#ransom video

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1345

@whumperofworlds asked:

Do you have any prompts for hostage videos?

I got this idea stuck in my head, hope it helps!:

I like the idea of the whumpee not being shown straight away. The whumper really wants to make a production of it, so they're teasing the whumpee reveal. However, in the background noises can be heard. They're very distracting as the whumper waffles on, padding time to allow those receiving the video to hear them moving chains, testing tools, turning on blowtorches etc. Maybe there's a shift of the chair and a quiet "No - please." before the video ends too.

The next one is similar, except there's the tell-tale signs of the whumpee trying to keep quiet with every strike. This format continues for a few videos until the whumpee finally breaks and screams when the whumper is halfway through their demands. There's a glimpse of a smirk on the whumpers face before they excuse themselves and the video ends.

The next video stars the whumpee and whumper sitting side by side. The whumper is acting all friendly with them, but the whumpee flinches at every movement. (However your whumpee looks can be based on what you're subjecting them to behind the scenes).

I can imagine them to be treating it almost like an interview (or even a vlog depending on the setting/timeframe). Where the whumper asks the whumpee what they'd prefer, where the information is etc etc, all coming to a head when the whumper asks: "Is there anything you'd like to say to the people at home?"

And the whumpee explodes with pleads, trying to wrench themselves from where they're bound to the chair to get closer to the camera.

"Don't do it, please don't give them what they want - I'm fine! Don't give them anything-."

There's a cut.

And the chair next to the whumper is empty. They smile at the camera. There's crying in the background.

"Looks like we haven't quite convinced them yet. We'll see you next week where hopefully they'll be more... agreeable."

[livingforthewhump]

Oh also could I request a whump drabble of the hostage video prompt?? Take your time of course but that’s like my favorite trope eVer and I’d love to see what you could do with it :)

Day 6. Proof of Life

Ransom Video|“I’ve got a pulse”| Screams from Across the Hall

Whumpee flinched when the bag was pulled off their head. They had gotten used to the musty dark, strapped to a chair they were unable to see, and, based on how tight their restraints were strapped, they would soon be unable to feel.

“Wakey, wakey, little Whumpee,” a voice sang softly, much too close to them.

They blinked their eyes into focus, adjusting to the harsh light after much too long without it. “I wasn't asleep. Who are you?” Whumpee still couldn’t see them.

The voice chuckled, and a hand settled into their hair, tugging at their roots. “That’s none of your business, dear. Do try and keep the questions at a minimum, hm?”

Their brow furrowed. “If it’s none of my business, why am I here?”

Stinging erupted across their cheek, and the hand returned to drag their chin up. Whumpee managed to fix their eyes on a silhouette leaning over them. “What did I say about the questions?” Their voice was chiding, like they were dealing with an infant. When Whumpee didn’t answer, the hand holding their chin tightened and tightened into something that would bruise.

Whumpee’s lips parted unwillingly. “You said not to ask them,” they finally grunted out.

The grip instantly retreated, smoothing across the skin it had just bruised. The figure standing above them grinned. “That’s right, darling. See? You were listening. I’m going to need you to keep doing that, mkay?”

Whumpee wrinkled their nose a little at the patronizing tone. Questions whirled through their mind—why am I here? What’s going to happen to me?—but their cheek still stung from the last question they’d asked, and they hadn’t gotten an answer yet.

“Here is what’s going to happen, darling. You are going to sit here and smile pretty for that camera right there, and I am going to send a little message to a mutual friend of ours. If either one of you misbehave, you’re going to be punished. And I can already tell you look adorable in pain, which is an added bonus for me, so you’d better be on your best behavior if you want to avoid me testing my little theory, hm?”

Whumpee just stared, guts swirling in horror.

The sicko in front of them laughed at their vacant expression, tousling their hair. “Absolutely adorable,” they muttered before moving off to a camera set up in front of them. After pressing a few buttons and moving back into frame, they started talking.

“Caretaker! Long time no see. I’m sure you’ve been just dying of worry for our friend Whumpee, but rest assured they’re in good hands.” They smiled cheerily and moved to stand behind Whumpee, hands moving down to squeeze their shoulders and then rest there. “In fact, I like them so well I just might want to keep them! You’re going to have to work very hard to convince me to let them go. Isn’t that right, Whumpee?” One of their hands travelled back to Whumpee’s hair, pulling their head back and back and back until they were staring straight up at them. The other hand jumped up to their arched neck, winding down it and sliding onto their chest.

“Don’t touch me,” Whumpee said.

The grip on their hair tightened as that smile grew, and Whumpee knew they had messed up. “Say that again. And louder, for the camera.”

Whumpee hesitated, but the hand in their hair jerked their head back further, neck straining so much they yelled. “I said don’t touch me!” Reflexive tears ran down their face.

The grip released all at once. “Very good, dear. I just want our lovely Caretaker to know precisely what you’re about to be punished for.”

Whumpee’s breath caught and they curled in on themself as much as they could, casting a pleading look at the camera despite how obviously fruitless it was.

“Please,” Whumpee whispered, getting the attention of their captor. “Who are you?”

They raised their eyebrows. “You want a name? Are you really willing to pay the price that question costs, for a name?”

Whumpee nodded. They needed to know whose grave to spit on when all this was over.

Obviously surprised, their captor answered, “Whumper. That’s my name.”

Whumpee nodded once, committing it to memory. They tried not to look too afraid when Whumper pulled a taser from their pocket and began circling their chair.

“Now, Caretaker,” Whumper drawled, once again speaking to the camera as they rounded their prey like a hungry lion. “I want you to pay close attention, because what’s about to happen is going to happen a lot more if you don’t do as I’ve asked. And frankly, I don’t think you want that.

“Though I could be wrong,” they stopped behind Whumpee, where they couldn’t see them. “After all, they do look so good in pain.”

And just like that, red hot agony erupted in their shoulder, across their back, sinking deep under their skin and utterly consuming them. Screaming filled their ears as their mind went blank. It never seemed to end, until, suddenly, it did.

Whumper carried on like nothing at all had happened. “Maybe you like seeing them like this, hm? That pretty face, all covered in tears and perfectly helpless?” They palmed Whumpee’s face up, displaying the way their soaked cheeks caught the light to the camera.

Then the taser was shoved into their chest, and they were screaming again. Useless begging tumbled out of their lips like rocks in an avalanche, not trying to help anything, not really, just trying to escape where they had been.

“That’s just exquisite, isn’t it?” Whumper breathed when the shock stopped and Whumpee went limp in their restraints. “How exhausted they are from such a little thing.” The taser traced along Whumpee’s cheek, their jaw, Whumper standing just out of the way enough so the camera could record their little flinches. When the hellish weapon caught under their chin, tilting their face up towards Whumper, Whumpee couldn’t stop the pathetic mewl that came from their throat.

They closed their eyes in embarrassment, but that just meant that they couldn’t prepare when the shocks started back up again.

It seemed to last forever, though realistically Whumpee knew it couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes. It was absurd, to them, that a few minutes is all it took to destroy someone to completely. Still they sagged in the chair, focused only on the way their breath jolted in an odd rhythm they didn’t know, and how their muscles still squirmed from the aftershocks.

“I trust you’ll be in touch within the next twenty-four hours, Caretaker dear. Otherwise Whumpee is going to be the star of yet another one of my films.” As Whumper spoke, their arms slid over Whumpee’s shoulders from behind, chin resting on top of their head—a cruel imitation of affection. “I’m very excited to see how they���ll hold up against what I have next.”

With a little squeeze, they let go, turning the camera off and sauntering back up to Whumpee’s slumped form.

“I think that went rather well, don’t you?” They stuck their hands in their pockets, tilting their head to meet Whumpee’s eyes. “C’mon, you must have thought that was fun. I certainly did.”

Whumpee cringed weakly away when Whumper got even closer.

“Really, it’s like you were made for this. That’s the only was I can describe it. You did so well, darling.” Playful fingers tapped their nose, tilted their chin this way and that, ruffled their hair while Whumper spoke. “And you’ll do even better for the next one, because until your previous Caretaker gives me something else to do, we’re going to play.”

And their smile turned dangerous.

—

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[aceofwhump]

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE: Ransom Video

Iron Man | Hawaii Five-0 4x21 | Chicago P.D. 3x01 | Killjoys 1x05 | Hudson & Rex 3x09 | Stargate Atlantis 3x07 | Criminal Minds 2x15 | Fixer Upper Mysteries: Framed For Murder | The Following 2x07 | Hawaii Five-0 10x22

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[sephyathredon-writing]

Whumptober #6: I'd Do Anything For You

Summary: An unmarked package arrives at the Institute's barracks and by chance, someone from Ambrosius' class stumbles upon it first. It has nothing but a flash drive in it. When Ambrosius sees that Ballister has been captured and the video on the drive is a ransom video, it spurs him to rescue the other. After all, he'd do anything for the man he loves.

An Entry for Whumptober under the prompt "Recording"

----

Ambrosius couldn’t believe what he was watching.

A package had been left at the Barracks. It was unmarked. Another one of the cadets in his class had found it first, but had gathered everyone around when the only thing in the package seemed to be an unmarked flash drive.

Several cadets including Ambrosius and Todd all gathered around the first, who sat at his personal laptop. He was seated on the edge of one of the bottom bunks, with people gathered around from all sides. Ambrosius sat on the other side of the bed, leaning back to be able to look over his shoulder. Todd stood behind the cadet with the computer, one hand grabbing onto one of the bottom bars of the top bunk.

He ran the necessary programs to make sure that the drive was free of viruses or anything else that might mess up his computer, then he noticed there was only a video file on the drive. He didn’t hesitate on opening it.

Ambrosius’ heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest when he saw a figure on his knees, hands bound behind his back, gag stuffed in his mouth. He was unarmored. Black hair fell to either side of him like a curtain as he looked up at the camera with pleading eyes.

He’d recognize those big brown eyes anywhere. Anger surged within him. Whoever they were, they had Ballister.

The room they were in looked like it had been used as a cellar once upon a time. It had a stone floor and walls, as well as wood racks for holding casks. Some were there, but most of the casks were missing. A figure spoke from out of the camera’s view.

“This cadet, Ballister, seems very important to the institute, being top of his class and all. We could have gone for Ambrosius, but this one was much easier to nab.”

Several of the people gathered around looked at Ambrosius before looking back at the computer. Ambrosius wasn’t quite sure how to process the fact that they had thought about grabbing him. He stayed quiet for now.

A figure dressed in nondescript clothing stepped into view and delivered a hard punch to Ballister’s gut. Ambrosiuis bit his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out, especially when he heard the cry that Ballister let out in response.

He could swear he heard Todd chuckling behind him.

The off camera voice spoke again.

“For the return of your prized cadet, we ask for a humble price. Normally we would ask for all the gold in the Royal Treasury in return for him, but since we nabbed Ballister and not Goldenloin, I’ll cut a deal. Half of the gold in the Royal Treasury. And so you know we’re not messing around…” The voice trailed off.

Ambrosius felt a weight of dread settle in his heart as Ballister was punched again. It escalated into a full out assault against this man who couldn’t fight back. Ambrosius closed his eyes at one point, unable to watch anymore, but he couldn’t block out the sound of Ballister’s cries.

“Leave the money at this location.” An address flashed up on screen. Ambrosius forced himself to open his eyes and look at the screen. He tried to commit the address to memory as best he could. “Should you fail to do so within the next day, your prized cadet will be no more.”

The video left off on the figure delivering a harsh kick to Ballister’s stomach. The scream was cut off by the end of the video.

The silence that followed only lasted a minute or so, and it was, predictably, Todd that finally spoke.

“Pff, it serves that gutter rat right. They really think we’d offer up half the queen’s gold in exchange for his pathetic life.” He laughed and a few of the others laughed as well, though most of them were clearly nervous. The only ones that were genuine about it were notorious lackeys of Todd’s, Blanche and Chad. Others just stayed quiet.

“Todd.” Ambrosius was visibly seething with anger now. The other cadets gave him a wide berth. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m only telling the truth. He never belonged here. He was never one of us. He deserves this. I say we should just leave him to his fate.”

Something in Ambrosius snapped at those words. He got up from where he was sitting on the bed and approached Todd so fast, he hardly had time to react before he was taking a fist to the face.

“Don’t you dare say that about him! Nobody deserves this!”

With that, Ambrosius turned and left.

“Where are you going?” one of his classmates asked.

“To rescue Ballister.”

“But… there’s no way you can do it alone.”

Ambrosius turned, regarding the room with a determined expression, “Are any of you going to help?”

Nobody responded.

“That’s what I thought.” His voice was bitter as he left the room, heading to his own. Being a descendant of Gloreth gave him special privileges, which included his own room.

He grabbed any scrap of paper he could find and a pen, jotting down the address before he forgot it, then he gathered up a few things and grabbed his sword. It was in a special stand near his bed.

He donned his armor and sheathed the sword by his side, grabbing a cloak so he didn’t stand out as much. As much as he knew the armor would stand out, he would need it to protect him during a dangerous rescue mission like this. He recognized the address as being in the lower city at least, so he would certainly need the disguise.

Ambrosius didn’t expect the address to lead them directly to their hideout, that just wouldn’t be the smart thing to do on their part. He at least figured there’d be someone there to receive the money they were expecting.

Instead, he expected it to lead them to an area close to their hideout. It was good enough for him.

Ambrosius tensed his jaw, face forming an angry expression as he pulled the hood of the cloak over his head and tightened the rest of the cloak in front of him, being sure to hide that gold armor and blond hair really well.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’m coming for you, Ballister, just hang on.”

And with those words, he left the room and then the institute, continuing on until he reached the very outer ring of the city. He had to go into one of the sketchier parts of town to find the place, but eventually he arrived at a shop. Nothing seemed off about it, except that it didn’t seem to be in the best shape, but that was to be expected when it came to the buildings in these parts.

He was about to approach it when a voice from nearby spoke.

“Come here.”

He saw someone dressed head to toe in nondescript clothing. He was obviously very thorough in not letting any part of his identity show. If Ambrosius had to guess, this was the guy.

Under the cloak, his fists clenched, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. No. He had to wait.

He followed the man into a dark alleyway, reaching a hand up to tug his hood lower and make sure all of his hair was covered, quickly hiding it again so the gauntlet didn’t show.

The man turned once they got halfway down the alleyway.

“You got the money?” he asked. “Doesn’t look like you do.” He had the same outer city kind of accent Ballister did. It was a popular thing in these parts.

“I’ve got it on me, ready for digital transfer,” Ambrosius responded, hiding his voice by making it deeper.

“No. Digital transfers leave trails that are easy to follow.”

Ambrosius tensed up, but then visibly made himself relax, “Better than lugging around all that money in plain sight. Besides, I know a way that we can transfer it without leaving a trace. I just need to see Ballister first.”

“I can’t believe it. The queen was actually okay with this?”

Ambrosius nodded, “You know how much she cares about Ballister. The whole Kingdom knows that she will pay any price to get him back.”

He apologized in his head for the blatant slander of Queen Valerin. He was sure what he said wasn’t true, at least not to this extreme. She’d probably just give the command to raid the place with a group of Knights.

“Alright, you want to see him, I’ll show you him. Just be warned that if you don’t actually have the money, we’re going to make you regret talking to us.” With that, he started walking and Ambrosius was quick to follow him.

He was led down several alleyways, crossing empty streets in between, in a pattern that he would not be able to distinguish were he looking on his own. Looking up, Ambrosius realized he could see the wall looming closer and closer. It was one of the parts where the forest was the thinnest. Still, they pressed on through the trees.

The forest here seemed to be new, overtaking buildings that had previously been owned, bridging a gap between two forests on opposite sides, against the wall.

They only stopped when they came across an abandoned half destroyed building practically pressed against the wall. The figure pulled open a trapdoor in the floor of the place and motioned for Ambrosius to go first.

He did so, descending the stairs, his anxiety spiking as the man stepped in behind him. Ambrosius had one hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword, just in case.

The sight that greeted him when he got to the bottom of the room made him bite back a gasp.

Ballister was lying on the ground, curled up into a ball, still bound as he had seen in the video, but covered in noticeably more cuts and bruises. Bloody nose, split lip, black eye, so much had been done to him in the short time that it took Ambrosius to get there. The whimpers that escaped him as he lay there made Ambrosius’ heart break.

“Satisfied?” the man behind him asked. Ambrosius took note of two others in the room. He was truly outnumbered, maybe in over his head. He was known for doing reckless things to keep Bal safe.

The fact that Ballister was in trouble blinded him. He’d act reasonably any other time, but since he was involved this time, Ambrosius only saw red. He wanted to make them pay.

Ambrosius unsheathed the sword a little from under his cloak, looking at Ballister, trying to meet his eyes. Ballister seemed to recognize him immediately. He shook his head as best he could. Ambrosius ignored him, instead turning to the man that had asked him the question.

“You picked a fight with the wrong guy.” His anger showed clearly through his voice.

“Wha-?” The man barely had time to speak before Ambrosius drew his sword and hit him hard on the head with the pommel. He crumpled to the ground.

Then he faced the other two, cloak pushed aside, revealing his golden armor. He ripped his hood off, his expression one of pure anger.

“Bet you didn’t see this one coming. Did you really think the queen would just roll over and take your demands? Think again.”

Most everyone in the kingdom knew that if Ballister was always number one, then Ambrosius was right behind him. They knew what a good swordsman he was.

“Who’s next?” Ambrosius asked, just daring them to come at him.

In a sudden bout of what Ambrosius assumed to be bravery, both of the men charged him at once. They had daggers that they brandished like swords.

It was hard for Ambrosius to fend off two people at once, but he’d been taught this sort of thing in training, namely how to fend off multiple opponents.

“How dare you hurt him!” Ambrosius was seething with rage now, but still he managed to restrain it. He didn’t want to be a killer, even if these people deserved it in his eyes.

It wasn’t hard. His sword was obviously a more capable weapon than their daggers and it was wielded by someone who spent his whole life learning how to fight. Soon the other two were crumpled to the ground next to the first.

As much as he wanted to go to Ballister’s side immediately, he made a call first, to the Knights. He kept it as vague as he could, planning to fill in the details once Ballister was safe and his wounds were patched up.

It was only once he hung up that he allowed himself to go to Ballister’s side. First thing he did was remove the gag.

“Ambrosius. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me they sent that video to you?” he asked.

“More like to the Barracks. Someone from our class found it before any of the Knights.” He couldn’t help but wonder if Ballister would have gotten hurt less if it had been found by one of the Knights and sent directly to the queen.

No, it would have taken more time to organize a rescue party. He made the right decision.

Ambrosius used his sword to cut Ballister’s restraints, then he did a once over to assess Ballister’s injuries.

“You know, you didn’t have to come after me…” The look on Ballister’s face was one of guilt.

Ambrosius put a hand under Ballister’s chin and made him look at him. “Ballister, I would do anything for you, anything to keep you safe.”

He avoided eye contact, turning his head to the side as Ambrosius took his cloak off, tearing long temporary bandages from it and beginning to treat his injuries.

“I’m the top fighter in my class. I’m supposed to be capable enough to handle myself. I just… they surprised me. I didn’t have my sword on me… or my armor… how could I be so ngh-,” He tensed as Ambrosius covered a particularly sensitive wound. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Hey, everyone has bad days. It’s not your fault that you were ambushed, and I know you’d do the same if it had been me. So don’t worry about it, okay.”

Ballister’s eyes met his for a couple of moments. What he saw there was genuine. Concern and fear, but also a softness that Ballister had learned to love from Ambrosius. He meant it with every fiber of his being.

Though Ballister’s eyes showed just how tired he was, there was a small smile that formed on his face in response to those words. “Let’s just go home…”

“Gimme a moment, Bal. Gotta make sure you can make it home.”

A few minutes passed by in silence as Ambrosius finished with Ballister’s wounds, doing one last check to see if he’d missed any before putting what was left of the cloak on Ballister’s shoulders.

He stood, grabbed and sheathed his sword, and then sat in front of Ballister with his back to him.

“Grab onto my neck.”

Ballister did as he asked and Ambrosius stood, supporting the other’s legs with his arms once he could get a hold of them. So Ballister was draped across his back with the cloak hiding most of his features, especially his face, which he buried in Ambrosius’ shoulder anyway.

They left the place just before the Knights arrived. Ambrosius left the trap door open for them. It took hours of walking before he finally made it back to the barracks. Just a lot of silence between them. Ambrosius assumed Ballister had passed out.

As he made his way through the halls of the barracks, several Knights and cadets just stopped and stared. Ambrosius heard muffled talking among his classmates.

‘He did it. He really did it.’

Ambrosius held his head up as he walked. He felt like a hero. He even saw Todd off to the side in one of the hallways. He was sporting a big bruise on the side of his face from the punch. His expression was once of clear annoyance, but he didn’t say anything. For once, Todd kept his mouth shut. A miracle if Ambrosius ever saw one.

When Ambrosius got to his room, he laid Ballister on the bed, taking the cloak off of him and tossing it aside, then went to the bathroom. He came out with a first aid kit and a few other tools.

The next few hours were spent properly cleaning and bandaging all of the wounds. Ballister woke up as soon as he sanitized the first one and the pained hiss he let out in response tugged at Ambrosius’ heartstrings.

Very little was said as Ambrosius concentrated on his task. It was only once he was done that Ballister spoke up.

“Why did you come alone, Ambrosius? Was there really nobody else who wanted to come with you?”

Ambrosius looked away, his answer said more than words ever could.

“Oh…” was all that Ballister responded with. He truly didn’t think he was that disliked.

“But that doesn’t matter. We’ve only ever had each other,” Ambrosius stated, laying down next to Ballister, “We’re the only ones who really know each other. I meant it when I said I’d do anything for you.”

Ballister nodded, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to let tears fall. Ambrosius has seen him cry enough already. “It’s the same for me, you know. I’d do anything for you too. I… I love you Ambrosius.”

Ambrosius smiled, “I love you too, Ballister. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

Things went quiet between them before Ambrosius remembered something.

“Oh, Todd started spewing the usual hateful things he always does, even had the gall to say you deserve being treated like that. I punched him in the face for that.”

Ballister laughed at that, “You never could stand it when he talked bad about me.”

“What can I say? Normally I’m pretty level headed, but when it comes to you, all sense of logic and reason fly out the window.”

“That’s not a good thing, Ambrosius.”

He hummed, “Maybe not, but that just goes to show how much I care about you…”

They stayed talking like that for a while, both of them staring up at the ceiling. Soon, Ballister’s exhaustion caught up to him and he fell asleep.

Ambrosius hated to leave his side, but he had some reports to fill out regarding what had just transpired and it was better to let them know sooner rather than later. He cringed internally as he thought of the scolding he was going to receive from the Director about going off on his own.

As Ambrosius looked back at Ballister’s sleeping expression, he couldn’t help but think that it was all worth it.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Whumptober Day 6 (Luke x Male reader)

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE

Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

Warning: kidnapping, ransom video, torture, hot poker, fire poker, fireplace poker, metal rod, burns, burning, clown mask, fear of clowns,

Word count: 1450

@whumptober-archive

You don't value yourself as a particularly valuable member of the team. You were there and occasionally found leads, but you never felt that you were anything special. You were no Agent Reid, after all. But you were useful. Which is why this particular situation was amusing. They had taken you, of all people, thinking it would slow down the investigation. Morons. Honestly. You knew that the team would notice that you’re gone, obviously, but they would still be able to work the case, there’s seven other members of the team. Taking one person out of the equation isn’t going to stall much. You were just worried what was going to happen to you when the unsub realised this. 

You looked up, glaring at the unsub as he walked into the room, tripod with a camera attached in hand, “Now, all I need you to do is sit here and look pathetic and useless,” He grinned, patting your cheek, “Perfect, you’ve already got it nailed,”

You glared at him. He had learnt pretty quickly that you had a smart mouth and so he duct taped your mouth shut. Despite your awkward position, you managed to flip him off. The unsub just chuckled, turning to his table, which he had placed his laptop on, ready to connect his camera to the police’s computers. He turned everything on, setting everything up ready to go when he looked up, meeting eyes with you, “Everything's ready,” He chimed. 

You swallowed, fear settling in your stomach. The sick bastard had put on a clown mask. “I heard you don’t like clowns. I can change though, if you want.” He smirked, “Just say the word.”

You glared at him, not even attempting to say anything, your mouth had been duct taped. He was just being a bastard. It didn’t matter if you did try to say anything anyway, it wasn’t going to make the unsub change. So, you decided, you would keep your dignity. “Ooh, defiant,” He teased, “I like it.”

He turned back to his computers, mildly adjusting the camera. With a sigh, he reached into  his pocket, drawing out a match box. He struck a match against the side of the box, watching it spring to life. He gazed at it for a moment, before throwing it into the fireplace and it roared to life.  The unsub absentmindedly placed three fireplace pokers into the flame. 

Looking at the camera, checking what was in frame, one more time, he turned it on. 

…

Garcia gasped as your face came on the screen, “Sir! Sir this is not good!” She exclaimed, placing her laptop onto the table. Emily and Rossi stared at the screen.

“Hey, have we found anything?” Luke asked, sipping his coffee as he did so. He wasn’t happy when Emily had made him take a break. You had been missing for two days, he hadn’t slept, hadn’t really eaten, he was living off of coffee and vending machine snacks. Thirty six hours in, Emily asked Matt to take Luke back to the hotel and made sure he slept and had something decent to eat. Luke was reluctant, he didn’t need to sleep. He needed to be doing something. He needed to find you. It was driving him crazy not knowing where you were, not knowing if you were okay. His eyes were bloodshot and his body ached but he pushed it aside, craning his neck to look at the laptop screen. 

His stomach dropped. You were bloodied and bruised, your hair thick with blood and sweat, clinging to your forehead. “Where is he?” He asked, his voice urgent, he turned to Garcia who was frantically typing on another laptop. “Garcia, where is he?!”

“I- I-” Garcia rushed, “I don’t know! He’s covering his tracks!” Luke dragged his hands through his hair, resting them on the back of his head as he turned to the screen once again.

“Hello there, BAU.” The unsub’s voice made Luke feel sick. Luke watched as you refused to react, simply continuing to glare at the man behind the camera. The unsub sighed, there was a small amount of fumbling before he then came into the view of the camera. He ducked under your arm, standing behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Luke’s jaw tightened when he saw the unsub was wearing a clown mask. 

“(Y/N) has coulrophobia,” He mumbled. Luke felt pride bubble in his stomach as you continued to stare at the camera, not reacting to the unsub’s mask. 

“You’re little team member here has been quite the hassle whilst in my… custody, let’s say,” The unsub smirked under his mask, running a hand along your back. Despite your attempts to hold it back, you shivered. “But that’s okay, really, it is. Because he’s going to learn his lesson. He’ll be nice and quiet after this. But first, we need to hear him scream a little bit - otherwise there’s no fun!”

Luke ground his teeth together. The unsub looked a little to the left of the camera before smirking.

“And so, for our first round: human body versus fire poker,” He exclaimed, “Who will win?!” He turned to you, ripping the duct tape off his mouth. “(Y/N), what do you think?”

“Fuck you.”

“Suck a foul mouth for someone in such a dire situation.” 

The unsub walks past the camera to somewhere behind it. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat. But you keep staring ahead, at the blinking red light. The team was watching. They were going to get there. Luke was watching. Luke was going to get here. 

The unsub grabbed the poker, tightening his grip as he turned to you. “I’m going to need you to take a deep breath.”

You swallowed your fear. Fear wasn’t going to help you now. It would do no good to be scared, you need to take some deep breaths and try to calm down as much as possible. You were not going to break. You were not going to let him win. You keep your eyes focused on the blinking red light, thinking of Luke. The pain is unexpected, despite you expecting it completely. It’s a red hot burning pain and it’s everywhere, not just where the poker was pressed. 

Luke shut his eyes as your screams filled his ears. He felt like he was going to be sick. “Garcia?”

“I’m nearly there,” Luke didn’t reply, just nodding.

You hadn’t felt pain like this before. The pain was unimaginable. It was a searing pain spreading throughout. And then the pain was gone and replaced with a long and heavy ache. 

The unsub returned the poker to the fire, grabbing the one next to it. “Let’s try that again.”

It takes fifteen minutes for Garcia to locate an address, after five minutes and multiple burns that will scar the unsub gets bored and he stands back for a moment; watching you try and breathe through the pain and then he grabs one of the rods, this one not hot and starts to hit you with it. As Garcia relays the address and sends it to them, Luke’s ordered to stay behind without a gun. And so when they get there, Luke’s standing by the SUV waiting for the message to come over the radio that he’s allowed in. As soon as the radio cracks to life, he’s running in. 

Tara and Spencer drag the unsub out, handcuffed. Matt’s the one that unties you, gently lowering your arms, apologising as you wince, JJ’s gently cutting the rope holding your legs to the chair. 

You stand, shaking, but refusing to let anyone think any less of you. Luke’s by your side in a matter of seconds - Emily (and Rossi) refusing to let him in until the unsub is clear of the building. His hands are on your shoulders, bringing them close to him as he gently kisses your forehead. “I was so worried baby,” He mutters, you wrap your arms around his waist, ignoring the discomfort it caused. Right now, all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms. “I’m so sorry,”

“Why are you sorry?” You asked, moving your hand through his hair, his face buried in your shoulder.

“I couldn’t stop it,” You rolled your eyes.

“You aren’t to blame you dimwit,” You muttered, “I won’t have you bully my boyfriend like that, you know.”

Luke bit back a chuckle. “How can I make it up to you then?” He asked with a grin. 

“What about a get well kiss?” You chuckled, wincing at the pain that spread through your abdomen.

“You’re such a dork,” He muttered, gently connecting your lips. 

[whump-collector]

David Dastmalchian as Murdoc in MacGyver (2016) 2x15

For whumptober2022 No. 6 Ransom Video

It's a very short, kind of ransom video. But I think it's funny.

[beecastle]

Whumptober day 6: Ransom Video

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN!Reader

Word count: 500

Rating: M

Warnings: torture, captivity, gun, wounds, blood

MASTERLIST / WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

.

“I told you I don’t know where it is,” Marcus replies for what feels like the thousandth time and just like every other time, he gets a fist to the stomach, making him double over in pain, the only thing keeping him on the chair are his bound hands on the back of it. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to change your answer, Agent Pike?” One of his captors asks as they bring a gun out and point it at him. 

“I don’t know,” he grumbles. The gun is an empty threat, they wouldn’t shoot an FBI agent over the location of a painting. 

“Okay then.” But when they cock the gun, he worries a little. Before he can say anything, they fire at his leg, ripping a scream from Marcus’s throat. “Still don’t know?”

Marcus shakes his head as tears fill his eyes and he tries to get his breath and the pain under control. “Well then perhaps your partner will prove to be more useful.” They unlock Marcus’ phone, him having given them the password somewhere between the fifth and sixth hour of torture. They put the phone in front of him, a picture of him and you, his partner, who also happens to be the love of his life showing on the screen. 

“Leave them out of this,” Marcus says hurriedly. “They don’t know anything either.” 

“All they have to do is give us the painting and then you can go home with them.”

/

The red flashing on the top left corner of the camera indicates that the recording has started. Marcus tries his best to put on a brave facade for your sake, attempting to mask all the pain and fear going through him. He wants nothing but to have you in his arms and bury his head in the crook of your neck and live there forever.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he tries to reassure you as a trail of blood drips from his forehead and onto the floor, with his hands bound he’s unable to wipe it off. “The people that are holding me captive have some requirements in order to let me go. They’ll release me in exchange for the Picasso painting we confiscated last week.” He squints as his captors show him a piece of paper with something written on it from behind the camera. “They want you to be at the park on Western Avenue tomorrow night with the painting.”

One of the captors, his face covered by a ski mask, moves next to Marcus and grabs him by the hair bringing his head backward so suddenly a small yelp escapes his throat. “If you aren’t there or if you get someone else involved, the next time you see your lover will be at his funeral.”

The recording stops and the man lets Marcus' head go, patting his cheek a couple of times. “You better hope your partner shows up tomorrow.”

[robinrites]

Day Six: My Son

Happy Day Six of Whumptober!

TW: Kidnapped, slight torture (not graphic), panic attacks (not graphic)

Summary: Tim has been kidnapped by people who don't know he is Robin, and are holding him for ransom in hopes that his father, Bruce Wayne, will pay them well for the return of his son...but the kidnappers seem to have different ideas about returning him in one piece.

“We have your son.” Bruce slammed his fist against his desk, growling before letting the video continue. “We have your son Mr. Wayne, and if you want to see Timmy here make it home okay, you’re gonna want to listen real closely to what we have to say.” Bruce watches as the man pulls Tim up by his hair so he faces the camera. Panic flashes in Tim’s eyes as he tries to say something, only for it to be muffled by the gag. Tim squirms from the man’s grasp until his hair is released, allowing his head to lull forward. “Now, as I was saying, 10 million dollars, cash, untraceable. Gotham docks two nights from now. If we catch wind that you’ve told GCPD or Batman… let’s just say the only way Timmy here is going home is in a body bag capeesh?” 

Bruce unmutes his microphone, but leaves his camera off so they can’t see the Batcave in the background. “I’ll do it, just please don’t hurt him.” 

One of the men off camera laughs, “We would never hurt anyone, isn’t that right Timmy?” His hand enters the screen only to hit Tim across the back of the head. Tim doesn’t raise his head, and Bruce can swear he hears Tim whimper. “Now, we best be going, lots of work to do-” 

“Wait!” Bruce interrupts, “Can I at least talk to him? Please? I just need to know he’s okay.” One of the men grunts, then yanks the gag out of Tim’s mouth. Tim weakly raises his head to look at the camera in front of him. 

“H-hey Dad.” He shakily says while Bruce tries to ignore the dried blood on the side of his face. 

Bruce tries his best to steady his voice, both for Tim and his own sake. “Hey Tim, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay Dad, my head hurts a little. You’ll come for me right?” 

Bruce lowers his head, thankful Tim can’t see him right now. “Of course I will, I love you son.”

“I love you too Dad.” One of the men jumps in front of the camera as Tim says this, and even though he’s wearing a mask Bruce can tell he has a smug look on his face. 

“Well, like I said we’ve got lots to do. Gotham Docks, two nights from now, midnight, don’t be late.” The camera cuts off and Bruce immediately stands up. He dials his phone as he begins to pace the cave. 

“Hey B, what’s up?” Barbara asks as she picks up the other end, unaware of what just happened. 

“Barbara, it’s- it’s Tim. Something happened and- and I just got a ransom video. They haven’t hurt him yet, but if they do I’ll never forgive myself and obviously I could just give them the money, but they don’t know I’m Batman so what if they try something-” 

“Bruce, calm down, it’s going to be okay. Can you send the video my way? I’ll see if I can pick up any clues, maybe Tim said something to help us find him. He’s smart Bruce, don’t forget that.” In spite of the panic she feels, Babs somehow maintains a calm tone of voice. “And while I’m doing that we can send everyone out to look for him.”

“They said they’d kill him if they caught wind I told Batman, Babs-” 

“I know you’re stressed out right now, so you’re not thinking straight. You’ll stay at the cave, in case they call again, while the rest of the team will patrol Gotham.” Babs pauses, “I use patrol lightly, they’re really going to be searching for Tim, but casually enough that hopefully our kidnappers won’t pick up on it. Sound good?” Bruce doesn’t verbally answer, but after years of working side by side with him, Barbara knows him well enough to know his answer. “Good, now I’m going to send a message to the team about Tim, what was he wearing in the video?” 

Bruce racks his brain, despite it happening minutes ago, “Red jacket, it looked like a green t-shirt underneath. That’s all I could see.” 

Babs makes a note of this quickly before continuing, “Okay, I just sent out a message. I’m gonna head your way and then we can go over the video together, I don’t think you should be alone right now. Plus I’ll need a second set of eyes.” 

“Barbara?” Bruce rubs his hand over his face, trying to get himself to focus on anything but the danger Tim is in. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you.” 

The second Barbara arrives at the Batcave she begins to scour the video for any clues as to where they might be holding Tim. She knows having Bruce pace in the background isn’t helping any, but the other alternative is to send him out on patrol where he could get a little too hands-on with any low-level criminal he’d come across. Hours pass, with little to no progress in finding Tim, when another call comes through Bruce’s phone. 

“Unknown number, it’s them.” Bruce states, determined to get any clue on the whereabouts of his son. He picks up the phone then transfers the call to his computer so he can record the video. 

“Hello Bruce, miss me?” It’s the same masked man as before, but Tim does not appear to be in frame. 

Bruce growls, “I don’t even know who the hell you are or what you want with my son.” 

“Oh dear, someone’s grumpy.” He laughs.

“Where is TIm? I want to see him.” 

“‘Where is Tim?’ Oh that’s a good question.” He pauses, then a scream is heard off screen. “Oh, sounds like him, shall we go check?” 

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him.” Bruce bites his tongue as best he can. “I’m doing everything you ask, it hasn’t even been a day. I haven’t involved anyone else I swear.” 

The man picks up the camera and begins to walk out of the room, down the hall slightly then into another room. He turns the camera around so the focus is no longer on him, but on Tim, hanging from his arms in the center of the room. 

“Now I want you to keep in mind that I haven’t broken my promise. I haven’t touched a hair on Timmy’s head. My friend Ace, on the other hand… well let’s just say I turned my back for a couple minutes, whoops!” The man walks closer until the camera is almost in Tim’s face, who doesn’t raise his head or even acknowledge the camera’s presence. “Say hi to Daddy for us.” Tim drops his head even lower, feigning unconsciousness so the man walks away. “Or be boring, that’s fine too. Well, since Tim 's not in a chatty mood, I guess I’ll be going now. Just wanted to remind you of what was at stake if you fuck up. Bye!” 

The line instantly goes dead, followed by Bruce storming out of the room. Babs considers following after him, but instead opts to scan the new footage for clues. After an hour straight of watching the video, Babara is about to give up when she notices Tim moving his fingers strangely. A second look and she realizes it’s ASL. L-I-B-R-A-R-Y he spells with his fingers, so quickly Barbara has to slow the video down to register it. 

Barbara glances at the monitor displaying the location of all the teammates to see who is closest to where Tim is. 

“What do you have for me, Oracle?” Jason asks as he picks up the phone. 

“I think I found him.” Oracle pulls up the directions to where she thinks Tim is being held. “Just outside of Gotham, there’s an abandoned library. I think it got destroyed during some battle Batman had, but the underground part should in theory be intact. I think that’s where they’re holding Tim. You’re the closest one, and you’ll have to go in solo, it’d take too long for backup to arrive. I’m going to look for the building layout while you drive there so you know what to expect so at least you won’t be going in completely blind. I know it’s a lot to ask but-” 

“Tim’s family, Oracle. That’s all there is to it. Send me the address and I’ll head over immediately.” 

Jason pulls up to the library and can’t help but pause as he takes in the building. Half of it has been turned to rubble while the other half barely stays upright. He pulls up the blueprints in his helmet for easy access as he begins to search the building for the entrance to the basement. He makes quick work of the two guards in front of the door, then carefully descends. As Jason carefully walks through the wall, Babs leads him towards the room Tim should be held in. He comes across a couple more guards before arriving at a locked door. Jason picks the lock, and tries to stop himself as the door swings open to reveal Tim being beaten by a man into unconsciousness. 

Rage takes over as his vision becomes red. Jason tosses the man against the wall before laying into him with his fists. The man begs him to stop, but one look at Tim tells Jason that he doesn’t deserve his mercy. His hand goes for his gun, one less asshole in the world, but then Babs’ voice in his earpiece stops him. 

“He’ll suffer longer in prison.” She states. Jason knows this is true, and as much as he would like to finish the job, there are more important things at hand. He spins his gun around and hits the man with the butt of his gun, knocking him out. Jason stands, then spits on the man before he turns around to go tend to Tim.

“Ja-Red Hood?” Tim wearily asks, struggling to lift his head. Jason unlocks the chains around his wrists, catching him as he falls. 

“Yeah buddy, it’s me.” He wants so badly to take his mask off, to show Tim a familiar face, but he knows there are probably more goons in the building and he cannot deal with a secret identity reveal currently. “Let’s get you out of here huh?” Tim doesn’t answer, already fast asleep in Jason’s arms, the safety Jason provides finally allowing for exhaustion to take him over. Tim sleeps peacefully until they return to the Batcave, knowing he’s in the hands of people who care about him again.

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 6: Proof of Life

Whumptober masterlist

Benny Miller x reader, Will Miller

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1,6k

Warnings: Kidnapped, ransom video, wounds, blood, bruises, hacking, coldness, allusion to violence

Summary: You have no idea who sent you the video, or who is the original recipient. But none of that matters, your priority is finding out who the man is.

Ransom video | “I’ve got a pulse.” | Screams from Across the Hall

Fingers dance on the keyboard, the rhythmic clicking the only thing making sound in the room. The computer casts a harsh, blue light filling the space and your face. If this were a movie, one could see lines of code and 0’s and 1’s crawl on your skin as you tap away as fast as you can. Unfortunately for you, this is not a movie but real life and real life has real consequences. 

Your head turns, looking again at the video paused on the other screen, grimacing at the paused frame. Your fingers don’t stop clicking even when your brain processes the image frozen and burning into your memory. It's a horrific image but you know you need to study it in painful detail in order to solve this mystery and possibly save a life. 

“Who are you?” You mumble. “And what happened to you?” 

The man in the freeze frame has a swollen eye, so deep and purple like it has received multiple blows in the same area. His lip, plump and pretty, is split and you can see the dried blood almost hidden under fresh one dripping down from his nose. There is a gash near his hairline though some of his dirty blonde hair falling down hides the length of it. It looks filthy and it’s matted with clumps of what you can only assume is more blood. The idea of bleeding so much makes you wince in sorrow. 

He looks directly at you from the screen, his beautiful blue eyes full of defiance and anger. But there is fear in there too, hidden but there when you look closely enough and you know that look will haunt you forever. He will haunt you forever and there is a need inside you to save this man. You don’t know why it is, but you don’t question it, just follow your gut. 

You pause your typing, pressing play again and watch as the camera pans out, showing the room he’s kept in and the chair he’s tied to. A man speaks off screen, rattling the same instructions you’ve heard before.

“You have 24 hours to return my money. 25 million in cash. Fail to deliver and he dies. Involve the police and he dies.” 

There’s nothing further, the camera stops zooming out and the man is in full view; his bare muscled arms pulled to the sides and his training shorts the only thing on him. No shirt, no shoes and no socks. When you zoomed in earlier, trying to find identifying marks on his body, you noticed that he was cold and it freezes you up from the inside. The poor man is locked up somewhere, tied like a bowstring and naked and cold and bleeding. Your heart breaks for him. 

You have no idea who sent you the video, or who is the original recipient. But none of that matters, your priority is finding out who the man is. That must lead you on, maybe to the person responsible for the kidnapping or maybe to someone who can help. At this point, you don’t care which it is, you just need to find the man in the film.

Shifting through the metadata tells you it’s been less than 6 hours since it was filmed and 5 hours since you received it. Knowing that gives you hope you have time left, hope that you now cling to. You press play again, watching the horrible ransom video play again. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve done this, but something inside you compels you to do it once again.

Your eyes shift through the video playing until something small catches your attention. Clicking pause, you rewind and play it again, this time with 50% the speed. Your heart in your throat, you realize his fingers are moving, barely caught on tape but caught nonetheless. You can’t see his thumb very well but the four other fingers are tightly pressed together before they shift and curl into a fist. Then you see the thumb poking out from between two fingers before moving and poking out from between two others. You run it four more times before you are relatively sure of what you are witnessing. He’s using ASL!

A quick Google search reveals the letters form a name, Ben M. 

“Hi Ben,” you whisper, in awe of him. “Hang on a moment longer. I’m going to find you.” 

Hacking into police databases earlier had been easy and now that you have a name, you can alter the algorithm you wrote to shift though missing persons. You already had a questimate of his age there, along with the physical features you got and now with the name, you are quite certain you can find him in no time. 

It takes twenty minutes or so for the program to ping and you pull it up. “Benjamin Miller, aged 35, a professional MMA fighter. Went missing three days ago after a fight. Wow Ben, who got the jump on you? They must be fucking scary bunch,” you speak to the paused video and the frozen image of the man looking directly into your soul from the tape, a appreciation for his talents clear on your voice. 

The next of kin to contact is one Will Miller and you pull up his number on your phone app. While it rings, you search for a few of Ben’s fights off of YouTube, watching in awe as he circles the cage like a tiger waiting on permission to tear into his prey. He’s gorgeous, all corded muscle and tension just waiting to be unleashed. Once you get him out, you can’t wait to stream one of his matches. 

“Hello?”

A deep, masculine voice picks up and you jump on your seat. Had you really been that immersed in a taped fight? Holy moly the man has you under his spell. 

“Hi, umm… is this Will Miller?”

“Yeah. Who is this?” You can hear the edge in his voice, the tightness that coats it. He must be very worried over Ben.

“I’m a friend. I think, I think I have a video that should be for you. It’s of…” you pause, unfamiliar in this territory you are about to enter. Because if this Will doesn’t track you down to kill you, you are about to let a man enter your domain willingly. One look into the deep blue eyes drilling into your soul from the screen seal over any hesitation you might have. “It’s of Ben.”

“WHAT?!” 

“I think I got it by mistake. Or maybe not. I don’t know. All I know is that someone sent me an encrypted email that contained a link to a video. That video is of Ben, beaten and tied to a chair and some weird dude saying he’s owed 25 million of his own money and that there is a 24 hour limit after which Ben dies. Please, Will, what can we do to help Ben?” You ramble, sweat gathering at the back of your neck. You glance at the screen with Ben’s image frozen, hoping that Will believes you and is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. 

You can hear other men talk rapidly in the distance before a car rumbles and doors slam shut. Then Will is back, a menacing growl on his voice as he barks into the phone. “Fish has your location pinned and we are headed your way. If you fuck with me, I swear I will bury you under so deep no one will ever find you. What the fuck do you know about my brother?”

“Nothing! I got nothing but his name! Look, I got sent this video, that’s all I know. I just found out who he is, I swear! Wait… you have my location?” 

He barks out a laugh, a short and cold sound. “I don’t think it was a coincidence you were sent the video, Wings.” You reel back from the computer, shocked he knows your hacker name. “Lorea has his fucking claws everywhere and I think he’s someone you’ve crossed paths with earlier. Not in the good way either.”

Mind spinning, you think back and almost fall out of your chair. You remember Lorea, the target from way back. You were hired to hack into his security network and you did, completing the job and moving on as usual. It wasn’t your business to know what your client did once you were in, but clearly this Lorea hadn’t liked the outcome. He must’ve found out who did the breaking and entering and made you part of his horrible mind game. 

“I know him,” you whisper into the phone. “ I’m pulling up all I have of him now.”

“Good. Me, Fish and Pope will see you in ten. We better work together to find Ben and fast.” The call clicks shut and you let out a huge breath. Your eyes find Ben again, wishing suddenly you could swipe the messy hair away from his forehead and soothe out all his pain. How did one man, whom you’d never met, have this pull on you already? Memorizing the blue tone in his eyes and promising yourself you’ll gaze into them for real, you crack your knuckles. 

It’s time to double down on finding where these bastards had him. And then make them pay. 

[huffle-dork]

Whumptober Day 6: Ransom Video

“Alright Brody, big smile for your family so they know you’re okay,” The thug barks out. Anti keep his head ducked away, glaring weakly as his face dripped blood.

A throwback to Alt’s Kidnapping! I don’t mean to keep drawing Alt but I guess I’m just in a swapboys mood XD

[dotcolorful]

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

Read it on AO3 here!

“Last chance, Lord Vader. Two billion credits, or I will blow your boy’s brains out.”

The cold barrel of the blaster pressed against Luke’s temple uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite keep a gasp from escaping his lips. There was a hand on the other side of his face, covered with a worn-down suede glove, that steadied his head, held it upright so that he could not struggle. It was pointless, really - drugged as he was, with his hands tied behind him and his ankles cuffed to the chair’s legs, there wasn’t much he could do anyway. He suspected immobilizing him wasn’t really the point, though.

What the pirates wanted to achieve was a show.

It was why they had hit his face repeatedly before they had contacted Vader, why they had smeared his own blood over his face to make sure that he looked as vulnerable, as helpless and hurt as possible. This was a ransom call, after all. After learning that Luke was Vader’s son - how they came to that realization, Luke still didn’t know - they decided that Luke’s pain would push Vader to pay the ransom.

Honestly, Luke would have laughed at that if not for the fact that he was about to die. Basing the ransom strategy on Vader’s sense of parental concern for his son was hardly an approach Luke would have taken. There was, after all, no parental concern in the Sith.

Concerned parents would not chop off their child’s hand.

But Luke guessed the pirates didn’t know that.

Now, sitting bound to a chair, with a blaster pointed at his head and a holo-camera recording him, he wished for a father that would care about him.

What he felt from Vader’s side of the bond, however, was not care. It was anger.

“You will pay for this, pirate,” Vader growled. Even the shimmering blue hologram of his figure flickered at the potency of his anger.

“Ah, no,” the pirate laughed playfully. “You will be the one pay - pay me, to be exact. Two billion credits. Now.”

“You,” Vader seethed, “will not get anything from me. You will release the boy now, or I—“

The pirate smacked his lips, face turning into an expression of exaggerated disappointment. “You won’t? Is that your final answer?”

Through bleary, tired eyes, Luke looked at his father’s holo-image. He knew there wasn’t much to hope for - his father had already demonstrated his lack of interest in Luke’s well-being - but he couldn’t help but send his father a begging look, a silent plea to save him.

“Ah, hesitating, are we?” The pirate mocked when Vader remained silent. Then, in one quick move, he grasped a fistful of Luke’s hair and forced his head up. “See that, boy? I don’t think daddy loves you all that much.”

Luke closed his eyes, hurt; the pirate chuckled.

“Whoops, Lord Vader, I think your boy is not too happy about your decision. I mean, just look at those sad eyes.” His voice was filled with such malice, such fake pity and infantilism that Luke felt sick to his stomach. “Tell ya what, Lord Vader. I’ll give you one more chance: two billion credits, or our young…?”

“Luke,” Luke supplied mindlessly, then curses himself for cooperating with the man.

“…Luke, right. So? What’s it gonna be? The credits, or Luke?”

As if to emphasize his threat, the pirate pressed the blaster even harder against Luke's temple, and Luke winced. He was so, so tired already, so hurt from his forced position, his wrists raw from rubbing against the cuffs, the constant pressure of the barrel against his temple. He was exhausted from the constant feeling that he could die any second, that one pull on the trigger could end his life in a flash.

And, most of all, he was exhausted from naively hoping that his father would pay the ransom and save him.

He wouldn’t; Luke knew that. His father would never stoop so low as to accept the demands of a meek pirate. And so, between the life of his own son and his pride, it was pride that Vader would choose.

…which was precisely why Luke felt so hurt.

“Your dad always this indecisive?” The pirate chortled, giving Luke’s hair a sharp tug. Only now did he notice that the man’s hands smelled foul. It was a mix of grease and ship fuel, but rotten, giving off such a pungent smell that Luke wanted to retch. For a second, he felt disgusted at the feeling of the man’s hands in his hair. He’d have to wash it, and soon - those terrible hands probably carried a lot of dirt…

But there would be no dirt to wash off. Soon, he’d be dead.

“For the last time, Lord Vader, what’s it gonna be?”

There was a short pause, as if Vader was thinking, but there wasn’t anything to think about, really. The credits, or Luke. It was his father’s choice, and Luke already knew he was going to choose poorly—

“Pirate,” his father spoke suddenly, and a glimmer of hope passed through Luke’s eyes. “This is your last chance. Free my son, or-„

“Okay, too late,” the pirate interrupted him. “Luke, say goodbye to daddy.”

“…what?”

But before he could finish his sentence, the pirate pulled the trigger and white-hot light filled his skull.

Agony. Excruciating, unimaginable agony filled his eyes and lungs and heart, replaced the blood flowing through his veins and seeped deep into the pores of his skin. For a moment, pain was all he was; it encompassed his whole existence and defined his very essence. He had nothing - no vision, no hearing, no sense of smell, or touch. All had been replaced by that terrible, painful, flashing white.

And then it cleared.

As quickly as it had appeared, the white burst of agony had evaporated, leaving him blissfully numb. Only now did he realize that he was leaning forward, hands still tied behind his back, but head now slumped as his muscles no longer supported it. He was limp, boneless; dead.

What the fuck, was his first thought. The pirate… he’d not even given Vader a chance to finish his sentence! He’d just… shot Luke. Just killed him. Just lost his only bargaining chip.

How strange, was his second thought. How strange that he was even thinking these things now that he was dead…

And then it struck him.

He wasn’t.

He was limp, yes; paralyzed. He could not move a muscle save for the faint beating of his heart. His eyes were stinging - they were wide open, but his eyelids would not blink - and it felt as if someone had immobilized his very pupils so that nothing could be moved.

He could feel the burning pain somewhere near his temple where the pilot had shot him, and could still feel the terrible throbbing of his body that was now slumped in the chair.

He… looked dead. But he wasn’t dead.

And Vader’s side of the bond was oddly silent.

It took Luke a moment to realize it was because he couldn’t feel the Force at all. It was blocked, shimmering at the back of his mind but unattainable. It was frustrating; if only he could reach out with a mental hand, grasp at its tendrils and pull them towards himself…!

But his hands, both real and metaphysical, were paralyzed.

And he didn’t need the Force to tell him that Vader was… withdrawn. Silent.

Upset.

With his head slumped forward, Luke couldn’t see much besides the top of his own shoes, but he could feel the all-encompassing feeling of grief and distress that radiated from where Vader’s holographic figure was.

“You—“ the vocoder spat out. “He— he’s—“

For one, hysterical moment, Luke thought that Vader sounded like the toy robot he used to play with on Tatooine. Whenever its batteries were nearly dead - which happened often, for his family could rarely afford to buy new ones - it would also spurt out static and jarring noises, much like his father’s stuttering now.

That thought, however, was quickly overcome by the realization that his father thought Luke was dead.

And, by the Force, his father was feeling grief because of it.

Luke didn’t want his father to feel that way. But now, paralyzed and Force-less, there was nothing he could do.

There was a sharp tug as two pirates grasped his upper body and threw him off the chair. Luke’s face slammed against the ship’s floor, throat working frantically to scream, but no sound made it past his lips. His whole body ached from the impact, and with his hands still tied behind his back, his spine started to feel like it would soon snap in half.

At least now, with his cheek plastered to the floor, his eyes were set in the general direction of where the shimmering hologram of his father was.

The moment he looked at his father’s face, though, he wished he’d never seen it.

Yes, it was covered by a mask. Yes, there was no face to physically see. But somehow, the hurt that emanated from Vader seemed to transcend the mask, the helmet, the armor, and painted the picture of an expression of such pain, such sorrow, that Luke couldn’t have seen Vader’s face clearer.

“He’s—“ Vader’s broken stuttering continued. “He’s—“

“Dead?” The pirate who’d shot him smiled, picking up the holo-camera and repositioning it so that it would show Luke’s body, crumpled in a heap, lying on the floor. “Well, what can I say. I’m not a patient man.”

“You,” Vader seethed, finally finding his voice, “are not a man at all.”

The pirate had the audacity to actually laugh at that. “Look who’s talking.”

Slowly, deliberately, he walked up to where Luke lay and knelt by his head, before gently tracing a finger over the shot temple. “Such a waste.”

“Don’t touch him!” Vader actually sounded hysterical. “Get away from him!”

“Mmm,” the pirate mused, ignoring Vader’s words and continuing to stroke the side of Luke’s face. “New deal, Lord Vader. Two billion credits in exchange for your son’s body. Pretty thing… deserves a funeral, at least.”

Anger exploded from Vader at those words, so strong that Luke almost flinched despite the paralysis. Why was he feeling his father’s emotions so strongly? Could he really not touch the Force? Or was it there, but Luke just couldn’t feel it? So many questions, and his mind was so numb…

“Actually,” the pilot said after a moment, his hand against Luke’s face stopping, “I’ll make that one billion. Treat it as a nice little father of a dead child discount.”

What escaped Vader at those words was a roar, an animalistic, guttural sound, so loud that the speakers installed in the holo-display started spurting out static, unable to properly process it. This was it, Luke thought. His father’s anger was strong, his pride ruined, and there was no way he was ever going to agree to the pirate’s conditions.

He hadn’t paid for Luke when he was alive. Why would he do so now that he believed Luke dead?

Again, he wanted to recoil as the pirate caressed him once more. The action was sinister, deliberate, offending in a way that was supposed to provoke Vader.

And it did.

Because, impossibly, Luke saw Vader lower his head and say:

“I agree to your conditions, pirate. Transmit your coordinates - I will bring you the credits personally.”

A wide smile graced the pirate’s lips. “Wonderful news, Lord Vader, wonderful news.”

“And now,” Vader seethed. “Stop touching him.”

The pirate laughed. “That’s gonna cost a little extra.”

“He is dead!” Vader cried at that, angrily. “Give him some peace!”

“Alright, alright,” the pirate said, putting his hands up in the air. Relief flooded through Luke; finally, that terrible, gloved hand was away from his face. “I was just messing. See you soon, Lord Vader.”

His father’s helmet moved towards him, giving his a last, long look that radiated sorrow.

And then the transmission was cut off and Vader’s shimmering blue figure disappeared.

***

“...’kay Luke, that went well,” the pirate said, patting Luke’s arm. “I can’t believe your old man really bought this. I knew he was stupid, but this-- I mean, he literally thinks you’re dead!”

Again, Luke tried squirming. Again, he found his muscles would not move.

“You’re not dead, by the way, in case you haven’t figured that out already,” the pirate continued. “You’re paralyzed, though. I got this new blaster from a guy in Correlia and it’s kriffing amazing. This shot that hit that poor head of yours? It was a stun shot, but it looks just like the real thing! It’s amazing - keeps you aware but paralyzed. I mean-” he paused momentarily, regarding Luke’d face as if he was a piece of art. “You look pretty dead to me.”

He gave Luke one final pat before standing up, bruising dust off his thighs. “Alright, boys,” he called out to his comrades. “Get in position. Lord Vader will be here soon and he may freak out a little bit when he sees are young Luke here.”

“Ay, sir.”

There was a clunk of armor, the sound of steps as the pirates moved into position, re-charging their blasters and pointing them at various spots in the room.

The pirate turned back to Luke. “You stay put, boy.” Ah, but that was useless - Luke couldn’t move even if he wanted to. “When Lord Vader comes here, I’m gonna present him with a little resurrection scene. For three billion credits, that is. But, after losing you once, I’m pretty sure he won’t hesitate to pay this time.”

Oh, how Luke wanted to spit at the man. How he wanted to fight him, to hurt him for the torment that he was putting both upon him and his father. But, his lips still refused to move, just like his eyes and the rest of his body, and he could only lie helplessly on the floor, looking completely, utterly dead.

Something wet started trailing down his chin.

“Whoops,” the pirate laughed, kneeling by him. His suede-gloved hand reached towards his chin, swiping at the trail of saliva that had escaped Luke’s lips. Had his body tired to spit, then? He hadn’t really felt it; hadn’t felt anything, in fact, for his body was becoming more and more numb. It felt terrible; he felt trapped. He was conscious, yes, but his body felt as if it was made of steel, drowning in sticky honey sauce.

“Let’s get that from your face,” the pirate said, wiping the spit away. “Dead bodies don’t salivate… I think. Do they?” He turned around, calling out to another pirate. “Haja’a’n! Do dead bodies salivate?”

“The kriff do I know, Jaimar?” Haja’a’n shot back, and again, Luke wanted to laugh hysterically. At least now he knew the name of the man who’d ‘killed’ him.

“Anyway,” Jaimar said, getting back to his feet. “As I said, stay put. Your father will be his shortly.”

Luke only hoped that indeed, his father was going to come.

***

He didn’t know how much time had passed before his father finally arrived. Each second blurred into another, and he felt as if he was swimming in nothingness. His eyes, unable to blink, were stinging so much he wished he could just gauge them out. He was hot; too hot for his liking, and that meant something coming from a boy who had grown up on Tatooine. Was it a fever? A side effect of the stun shot? He didn’t know.

It was hard to think.

At some point, he’d caught his reflection in a metal casing of a navi-computer in front of him. He’d seen his body, deadly still and crumpled on the floor, his face, red from the blood and yet terribly, sickly pale. Saw his own eyes, sightless, dull, dead. His lips, slightly parted, dead. His hands, fingers curled, unmoving, dead.

The Force around him, dead.

And then, amidst that sea of nothingness, he’d heard the sharp snap-hiss of a lightsaber.

What happened next was fast. There were screams as the pirates were cut down, one by one, their blasters falling on the floor, useless. There was the sound of begging, of useless pleading, of choking and growled demands. There was the clank of armor as stormtroopers swarmed into the room; the room had gone dark, Luke realized, the lights going out, and he could see the troopers’ riffle red dot reflectors, searching for their next target.

It was all red. His father’s lightsaber; red. The troopers blaster shots, red.

The blood of the dead pirates, dead.

And then his father crouched before him.

“Luke.”

And Luke had never heard so much pain in someone’s voice.

“Luke, I-” his father paused, turned his helmet away as if it was painful to look at his son’s dead body - Luke guess it was - before turning back and reaching out with a gloved hand. The worn leather caressed Luke’s cheek, but with none of the malice that the pirate’s touch had. The movement was slow, sorrowful, pained. It was meant to bring comfort, even if Luke was dead.

It was as if the troopers behind Vader did not exist. For a moment, it was just them both: Luke’s paralyzed body and Vader’s large, dark, grieving bulk.

Those gloved hands caressed his cheek again, then moved to his hair, fingers trailing through the blood-matted strands. Then, the hands paused as Vader took a strand between his palm and thumb, looking as if he was marveling at the sight.

“Blond,” came the quiet rasp of the vocoder. “Your hair is blond. Like mine.”

The fingers moved back to his face. “And your eyes,” his father continued. “They are blue.”

His eyes did not look blue, though. They looked dead.

And he was alive.

He wished he could tell his father that.

There was, in fact, nothing he wished for more in this world. He’d never felt pain like that, had never seen such grief, such sorrow. His father’s body, kneeling uncomfortably before Luke’s prone form, seemed slumped. He was caressing Luke’s skin, studying his features as if he were a newborn, drinking in the sight of his son. Luke couldn’t stand that thought: that his father believed him dead, and was now caressing what he thought was his son’s corpse.

He didn’t deserve that hurt.

But his lips would not move.

“I’m sorry,” Vader whispered, clasping Luke’s limp hand in his own. “I’m so, so sorry. My child, I- I should have--”

There was a pause, before a burst of static and something akin to a screech left the vocoder. Was his father… Was his father crying?

“My son,” Vader repeated, the words distorted by that awful sound. “My son, my-- my little angel, my child--”

And at that, Luke started to cry.

Big, fat tears streamed down his cheeks, cascading like a river down a hill. He could not control them - could still not control anything - but they kept coming, leaving stinging, salty trails on his skin, pooling on the floor beneath his cheek.

His father loved him. His father was hurt by his death, and was caressing Luke with love and such desire to comfort that Luke had never felt. Not even his Aunt Beru had cuddled him like that. Not even Uncle Owen had ruffled his hair with such affection.

For the first time, he knew what it felt like to be loved by a father.

And so he kept crying. So engrossed in his grief, Vader didn’t even seem to notice.

But someone else did.

“My Lord!” The exclamation resounded in the room, followed by some quick steps, and then an Imperial medic moved into Luke’s field of view. “My Lord, the tears, he’s-- he’s crying!”

Immediately, Vader’s hands flinched away, as if he’d been burned, and the helmet spun to regard the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Is he alive?”

The medic didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed Vader out of the way - a brave move, Luke had to admit - and brought his hand to Luke’s neck, searching for a pulse. He could feel his heart beating erratically, his blood faintly pulsing against the man’s warm hand, and relief flooded his mind.

They knew. They knew he was--

“Alive!” The medic exclaimed. “The pulse, he has a pulse! He’s alive!”

Vader’s presence exploded.

Joy, immense, impossible joy engulfed Luke like a blanket, and he momentarily lost all sense of anything, bathing in the feeling of his father’s relief. There were voices around him, he realized after a moment, there were words spoken to him and hands on him, and then something sharp pierced his skin.

“I’ve given him a stimulant,” he heard the medic say. “He should be able to move soon.”

And Luke did.

It was like warmth spreading through his body, like a fire melting away the ice that had frozen his muscles and blocked his ability to move. First, his toe fingers, then his legs, and hips, and stomach, and chest. His arms, his palms, every single finger, his neck, his lips, his eyelids.

He could move them all.

So, slowly, he blinked.

Immediately, his father was upon him.

“Luke,” He said, his voice almost begging, as if he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was true. Gloved hands cradled his body, hands supporting Luke’s hands and back. “My son.”

Slowly, Luke’s lips turned into a smile. He parted them slightly, taking in a breath; it hurt as it went into his lungs. “...aaah…le…sss…” he tried to speak, then paused as the sound hitched in his sore throat. It was difficult to move his muscles, it hurt, but at least he could move them. Vader’s fingers tightened around him frantically.

Luke tried again.

“At le…ast,” he whispered again, stronger this time. He smiled, satisfied, and looked into Vader’s eyes with such love that he’d never thought himself capable of. “...at least…y-you ge to ke…ep…your two b-billion…credits…”

He’d meant the words to be light, but he still sensed a burst of guilt coming from Vader’s side of the bond. Those gloved hands tightened even more around his body, cradling Luke close.

“My son,” his father replied fiercely. “You’re worth so much more.”

[pegasister60]

NO.6 PROOF OF LIFE

Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse.” | Screams from Across the Hall

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Spoilers for @wolfsbanesparks‘s fic, From the Shadows | chapter 12.

Summary snippet: “Billy gets adopted by the Batfamily while trying to deal with a strong magical enemy.“

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Whumptober: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, ALT 12, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, ALT 1, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31.

[ohnoithurts]

Whumptober Day 6- 'Ransom Video' and Day 25- 'Duct Tape'