and I hope you enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*

The concrete cut into her cheeks like a sharp edge, her shoulders hitting the walls and her feet tumbling over her head until she crashed and bashed every point in her body on the way down. She ended up on her stomach, blood dripping from the side of her head. She tried to push herself up, but a hand grabbed the back of her neck and dragged her stumbling to her feet.

She felt like she was going to be sick, stuck in a twister of Supervillain’s strong sharp movements that she couldn’t anticipate with her pounding headache raging.

“Now, here we are,” Supervillain said and he shoved Hero forward again. Hero tripped over her feet, her ankle rolling as they tried to stop her momentum in vain. An edge of something metal caught her around the hips and she fell forward, her torso folding with an oomph. A click and the room flooded with light. Hero squeezed her eyes shut, the light burning compared to the pitch black it was not a moment ago.

Hero squinted taking a quick survey of the room, searching for an escape, but no, no, no, no. There would be escape from this room that was just a concrete square of torture devices. Hero’s heart jumped into her throat as she glanced down at the metal bench below her hands. It was a table. A surgical table. Her stomach bottomed out as she gasped involuntary, stepping back and right into a solid chest.

Her blood ran cold and she couldn’t stop the tremors of fear tearing through her. Two strong hands settled on her shoulders and she flinched despite herself, her entire body trembling, her eyes and brain disoriented from the fall and the lack of oxygen and her fucking pounding headache. And she was really starting to wish she didn’t open her mouth.

Hero let out a sharp breath, a claw of panic grabbing at her chest as her eyes scanned the room searching for a window or anything that would tell her she wasn’t underground right now. She couldn’t… couldn’t breathe, oh fuck, there were no windows, there was a window in the cells, she gasped, pushing back against the chest shaking her head.

“Oh that’s right,” Supervillain cooed behind her, his voice painted with sick delight as his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Villain told me you were claustrophobic. Does being underground trigger it, Hero?”

Hero drove her elbow back wildly hitting her mark, but Supervillain didn’t flinch or even grunt. Instead he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm up and around her back, the other going to the back of her neck and slammed her down against the table.

“You really have no manners, Hero, do you know that?”

“F—fff— fuck you,” she said between fretful breaths. Every action, every movement was lessening and lessening, she only had a little bit of oxygen left in her lungs that was stuttering out. The walls pulsing closer, shrinking and she squeezed her eyes shut. At least the metal of the table was cool under her cheek.

Supervillain pushed her wrist further up her back until Hero was crying out, trying to kick back at Supervillain to get him to stop but the lack of oxygen in her lungs was dizzying as she scrambled. Her brain was fried, and she couldn’t remember any of her combat training as panic seized her throat.

She splayed her fingers, mind reaching, the invisible pull of her blades familiar as they rushed back to her hands. If she could just— two clangs against the door upstairs and Supervillain straightened, letting up some pressure. Hero pulled and pulled, trying to rip the daggers through the obstacle but Supervillain grabbed her splayed fingers and pushed them back down into a fist, smothering her connection to her daggers.

“No!” Hero wailed, struggling furiously under him, kicking back, trying to do anything, get anywhere away away away away from the danger, be able to breathe again properly. Her tears hit the metal table with wet, metallic drops, like a leaky tap dripping into the sink.

“What did I tell you about using your powers, Hero, hmm?”

“Let go of me, you fucking psychopath!” Hero cried, anger flooding her veins. With Supervillain’s hand off her neck, Hero threw herself back with a roar of adrenaline mixed with fury. Supervillain’s grip tightened on her wrist, about to push it up but Hero wedged a knee up between the table and shoved until the pair went stumbling.

Hero slipped free of Supervillain’s hold in his stunned state, but he recovered quickly, grabbing at her hoodie but Hero was too quick, and she was ascending the stairs, her breaths getting heavier but her breathing becoming even the closer she got to the surface.

She got to the door and grabbed the handle and shoved it open.

Only.

It didn’t open.

Hero stared. No. No. No, no, no, nonononono!

NO!

Hero slammed an open palm on the metal, screaming. “FLYNN! FLYNN I’M SORRY PLEASE! Please!”

Footsteps on the staircase. Hero slid down the door, banging weakly against it and crying out for Flynn to save her as Supervillain advanced again.

“Did you really think I’d leave a handle on the way out of this room, Hero?”

Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, focusing all her energy into the glare she shot at him, hoping he would melt right on the spot. Which he didn’t.

“You can come down and your punishment will be less severe than if I have to drag you down.”

“Fuck you,” she said, her voice cracking halfway through. She splayed her fingers again and wished, hoped, prayed that somehow they would get through the thick metal door she was trapped behind.

Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! What was she going to do? There was only one option for her right now and that was down, down into a tight, underground nightmare that was threatening to kill her. She needed— she needed to be able to breathe to think clearly, but even thinking was difficult at the thought of being dragged back down to Supervillain’s torture chamber.

Supervillain sighed, a few steps away from her. “Okay, Hero. Have it your way.”

He reached down and grabbed her ankle and turned to walk down the stairs. Hero kicked at him, landing a few solid ones on his arm and back before he was dragging her down and Hero’s head smacked off the concrete steps. She didn’t even have time to scream or groan or whine, small gasps at every bounce fogged her vision until she was back on solid ground.

Supervillain appeared above her, grabbing her, one arm under her shoulders, the other her knees as he bent over and scooped her up. She protested weakly, her brain rattled and her reaction time non-existent. Supervillain placed her on something cool under her skin, but she could feel something wet on the back of her head.

She reached a hand up to find the source of the wetness, but Supervillain grabbed her wrist before she could investigate and strapped it down to table in leather. He pulled the cuff tight around Hero’s wrist, so tight she couldn’t move it left or right, just up and down. She whined when he took her other wrist and restrained it the same way by her side. Then he moved onto her ankles and soon Hero couldn’t move an inch, her eyes glazed over and staring blankly above her.

Supervillain grabbed Hero’s cheek, appearing in her scope of vision, but there was two of him now, a shadow or a clone. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hmph, you spoiled some of my fun, Hero. I was hoping to teach you this lesson to remember, but, oh well. I guess I’ll just have to leave a reminder for you when you’re more conscious, won’t I? Something you can’t ignore.”

Hero blinked at him, the entire world moved like cotton and she was completely out of it, Supervillain’s words echoing around her head. On loop over and over again, but still seemingly so far away.

“Lemme go,” she pleaded weakly, pulling at her restraints.

Supervillain smiled a wicked smile down at her. “I’m thinking something like a three strike system, Hero. Like tally marks or something to that effect. Something easy to understand, strike one was your insolence at dinner which will not be tolerated. What to do,” Supervillain mused stepped away from the metal table and out of sight.

Hero pulled against her restraints, trying to loosen them as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Flynn… she thought hopelessly. Please, please, rescue me. Please.

Supervillain returned to the table, a hunting knife in hand. “Wait, no, please.” Hero didn’t even know what she was protesting, but the words fell from her mouth anyways as Supervillain grabbed her right hand.

“Three strikes, Hero. While I know I could cuff you in power dampeners and leave you down here to hyperventilate all night I think this will be far more effective.”

“Tell me Hero,” Supervillain began as he started undoing the cuff of her right wrist. “Is it all knives you can summon with your ability?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Any will do.”

“Fascinating. And do they all sharpen your senses when you feel them in your hand?” Hero glared at him as he free her wrist and turned it so the back of her hand was positioned above the metal table. Hero didn’t bother asking him how he knew that, because she knew the answer he would be all too happy to supply. The reason Supervillain knew everything about her; Flynn told me.

“It depends on the knife,” Hero answered, the pained fog of her mind ebbing and flowing allowing some coherent thoughts to pass through her brain. “None are as good as my blades, but that’s because I made them myself.”

“I will never cease to be awed by adepts and their crafts,” Supervillain said fondly, tracing the tip of the hunting knife up Hero’s elbow and forearm before pinching it down slightly on Hero’s wrist. Hero didn’t dare struggle or move, afraid if she did the knife would slip and she would be dead. “But now that you’re more conscious, I’ll repeat your punishment.”

“We will do a three strike system, this is strike one. With every strike I will leave a wound on you, a scar that will remind you not to make another mistake again, okay?”

Hero shivered at how easy he explained his punishment system for her, as if he was telling her that her car needed an service or one day it would just stop. “Three strikes, and I will drag you along to watch Sidekick being murdered and you’ll know it was all your fault. Okay?”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Wonderful.”

In one quick movement, Supervillain slid Hero’s right hand over the rim of the table and plunged the hunting knife in all the way through her palm. A howling, banshee’s scream tore through Hero’s throat as she bucked against her restraints, howling and screaming: please, please, stop! Stop!

Tears and snot clogged her senses as she shook her head, her arm violently trembling against the trauma and Supervillain’s tight hold. Hero splayed her fingers on her left hand, trying to summon the knife out of her hand, but Supervillain’s grip was too strong, or Hero’s pull was too weak, and he twisted the knife in her hand instead, pulling more shrieking screams of pain from Hero.

“There, now. The first two strikes will be in your palms, Hero. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise, you,” he said, stressing the final words, “will fail.”

Hero sobbed as her fingers tried to curl around the blade but could barely move more than a flinch in any direction. Hero wouldn’t be able to summon her blade for this hand for a while, until the wound healed and even then? Would she get physio for the muscles and tendons Supervillain just cut through with a terrifying amount of strength?

Supervillain put a hand on Hero’s hair, brushing the strands from her face like a parent would a child who’s eating an ice cream and threatening to get their hair stuck in it, chiding but fond.

“This doesn’t have to happen again, Hero. We can be civil with each other. You and Flynn, I know you have a special connection. A bond. You can have a nice life here, free from the burdens of being a hero in this city, of always fighting uphill battles hmm? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Hero was shivering, staring up at Supervillain and she knew she probably looked sickly pale and ashen as she felt the blood harden around the blade in her palm, dripping down to the floor on the other side. She knew it would leave a scar, the reminder that Supervillain wanted her to know in her gut and it made her sick.

“So Hero,” Supervillain beamed, smiling down at her. “Will you behave?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded, warm tears flooding her cheeks as she sniffled. Supervillain’s smile turned softer, comforting, like a concerned parent. “Use your words, Hero.”

Hero sniffed. “Y-yes,” she croaked.

“Yes, what?”

Hero sucked in a breath. “I’ll… I’ll behave.”

Supervillain smiled. “Good. Good. Excellent. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

Supervillain removed her restraints and sat her up on the metal table, and said he’d be a minute getting the things he needed around the room.

Hero sat upright shaking violently and trying to hold her hand steady by supporting it with her free hand at the wrist. She stared blankly ahead, both staring at nothing and staring resolutely at one white painted brick, where the groove was a faded, paler white, less glaring at her while Supervillain gathered supplies.

Before too long Supervillain was in front of her, setting bandages and gauze and rubbing alcohol down on the tray beside the bed. Along with other stuff Hero wouldn’t think was necessary like a ruler and Q-tips and other supplies. He was wearing surgical gloves as well, and despite herself Hero was thinking about what he did for a living.

“Are you a doctor?” She asked, her voice hollow.

Supervillain smiled a secretive smile at the question, as if he just found her out. “Ah. You’ve noticed, have you?”

Every once in a while Hero forgot that Supervillain was her nemesis of the last year, the Moriarty to her Sherlock Holmes, the Joker to her batman, although really more like the Riddler with how elusive he was. When she considered Supervillain’s job back before she knew him, she suspected it would be something as cerebral, like a lawyer, or a judge, or a doctor. She didn’t feel good that she was right.

“Yes, I’ve been a doctor since medschool. Long hours, overworked conditions, but I won’t bore you with hospital tales, snd luckily for you I happen to be an acute trauma surgeon,” he told her, smiling up at her through his lashes. “So your hand won’t have too much lasting damage. I didn’t hit any of the important muscles or tendons.”

Hero gasped, which sounded more like a bewildered laugh, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hissed as Supervillain pressed down on the wound. He smiled. “Sorry, I just have to make sure I didn’t hit anything important. Okay, yes.”

He took a Q-tip from the table and said, “okay, Hero. I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Try not to move too suddenly.”

Hero let out a sharp gasp of pain aa Sueprvillain inserted the Q-tip through Hero’s wound until it almost poked out the other side. “You’re doing great Hero.”

But she wasn’t. She was going to be sick as he pulled it out and she saw the blood. The smell had never annoyed her before, but now the metallic kiss hung on the air like a factory that had to suddenly cease operations, a promise of something to come.

He set the Q-tip on the table and measured the blood stain against the ruler. Hero stared down at it, her vision blurring slightly as her mind went woozy and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Supervillain was standing over her hands on her shoulders sitting her back up again. Hero blinked, bile climbing up her throat.

“Here,” Supervillain said and shoved a bar of chocolate into Hero’s hand, the wrapper already opened. Hero blinked at it dumbly, and Supervillain gently guided it to her mouth. Hero took a small bite of the sweet, velvet chocolate. “You fainted. You’re okay. It’s normal with this kind of injury, but I would like you conscious while I tend to it.”

Hero blinked at him and when he was certain she wasn’t going to faint again he released her shoulders and Hero remained upright.

“If you’re a doctor…” Hero said, her head spinning, but she was determined to get this out of her head. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”

“Ah,” Supervillain smiled. “Yes. The hippocratic oath. I did.”

“Then how can you justify this?” Hero asked, nodding to her hand. Supervillain was silent for a moment, dabbing at the bleeding of the wound, staunching the blood and cleaning around it. His movements were so methodical, so clean and purposeful, Hero found their eyes drawn to it as she took another bite of chocolate.

“Where I stabbed you, Hero, is a very delicate place to be stabbed. There is a flurry of activity in the centre of your palm.” Supervillain squeezed just below the wound and Hero squirmed with a groan. “Here is your carpal ligament that controls the movement of your thumb, index and middle finger.”

He squeezed Hero’s thumb and said: “and here are all the muscles for full use of your thumb. If I went too far to the right I could risk damaging the ligaments that connect to your other two fingers, or hitting a clump of nerves.”

Supervillain dropped Hero’s hand and held up his own, pinching the spot the dagger went through Hero’s palm. “Here, there is a hole in your hand. No bone, no muscle, no nerves or ligaments. Minimal damage and less time for recovery. No need for more than standard hand physio and six weeks recovery at most.”

Supervillain smiled at Hero. “The Hippocratic Oath is an oath all doctors must take to do no harm. However, all doctors must accept that in order to make something better, there must first be pain. To treat the sick they must make the sick endure the pain, and fight infection, the body must fight.”

“Your defiance, in the long run, will make you worse than if I curb it now. So I am doing no harm, by ensuring that you quit fighting me unnecessarily. The same way I am trying to stop this city from running straight to ruin.”

“I must do no harm,” his smile was warm, “as a doctor. But as a civilian I can’t stand by and watch this city burn. Does that answer your question?”

Hero stared. Then shrugged with their good shoulder. “Not really, but I’m kinda woozy from blood loss right now.”

Supervillain laughed. “Mmm, let’s do something about it.”

Supervillain worked fast, careful to only press too hard when Hero gave him a snarky reply, and later on she would wonder how she got so comfortable with the man bandaging her up being the same man that stabbed her in the first place. She would attribute it to blood loss and Supervillain would bandage her head and help her up the stairs he threw her down before, and when they got into the kitchen he gave her painkillers and water.

Flynn rushed through the doors, his heart racing when he saw Hero. Her head bandaged and her hand bound so tight and thick that Hero couldn’t close her fingers even if she wanted to.

“H-Hero?” He asked, breathless. Hero smiled at him when he came in and waved. Flynn was by her side in a second, while Supervillain stopped chatting to her about the reason they chose to replace the black and white tiles for the floor in the kitchen. “Are you okay? Hero, oh—”

“She’s fine,” Supervillain said lightly. “We’ve cleared the air, haven’t we Hero?”

Hero nodded, smiling at Flynn. Something she’d attribute to her concussion later because everything was just a little too smiley, a little too comfortable, a little too easy, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that Supervillain didn’t give her the floating, high end painkillers.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard the screaming,” Flynn said, his hands going to Hero’s cheeks, checking her over and looking for any sign that she was lying to him. Other than her too large pupils she seemed okay. “I— your daggers— you—”

Hero grabbed Flynn’s hand with her unbandaged one and interlaced their fingers. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tears brimmed on top of Flynn’s bottom eyelids as he looked at Hero, his Hero, acting so unlike herself. So compliant and soft. It made him ill, the fact that he was the reason Hero was injured in the first place. That she was being subjected to the whims of his family.

God, he didn’t think Dad would do this…

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hero asked with wide eyes.

Flynn ran a thumb over her bruised cheek, his touch featherlight. “Of course. Will you give out to me tomorrow about it?”

She shrugged happily. “Probably.”

Flynn laughed, and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’d love to.”

Flynn helped her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers keeping her close. “Be sure she doesn’t sleep for the next hour or two.”

“We can watch a movie!” Hero said, her voice light and chirpy, so like it was when she’d get excited before that it made Flynn’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he guided her out of the kitchen, away from his father and up the stairs to her room, terrified that if he dropped her hand for even a second he would lose her forever. “We can watch a movie.”

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call: (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @xenlust @books-are-everything @micechomper @shywhumpauthor @aarika-merrill @0eggdealer @watermelonrandom @tippytappytyping @swift-perseides @gloriousqueen101 @isnortkoolaidpowderteehee @jumpywhumpywriter @bitter-space @lumpofsand

@xxgalgurlxx @silentpotat0 @ladygwennn @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[snakebites-and-ink]

Current aesthetic of my brain is a whumpee who seems powerful and dangerous to outsiders, but in reality is under the thumb of someone who both treats them cruelly and controls their every move 💖

[whumperofworlds]

Whumptober 2024 Day 1: Search

Now on AO3!

Tags: @gala1981 @whumptober-archive @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @rebelxwriter @expressionless-fr

@fourwingedsnake (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed!)

CWS: injury, missing person, near death, blood, rescue, male whumpee, male caretaker, whumpee x caretaker

Fandom: Final Fantasy: Record Keeper

A/N: Heya everyone!!! I know, it's been a while since I wrote anything. But I decided to do Whumptober!!! Anyway, I won't waste time. Here we go!

I only own Drusus, Keme, Veles, and Taika. Everything else belongs to Square Enix.

ENJOY!!!

_____

Search party / panic attack / "if only we could hold on."

"Drusus is not going to like this." Veles sighed as he and the team sans Keme retreated from the ninth realm.

And he was right.

When he learned that his husband was missing, Drusus immediately volunteered to search for him. While the Ice Cavern wasn't a hard dungeon, the freezing air, along with the monsters roaming inside, could potentially mean death to the missing thief if he stayed long enough. So Veles, Taika, Tyro, and Aerith tagged along in the search party just in case things get dicey.

Drusus and the others called out for Keme as they searched, their voices echoing deep in the cavern. Monsters had tried to attack them, but they managed to defeat them with ease. For hours, the team searched. And searched.

Yet, Keme was nowhere to be found.

Drusus grew desperate at this point. He began to bark orders to the others, despite Tyro's protests, telling the others to split up and look. Using his authority as a mercenary leader of his group back home, Drusus was able to guide the team well. He knew that Tyro was a Record Keeper, hence he should lead, but so far his plans didn't come to fruition.

"Veles, Taika, left cavern. Tyro, Aerith, right cavern. I got the middle. Come back here in an hour."

Tyro knew not to argue with someone who was desperate, so he went with Aerith to the cavern Drusus ordered him to go to. Veles and Taika did the same, and Drusus rushed into the middle cavern, searching for the love of his life. His eyes darted back and forth, his ears opened as he searched for anything that could point Keme's whereabouts.

"Keme!" Drusus called, cupping his mouth as he did so. His voice echoed, but he didn't hear a response.

Drusus cursed under his breath, as he continued searching. Last time he was seen, according to Tyro, Keme was with the team down this cavern. They were then ambushed by monsters, and Keme ended up getting separated from them. The team was injured, however, and they had no choice but to flee the scene.

"KEME!" Drusus called again, louder this time. No response still.

"Baby! Please tell me you're okay! If you can hear me, scr—"

He stopped when he stepped on something wet. The smell of iron hit his nose, as he froze for a few seconds. His eyes widened, recognizing the smell. He had known that smell for many years; being a mercenary stopping and even killing criminals and monsters had its cons.

He glanced down, and his eyes grew wider when he saw what he was standing in.

A puddle of blood. Ahead of Drusus were bloodied footprints on the ice, near two large icicles that protruded from the ground.

"Dammit," Drusus gritted his teeth, now knowing that it was Keme's blood. Keme was nearby, he just knew it.

He rushed forward, following the footprints that led him between the icicles. There. Crumbled on the icy ground. There was a figure curled up and covered in blood.

Upon seeing the green clothing, Drusus' breathing hitched as his heart nearly stopped. His eyes grew so wide his eyelids disappeared.

"KEME!" He screamed.

He squeezed himself through the icicles, shivering as the ice touched his skin. He then ran towards his beloved, his heart racing. He gathered his husband in his arms, picking him up. The thief's face was pale, and his skin cold to the touch. Large bloody gashes adorned his chest and abdomen, the gashes so deep, Drusus could see a large amount of blood pouring down.

Drusus' face paled, his breathing hitched as he gently shook Keme's unmoving body. Keme didn't stir.

"Keme?" Drusus whispered. "Keme, wake up. It's me, Drusus."

No response.

"Keme. Keme!" Drusus' whispering turned to shouting, as he shook Keme again.

Keme remained silent and still.

Tears began to fall down the monk's cheeks, as he sobbed. He buried his face in Keme's chest, not caring that his beloved's—his beloved's—blood smeared on his face. He cried, his heart breaking into tiny pieces at the realization.

Keme. His husband. The one he swore to protect. Was dead—

"D-Drussy…?"

Drusus stopped his pathetic crying, as he glanced down at Keme. Keme began to stir, whispering Drusus' pet name over and over. Keme's body shook—whether from the blood loss or the cold, Drusus wasn't sure—as he opened his eyes.

Drusus' eyes widened as he let out a gasp. More tears fell, but this time, they were happy tears.

Keme was alive. Keme was alive! Oh thank Cosmos.

"Keme!" Drusus whispered, hugging his beloved tightly, as if he was afraid of losing Keme if he let go. "Oh thank Cosmos, I-I thought you were…"

"I… knew you'd come," Keme whispered, returning the hug. Although, his hug was weak due to his waning strength.

"Of course I would, love," Drusus sniffled. "I-I was so scared when I found you. Please, don't scare me like that again."

"Hey," Keme chuckled, "I'm okay. I was just chilling while waiting for you."

Drusus couldn't help but snort. Despite nearly dying, Keme kept his goofy personality, much to Drusus' relief.

Kissing Keme on the forehead, Drusus then said, "Come on, let's get you fixed up."

Keme merely nodded, his arms around Drusus' neck as Drusus left the cavern to meet the others. Taika and Aerith immediately began to heal Keme, as Veles and Tyro used Fire spells to warm the thief up. Keme couldn't help but smile at the care he was given. He was so lucky to have a husband and good friends like them.

[basementwhumpworm]

Unaware Whumpee is playing animal crossing long after the whumpening happened. They’re just doing their goals for the day and bonding with their villagers, before one of them says something to Whumpee that just… unlocks everything.

All the pain— All the distress Whumpee was put through flooded back. At first it was shock from somehow repressing that for all of these years. Then it’s grief. Grief over the time lost to the whumpening, the scars Whumpee accumulated physically and mentally.

The thing is, the villager that triggered Whumpees memories is extremely ugly. So the entire time Whumpee is having a mental breakdown, crying or whatever, the villager is just staring at Whumpee like this—

[cyberwhumper]

Birthday gift for @bxtterflystxtches !

Vicky is having a bad time :3c

[whumpsoda]

Seeing Me in You - Unboxing

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee

——————

Ever so anxiously fearful, he had safely arrived to his new home. After so long of training and treatment, he had been prepared to perfection for his purpose. He was going to finally be put to use.

His trip to delivery had proved painful, even if he was used to dealing with common afflictions. Such a tight cage was unfavorable for his hulking frame, and the constant, numerous shakes and bumps of the truck formed noticeable bruises over his skin, and a sour throbbing in his head.

Thankfully, 374629 wasn’t meant to look presentable. Especially not pretty. He knew he wasn’t, having been utterly made sure of it. Not average looking, even, but he was never meant to be. He certainly was not a romantic, nothing anyone would purchase depending on his level of attraction.

Once set to the ground below his master’s doorstep, he made a point not to listen into the muffled conversation mushing together like cotton clouds above him. Reducing it to a buzz in the back of his mind, he kept his brain nice and blank. His belly still whirled in a mixture of terror and excitement to be inches away from his owner, and minutes from finally being introduced to them.

He could clearly hear as the employees transporting him finally left, leaving him alone with his owner. Leaving him to begin his new life.

374629 froze rigid as light began cracking and seeping into his crate, flooding his face with warmth and blinding brightness. On instinct his eyes shut and wound tight, body curling into itself further.

He hoped his master would be a good master. Didn’t everyone? Every master would be good of course, he had to be grateful to have any master at all. He was lucky. Maybe they would be just like his handlers in the facility. He couldn’t help but wish they were. As much as he was in no place to have preferences, he would have liked the familiarity.

But as his master ever so carefully opened his box, revealing more and more of his face, 374629 couldn’t help but on instinct catch a tiny look. And his master was frowning.

It was obvious he was attempting to hide it, lips curling up ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably so. The fake, half smile failed to meet his solemn, moistening eyes that glittered in the light. Not only was he obviously unhappy with his delivery, but his master was crying.

As 374629 turned back away, he could only hope it was his pet’s unsavory predicament that he found so foul.

Covered in his own grime, tears and sweat, boxers shriveled and dirty, his burly figure was contorted every which way inside of his box. His collar wasn’t even a nice leather, rather cheap and itching raw, red marks over his neck.

Maybe his master had never ordered a boxie before. Maybe he didn’t realize his pet would arrive so disheveled.

“S- sorry,” the man sniveled, wiping his eyes with clammy knuckles, “This is just… a lot. More so for you, of course.” 374629 could sense the slightest of a soft smile in his voice, pulsing warmth through his pet’s butterfly-filled belly. 

374629 didn’t know if he was meant to respond. He knew his rules well, repeating one specifically like a mantra in his mind. Do not speak unless spoken to, he told himself, over and over again like the handlers had. But he’d never had someone, let alone a person, apologize to him. Apologize! How could he possibly know what to do?

“Ye- yes, sir.” He squeaked out, meek and shaky. He winced, expecting a quick and burning shock to the throat for his misbehavior - hesitating and stuttering - but, while no longer wearing his training collar, such a punishment never came. 

Eyes peeking open once again, 374629 fixated his vision on the wood paneling of his crate. Pets are never allowed to look their master in the face, he told himself, both reminding him of the rules and silently chastising himself for having the urge to do so a second time. He hoped his owner had noticed his previous mistake of doing so, so that he could receive needed discipline for such unacceptable behavior.

“Hmmm… how about we get you up and out of your box, okay?” His master commanded, although spoken strangely. As if it wasn’t a command, rather a question, but 374629 knew very well that it was. Commands were one thing he was good at knowing. “Unless you feel more comfortable in there, then-,”

Before his master could continue, 374629 swiftly and clumsily stumbled from the confines of his box, plopping to his knees beside it. Again he fixed his gaze somewhere beside his master, this time the concrete floor of the hallway, as much as he wished he could look to the man for approval.

“Oh.” 

The pet tensed. Did he do something wrong? He failed to discern an emotion from his master’s lack thereof, causing his stomach to quease with uneasiness. 

“That’s okay. That’s good, yeah.” The pet could have sighed in relief. “Now, can I ask you a question?”

374629 tensed once again. Another question. He was so terribly confused. Why was his master asking him? Permission, even? It had to be a trick. A test, to see how well he’d been trained, an easy on at that. 

“A master does anything they so desire.” He neatly recited, a smile nearly tugging at his lips. 

He was being such a good boy. Back at training he would have received a quick and concise good by his handler, and the thought of praise, no matter how little and insignificant, could have him practically drooling.

For a moment, his master paused.

“I guess I should’ve expected that.” He whispered, more so to himself than his pet. His tone almost shone disappointment to his words, a realization that could have brought rich bile flooding his pet’s mouth. “I just wanna know, um, what’s your designation?”

He didn’t even need to think to formulate a reply. “WRU, facility 034, Guard Dog 374629.” He recited on the instant, words rolling off his tongue with perfected memorization. His designation was beat to memory, coming completely and entirely natural to him. In the whole interaction, that was one thing he was sure of.

He heard his master swallow, thick with saliva that danced down his throat. “Guard dog?”

“Yes, sir.” He responded, without falter, and utilizing his deep, low chords.

“Me too.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @3-2-whump @taterswhump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[wolvietxt]

⋆𐙚₊˚ angsty prompts!

argument gone wrong: after a heated argument, one character storms out, and the other is left wondering if they’ve said something they can’t take back, afraid they’ve pushed the person away for good

unspoken feelings: one character has been in love with the other for a long time, but they stay silent, watching as the other falls for someone else, never knowing how much it hurts

betrayal: one character finds out the other has been hiding something huge from them - something that shatters the trust they thought they had. now they don’t know if they can forgive them

distance growing: one character notices the other pulling away, becoming distant and cold, but no matter how much they try to bridge the gap, it only seems to push them further apart

self-sacrifice: one character decides to leave, convinced that the other would be better off without them, but doesn’t tell them the real reason why, making the other believe they were abandoned

[saffitaffi]

“What if the evil tyrant who likes to kill puppies for fun actually just needed to fall in love with a sweet naive child who redeems them through the power of love and they were actually good the whole ti-“

What if they weren’t, though? What if their life twisted them to the point that they can only love through violence?

What if the narrative doomed them to ever play their role, a role that has already been chosen by forces higher than them?

What if the sweet, gentle character didn’t love them ‘despite their flaws’, or even at all?

Why should they? Especially if it’s a case of kidnapping. ESPECIALLY if they hurt them. Or their friends. Or take away their agency.

What if that strange contradiction of love and hatred in their heart tore them apart and gave them their justified end?

What if they CAN’T be fixed?

What if they don’t WANT to be fixed?

What if we stopped glamorizing abusive relationships and started actually exploring them?