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One Precious Thing

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, but a sickening feeling in your gut tells you that's not going to mean a thing shortly. You've found yourself surrounded by trolls who are sneering at you and talking among themselves in a language or heavy accent you don't understand. You count at least ten or fifteen who have formed into a ring around you, and you try your best to keep your morale up. It's not like you haven't slaughtered countless imps of various shapes and sizes. You can do this.

You're shaking, but you raise your hammer, ready to strike. "You assholes want a taste of Wrinklefucker?" you shout, trying to intimidate them or at least tell them you weren't going down without a fight. "Come at me!" But you mostly just feel even smaller and more hopeless.

A few of them look at each other and exchanged sharp-toothed grins before advancing toward you. You narrow your eyes, and adrenaline courses through you. You're going to take them down or die trying. The first one to reach you swings a massive club at your head, but you duck easily and use your advantage of a lesser height to slam Wrinklefucker into his chest. He staggers back, and another troll comes flying at you. You jump out of the way of his intended sword blow before spinning on your heel to bash your hammer into another troll's skull. That one's down for the count, anyway, and you hope the rest took notice.

But from the way they just keep flinging themselves at you relentlessly, you don't think they care about their fallen comrade. Maybe she was just expendable to them. You take down at least four more, but the endless assault is starting to weaken you. Wrinklefucker is like an extension of your arm by now, but your arm is starting to feel like gelatin, and you don't know how much longer you're going to last.

As you spin to clock another troll in the face, you feel a searing pain in your left arm. You instinctively clutch it to your chest, and lacking the strength of your dominant arm, your right arm, fatigued from the fight, can't hold up your hammer. Wrinklefucker falls to the ground in before you as you cradle your left arm which is sporting a vicious gash and dripping blood. You try to move it to make yourself more defensible, but you hiss in pain.

Preoccupied with your injury, you don't notice the troll with a club running at you. You feel like static is running through your body, and your thoughts slow as your vision starts to fade. You're about to die, and all you can think is that this was supposed to be a game. You just want to see your dad again. You just want to meet Dave and Rose and Jade.

How could things have turned out this way?

Chapter Text

You wake up to heavy blackness, your thoughts trying to break through the haze to enlighten you on your current state. Your name is John Egbert. You hung out with your three best friends yester-- Wait, no. You badgered them to play a game with you. That one where you change around people's houses and stuff--with server and client players and a green house... SBURB, that was it.

And upon remembering the game, memories flood back--imps, sprites, the Land of Wind and Shade, the Battlefield. Some memories are beautiful and heartwarming, but there are others you wish weren't true but are to terrible to only be nightmares. And then you remember.

You sit up, forcing yourself to full alertness. Your head throbs and spins, but you resist the urge to lie back down. There's no chance that hit didn't give you a concussion, and you lift your left hand to make sure all of your head is still intact. But as you raise your arm, pain spikes through it, and you cry out. You brave a glance at your arm, and find that it's been bandaged clumsily, clearly with barely enough effort to cover the wound. The fabric is splotched with red.

You try to move to sit more comfortably, but your right ankle catches on something. You turn to look at what it is and freeze with horror when you see that there's a tight metal cuff locked around your ankle, chaining you to the smooth white wall behind you. Jarred out of your preoccupation with your physical health, you look around the room. The cell is very small with a low ceiling and entirely white walls. In the wall on your right is a door that nearly blends in with the rest of the room. There's a small square in the door that looks like a window, though it's blocked from the other side.

The room is just barely large enough to not make you claustrophobic, but the fact that you know almost nothing about your current situation gnaws at you. You try to tell yourself that this is all an elaborate prank or just some troll welcoming ritual--a trial of sorts. But you don't believe it.

You suddenly remember your glasses have access to pesterchum. Maybe someone's noticed you're gone and is trying to rescue you already! You smile at the thought of this nightmare being over and log into pesterchum. Tears spring to your eyes when you see that, not only do you have a connection--Dave is online. You grin through tears of relief thinking of how Dave will flip his shit, poker face shattered, and come to rescue you right away. You'll be out of here in no time at all--he is the time guy.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave!!
EB: i need your help right away!!!
EB: time to launch a timely bro rescue and sweep me off my feet!
EB: dave, are you there?
EB: please, dave i really need your help!!
EB: egbert to strider, come in, strider.
EB: please, dave. please, please be there.
EB: some trolls knocked me out, and now i'm in a prison cell... somewhere.
EB: please, dave.
EB: i really need your help.
EB: dave?

turntechGodhead [TG] is now an idle chum

EB: oh god, no.

Before you can panic, you hear the door of the cell open with a bang. You freeze as a troll nearly twice your full height stares down at you. He advances and rips the glasses off your face. He tosses them to the ground and crushes them under a booted heel. You choke back a sob, and, in too confused a state to fight back, you let him drag you to your feet and pin your arms behind your back. He takes leather strap from his pocket and, twisting your arms until they're folded behind you, ties them painfully tightly together. He remains silent as he unlocks the cuff around your ankle before placing his hands on your shoulders and forcing you to walk toward the exit of your cell.

Chapter Text

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave!!
EB: i need your help right away!!!
EB: time to launch a timely bro rescue and sweep me off my feet!
EB: dave, are you there?
EB: please, dave i really need your help!!
EB: egbert to strider, come in strider.
EB: please, dave. please, please be there.
EB: some trolls knocked me out, and now i'm in a prison cell... somewhere.
EB: please, dave.
EB: i really need your help.
EB: dave?

turntechGodhead [TG] is now an idle chum

EB: oh god, no.

TG: egbert what the fuck is going on?
TG: where are you?

ectoBiologist [EB] has ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TG: shit
TG: fuck fuck fuck


Your name is Dave Strider, and you are on the verge of jamming your sword into the ground and getting on top of it so you can execute a literal acrobatic pirouette off the handle. But you don't have time for that shit. Your best bro loves pranks and has been known to do some pretty asinine stuff, but he would never pull something like this unless it were legit. He's appearing as offline, but you know he has his Serious Business Goggles that let him remain online all the time. Someone must have taken them. He can't see a foot in front of his face without his glasses.

Feeling slightly ill with nervousness, you decide to get in touch with the only person who might know what to do.


turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TG: john is gone
TT: What?
TG: someone fucking kidnapped john or some shit
TT: Slow down. I need you to tell me exactly what's going on.
TG: i dont know
TG: he just sent me a bunch of frantic messages about how some trolls ko'd him and dragged him off
TT: I'm going to need more information than that, Dave.
TG: thats all i fucking have
TG: we have to find him
TT: I don't know how, if that's the full extent of our knowledge of his situation.
TG: i dont care how
TG: we have to get to him
TT: We will, Dave. Why don't I get in touch with one of the trolls to see if they have any idea what might be happening?
TG: ok
TG: what do you want me to do?
TT: You're being unusual helpful.
TG: what do you fucking expect?
TG: just tell me what i need to do lalonde
TT: Just trying lighten both of our moods which, I admit, was a rather dead-end plan from conception.
TT: As for what I need from you, just try to keep calm and keep advancing in the game.
TT: I don't know if or when I'll receive helpful information from the trolls, so do what you can on LOHAC.
TT: I'll contact you when I find something that might be of use.

turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]


You're about to punch the next nakkadile that looks at you funny (and you should be able to relieve your frustration pretty quickly since they always look at everything funny). You feel like you're about to be sick. Your best friend has been beaten up, taken who-knows-where, and there is nothing you can fucking do about it.

Chapter Text

The troll has guided you down a long white hallway and into another room. This one is filled with cabinets and shelves of boxes and strange-looking tools and has a large metal table in the center. It's strangely clinical, almost like an exam room in some bizarre veterinary clinic.

The troll removes the strap that had been boring into your wound and instructs you to remain perfectly still, or your arm and head will be the least of your bodily damage.

Before you can react, he unbuckles your belt and pulls your pants and boxers down to your ankles, leaving you naked from the waist down aside from your shoes and socks. But when he tries to pull your shirt off, you're collected enough to punch him in the neck as hard as you can with your right arm. He staggers back, and you kick your shoes off to get out of the pants around your ankles and run for the door as he gasps for air. You pull frantically on the handle, but it won't budge. You're on the verge of trying to kick through what may be a metal door when a long-nailed hand grabs your neck from behind. He picks you up and pins you, back against the door, by your neck. You kick against the air between your feet and the floor and struggle to pull his iron grip off of you.

"What is your name?" he snarls, staring into your eyes with his own, violet irises standing out against his yellow corneas.

"J-John..." is all you can gasp out, struggling for air and solidity.

Suddenly, he throws you, face first, to the floor. You feel your nose bend with a crack as pain shoots up your left arm from instinctively trying to break your fall. You roll onto your side and pant, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream.

"Wrong. You don't have a name." He crouches down beside you and grabs your chin, digging his sharpened nails into your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. "Names are for people, not the Empress' pet."

The word "pet" chills your blood, but you keep eye contact with the troll. "I'm not a pet."

The troll's expression turns from irritation to outright anger. He kicks you in the stomach, and as you convulse, he rips your shirt off and yanks off your socks. Completely naked on the cold floor, tears leaking onto your cheeks, you close your eyes and tell yourself it's all a nightmare. You'll wake up on the Land of Wind and Shade, or better yet, in your own house with the whole game just a terrible dream.

"Get up." You curl into yourself, partly in fear and partly in stubbornness, and the troll seizes you by your injured arm and hauls you to your feet. You scream in pain and nearly collapse from agony, but he holds you up by your shoulders until you balance yourself. "Don't move."

You decide you're not going to escape whatever's coming, so you do as he asks, looking at the white-tiled floor as you wipe the blood dripping from your nose with your uninjured arm. You can hear him rattling with the tools on the other side of the room, but you refuse to look up. You don't want to know what's coming anymore.

He returns to stand in front of you and lifts your chin gruffly before wrapping something around your neck. You tense immediately, but he takes whatever it was away quickly. Catching a glimpse of it, you see that it's a band with regular markings on it--a tape measure, you guess.

"Sit on the table," he says as he returns to the other side of the room. You eventually bring yourself to move and hop onto the metal table, the cold surface against your bare skin instantly freezing you to the bone. The troll comes over to stand in front of you, holding something metallic in his hands. "Lift your chin." You pause before deciding it's probably in your best interest to do as he asks.

He brings what he's holding up to your neck, and you feel cold metal press against your skin. Maybe he's going to kill you right now. You're about to punch him again before something clicks at the back of your neck, and the metal settles against your shoulders. A collar. All the strength leaves your body, and you bite your lower lip hard to keep from crying. The cool pressure against your neck and shoulders makes this far, far too real. If this were a dream, that would have woken you up, screaming and sweating. But you're still here.

You're awake.

Chapter Text

"Comfortable?" the troll sneers. You summon the strength to look him in the eye and glare.

In a flash, he wraps a finger around the ring hanging from your collar. He yanks on it, and sends you hurtling toward the floor. You land with most of your weight on your right knee. Though you cry out in pain, you're relieved that you didn't hear or feel anything break. You feel the troll's boot press into your back and grind your ribs against the floor.

"You do not look your masters in the eye. For nearly destroying the Empress' plans, you don't even deserve to be alive. But she is generous. You not only get to live, you get to serve Her Imperial Condescension." He kicks you onto your back with the toe of his boot and puts his foot in the center of your chest, leaning some of his weight on it as he peers down at you. You hold in a scream as you continue to glare up at him. He's not going to break you this easily. "You'd best be grateful." At that, he grinds down against your ribs.

"STOP! STOP!" You reach up to try and shove his foot off of you, but it's entirely futile.

He leans nearly all his weight on your lower chest as he brings his face close to yours. You scream as you feel one of your lower ribs crack under the heel of his boot. "Did you just give me an order?" he growls, his face so close that his saliva lands on your cheek as you try to look away. You shudder, knowing that to say yes would invite retribution and to say no would be a lie, also begging for more broken bones.

He leans back, apparently satisfied with your silence. "Good boy. Pets don't speak, do they?" he says in a cruelly condescending tone that only the most vicious person would use with a dog. He takes his foot off your chest. "Stand." You contemplate not responding to what is clearly a tone used only when training animals, but you would rather be alive with a little less pride than dead. You have a game to finish, friends to take care of. They'll come for you. You have to stay alive until they reach you.

So you stand, biting your lip to stop yourself from screaming in pain as you move your torso, fractured rib and all. Your battered right leg refuses to carry much weight, but you try to stand up as straight as you can, making sure to look at the floor. You see the troll's rough hand come toward your neck, and you instantly flinch away. A slap on the cheek follows before he quickly clips a heavy chain to the ring on your collar. He yanks on it, nearly sending you to the floor again, but you catch yourself on the metal table. You realize you saved yourself with your injured arm, but you barely notice the pain in comparison to your ribs and leg as you're forced to walk back out of the room.

Chapter Text

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Kanaya believes it was the Condesce who took John.
TG: the what?
TT: The Condesce, also called Her Imperial Condescension.
TT: She's the Empress of the Alternian empire.
TG: fuck this is going to be complicated isnt it?
TT: Quite. We'll have to track her ship, which defies spacetime, before we can even hope to put a dent in its defenses.
TT: Even then, we'd be without much hope. Hers is the flagship of the fleet with the best shields and weaponry and is most likely manned with the most well trained guards the empire has to offer.
TG: i dont fucking care ill murder this alien bitch myself if i have to
TT: I wouldn't advise it. Besides, none of us are going to give up on John.
TT: The trolls are rallying to help us break him out, since they're more familiar with the technology that might be in use.
TG: how long is this going to take?
TG: we dont have forever
TT: Actually, we may have forever, or it might already be too late.
TT: The Battleship Condescension, the Condesce's ship, operates in its own pocket of spacetime, independent of ours.
TG: fuck
TG: how fast can we get this together?
TT: I don't know, but I'm sure they're going as fast as they can. Attempt to have some patience.
TG: like thats going to fucking happen
TT: I don't see that you have much choice.
TT: Kanaya's pestering me again, and I have to see how they're progressing.
TT: I will keep you posted.

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

You pick up the nearest solid object (which is, thankfully, a rock and not a nakkadile) and throw it against the wall so hard that it breaks into tiny pieces. Why couldn't you have done something? There must have been some loophole you missed. This can't be the way things were supposed to go.
But you still have contact with the trolls. This is, somehow, still the alpha timeline. You can't undo this. You can't take away all the pain that John must already have gone through and any between now and his rescue (because you're definitely going to save him).
Will he still be your goofy, happy-go-lucky best friend when you find him? Will he even still be alive? The thought of finding John's body, mutilated and motionless, forces you to lean against the nearby wall. You cover your mouth with your hand, but a choked sob still escapes. You had always hoped that your first meeting with your best bro would involve a fist bump, a sweet bro hug, and--best case scenario--maybe even some sloppy makeouts. But you never even told him how much you... care about him. You're not big on expressing feelings and that shit, but if you had known this was going to happen, you would have told him every day that you... loved him. This isn't this best time to finally admit it to yourself, but, yeah.
You love him. And you're going to fucking save him.

Chapter Text

You're standing naked in the hallway outside a huge door. The cold floor under your feet and the metal collar around your neck ensure that you're shaking with cold by the time the door slides open to admit you and the troll holding your chain. When he tries to pull you inside, you root yourself to the floor, forcing him to pull hard on the chain. The force of it sends you sprawling, and by now, you remember that it's less painful to just try and land on the side without the broken ribs than to catch yourself with your shattered arm. You still grunt in pain as you fall against the hard floor, but you scramble to get up before the troll can attack you in punishment. But as you attempt to raise yourself, you feel a heavy boot push against your back--not enough to shove you back to the floor, but enough to keep you from standing.

"You are not to stand in the presence of your mistress. You'd do well to obey her, or you'll be sorry you were born."

"What, you'll kill me?" you hiss before you can stop yourself.

But the troll laughs and removes his foot from your back. "You will wish with everything you are that we had."

You shudder at his almost cheerful tone and feel yourself move as he pulls you through the door.

Inside, the room is lavishly decorated with black curtains and strange statues and paintings. The troll pulls you along too quickly for you to examine any of them in detail, most of your attention being focused on the pain that wracks your body as you crawl along, favoring your broken arm.

"Is this the boy?"

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty." The troll stops and drops to his knees before a raised platform. He averts his eyes, but you can't help but look up.

The troll before you is seated on an elaborate throne of black stone, her long curls flowing all the way to the floor. Her attire is simple, but not plain--black detailed in fuchsia. Your eyes meet hers for an instant before you have to look away. You have never seen such cruel pleasure on someone's face before. Her Imperial Condescension.

She rises and steps toward you, cupping your chin with sharp-nailed fingers. Tilting your head to look at her, she gives you a vicious grin.

"So you're the one who's been causing all this trouble--the leader of the human children."


She grips your hair in her hand and pulls upward, making you scream in pain. "You are my pet. You do not speak. You do not stand. You do not have a name. You do not have rights. And you do not disobey me. Is that clear?"


She yanks your hair again, and tears flood your eyes. Turning to the other troll who is still kneeling beside you, she snaps her fingers. "Bring me a muzzle. I see he is going to be difficult."

"Should I bring a whip as well?"

"Did I ask for one?"


"Then, what do you think the answer is?"


She smiles at him while he backs away, then hurries off. Turning back to you, she releases your hair, and you collapse on the floor, unwilling to move even though no one is holding the chain. "It's not surprising that you're so willful, climbing to the top of your session's participants as a leader. But I like a challenge. You wouldn't be a fitting trophy if you offered no resistance."

You shudder in response, curling into yourself.

"What, no retorts? You were so vocal just a moment ago."

"My friends will find me. They'll--"

"Friends?" She laughs. "Is that so? You think that someone cares enough about you to save you? that someone is willing to risk his own life for you? Do you know what defenses this ship has? It's impenetrable. No, I think you're mine for as long as I want to keep you."

You're about to argue, but you can't think of anything to say. Who would risk their own skin to save yours? Dave. Dave would, right? You open your mouth to say so, but she cuts you off.

"Anyone who could even get near this ship would be immediately obliterated. Unless I wanted them. I could give them to my guards to play with. I could even let you watch."

A sob wracks your body at the thought of Dave-- No. You can't let that happen. Why did you even tell him you'd been taken? Maybe he wouldn't have noticed. Maybe he would have stayed safe that way. Maybe you could at least have a bit of happiness amid this torture, knowing that he wouldn't be hurt.

You're so consumed by your thoughts that you barely even notice when the other troll comes back and arranges the straps of the muzzle around your head, fastening it in the back, or when he attaches the chain on your collar to a post beside the Condesce's throne. You just curl up there, wishing you never existed. Then, maybe the people you care about would have been happy and safe.

Chapter Text

You are the Condesce's pet, and though you remember your name, it seems like something far away and unimportant. You don't own anything, not even an identity. You hardly even feel like you exist when the empress does not acknowledge you.

It took them a long time to break you. After the initial shock and fear wore off, you tried to fight back with your body and your voice. Eventually, they deemed you unfit to be present in the throne room, and you were kept in your cell for days, each of your limbs fastened by a short chain to the wall or the floor. You couldn't stand, and when they brought you food, you had to bend over and lick it out of the bowl. It was disgusting slop--nothing like your dad's awesome cooking. It hurt to think of home, or even of your planet, but it reminded you that this cell wasn't all that your universe was. Trolls came in only to begrudgingly give you food or to attempt to "train" you, but you wasted no opportunity to tell them you were going to escape and that your friends were coming for you. They laughed, and you didn't really believe it either, but if you didn't say it, you would have forgotten there was any hope.

But after a while, your attempts to resist the oppression faltered. The food they gave you was only just enough to keep you alive, and they woke you at all hours to train you or to punish you--either for talking out, fighting back, or just because they felt like it. You became physically incapable of preventing them from doing what they wanted with you, and your hope for escape suffered.

Once they saw you were becoming more docile, they brought you back to the Condesce. You wasted no time telling her there was no way she could keep you here, but she simply kicked you in the stomach without even rising from her throne. You tried to get up, but you couldn't. She laughed, saying you talked a good game, before signaling the trolls who had brought you in to attach the chain on your collar to her throne and to muzzle you.

From that point, you resided in the Condesce's throne room, unable to do anything but curl up at her feet and listen for your own breathing to make sure you were still alive. They learned that, as soon as they took the muzzle off you to allow you to eat, you went right back to shouting at them with all the strength you had left, so they timed your meals, not giving you long enough to both speak and eat. At first, you chose to continue your fruitless tirades, but eventually, you could no longer handle both the starvation and the whipping they gave you as a result. You stopped speaking altogether. When you couldn't hear your own voice, even once a day, when you couldn't tell them and tell yourself that this couldn't last forever, you started to lose hope. Then, you started to lose yourself.

Now, you respond to each of the Condesce's commands--not because you want to, but because there is nothing else you can do. You sit on the floor with your head in her lap while she strokes your hair with long-nailed fingers.

"I told them you would be a good boy. They didn't believe me, but I was right. I always am, aren't I?"

You nuzzle her leg, and she makes a pleased noise.

"You're such a good boy when you're quiet. I think I'll keep you with me forever. And I think I know how to take care of that."

Chapter Text

As soon as the Condesce makes her foreboding statement, she snaps her fingers. Several masked trolls advance toward you while the Condesce unlocks the chains that secure your arms and legs. They wait, looming over you, as she unlocks your muzzle and replaces it with a thicker one that has something on the inside that's soft but firm and protrudes a little into your mouth.

"You humans are quite sensitive to pain, so I think you'll want something to bite down on that's not your tongue." She smiles at you in amusement before handing your leash to one of the masked trolls.

You're shaking in fear, though you know better than to try imagining what's ahead--it's always worse than anything your imagination can come up with. The troll yanks you forward and you give one last moan to the Condesce, trying to beg for her mercy, but she's already turned away from you. You have no choice but to crawl along as quickly as you can behind the trolls, trying not to choke with the collar's pressure against your neck.

After what seems like hours but you know can't have been, the trolls lead you into an unlabeled room--not that you'd have been able to read one of their labels anyway--and bring you over to a metal table. You remember the last metal table a troll brought you to, and you start trying to back up and struggle out of your collar. One of the trolls says something you don't catch, and the others laugh. The one who spoke leans down and picks you up by the collar, choking you as he carries you over to the table. When he sets you down, you gasp for breath, but before you can even exhale again, they've pushed you flat on your back against the table, shifting you a little and stretching out your limbs. They clamp your arms and legs into restraints built directly into the table that are so tight they allow for barely enough circulation. Once you're completely spread-eagle, they wrap a thick strap around your waist and turn on a blindingly bright overhead lamp. One of the trolls adjusts it to focus on your privates, and you automatically whimper and try to squirm away. But the new muzzle muffles and nearly silences your sound, and the restraints render your squirming nearly motionless.

The trolls all gather to look at your exposed privates and mutter quietly to each other before one of them picks up a sharp scalpel and begins moving it toward the area they're focused on. You give a muffled scream and try to thrash out of your bonds, but the trolls pay no attention to your protests.

A sharp, biting pain, runs through your body as you feel the cold metal slice into the tender skin of your perineum. You shake and whimper in pain, both barely noticeable to anyone but yourself. But before you can recover from that, you involuntarily cry out as the knife cuts deeper and the trolls spread open the wound. You feel dizzy and disoriented, but you can feel them withdrawing the knife and putting something thick into the incision and working it around. The pain is so great that your vision goes black and you stop being able to discern where the pain is. It's everywhere. Wave after wave of agony strikes you, and you can feel yourself biting down so hard on the protruding part of your muzzle that you're afraid you'll slice through it and bite off your own tongue--but you can't control your muscles anymore. Your muted screaming vibrates in your head until you finally mercifully black out.


You barely have strength to open your eyes, but you feel consciousness creeping back into you. Then a dull, throbbing pain strikes you, coming in alternating waves of sharpness and heat. You look around, your vision blurred by pain and weakness, and you see a blob of black and grey on one side of you. Then, you hear a booming sound that might be laughter as the increasingly clear dark blob starts splitting and drifting from its initial spot. Then you see the yellow and orange on their heads.

The masked trolls.

You gradually start to feel your feet again and realize that the trolls released your ankles from their restraints. But the minor freedom is short-lived as they press the backs of your calves against your thighs, wrapping thick straps around your bent legs and pushing your knees back toward your sides. You hear some rough words echo around your eardrums before you feel the table rotate until you're hanging there, sideways, held in place by the cuffs around your ankles and waist. You feel sick from the motion and constant throbs of pain, and you moan softly into your muzzle. Suddenly, one of the trolls approaches your head and grabs your face roughly. You hear a metallic click, and he unfastens your muzzle and pulls it away from your face. You vaguely realize you still have a whole tongue, but you don't have the mental strength at the moment to be grateful.

But before you can appreciate the ability to open your mouth, the troll grabs your jaw and forces your mouth open. He pushes something thick and slimy into it, and you gag at the sudden addition of what you realize is a tentacle that seems to be its penis. Your eyes water, and you make a muffled sound that's half gag, half whimper as it winds its fingers through your hair and pulls. You try to pull back against its grip, but you can't. So you try biting down, but that only results in what sounds like a groan of pleasure from the troll and an agonizing yank on your hair. Before you can recover from that, you feel sharp nails pulling apart the entrance to your anus, then a sharp pain as a wet, bulging member thrusts into it. You feel tears stream down your face as you scream into the tentacle in your mouth which you think has started to engorge and twist around a little as the troll starts to thrust in and out of your mouth.

But as you try to breathe shakily, you feel something at an opening you know you didn't have before. The place where the throbbing pain is still emanating from. But you don't get the chance to think too much about it before an audible scream forces its way through your body and out of your throat as another wet tentacle pushes into the raw second opening behind your scrotum. You alternate sobbing and screaming as you try to breathe amid the thrusting of three engorged members penetrating your body. You try to use your bound legs to push the trolls away, but one of them grabs both legs and holds them in his sharp, vise-like grip.

Your shrill sobs and the trolls' pleasured moans fill the room, and forgetting that you have ever had anything but this agonizing present moment, you wish that you could just will yourself to die. No one is coming for you. You thought there was, once, but you don't even remember who. You don't know why they'd come. You don't even remember a time before you were here, but you know there must have been one. But in the face of all this, the hopeless future ahead of you, it doesn't even matter. No one will save you. You were an idiot to think otherwise.

Chapter Text

I was asked quite a while back to do a summary of the rest of this fic like I did with one of my others, If You Lie Down With Dogs, since I've long since stopped writing Homestuck fic. The plan for One Precious Thing was less concrete, but there are some definite bits I can share to tie up loose ends.

Chapter 10 would have been primarily about the Condesce having the trolls who raped John executed in front of him and made an example of--no one was to touch her pet but her. By that point, John was too traumatized from everything else to react much to what happened to him. After that, the Condesce impregnated him, and he didn't really have any will to resist her. He was brainwashed enough to just be happy that she wasn't as cruel and vicious as the other trolls.

John doesn't have any major pregnancy symptoms, so it takes him until he starts putting on weight to realize what's happened. He's horrified and wants nothing to do with this, and the Condesce uses that to tell him that, even if his friends come to rescue him, they'll want nothing to do with it either and just leave him there. She keeps John relatively docile and defeated that way for quite a while, but as the pregnancy progresses, he can feel the baby moving. He then realizes that, even if his friends aren't coming or if they do come and subsequently reject him for what happened to him, he's not really alone anymore.

But just as he starts to feel a strong bond with the baby, Dave, Rose, and Jade arrive and manage to get him out of the Condesce's clutches. It isn't until they get back to safety that they notice that John isn't the same as he was before, in more ways than one. The baby had given him the strength to resist some of the Condesce's brainwashing and manipulation, but he still wasn't himself. Rose helped him recover mentally, and she and Jade quickly accepted his pregnancy and that he wanted to keep the baby. Dave, however, found the changes in John a lot more difficult to accept--especially the fact that he wanted to keep the child--and tried to avoid John. But eventually, Rose forced the two of them together to talk things out.

John told Dave about what had happened to him and how he thought they would leave him there and that the baby was all he had (cue title drop). And Dave eventually came to understand that, in spite of the ways he had changed, John was still the same person he was in love with. It took him longer to understand how John felt about the child, but Dave decided to be there when John was giving birth to support him. The child (whom John named Casey, of course) looked mostly human with some troll features, and over time, Dave grew to love Casey, too. They became a close family and lived happily ever after, the end.