#big angst big whump and such

[tacomedli]

Tainted Hero - Chapter 1

Sooooo I'm gonna try to start writing this story again, it was started in 2021, posted to ao3 in 2023, aaaaannnnd I never got past the first chapter. But here's to hoping! Anyway this chapter is already on ao3 obviously but I figured I might as well post it here too as something to get me started again.

Sneak peek:

Warriors barely glanced at them as this was happening, but in the split second that he was distracted he heard another cry--this time coming from none other than Legend. The captain watched in horror as vines of a black something crawled up the vet’s body, coming from--coming from his shadow.

“LEDGE!” Wars ran forward, not really having a plan but knowing he had to reach their veteran. The other heroes were shouting behind him, and he heard the thud of boots running in his direction, but he ignored it.

“I’m fine,” Legend bit out, then grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “I just can’t move.”

Warriors wrapped his arms around Legend’s torso and pulled. No luck.

The black grew steadily, now climbing up his waist. This was not good. 

Full chapter under the cut!

The monsters were infected, of course. It had been a while since Warriors had seen any that hadn’t been. In fact, the last time had probably been back before he’d met the other Link’s. What had caused all this strengthening black blood, anyways? Probably Dark Link, as he’d appeared in battle a few times to watch them from afar.

The heroes had grouped off into pairs, watching each other’s backs, with Wolfie helping out where he could. Twilight was nowhere to be seen, as he’d been off fetching more firewood when the ambush had happened. Hopefully he hadn’t been caught by monsters himself.

Warrior’s train of thought was interrupted by a particularly heavy slash from the lizalfos he was currently fighting against, and he almost staggered under the weight.

Keeping his balance was difficult on the uneven terrain, reminding him that they still had no idea whose time they were in--if anyone’s at all. Wars gave one final stab through the flesh of the lizalfos, piercing it through the heart. With an agonized squeal and a puff of purple smoke, the enemy was gone forever. The hero took a deep breath and turned around, looking for anyone who needed help.

His eyes widened when he saw the Shadow himself, the despicable Dark Link, sitting lazily in the branches of a nearby tree, his expression somewhere between amused and bored. 

“Time!” Warriors shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder at their unofficial leader. “The Shadow is here!”

Eight pairs of ears (though one covered in fur) perked up at that. If only these monsters would give them a break so they could face the real threat!

Time grunted in response, unable to move away from the two stalfos that were currently circling him. Wolfie bounded up to him, snarling and making to bite the ankles of one of them. Time spared the wolf a glance, his grip on the Biggoron Sword tightening. “Wolfie, I got this! Go help Warriors!”

Wolfie gave a sharp bark in return, then turned around to scan the battlefield for royal blue and midnight black. 

It wasn’t hard to spot. War’s blade flashed silver in the sunlight; scarf billowing out behind him. Dark Link’s grin was eerily wide as he slipped down from the tree limb, not bothering to equip any sort of weapon.

Wolfie’s eyes narrowed as he sped toward them. If the Shadow was unconcerned with the danger surrounding him, then he must have something up his sleeve yet. Wolfie wished briefly that he was human right now, so he could shout some sort of warning to be cautious in Warriors’ direction. 

At that moment, Warriors risked a look behind his shoulder. He’d heard Time’s yell, so it didn’t surprise him when he saw Wolfie coming closer. What did surprise him was the blur of red and green that matched an arrow’s speed, and the fierce battle cry as the Tempered Sword was raised high.

Legend.

Dark Link didn’t move until the last possible second, whipping out a blade that was black as coal to counter golden orange as Legend slammed into him. Warriors didn’t even know where the black sword had come from--but knowing Dark Link, it was probably summoned by dark magic or some other evil spell thingie.

Said Dark Link was unharmed from the attack, but even so, the force with which Legend hit the Shadow’s blade sent them both skidding forward a few feet--or backwards, in the Shadow’s case.

The latter still grinned as he pushed against the interlocking blades with a shove, forcing Legend to jump back. By this time Warriors had reclaimed his wits, and after taking a deep breath, charged the Shadow head on.

Dark Link was light on his feet, however, if the next minute proved anything. He barely even used any sort of magic as he alternated between defense and attack with his opponents, Wolfie included.

Neither side was gaining, though the heroes seemed to be the only ones growing tired. They’d been battling a camp of monsters up until now, after all, while Dark Link had only laughed to himself as he watched from the safety of an oak.

Upward swing, jump back. Spin attack, shield. Dodge, jump back. Swing again--

Warriors could feel the beads of sweat rolling down his temple, and was all too aware of a surprisingly painful pebble in the bottom of his right boot. How much longer was it going to take before someone else came to help? He’d like to think the three of them could take the Shadow on themselves, but he’d learned long ago that underestimating the enemy was no small mistake.

Wolfie jumped to bite Dark Link’s arm, but as he’d done countless times before, the Dark side-stepped him while simultaneously clashing swords with Warriors. That eerie grin was finally gone, but there was a glint in his eyes that Wars didn’t like one bit.

Legend threw himself forward yet again, hoping to get in an attack while the Dark was occupied. However, Dark Link vanished into thin air just before Legend could reach him, causing Wars to stumble from the sudden lack of pressure.

“Argh!” Legend whirled around. “Where are you, you--”

Warrior’s eyes widened. “Leg, look out!” he yelled as the Shadow reformed behind the veteran. 

Legend knew exactly what Warriors’ warning meant, and that if Dark Link was truly behind him, there wouldn’t be any time to turn around before he was quite literally stabbed in the back. So instead, he opted for a spin attack.

Which probably would’ve worked--if Dark Link wasn’t insistent on showing off his teleportation magic. Or in this case, his ability to merge with the hero’s shadow. Legend stepped back quickly as soon as he realized what had happened, but of course, his shadow followed.

Wolfie snarled, but heard an indignant yelp as Wind was disarmed by a stalfos a few feet away from them. He sprinted to the boy’s rescue, clamping his teeth down hard on the culprit’s neck as Wind hurried to retrieve his blade.

Warriors barely glanced at them as this was happening, but in the split second that he was distracted he heard another cry--this time coming from none other than Legend. The captain watched in horror as vines of a black something crawled up the vet’s body, coming from-- coming from his shadow.

“LEDGE!” Wars ran forward, not really having a plan but knowing he had to reach their veteran. The other heroes were shouting behind him, and he heard the thud of boots running in his direction, but he ignored it.

“I’m fine,” Legend bit out, then grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “I just can’t move.”

Warriors wrapped his arms around Legend’s torso and pulled. No luck.

The black grew steadily, now climbing up his waist. This was not good. 

Suddenly, Sky was there. “I have an idea,” he said, looking to Wars.

“Well, let’s hear it,” the captain replied, voice clipped. “Doesn’t look like we have much time here.”

Sky nodded, then held up the Master Sword. Sacred light climbed the blade, preparing it for a Skyward Strike.

“Oh, none of that, please,” came the disembodied voice of Dark Link. “If you’re going to be so rude, I think I’d best take my leave.”

Legend inhaled sharply as the black vines grew higher with increased speed, beginning to cover him—

“NO!” Without a second thought, Warriors lunged to grab ahold of his friend, unsure of what this strange magic would do and not really wanting to find out.

His fingers barely grazed Legend’s shoulder when there was a sudden flash of light, and he was no longer in the middle of a battlefield. His stomach grew nauseous and he was light-headed, and before he knew it he was keeling over and everything hurt and something felt wrong and—

Warriors’ eyes peeled open, and he blinked a few times. He immediately noticed two things: one, they were in a very dark and ominous prison cell, and two, Legend, who was slumped on the ground next to him, wasn’t moving.

Great. Just great. This was wonderful.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1381

Whumptober #31: Making Amends

The whumpee leaving their apology in a note before they go on The Mission they’ll likely not come back from. 

The caretaker apologizes to the whumpee as they’re bleeding out in their arms. 

Versus: the whumpee desperately trying to apologise as they bleed out in the caretakers arms. Bonus points if they’re spitting blood. 

The caretaker waits anxiously over the unconscious whumpee to wake up so they can apologise. The whumpee barely opens their eyes before the caretaker is blurting out “I’m sorry.”

The whumpee barely opens their eyes before they say “I’m sorry”

Better still: the whumpee and caretaker apologizing at the same time, as soon as they see each other.

The apology coming before a character betrays another.

The apology coming AFTER the character goes through with the betrayal in order to save the team.

And for comfort: The whumpee not buying the apologies as the caretaker cleans their wounds, but they're easily appeased by the promise of dinner.

[beep-beep-bannanabus]

It’s you!

Despite everything, it’s still you

This but with Mo Xuanyu and Shen Jiu, because it’s not really them anymore is it?

It’s someone who’s replaced them, someone better, someone who will actually be missed and remembered.

Idk angst hours ig

[the-broken-pen]

could you write a snippet where hero and villain both show up at the same time to rescue civilian from supervillain please?

The hero’s pulse pounded in their ears, panicked and so loud–there was so much blood, oh god, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from–that they didn’t hear the villain behind them until they were slamming their elbow back into their ribcage. The villain caught it with one hand, running their gaze over the hero and their blood slicked hands as if assessing for injuries. When they did the same to the civilian, the villain went so still the hero wasn’t sure they were breathing.

The hero felt a little dizzy, actually, and they were trying incredibly hard not to cry, because that was their friend on the floor and they were never supposed to be involved in this–

“Hero,” the villain’s voice was stern, but not unkind. “Breathe.”

They choked on their next inhale, and the villain pressed against their chest with one hand until they breathed out again. There was something about the villain’s face, smooth and unyielding like stone, that pulled the hero into focus enough for them to suck in another breath.

“They need help,” they managed to gasp. The villain gave them a singular nod in confirmation.

“Yes. They do.”

“We need to–”

“You,” the villain interrupted, “need to calm down.”

“They’re dying.”

“And that’s not going to change if you’re too panicked to see straight. So take. A deep. Breath.”

Miraculously, the hero did. It was easier on the next breath, and the next, until their vision was clear and they could see the horror in front of them with all too much clarity.

The civilian was still breathing.

The villain released the hero’s elbow as soon as they realized the hero wasn’t about to panic again, grazing their fingers over the civilian’s tattered clothing in search of the worst wounds. They prodded something and the civilian winced, face bruised and entirely, blessedly, unconscious. “Pressure,” the villain gestured, and the hero. complied.

The hero knew better than to let up when the civilian, abruptly half-lucid from pain, tried to bat their hand away, but bile still rose in their throat.

“How are you so calm,” they said, and even they could tell their voice was slightly too close to hysterical. The villain glanced over at them, eyes dark, before ripping a makeshift tourniquet to tie around the civilian’s leg.

“I panicked once,” some memory, deep and dark and full of pain, flashed through the villain’s eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

The hero took the wad of cloth the villain handed to them, pressing it back down over the civilian’s stomach. It turned red under the hero’s fingers far faster than they would ever have wanted it to. Not that they would ever want it to, but if someone was bleeding they would at least want it to be slow–

“Oh,” they managed, voice strangled, and the villain took a moment to assess them once more. 

“Breathe,” the villain reminded. “They’re not dying. They’re beat up, but they’re stable. Emergency services are already on their way.”

The hero watched more blood well up around their hands. Pressed harder.

They would be digging red flakes out from under their nails for weeks.

“You’re normally calmer,” the villain remarked casually. If the hero’s brain wasn’t so stuck on the image of their friend bleeding below them, they would have recognized this for the distraction that it was.

“They didn’t choose this,” they whispered, throat raw. The civilian didn’t have powers, and they hadn’t chosen to use them for good or evil. They just lived, so kind and so normal.

“Neither does any other bystander,” the villain said.

“They’re my friend,” the hero willed the villain to understand, somehow, the enormity of this. The pain of knowing that it should have been them on the floor, that supervillain had done this because the civilian had been there and the hero had not.

A mistake of epic proportions. The biggest failure of their life. Not being there.

“So?”

“So it's my fault,” the hero’s voice broke, and they ducked their head down to hide the tears as they welled in their eyes. Distantly, they could pick up the barest trace of sirens, almost out of reach of their enhanced senses.

“Hero,” the villain said, voice gentle. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

The hero shook their head–

“No, listen to me,” the villain’s voice gained an edge to it. “It’s not your fault. I pissed supervillain off this week. They know the civilian is my friend. This was deliberate to hurt me, and I need you to get it through your thick skull that there was nothing you could have done to stop this.”

The hero wasn’t sure who the villain was truly saying this to–the hero, themself, or the version of the villain that had panicked so long ago, and suffered for it.

“I could have–”

“You couldn’t.” The villain’s stare was all encompassing. The hero wanted to believe them. “Stop blaming yourself for the pain other people are causing.”

“That’s kind of my whole thing,” the hero tried for something light, airy. The both of them watched it fall flat off their tongue.

“No, it’s not. Your thing is saving people, not beating yourself up over everything you think you could have done better.”

The hero didn’t have a response to that. Just stayed staring at the villain as the ambulance skidded to a stop, the red lights flashing off the villain’s hair and eyes.

Someone reached for the hero’s hands, still pressed tightly to the wound, and they flinched away, gritting their teeth. 

The paramedic raised their gloved hands as if comforting an animal. “I’m here to help,” they said slowly. 

It felt terrible unclenching their hands, letting the paramedic take their place, sliding the civilian onto a stretcher an unending minute later.

The hero swallowed hard, knees numb against the pavement, and let the villain hook their arms under the hero’s armpits to haul the upright.

“Alright, there we go,” the villain murmured easily. The hero tracked the paramedics as they closed the doors of the ambulance. 

“I should–”

“No,” the villain interrupted. They seemed to be doing that more often than usual, the hero thought slowly. “You need to get cleaned up, and eat something.”

“I need to go to the hospital, I can’t just leave them alone,” the hero argued. They tried to jerk themself from the villain’s steadying hold, and failed.

“Trust me, they’ve got a whole team keeping them alive. They’re in good company.”

“I’m failing them.” It was an entirely irrational thought, but it stung in the hero’s chest, burning its way into their ribs as an ‘almost’ truth.

“You’re taking care of yourself so that you are able to take care of them. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you're at empty. So, we’re going to get you some clothes that aren’t covered in blood, a sandwich, and go from there.”

The hero realized between one blink and the next that they were exhausted–bones aching and made of stone, dragging them down further with every second. By the time they reached the villain’s car, the only thing that was holding them up was the villain; the weight of panic and a too long day spent trying to save the entire city pressing down on them.

They were dumped into the passenger seat without fanfare, and if they weren’t so tired, they would have protested about the blood, or question how the villain had gotten their car here.

The villain slammed the door, settling themself into the driver’s seat a moment later. They dug through the center console, too dark for the hero to make out what they were grabbing, before they scrubbed the hero’s hands with a baby wipe. 

They had the engine started before the hero had a chance to look down at their own–now clean–hands.

“It’s not your fault,” the villain said again. Their tone left no room for argument.

“You keep saying that,” they watched as the city lights flickered through the car windows. “Why?”

The villain’s jaw clenched in the periphery of their vision. When they answered, it was so soft and quiet the hero almost didn’t catch it.

“Because nobody said it to me.”

The hero let their head slump against the window, half-asleep as they watched the roads vanish behind them.

“Hey,” they said quietly. They didn’t have to look up to know the villain’s attention was solely on them.

Sleep pulled on them until their voice was little more than an exhaled breath. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“It isn’t your fault.”

Before sleep managed to swallow them whole, the hero swore they caught a single tear streaking down the villain’s cheek.

[paranormal-peri]

BIG UPDATE!

ALL CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN EDITED! SOME DESCRIPTIONS AND DIALOGUE HAVE CHANGED AND NEW DETAILS HAVE BEEN ADDED! I HIGHLY RECOMMEND RE-READING!

(It’s mostly the same, but there are some important changes!)

(Also this is sadly gonna have to count for my weekly chapter update, this was a lot of work but it was worth it)

[johnwickcaretaker]

💙🖤John x Santino Masterlist🖤💙

⋆.˚ ●.⭒˚ OOC Post ⋆.˚ ● .⭒˚

Miscellaneous drabble, headcanons, prompt lists, etc. related to John Wick x Santino D'Antonio (A.K.A. WickedSaint), with a focus on whump, angst, and hurt/comfort. Special thanks to @bluelolblue for many of these asks!

AO3 Series for Ficlets: Even in Your Worst Moods

●・○・●・○・●

SHIP OVERVIEW/ANALYSIS

A/B/O

A Slap From a Saint - Ficlet

Bury a Friend - Drawing

Cooking and Favorite Foods

Hurt/Comfort Headcanons

"Hold My Hand" - Ficlet

Hurt/Comfort Prompts

John is Kidnapped

John is Severely Hurt

Playlist

Salt in the Wound - Ficlet

Santino Eating Ice Cream - Drawing

Santino has a Flashback - Ficlet

Santino has a Nightmare - Ficlet

Santino has a Panic Attack

Santino has a Panic Attack Alone - Ficlet

Santino has a Rage Meltdown

Santino hides an Injury - Ficlet

Santino is Exhausted

Santino is Overworked and Smoking

Santino is Pregnant

Santino is Severely Hurt

Santino is Sick

Santino Passes Out - Ficlet

Santino Wears a Green Suit - Drabble

Sharing a Dessert - Ficlet

The Boy in the Picture Frame - Ficlet

Too Much Coffee - Ficlet

Torn Stitches - Ficlet

Vampire AU

Visiting a Museum

Walking Home - Ficlet

Wedding

Wedding Playlist

Werewolf AU

Wildflowers - Ficlet

You'll Thank Me Tomorrow - Ficlet

●・○・●・○・●

[spicypotstickerbliss]

Another day another tsts chap

Tim is in so much pain :D! At least there’s background Stephcass?

Hop on if you’re looking for a finished longfic updating regularly ;)

Have a meme as a little treat

[writergeek]

@batfam-big-bang Chapters: 5/19 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), New Teen Titans Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & The Titans Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain/Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Kory Anders, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Gothamites Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Fic as Social Commentary, Social Media, Mixed Media, Acid Attack, bar brawl, bar violence, First Aid, Field Aid, Permanent Injury, Injury Recovery, injury aftermath, PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, stalkers, (but in the not fun way not in the Tim Drake way), Police procedures, Medical Procedures, (but I am neither a cop nor a doctor nor a nurse - I do my best but I’ll get things wrong), Medical Inaccuracies, Handwaving, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, sibling shenanigans, The batkids are siblings and I will die on this hill, mediocre parent Bruce, (he get's better? maybe?), Awesome Alfred, aftermath of Spyral, discussion of past trauma, Implied/Referenced Non-con, (its Mirage and maybe Tarantula), discussions of ableism/racism, I Treat Canon Like Barbie Outfits: I Mix And Match, DC stands for Disregard Canon, do not copy to another site, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfam Big Bang Chapter Summary: Alfred starts the long journey of finding out exactly what being Dick’s next of kin in a trauma situation involves. The hard way. (And also why he doesn’t want Bruce involved in his medical treatment.)

[fic-prompts-feel-free-to-use]

Back on my baizhu shit again

Pantalone is Baizhus older brother. His brother was constantly hanging off him, barely left him a minute of peace; but he was born sickly and his family was poor.

So he left home early to pursue fortune enough to take care of his brother and family; and baizhu was left mostly bed bound and alone while his parents worked tirelessly to make enough mora for his medicine.

By the time the village is struck with disease, Pantalone has joined the fatui and Baizhu forgets he had a brother in the first place, unknowing of the money his brother sent home every quarter. From this point, the story progresses as normal. Baizhu joins the traveling doctor and Pantalone only knows his family is dead. He rises through the ranks, having nothing left to him but work and Baizhu enters the contract with Changsheng.

It's only after the Rite of Passing, when Childe and Signora head back to Snezhnaya with the gnosis when he hears of a doctor that looks almost exactly like him.

Does he disregard it, married to his work as he is now? Or does he start to silently worry again, remembering the sickly child who hung off his every word?

[samanddean76]

Title: One Way Or Another

Author: SamandDean76 | Artist: Bluefire986

Ship: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Word Count: 14,976 | Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Tags: Alternate Universe, Stanford Era, Alpha/Beta/omega Dynamics, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Transformation, Collars, Dean Winchester Whump, True Mates, Revenge, Or Justice, Alpha John Winchester, Omega Mary Winchester, background John/Mary, Alpha Zachariah, background Zachariah/Mary (past rape), Alpha Dick Roman, Alcoholic John Winchester, Minor Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Written for the Wincest Big Bang 2024, Original Art by Bluefire986

Summary: Dean woke up in the hospital, bruised, battered, and a newly turned Omega. His life had been left in shambles, and his only hope was that Sam would leave Stanford and come back to mate the brother that he hadn’t seen in four years. Not since the day of Sam and John’s last big fight.

Sam received the dire news and promptly put his life on hold, so that he could help Dean, the big brother who had done everything to protect him growing up. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he allowed Dean to be put up for auction where he would be sold to the highest bidder.

Together the boys work to unravel the mystery surrounding the disappearance of their father, Dean’s assault, and the long-buried secrets that their pack was desperate to keep hidden away. Knowing that the only way they could live their lives was if the truth was brought out into the blinding light of day.

I am so proud to finally be able to present my Wincest Big Bang story to everyone! @bluefire986 created some wonderful art for the story, that helped to enrich the journey that I sent the boys on. @jld71 was the beta who kept me on track. And my Muse went wild so that I might be able to create an A/B/O alternate universe where challenges are plentiful, and rewards are many. I hope you enjoy it!

Story on AO3

Art on AO3 | LiveJournal

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 18: Tortured for Information

Continuation of Day 14

Read it on Ao3

- Time & the Chain

- Summary: Time is captured by people craving the power of Majora's mask

CW for captivity, blood and injury, torture, and poisoning

--------------------------------

“Idiots!”

The shout breaks through the haze Time drifts in, sending his panicked, feverish thoughts skittering away. He still trembles like a leaf upon the wind, still gasps for breath that will not come.

Everything hurts, but he can’t remember when the pain started. All he knows is that he wants it to end.

“Idiots! You’ve nearly killed him! I asked for him to be incapacitated, not dead! Give me the antidote, now!”

Jumbled voices trip over one another in their race to be heard. They’re arguing, Time thinks, though he can't understand what about. Not that it matters. Nothing seems to matter at the moment, except for the mad struggle to remain alert and alive.

He tries to inhale the air his lungs are screaming for and chokes. A horrid gurgling sound fills his ears. It takes him far longer than it should to realize he is making it.

The realization reignites a distant fear, a sense that danger is surrounding him, dragging him down to the depths. But before he can truly make sense of it, something cold and sharp enters his neck. An odd sensation of pressure follows as cool liquid slithers through his veins. 

And in the next moment he can breathe again.

Time inhales great gulps of air as his airways begin to expand once more. His body welcomes it, allowing it to return some of the strength he lost, drive away the dizziness and fog. 

With the return of consciousness, however, come the memories. Memories of collapsing on the cold, hard cobblestone, of struggling desperately against the assault of an invisible attacker, only to be dragged away by physical enemies.

…of someone calling him the Hero of Termina.

He drags his eye open. A warm swath of lantern light greets him. It sends shadows across the walls of the building, dancing and glinting against the many bottles and canisters shelved there. Concoctions of all colors bubble or rest in powder form. In the far corner, a pot threatens to boil over.  

A man and woman stand beside it, looking slightly pensive. Despite their surroundings, however, they appear unassuming enough that had he passed them on the street, Time wouldn’t have thought twice about them. Certainly at first glance, he would not have taken them for kidnappers…or potion makers (if that is what these people even are.) But he supposes that is the way of things. Darkness does not always come in the form of demonic masks and men with evil eyes.

Another person is here too, though her back is turned as she busies herself with something on a nearby table. She is far closer than the other two, however, and Time makes sure to keep his gaze trained on her as he turns his attention to his bonds.

The ropes he remembers restraining him earlier are gone now. Instead, shackles encircle his wrists and ankles. He shifts, testing their integrity. Their metal is thick and unyielding. As he pulls at them, something prickles at his skin in warning. It is strange, but he understands it well enough. 

Magic. 

These people, whoever they may be, possess power. Dark power.

At the slight jingle of chains, the woman turns. A grin stretches across her face. 

“Wonderful, you’re awake at last! I thought those two had done you in permanently.” She jerks a thumb back to where the others stand. “Fortunately, it appears that I gave you the antidote in the nick of time.”

Time skewers her with a glare. “I suppose you are the one who poisoned me, then?”

His voice is hardly more than a croak that sends shards of pain down his throat. 

The woman chuckles. “Well, I didn’t administer it — otherwise you would be far better off right now. But yes, I’ll admit I concocted it.” She lifts a small bottle, shaking it slightly so that it’s greenish contents jiggle. “Creating substances like that – you could say it’s my specialty.”

Time’s eye narrows. So they are potion makers. What could they possibly want with him?

“But that is hardly why you are here.”

She reaches behind her and grasps something from the table. When she turns back to him her smile has grown impossibly more sinister. In her hands she cradles a sizable object with glowing gold eyes and stripes of crimson across its cheeks.

“I’m sure you recognize this.”

A strangled gasp breaks free before he can restrain it. He would recognize that thing anywhere. After all, he has seen it enough times in his nightmares.

“Ah, you do. I thought so.” She cocks her head, shifting so the light illuminates the mask’s bulging eyes further. Time can’t shake the feeling that they are staring through him to his very soul. “It seemed unlikely that the Hero of Termina would forget his enemy so easily.”

He swallows, hard, fighting against the panic rising within him.

“There is no soul in that mask anymore,” he says with a calm that belies everything he is feeling. “Whatever plans you have for it are for nought. It is useless now. Nothing more than a trinket.”

“Precisely.” 

The woman leans forward. There is a sadistic hunger in her eyes now that sends shivers down Time’s spine. But he meets her gaze without hesitation. Anything that this potion maker has in store for him is nothing compared to what he has already endured at the hands of the monster she now holds.

…or the monster that slumbers in his pouch.

“Therein lies our problem,” she continues, with a sigh. “We located the mask without difficulty (really, that salesman should be more careful with his wares) but finding it soulless was quite the disheartening discovery. After all, we had so wanted to acquaint ourselves with him. With Majora.”

The nausea that had subsided now rears its head again. Time forces himself to swallow, to breathe past the way the room tilts. He can’t truly tell how much is from fear and exhaustion, and how much from the remnant poison still coursing through his veins. But one thing is for certain. Hearing that cursed name makes this all feel more real. Too real, in fact.

“Our disappointment has proven to be short-lived, however. Soon after finding the mask we discovered a very intriguing tidbit of information.” 

She casts a glance over her shoulder, sharing a grin with her companions, before turning back to Time. In the dim light her eyes seem to gleam. 

“There is a man who holds a deep, dark secret, thought to be known only to the gods. A man who as a child traversed the entirety of Termina and faced the demons of the land. A man who knew how to kill them…and knows how to bring them back.”

Breathing has grown difficult again and this time Time knows it has nothing to do with a deadly substance. It takes no small amount of effort to keep his expression a mask of anger. 

The woman pauses for a long moment, no doubt waiting for him to take the bait. When he remains silent, a bit of aggravation flits across her face. She steps closer, blocking the light. 

“You know how to resurrect Majora, Hero of Termina. And you are going to perform the spell right here in front of us.”

“No.” The word falls heavy on the thick silence of the room. “I will not be performing any spell for you. Because I cannot.” He smiles, grim and bitter. “Your assumptions are mistaken, unfortunately. I have no knowledge of a way to resurrect long-deceased demons. Perhaps, you should have kidnapped a necromancer instead.”

He expects anger to contort her expression. Instead, she smirks.

“You live up to your title, hero. We hoped that you would.”

The woman places Majora carefully back on the table. One of her companions grabs one of the many bottles from the shelves and with it firmly in his grasp, steps forward. 

“The poison we slipped into your food…its effects were excruciating, were they not?” The woman asks. There is something almost gleeful in her tone. “They certainly sounded painful. When these two dragged you in here you were barely living. A few moments more and you would have suffocated.”

She motions toward the bottle now, filled to the brim with a deep purple liquid. Its sinister glint is almost mesmerizing. 

“What you just endured is nothing compared to what you will suffer once this runs through your veins.”

Time drags his gaze away from the bottle. The pound of his own heart is deafening. 

“If it is as horrible an experience as you say, how do you expect me to perform anything at all?”

She smiles. “Oh, not to worry. All you will need to do is agree to do as we wish. Then, I will provide the antidote and your body will return to normal functioning. So” – She tilts her head in question – “what is your answer, hero? Will you help us resurrect the great Majora? Or will you maintain this flimsy facade of ignorance?”

Time takes a deep breath, trying his best to prepare for whatever is about to come.

“I swear to you,” he says, firmly. “I know nothing. As far as my knowledge goes, Majora is dead and will remain that way.”

“Ah, so flimsy facade it is.” The woman turns to her companion. “Go on, then, make him drink it.”

Time glares at him as the man starts toward him. But he hardly seems affected. With a dark chuckle, he leans down and grabs Time’s chin, forcing his head up. Instinctively, Time’s hands fly upward to shove him off. The chains burn his wrists, magic screaming at him to remain still and compliant. He ignores it and digs his nails into the man’s hand. Blood bubbles up beneath his fingernails, turning them red. 

With a cry of pain, the man jerks back. Time doesn’t wait for him to recover. Quick as a flash, he brings his knee up. 

“Oh, you little – ”

Bloodshot eyes meet his own, fury boiling within them. Time smirks. 

“I suppose you thought I was going to go down easily.”

Seconds later his head snaps back, pain exploding across his nose as a fist collides with his face. 

He kicks out again, blindly. Another cry pierces the air. This time the retaliation takes his breath away. He is almost certain the hit has broken a rib or two.

“Hey!” Comes a breathless voice past the ringing in his ears. “Get over here and help me hold him!”

“Stay still, you!”

Hands try to restrain him but he lashes out once more. His fist connects with something decidedly human and he feels a grim sort of satisfaction at the sensation of bones breaking. 

“Oh, please. Are you both physically incapable of holding down someone who is not near death? Allow me to show you how it’s done.”

There is a telltale zip of something sharp piercing the air. And then, Time chokes on a cry as a dagger embeds itself in his shoulder. For a moment, he can focus on nothing more than trying to breathe, trying to push away the dots that have exploded before his eye. But when they grab his hair and wrench his head back, pressing cool glass to his lips, he forces himself to ignore the pain. 

He can’t fall. Not now. Not yet.

In one swift motion he reaches up, grasps the hilt of the dagger, and yanks it out. Magic is at his fingertips even as his vision goes white, a scream pushing past tightly closed lips. He funnels it into the weapon and slices outward.

Instantly, the restraining hands are gone. Screams erupt as his captors leap out of the way of the ravenous flames. They lunge forward, spreading as they go, breaking bottles and catching on the wooden floor and walls. 

“Go!” The man yells. “Get out!”

Time barely registers the two of them racing for the door. He has turned his attention to his bonds. One swipe of the flaming dagger and the chains restraining his legs fall uselessly to the ground. In the next instant, those hooked to the shackles about his wrists follow suit.

The magic they are imbued with is strong. But he has found few spells as intimidating as Din’s Fire. And he is lucky for it.

Gritting his teeth, he rises on shaky feet. Now, to get the mask and escape before the building’s inevitable collapse.

“I knew it.” 

Time stops, arm outstretched toward the mask. The potion maker grins at him from the opposite side of the room, her eyes reflecting the glow of the flames. There is blood dribbling down her forehead, soot splotched across her skin. But she doesn’t seem to notice any of it. Her gaze is locked firmly on him, that hunger even more prevalent than before.

“I knew it! You can do magic! You can perform the spell!”

She starts toward him, limping slightly on an ankle that must be twisted.

“Your lies were pathetic enough that only a child would have believed them. But now, oh now I know for certain.”

“You know nothing.” Time grasps the mask in his free hand, the dagger still held tightly in the other. “Majora is gone. He will never use anyone again.”

He starts toward the door, backing up so as to keep her in his line of sight. A quick glance around proves that his armor and pouch are not here. They must have stowed them somewhere else. Near the inn, perhaps. 

She laughs, a strangled, unhinged sound.

“Oh, Hero of Termina, you are every bit as courageous as they say.” Something is in her hand now. It glints in the light of the flames. “But you are a fool.”

Before he can even begin to react, a second dagger embeds itself in his thigh. With a strangled cry, Time crumples. The mask and dagger slip from his grasp. The woman scoops them up effortlessly.

“That is no ordinary weapon,” she says, voice drifting past the sounds of crackling wood and popping glass and his own labored breathing. “The potion you thought you had destroyed? Its blade is dripping with it.”

As if on cue, pure agony erupts from the spot. It feels as though the flames that surround them have found their way inside and begun eating away at muscles and organs and bones. A scream begs to be let loose. Time refuses to release it. Gritting his teeth, he curls his hands into fists.

But the pain only spreads, curling upward like tongues of fire, eating away at him as it goes. He chokes on a mouthful of blood.

Somewhere nearby the ceiling begins to cave in.

“Ah, well that won’t do.” Fingers dig into his wounded shoulder, dragging him across the hard floor. Time gasps. “I want you begging for death, not receiving it.”

The heat of the burning building gives way to the coolness of night. The woman drops him onto a bed of damp grass. Time catches a brief glimpse of a star-speckled sky before he shuts his eye once more, still fighting against the urge to scream. 

“Wonderful. Now that we’re a safe distance from the disaster of your escape attempt, we have plenty of time.” Dimly, he is aware of a presence settling down beside him. “In fact, we have all the time in the world. This potion isn’t deadly, you see. So, either you agree to resurrect Majora – or at the very least tell us how – or you surrender to an eternity of pain. The choice is yours.”

The unending agony surges again. Time spits more blood into the grass. A shudder runs through him. But he isn’t cold, not in the least. Every part of him is drenched in molten heat. Every part of him is burning. 

The woman sighs. “I do wish I could make the experience even worse for you, though. I’ll admit I’m very displeased with what you did to my house. And my employees ran off too. Shameful. But I suppose once you do the deed that will all be forgotten.”

Time digs his nails into the ground, curling in on himself as wave after wave of pain buffets him. 

“Why?” He chokes. “What…what do you want with Majora?”

“What do I want with him? What does anyone want with a monster in a mask?” Time opens his eye just in time to see her lean over him. “Power.”

She grins, a shadow against a backdrop of billowing smoke. And she drives the dagger in deeper.

This time he can’t restrain it. He screams, sharp and hoarse and strangled, as the fire within him grows one thousand times hotter. He is going to explode, he is certain of it. Either that or simply turn to ash. 

But neither occurs. It merely continues, an eternity of pain, surging and waning with every passing moment. 

“Give up,” she purrs, when he stops screaming long enough to catch his breath. “You have nothing to prove. Tell me how I can bring him back.”

He spits in her face.

She wipes the blood away with a strained smile. “Well, you are certainly a stubborn one. Perhaps, I need to make this a bit more excruciating.”

She reaches into a pouch at her waist. But before she can pull out her next torture device, an arrow soars through the air and pierces her arm.

With a screech, she stumbles upward and back. Grasping the dagger Time had used, she looks wildly around.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” The blade comes to rest on Time’s neck, inches from his jugular. “Come out or I’ll kill him!”

“No, you won’t,” someone says. “You need him.”

Time blinks, trying to grasp his hazy thoughts. That…that’s Four, isn’t it? It certainly sounds like him. But how…

Wolfie lunges from the bushes, lips pulled back in a snarl. Upon his back, sits the smithy, sword held at the ready. They streak forward, heading straight for the potion maker. 

She brings the dagger up just as they reach her. But another arrow appears out of nowhere and knocks the weapon right out of her hands. Wolfie leaps at her and she hits the ground with a shriek.

Four slides off of his back and levels his sword at the woman.

“Stay down,” he says, and there is an edge to his voice Time has never heard before. “You don’t want to know what happens if you fight that wolf, trust me.”

The rest of the heroes rush forward now, some headed for the downed villain, others for Time.

Warriors reaches him first, skidding to his knees beside him. 

“What did she do to you, Sprite?” he breathes as he maneuvers Time’s head onto his lap. 

Time drags in a strangled breath. He opens his mouth, fully meaning to tell him what they need to make this all stop. But all that comes out is a series of thick, wet coughs. Then, the pain increases again and his back arches as he screams. 

Words filter through the sounds of his own agony, disjointed and befuddling.

“...sorry.”

“Alright…going to be…”

“Give…now!”

The screams taper off into gasping breaths. Time sags, boneless against Warriors. The captain’s face floats in and out of view, wavering between clarity and a nauseating blur.

“Here, Sky, take…Quick…drink.”

The hands that tip his chin upward are gentle. He trusts them. Time lets his mouth fall open, obediently swallowing the liquid that slides down his burning throat. 

He feels the effect almost instantly. The fire within him dims and lessens, as a strange chill drifts through him. It carries away the pain so he can breathe again, think again, hazy and directionless though his thoughts are.

Slowly, he blinks as the world comes back into focus. His brothers look down at him, worry and hope battling across their faces.

“Is…is he…” Wind starts, tears welling in his eyes.

“He’s okay,” Warriors assures him, even as his grip on Time’s hand tightens. “The antidote worked.”

Time manages the slightest smile. “Don…don’t worry, sa-sailor. Takes…a lot to kill me.”

Wild grins, though it’s far shakier than his usual. “Obviously. You burned an entire house down, Time! See if I listen next time you get onto us about committing arson.”

“You never listen anyway,” Warriors points out, drily. Wild scowls at him.

“But you shouldn’t have had to burn down a house in the first place,” Twilight says, bitterness in his tone and regret in his eyes. “We took too long to find you. I’m sorry.”

“What did she want with you anyway?” Legend asks. He looks down at the mask he must have scooped up from the ground. “And what did it have to do with this thing?”

“Okay, questions and apologies later,” Warriors pipes up. “We need to get him back to the inn.”

Time sends him a look of gratitude. The pain might have diminished greatly, but he feels worn and wrung out. And his shoulder and leg still throb to the pulse of his heartbeat.

Twilight’s expression is still a raging swirl of barely-restrained emotions. But he nods. 

“I’ll carry him.”

“What’re we gonna do with her?” Hyrule asks, jerking a thumb back to where the potion maker must still be. 

They must have knocked her unconscious, Time thinks, otherwise she wouldn’t be so silent. People like her don’t stop talking, even when every word only serves to drive them further into the ground.

“Bring her back to town,” Warriors replies. “Maybe we can get her to tell us what her goal was here. After that, I’m sure we can get her set up in a nice, cozy jail cell.”

“The faster we can get her there the better,” Legend growls. “Sadistic creep.”

Twilight gently lifts Time off of the ground, murmuring an apology when he hisses in pain. 

“Let’s go, then,” he says, once Time is securely in his grip. (How he carries him so effortlessly, Time hasn’t a single idea. He must’ve inherited Malon’s strength.) 

“We need to hurry up for Time’s sake too.”

Warriors nods. “He’s not completely out of the woods yet. But once we’re back Hyrule and I can fix him up.”

With the traveler's agreement, the group begins to move. Time can see the still-burning house over Twilight's shoulder, blurry and wavering. Plumes of smoke climb toward the heavens, born up from tongues of crimson flame. 

“We’ll be there soon, old man,” Twilight says somewhere above him. “Just hang in there.”

Time lets his eye slide shut. The image of destruction fades. An abyss of cool darkness greets him in its place and with a wave of relief, he welcomes it.

[sodamors]

consequences

sekido attempts a leap to freedom.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. this fic is bad, don’t read it if you aren’t comfortable.

hantengu clones pet au. you can read the context/background here.

this might be part of a series of works, which covers sekido’s fight for an escape. literally just bad feels all around.

not beta read.

—

nowadays, the guards didn’t even bother closing his cage. they saw him too weak and frail, busted from all his rounds in the ring, groggy from continuous wisteria shots. and they weren’t wrong. sekido could barely move, so even if the gate was wide open, all he could do was stare.

useless. he’ll remember the times he spat at his counterparts. inefficient, lazy, weak. and now he was no better than them, no matter how much he bared his fangs.

but if there was one good thing left about him, it would be that he remembers. faces, voices, scents, everything. he knows exactly which guard comes over, who was lazy and didn’t lock the gate, who was strict and prodded him if he breathed too loudly. and he remembers them all — their stupid, pouty, human faces tore a bubbling rage through him. but the familiar fury was somewhat comforting. he prided himself for his resolve. besides, it was all he has left.

a sharp, ringing bell resounding through his dark cage meant only one thing. bettors were present, and they wanted to see him fight.

it was more of wanting to see him lose; lose miserably, in particular. having been tossed little to no food for months on end, sekido could barely move, much less get his bda to activate. he’d get pummelled, face first on the ground, whimpering pathetically as his opponent’s vile claws and fangs ravage his flesh. he could never fight back, or even get a hold of himself. old wounds would split open, and new ones make their stinging mark.

but no matter how much he was beat up, eyes glazed over, breathing erratic, he would always catch a glimpse of the bettors. chuckling in their stupid highchairs, his agony their entertainment. and his rage would erupt again — and so, keeping him barely alive.

the bell dings again, and sekido watches as a guard slides his cage door open. the guard trudges in, catch-pole in hand, hooking the thick loop around sekido’s neck. it digs into his skin, scraping foully against barely-healed bruises, as sekido is dragged out of his cage.

the ring is loud and chaotic. blinding lights beam at the blood-splattered ground, as rambunctious cheers emanate from every corner. bettors and spectators in the encircle the arena, drinks in hand, multicoloured masks concealing their faces.

if sekido could, he would hunt each and every one of them down. using their voice or scent or anything — he would rip, bite, tear them apart. infuriation twisted and boiled inside of him — all they have is a stupid plant, that just so happened to be a demon repellent. what were they so proud of? he growled at the flurrying crowd.

but sekido looks down wearily, eyes on his new opponent. a vaguely familiar pink. he frowns.

upper moon three.

sekido’s confusion rises, but soon subsides. humans had indeed taken over. not even the might of upper moon three could best them.

sekido tugs against the loop round his neck, not wanting to face akaza, not like this. where had honour gone? away for good, perhaps, as the guards yanked brutally at him, forcing out a deplorable whine from his lips.

akaza also frowns. “upper four.”

“no need to call us that,” sekido says.

“us?”

fuck. “i mean. me.” sekido clears his throat, and tries to shake away a twinge in his heart. “there’s no point in the kizuki, akaza. it’s all over.”

hearing himself, he realises his voice was hoarse, and throat was parched. clearing it had been useless.

“i know,” akaza says, some form of solemnity in his tone. “weak, cowardly humans, using their plant…”

sekido nods, but eyes the judge cautiously. any moment now, the fight would begin. settling bets took only a while, not forever.

“but i must fight you,” akaza says. gone was the honour and the excitement sekido respected akaza for. “i’m starving. they won’t feed me until i beat you.”

“i know,” sekido replied. “just… beat me up, but make it quick. they’re… they put me in for entertainment. only.”

“oh.”

“yeah. i think it’s starting.” sekido bares his teeth weakly, just for show. maybe he could get food if he excited the crowd enough.

akaza did not make it quick.

the bettors egged him on, waving pieces of irresistible meat in his face. honestly, sekido couldn’t blame him. hunger brought demons to their wildest selves, and upper moon three was no exception. sekido’s left arm had been beaten to a pulp, ripped at the elbow, the rest of the arm gone. bruises and bumps painted his body like the brush strokes of a crazed artist, blotches of red, black and blue, ebbing with his heartbeat. his muscles screamed with exhaustion, an acidic burn overwhelming his senses. it was no help that he was discarded into his cage with no food in tow.

the guard hadn’t locked the gate.

sekido wanted to growl. the pathetic human knowing he’s too weak to move was an insult itself. and again, his old friend — the flames, the burning rage in his chest — swallowed him whole. a rush of adrenaline kicked his senses to a height, a burst of hate-filled power roared in his muscles one last time.

sekido rips himself off the floor, ramming his body on the bars. and they swing right open— he catches himself before a heavy fall, and darts immediately for the stands. move move move move

bettors and dealers flock the area, suddenly erupting into screams when they see him. move move move. sekido trashes the tables, baring his teeth, snarling and snapping at whoever he could claw at. he catches a pudgy man and rips his back to pieces. he grabs ahold a tall lady and rips her to shreds. he cared no more, only listening to the raging, bursting blazes, blinding him with fury.

but all good things come to an end. his neck suddenly stings, and a different fire ripples through him. his body, despite exerting all he had, felt heavy, as though weighed down by hundreds of boulders.

and as he catches a glimpse of the accursed purple dart, sticking out of his neck like a thorn, he collapses to the ground, breathing ragged and vision black.

[hey-that-hurt]

in exchange for my curated whump fic recommendation lists I require that if any of you see a fic for a fandom I'm in that fits my taste you are required to show me /j but actually please do that please I will be so happy

[yourstrulylightstar283]

For disclaimer, I don't own Big City Greens and its characters.

The possibly upcoming fic (c) @yourstrulylightstar283 (Me)