#wij22day12

[pretty-face-breaker]

Rebellion - WIJ Day 12

CW. fictional politics, kidnapping, blindfolding and gagging, referenced broken bones, manhandling, creepy noncon touching 

 First

@whumpmasinjuly​ 

—

Tariq gasped awake through a cloth gag in his mouth, his first sensations being that his tongue felt like sand and that something damp clogged his breathing. The constant rumble he had felt below him in his semi-consciousness suddenly became acute. As the car hit a bump in the road, his body jerked up and collapsed back down. 

Into someone’s chest.

“Ah, our prince is awake.” A voice rumbled into his shoulder from behind.

Tariq groaned and shifted in discomfort, not yet coming to his senses. As he tried to respond through the gag, he could only manage a raspy mmh- before a hand pulled his head back painfully. 

“Don’t move too much, prince.” The man crooned as he adjusted the cloth. “Wouldn’t want to disturb that leg anymore.” 

At that, Tariq’s eyes snapped down to the rest of his body, widening when he noticed his wrists fused together by a confident knot of rope and that one of his legs hung unnaturally loose over the seat. 

His heartbeat picked up. “Mmhm-” 

“Shh, sh- sh-” 

“Sweet thing panics so easily,” another voice added through an entertained chuckle. It came out almost like a foghorn to Tariq, gravelly and rough and battering against his sore head. “I almost like him better, squirming like this than screaming about his fucking leg.” 

With another bang, the wrangler jumped another foot in the air before colliding with the sand, almost throwing Tariq between the seats if the arms behind hadn’t snapped around his waist. 

It was then that pain hit him like a thunderbolt. 

What started as a pinch in his foot shot up his dangling leg like fire, nearly blinding him. 

Tariq tried to scream through the gag but dizziness reached him quicker and his wail came out as a weak moan, another desperate mmh which the man behind him answered with a laugh. 

“Don’t cry, little prince.” His hand found Tariq’s eye sockets and a coarse thumb wiped away the tears Tariq hadn’t even realized he had shed. “The painkillers shouldn’t take too long. I fed you a few after you went out on us the first time. 

The first time? 

“Now, my pretty prince, you may call me Hassan-” 

The voice behind dropped into a noticeably dangerous register. 

“-and answer my questions before I break your other leg.”

Tariq returned a ragged sob and struggled against the arms holding him but Hassan soothed him with the same sharp shhh from before. It sounded more like the warning of a snake. He shuddered as a hand passed over dried tear tracks on his cheek to rip out the gag, leaving his mouth bone-dry. 

“B-Blin’fold,” Tariq managed after a few hacking coughs. “Can’t see.” 

Despite the darkness surrounding him, he knew that it must have been night from the silent echo of the wrangler, the cool, dry dustiness of the surrounding desert. 

The cool on his face could have almost soothed him if the scream of the engine didn’t overpower it, along with the stench of petrol suffocating what might have been Juniper trees. 

He wanted water so badly. 

As if his mouth might crack from the dryness, Tariq tried to swallow but all he got from it was an awful, unidentifiable taste. 

“I’ll take it off when you’ve earned it,” Hassan hummed before roughly patting his cheek. “State your full name, your position, and where that adorable plane intended to take you before we jacked it.” 

Tariq groaned at the flashing memory of the hijacking. “My n-name-... is Adnan-” 

Before he could press out his last name, his vision exploded with stars as Hassan rammed his head sideways into the driver’s seat. 

Tariq cried out fully that time and slumped back against the man who mockingly shushed him in return.

“Now is not the time for silly rebellion, Mr. Rahman.” 

With every sentence, his blood ran colder. 

“Your name, in its entirety.” 

Was this a game? 

“Tariq-.. Tariq Rahman. I’m a diplomat- an ambassador, I meant-” 

He cringed at the braying laughter from the passenger’s seat. 

“I hope he was planning to speak better than that,” a woman spoke up. 

Hassan hummed and nodded - at his answer, Tariq hoped than the mockery. “Excellent, my prince. And your plane?”

“I was f-flying North.” 

“Mhm, and what incident were you intending to absolve your country of? Or was it a vacation?” 

Tariq’s heart hammered in his throat. 

Your country. 

“Who-...Who are you?” 

A beat of silence from his interrogator and Tariq’s breathing quickened. He felt the air around him change as a hand drew up to his face and suddenly took hold of his chin. Then, his face in a crushing grip. 

“Who I am,” Hassan began, almost strained with his tightened grip, “or where I am from is none of your concern, Mr. Rahman. You can delay this questioning with offhand questions and rebel against your circumstances as you wish but a rebellion has been growing under your nose.”

 Blood began pounding in his ears.

“In your own country, nonetheless.” 

Rebellion? No.

“And you, my little prince, have just absconded from a diplomatic mission in a time of mounting suspicions and pressure.”

He was going to throw up. Tariq shook his head but it felt full of lead. If he had tried to talk, it would have been barely intelligible stammers. 

This wasn’t his fault. 

He hadn’t engineered this. 

Hassan nestled his chin in the crook of Tariq’s neck, stopping the jerking head shakes in their tracks. “How undiplomatic of you. And I won’t even bother touching on your government.” 

This wasn’t his fault. 

“This is a classic example of stirring the pot. What happens when one nation is disturbed by an unbalanced alliance between two others? They’re trying to prove that we are unreliable, belligerent, and willing to go to war over minority complaints.”

“Mr. Rahman, are you sure there isn’t an internal threat?” 

“I prefer to be called Your Excellency.” 

Tariq could no longer hear the car’s engine.

“So, Ambassador,” Hassan hissed, still not having let go of his face. Crooking his hand up, he let his fingernails sink into Tariq’s cheek as the man whimpered in fear. “No sweet talk is going to remedy your incompetence here.” 

Screwing his eyes shut, Tariq felt the words forming before he could stop himself. “I don’t understand-” 

"I’m going to make your life hell, if that clarifies it for you, Tariq. Then, I’ll destroy what little you have left of it.”  

 Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whumpmasinjuly #wij22 #wij22day12 #Whumpmas in July no.12 #fictional politics #kidnapping #blindfolds #referenced broken bones #manhandling #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #gagged and bound #noncon touching

[callaeidae3]

Whumpmas in July 22 Day 12: Rebellion

@whumpmasinjuly

"Get yourself up, whumpee. The court will decide what to do with you and your friends."

#wij22 #wij22day12 #whump art #restrained #tied up #hair whump #whumpmasinjuly #defiant whumpee

[cryptidwritings]

Whumpmas in July - Day 12 : Rebellion

Whump Scenarios:

Team rescues Whumpee after a recapture. They've been reconditioned and are violent, so they have to be restrained/sedated.

Whumpee has to pretend to be compliant and wait, patiently, for the chance to end Whumper permanently.

Right Hand can no longer do the dirty work for Whumper and decides to save Whumpee. Add more angst by making the Right Hand/Villain relationship familial or romantic.

Whumpee finally takes a small step to rebel against their conditioned responses.

Caretaker dialogue prompts:

"Is it really rebelling when it's- I don't know- a human need?"

"You ARE such a rebel! I'm so proud of you!"

"I am totally a rebel. I put my milk first, then my cereal. Chaos is my middle name."

"Rebellion... Mutiny.... Overthrowing a tyrannical system of oppression... whatever phrase you want to use I'm on board, Whumpee, but it doesn't mean you can set fire to my curtains!"

#a bit more lighthearted mood because i'm feeling it lol #caretaker dialogue #caretaker #whumpmas in july #whumpmas in july 2022 #wij22 #wij22day12 #whump scenarios #whump dialogue prompts #whump dialogue #whump prompts #whump ideas #writeblr #originalfiction

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

The Traitor

Nuisance

Formerly titled Rebellion for Whumpmas in July

Warnings: Murder/character death mention of female side char, murder/on screen character death of other chars, broken bones, buried alive, suffocation, kinda organized crime vibes, whumper pov

In case this wasn’t clear, people die here, in unpleasant ways. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This is some random standalone piece of Cedric’s life, set somewhere in the last five years before the start of Glass Shards.

This is no longer a random standalone piece! :D It’s now been neatly fitted into the timeline of Nuisance.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Cedric rolled a few pieces of rock between his fingers, while his gaze wandered through the small room. At first glance, the devastation wasn’t even visible. Some books piled on the floor next to a half empty shelf, blankets thrown off the sofa, a cup fallen over with spilled tea, and, the most obvious one, a chair lying on its back. But he knew Colette’s house, knew how she had always kept it just as painstakingly tidy as she had kept his books. A single pillowcase out of place would have been cause for worry — this was a sign of a fight.

He lowered his gaze to the rocks in his hand. One half of a geode, rough grays and shimmering white, the other half broken in three. The three parts he had found beneath the kitchen table.

“Nothing.”

Looking up to the source of the voice, he saw Adrien standing in the doorway. He hadn’t heard him descend the stairs from the attic; stairs that were a bit too steep for Cedric’s liking. 

The kid was nervous. Not a kid; probably mid twenties, a young man lost in a city that had too many mouths to feed and too few people who cared. Right now, he looked as if he expected for Cedric to punish him for the bad news. His freckled forehead was wrinkled with worry and he kept pushing the same lock of strawberry-blonde hair out of his face.

“Thank you.” Cedric raised his hand, holding out the broken pieces of stone to Adrien. “Could you bring those to Yvan, please? He’s at the forge.”

It would tell his husband what was going on — or that something was going on, more likely, since not even Cedric himself had figured out what exactly had happened. But whatever it was, it had been serious enough for Colette to send him the most urgent warning before disappearing. Yvan might be in danger, too.

Adrien nodded, but didn’t move yet.

“You may leave,” Cedric said, gripping the handle of his cane so tightly, the wood dug into his palm.

The kid nodded again, all but falling over his feet as he squeezed past Cedric and left the house. Faintly, Cedric wondered if it was his reputation, or if he looked half as grim as he felt. He walked towards the door, the tapping of his cane overly loud in the eerie quiet of the house. 

There was one place he had to check, and he had to check it on his own. A dead drop location, out of use for over a decade now, ever since Colette had retired. If whatever had happened hadn’t been totally unexpected, perhaps she had left him a note.

- 

“Jean? Are you sure?”

Yvan’s voice was full of doubt. The kind of doubt that spoke of an unwillingness to believe something that was all too believable. Cedric handed him the letter, at first glance nothing but a weathered recipe for blueberry muffins. Colette had always had a hang of putting the dramatic into the mundane. It was probably unwise to bake said muffins for three and a half hours, though.

“He’s trying to get rid of me and take over the business.” Playing with his cane, to stop himself from grabbing the letter right back, Cedric continued, “That means getting rid of you as well.”

He recalled an image of the man. Unremarkable features and build, short dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin that spoke of spending most of his time indoors. Somewhere in his early thirties or late twenties; ambitious, ruthless. And, apparently, a fucking fool.

“What are you gonna do?” Yvan asked.

“I’ll find out if it’s true. Stay here. Keep the doors closed and the windows barred.” He swallowed down the nervousness about leaving his husband alone. “I’m not sure who I can trust.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I come with you then?” Yvan handed the letter back. “One less loyalty you have to doubt.”

With Yvan at his side, he wouldn’t need much more support. He was stronger than three of Cedric’s men together. Perhaps he should bring another mage though, like Laurent. One of his oldest friends, and one of the very few Cedric was sure were not involved in whatever this was.

“Are you sure? You know what I’ll have to do if it’s true.”

“I know. But when it’s us or them…” Yvan leaned in, placing a quick, tender kiss on his lips. “I’ll pick us a thousand times over.”

-

“Where is she?” 

Jean glared at Cedric. The man’s feet were buried up to the ankles in the hard packed dirt of the backyard of his house. He yelped when he sunk in a bit deeper, the dirt closing in around his lower legs now, but his hateful glance didn’t waver.

“Where?” Cedric asked again.

Jean’s admission of guilt had been a mere formality after Cedric had found the documents in his house. A collection of meticulously taken notes about Cedric’s connections, the location of dead drops he should never have known about, and a shockingly complete roster of Cedric’s confidants. Colette’s name had been last on the list, and he assumed that Jean’s research had alerted her to what was going on.

There had been no trace of Colette herself though, and no clue as to if Jean had been working on his own.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, trying to tear his legs free. He was not successful. 

“She has nothing to do with the business anymore.” Cedric’s voice was certainly calmer than he felt. “She’s just a nice old lady, living a nice, peaceful life.

When Jean didn’t reply, Cedric reached for the earth. Pushing, squeezing. Closing it around the man’s legs, tighter and tighter, until something cracked. Jean wavered, sweat beading on his forehead as the color slowly drained from his face. His breaths were visibly labored, but he managed to not make a sound.

“Where is she?”

Jean spat out in front of Cedric. “Well now she’s a dead old lady.” His voice was trembling from the pain he must be in. “I made sure you’ll never find what’s left of her.”

Cedric didn’t often allow his anger to take over. He couldn’t afford for it to guide his actions when there were people who relied on him. Right now, it wouldn’t make a difference. Colette was dead; because someone had tried to get rid of him, because she had tried to warn him. Killing this piece of shit wouldn’t bring her back, but Cedric was not above revenge.

He raised his hand, pointing the handle of his cane towards the ground. The earth shifted and rippled, dragging Jean deeper down. The man’s curses turned into screams as it reached his thighs, his hips. Cedric squeezed his hand around the handle and the earth around Jean’s legs. His screams turned into sobs as his knee was crushed, and into hiccuping gasps when the second one followed.

Hands were trying to find anything to hold onto, but the ground swam away from them, burying them, not letting them go again. Jean’s torso sank deeper, dragged down, squeezed to suffocate the man’s screams. Then his head was gone as well, and a moment later the earth lay still again, seemingly undisturbed. 

Cedric reached out to the soil itself, feeling where it was, feeling where it wasn’t, and how it shifted as nails dug desperately into it. He wondered if Jean was screaming; if he was, he was too far down for it to be audible above ground. Cedric had made sure to leave his legs trapped, but enough room around his upper body for him to struggle and fight and feel the terror of realizing he would suffocate.

His death would be a slow one.

“You,” Cedric suddenly said, turning around, walking towards Adrien. The kid was pale as a sheet. “You vouched for him. Got anything to say about that?”

Despite all his show about punishing the bondsman for the crime of the one they had vouched for, he didn’t like it and wasn’t unwilling to listen to reason — within reason. Only twice had he had to make true of his threats so far. He hoped it wouldn’t have to come to a third time now.

“Well?” he probed, his patience running thin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have said something but he promised—” Adrien snapped his mouth shut, tearing weakly against Yvan’s hand on his arm. “It wasn’t my idea,” he blurted out, the fear in his eyes betraying the resolute sound he had tried to give his voice.

Cedric grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected him to be in on it. Perhaps not truly a part of it, but aware enough. How long had Adrien looked him in the eyes, knowing that Jean was planning his murder? Digging through Colette’s house, knowing very well that she was dead? Lying right to his fucking face, despite seeing how worried he had been about his friend?

As Cedric nodded in Yvan’s direction, he let go of Adrien. His attempt to run was short-lived; the ground rippled, making him stumble and fall. It crashed over him like a wave, suffocating his pleading scream with a cloud of dust, turning it into a cough. Adrien was swallowed quickly, and dead a few seconds later, crushed by tons of soil and stone.

Despite the anger still burning in him, Cedric didn’t want to make him suffer. For a moment, he traced the blood, seeping into the earth beneath his feet. Too warm, too thick, not connected to anything, neither surface, nor underground stream. It was wrong. It wouldn’t stay wrong for long, the earth would take what he had offered. 

When Cedric looked up, the others were watching him with indifferent expressions, as if he hadn’t just killed two men. It was slightly reassuring, to consider that they were on his side — and still fucking unsettling. He raised his voice.

“Sweep his house. If there was anyone else involved, I want to know.” He took a deep breath, meeting Yvan’s gaze. “No word to anyone. If anyone gets nervous, I also want to know.”

There was a clear understanding between them; Yvan would keep an eye on the others, even on Laurent. He would make sure that there was nothing missed, that every bit of information would reach him. Cedric was so infinitely grateful to have him at his side, no matter what.

He smiled sadly at another kind of understanding in Yvan’s gaze as he added, “I��ll go tell Colette’s daughter.”

[ID: The top image is a banner is a picture of shallow water on a sandy beach. Across it is written the title side stories in a bright yellow to dark pink gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a thin paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @whumpmasinjuly​

#Cedric doesn't wanna deal with this shit #whump #fantasy whump #character death #broken bones tw #suffocation tw #buried alive #whumpmasinjuly #wij22day12 #Today I woke up and chose violence #my writing

[whumpinthepot]

Day 12: Rebellion

BBU facility, all of the boxboys are put in a room together to save space. Most of them are trained to be compliant but there are the odd few who just have that instinct to fight back. Some of them hide it well, planning their way around it. Eventually, they’re able to round up enough like minded boxboys to start a rebellion. All somehow under the trainers noses. Will it work, or will the more frightened boxboys try to stop them?

#whumpmas in july 2022 #whumpmasinjuly #boxboy #bbu #wru #breezy’s post #whump prompt #wij22day12

[noirineverysense]

Claw's detective agency - part 7.5

Masterlist

WiJ Day 12 - Rebellion

He's on his knees. Brought straight from the highest echelons of society to kneeling to his captor.

His eyes found that horrible tattoo again on his captor's hand, that dragon that haunts him, finds him everywhere he goes, even in this dreary, dark basement.

He was a ruler, now he's kneeling to a rebel.

"Let me go! Please!" His voice gone hoarse from a lack of water that his captor refused to correct.

His captor was silent still, eyes darting from the door to their prisoner. He had tried to figure out their movements, their scheme. But nothing. They moved from place to place seemlessly, he was gagged and blindfolded in each vehicle, he's sure there were multiple, he has no idea where he is now. He may be miles away from Westminster, in a place people would struggle to find even if they knew the location.

He looks around, the location despite being underground seemed less like a basement and more like a passageway.

His stomach growled again and he found himself missing the streets of London, the smells of food from all over the world. He of course missed his wife's cuisine too.

Melissa.

She doesn't do well on her own. She'd spend all her time in circles about the past and what has happened. He'd tried to get her to move on, but he's been told by the men of parliament that wives often are less interested in the construction projects and other efforts to revitalise the city.

He missed it all, it's only been a couple days he knows, but every minute stretched to eternity in this place that seemed to belong to nowhere.

He supposed that's the problem with rebels, no-good jobless nobodies belonging to nowhere who blame the rest of society for it. And yet-

"Please. Let me talk to your leader. We can negotiate."

Silence again. Avoiding eye contact this time. For some reason he got the idea that his captor found him uncomfortable. Which is odd, considering the fact that if anyone should be uncomfortable with the arrangements it should be him. His kidnapper did seem quite young, perhaps a new recruit who gets the dirty work. He might be able to get through to them, even with that hideous mask on. Princess-whatever. He always hated that show.

"Please, you know this is wrong. To keep an innocent man here."

There's a sound through the voice modulated mask, he recognises it despite the digital sound. He's been scoffed at.

"I can't wait for the enforcement to round you all up, it's an embarrasment to us all that you haven't already."

The kidnapper's head snaps toward him and they pull out something from their belt. A blade.

"No, no, no! L-listen alright I know you can't kill me, I'm your leverage. They'll kill you straight away if I'm dead. They need me alive."

They walk toward him anyway, blade in hand and he shuffles back until he hits a pillar.

"Please-"

"I think it's time for another message."

Taglist: @winedark-whump @painful-pooch @whumpmasinjuly

#pewtree #he has many thoughts #not always great ones #whumpmasinjuly #wij22day12 #claw's detective agency #talon and claw

[whumpmasinjuly]

Whumpmas in July - Day 12

Day 12: Creation Prompt - Rebellion Interpret this in whatever way you like, the possibilities are endless! Is your character rebelling against their capturer? Are your characters fighting for justice against an evil regime? Is a whumpee retaliating after being tortured? Action or adventure, emotions or angst, pride or distrust, there are a thousand ways to rebel -- which will you choose?  Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to tag us @whumpmasinjuly​ and #whumpmasinjuly when you do!

#whump #whump community #whumpmasinjuly #infowhumpmasinjuly #infowij22 #wij22day12 #wijprompt

[hardygalwrites]

Day 12 Prompt: Rebellion

Prompt by @whumpmasinjuly (click here for the complete 2022​ itinerary)

Part of the “Team SA37 series”

← Prompt: Falling – Prompt: Numb →

Feat. me being a day late SA37 trying to punch a client in the face on behalf of his team and nearly getting his shoulder dislocated for his trouble

(image source)

rebellion, noun: the action or process of resisting authority, control, or convention

—

“I’m sorry about your team…”

SA37 could barely hear the words over the whirring of the helicopter blades and the rush of his own thoughts. He didn’t bother saying anything back or even looking at the people sitting in the helicopter with him. He kept his head down, eyes closed, steepled fingers pressed against his forehead, and simply nodded.

The urge to get up and shout at the pilot again was strong. At the very least, it might ease the tight pressure in his chest and loosen his tightly clenched jaw.

SA37 shifted his steepled fingers until they were intertwined with each other, knuckles going white.

No, that would be pointless. The pilot was just a lackey after all, following the orders his boss had given him. It was the boss, the client, that SA37 needed to save all the rage and distress in his chest for.

He took a deep breath and sat back in his seat, dropping his hands onto his lap. His eyes drifted over to where the client’s daughter sat with her spouse and child. Though he was at least glad the child hadn’t gotten hurt, the sight brought him little comfort.

The helicopter finally landed a little under an hour later in an isolated area outside the city. The family was quick to exit the helicopter and rush to where one Mr. Donovan stood waiting with a pair of cars and a handful of his most trusted bodyguards. SA37 slowly followed suit, his steps slow and measured as he watched Donovan greet his daughter and her family with warm smiles and embraces.

“Thank god you’re safe,” Donovan said, planting a kiss on his grandchild’s forehead, before drawing back and sweeping a hand towards one of the cars. “Quickly. Grace will drive you somewhere safe. I will meet you there momentarily.”

One of the bodyguards began to usher the family towards the car. The daughter hesitated, glancing back and meeting SA37’s eyes as he approached.

The daughter turned back towards Donovan. “Dad…”

“It’s all right,” Donovan reassured, patting her on the shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you.”

With some pulling and coaxing from her family, Donavan’s daughter reluctantly got into the car. She gave SA37 one last worried glance before she disappeared behind tinted glass. SA37 couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t about to do something incredibly stupid.

He was sure he didn’t give a damn.

As the car containing the family drove off, Donavan turned to SA37 with an infuriatingly amiable nod, “I must thank you, Agent SA37.”

The agent in question grit his teeth, his stride picking up speed. “You son of a bitch…”

SA37 aimed his sights directly at Donavan - prepared to grab him, prepared to punch him, he hadn’t decided - only for two of Donavan’s bodyguards to plant their hands on his chest, shoving him back.

Donavan sighed, seemingly nonplussed by SA37’s rising aggression. “I see your team didn’t make it. That’s a shame.”

SA37 lunged forward again. The bodyguards seized his arms, holding him back with vice and bruising grips, but SA37 kept his glare fixed on Donavan.

“You ordered the pilot to ditch us,” SA37 snapped, jerking against the bodyguards.

“No, no, no.” Donavan shook his head. “I simply ordered the pilot to ensure my family’s safety by any means necessary, even if it meant leaving one of your people behind.”

“If he had just waited another minute–!”

“Then the life of a child would have been put at even more risk than it already was,” Donavan cut in dismissively. “Again, it is a shame that your team does not seem to have made it. They are as deserving of my thanks as you are.”

SA37 wrenched one of his arms free and lunged it at Donavan. A swift punch across the face and the subsequent twisting of his other arm had SA37 falling to his knees, a groan of pain escaping through clenched teeth.

“I do understand you’re upset.”

Donavan’s tone belied his sympathetic words. SA37 looked up from where he knelt on the tarmac, snarling at the impassive man standing over him.

“You made me abandon them!”

“I understand,” Donavan said in a tone similar to that of a parent talking down to an unruly child. “I will give Double Eye financial compensation for the loss of your agents, on top of the actual payment for your work, of course.”

“‘Financial compensation’?” SA37 hissed. “Do you–?!”

He jerked against the grip on his arm, only for his arm to be twisted further, forcing a cry of pain out of him. Despite that, SA37 kept his eyes on Donavan, breathing harshly through his teeth.

“Do you seriously think my team is only worth a bit of ‘financial compensation’?!” he spat. “God– Shit!”

SA37 bent forward until his hair brushed against the tarmac, attempting to ease the pressure on his shoulder.

“I am trying to be gracious, given your loss, Agent SA37,” Donavan said, “but if you insist on continuing to lash out like this, then I’ll be forced to put in a complaint to your superiors.”

“Do you think I care?!” SA37 retorted, voice tight but no less venomous when aimed at the shoes of his client. “You already made me abandon my team! What’s one aggravated client on top of that?!”

Donavan sighed again. “Look, I understand–“

“You don’t! Goddammit, you should but you don’t!”

It was starting to snow. SA37 could feel the flakes falling onto the back of his neck, see them decorating the tarmac with specks of white. The condensation of his breath was becoming more noticeable, though that could have easily been due to his pained, quickened panting. SA37 took a deep breath and let it out in a long puff of condensation.

“You went to all these lengths to get your daughter and her family back,” SA37 intoned, staring hard at the client’s well-polished shoes. “Hired a Double Eye team, threw them under the bus, all for your family. Why?”

“This is pointless, agent–”

“I don’t have people I would do that for. No family, no kids, no significant others. Just my team. Agent Tigress, Agent 707, espec– …even Agent Jam. I would do… anything for them…”

There was a stretch of silence, in which all SA37 could hear was a rising wind and his own breathing.

“Just what are you expecting me to do, Agent SA37?” Donavan finally asked, his voice calculatingly blank.

“You’re the one who made me leave them behind,” SA37 said grimly. “Help me get them back.”

“You are assuming they are even alive, agent.”

“They have to be. None of them are the type to just wait around to die. There’s a whole forest they could have escaped into, hell, they could have hijacked Moss’s chopper–” SA37 cut himself off, his desperation becoming more overt than he cared to let this bastard, of all people, to see. “For your sake, Mr. Donavan, you had better hope they are alive.”

SA37 craned his head up to meet Donavan’s eyes with a blank stare.

The client met his stare with that same cool, impassive gaze. “I don’t respond well to threats, Agent SA37.”

Donavan waved a hand at the bodyguard holding SA37 down. The bodyguard pulled back, and SA37 nearly face planted onto the pavement as his arm was released.

“A snowstorm will be sweeping through the area tonight,” Donavan said, turning his back on SA37. “Starting at seven AM tomorrow, I will lend you my resources to search for your team in the forest for exactly twenty-four hours.”

“That’s all I need.” SA37 slowly got to his feet, rotating his shoulder.

“Do understand that I will be taking the expense out of your payment,” Donavan added, glancing back.

“Understood.” SA37 swung his fist into Donavan’s face.

The instant his fist met Donavan’s jaw, SA37 found himself being slammed back onto the ground, face scraping against the tarmac, the familiar click of a safety being disengaged above his head.

“No, no, I’m fine…!” Donavan insisted, though his voice was slightly muffled. “Let him up…!”

“But Mr. Donavan,” one of the bodyguards, the one shoving SA37’s face into the ground, started to protest.

“I said let him up.”

Slowly, the pressure on SA37’s head and back pulled away. SA37 got back to his feet, managing to remain cool despite his throbbing skull and stinging face, and looked at Donavan.

The client gave him an amiable nod, his own face marred by a quickly developing bruise. “God knows I would have done a lot worse.”

SA37 nodded back. “Glad we understand each other.”

#whumpmasinjuly #wij22day12 #it was so difficult getting back into Team SA37 mode for this #cause for the past few days ive been writing up and ironing out the backstory for a new DnD character im gonna be playing #but i managed! im here! this little story line is continuing! #sorry this this isn't as whumpy as it could be ^-^' I really did try my best with my divided focus #(the backstory is super whumpy btw lol) #original writing #original fiction #original character #espionage #spies #whump #angst #HardyGal OC Agent SA37 #Team SA37 #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes original content