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breannasfluff · 7 months

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Whump Rating: 3/5 TW: Mild-ish Torture, injury, resolved ending

Legend doesn’t like to show weakness, especially in front of enemies. Unfortunately, the bandits saw the way he stepped in front of Hyrule and Wild; both injured already and caught off guard. They made the logical jump that if they wanted to hurt the vet, all they had to do was focus their attention on the other two.

Hyrule whimpers and each sound cuts a little deeper. The bandits want the Master Sword—never mind that they couldn’t hold it, nor do any of them have it.

“Please! I don’t have it! I swear!” Legend rattles the bars of his cell, but it makes no difference. They’ve already been at this for hours and if they didn’t believe him before, they likely won’t now. How long before they give up?

“Too bad for you, hero,” one of them sneers. “You’ll just have to watch us take your friends apart bit by bit.” He digs a hand into Hyrule’s hair and yanks. The traveler winces, but keeps his mouth shut. “Sure would hate to move to more…extreme measure.”

More extreme? Whipping? Beating? Pulling fingernails? Legend hisses, but there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t have the one item they want.

Whatever he plans to do is cut off as one of the other bandits yanks Wild back into the main room. He’s bloody and bruised, but his eyes are hollow. It’s like…there’s no one home. The champion shut down quickly after being captured, already nursing a wound on his side.

Why did the trio decide to chase after the straggling monsters when two were injured? It was instinct, but by the time they caught up to the monsters they were cut off from the group. Easy pickings for the bandits.

Legend sends a silent prayer that the rest of the Chain will find them quickly.

“Any luck?”

“Didn’t make a sound. I don’t know if he can even talk.”

“Well, we still have this one for leverage.” The bandit claps a hand on Hyrule’s shoulder. “Pain isn’t working so I thought maybe we’d try a softer touch.”

Legend glances back and forth between the two, anxiety rising. What’s that supposed to mean? Hyrule is twitchy with people already. It took ages for him to relax into the casual back slaps and shoulder nudges the group uses.

“He seems…sensitive to touch. Brat probably lives half-feral in the woods.” The bandit gives an ugly laugh and ignores Wild, turning back to Hyrule. He grabs the traveler’s chin and forces his head up until his eyes meet Legend’s.

There’s a mix of desperation and steel there. I can take it, the look says.

His heart aches as he stares back. You shouldn’t have to; he tries to convey. It should be me.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” the bandit says. He runs a hand through Hyrule’s hair, but this time doesn’t pull. It’s gentle; carding through the curls. Wild often does something similar when the traveler is tucked against his side.

“I’m sure we can make this more comfortable for you all if your friend just gives us what we want.” The bandit wraps an arm around Hyrule’s shoulder in a mockery of a hug. One hand traces along his collarbone and cups his neck.

Hyrule trembles and leans back, eyes wide. “S-stop,” he whispers. It’s the first word he’s said so far.

“I want to. I really do.” How the man manages sincerity is a mystery. “This can all go away. Just give us the Master Sword.” His gaze switches to Legend. “You’re the hero. I know you have it.”

“I don’t! I swear, I swear, I don’t have it anymore!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please!” He slams a palm against the bars, on the verge of tears. “Please, let me switch places.”

“Oh no.” The bandit straightens and shoots him a toothy grin. “It hurts you far more to watch.”

The other bandit gestures at Wild, who’s slumped in the chair he’s been tied to. “What about this one?”

“Hasn’t made a sound, you said?”

“Yeah.”

A half shrug. “See if you can get him to scream.”

“Stop it!” Legend’s eyes burn, traitorous tears slipping free. “Stop hurting them!”

“Give us the sword.”

“I don’t have it!”

“Then tell us where it is!”

“I can’t—I don’t know!” Legend closes his eyes in defeat, leaning his forehead against the cold metal. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

They don’t care about his sincerity, turning back to his friends. The main one wraps an arm around Hyrule’s shoulder and another around his stomach, despite the awkward angle of the chair he’s tied to.

Hyrule shudders and jerks, trying to escape the motion.

How long did they work on hugs before he accepted them as comfort? Legend can literally watch as all their hard work is undone before his eyes. All for an item he doesn’t have.

Wild screams.

They all jerk, turning to look at him. The other bandit has a hot poker pulled from a fire and presses it against the prior wound on his side. The champion thrashes, and the chair rocks, then falls over. His head hits the stone with a crack and he lies still.

No. No, no, he’s okay. He’s just unconscious, right? Head wounds like that can be dangerous. Legend sobs now, begging the bandits to let him take their place. What else can he give them instead? Why is he so helpless, locked in this cell? They haven’t even hurt him! Some hero, forced to watch as his friends are harmed on his behalf.

“You imbecile! What if he dies?” The two bandits argue over Wild, who’s still slumped on the floor.

Hyrule is crying, chest heaving with silent sobs and cheeks wet. Can he cast thunder to get them out of this? No, he’s already low on magic. What can they do?

One of the bandits gives a cut-off yelp and slumps to the ground. The other bandit stares at the arrow sprouting from his neck, non-plussed, before he turns to the entrance of the cave. An arrow sinks into his eye. The scream is cut off as a second hits his neck. With a gurgle, the bandit collapses to the ground.

Legend’s never been so happy to see the Chain rush in, weapons and fairies at the ready. Twilight goes to Wild and dumps out a fairy, while Warriors cuts the rope binding Hyrule to the chair. Wind pulls out a lockpick set and works on the cell door.

As soon as it swings open, the vet runs for Hyrule. Wild is slowly blinking, already crowded by Four and Twilight. The traveler flinches when Legend reaches for him and his heart sinks. “Sorry,” he whispers and steps a few inches back. “Are you okay?”

The smile he gets in return is watery, but there. “I’ll be okay.”

The vet has his doubts, but that’s a problem for the future. For now, they are saved.

#tortured for information #tw torture #tw injury #whumptober2023 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu whumptober #breannasfluff #mywriting #lu wild #lu legend #lu hyrule #technically triple threat #but i don't want to tag them

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adrift-in-thyme · 3 months

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Febuwhump Day 6: "I Love You" (Time/Malon)

Ao3

This takes place pre-lu

CW for blood and injury, multiple threats of death, and temporary character death

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The worst dreams are always the ones where she can do nothing but watch. The ones where her body is paralyzed, the ground as uncooperative as quicksand. The ones where something terrible occurs. Something so horribly, vibrantly, gory that the only escape she has is to awaken from it, choking on hot, wet tears.

Never before had she realized how lucky she was to have that escape. To be able to curl into her husband’s waiting arms and let the images drift away, carried on the tide of his steadily beating heart.

Malon wishes she could do the same now.

This, however, is anything but a dream. The blood splotched across the ground, the sword lying useless amongst the green grass, the limp form crumpled beside it – it is all too real. As is the tall, lizard-like figure who stalks forward Link’s fallen body.

The Shadow grins and it sends shivers down her spine.

She thrashes again, straining helplessly against her bonds. Coarse ropes dig into her wrists, a tightly tied rag bites her cheeks until they ache. Somewhere behind her, a monster looms, claws slicing into her shoulder. Shards of pain travel down her arms, following the thin trails of blood.

But she has to get away, she has to. Link is right there, only a few feet away, broken and bleeding and helpless. She must reach him.

The Shadow extends talon-tipped fingers and drags Link up by his hair. He slumps in the monster’s grip, eye half-lidded and dazed. Blood dribbles from his mouth and nose and mars his clothing. He coughs and more splatters onto the lawn.

“So, this is the famed Hero of Time.” The Shadow shifts and his very being seems immaterial. Malon can see now how he got his name. “I’ll admit I’m disappointed. You went down so quickly.”

Blood-red eyes flick to Malon. A forked tongue zips out of scaly lips, quick as lightning.

“Love has made you soft.”

His grip tightens and Link lets out a sharp hiss.

“Let her go,” he croaks, “l-let her go or I’ll make you wish you were n-never born.”

The Shadow’s laughter rings out across the lawn, making the horses rear and dart further into the paddock. All except for Epona, who bucks and whinnies, trying desperately to reach her master. But the chain the Shadow had conjured around her ankle remains unmoving as ever.

“Make me wish that I was never born?” He jeers, tightening his grip on his captive. Link falls backward, bumping against his side. “Oh, my dear, dear hero! Are you unaware of your current situation? I recall you being smarter when we last met. Perhaps, you hit your head a tad too hard. That was quite the noise your skull made against my sword.”

The air flickers and suddenly, his ebony sword is back in his hand as though it had never disappeared. He fits it snuggly against Link’s neck, right over his jugular. Malon’s breath hitches.

“No!” She screams, kicking out, blindly. A clawed hand slaps her smartly across the cheek and her head snaps back. Before she can even recover, cool metal nips at her throat. She swallows, tasting icy fear.

“Malon!”

Link jerks in his captor’s hold, terror and fury battling in his gaze. The Shadow yanks him back, tilting his head in calm contemplation.

“Now, let me see. Which one of you should I kill first? I came here to slay the Hero of Time, but to find him with a wife…well, that was a pleasant surprise.” He pauses, that cursed gaze fixing itself firmly onto Malon. “Yes, I believe that is the answer. The wife goes first.”

“No!” The scream tears itself from Link, hoarse and desperate and agonizing, even as the words wash over Malon like spring rain, slowly seeping into her thoughts. With them comes a distant sort of terror, so close it turns her palms clammy, yet so far she hardly knows it is there.

Another monster grabs a hold of Link, claws digging into the wounds already marring his body. And the Shadow stalks towards her.

“Hello, dear,” he croons.

With a taloned finger, he removes the gag, allowing it to flop limply into the dirt. Malon fixes him with a glare.

“What makes you think killing us will help with anything?” She spits, straining to keep the fear from her voice.

He chuckles as he straightens, looking over her like an obsidian statue.

“Your husband is a hero, a blessed one of the gods. And as such, he has only furthered the relentless cycle that grips Hyrule. Without his demise, it will continue, unceasingly.

“As for your death, well — ” He shrugs — “that is merely for my own enjoyment. I wish to see your precious Link’s anguish before I slit his throat.”

“No!” Link screams again, fighting desperately against the monster who holds him fast. Chains have appeared around his wrists now, though Malon cannot remember seeing them before. They sing with every panicked movement.

“Don’t you dare touch her! It’s me you want, not her!”

A tear skitters down his cheek, glittering in the noonday sun. The sight of it breaks Malon’s heart.

Oh, fairy boy.

“I’m the hero,” he chokes, quieter now, defeated before his fate has even been set in stone. He raises his eye to the Shadow, a plea behind the fury in his gaze. “I’m the one who killed Ganondorf. Your vendetta is against me and me only. So, let her go…please, just let…let her go.”

The Shadow grins, all sharp teeth and shifting shapes.

“The Hero of Time groveling. It does me good to see a sight like that. I doubt anyone has seen it before, now, have they? Such a display of weakness is not to be taken lightly.” He gestures to the monster who holds the sword over her neck. “She is every bit as important to him as I hoped. So, go on. Do the deed.”

Something leaden and sickening and absurdly calm settles in Malon’s chest.

This is the end, her mind mourns. This is the end and there is nothing to be done now. Nothing to be done but to accept it.

“Link,” she calls and there is something hopeless in the way she does it. He looks at her, blood draining down his face, chest heaving with every panicked breath, pain and fear bright in his eye. But for a moment, she can see him as he was only this morning, gazing at her as though she is the most precious thing in the world, calloused hands cupping her face as he whispers that he loves her.

She smiles through her tears. His expression shatters.

“I love you.”

The Shadow grins, the monster begins to move its sword…

And the world comes to a screeching halt.

Malon remains still for a beat, waiting for the pain of metal slicing skin, waiting for the sensation of choking on her own blood. It doesn’t come.

The claws holding her are motionless. The weapon held against her neck doesn’t budge. The Shadow stays where he had come to stand, lips parted, fangs glinting, hand outstretched towards her. Off to the side, Epona remains reared up, hooves kicking at the sky, mane flying out in frozen strands of silken white.

The only person that moves in this strange place of living statues is Link.

He stumbles towards her, half-dragging his left leg. Chains still encircle his wrists, but now he holds his gilded sword in one hand. Behind him, a monster stands, a spurt of blood frozen in the space between his neck and chest.

“Link…what?”

She gazes around again, mind stuttering as it tries to catch up. She is no stranger to the oddities of her husband’s powers and adventures but this…this is something she has never seen before, nor heard of. As far as she knows, he has no power over time except by his ocarina. And that currently lies in a locked bedroom drawer.

He looks over her, fast and calculating and bitter. Then, with one swift movement, he drives his sword into the monster behind her. Malon cringes, awaiting a stream of gore that never comes. In fact, the monster doesn’t even budge. Like its companion, it merely remains where it is, gripped by the fate that does not yet have full reign.

Link kneels before her, now, knocking away the weapon that threatens her life, slicing at the ropes that bind her. He pulls and they fall away.

She raises her hands, rubbing dazedly at her aching wrists.

“What is this, fairy boy?” She murmurs, awed and terrified all at once.

“I’ll explain later,” he replies, quickly, shaking his head. And she knows that he will. “But we have time. Only…only a little, but we do.”

He reaches out, knuckles ghosting her cheek. She leans into his touch and draws a shaky breath. To feel him here warm and real is more than she could have hoped for after today’s events. In that terrible moment, she had believed that their only reunion would be in the icy embrace of death.

“They hurt you…again.” His voice cracks, shattering like a piece of pottery. “Malon, I’m…I’m so, so sorry.”

Lifting a hand, Malon rests it over Link’s, fingers intertwining with his.

“Oh, fairy boy, it’s not your fault.”

He gazes at her, broken and vulnerable. Then, slowly, he pulls away and gets to his feet. Holding out a hand, he helps her rise.

“I’ll fix this,” he says, voice growing tight and determined. “I promise you.”

And she has the strangest feeling that she has heard it before, that they have done this before.

What had he said earlier? That they had hurt her again?

“Link.” She steps after him, worry taking hold of her heart once more. Something is strange here. Something is wrong. “You’re keeping something from me. What’s going on? What’re you gonna do?”

He looks back at her, danger and grief in his eye.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and time jolts back into normality.

No sooner has it done so, than the Shadow rushes forward and slits his neck.

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painsandconfusion · 4 days

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Breathless

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

[“Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff] (tw: claustrophobia, panic attack, phobia, death threat, failed escape attempt, punishment, self inflicted injury (panic), splinters under nails, manhandling)

[Merry Whump of May Masterpost] [Phobia Whumper Masterpost]

Whumpee’s eyes were burning and blurring over as they gripped at Whumper’s fingers. “N-noonononno please no-”

“Shut up already and get back in there-” Whumper shoved them further into the crate. It had started off as a large shipping crate and now felt like an apple crate, bruising in at their shoulders and knees and ankles as they tried to twist and curl to stash themself tighter into the space. As it closed in on them. Sucked their breath and whisked it away to an unknown darkness that pervaded their mind and dripped cold through their white-hot flesh.

“PLEASE- Pelas e I w-won’t d o it again pl-ease-pplease-!”

Whumper shoved the lid on the box, latching it into place. “Try to pick that lock, you little pest.”

The air in the quickly-heating space stuck at their lungs and slammed in and out of their throat in choppy, uneven bursts. They gasped and shoved and clawed, only distantly aware of the bruises pressing at their bones and the shards of wood wriggling up under their nails. The panic was too thick. Too stifling.

Forget the apple crate. This felt like a bread box now. A ring box, even. Impossibly small and crushing their bones under its infinitely shrinking horror.

Pleas and screams kept exploding from them, sucking what little air they had into worthless desperation. “PL-EASE PL LEASE WH HUMPER PLLLEASE- LE T ME OUT O-OPEN TH- SSSTOP-STOP STOP-PLEASE-”

The boards over and around them creaked slightly as Whumper settled their weight onto the crate. Whumpee froze, dreading for a moment the thought of Whumper’s weight cracking through the box and crushing them only to realize that would mean the box was broken and they would be better able to wriggle out or at least get some fresh air inside. They pushed against the spot.

Whumper mused as they sat there, “I could do anything right now, you know… Couldddddd…..toss you in a lake. Off a cliff. Bury you in the garden..”

Whumpee’s sobs started fresh, thrashing gaining new strength. Their heart twisted and stabbed. They couldn’t breathe- “Nn--onp plp-lease-ep-pleas-”

“We don’t have to do that, though, do we? Because you’re not gonna pick any more locks.”

“Y-ees-y– nn-n-omore-!” Just desperately agreeing to anything that had even the vaguest promise of getting out. Nothing else held their attention as darkness grew and their head weighed more on their aching shoulders.

“Good. I’ll leave you in here tonight to let you really think that over before we try again.”

tagging isn't sparking joy today, i am so sorry-

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taskforcedistortion · 7 months

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[Closed Starter for @dark-type-mischief and @pokemonveterinarian]

Mid day, at around 4 in the evening, it started.

The raid started.

Portals opened in the woods of Santalune Forest, close enough to the house for it to be not much of a walk, but far enough to not be heard at first, Maxie narrows his eyes at the sight of the house, face warping into a sarcastic smirk. "Of course his house would be run down... of course..."

A few grunts surround the area, quickly getting into the positions they were told, after all, this is Maxie and Archie's kid, they're here in case something goes wrong.

Pokemon were let out of their pokeballs, mainly canines and other small pokemon, the pokemon leading the pack being Bite, Fight, and a large female Houndoom, the collar on her neck saying 'Smoke'.

Both Archie and Maxie hang back for now, letting the pokemon lead the charge.

Bite and Fight both quickly charge at the door at the same time, Smoke right behind them.

#Taskforce Deployed #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #pokemon rp #pokeblog rp #//preemptive tagging #cw injury #cw kidnapping #cw threats

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 1 month

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Sun: I will cut your head off with a rusty bread knife.

#sun and moon show #sams #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf sun #incorrect sun and moon show quotes #incorrect sams quotes #incorrect fnaf quotes #incorrect quotes #source: my brain #aka my missing midnight post #from january 1st #tw death mention #tw decapitation mention #tw injury mention #tw threat mention #tw weapon mention

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nowritingonthewall · 1 year

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I’m just begging you: Don’t make us go there again.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marc spector #moonknightedit #chrissie gifs #tw: trauma #tw: child abuse #It still blows my mind how the people involved in this show seemed to have a better understanding of trauma #than most professional therapists do #It's so heartbreaking to see how you can literally see Marc being stuck in his freeze reaction #While Steven moves around and explores #Marc's feet are rooted to the spot #He doesn't get a word out and he is clearly struggling to breathe #He can't even move his body towards the threat (i.e. his mother banging against the door) so he mostly just moves his eyes #Until the door bursts open and Marc's flight mode is activated #There is so much evidence that talking about your trauma again and again does nothing to integrate it and heal from it #And Harrow is such a text book example of so called health care professionals that force their patients to be re-traumatized again and again #Marc literally shows Steven how he suffered the most horrible and painful injuries to his soul #And it neither helps him to integrate his trauma nor to balance the scales #The healing process only starts when he allows himself to start learning to be accepted and taken care of by Steven #I am sorry I just love him so much 🥺

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creepyscritches · 21 days

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Just finished another class on how to not put my foot in my mouth and it's soooo validating to know people have to learn these skills like anything else. I've signed up for uhhh I think this is like my 3rd or 4th? And experts on how to not sound like a dick will school me and 30 other professionals on how to not sound like a dick. Wiiiiiiild how much there is to learn on the intricacies of communication :O

#Creepy chatter #Professionally I've been trained on the SCARF model a lot but this is the first they linked neuroscience :o #We discussed how to avoid accidentally triggering fight/flight/freeze by limiting perceived social threats #Which is sooo neat bc I've had a similar discussion w my therapist and both said essentially the same thing #Your brain DOES experience social threat/injury just like a physical threat/injury. Right down to a pain sensation.#Just like lol...being aware of that can make navigating conversations a little more understandable tbh #In F/F/F mode your brain literally does not use its logic center. We have entered unga bunga survival instincts.#Idk I have been enjoying this type of learning. Very psychology based w a focus on improving relationships :)

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serickswrites · 3 months

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Hook, Line, and Sinker VII

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, forced to watch, gag, blood, wounds, injury, threat of drowning, threat of burning, broken bones, gun, gunshot, mcd, hurt/no comfort

Whumper returned far too soon. Caretaker had only been able to think of one way to get out of the cuffs, and while they would be willing to do it, it would disable them. Caretaker had realized if they broke their thumb, they could slide the cuffs off. And while it would make getting Whumpee out more difficult, it was something they were willing to do if it meant saving Whumpee some pain.

As Caretaker had grasped their thumbs in their hand, the door swung open and Whumper strode in. “What shall I do next to you, Whumpee? Shall I brand you? Drown you? You are awfully dirty. Perhaps a bath is in order.”

Whumpee glared up at Whumper. The venom in their eyes said everything they couldn’t say around the gag.

“Hurts, doesn’t it.” Whumper brushed their fingers along the carving in Whumpee’s chest.

Whumpee gasped with pain.

“I could make it more painful. And permanent. Would you like that? Something to remember me by?”

Caretaker realized now was their chance. Whumper was distracted with Whumpee. And as Whumpee hissed with pain, they realized Whumper was trying to make Whumpee scream. Whumpee’s wails of pain would mask their own pained noises as they broke free.

“The question is should I carve it bigger? With a knife? My fingers? Pour salt in them before I burn them into your skin?” Whumper wormed their finger into the C over Whumpee’s heart.

As Whumpee screamed around the gag, Caretaker broke their thumb. Broke their thumb and was free. They stumbled forward.

Whumper whirled round, their hand grasping something on the table instantly. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, Caretaker.” Whumper’s eyes were dark as wicked thoughts danced through them.

“I’M GOING TO END YOU!” Caretaker shouted as they surged forward, their own hurts forgotten.

“You’re not.” Whumper lifted the gun in their hand. And shot Whumpee in the forehead.

Caretaker froze as Whumpee’s head rocked back with the force of the bullet, a spray of blood pouring from the back of their head. “NO!” Caretaker gave a strangled cry.

Whumper fisted Whumpee’s hair and lifted their head up. The bullet hole was in between Whumpee’s eyes, the trickle of blood flowing down their face. Whumpee’s eyes were wide and empty. Caretaker sobbed as they realized what they had done. Whumper had killed Whumpee. Because of them.

Whumper chuckled as they stalked past Caretaker. “That is what makes this all worth it. The look on your face. Your pain, Caretaker.”

Caretaker dropped to their knees unable to get a good breath in. This was not happening. This could not have happened. Whumper had not shot Whumpee in the head. Whumpee was not lifeless in the chair before them. Caretaker had not been the reason why Whumpee was dead. “Please,” Caretaker whispered as they hyperventilated. “Whumpee.”

“Is dead. Because of you, Caretaker.”

Caretaker could feel hysteria clawing its way up the back of their throat. They couldn’t live with this. Couldn’t exist without Whumpee. “Kill me,” they begged Whumper as they began to sob uncontrollably.

“No.” Whumper recuffed Caretaker. “No. I want you to live in this pain, Caretaker. I want you to live knowing that Whumpee suffered because of you. Died because of you. That is what I want for you. Endless pain.”

@whumperofworlds@mefattortoise@gala1981@whumpy-bi@whump321@st0rmm@sowhumpful@writing-i-like-dump@bookworm7543@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@whumpitywhumpwhump @elisabethrosewrites

@written-by-jayy

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restingbuchface · 2 months

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hey guys. might make some enemies with this one but i feel kinda strongly about it.

this:

is uncool. that happened to someone recently. that has happened to multiple people. it’s tragic no matter who it happens to. it’s not a joke. it’s not an unrealistic way for a hockey player to die.

i am not defending pk here. however you feel about him as a person and as a player is completely valid. i’m just asking that we keep the death wishes on the death wish site a bit less realistic.

#rbf chirp #i don’t want to step on any toes but this just made me feel kinda sick #it’s also midnight. this might be a cold take #death threat tw #injury tw

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timdrake-yumm · 1 year

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A Tim who has a little bottle of Lazarus water. The lid has one of those pipette dropper things attached to it like some of those medicine bottles do. I’m talking pre-Robin Tim too. He uses it on all the injuries he doesn’t want people asking about that he can’t cover up some other way. It’s used very sparingly so he still has it as Red Robin (though perhaps he got it refilled when he was with the LoA). Where did he get it from? Who knows, but since he only uses so little, the side effects are harder to recognize. His eyes use to be such an icy blue, but now they look kinda teal? Not nearly as much as Jason’s of course, and they don’t glow yet. And he’s accidentally given himself some kind of pit madness immunity/resistance (like you would do with poisons) so that if he were put all the way, completely immersed in a Lazarus pit, he’d be much more in control of his thoughts and actions than Jason was. Is he still crazy? Absolutely, no sane person tries to clone their best friend almost a hundred times, but once people learn of the Lazarus water (if they ever do) they can’t be sure if that’s just Tim or if the water has been effecting him that way.

#dc #dc comics #tim drake #batfam #lazarus pit #immunity buildup #Tim never loses his Spleen because he’s got some handy magic medicine to heal it for him #does he initially know it’s Lazarus water? again who knows #I mean he probably does by the time red hood shows up #imagine of titans tower and Jason expects Tim to still be out because of all his injuries but Robin shows up on patrol as usual #or on a mission with the team if Bruce still has him benched because red hood is still a threat #and he’s perfectly healed #because Tim didn’t want to give Bruce or dick s reason to worry about him and that much broken bones is a little hard to hide #so he used the Lazarus water that he has and he’s fine #after using it so long anyways he probably has a faster healing rate too #is this how Lazarus water works?#probably not but it’s also a magical healing water so I figure I can make up my own rules too #Jason is completely baffled by robins swift recovery though and thinks that Tim is a meta #Bruce and Alfred probably also think this if they’ve been observing Tim’s unusually quick recoveries closely enough

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methoughtsphantom · 5 months

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typical Bats-don’t-know-he’s-Jason Red Hood surprise kidnaps Robin but has to wait to do his dramatic monologuing because the little bird is unconscious from where Jason found him with human traffickers. Hours pass, and the kid not stirring begrudgingly makes Jason feel a tinge of worry, which no, he doesn’t appreciate. He’d planned to beat the kid senseless, and now he’s here stuck with him while not being able to, kid is hurt already. Aaand why was that really? The time is the factor that gives Jason the space he needs to really ponder over where exactly Robin had been when he’d found him, how easy it had been to take him and why Batman had not been there to stop him.

among many others just,, imagine Jason seeing Robin for what he is, for what he was, and having a mini crisis about whether is okay to be mad with a kid who in this sorta mirror scenario batman was also not here to protect and stop the man who kidnapped him in the first place. …he recalls how he used to feel when he was the one hiding behind Batman’s shadow and well, he’s cringing over wanting to see this kid who’s wounds he wrapped boded against him. Now Tim’s perspective,, poor kid is super confused in the little time he’s been awake because the man B has been worrying about for months is asking why wasn’t he with Batman?? asking if the man had forgotten what happened to the last boy who worn those colors? if he even cared?? really just, picture Tim having to hear this random crime lord sounding all angry and hateful and making allusions to his predecessor’s fate and run as Robin without even waiting for any input (like this is a version of the dramatic monologue let my boy ramble) and 0 to 100 passing from panic alarm fear you know who we are?? to what the fuck are you defending me?? you mad in my behalf?in Jason’s?? what is this shit

#tim: *who last thing he remembers is being beat on and now is in bed with his wounds wrapped* is this a rescue???#jason: *who’s been ranting for half an hour* haven’t you been listening?? this is an intervention #jason is standing in the corner with his arms crossed #it boíls down to are you threatening me because I’m Robin or to keep me from being Robin?#okay let’s pretend all jason needed to realize beating a child is wrong was time #like seven hours #because i google searched how long can you be unconscious from a concussion and that’s when you pass from normal head injury to yeah #worry #bottom line: jason will try to convince tim to not be robin #unfortunately they are not yet brothers your honor #jason still harbors resentment and jealousy #and that is towards Tim #but Tim has done nothing wrong and boy will he forge evidence to prove it #he may not even know who is under the red hood #but Tim recognizes that despite knowing who he is and his threats the man is trying not to hurt him #(and he will not if I have a say in this)#and that’s all timmy needs to drag jason into being begrudging brothers #crack #au #tim drake #jason todd #batman #tim drake & jason todd #different first meeting #red hood #robin #tim drake robin

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breannasfluff · 7 months

Text

Made to Watch

Rating: 3.5/6 TW: Emotional angst, blood and injury, wanting to die-panicking A03 Link

“Any minute, Hyrule!” Time’s teeth are grit as he holds Wild down.

Hyrule takes over, dropping to his knees and shoving his pack at Legend to help sort. “Sky! Come help!”

The frigatebird breaks from the clump of heroes on the sideline to run forward. “What can I do?”

“I need you to pick his wing up and stretch it all the way out. I need the bone straight so I can set it.”

“Got it!”

Wild screams under the pile of avians. As Sky starts to straighten the wing, he loses any semblance of awareness of the situation.

TERROR PAIN WANT TO DIE! The call is primal, shredding his throat. The magpie thrashes and the raptors are jostled, then thrown slightly.

From the sidelines, one of the flock whimpers.

“The rest of you! Come help us hold him down!” Time’s voice snaps through the chaos and the others come running. Four and Wind join them, although Wind gives nervous clucks.

Hyrule works frantically and Legend passes him items from his kit, holding the broken wing steady when needed.

Wild continues to scream and thrash, despite being pinned down by nearly the entire chain. It’s an awful sound. While a broken wing might be painful, it shouldn’t be this bad. Not so much that the magpie loses all awareness of his surroundings.

The similarity to his encounter with the Yiga must be too much. The thought is sickening and he swallows bile. Wild was tortured at the hands of assassins. If this reminds him of that—

“Hyrule?” The vet can’t help the tension in his voice. His wings are plastered tight to his back at the sound coming from his flockmate.

“I need to drain the blood. This will probably hurt but…”

But. At this point, does it matter? They can’t convey the information to Wild in a way he’ll listen and understand.

Hyrule’s hand with the knife is steady, even as his chest trembles. Brown wings hold a steady shiver he can’t still. He slices through skin and feathers.

Wild’s screams transition to sobs and half-formed pleas.

“I’m sorry,” the thrasher mutters under his breath. He pushes the knife deeper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Finally, blood gushes from the wound, and a little of the tension leaves Hyrule’s shoulders.

“Sky,” Legend says, seeing what’s coming, “make sure you keep the wing straight and still while we set it.”

“Got it.”

Hyrule pins his ears to his head and Legend does as well. It doesn’t block out Wild’s cries, but he tries anyway. Someone else is crying—Wind, maybe.

The healer guides the bone back through the torn skin and into place. He takes the makeshift brace Legend passes him and the vet helps him tighten it into place. It will hold the wing straight long enough for Hyrule to heal the veins and start the bone fusing. Then the wing can be folded and kept still, along with daily stretching, until it’s fully healed.

“Here, Ledge, hold the ropes. They need to be tight to keep this in place for a minute.”

Even knowing this was coming, the vet winces as he takes the ropes. Wild hasn’t had good experiences with rope on his wings. This isn’t going to be any better.

The magpie freezes as the ropes tighten and likely rub across the skin below his feathers. Then he resumes thrashing, keening, and sobbing. Help help help help! Flock need you, want you! Alone! Want to die!

Legend chokes on a sob and gives their sub-flock call, before sliding into reassurances. Flock here, flock help, here for you, safe safe safe!

Wild continues to sob and thrash.

Hyrule tries to add his own call, but can’t. He’s crying too hard and he keeps swiping at his eyes, forced to concentrate on the wound. Not only is this a flock avian, but their sub-flock member. Even if they are helping, right now the only thing Wild understands is the primal need to flee and that he’s being hurt.

The vet is forced to watch as his brother—his flockmate—begs for death beneath their hands.

By the time it’s over, Wild is unconscious and no one is functioning well. Exhaustion drags their wings down. The flock huddle together, pulling their sleeping mats and blankets together to form a makeshift nest. Time clutches Wind to his chest and the two are still crying softly. The others curl around them, adding gentle coos and reassurances of love. Warriors wraps his wings over those he can reach and Sky does the same.

Hyrule and Legend stay with Wild. They curl into each other, miserable for the experience. The magpie’s calls still ring in the vet’s ears. The sounds are going to haunt his nightmares and, judging by how Hyrule is shuddering, the healer as well.

That night, no one sleeps well.

Dawn is lightening the sky when a soft whistle rouses the bowerbird from sleep. He blinks slowly, eyes immediately shifting to Wild. The magpie blinks back.

“Wild? Are you awake?” Legend shakes Hyrule, who whimpers but turns his attention to Wild as well.

Flock? Wild’s call is small and questioning.

Flockmate! Flock! Yes, love you, love you! Legend and Hyrule’s answer is overwhelming. They crawl closer, careful not to bump the broken wing.

Wild gives a low whistle, then swallows. His voice is hoarse from screaming when he speaks. “I’m sorry.”

Hyrule snaps lightly at the air. “Don’t be! I’m sorry, Wild. I wish we could have done something else.”

“You were trying to help. I just…the memories…”

Legend coos and, when that isn’t enough, slides into a maternal range. Chick, chick, little chick is safe in nest. He holds out his hands and Wild wiggles his out from under him. Taking them, the vet rubs at his palms, thumb digging into the muscle.

Hyrule trills and burrows into Wild’s good side, nipping his shoulder lightly. The magpie coos back; used to the affection.

It’s going to take a long time for them all to come back from this. Time, especially, is miserable with what he had to do. To force submission is a deep offense to avians, generally regulated to brutal flock leaders. But at the end of the day, it worked. Wild won’t lose his wing, or flight, as long as he lets it heal.

They could have lost him. Legend’s flock would be one member short. The thought brings a sad whistle and he presses a kiss on one of the hands he holds. “Love you both,” he whispers.

Hyrule trills an answer and Wild follows with their sub-flock call; strong and sure.

Love you, flock-of-my-heart.

#made to watch #tw injury #tw blood #whumptober2023 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu wing bois #lu whumptober #breannasfluff #mywriting #lu wild #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu triple threat #lu wing au #hurt/comfort

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starpirateee · 26 days

Note

Soooo. I’m sorry. I accidentally pressed send before I could finish the request. But here’s my fic request.

Warning a bit dark and angsty.

Ted pretended to be friends with Tinky but helped the CCRP capture him. At first he was happy to be free but after a a year something didn’t feel right. So after living happily with Jenny and his family. he went to go see him and is horrified to sees Tinky in a cage completely broken down and looking like death. His horns are cut off his body is beyond messed up and he’s a scared mess.

Ted decides to save him. Even if he knows it might not end well. ( maybe Jenny followed him and is the one to convince him)

I don’t know lol. It’s your choice. Go dark if you want to

A bit dark? A bit angsty? Jesus anon, this is right up my alley, but I dare say it's a little more than a bit angsty 👀

A warning to the rest of you: this gets dark. Proceed with caution

Ted had gotten used to the notion that fate was very much not in his hands, that he couldn't control what happened to him, and that the shitty hand life dealt was just bad luck, or something bigger than him deciding to give him a hard time just because he was there.

then fate had decided to play into his hands. He met the entity responsible for his years of downfall, and suddenly everything else shifted into play. For thirty years of his life, he'd been dealt ream after ream of pure bad luck, but after chance had him find the entity known as the Weaver of Impossibilities— the very same being who had been shuffling the cards of his fate and consistently dealing the worst of the worst— he found he could control fate with nothing more than simple persuasion. And that was a strength he learned to play into.

The day Jenny came back from her stint in Clivesdale, single and alone, he suddenly found himself with a free day. He'd managed to catch her as she was walking across the bridge , and reconnecting with her felt like he'd never lost her at all. They were dating within the fortnight, and she'd moved in straight away, given that she'd been staying in a hotel room until she could find a place to call her own again.

The Weaver remained in the forest. No more than a whisper among the trees at times, and a manifestation of whatever imagination Ted had left at the worst of them. He couldn't tell if he was hallucinating or not, but he actively spoke to this thing on occasion, and he would dare say that he'd sparked some kind of good deal in that time.

It felt like destiny was at his disposal, and for once in his life, he was truly happy. Happy with Jenny, happy with the state of his life… Everything was finally looking up for him.

It wasn't strictly his fault when he managed to accidentally sell out the Weaver, but he felt his disappearance like a knife through his chest when it happened. He was chatting to some woman he'd never seen before, who claimed she was a scientist from the lower floors of CCRP's in-branch development and research sector. And while Ted didn't understand a word of that, he managed to understand that there was a whole team of scientists working right underneath him, and he'd never noticed.

Though, apparently, it was true. There were apparently three sub-floors underneath what he knew to be CCRP, and they were filled with people who, first of all, knew what the company did, and second, actively put research into its development. This was something he could barely comprehend, but she had smiled and told him not to think about it too much.

"But while I'm here, I've been asking around the people on your floor, so I may as well ask you too. You haven't had any... Strange occurrences in the woods lately, have you?"

Ted scoffed. "Lady, everyone has strange experiences in the Witchwood, you're gonna have to be a bit more specific with that one."

She nodded, seemingly expecting this. "Specifically, a feeling like you're being watched, or particularly unexplainable auditory or visual hallucinations."

"... Huh."

"What is it?"

"Y'know, call me crazy, but you've pretty much described my exact experiences the last times ive been in that forest..."

Her face seemed to light up. "Really? And you say this has happened multiple times?"

"Sure. First time was a bit weird, but I went back a few days later to make sure I wasn't losing my mind, y'know?"

She nodded. "You wouldn't mind telling me about that, would you?"

That's how Ted ended up seeing the first sub-floor, of the office he'd worked at for years, for the very first time. He sat down in a comfortable looking office with the scientist, and she pulled out a notebook and pen to record what he was going to tell her. He imagined this was what therapy looked like, though he had no real way of confirming that.

"So, uh... What d'you need from me?"

"Your name, for a start."

"Theodore Spankoffski." Then, quickly, he added, "Ted." He leaned against the chair and folded his arms. Part of him was yet to register the fact that someone might believe him about the thing in the woods, but there was someone there now, and in fact, this woman was there to believe him. She had asked him, based way too specifically on his own experiences, and the way she'd said it made him think there were other people who might believe him too.

God forbid, maybe there was something in the woods...

"What're you saying... That I haven't been making this shit up? That there is something in the woods?"

"I don't know, Mr Spankoffski... There's nothing to say for certain whether there is something in the woods or not. the accounts I've heard so far have been pretty consistent, but that all depends on what you've seen, I suppose." She absently tapped the end of her pen against the notebook spirals, waiting on him to begin his account. He tried to figure out how he was going to phrase this, but kept falling flat. Really, there was no good way of explaining that he had shit luck for three decades of his life, and now suddenly everything was better, because he'd been in conference with this weird fucking thing in the middle of the woods.

"I dunno.... I've been hearing a lot of ticking and shit, like someone taped a speaker next to an old clock and stuck it up on some fuckin' tree. You get me?"

She nodded carefully and noted that down.

"There's that, and then there's a kind of voice? I guess it's clear enough to understand among everything else."

"What does the voice sound like?"

"Best way I can put it is... Grating? I'm gonna sound mad for this, but the first couple times I thought it was in my head, cos I could almost feel it when it spoke to me? Real nails-on-a-chalkboard shit. Have you heard that one before?"

"Can't say I have, no... I don't think anyone's ever tried to tell me they could feel the voice as well as hear it."

"Well, you asked for what happened in the woods, and this is pretty much exactly what happened in the woods..." This was a mistake. The idea of being so open was starting to become a little intimidating to him, and his better instincts were starting to shut off in favour of trying to defend himself and the fact that he knew he wasn't crazy. There was no way he was losing his mind, not if other people had reported things in the forest too... If he wasn't alone, then there was something there, and that meant that he was right to have believed it was all real.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, I'm just saying you're the first to have ever told me... That. Is there anything else? What about what you saw?"

"Oh, that one's easy." Ted relaxed a little again, letting his shoulders dropped. In all of that, he hadn't realised how tense he'd gotten over the idea that he was actually starting to crack. "I saw this huge presence in the trees. I've seen it... Every time. Yeah, you said something about being watched... I know that feeling. It's like, the moment I set foot in there, there's something following my every move. It's kinda fuckin' creepy, if you ask me... Anyway, yeah, this presence. Six— seven feet or more, this enormous... I dunno, goat? Kinda?"

In all of this, the one thing that Ted neglected to think about was what they were actually doing with that infomation. Scientists put research into things, right? That must have been what they were doing with everything he'd told them. He'd become a willing participant in a science experiment that he didn't know the stakes of, and for some reason, that was absolutely fine by him.

He also didn't think about why they wanted to know so much about whatever was going on in the woods. It took him days to figure out that the Weaver had disappeared, but when he did, he really learned the weight of knowing of the existence of the labs under CCRP.

It started in the dead of night, in the most uncomfortable night of sleep he thought he'd ever had. Before that day, he didn't know that dreams couls be painful, or that they came so vividly; he wasn't entirely sure he dreamt in the first place...

He was alone in the middle of a dense grove of trees that he was sure he'd never seen before. The darkness was thick and stifling, and the trees were so dark they were almost black. Silence— suffocating, dead silence— flooded the air, and Ted considered it a wonder that he could even still breathe.

A dull ache started spreading through his head— starting at his temples and blazing across his forehead. He gained the strength to move enough to reach up towards his temples, as if that was going to do anything to satiate the way his skull seemed to be rattling inside his head. As he winced, something seemed to grow within him. Something visceral and knowing and angry. Something he didn't know, but something he felt he recognised.

Meaningless words flashed through his mind in a series of bright sparks and bursts, which didn't really do anything but make his headache worse.

Power.

Darkness.

Betrayal.

Chosen.

He couldn't make sense of it, and the more he tried, the worse it hurt. the trees started to shift, to grow and cage him in. He collapsed to his knees, and then promptly lost all ability to move. As the branches started closing in around him, he started to lose the ability to breathe, too.

As he started to struggle, the branches started to wrap around his head, his neck, binding his arms firmly behind him. He swore he felt something burst through his temples, sharp enough to tear through the wrap of branches and sending a fiery heat pounding through his brain. He screamed. That visceral something tore itself out from his throat and echoed through the trees. He'd never known pain like it, but just at the moment he thought this was the peak of it, the sensation got worse. A sharp branch ripped through the center of his chest— alien-style— and came through the other side dripping in red.

Ted awoke screaming, and forcing himself to take breaths bigger than his panicking mind would allow. His hand shot to his chest, and when he found that there was no gaping wound in his torso, he used it as an excuse to check his heart. Still racing, usurprisingly. He sighed, thankful that he wasn't being torn apart outside of the inescapable aether.

"Teddy?"

A voice. A woman's voice. His gaze snapped over his shoulder, and relief flooded him in an instant. She was still here. He was in his apartment, and he was real, and she was real, too...

"Jenny-"He breathed, as if he didn't want to make himself believe it for fear that she might fall apart in his arms if he let himself believe she was actually there. He tried again, brandishing his relief. "Jenny... Oh my god..."

She hesitated, and then laid a hand on his shoulder. "Teddy, are you okay?"

He could feel the burning in his chest, the residing tension left over in his arms from fighting their binds, and the dull pounding in his head. All of those felt real enough for him to believe that he had actually been in that forest in the middle of nowhere, and that he had witnessed something akin to his own death firsthand. But at the same time, he'd been thrust that violently into the waking world that he was certain that he'd been dreaming.

"I'm fine, I-" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught something that made him stop in his tracks. there were reddened, twisted marks delved into the skin of his arm, like something had been laced around them way too tight. To really check to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, he lifted both of his arms to the same level and stared, completely horrified, at the unmistakable twists from the branches in his mind now imprinted onto his flesh. "Shit."

He looked to Jenny. He needed to know that she was seeing this too, that this wasn't just some fraction of nightmare left over in the confines of his mind.

Her brow drew in concern, and with the hand that had just been dislodged from his shoulder through the sudden movement, she traced the indents. "What... Are these?" She whispered, somewhere between horribly concerned and amazed. Those hadn't been there before a few hours ago when they'd fallen asleep, but they almost looked like they'd just happened.

His forearms were covered with those bizzare twists, like something had been tied around his arms way too tight for way too long. Noting she could think of would make those patternsm though, and they looked painful— deep and red and slightly cold to the touch.

"Are they anywhere else?" He asked, once again stricken with panic.

"Anywhere else..." She echoed, scanning his chest and working her way up. She caught sight of more, spreading from his collarbone about half way up his throat. In answer to his question, she nodded slowly, and watched as he frowned.

"Where?"

"Here, on your neck. What happened to you?"

"... Bad dream."

The lines on his neck ran lengthways, as if he'd been strangled with whatever had held his arms in place. It was no wonder he was struggling to breathe... But for all of that to have come from some kind of nightmare? She'd heard of people being injured in dreams before, of course, but never anything about them waking up with those injuries still intact.

The panic had settled in deep, and an instinct that Ted had never before acknowledged came to pass. He suddenly felt the need to confront the woods, the Weaver... Anything that would listen. If this was the start of his bad luck returning, he needed to source it, and he needed to eradicate it before it became too late. "Listen, Jenny, I-I gotta go."

"Huh?"

"I think I know what that shit is, and I gotta go figure it out. But don't worry, okay? And don't wait up for me... I'll be back before you wake up."

"I don't understand, Teddy..."

"I think it'd be best if you didn't. I promise, babe, I'm fine, and all of this will have blown over by the time you wake up, 'kay? You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

He nodded, reaching out for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me on this one, too." He picked up a pair of trousers from the ground and threw them on with the first t-shirt he could find— some faded old band tee he'd had since he was a teenager. On the way out, he grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen, and told himself once again that, yes, he knew exactly what he was doing, and yes, he really was leaving everything real behind in favour of working out the inner darkness of his mind.

His hand ran up the base of his neck, where Jenny had pointed out the other branch marks. They were the same, raised and jagged and terrifyingly close to cutting off his airways. As a precaution, he brushed through his hair and felt around his temples. Much to his relief, there wasn't a trace of blood up there. That was strange; why was it that the branches could be noticed after he'd woken up, but the violent something that had literally tore from his brain had no effect on him?

Instinct took him to the borders of the forest, and he clicked the flashlight into action. The beam flickered, and his breath wavered; he'd frankly never felt less confident in his entire life. But he had to see whether the nightmare foliage existed somewhere in the depths of the Witchwood.

His light bounced off the groves in the trees, and though he didn't entirely realise it, there was a part of him that was looking for the Weaver. Bad luck and the curse of his forefathers came back full force, and he needed to know why. Since talking to the Weaver, he had come to realise that he was the reason his fate had changed.

This was the first time he'd so much as thought about the woods since that interview. How long had it been now? Months? Over a year? He couldn't say he knew for certain...

"Uh, hello? Anyone there?" His voice came out uncertain, wavering slightly more than he'd come to apprecciate. In a time past, he would've heard the clock by now, that incessant ticking filling his ears and drowning out the possibility of other sounds even existing in this space. Today it was all too quiet, and his voice cast an echo, just as it would through any other forest.

The silence was noticeable. This forest seemed to run on clockwork— which was indeed one of the only things keeping him from fully being able to believe that any of this was real— and the constant motion of gears paired with the sturdy timekeeping that had never so much as faltered in all of his time was now just... Gone. Shattered. Leaving nothing in the woods but a thankless abyss. His head turned with the motions of his flashlight beam, looking for a sign of life.

There was nothing in the air but his own breath, and nothing on the ground but the sturdy sound of his footsteps in the dirt. All at once, he remembered the interview he undertook in the basement. How had it taken him so long to realise there was a basement in CCRP? Clearly, there was a good reason they didn't want it known to the rest of the office…

To him, that meant nothing but the fact that they were clearly hiding something. And that told him his next direction. Knowing that there was something potentially shady going on right underneath the broken printer network and the regular weekday get togethers in the break room to discuss the happenings of the week. Away from anything normal, there was that, and he figured it was something to be wary of.

It was some unholy hour by the time he'd trailed the length of the town, looking for his office block in the dark and trying not to make himself look weird by using the flashlight too much. It was just a little breaking and entering, nothing much to it! He knew where the back entrance to the office block was; that was something he'd used to his advantage on many an occasion to take a smoke break where nobody would bother him. The lock was flimsy with age, and nobody tended to go around there even at the best of times, so he found himself ducking into that familiar side alley and heading towards the back entrance. He could still navigate the office from the back, he supposed.

He wandered the length of the lobby, looking for the staircase he'd taken with the scientist before he'd sat down in her office. It had been hidden by a door that he always assumed was a broom cupboard, and thinking about that made it a lot easier. He'd passed that broom cupboard more times than he could count over the years, and he'd always thought how weird a place it was in, and how small it must've been on the inside.

Of course, he was right about that. There was no room either side of the first flight of stairs, just thin, grey walls and those echoing wooden stairs. Guided by the flashlight beam, he led himself down, towards the first sub-floor. That was the one he was familiar with, but it also made the most sense to start there. That scientist had worked on this floor. Her office was here, so whatever experiment or research she was running was likely going to be on this floor.

He looked around cautiously, passing a long row of individual offices on one side of the wall, and large, glass panelled rooms on the other, all labelled and co-ordinated depending on what they did. A-4, frequency limitation testing. A-13, space time continuum research and development. He turned a corner, and all of the A labelled corridors became B labelled corridors. All of the signs were interesting, and he made a mental note of a few of them to look into later. This was incredibly interesting to him, how much could be going on under his feet while he and everyone else who worked the offices had no idea.

Another corner led him to a bunch of rooms under the C label. He had to give it to these freaks, they certainly knew how to organise their shit… Again, all of the doors were labelled with the major experiment taking place within, until he found one that made him stop in his tracks.

C-8.

There was nothing listed for this elusive lab C-8. That, or the label so carefully slipped into the frame of the other doors had simply been discarded somewhere. While there was no indication of what they were doing in there, there was a note on the door, hastily scrawled out in a handwriting that looked like the owner had been in quite a rush.

Do not enter. Experiment conditions extremely unstable.

Ted tried the door. It was stuck tight. With a blind determination he hadn't seen in himself before, he backed up towards the wall on the other side, and made a break for it, trying to barge the door in with his shoulder. The first time, he heard a crack that he couldn't identify as either something from the door or from himself, but no movement on the door.

Again and again, he backed up and slammed as much force as he could muster into the door before the hinges gave out, and he crashed to the ground among the near splintered door, ripped from it's frame. The intensity at which he hit the floor drew a pained cry out of him, then he bit his lip and forced himself into thinking that, although it was some crazy time of the morning, there may well still be someone still on the premises.

He pulled himself to his feet and found the flashlight resting on the door where he'd fell. After a few sturdy taps against the back of his hand, it flickered back into life, and he started to look around, mainly to see what the hell had gone on in this room that was so bad it had to warrant the place being sealed off…

This room didn't really have a lot to show for itself; the place looked like it had been well and truly abandoned. Not in any state of disarray, either. It simply looked like everyone had upped and left at first opportunity. There was even a half finished, positively freezing glass of water festering away on the desk. The bugs had gotten to it, by the looks of things, and Ted decided he didn't want to think about that or the weird smell that hung in the air. Something was deeply off about this whole thing… He felt wrong for being there.

Asides from the faint sound of his own footsteps, the only sound in the entire place seemed to be someone's broken old watch, ticking a few paces forwards then a few paces back. It struggled, it stammered, and Ted briefly wondered why it was so loud.

"SpanKOFFSKI!"

A voice tore through the thick silence, strained, furious, and marred with misuse. At first, he thought it was behind him, so he turned slowly, in order to not give himself away too much. Someone- or some_thing_ knew his name, knew who he was. That was never good on it's own, but when he'd seen nobody else here since he left work the previous night, it sent a deep wave of fear shooting through his body.

His flashlight beam caught it before he did. There was one thing in the room that had been entirely abandoned, and when Ted eventually followed the line of his light, his breath caught in his throat.

"Oh my fucking god-"

To say the least, what he saw before him was a cage. Tall, imposing, and still holding strong despite the thick layers of deep brown rust set into the bars. In the middle of all that, broken and barely recognisable, was the Weaver. Ted knew the shape of the figure immediately, although it had once stood so tall and intimidating in the middle of the woods. There was a glaringly obvious list of things wrong with him, though, from the blood matting his skin, to the sheer amount of raw flesh exposed to the open air, breathing shakily in time with the rising and falling of his torso. The part of him that was nothing more than bone looked withered, the visible half of his skull cracked and malformed.

Ted's flashlight beam darted over the wounds in turn, and the dreading pit in his stomach grew worse with everything he set his sights on. He didn't know what had happened here in the slightest, but as he dared to turn his gaze away for a second, he caught sight of something on the desk that was clearly made to be somewhere else.

C-8. Temporal manipulation.

His eyes went wide, and he reached out to grab the plaque that should've sat on the door. Temporal manipulation… For some reason, that made all too much sense. To him, this being had always been associated with the careful winding of an old pocket watch, and the first swing of a grandfather clock's pendulum, and the very idea of clockwork, so this… This made sense to him. That thing was some kind of master of time. It had dominions over a domain he would never begin to understand, and the fact that he'd seen Jenny again at all was suddenly no coincidence. He had been played right into the hands of something that could control the very idea of time itself.

He didn't know whether that made him lucky or cursed. Right now he didn't care.

Before he could turn his attention back on the being, his eyes shot open, he pulled himself from the ground, and had reached out to pull Ted closer. He stared into manic blue eyes, more resembling that of a goat, and crazed with what looked like centuries of torment. Not his torment, but that of others. Ted saw years and years worth of people who had died and been reborn, lost in the flow of existence and never to be seen again. He had to force himself to look away, but there was nowhere else to look.

The thing seemed to examine the wounds on his neck, then noticed the identical ones lacing his arms. His head jerked one way, then the other. Ted was too focused on keeping the flashlight in hand to do anything about fighting the intense grip pulling him towards the bars of the cage.

Betrayal.

Betrayer.

The words started to make sense. Four fragments of a story started to fit together, to morph from the world of dreams and manifest themselves in a more solid place in his head. That was him. His was the betrayal that had set this into motion. The darkness had set over the woods was because of him. He'd been chosen by this thing, and he'd done nothing but sell it out.

But that also meant that the power was in his hands. That he was the one who could fix this.

"I know… What I have to do…" He managed, and in an instant, the thing released him, collapsing back against the bars.

Without saying a word, he started searching for something that would amend his mistakes. Nobody else so much as came in laboratory C-8 anymore, they wouldn't know if something had happened, or if someone had been brave enough to try and take destiny into their own hands. This wasn't going to be as simple as a key or something he would normally think to use. This place had been abandoned for so long that they had likely taken the last semblances of hope for the Weaver's escape along with them.

Ted settled on the heaviest thing he could muster, and started denting the bars as if he were some kind of master smith, attempting to make light work of molten metal. The layers upon layers of rust settled against the freezing metal made it slightly easier, but Ted could've wished for some kind of assistance, at least. Or for it to be a little less loud. The only thought circulating his brain was that this would work. He knew fate. He had accepted his own, bad as it was. He could live with that. But for once, there was a little confidence in the very concept of destiny... That maybe, he'd be able to change things if he just tried hard enough.

If someone else had been there with him, they hadn't made their presence known, not even as he got down on his knees and started busting the old cage with nothing more than blind determination and a paperweight.

But it was making an impact. The repetitive clanging against his ears, for one, but it did seem that he was actually making progress.

He didn't know how long he was at it, but eventually it was long enough to be able to bend back the bar and fully dislodge it. The other ones came easier after that, and eventually— violent ringing in his ears be damned— he had a gap large enough that the Weaver could escape through.

"Go-!" Ted panted, shaking out his hand and letting the paperweight clatter to the ground. "Get the fuck outta here!"

#starkid #ted spankoffski #tnoy karaxis #void offering #star mail #nova's tags →#we are trapping eldritch gods tonight! all bets are off!#when i thought up the concept for this i was having a blast #i have no idea how to tag this. hold on #tw death mention #tw exhibitionism #tw death threats #tw blood #tw injury #this might be dead dove territory....

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