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darkthingshappen · 2 years

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No. 20 IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

Content warning for implied human trafficking, beating, broken bones

As ALWAYS, thanks to the AMAZING @whumpcereal for the beta. And to my whumperful crew that always cheers me on: @oddsconvert and @sparrowsage as well as @quietly-by-myself. Y'all are the best!

Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

Whumpee lied curled up on the cold stone floor of the cell he’d been kept in. He kept his body tucked up in as tight of a ball as he could manage, pushed all the way back in the far corner of the room. Maybe, just maybe, he could make himself small enough that the pain would disappear.

He’d been snatched off the back end of the soccer field. It had happened so fast, he didn’t even have a chance to scream for help. One second, he’d been standing at the trunk of his car, looking out at the field while he tossed his gear into the back–and the next, a van had pulled up and rough hands had yanked him backward, pinning his arms, covering his mouth. He saw a guy close the trunk of his car, take the keys, and slide into the driver’s seat just as the van door slid shut. It was quick and silent. Fucking efficient. Efficient kidnappers. The thought struck him as odd.

Within seconds, plastic zip ties secured his arms and a knotted cloth had been shoved into his mouth and pulled tight behind his head. When he tried to kick, zip ties bound his legs as well.

Whumpee looked around frantically, but he didn’t know who any of these guys were. He was just a soccer player. Fucking minor league. No one knew him. He wasn’t worth anything. Or so he’d thought.

Whumpee didn’t know how long they’d driven, but eventually, they had dragged him from the van into a barn. He’d thrashed and kicked as much as he could with his bound wrists and legs when they’d stung him up by his wrists until his feet couldn’t even touch the floor. He’s spend the next hours of his life being beaten and tortured.

They asked him where the money was and how he thought he was going to get away with it. It wasn’t until they’d broken his ribs and his femur that they began to wonder if they had done something wrong. If there was a hitch in their plan. His broken leg throbbed, and he screamed in agony when they lowered him to the floor.

He must have slipped into shock and lost consciousness because when he came around again he’d been dumped into this stone room and a man he didn’t recognize was nudging his broken leg with the toe of his boot. The pain shot up and down his leg and up into his back.

Whumpee groaned. “Why… why are you d-doing this? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Some of my men are apparently idiots. You have a lot of similarities with a few of the guys on your team. I’m willing to bet you’ve never invested in cryptocurrency, have you?

“Crypto… no. What?”

“That’s what I thought. But there is a guy on your team, similar height and build to yourself, same color hair, preference for neon green shin guards.”

“Neon green… I don’t… Teammate? You wanted Teammate?”

“There we go. Now, we’ve already contacted him. Took a lovely picture of your broken leg to let him know we were serious.”

“But… I don’t even really know him. We don’t hang out. He won’t care about me.”

“Oh, you’re very wrong on that front. He caved immediately. Told us exactly where the money was. Only problem was that he’d spent some of it. See, he thought we wouldn’t even notice the small amounts he was sneaking from our accounts.”

“Who are you people?”

“You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that. Teammate has agreed to trade himself for you along with what’s left of the money.”

Whumpee wondered at that. Why would they do that? Would he do that for them? He wasn’t sure. But, why? Why would he trade himself for someone he barely knew? Sure, apparently this was Teammate’s fault, but he didn’t have to do it. Whumpee felt both relieved and guilty over their teammate’s apparent fate. These people were bad news. That didn’t bode well for Teammate.

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh, we have friends that will help him earn back what he owes, plus interest. Sadly, this means he won’t be able to play soccer anymore. He’ll be… out of the country for the foreseeable future.” Whumper paused and glanced around the room. “It’s gonna take him a few days to get the money and set some things in order. So until then, you’ll be our guest.”

“Please. I need help. My leg…”

“Your leg will be fine. Once we’ve traded you two, you can go to a hospital and get it set. Until then,” he nudged whumpee’s broken leg again, “considered it a deterrent to you trying to escape.

“Please, it hurts. I can’t even sleep. It hurts so bad.”

Whumper reached forward and tucked a strand of whumpee’s hair back behind his ears. “It’s just a few days. Plus, the more exhausted you are, the easier you’ll be to manage.” He smiled a bright charming smile at Whumpee that Whumpee found utterly sickening.

“Please,” Whumpee begged again.

“I’ll be back to collect you in a couple of days. So, just rest.” Whumper set a bottle of water down in front of Whumpee. “Don’t drink it all at once. No one’s gonna be around to give you any more.”

With that, Whumper stood from his crouch and walked to the heavy metal door. He knocked once, the door opened, and then he left without a backward glance.

That had been days ago. Whumpee was weak with hunger and thirst. He curled up with his arms tight around his middle and his leg as still as he could keep it.

He’d tried the door. He’d banged and pounded until his hands were bruised and bloodied, but to no avail.

So, when a sound of metal grinding on metal came and the door swung open, he thought he was hallucinating.

Whumpee was carried to the van and dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. He couldn’t even find the strength or the voice to scream when his leg hit the floor. His eyes rolled back and his vision blurred and darkened.

When he came too again, he was being dragged from the van. He found himself slumped over in the dirt, his hands cuffed in front of him, but he didn’t have the energy to move or fight. Footsteps rang towards him, and he flinched back.

“No, please! I don’t know anything. Please, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt my leg any more. Please!”

“Whumpee! Whumpee, it’s Teammate. I’m so sorry. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna fix this. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m gonna make it right. I swear. They… they won’t bother you again.”

Whumpee could barely open his eyes as he glanced blearily up at Teammate.

“No… you… you can’t.”

“I can. It’s done. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I… I made some arrangements. You’re gonna be okay. I’m so sorry. Just stay here, and be still.”

Teammate got up and walked past them. Whumpee heard a scuffle and then the van started; it drove away a moment later. Whumpee was cold. He opened his eyes just a crack and could see the night sky. The Milky Way Galaxy… Like someone spilled milk across the sky…

He felt like he laid there for an eternity in the eerie quiet of the empty desert. But at some point, a vehicle drove up.

“I got him. He’s over here!”

Whumpee whimpered. They were coming back for him. They were going to break the rest of his bones. Make him hurt. He could still hear their laughter while they beat him.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re here to help. We’re federal agents. You’re okay.”

“Teammate. They took Teammate. Gonna hurt them. Please. Stop them. They’re gonna… out of the country. Please.”

“Easy, son. He’s okay. We got them a few miles up the road. When they took you, he came to us. He’s okay. The bad guys are in custody.”

Whumpee slumped down to the ground, utterly spent and exhausted.

“It’s okay. Just rest, son. We’re gonna get you to a hospital. You’re gonna be okay.”

Whumpee did just that. His eyes slipped closed and he let himself drift. He still had a lot of questions and fears, but for now, he could sleep. He could rest. He was finally safe. It was over.

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

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Impossible Situation

Whumptober 2022: 20. Prisoner Trade, 26. Separated Fandom: Altered Carbon, Takeshi Kovacs Word Count: 1355 TW: Angst, Mentions of Family Violence, Forced to Return to Abusive Situation, Separated Loves

Takeshi Kovacs stood at the far end of the abandoned building just as he had been instructed. His long coat swirled gently around his legs as he turned in a slow circle, silently cataloging every entrance or possible point of escape. A quick getaway wouldn’t be necessary if the handoff went as planned. But since when has anything ever gone as planned for Takeshi?

He stilled when he felt a hand softly rest on the small of his back. Glancing over, the small smile of reassurance you were giving him felt like a knife in his chest. You should not be comforting him at this moment. You should be terrified, furious, or heartbroken. But instead, you were trying to make him feel better about what was about to happen. How pathetic was he?

As if reading his thoughts, you rested your head against his shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Tak. We’ll just follow the instructions and everything will be fine.”

“How is any of this ‘fine’?” he snarled. “How did I ever agree to any of this?”

“Because you didn’t have a choice,” you whispered, rubbing your hand gently across his back.

He sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. You were right. As much as it infuriated and terrified him, he had been unable to find another way out of the current situation. Which was why he was about to hand you over to the worst crime syndicate in Bay City. Back to your family.

The only daughter of the head of the organization where women were viewed as nothing more than bargaining chips, your life had been nothing but pain and heartbreak for as long as you could remember. When money is no obstacle, no one cares about lasting damage done to a sleeve or even sleeve death. Though you were only 86 years old, Tak had been disgusted to learn you had stopped counting sleeves after your fiftieth one almost twenty years ago. Each new skin was necessary due to the severity of damage done to your previous one. It was no wonder you finally ran away.

But now he was willingly giving you back to them. To the people who had essentially killed you over and over again for almost a century. And when he had told you about it, you had agreed instantly.

You would be punished when they got you back home. Severely. The thought alone filled Tak with a white-hot rage that made it nearly impossible to maintain the mask of calm indifference he had adopted for the meet-up. Based on what you had told him about your past, there was a good chance you would be tortured, starved, and probably broken to the point of needing to be resleeved. But the only reason he agreed to any of this was that no matter how badly they punished you, they wouldn’t kill you. The same could not be said for Elliot.

When your family had finally discovered where you were and who you were with, they knew they couldn’t attack directly. But word on the street was that the Last Envoy had a friend who lived in Bridgetown with his family. Ava had called him in tears a few days ago saying that some men busted into their home and dragged Elliot away. You hadn’t needed to hear any more details; you already knew what had happened. And your suspicions had proven to be correct when Poe received instructions for a prisoner exchange the next morning.

And now here you were, waiting for your family to take you away from him. Tak had already lost so many people he loved in his life, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to live with losing you too.

Drawing you into his arms, Tak leaned over and nuzzled his nose against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll come for you, I swear.”

But you quickly pulled away so you could turn to face him. Staring deeply into his eyes, you said, “If you love me, you won’t.”

“What? Why would I not try to save you from them?”

“Because you can try, but you won’t succeed. They’re too powerful and well-protected. And no matter what they do to me, I can endure it knowing you are safe somewhere out there. But if they kill you…. I can’t survive that. So, please Tak, let this be goodbye. Let me savor these last few months as the gift that they were and not taint my memories with your death. Please.”

Tak opened his mouth to respond, but the door at the other end of the building opened before he could. He grabbed you, spun you around, and pulled you tight against his chest, his gun suddenly pressed against the side of your neck directly in line with your stack. It was all part of the plan to make your family think Tak had captured you instead of the truth that you ran away, but he could still feel your heart beating wildly against him. Though if it was due to the fear of the gun against your skin or the presence of the men who had just walked in, he did not know.

There were seven of them, all armed with an assortment of weapons, all deadly looking. When the one who seemed to be in charge saw you, his eyes narrowed but he mumbled something to one of his men. Seconds later, the door opened again and an eighth man entered, dragging Elliot with him.

Tak tried not to react when he saw his friend, but it was nearly impossible. Elliot had clearly been tortured, blood soaked his clothes from the numerous cuts scattered across his body. His head had a large bloody wound that dripped down his face and he kept blinking as he attempted to keep it from dripping into his eye. And as he shuffled toward the other men, Tak noticed the way he favored his left side and winced slightly with every step.

Despite the danger if someone noticed, you discreetly slipped your hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze. He squeezed it back as tightly as he could, as if clinging to you hard enough could keep you by his side.

Yet, as per the instructions, you then took three steps forward, forcing Tak to release your hand for what was likely the last time. He noticed a single tear rolling down your cheek, but you didn’t move to wipe it away in the fear that it would draw attention to it. One of the men shoved Elliot forward and the two of you began walking toward the center of the space.

As you passed Elliot, Tak could just make out the sound of you whispering softly to him, “I’m so sorry. You should have never been involved with this.” But before he could respond, both of you had passed one another.

When Elliot made it across the room, he collapsed into Tak’s arms. Tak was caught off guard but managed to grab him in time. Up close, his injuries seemed even worse than Tak had initially thought but it didn’t look like anything that wouldn’t heal given time.

Tak glanced up just in time to see you make it to the other side of the warehouse. One of the men roughly grabbed your face between his fingers and shook you violently before throwing you to the floor. Your soft cry of pain made Tak see red. He was about to drop Elliot and draw his gun when he caught your gaze. Still laying on the floor, tears welling up in your eyes, you gently shook your head. You could tell what he was about to do and you were asking him not to.

So, he remained where he was. But as the men grabbed your arms, hauled you to your feet, and began shoving you toward the door, Tak made a silent promise to you. Despite what you had asked of him, despite your fears, he would come for you. And he would bring you back home with him.

Taglist: @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996

#whumptober #whumptober 2022 #whumptober2022 #fic #no.20 #no.26 #prisoner trade #separated #takeshi kovacs #takeshi kovacs x reader #takeshi kovacs x you #altered carbon #vernon elliot #joel kinnaman #angst #mentions of violence tw #abusive situation tw

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years

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Impossible Situation

As if reading his thoughts, you rested your head against his shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Tak. We’ll just follow the instructions and everything will be fine.”

“How is any of this ‘fine’?” he snarled. “How did I ever agree to any of this?”

“Because you didn’t have a choice,” you whispered, rubbing your hand gently across his back.

But now he was willingly giving you back to them. To the people who had essentially killed you over and over again for almost a century. And when he had told you about it, you had agreed instantly.

And now here you were, waiting for your family to take you away from him. Tak had already lost so many people he loved in his life, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to live with losing you too.

Drawing you into his arms, Tak leaned over and nuzzled his nose against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll come for you, I swear.”

But you quickly pulled away so you could turn to face him. Staring deeply into his eyes, you said, “If you love me, you won’t.”

“What? Why would I not try to save you from them?”

Tag List: @babblydrabbly, @loverhymeswith, @bewitchedignition, @lacontroller1991, @mayhem24-7forever, @11thstreetvigilante, @sociiallydiisoriiented, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @heresathreebee, @yespolkadotkitty, @green-socks, @shanimallina87, @katjnordstrom96, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022 #fic #no.20 #no.26 #prisoner trade #separated #takeshi kovacs #takeshi kovacs x reader #takeshi kovacs x you #altered carbon #vernon elliot #joel kinnaman #angst #mentions of violence tw #abusive situation tw

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actress4him · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022

NO. 20 - IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

Going Into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

Contains: referenced panic attack, team whump, referenced captivity

None of them know.

They don’t know, really, what it’s like to be held prisoner by Whumper. When the news comes in that Citizen has been captured, of course they’re all concerned. Whumper is sadistic, unpredictable. They could do any number of horrible things to an unprepared innocent like that. Which is why they immediately move to come up with a plan to rescue them.

But none of them actually know what’s happening in the depths of Whumper’s fortress.

Except for Whumpee.

And that’s why they volunteer. They can’t stomach the thought of anyone else going through that horror, so even though they have a panic attack in their room right after the plan is finalized, even though they haven’t been able to eat or sleep since, they agree to take Citizen’s place. Their hands are shaking and their legs are numb and they want more than anything to turn and run back to the safety of their team’s arms, away from Whumper’s hungry gaze, but they walk forward. Never looking back, not even sparing Citizen a glance as they pass in the center of the open field.

And their team lets them go. Because yes, Whumpee has already lived through the nightmare of being Whumper’s prisoner once, and barely lived through it…

But none of them know.

#whumptober2022 #no.20 #prisoner trade #original content #fic #captivity #panic attack #team whump #ficlet #drabble #whump prompt #whump writing

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breezy-cheezy · 2 years

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Day 20: IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

Working Title: Prison Break

Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

Heavily inspired by @insertsomthinawesome ‘s beautiful art from earlier this month!

Water drips from the ceiling.

Drip.

He learned to tune it out long ago. However, when there was nothing else to occupy him…

Those….people. His captors, over there, are playing cards it sounds like. That’s fine. He’d prefer their attention off of him.

This is fine.

He just….keeps his knees curled in, his torso and head slumped over top. Stay as small as possible, maybe they’ll forget him. Maybe he can finally leave….

Who was he kidding? He stifles a cough.

He’s been here for….he’s lost count. Weeks. Weeks of this cave, water drip drip dripping down into a pool at his feet, in this rancid cage where he’s kept….

He had taken the trip to Inazuma on some intel on Delusions. Just his luck, a random treasure hoarder (he thinks it was a hoarder…?) gets the drop on him at the worst time and-

They don’t even know who he is. He’s not….here because he’s playing hero or nobility or anything- not that he knows of anyway. He’d never given them a name.

Read the rest on AO3!

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another-whump-sideblog · 2 years

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Jane’s Pets Pt. 36: It’s Been a Long Day

Masterlist

Going into shock | Fetal position | Prisoner trade

Kit and Dollie have been less careful about leaving you alone, lately. Today, you have a perfect opportunity to leave. There’s no one around, and you’re healed enough that you could run for it.

But you know how this goes now. You know that if you don’t find anyone, she’ll just drag you back. And if you do find someone…

There is a way out. There is. But it’s not running. You need to find out more about Jane’s powers. You could force her into a situation where she has to use them again, but…

Your head hurts. You don’t want to be alone, but Dollie is shopping and Kit’s taking a nap.

There’s not a lot you can do on your own. Lately, puzzles and books just hurt your head. Even coloring wears you out.

After a very long time spent deliberating, you decide to turn on one of Jane’s less gory movies to fill the silence.

Finally, the front door opens. You jump up to greet Dollie at the door. “Do you want help putting away the groceries?”

Dollie shakes her head. You’ve pushed before, saying that you really wanted to help and you’re ‘so fucking bored,’ but she still refused. You think that if doing it alone was just a personal preference, she would’ve let you help with enough whining, so you’re fairly confident it’s a rule Jane put in place. Still, you offer to help every time. It’s polite!

“Can we go for a walk after you’re done?” You already went for a walk this morning, but you desperately want to get out of the house. If you were allowed outside without supervision, you’d only ever come inside to sleep.

Dollie nods.

“Kit’s taking a nap. We haven’t seen Jane all day.”

Dollie puts the groceries away quickly, and you turn off the movie. You’re outside in no time, enjoying the sun and the fresh air and the breeze.

“Do you think Jane would let us start a garden?”

Dollie shrugs. You walk in silence for a while. Dollie turns back far too soon. You do your best to hide your disappointment.

“Thanks for walking with me. I know you have a lot of chores to do.”

Dollie gives you a thumbs up.

—

“How’s your head?” Kit asks.

“Right now it only hurts a little. I don’t notice it so much anymore, unless I think too hard. You know, like when I read a picture book.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Kit regards you with deadly seriousness.

“And the dizziness?”

“It’s been a lot better. Only when I stand up or lie down or haven’t eaten in a while.”

Kit frowns. “It’s not going to go away, is it? She fucked up your head and it’s never going to get better.”

“Actually, I tripped. But yeah. Are you just now realizing that?” You try not to think about it, but you know it’s not going to go away. It’s not the worst thing that’s going to be happening your entire life.

What? No. You’re going to get out of here. You are. You won’t be here your entire life.

“It’s her fault, whether you tripped or not.”

“I know.”

“Have your ears still been ringing?”

“Only when there’s really loud noises. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

Kit nods. “Let me know if we’re ever too loud, okay? I mean, I can’t always do something about that, but I want to help if I can.”

You wince. “Yeah. I’ll let you know. If you can do anything about it.” You put on an exaggerated pouty voice. “Can we do something now?”

“Yeah, sure. Want me to teach you a new card game?”

“Hell yeah!” Kit and Dollie have invented loads of card games, and most of them are pretty fun. At the very least, it passes the time.

“You’ll tell me if your head starts hurting worse, right?”

You nod. It makes your head hurt.

—

“Good morning! We’re going to do some obedience tests today, Bunny.”

Your breath hitches. Jane grabs your hand and pulls you down to the basement.

You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming, you must be dreaming. This has been the start of a lot of dreams. It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re just dreaming.

In the basement, there’s someone chained to the wall by their ankle. A stranger, but that doesn’t help.

“I want you to break their fingers, Bunny. That’s all. Just break their fingers for me, and you can go back upstairs. I just need you to show me that obeying me is more important to you than morality or anything else. That’s all."

The stranger curls into the fetal position. You can’t. You can’t hurt them.

You can be tough like Kit and Dollie. You can take pain to help someone else.

“You have 10 seconds.” Jane counts down. You stare at the floor.

“Alright!” Jane is suddenly on top of the stranger, slicing them open. Both you and the stranger scream. Your ears ring.

You don’t know what to do. All you can do is watch in horror as Jane cuts deeply into their arms and chest.

“How are you feeling, Bunny? Feel like you’ve made good choices? All you’ve got to do is break their fingers. I will skin them alive if you don’t obey, Bunny. And then you’ll still have to hurt them.”

Of course you can’t win. It doesn’t matter if you’re tough. It doesn’t matter if you’re willing to get hurt to help them. Jane always wins.

You approach the stranger slowly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ you grab the stranger’s wrist, but not tightly enough. They squirm away.

“Please, no!” They cry.

“She’ll skin you!” You grab their wrist again and force their index finger against the back of their hand, quickly so you don’t have to think about it. Your ears ring and your cheeks are wet.

—

Nine fingers later, you quickly back away from the stranger. Or, you try to. It ends up more of a slow stumble. You’re nauseous and can’t slow down your breathing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can go upstairs now, master?”

“Yes. Unless you want to bandage them?”

You involuntarily make a distressed noise. Of course you want to bandage them, but your brain isn’t obeying your body. Your heart is pounding so fast and you feel cold and dizzy.

Jane grabs your chin and looks at your eyes. When did you start kneeling? “Jesus, are you going into shock? I didn’t even do anything to you. Lie down.”

You obey. Jane throws a blanket over you and props your legs up with something. “Calm yourself down. I’m going to be really pissed if you do more permanent damage to yourself.”

You try, you really do. You don’t want to disobey, that leads to pain and crying and ringing ears and you don’t want that, you don’t at all. Your breathing is so so fast. You feel a prick in your neck.

Someone is petting your hair. You know it’s probably Jane, but you pretend it’s Kit or Dollie. You’re able to slow your breathing a little. Kit and Dollie will take care of you.

You have no idea how long it’s been when you finally can move again. Dollie and Kit are by your side.

You sit up, pushing the blanket off. “I didn’t want to, I didn’t, she said she’d skin them, they were begging me to stop but she said she’d skin them-“

“We know. It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. Do you think you can get upstairs?”

You nod and let the two of them help you out of the basement. “Did they get bandaged? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. Come on, let’s get you to bed. It’s been a long day.”

It’s already night time? It doesn’t feel like that much time has passed…

—

All three of you are taking a walk today. The prisoner is still in the basement, and staying in the house increases the chance of being brought down to hurt the prisoner way too much. Best to just get out of the house.

Jane hasn’t even given a limit of how far away from the house you can go. You know it’s a power play, showing off how confident she is that you’ll always come back. Still, it’s the closest you can get to feeling free right now, and you’ll take it. When you go for walks with Kit, sometimes you’ll walk hours away from the house. You can’t go that far with Dollie, though, she has chores, so you just walk circles around the house.

Before you can react, someone jumps out of the trees and holds a knife to Dollie’s neck, slicing her collar off and then pressing the knife underneath her chin. They back up so that their back is against a tree.

Dollie goes stiff, staring straight ahead.

“Go tell your master that I want a prisoner trade.”

Kit grabs your hand and sprints into the house, shouting “JANE! JANE!”

Jane appears in the room. “What’s wrong?”

Kit points at the still open back door. “Someone’s got Puppy! Said they want a prisoner trade!”

Jane vanishes. You and Kit rush to the door, listening to the conversation. The attacker still has their back against the tree.

“I know you can teleport. If you leave my sight, I’ll kill her. You’ll give me back what belongs to me.”

“Calm your shit, I didn’t know they belonged to anyone.”

Kit scowls. “She knew. She always knows."

Jane continues “Do you want to follow me down to the basement, where they are, or do you want me to have my other pets bring them up here?”

The attacker tightens their grip on Dollie. “Have your pets bring em up here. If ey is dead I will kill this one.” They dig the knife into Dollies neck, drawing blood. Her arms remain at her side.

“Sheesh, we get it! Kitty, Bunny, go get our guest in the basement. Oh,” Jane directs her next words to the attacker. “I’m going to give them the key to eir restraints. Don’t freak the fuck out.”

Jane tosses a small key in your direction. Kit catches it and starts heading to the basement. You follow.

The stranger recoils when ey see you. Kit steps forward.

“Hey, we’re here to get you out, okay? I’ve got the key to your chains.”

Kit unchains the stranger, and you get a better look at em.

“You said you bandaged em.”

“I said ey was fine.” Kit helps the stranger up. “Let’s go. Quickly.”

You all ascend the staircase. You can’t tell what Kit’s plan is. Do they have a way to get Dollie back and set the stranger free? Or… are they lying? Letting em believe eir going free while really bringing em to someone who thinks ey is their property. That seems… unnecessarily cruel.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Diya.”

“Diya. I’m Liam. There’s someone up there looking for you. They said you belong to them.”

Diya immediately tries to pull away. “He’ll kill me! Please, don’t make me go back to him.” Ey thrashes and Kit glares at you, continuing to drag em up the stairs.

“He’ll kill our friend if we don’t give you to him. And he wants you alive, so I doubt he’ll kill you.” Kit mutters. Diya cries.

You can’t let Dollie die, but you can’t send this person off to be hurt and possibly killed either. “Kit!” You look at them desperately. Their face softens.

“Trust me.”

And you do. You trust Kit. Even if the way they’re acting right now is scaring you. So you help them drag Diya up the stairs.

The trade goes relatively smoothly. Diya gets dragged off and Dollie is handed back to Jane. You look to Kit, panicked. Did they lie? They don’t look at you.

Jane watches the attacker until he’s out of sight, and then wraps her arms around Dollie protectively.

“I’ll kill him. I’ll tear him to pieces. Do you want to come? No, you wouldn’t, you’ve always been squeamish with that sort of thing. I’ll make him pay, though. Oh, sit down.”

Dollie sits on the couch and Jane carefully bandages her neck. “That’s your collar for now. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a new one.” She hugs Dollie again.

You’ve never seen Jane act like this. She seems… frantic. Scared. You didn’t think she was afraid of anything.

“You were very good. Very good Puppy. I’ll get you a reward while I’m out, sweetheart, alright? Are you going to be okay?”

Dollie nods, and Jane disappears. Kit runs up to Dollie.

“Are you actually okay?”

Dollie nods.

“Bunny, are you okay?”

“…Yeah. So you knew Jane would kill him?”

Kit nods. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, I was worried Diya might tell him. It didn’t seem likely, but I didn’t want to do anything that might make him kill Puppy.”

The relief you feel is palpable. Kit didn’t lie. They knew what they were doing the whole time.

“And you don’t think she’ll kill Diya?”

“I don’t. I think that she’ll have exhausted her daily violence quota by the time it even occurs to her to hurt em.” Kit starts to leave the room. “I’m going to bed. Wake me up if you need anything.”

That’s… weird. You guess Kit must be tired after all that.

You sit down next to Dollie, and she immediately hugs you. You fall asleep in her arms.

—

Kitty keeps a tight hold on the key still in their pocket. That could’ve gone much, much worse. Jane is undoubtedly focused on her (this time deserving) victim, so they have a chance to find a good place to hide it.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else! This is a real long one but I simply couldn’t bear to get rid of the fluff.

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

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ragecndybars · 2 years

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Fair Trade - Persona 3 Fanfiction

The gun traced lazy circles across the side of Ken’s head, dipping briefly down to scrape his cheekbone. In response, Aragaki bared his teeth. “Let him go, Takaya,” he repeated in a low growl, his voice dripping with rage. Ken breathed fast and heavy through his nose, trying without luck to stop himself from shaking. He was trapped between Scylla and Charybdis; held at gunpoint by a cold-blooded killer, with only his mother’s murderer there to save him. And Takaya might be oblivious, but he and Aragaki both knew what Ken had planned to do tonight. The only reason he could conceptualize for Aragaki to defend him, knowing that, was that he wanted to kill Ken himself.

Fandom: Persona 3 Characters: Amada Ken, Aragaki Shinjiro, Sakaki Takaya, Sanada Akihiko Summary: Ken's revenge is interrupted. Word Count: ~6,000 Notes: Written for Whumptober Day 3 (gun to temple), Day 20 (prisoner trade), and Day 21 ("Take me instead.") Happy October 4th. :)

AO3 Link in Replies

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #gun to temple #no.20 #prisoner trade #no.21 #take me instead #blood #gunshot wounds #gun tw #hostage situations #Persona 3 #P3 #Ken Amada #Shinjiro Aragaki #Takaya Sakaki #Akihiko Sanada #Rage Writes

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sardonic-sprite · 2 years

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If You Ever Fall Down

Version 2

Whumptober Days 18, Alt 15, 19, 20

Batman, 3k words

Tim waited, panting, until his opponent was nearly on top of him before darting to the side, hearing the cage wall rattle and the crowd scream in glee.

"Slayer" staggered back, raising a hand to his head. The wires had made an imprint in his face, which already wasn't pretty. His grimacing leer made him even uglier, especially when he turned it on Tim.

"You're gonna pay for that one, you little brat!"

He lunged again, Tim dodged again. He hit the wall again. Staggered back with another furious snarl and lunged, missed, crashed for the seventh time in a row.

"Y'know," Tim quipped breathlessly, spinning away for the eighth time, "the definition of insanity--"

Crash.

"--is doing the same thing--"

"Raaahhhh!"

"--and expecting--"

Crash.

"--different results."

"You're gonna be a grease spot when I'm through with you!"

Tim dodged again, throwing himself from one wall to the other, curling his fingers into the cage's lattice just to keep himself standing. Slayer's nose was bloody when he turned around, and the audience shrieked in delight.

"Rob-in! Rob-in! Rob-in!"

"Get him, Slayer, he's a flyweight!"

"Little bastard!"

Tim's chest was burning. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. Slayer was hurling himself indiscriminately about the twelve foot space, a cyclone bound to catch Tim in its gale. The screams and jeers of the crowd made his head throb ever harder, and he couldn't hear his brain yelp Shit! let alone think up a plan for victory.

He ducked down in a corner just after Slayer passed it, clutching the cage bars on each side so he could pull himself back up. His throat burned as he gulped down air. Or maybe it was just still sore from when "The Demon" had throttled him.

Slayer circled back as his fans screamed and pointed to Tim. He hauled himself up and tried to dart underneath Slayer's windmilling fists, but one foot caught on the other and he fell, pain stinging his knees and hands.

Tim rolled out of the way seconds before Slayer's fist could connect with his head, and tried to stand, but he was too far from the walls to pull himself up, and his aching muscles screamed no. He choked and coughed as Slayer kicked him in already cracked ribs, tossing him onto his back.

He couldn't breathe. His throat burned, his lungs burned, his ribs throbbed, the world spun--

Crack and a burst of pain in Tim's head, and he blinked away splotches seconds before Slayer headbutted him again.

He still couldn't breathe, definitely couldn't see, but he could feel the weight over his hips and the fist gripping his shirt, then the force of a massive object in motion.

Tim wrapped his arms around his head and jerked sideways right before the collision, and Slayer kept going, yelping in shock as he smacked his skull, not against Tim's nose, but against the concrete cage floor.

Deafening shrieks became utter silence as the hand on Tim's shirt went slack. He tried to squirm free, but gave up, panting as Slayer remained a motionless weight.

A hushed count began, sounding more like a cult ritual than a timer.

"--two, three, four, five--"

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears, not that it would do anything to lessen the headache or dull the increasing roar.

"--eight, nine, TEN!"

A cacaphony of cheers, catcalls, boos, and even death threats erupted. Tim whined as the agony in his head spiked, trying to curl in on himself and failing. He felt more than heard the doors to the cage open and footsteps stride in.

"And that's Robin with the victory, still undefeated after five matches!"

Slayer's weight was lifted, and hands grabbed Tim's shoulders and dragged him up. Someone raised his right fist in the air as a handcuff was clamped around his left. As soon as his arm was dropped, down went Tim, knees buckling, body pitching forward, about to bust his own head against the concrete if his captors hadn't caught his fall.

They jerked him back up and finished binding his hands, mercifully supporting his entire weight as they more carried than dragged him out of the arena.

Away from the deafening noise and stench of sweat and beer, it got a little easier to breathe. The black patches in Tim's vision began to recede, not that they left anything better in their places. It was just the same empty subway tunnel as always, full of rocks and gravel for him to trip on.

"How many fights are you gonna keep winning, boy?" asked the guard on his left.

"Not that many," cackled the one on the right. "Nearly went out this round!"

Tim didn't bother answering. He just stared at his bare feet and watched them go each out ahead of the other, trying not to catch on rocks or cracks. His knees sagged with every step.

"If only Batman could see you now!"

"He'd be so proud!" The man pretended to sniffle. Tim thought he brushed a fake tear from his eye.

If Batman could see me, Tim thought, you would be cuffed and concussed, and I'd be at home with Alfred's cookies.

But that was impossible. Bruce was currently laid up with a shattered hip, and for once was obeying Leslie's instructions to stay off it, although it was more likely that his body wouldn't let him disobey than his mind decided not to. By the time he healed enough to come after Tim...

Well, Tim wasn't actually sure.

The organizers weren't going to kill him, and probably wouldn't let other competitors kill him either. He'd seen enough people slapping money into each others' hands to know he was their most lucrative fighter. But he'd been in five fights so far in just two days, and his opponents kept getting bigger. Tim was wearing down fast, and if he stopped being entertaining, and therefore stopped making them money... they might kill him then, or let him be killed.

They did have death matches after all.

Tim would never win one of those.

They finally reached Tim's cell, and he hated that he was almost glad to see it because it meant the closest thing he could get to rest. The left guard held him up as the right one opened the door. Together they shoved him inside.

Tim stumbled, tripped, toppled over. He managed to take the fall on his shoulder and not his skull, but it didn't much matter. In seconds, the world faded to black.

«»«»«»«»

Tim's headache had become a migraine by the time he woke up. He groaned and curled in on himself, struggling to find a way to pillow his head on his arms and not the cuffs. The only position was killer on his shoulders, but he decided to take that over digging metal into his brains.

The floor was cold. And hard. Tim wished for his bed, or the couch in the library, or even the rug in the den. He wished for Tylenol and ice for his ribs, and Alfred's cooking for his gnawing stomach. He really, really wished for Bruce to worriedly hover and read stories and stroke his hand through Tim's hair and let Tim curl up on his bed with the fluffy comforter and call Dick to come and hold him close and gentle and warm--

Tim didn't realize he was crying until the tears seeped out beyond the edges of his mask, making the glue itch worse than ever. He cried harder at that, futilely rubbing at his eyes until he remembered to retract the mask's lenses. The tears dripped onto his arms and into his hair.

The force of his sobs made his head and ribs ache worse than ever, and soon he was gasping in order to breathe. He forced himself to stop crying then, as well as he could, which wasn't well at all.

Footsteps.

Tim hiccupped and swallowed his last tears, refusing to cry in front of his captors no matter how much pain he was in or how desperately he wanted to be home. He made himself sit up, bracing against the back wall so he didn't topple over.

Three men entered his cell. Two guards, interchangeable with any of the others, wearing cruel, excited smirks, and the announcer, who was the organizer of the whole vile business, as best as Tim could figure. His expression was dangerously blank.

"Hello, Robin."

Tim didn't answer.

"You are quite the impressive fighter, I'll admit. Only two other contestants in our history have gone so long undefeated. Unfortunately--"

Fuck.

"--that's boring."

Tim's stomach twisted. Were they done with him already? They couldn't be, it had only been two days! Rescue was still weeks away, Tim needed time, he needed to bargain, what did they want? Entertainment. What could he do to give them that?

"I'll lose," he croaked, as the announcer opened his mouth again. "If, if you want, I can, I'll lose the next fight."

"Yes, you will."

The guards strode closer, hauling Tim to his feet and pinning him against the wall. His heartbeat kicked into overdrive as one guard grabbed his left leg and lifted it to waist height.

"Wait--"

"Your winning strategy seems to be running away."

The guard pressing Tim to the wall grabbed his thigh in a vice grip. The other man tightened his hold on Tim's calf.

"No!" Tim yelped. "No, please, wait, I won't run, I'll--"

"No, you won't."

One guard shoved down as the other jerked up, and agony exploded in Tim's knee. He might have screamed.

He knew he was sobbing as they let him drop, jolting the break all over again. His breath came sharp and ragged, and fast enough to make him dizzy. Unless that was the pain.

"Let's see if that fixes our little problem."

The guards dragged Tim, still crying, back to the arena and flung him inside the cage.

He lost.

«»«»«»«»

Two more days, three more fights, and Tim was no longer worried about whether he'd walk normally again, but if he'd walk again period.

He had no way to immobilize the broken bones, and no way to stop his opponents from taking full advantage of the obvious weak point. The next "Bruiser" or "Breaker" or "Skull-Crusher" probably only needed to flick Tim's kneecap to reduce him to a puddle of agony. From there, one kick to the head, and he'd be out cold. Again.

And the worst part was, it was all for nothing. The audience's ecstasy at seeing Robin finally toppled from his throne had faded after the second beatdown billed as a brawl. Tim was boring again, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

Except throw him into a death match and snap every bone right up to his neck.

Tim knew it was coming, any day, any hour even. And he didn't want to die, but if it would make the agony and humilation just stop...

"Hey, little birdie, ready to fly away?"

This was it then. At least Tim wouldn't have to anticipate it for long.

He wondered if he'd meet Jason.

Or get to see his mom again.

Every limping step was a fresh jolt of agony, and Tim chewed his lip to shreds in the effort not to scream. He was so focused on denying anyone that satisfaction that he didn't realize they weren't going to the arena until the announcer's voice came at normal volume, tone clipped instead of excited.

"Here he is. Slightly used, as I said."

Slightly," snorted a low, mechanical voice that made Tim's blood run cold. "The hell did you use him for? Crash testing?"

It was the Red Hood.

The Red Hood, dressed in full armor with that freakish, near faceless mask, and bound and gagged at his feet was

"Nightwing!"

"Shut up, kid."

The left guard yanked at Tim's arm, knocking him off balance. He put more weight on his foot that his knee could take and cried out, crumpling before being jerked up again.

Dick hadn't reacted to his name, but he flinched at Tim's scream. Tim wondered what the hell Hood had done to him.

"We used him as a fighter," the announcer answered. "But he's all or nothing I'm afraid. The betting pools get too unbalanced."

"That won't happen with this one," Hood promised, kicking Dick. "Born performer, he is. He'll give you good shows, and he knows how to give an audience what they want."

"You sound incredibly confident."

"That's 'cause I've seen it. And I've seen him fight with half his bones broken. Lasts much longer than junior there, I guarantee."

"And what does the Red Hood want with Robin?"

"We have unfinished business."

Tim trembled. He knew what business Hood wanted to finish. He might as well just rent out their cage for a death match, no need to trade them Dick--

Trade them Dick.

"No!" Tim yelled. "No, don't--"

He was going to die either way now, but Dick couldn't be sold to this hell, he couldn't, Tim wouldn't let them. Dick was, he was, strong, and powerful, and hopeful, and proud, and unbending, and he couldn't live in this place and fight for nothing every single day, forever, because they'd never get rid of him because he could do what they wanted, no, no, no, no

"No! No, no, n--"

A hand clamped over Tim's mouth, and it wouldn't let go when he bit, or struggled, or even kicked, screaming, but it had to, Tim had to tell them no, not Dick!

"Very well, done, take the brat off our hands, then."

The guards flung Tim at Hood. He gripped Tim tight, holding him off the ground no matter how much he writhed and pleaded, "No! No, no, you can't, please--"

Hood just said, "Pleasure doing business with you," and threw Tim over his shoulder, hauling him away.

"And you, Red Hood." The announcer reached out to tilt Dick's head this way and that, like a child inspecting a new action figure. Dick didn't fight back.

"Nightwing!"

"Calm the fuck down, Robin," Hood hissed. They turned a corner and Dick was out of sight.

"No!"

"For fuck's sake."

Tim cried out as he was dumped on the ground. When the agonizing white-out cleared he was staring at a hard face with a red domino mask over the eyes, white bangs falling across the lenses.

"Nightwing is going to be fine," Hood snarled. "You are not unless you calm. The fuck. Down."

"No. Trade me back!"

"That's it."

Hood pulled back, reaching into a pocket for a syringe.

"No!" Tim couldn't fight, couldn't run, couldn't even move once Hood pinned him against the wall. "No, give me back, they can kill me, don't let them have Night--"

"Have a little self-preservation, punk." Hood griped, and there was something strangely familiar about the mask and the sarcasm.

The needle bit Tim's neck. Something cold flooded the vein and made him shudder.

"No," he sobbed.

And then it all went blank.

«»«»«»«»

Softness and warmth surrounded Tim, and he cozied deeper into it with a happy sigh. Someone chuckled, hand stroking through Tim's hair.

"Feeling better, kiddo?"

Tim opened his eyes to see, "Dick?"

"Yeah, Timmy?"

Tim blinked. Memory came flooding back, and with it a rising horror as he realized, wondered, feared...

"Are we dead?" Tim whispered.

"Are..." Dick frowned, looking confused. He leaned closer, peering into Tim's eyes. "No, sweetheart, we're not... why would you think--"

"The, the fight ring." It felt hard to breathe. "And Red Hood, he wants to kill me, and--"

"Hood... Oh. Oh, sweetheart, no. No one's dead, Tim."

"Well, technically," came a drawl from another room.

"Not now, Jay," Dick sighed. "Just get over here and say hi to your little brother."

"Brother?" Tim asked.

And then a man appeared, leaning over Dick's shoulder. A tall man, nearly the size of Bruce, with bright, almost glowing green eyes, and a streak of white hair hanging down over them...

"Hood?"

"Yes, and yes," the man said. He shifted, looking almost uncomfortable. "Sorry for, y'know, attacking you and shit."

"What the fuck?" Tim whimpered.

"Tim," Dick said slowly. "Don't you recognize him?"

"He never met me, Dickhead," the man scoffed.

Dickhead. Tim squinted, imagining a smaller, slimmer frame and blue eyes, and all-black hair, and saw...

"Jason?"

No. Impossible. Either Dick was lying and they all were dead together now, or Tim had been concussed so many times he was hallucinating.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Yes, Tim." There were tears in Dick's eyes. "Jason's back."

"But... Hood... and he, you, he, he gave you to them--"

"It's ok, Timmy," Dick promised, brushing back Tim's hair. "The trade was a fakeout. It was the best plan we could think of to get you out safe and get me in to take down the ring at the same time. We're sorry we scared you."

"But... but Hood, Jason, he... he hates me."

Jason flinched.

"I hated a lot of people who didn't deserve it," he admitted, quiet and hoarse. "But not anymore."

"Bruce called me as soon as he knew you were missing," Dick said, glancing between Tim and Jason, "But Jay was the one who actually found you. He came to me, told me who he was, and said he had a plan to rescue you and shut down the people who took you."

"Oh," was all Tim could say. It was a hard thing to reconcile: Jason was the Red Hood, who had hated and nearly killed Tim, and yet now had saved him and called him brother.

It was hard to reconcile, but there was something wonderful about it, too. Jason alive. Tim alive, and free, and safe. Dick free, right beside him. He decided his questions could wait.

"Thank you," he said softly, looking from Dick to Jason. "For coming for me."

"Yeah," Jason murmured. "Sure."

Dick smiled. "Always, kiddo."

He leaned down and kissed Tim's forehead, smoothing back his bangs.

"Now get some rest. You're gonna need it."

Tim nodded. He felt Dick shift to stand up, and heard lowered voices talking a little away.

"We all need rest, actually."

"I'm fine."

"I know for fact you haven't slept in two days, little wing. Come on. I have two arms."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"You... you mean you haven't missed my hugs... at all?"

A heavy sigh and a grumble of, "Goddamn puppy eyes."

"Ha."

Warm weight sank the mattress once more, this time wrapping around Tim and pulling him close. His head was tucked under a chin, a heartbeat against his cheek. After a few seconds, another heavy, warm arm draped across his shoulders.

"I love you two," Dick whispered.

But Tim was asleep before he could reply.

#whumptober 2022 #no 19 #no 20 #alt 15 #knees buckling #repeatedly passing out #prisoner trade #tears #batman #fic #canon typical violence #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #bad things bingo #prisoner exchange

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karlyanalora · 2 years

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Once upon a time, the Separatists did take clones and Jedi as prisoners of war to trade to the Republic. But the Jedi would never let themselves be used as bargaining chips, so either they died or were rescued. The Separatists never received any responses to their offers to trade the clones.

Leia is terrified of the Empire offering to do a prisoner trade. She knows she would do anything to save those she cares for but she knows the Empire will ask to high a price and she fears she will not have the strength to refuse them.

After trading Grievous for Anakin on Naboo without consulting anyone, Padme sometimes wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t. If the war would have ended sooner or if it would have even mattered. She doesn’t dwell on it long and she doesn’t live long enough to consider it in light of Anakin’s Fall.

#whumptober2022 #no.20 #prisoner trade #star wars #headcanon

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kursed-curtain · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 | Day 20

Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

Graham didn't want to be here any longer than he had to. He just needed to find what he needed here, then get out.

The gorgon at the gate merely glanced at him before letting him into the prison hallway. A foolproof disguise - He would have to thank that merchant later, if he could find them, that is.

The prison hall itself was lined with small cells - all were unfurnished, with not even bedding. He passed by one of the prison wardens - another snake-haired woman, this place was teeming with them - who was scolding a prisoner. They were shaking the bars and causing a disturbance... At least, they used to be. Now they were standing stone still. Graham recoiled, and so did the snakes lining his head.

Looking around, now everything made more sense. Every prisoner within those walls was pale and stiff, standing terrified or angry. Some had their jewelry still hanging off of them, and Graham witnessed a gorgon stuffing a bag with their gold earrings and necklaces.

The goosebumps along his arms stopped feeling like goosebumps and more like tough, scaly skin. He had to stop scratching - he couldn't show that he wasn't one of them. He didn't want to be here any longer than he had to.

#whumptober 2022 #no.20 #prisoner trade #kings quest #traditional art #fanart #whumptober #gorgon graham au #graham

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whumptober · 2 years

Note

hello! do you mind me asking what prisoner trade means?

Hi Anon! By prison trade, we mean a scenario in which the whumpee has been captured or taken hostage and is returned to their friends either in exchange for another person, an enemy or something else.

I hope this helps!

- mod claire

[Links to our Event Info, FAQs, Rules, Tagging and more]

#asks #anonymous #whumptober2022 #mod claire #prompt no 20 #prisoner trade

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whumpwizard · 2 years

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Whumptober2022 Day 20: It's Been a Long Day

Politics were a delicate thing, and not something that Taskhand Verin Thelyss was normally very skilled at. Luckily, this particular act of political exchange was rather simple. The traitor to the Kryn Dynasty, his brother Essek, would be handed over to the Dwendalian Empire in exchange for the Scourger who had helped him smuggle out the Beacons: Bren Aldric Ermendrud. There was no other payment, no other requirements, just one traitor exchanged for another, and another man for Verin to beat and question. And this time, the man wouldn’t look at him with begging eyes and a silver tongue whispering “dalnar” into the night in the hopes of mercy. No, Bren would know how to take a proper beating, Verin was sure.

As he dragged his brother into the secure meeting room, his mouth gagged and his hands bound to prevent him from casting, Verin couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pity for his brother. Who knew what they would do to him in the Empire, what tortures he would endure. At least here, Verin had been in control. Verin had been able to inflict as much or as little pain as he wanted onto Essek. But then…the ex-Shadowhand had brought this on himself by betraying the crown.

“Ah, Taskhand Thelyss.” the man across from Verin sat down, his own prisoner bound and kneeling beside him. He too, was gagged and bound to prevent his spellcasting, but he started at Verin with daggers in his eyes. He was sharper, harder than his beaten down brother, that was for sure.

“Martinet. I see you have upheld your end of the deal.” Verin sat down, and dragged Essek with him, forcing him to kneel. The drow fell to his knees with a thud, his will to fight broken from weeks in the Dungeons of Penance. For a man so accustomed to being on the other side of the bars in that place, it had been shocking to see how quickly Essek had fallen to its magics. A testament to the power of the place, Verin supposed. Even the strongest of magicians would fall, and even the sharpest of Shadowhands could be dulled.

“Of course, Taskhand. I am happy to see that you have honoured the promise of your Empress as well. Especially given your…personal relation to the Shadowhand.” Ludinus said with a sneer.

“Former.” Verin corrected. “Essek is the former Shadowhand and a former member of Den Thelyss. His titles were stripped when he betrayed our land and our god. He is…yours, now. To do with as you wish.” The smile that further curled up the Martinet’s face was cold and cruel, and Verin felt the wrongness of it in the pit of his stomach. Looking down at his brother, he could see the fear in his eyes.

What has he done to you already? Verin wanted to ask. He knew about his brother’s liaisons with Ludinus, of course. How he had slinked away in the night to dissect the Dynasty’s holy relic. But, had something else happened too? Perhaps their meetings hadn’t been as friendly as Verin had thought. Perhaps…but it didn’t matter. Essek had committed a crime, and this was to be his penance. It was justice, for what he had done.

“Shall we, then?” Ludinus asked, gesturing to Essek, and handing Verin a thin leather leash, attached to Bren’s bonds. Verin nodded, and took it.

“Justice and penance.” the Taskhand said, pushing Essek over to the Martinet by the small of his back.

“Indeed.” he replied. “Indeed.”

Verin took hold of Bren’s lead, and yanked him towards him, surveying the Scourger. He was thin, but strong-looking, and there was a clever light in his eyes. Yes, this one would be fun to play with, to be sure. Verin led him away, out of the meeting room, not looking back at the Martinet. Not looking back at Essek. Wrongs had been done, and payments had been made. Now, all that remained was to settle the future.

#whumptober2022 #no.20 #prisoner trade #critical role #fic #verin thelyss #essek thelyss #bren aldric ermendrud #ludinus da'leth #implied abuse #whump #whump tag #whump prompts #whump writing

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