#Held for Ransom

[sagechanoafterdark]

Ransom and Marshmallow getting into a boop war with each other 🤣🤣🤣

"Boop."

Blinking a few times, Ransom watched as your finger withdrew from the tip of his nose and back across the kitchen island. You were standing there in your robe and slippers still in the late afternoon, clearly getting caught up in your day off by wasting time on the internet.

Ransom scrunched his nose slightly, wiggling it at the itch, "What was that?"

"I boop'd you."

You blinked up at him expectantly, but he didn't quite know what that meant.

"And?"

With a slight frown, you stared meaningfully into his eyes for a long moment and slowly raised your finger again. This time pressing with a little more force onto the end of his nose with a whispered, "Boop."

He blinked again as you withdrew your finger again, "Is this some stupid internet thing?"

"JUST BOOP ME BACK RANSOM!"

This time he rolled his eyes with a scoff, blue eyes watching you critically as you stood beside him at the counter. Ransom tentatively raised a finger, pushing before he made any contact with the tip of your adorable nose but that second was all you needed. With a flash of teeth and a cheeky grin, you lightly bit the tip of his finger with all the teasing mischievous mirth of an internet sensation cat.

"Hey," he exclaimed, hand dangling from between your teeth.

"Tha's wha hough get fo hot pahying," you mumbled around his digit.

Ransoms' lips pursed as he eyed you amusedly, "I'll show you what you get!"

Before he could get out of his seat you, spit out his finger and dashed out of the kitchen going for the stairs, "You'll never catch me!"

"Here I come pussy cat," he exclaimed taking the steps two at a time behind you. Grinning ear to ear as you giggled, dashing towards the bedroom where Ransom caught up to you and slammed the door shut behind him. "Got you trapped, Kitten."

"Oh no I'm so scared," you mocked from the rumpled bed, shuffling over the covers before Ransom tackled you with a heavy oof.

You laid still under him for a moment before trying to wiggle, "Christ you're heavy Ran."

"Must be all that Golden Retriever energy I've got," he growled into your ear.

"I was only teasing. It was girl's night with Lizzie, how was I supposed to know Grayson could hear me?"

Your excuses were short-lived as Ransom dug his fingers into your sides and all the little nooks and crannies he knew would have you squirming beneath him in no time.

Laughter and panic were hot in your chest as Ransom held you down, tears springing to your eyes and streaming as you wobbled back and forth at his mercilessness. "Ran. Please. Stop," you wheezed out. "Please! Oh no, I'm gonna pee Ransom! Stooooop!"

"It's what you get for teasing me," he shot back, mock rage in his voice. "Now take your punishment!"

A loud scream of laughter erupted from you as you managed to get the upper hand. Rolling him off of you and freeing yourself to the air of the room. You straddled him in the confusion, legs gripping his waist on either side.

"Ha," you exclaimed, sweaty and disheveled above him as your thighs pinned his hands to his sides. "Now who's got who?"

Ransom laughed a little, the rumble starting deep in his chest as he looked up at you, "Oh no, you got me. What do I do now?"

Narrowing your eyes you looked down at him before a very noticeable friend of his throbbed against your leg. With a smirk, you were sure to wiggle and settle your hips against him, just enough to tease and make him buck up against you just slightly.

"Close your eyes."

Instead of closing he narrowed his gaze at you as you began to lean down over him, "Trust me," you purred against him. "Close your eyes."

This time he did as asked, those impossibly long lashes touching his cheeks.

Ransom waited, feeling the heat of your breath and your weight shifting on top of him. Anticipating the feeling of your soft pillowy lips against his in that teasing brush he loved getting from you on playful days like this one. He waited patiently, eyes closed as he felt the ghost of your breath over his lips before...

"Boop."

"That's it!" Ransom shouted eyes shooting open as he flipped you over into the bed. You shrieked with laughter as he pinned you down kissing you as many times in a row as he pleased.

#Ransom x Reader #Ransom x You #Ransom Drysdale x Reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #Ransom x Marshmallow #Held For Ransom

[whumperofworlds]

Caretaker came home one day, only to pause when they saw how wrecked the area was. Blood everywhere. Signs of a struggle.

And their partner, Whumpee, was nowhere in sight.

On the broken table was a note. Caretaker took it and read it, their hands trembling in worry and anger.

"Your dear Whumpee was quite good with welcoming guests, Caretaker. Why, we like them so much, we decided to take them with us! If you want them back, pay us $100,000, and we'll discuss letting Whumpee go."

Caretaker gritted their teeth, before grabbing their weapons before heading out.

Screw paying the ransom. The kidnappers will pay with their lives.

#whump #whump prompt #kidnapping #held for ransom #blood #whumpee x caretaker #based on that skyrim mission lol #you would know the one #caretaker #ransom note

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

A Different Kind of Ransom

The only consistent thing about Alex's story is that she is, at some point, kidnapped. There is no main story. Only branching AUs that pop up like timelines in the multiverse.

For @whumperofworlds WOW Day 11 | Held for Ransom

CW: implied kidnapping, held for ransom, threat of violence

---

To: Esteemed Thomas Mallory

I am writing to you in regards to your campaign, namely, to suggest you don’t make promises you can’t keep.

It is clear making promises is an essential part of the job, and I don’t fault you for playing the game.  Thus, I require only one promise kept to the fullest extent:  Protect our children.

You have a lot to make up for.  I hope this letter prompts you to make change for the better, if not for the four children already missing, then for your daughter.

As an incentive, I have taken your daughter.  Not hers, but yours.  For now, she is safe here, but I urge you to work diligently.  She will be returned when I have proof of the other children’s safe return.

If you care as much as you say you do, this will be a simple task.

- X

#wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 11 #held for ransom #implied kidnapping #threat of violence #ransom letter

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck [Masterlist] 💉🃏🔪

"How do you- I swear, I don't know you, just let me go and I'll never bother you again. Please I just-"

Quickly, the sharp blade placed itself down against his lips, and with a short exhale, his desperate blabbering stopped in an instant. It didn't cut, just passed on its silent threat. The cold steel turned to lay flat now, Elliot wasn't sure he was even allowed to breathe anymore.

"Don't. Worry. About. It." The man said, talking him down like a moody infant, but his anger only thinly veiled. "When I get what I want, a thing you can't help with in the slightest, I'll let you go."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

CW PART 1-10: kidnapping, captivity, non-con drugging, held for ransom, torture, abuse, toxic relationships

CW PART 11 onwards : Lima syndrome, obsessive Whumper, recapture, drug abuse, disabled Whumpee

This series was created during Febuwhump 2023, the first nine parts are following the prompts → [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

PART 10

Intermezzo:

Siege

Greetings from Maui

Here and back again

Fair-weather company

Wellness check

PART 11

Haven

PART 12

PART 13

PART 14

Tremors

Étude (short drabbles)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Picrew [1] [2] [3]:

Elliot Ribera

Christoph Morris

Amber

Morris' apartment

Dutch

Everyone

Size comparison

Asks:

Fun facts

Morris´ plans for the future

Female!Elliot?

Morris and consent

Faceclaims

A normal meet-up

Ask game 1 2 3

Truth serum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

#stack the deck #elliot ribera oc #christoph morris oc #whump series #captivity #kidnapping #masterlist #held for ransom #non-con drugging #torture #mutilation #febuwhump 2023

[tendertenebrosity]

Part 11 of the Hostage series, princes and pirates and imprisonment, oh my.

 Masterpost is here.  Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts, @redstainedsocks

“I don’t understand,” Jak said. “Don’t you want to go home?”

His face was creased in bafflement, his hands dangling off his knees as he sat in the chair.

Rill awkwardly smoothed a hand over the sheet beside him on the bed, futilely seeking order in the creases and folds of fabric. “It… isn’t that simple,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It… it just isn’t,” Rill said. He sat back, leaning against the wall, and covered his face with his hands for a moment. “Your uncle sent you in here to question me about it, didn’t he,” he said, mildly accusing.

“Oh, sure,” Jak agreed readily. “But that isn’t really why I’m asking.”

“I just don’t want to be ransomed.”

“Do you think your folks can’t afford it?” Jak dismissed that with a wave of a hand. “If so, talk to Tallow, it can be a token amount. More to save face than anything. Tallow would always rather get something than nothing.”

“It’s… it’s not that…”

Rill sighed heavily. He took his hands away from his face, but still did his utmost to avoid Jak’s eyes - Jak, who was now sitting across the room from him, worried and earnest and apparently content to sit there looking at Rill for as long as it took to get an answer out of him.

Guilt plucked uneasily at his nerves. Back when they were imprisoned together, Rill hadn’t really intended to lie to Jak. It had just been… easier not to broach the subject. And what had it mattered, anyway, when they were both likely to die soon?

But then they hadn’t died, and it had moved from being just an omission of irrelevant information to a lie. And that lie was keeping him safe, he couldn’t abandon it no matter how bad it felt to be lying to Jak, who had saved his life for no reason and didn’t seem to expect anything at all in return.

Jak was a friend to Rill the Nobody. Would he still be a friend to the Prince Consort?

Well, Rill didn’t really intend to find out. No matter how long Jak sat there, frowning with the force of his concern.

“It’s not an amount of money that’s the problem,” Rill said, trying to skirt the issue, talk about it without talking about it. “It’s more that… I don’t want to be more of a burden than I already have been. It’s just… better that I stay away.”

“What? Stay away?” Jak shook his head. “And leave them wondering where you are, whether you’re dead? How is that better for them? You just want to disappear out of their lives? That’s fucked up.”

“I’m not disappearing,” Rill said. “They knew where I was. They will assume the Empire killed me.”

Could they be partially right? he wondered. Could the Prince Consort be dead and just plain Rill crawl away from the shell? The prospect wasn’t... terrible.

“And that’s awful!” Jak protested. “When you could go home safe and be happy - ”

“I don’t think I do want to go home!” Rill burst out. “Jak, they left me there!” He could not stay sitting any more. He pushed up off the bed and lurched upright, turning his back to Jak. There was no room in here to pace, not with the both of them in here. He settled for clenching and loosening his fists as he spoke to the closed door, his voice uneven. “Look, I’m not saying they made a bad choice or the wrong choice, but they left me there to rot. Did Tallow tell you that? The Empire asked for more than I was worth, so they left me in the Empire’s hands knowing full well what was happening to me.”

Rill heard Jak shift behind him, but he didn’t want to turn around and see his face. Rill was breathing a little harder, his throat burning. His eyes, too, which wasn’t usual.

“How am I supposed to - how can I - ” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Jak, how are you supposed to go back home after that? They’re not going to understand. I don’t blame them. But I just…”

He trailed away. The sound of his breathing filled up the room for a few seconds.

“Well, you probably should,” Jak announced.

Rill turned, startled. “What?”

“Blame them! Gods, man!” Jak slapped a hand down on his thigh. “What do you mean, you don’t think they made a bad choice? If they could have saved you they should have! That’s family!”

Rill managed a smile, through his prickling eyes and the lump in his throat.

“Jak…”

“More than you were worth! Calling yourself a burden! Bah!” Jak leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands in a ‘what gives’ sort of gesture. “Rill, who talks to you like this? Getting you back safe from the Empire should have been worth any cost!”

“In, uh… the idea is right,” Rill said, unable to find the words in Castar for what he meant. “The idea, the theory, sure, a life is worth anything. But that’s not how it works in the real world.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jak folded his arms and looked mulish.

“Well, what about lots of lives?” Rill asked. “You’d trade lots of people for one person?”

Jak shook his head. “Not trade lives. Risk lives, maybe, it’s different.”

Rill sank back down to sit on the edge of his bed. “It isn’t, really,” he said. “I can be… er, what’s the word in Castar for ‘objective’? No?”

Jak shrugged, nonplussed.

“I can look at the big picture.” Rill coughed into his arm, wincing at the pain. “One life isn’t worth many. It was the right choice.” Why did I bring this up, he wondered. Why get all choked up about Tali leaving me, and then explain in great detail why she was right? Why does this hurt so much? I don’t know what’s going on in my own head, how can I expect anybody else to?

“Look, I don’t see how this changes things,” Jak said after a moment. “OK, sure, you think they were right not to save you. You are wrong, but whatever. Why does that mean you can’t go home now? Uncle’s not going to ask to trade you for a dozen people.”

“No,” Rill agreed. “I suppose not.”

“So tell him who you are and go home!”

Rill bit his lip. He looked down at his hands, which were starting to heal up from all of the bruises and cuts he’d gained during his time in the army camp. He ran a thumb idly over a healing scab.

“Jak… what if they say no,” he whispered. “What if they still say no? They might not even entertain a negotiation.”

Rill was not sure he could take that.

“Do you really think that’ll happen?” Jak said, hushed and frowning.

Rill shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not… even before I was stupid enough to get myself captured, I wasn’t exactly the most useful to have around.”

He picked at the roughness on his skin, pulled it back to bleeding and watched the bead of bright red well up on his knuckle. Little merchant clerk, not good enough for the Queen’s hand. What use are you? A captain in uniform, very close by the Queen’s side. “Truthfully… they’ve probably replaced me already. It’d probably mess up a lot of people’s plans if I went back.”

After all, Rill being gone would solve a lot of political problems. Couldn’t be a lightning rod for political discontent if he died tragically, could he? And the new nobility would have no cause to complain. And Tali could finally get the kind of husband she’d always wanted.

“Who cares?” Jak demanded. “If I were you, I would take joy in messing those people’s plans up. They shouldn’t count you out so easily.” He leaned forward, making the chair creak under his weight, and pointed forcefully at Rill. “The more I hear out of you, Rill, the more I think maybe fuck your family. They’re not worth the name. You have to go back to make them eat their words! Be great and make them all regret valuing you so little.”

Rill rocked back, startled. The smile he found on his face tugged unexpectedly at a scab on his lip. “That’s what you’d do?”

“Absolutely,” Jak said firmly.

“Well, I’m not you, Jak,” Rill said. Which was unfortunate - if Rill had been more like Jak, the court would probably have liked him more from the start anyway. “I don’t think that would work for me. But thank you.”

Jak subsided, looking a little deflated. “You’re still not going to tell us, huh?”

“No,” Rill said. “I’m not.”

“If we asked and they did say no, Rill, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Jak said. “I don’t really think Tallow would go through with killing you. He already likes you more than most Mainlanders.”

“I don’t think that’s true…” Except insofar as you all seem to hate us as default…

“We would figure out… something,” Jak continued. “Some other way to get the money, maybe, or some way you can work and still stay here. The ships pick up a crew member from one of the safe ports, sometimes - not often, but it happens, Skyle told me about it.”

Rill smiled sadly. Or, Tallow will contact the Empire and let them know he has a bigger prize than he thought. I highly doubt I’m going to be welcome as crew on a pirate ship, as funny as Tali and the council would probably find that.

“No,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry, Jak, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m not being ransomed. I’m not going home.”

And whatever happens will just have to happen.

#Jak of the Sanctuary Isles #Consort Rill #Hostage #Held for Ransom #poor self esteem

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: kidnapping

Zoom call ransom. Rescuers have 40 minutes to find out where Whumpee is and rescue them or they’ve no choice but to pay the ransom and hope for the best.

#whump #whump prompt #held for ransom #kidnapping

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Horrors of captivity for 14 hours in the hands of kidnappers were recounted by Mrs. Nell Donnelly, top picture, who is head of a $3,000,000 Kansas City, Mo., dress concern, when the trial of four alleged abductors started in that city on May 2. Mrs. Donnelly was kidnapped from the driveway of her home with her chauffeur, driven to a lonely farmhouse outside of the city and held for $75,000 ransom. She says the kidnappers, after threatening to blind her, became afraid and took her back to the city, where she was freed. Two of the alleged kidnappers who will stand trial are shown in insets. Right is William Lacy Browning, farmer, and left is Paul Scheidt, dairyman. The two others who will be tried are Mrs. Ethel Depew and Charles Mele. Mrs. Depew's husband, suspected of complicity in the kidnapping plot is still at large.”

- from the North Bay Nugget. May 4, 1932. Page 1.

#kansas city #kidnapping #kidnappers #kidnapping plot #dressmakers #held for ransom #ransom demand #adbuctors #the great depression #history of crime and punishment

[whumperofworlds]

A Whumpee kidnapped for ransom. As the kidnappers called their team for the ransom, saying the amount, Whumpee is offended by how low the amount is.

"No! Not a million dollars! I'm worth a billion dollars!"

The kidnappers looked at them incredulously, before they shrugged and demanded to their team a billion dollars for Whumpee's safe return.

"That's better," Whumpee said with a smile.

#whump #whump prompt #crack whump #kidnapping #held for ransom #whumpee

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

[martyrbat]

if you could have a limited comic run (batgirl 2000-esque) for ANY minor character, who would you choose?

#im sure i could use another example but. i am a cass stan before i am anything else and i think it makes my point clear #no more than 100 issues at the maximum #great development and characterization #a writer who cares and loves the character #planned arcs and proper lead up and solid pacing #like even if this character (a hero or villain or neutral) never is seen in another comic. this run is held dear to you. #who would you choose? #you can go blorbo route or just ‘i wonder where they were gonna take this/this character had potential’ route. doesn't matter #but I'm just curious :) #ransom note

[ghostly-bastard-artchive]

Heyyyyyyyy, long time no aaaaaart, have Cesar as na apology

#cesar torres fanart #tmc cesar #cesar tmc #the mandela catalogue cesar #cesar torres #tmc art #tmc fanart #tmc #the mandela catalogue fanart #ghostlysdoodles #ghostlyghostyghostbastard #fanart #fanart ! #fanart! #the winter blues and paperwork snuck into my home overnight and kidnapped my inspiration #she is being held for ransom and i must read copius amounts of fanfiction and many videos on many topics to get her back #((also too focused on my ao3 fic lol))

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 10

CW: regretful Whumper (POV), Lima syndrome, mentions of death, stalking, obsession

PART 9 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ Intermezzo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He wanted to make it all nice for their reunion, even bought a button-up shirt at Goodwill to fit in. It felt surreal, like a last-minute Halloween costume he threw together on the spot.

Morris didn't recognize himself in the mirror of the opera bathroom, squeaky clean and smelling of lemon urinal cake, admiring his little dress up game.

It was impressive how cheap the Christmas Oratorio turned out to be. What he had imagined as a fancy event for the city's socialites was a mostly family-orientated gathering, children running around the ancient walls of the building and meeting up with their grandparents before taking a seat. There was no doubt in Morris' mind that this wasn't their idea to begin with, probably just one boring service to attend to make tomorrow's Christmas Eve all the more sweet. The love for the art and performance aside, that's not what he was looking for tonight.

Morris kept himself at the edge, disturbing nobody who wanted to join the quickly filling rows of chairs, nearly melting into the surroundings. Nearly, should be stressed, five minutes in some old hag mistook him for a server and ordered a small prosecco. He hoped she would choke on it.

As his criminally cheap coat was pressed into the pillar behind him, still hidden from the podium, the unusual attendee was kept out of focus. If this was supposed to be a success, he needed to avoid Sahra like the plague.

The audience settled down, only interrupted by distant chatter or a wayward sneeze. The calm started to vanish again when the conductor and their associates set foot onto the stage, greeted by a wave of applause and too busy to shake each other's hands to welcome the true stars of the show.

Morris was patient, though a long festering itch made its way up his neck. Any minute now.

The man behind the piano was hidden well at the beginning, waiting for his turn to be introduced. Shy, maybe. The smooth and glossy surface of the wood mirrored the orange lights overhead, a giant Advent wreath graced the ceiling, four candles lit to honor the upcoming celebrations.

Any festive mood was punched out of Morris when the pianist finally revealed himself. Of course, he should've expected that much; the man standing on the other end of the room was not right in any form. Too tall, too blond, too...wrong.

The understudy, or whatever they're called here.

He needed to be more realistic about it, nearly kicking himself for being that naive. Obviously, he wouldn't be here, the last time they saw each other he couldn't even hold a teacup, so how was he supposed to be up and ready to play again?

Maybe not this time, but Easter was realistic... If they had the chance to perform again. Pentecost, at least, but that would be months. Morris was unsure he could hold out that long.

After all, his social media went offline instantly. The data that Morris previously used to get to know him better was unavailable now; no friend lists, no favorite locations, no address he didn't already know and kept an eye on. He wasn't even sharp enough to discover an obituary column, he had searched thoroughly.

No one should exclude that possibility, even if it made his heart sink and stomach turn. Septic shock, no doubt. That would be Morris fault, naturally, because he couldn't even produce a single coherent thought before taking action because I am a fucking failure who isn't even-

He left shortly after the applause for the second part died down.

The bathroom greeted him again, with the sterile lights overhead, eerily similar to another room that brushed through his mind from time to time. This one was much more pristine, of course, and even though the memories always carried a sliver of guilt with them, he preferred them over uncertainty.

Morris thought a lot about their time together; to keep his mind off Amber, shame felt almost better than the pain she still triggered: like a hot twinge in his chest.

He searched for her, more out of habit than anything. Yet, her parents always had a talent for keeping their dirty little secrets neatly wrapped up and stashed away, he gave up after another two weeks of insistence. How was he even supposed to approach her; build trust again? Another plan he would make, another plan he would fuck up.

Enough.

Morris sat down on the closed toilet lid to let out an exhausted huff. Having a smoke in the lav would hopefully get him back on track, wherever that shall lead. Slim threads of smoke met the ceiling in a stream, letting the worries of the past month dissolve with them. Moments of peaceful silence let him drift off. Weightless for a moment.

"You're not allowed to smoke in here, the alarm can go off."

A shadow below the stall made itself at home, right next to the wall that separated them. The last thing he needed now.

"Mhh," Morris produced with a cool demeanor. Shifting nervously in the high heels and floor-length gown he could make out through the space at the stall's bottom, the person took a seat.

"Care to share one?"

He didn't really, but if that made them shut up, he had more than enough to spare. Lighting its tip on his own one, he passed the stub to a pair of finely manicured fingers. Green, just as the dress, but in the wrong hue. What a shame.

The legs attached to the rest visibly calmed down, he took the chance to relish the newfound quiet.

"Enjoying the show?" Jesus fucking Christ.

"Sure. The pianist is horrible, though." Not that he could judge his skill, he was just the dollar-store version of who Morris hoped to meet. Meet again.

A light chuckle followed, stalled by a cough.

"Yeah, he's the best we could get on short notice. Always off-key, though, a true shitshow."

"You're part of this?" You know the members? Maybe they were friends with-

"Yeah," a cloud of smoke spread among their feet, somehow they sounded less than proud, "Always a pleasure."

Morris hesitated, not entirely convinced the next step would be a good idea: "A friend invited me, but I think I got stood up."

"Sorry to hear that. A lot of things go wrong today..." Pensive, he used their speaking break to latch onto any sliver of available information.

"So, what happened to his precursor?" Don't be useless.

"Huh?"

"The pianist. I bet the one before was way better." Less than a lie.

"Oh, that's the sad part. But I shouldn't just talk about that with everyone, so..."

They were lucky to be confined by the plywood board. Otherwise, he would have slapped the truth out of them in an instant. Although that never seemed to do the trick, at least not when Morris did it.

"I mean, it's his fault you have to work like this now, right?" he teased instead, "Hope the excuse is good enough to justify leaving y'all in the lurch."

His counterpart bit their tongue violently, not wanting to offend a paying customer. A minor scandal was the last problem the orchestra needed right now. That's why one should mind their own business while hiding from their conductor.

Though the stranger had a point, not a great one, but still, this whole fiasco could've been avoided. Some people just need to get their shit together.

"Some kind of accident, I guess. I think he was also stressed, y'know? Tried to escape..."

Don't say that!

"What?" their voice pierced through the thin wall separating them.

"Don't say that," Morris repeated. Only a shallow breath could be heard in the room.

"Uh, the duet is going to end in a few moments and my solo… I need to speed this up. Thanks for the cig, anyway!"

Duty called for effort, saving the absentee from further interrogation. Alone again, Morris took another draw, not an ounce wiser.

Brooke Hoffstetter left the bathroom as quickly as she entered, sneaking back to her place under the disapproving eyes of the conductor. She didn't care about her performance like she used to, overworked and underappreciated, she wanted nothing more than just take the back seat for once.

Nevertheless, she played the firm strings of her violin, the pianist sending grating tunes to the back of her neck.

--------

Darkness surrounded Morris as he walked through the city park to meet with a partner. A nameless job beckoned him with cash he surely needed by now; since they didn't ask for help as much as they used to. Probably because the damage he had done to the hideout had become more than visible.

An official mess, inside and out.

Maybe it was better this way, to slowly fade away from the people he surrounded himself with; never been a perk, clearly. His brother-in-law had made an offer a long time ago: minimum wage, working in the gym he was managing. Or back to the retirement home, if they were kind enough to ignore his record.

Not the worst thing that could happen.

They met on the edge of the harbor and after the usual mindless small-talk, they finally went to work. Simply collect and drop-off, he used to do worse for less.

Not much thought was wasted on vague job opportunities, Morris couldn't even focus on the one he was supposed to fulfill at the moment.

It hurt inside, any second they weren't together; the idea of the person who kept his mind away from the present burned even deeper than he could have ever anticipated. Nothing more than a cruel mixture made from shame and nostalgia. Someone who had met his worse side and decided to still be sincere enough to not punish him with spite.

The concord he got in those few hours gave him a touch of what was owed to him, of missed chances…

It would be different next time, he hoped, knowing full well he reached a dead end. He didn't need talk therapy or a half-assed phone call, what Morris had lost in that house just came once in a lifetime. He was sure that they had thrown away a true bond.

Sitting mute next to his partner and hearing detailed ramblings, the memories drifted further away, yet continuing to spin in circles over and over. It was obvious that Morris ached for the only person who could soothe his hunger.

My Elliot.

A hot twinge in his heart left him breathless.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername

#stack the deck #elliot ribera oc #christoph morris oc #whump series #captivity #kidnapping #held for ransom #regretful whumper #lima syndrome #whumper pov #death mention #stalking #obsession #obsessive whumper #whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #imagine being so lonely that you want to befriend the person whose fingers you wanted to chop off #clown energy #ambers got competition now #hes digivolving into an intimate whumper at light speed

[alrightberries]

i absolutely adore the notion of bkg with an assassin wife

#it's such a fun trope to play around with #pro-hero bkg sighing when he gets a ransom call saying they've got you held hostage #and all he can do is pray that they held you hostage outside bc he just finished vacuuming and doesn't want you getting blood on the carpet #assassin bkg and his assassin wife bantering while out on a mission #he grabs your backup knife from your belt and stabs a guy aiming for you while asking if you remembered to let the dog out this morning #or the latest brainrot #mr and mrs smith au #a classic lovers to enemies #i am so deeply in love with this trope and i will die on this hill #ash talks