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macknus · 2 days ago

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Febuwhump: Day Twenty

Prompt: “I did good, right?”

Febuwhump Master-post

Hero, Villain, henchman and Sidekick huddled against the ruins of the Hero Tower, ducking with every blast of grey energy that bolted towards their cover.

Villain had Hero by the throat, pressing him against the ground, straddling his hips as she shook him. “Are you stupid?! Don’t you realise he’s never going to stop?”

Hero’s eyes filled with a softness that curled something in Villain’s gut. “At least you’ll all get away. If I distract him—”

“NO!” Villain growled. “No! I am not letting your stupid self-sacrificial bullshit save us! Save me. Do you think I could live with myself if I let you do that?”

Hero smiled. He put a hand on her cheek. “At least you’d live.”

“Not without you,” she barked, her hands moving to his cheeks. “Do you hear me?! I just found you. I’m not letting you go again. I—” tears swelled in her eyes. “I won’t! I can’t. If you— if he kills you… I— it would kill me too. Don’t you understand?”

Henchman chimed in, gathering the pairs attention. “It would, you know,” he said softly. “It would kill her. I’ve never seen her so happy. So…” Henchman smiled as if he was witnessing a wedding of someone he cherished. “I’ve never seen you smile so much before.”

Villain’s chest felt like it was caving in as she reached a hand out, and Henchman took it, squeezing her fingers in his.

“The same goes for Hero,” Sidekick grumbled, put off by the display of emotional affection. “She makes you act like a normal person. You spend less time in the office, agonising over work. She fills you with life you never had.”

When Hero’s hazel eyes met Sidekick’s blazing blue, Sidekick said: “which means that if you love her you’ll stay here, and listen to her.”

Sidekick pushed to his feet. Hero jerked under Villain, a hand reaching out to clasp Sidekick’s ankle. Panic seized his chest. “What’re you doing?”

Sidekick rolled his head on his shoulders. “I’m not a good person like you, Hero. Hell, I’m not even a happy one. I think… I think I should do something entirely unselfish for once. I want to know what it feels like.”

Hero’s fingers tightened on Sidekick’s ankle. His eyes so wide the whites were visible around his iris. “No. No! NO! You cannot. That is an order, Sidekick! Stand down.”

Henchman pressed a kiss to Villain’s knuckles. She gasped, looking back at him and saw the same steely resolve. “No,” she whispered. “No, don’t you dare.”

“I think we should get to decide how and for what we die for, Vil,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You taught me that. I would give my life for love. I would give my life for your potential happiness. It’s the least I can do. You saved my life once, let me return the favour.”

“No,” she said again as Henchman withdrew. “No, there’s no favour to repay, Henchman please.”

Sidekick looked at Henchman. A grave knowing etched into his foreign features. Another blast sent rubble and dust scattering across their crumbling and quickly deteriorating sanctuary.

“We’ll hold Supervillain off for as long as we can.” Sidekick said, pulling his foot from Hero’s grasp. As he passed Villain he put a hand on her shoulder, “make sure he can’t go anywhere. God knows he’ll try to stop us, but I think that would ruin the whole self-sacrifice bit,” he said with a knowing smile down at Villain. “Don’t you?”

Villain couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t breathe, so she just set her trembling lips into a line and nodded.

“I wish you both a long and happy life,” Sidekick said, a strange sentimental tone to his words. Something Sidekick never expressed. Hero let out a choked sob. He shot a handsome smile over his shoulder at Hero. “Make sure you name your most handsome, vainglorious little shit son after me.”

Hero blinked through the tears. “We… we will.” He turned his head to Henchman. “And our most caring after you.”

Henchman scoffed. “God no. My name is hideous, but a middle name would be a nice remembrance. Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”

Hero’s hands tightened around Villain’s hips. “I will,” he gasped, feeling like the shittiest man on earth. A fucking coward. But he couldn’t sacrifice Villain… and if he ran out, Villain would follow and they… they weren’t strong enough to beat Supervillain.

Sidekick and Henchman stepped out together. “Alright you tantrum-throwing-toddler,” Sidekick yelled. “How about we teach you some target practice?”

A sinister laugh filled the air, and then, the sounds of a fight. With every blast, every whip of wind, every clash of steel Hero and Villain flinched, trembling like children, swimming in a sea of their shame.

And then… like a comet, Superhero arrived with a slew of heroes on her heels and the fighting increased tenfold. Only then did Hero and Villain slip out, running hand in hand through a battlefield of the ruins of the city, searching for Henchman and Sidekick. The battle was still ongoing when Superhero arrived.

Which means they were still alive.

They found Henchman first, passed out, blood streaming down his forehead, his bow discarded by his side. “He’s got a pulse,” Villain whispered. His breathing rattled in his chest with wheezes, but he was still stubbornly alive.

They moved him to safety, then searched for Sidekick. He was still alive too. Hero ran to his side, going to pick up the piece of rubble that pinned Sidekick’s chest and pelvis to the ground. Sidekick screamed and shook his head.

“NO! NO, STOP!” He cried, “stop. It’s…” he gasped, his face contorted in pain as he drew in a heavy breath. “Fuck, fuck! Ngh. Altruism hurts. Why didn’t you mention that before I risked my life for you, you fucking bastard?”

Villain held Sidekick’s head up, resting it on her knees, running her fingers delicately through his hair. He wheezed out a hum and groaned as his body twitched.

“We’ll— you just need to hold on, Sidekick, do you hear me? That’s an order! You stay alive until a medic comes.”

“You’re so bossy,” Sidekick said, a wry smile curving his eyes up as he met hazel eyes with pained blue. “And you know I never really listened to you anyways.”

“Sidekick, I swear to god—”

Villain caught Hero’s eyes over Sidekick’s body, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shook her head slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Sidekick coughed again and red stained the cement debris that kept him trapped, pinned, crushing his ribcage and organs and body.

“I wasn’t fast enough,” he said, blood colouring his tongue with bright red that spilled over the corners of his mouth. “You always told me to watch my surroundings, I should’ve listened.”

“Sidekick, please. You’re strong enough to hang on. Please. Not like this.”

“I’m dying a hero,” Sidekick murmured, tears pooling in his gaze. “God, I’m dying… I— I’m scared.”

Villain ran her hands through his hair as Sidekick fret beneath their soothing touch. His wide, tear glazed eyes met Hero’s. “I… I did good, right?”

Hero couldn’t contain his sob as he reached over and stroked Sidekick’s cheek. “Yes, yes. You did�� you saved us,” Hero replied, sniffing.

“You’re our hero,” Villain added. His eyes flickered to her above him, as if he just realised she was there.

“Your most handsome son,” he said again. Villain let out a laugh, but it was sharp, discordant as she held in a cry.

“Of course, of course.”

“Maybe… maybe we can move the rubble now,” Sidekick said, his voice terribly soft and faraway. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Maybe I can still make it. It doesn’t… it doesn’t hurt.”

Sidekick’s eyes focused on the sky. “What a beautiful day it turned out to be.”

Sidekick loosed a breathy exhale. And his eyes stilled, fixed on the sky that reflected the colour of his startling eyes. A heart broken wail tore from Hero’s chest as he looked down at his Sidekick. His still Sidekick. His stupid, stubborn Sidekick that wasn’t moving, he stared at the sky.

Villain’s breathing hitched beside him as she stifled her sobs, her fingers still running soothing through Sidekick’s jet black hair.

“Hero,” a warm voice said behind them. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. “Gods. Sidekick, I’m so sorry, Hero.”

Villain hiccuped as she turned her gaze from Sidekick, glancing up to Superhero. She gasped as she looked down at Sidekick again, as if he would draw another breath or blink at her. Oh gods, his eyes…

Villain’s chest rattled, fret up and down as she reached down and closed his gorgeous blue eyes. “Our most handsome son,” she whispered as her tears hit Sidekick’s relaxed forehead. “Our bravest son,” she vowed, leaning down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Superhero gathered some heroes who still stood after the fight and motioned for them to lift the rubble. They did and Villain’s breath was ripped from her lungs at Sidekick’s mangled body. His pelvis was crushed on impact, a splat of blood spattered from his right hip.

Superhero herself leaned down and wrapped his arms under Sidekick’s broad shoulders and under his knees before she lifted him as respectfully as possible. His hair hung from the nook of her elbow as she stood. Villain went to Superhero, wrapping him in her arms as sobs wracked her body.

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list: @whump-in-the-closet @anxious-mess19 @scoundrelwithboba

@febuwhump

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blancheludis · 5 months ago

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Whumptober 2024 Day 7: Magic With A Cost

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Tags: Grief, Magic, Tim is a Witch, Self-Sacrifice

Summary:

Tim offers to bring Jason back from the dead. He knows magic always comes with a price and he is willing to pay it. A life for a life. It is not like anybody will miss him anyway.

All magic comes with a cost. Tim likes to think for him to have magic at all, he had to give up his parents' love.

When he was five and they just returned from a dig, he snuck into his father's study, just to get a glimpse at all the wonders from forgotten times they brought home with them. A small earthen vase called out to him and the stopper moved barely without any effort under his small hands. Wind rose and the echo of laughter rang in his ears although there was no one else around. Something came out of the vessel - cold and insistent and powerful - and dove right into Tim. The rest, as they say, is history.

Well, first, he spent weeks too sick to tell reality from the countless, visceral nightmares suddenly filling his head, feverish and fighting the force suddenly sharing his body with him.

His parents thought it was a curse. Tim never corrected them.

---

The death of a child is never a good thing, but something about Jason Todd dying pushes Tim's entire world off balance. He cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot work. The magic inside him, always present, humming right beneath his skin and in his blood, grows demanding, pushing him towards something inevitable. Tim is unsettled by it, feeling for once more like a tool than a partner. And then, one night in the library, he finds out why.

---

The sky is a dark grey, as welcoming as the forbidding monument that is Wayne Manor as Tim walks up to the front door. This place holds a different kind of loneliness than his own home, a different kind of grief. His parents, Tim is sure, would not mind overly much, if he died. They definitely would not fall down a dark spiral of desperation bad enough to draw in all of the surrounding magic and subsequently call a witch with a handy solution directly to their doorstep.

Mere moments after knocking on the door, it opens to reveal Mr. Pennyworth, the Wayne family's butler. Tim has done his research. According to the servants' gossip in town, Mr. Pennyworth is the only person in the whole wide world who can make Mr. Wayne do something he does not want. In order to even get into the house, this is where Tim has to be most convincing.

"Good evening," he greets brightly and does not show any sign of irritation at the way the butler is subtly but disapprovingly looking him over.

Tim knows he is young and looks younger. He is small for thirteen years, too thin. Pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, thanks to the unsettled magic letting him get little rest, just make things worse. Otherwise, however, he does look like a normal boy from a respectable family and Mr. Pennyworth's scepticism is not appreciated.

"Master Wayne is not seeing visitors at this time," Mr. Pennyworth says, crisp and final, already moving to turn away.

Tim takes a small step forward. "He will want to see me."

Heat crackles under his skin, urging him forward. His magic has not been this insistent on anything in years. It has never led him astray, before, so he does not let the manor or its butler intimidate him.

"Young sir," Mr. Pennyworth says, too formal to be condescending. "Do your parents know you're here?"

Laughter breaks over Tim's lips, high and childish, along with something else, something darker that makes the hairs on the butler's arm stand up. It is not a trick, really, Tim does not have to pay anything for that effect. Magic loves him. He still has not made up his mind if he loves it.

Mr. Pennyworth stands up straighter, filling out his shoulders with a presence not befitting a mere butler. Gone are the last traces of the genial old man, replaced by something harder, something determined.

"Are you possessed?" No politeness is left in his tone. It rather sounds like he is one wrong move away from performing an exorcism himself, right here on the doorstep to his Master's home. Tim decides he likes him.

"Do possessed people usually give you an honest answer?" he asks, smiling just a tad too widely.

They stare at each other for a long moment, butler and child, duty and magic. Tim is not worried. Magic wants him here and it usually gets what it wants. It is also usually not too unkind about it.

"I will not allow any harm to come to Master Wayne," Mr. Pennyworth says slowly, not quite making it a threat.

Tim still nods briefly to show he has heard it. "It's a good thing, then, I'm not here for that. I'm here to give him something back that he lost."

Once again, there is laughter, but this time it is not Tim's. He does not move his mouth at all. These halls have seen many generations of Waynes and they just beg to be heard. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim thinks he sees a boy running, the shadow of a shadow, skidding through the foyer with a wide grin. Alfie, look. An exhale. A blink and they are alone again.

The butler has gone pale. He does not look at Tim anymore with even the distant kindness reserved for children. All he sees is a monster. "How dare you come here and wield our grief against us?"

Tim cannot help the small, bitter smile, but he inclines his head in an attempt to hide it. "What if I can bring him back?"

---

Mister Wayne's office, just like most of the halls of Wayne Manor, is dark and forbidding. Lack of light, dark wood and, most of all, their master sitting in the midst of it with grief clinging to every sharp angle, every small movement speaking of destruction, decay.

His eyes are piercing as he stares Tim down, who stands in front of the desk and repeats his proposal: returning the lost child back to life. A ritual he is sure he can do, even though the few books he found where not as instructional as he might have wanted. In fact, they all preached caution. But this is not Tim's idea.

Ever since stepping into the Manor proper, the magic inside him has expanded, pressing against the confines of Tim's mortal body, reaching a bit farther out with every breath. So, no, Tim does not know the how, yet, and he is still not clear on the why, but he is right where he is supposed to be.

"Bringing someone back from the dead is not straightforward," he explains, not losing any of his confidence. "Magic does not happen with a simple snap of fingers."

That, of course, depends. If he coated his fingers in something potent, if he were pointing at a source - but they are not talking about parlour tricks, here. They do not want to break but to mend. Building something always takes more than pulling it all down.

"How?" Mr. Wayne demands, flat and dark. Apart from a brief flash of rage, he has not shown any emotion since Mr. Pennyworth herded Tim into the office.

Beyond ritual circles and power sources and intent, the most important thing about every piece of magic is the cost. The one thing all the texts agreed on is that the cost of curing death is enormous, painful. There are options, of course, but Tim has already decided. He has never liked to depend on third-party sources. No, his magic wants him here for a reason and Tim thinks that is the simple part.

"Do you really want me to bore you with technical details?" Tim asks, tired without growing impertinent. The less he has to explain the better for everybody involved. "Every ritual is different and -"

Mr. Wayne cuts him off with a glare. "I want to know why you are here and what you intend to gain from it."

The honest answer is actually very simple. This house is calling for him, ghosts reach out for him whenever he turns his back, something is haunting his every step. As things are, he does not have anything to gain from this but rest, which is not the worst bargain he could get in a situation like this.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Wayne? he asks, softly. "In fate?"

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Wayne scoffs. "I don't deal with such nonsense."

He would not call it nonsense if he could see Jason's memory flitting through the house, as real and fleeting as any of them who are still alive.

"I am here because of both," Tim says, having long since learned to ignore scepticism. Eventually, they all learn. "Your son is calling for help. I'm not sure whether he is asking for me specifically or if I'm just the first who heard him, but I know that I can bring him back."

Tim does not know any such thing, but he has come to trust in magic, to follow its lead. It is quite impossible not to when it never lets him forget its existence.

"Don't -" Mr. Wayne snaps, then swallows audibly, schools his expression into something neutral. "You can really bring him back?"

"Yes." This is not the time to show doubt. Things will fall into place at the right time, he has to trust in that.

Mr. Wayne breathes, never once looking away from Tim. "When?"

The house sighs in sudden relief, releasing some of the tension in the air. That is how Tim knows he has won the argument.

He cocks his head to the side. "I could bring him back right now, but I think you would want him to come back right." The last thing he needs is impatience or someone looking over his shoulder the entire time.

"Is there a wrong way?" Mr. Wayne asks, his shoulders tensing further.

Tim allows himself a small smile. "You want him to bring all of his soul back with him. All of his memories. All that made him who he was." He shrugs, making himself look more confident than he feels. "Simply animating a corpse would be easy. Giving back life is not." Easy is, perhaps, too strong a word but nobody needs to know that.

"How long?"

These things cannot be rushed, otherwise they will end up with even more grief. And possibly more bodies than intended. Dead ones. "I need to understand who Jason is. I think he will tell me what he needs."

Immediately, Tim knows that this answer was too bold, too outlandish for Mr. Wayne, who is very much a nonbeliever in all things he cannot personally touch. Leaning forward, hands not quite curled into fists, he says, "If you're lying to us, if you're using our grief -"

"I won't ask anything of you, Mr. Wayne, other than that you will let me live here until the job is done." Before Mr. Wayne's expression can darken further, he adds, "I have my own home, my own money. I don't need anything from you other than the freedom to do what I have come here for."

The manor creaks as they look at each other in silence. The sound of the running steps of a child waft in from somewhere.

"Yes," Mr. Wayne finally allows through clenched teeth. "But you will share all your research with me and if I get even a hint of you doing something untoward, you will leave."

"Is that -"

Mr. Wayne stands, effectively cutting Tim off. "I already said yes. Now, get out."

---

Tim moves in without fanfare. He barely brings anything in terms of clothes or personal items. He does, however, ask for a place in the gardens to put up a greenhouse.

Magic always comes with a cost. It could be body heat or a drop of blood, life force in terms of years, willing or unwilling sacrifices. Life is in all things, though, and Tim has learned a careful balance of taking without killing, growing without culling. Plants, after all, do grow stronger if cut regularly, in the right way.

The gardens of Drake Manor are rows and rows of lush green and colours of all kind, ripe fruits and fragrant smells. When he walks his home, magic is all around him.

Of course, he does not have time to plant an entire garden in Wayne Manor, but he has this: a greenhouse full of his most potent plants and windowsills filled to bursting. Green is life much more than crimson is. Here, he can breathe.

---

The theory is easy. Build a summoning circle in which he has to pour enough understanding of Jason's essence to make it stick. A binding circle to make sure he will have enough time for the exchange. The usual physical offerings, both potent in magic and specific to Jason. And then, payment.

All magic has a cost, and great deeds of magic demand great sacrifice. This will not be done with a cup full of blood, no matter the origin. Tim could bleed an entire dragon dry and the fates would not be moved. No, the payment always has to match the demand.

To create life, he has to offer something equivalent. A life for a life.

There are a number of rituals and spells that are powered by human sacrifice. Tim has never dabbled in those, has never even read up on them beyond the basics.

His magic has led him here, has pulled him in with more insistence than ever before. He knows what that means.

A life for a life.

---

Tim keeps to himself and Mister Wayne is more than happy to ignore him. The house, however, is not. Long gone laughter rings out around every corner. Phantom flames flicker in empty fireplaces. Books fall from shelves in the library only to reveal dozens of handwritten notes in the margins. For once, Tim is not the only ghost that haunts a manor.

"I need to know more about Jason's life." Tim ambushes Alfred in the kitchen. "What did he do all day?"

He needs to know, but he does not like seeing Alfred age right before him, hollowed out by grief and memories he has not yet laid to rest.

"Sit down," he offers Tim, smiling despite himself. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

---

"I want to train with you," Tim says one morning after breakfast.

Mr. Wayne tends to avoid him and offering nothing but terse nods whenever he cannot. He does not ask about Tim's progress, does not offer any help that is not pulled out of him with great effort. It is clear that he has let Tim into his home out of desperation, but that he does not believe success is possible. Worse, every time he sees Tim is a reminder of his loss.

"No," Mr. Wayne snaps, alit with sudden anger. He has half-risen out of his seat, towering over Tim.

"It's what Jason did, right?" Tim asks, not showing any outward reaction to Mr. Wayne's intimidation tactics.

His fingertips burn, ready to throw Mr. Wayne across the room if he comes any closer or begins to act on his unspoken threat. Tim is small and young, but he is anything but defenceless.

"You're not here to replace him." That is more a growl than a human voice, somehow befitting the sharp-cut jaw.

Tim leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee. "No. I'm here to understand him so I can bring him back."

Without another word, Mr. Wayne storms out. He does not, however, deny Tim when he appears, a few hours later, in the gym, eager to learn.

---

Tim is not sure what to make of the prospect of dying. He is young. He has seen nothing of the world. His parents do not love him, but he always hoped that, someday, somewhere, he could find love for himself, family. He wonders, now, why whatever was in that vessel spared him, gave him the gift of magic. He wonders what is so special about Jason Todd that fate asks Tim to die for him.

He learns about Jason, learns that he can be jealous of a dead boy, learns that life can be really, unfathomably unfair. He does not find a satisfying answer to his question. With time, however, he thinks it will at least be a worthy exchange. Jason has so much to offer the world. He has people waiting for him. Tim has nobody but himself.

Magic buzzes restlessly inside Tim as he refuses to let it out. Without it, he is entirely human. Entirely breakable. Bruce does not seem to care. He never tires, he never makes mistakes.

Tim could still wipe the floor with him if only he would let go. He does not. Instead, he gets thrown down on the mats more often than he can count.

"Again," Bruce repeats a thousand times.

At night, Tim goes through an unholy amount of arnica and hamamelis and heat sucked right out of the flames in the fireplace so that he can move without too much pain the next morning. His magic purrs, glad he has not forgotten it completely.

---

"Was he often hurt?" Tim asks one night when he is sure that Bruce is nowhere nearby. He nurses his tea, appreciative of its warmth.

Alfred looks up alarmed. "Master Jason? Why do you ask? What happened?"

His immediate worry is just as soothing as the tea, careful attentiveness instead of dismissive ignorance. Tim is not used to so much positive human interaction, he has to take care not to let his guard down too much.

"It's just - he has training with Bruce and then they fight out in Gotham." He shrugs. His intention was never to accuse anyone of anything. It is just intense. "He was just a boy, right?"

With too perceptive eyes, Alfred looks at him. "Are you hurt, Master Tim?"

Tim flinches back, taken by surprise. "No," he lies.

Although, is it really a lie if he asked for it? Bruce seemed tolerant of his antics in the training room and never once hesitated when Tim got back to his feet to face him again.

His muscles are permanently sore, not used to the exertion. If he would not heal himself, his bruises would have bruises because he never before had to dodge a predator coming after him with intent. His skin spans painfully over his bones, barely containing his magic. It is constantly simmering right underneath his fingertips. He could make sure not a single hit ever finds his target again. But that is not what he is here for. He wants to learn. Magic is not infallible.

Bruce is not hurting him for the sake of pain, but Tim has never had much need for physical fitness. This is like learning to walk, all over again, like getting on a bike for the first time and greeting the gravel of their driveway with his knees.

Of course, at the end of this journey, it will not matter whether his body is trained, whether he learned anything that could be useful for a life he will never have. At the end of this, Tim will be dead and Jason will be back in his rightful place.

Tim does need to learn about Jason, but a small, not insignificant part of him, does this for his own gain. Where is the harm in experiencing this life? Where is the harm in tasting something that was never for him?

"If something is wrong -"

Tim shakes his head quickly. He does not need Alfred to do something rash. "Everything's good, Alfred," he reassures easily. "I'm just not used to so much physical exertion, and I wondered. It was not an accusation. I know Jason was happy here."

Slowly, Alfred settles back into a more comfortable position. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, drinking tea.

"Do you see him?" Alfred then asks, as hopeful as he is cautious.

There is not a step Tim can take in this house without Jason's essence pressing in on him.

"He is not the kind of ghost I could talk to," he says and is glad for it. Otherwise, his task could be done much quicker, and he finds himself reluctant to let go just yet. "But his essence is here nonetheless. I hear most of his laughter in the kitchen."

Alfred's eyes turn glassy and Tim offers a smile, unsure whether he overstepped. Grief is a fickle thing, able to cause both comfort and pain.

"You're a good kid, Master Tim."

Tim does not know about that, but something preens in him at the attention nonetheless.

---

Bruce's temper is a minefield on a good day and he tends not to have a lot of those.

"What is taking so long?" he growls after having summoned Tim to his office. Once again, Tim is not asked to sit. It is eerily reminiscent of his first visit here, having to plead his case as if he is desperate to die for these people, as if his life is worth nothing at all on its own.

Tim looks at Bruce as he takes a moment to swallow his temper. It must have been a bad night, one where Bruce is haunting the house just as much as Jason is, just with less of a positive energy.

"I told you I need to-"

Bruce brings his hand down on the table, making Tim flinch. He has never before felt seriously threatened in this house, but he has seen what these hands can do. He knows what grief can do.

"I think you just want to take something that's not yours," Bruce accuses with burning eyes. "You want to take his place."

Deep breaths, Tim reminds himself. "Bruce. I don't want to take anything from you." On the contrary, he wants to give something back, to the point of self-destruction, even. He knows better than to say that, though. Bruce would not mind much, probably, giving nothing but token protest. Alfred might be the real obstacle there, and Tim does not actually want to spend time and effort on convincing people to let him die. "I can't tell you why I was called. But I'm not yet ready."

"Do you ever plan on being ready?" Bruce asks, his lips pulling up into something that is more of a threat than a smile.

Planning has little to do with it. Tim is willing to do what has to be done. Life, magic, all of it was a gift. He has not yet paid for that, but something in him tells him that this might be it. This is the universe coming to collect. Why else push him into the home of a dead boy? Why else give him a task that will mean the cost of his life? He is already getting more out of the bargain than he could have hoped for, these glimpses of what it means to be a family.

"Do you want me to go?" Tim asks softly. The magic in him stirs, stings underneath his skin. He breathes to calm it. He will not abandon his task, but he wants to do this the right way.

Bruce is not quick enough to pull his face into impassiveness, to fully hide the fear. "Are you rescinding your offer?"

"No," he promises, gentler perhaps than Bruce deserves. "I mean, I have an entire house just down the road. I don't have to stay here. I don't have to eat here. You don't have to see me, if you don't want to. I can try to get ready otherwise."

It would be harder, of course, but Tim would also not be distracted by liking this life.

"No." Bruce's reply comes too fast, too hoarse. "No. Stay."

Immediately, the pressure that has been building inside Tim releases. His magic is mollified.

"Do you want to spar? Take your mind off things?" Tim then offers, deciding a change in topic is needed and Bruce always seems to do better when he can punch out his grief. It is not how he planned to spend his morning but he is not completely hopeless anymore and has even begun to enjoy the exertion of it.

Bruce, however, narrows his eyes at him. "Alfred tells me you've been limping yesterday."

Traitor, Tim thinks without heat. He grins, careless. "Nothing some good old magic can't fix."

He expects Bruce to nod and be done with the topic. Instead, he carefully looks Tim over as if he can spot any bruises through his clothes.

"I don't want to hurt you," he then says, gentle and honest. It does things to the part of Tim that is still a child waiting for his parents to come home and love him.

"You can't." That is a bold-faced lie, but Tim does not stumble over it. They are talking about different hurts anyway. Physical pain is fine. Getting to live a life never meant for him, to experience love if only from the outskirts of it - that hurts. At the same time, it might be the most precious thing of all. "And if I don't train, then I won't get better."

---

After that first, not very promising meeting on the Manor's doorsteps, Alfred's behaviour in regards to Tim has improved immensely. He was never rude, no, but he has a way of wielding his politeness in a way that cuts. Slowly but surely, the sharpness drained out of his words and expressions, and his service grew from perfunctory to warm. Alfred is the soul of this house and Tim feels honoured to have been welcomed in.

"What is your favourite dessert, Master Tim?" Alfred asks one morning, attentive in a way that would befit more serious questions.

Tim smiles at him over the rim of his coffee mug. "Wrong question, dear Alfred. What is Jason's favourite dessert?" He cannot let the lines blur too much.

But Alfred is not going to let himself be deterred. "I do think you can take an evening off. This is about you."

Nothing is ever about Tim. Even the magic. It pulls and pushes, insists and demands. He is but a vessel. He broke that sealed vase and whatever was inside that now lives in him is always hungry.

Still, there is something endearingly earnest about the way Alfred looks at him. It is hard to disappoint him.

"I don't know," Tim admits.

A pause. A frown. "Well," Alfred claps his hands with too much cheer. "It is time we found out, then."

---

Things are coming to an end; Tim feels it in his bones. He is not a stranger anymore in this house. At times, his own laughter rings along with Jason's, creating a harmony that leaves him breathless.

He knows the manor's inhabitants as well as its halls. Bruce's silences, less broody now but filled with warmth. Alfred's quiet strength and endless capacity for love. He knows where to put his feet to remain standing when Bruce charges at him, knows the thrill of fighting, an intricate choreography. He knows the pleasant ebb and flow of conversations, of stories shared to entertain. He knows the feel of family, of love. Underneath it all, he knows all the places Jason fit.

"I'm ready," he says when they are half-way through breakfast.

Bruce stills. Which is not the reaction Tim expected. "You are?" Hesitation, questions in every angle.

Tim nods, smiling. He has been ready for a week now, but an unwelcome, selfish part of him did not want to admit it, did not want to give this up, and the magic let him. Now it is time to face reality, however.

Bruce looks at him, still strangely hesitant. "What do you need?"

More time, Tim thinks, but that is not part of the deal. He will not hurt these people further, not after they have taken him in and given him the greatest gift of his life.

"Today is the new moon. I will do it then. Later, I'll unearth the coffin. If you want to come, do it soon." The body has to stay inside, so it will not be disturbed before it is time, but Tim does not want to leave Jason in his grave when he cannot help him out, afterwards. "You need to stay inside when I do the ritual. I cannot be distracted." More importantly, the magic cannot be distracted. There can only be two targets for the ritual. Better not add any temptations.

"You -" Bruce's eyes are piercing, but Tim meets them calmly. "It will work?"

The magic purrs inside Tim, which he takes as an affirmative. Bruce still does not believe in it, though.

"I have not done this before, but I've done my research," Tim says, as confidently as he can. "Something called me here. I'm sure." Failure is not an option, anyway. He will not get a second try.

"Thank you, Tim." Bruce sounds breathless, at once anticipatory and afraid.

"Thank me tomorrow," Tim says, even while the words taste like ash in his mouth.

It is funny, really. The cost has been clear from the very beginning. He will not sacrifice any other human being, so the only viable alternative is himself. He has known that all along. So, why does he feel reluctant now? Why are his limbs heavy and his heart rate too fast? He is a willing sacrifice, a life freely given. Why make it hard on himself now?

He knows why, of course. For the first time in his short life, he actually has something to give up. Before, it was him in his parents' empty house, learning, doing magic feats no one would congratulate him for. Now, he has gotten a taste of what it feels like to be wanted, even if they want Jason, not him. The lines have blurred enough for him to feel the connection, the love.

But it is all right. He can do this. Today, he will say his goodbyes, he will thank magic and fate. He will be ready.

---

Tim makes a last round through the house, wanders in Jason's footsteps and, now, also in his own. He sits on his bed, runs a hand across his desk. In the greenhouse, he says goodbye to each of his plants. Alfred will take care of them, surely, so something of his will remain. In the kitchen, he steals a cookie and laughs when Alfred offers to make his favourites for dinner. He cleans himself thoroughly, body and soul, the last ritual he will do for himself. It is a good day, a good life. Tim is glad he got to taste it.

---

Magic makes it easy to unearth the coffin. It looks a bit damaged, but Tim does not know anything about the natural progression of coffin decomposition to think anything about it. He does not look in. Neither do Alfred or Bruce when they come by, briefly, before letting him do his work.

Calm settles over Tim as he prepares. He has brought his best supplies for this. No need to save them for later when there will never be a later. This is his masterpiece. He draws the runic circles with utmost care, going over each three times to make sure everything is perfect. He begins burning the incense as he places the physical anchors.

He watches the sun set, speaking a prayer of thanks.

---

Night falls and he is ready.

This is it. This is the culmination of months of work.

Tim's blood seeps into the runes, his bones creak in anticipation. His soul, at once ready and balking, hangs by nothing but a thread. With a deep inhale, feeling his body for the last time, Tim snaps it.

#whumptober2024 #no.7 #magic with a cost #batman #fic #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #magic #self-sacrifice #ghosts #my writing

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tildeathiwillwrite · 8 months ago

Text

June of Doom Day 13

"Wait!" / Sacrifice / Adrenaline / Cornered

Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 400

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: attempted escape, chased, running, cornered, trapped, self-sacrifice, guilt

----------

“Come on, we have to keep moving!”

Caretaker half-pulled, half-dragged Whumpee through the forest, running as fast as they could despite the exhaustion threatening to pull them down. Whumpee’s breathing came in heaving gasps, and they didn’t run as much as stumble after Caretaker over the uneven ground. Shouts echoed from behind them, Whumper and their minions closing in.

“Wait!” Whumpee choked out, “I recognize this part of the woods!”

Caretaker didn’t turn around, didn’t slow. “And?”

“I think… huff… I think that… that there’s a… a….”

Caretaker skidded to a stop, and Whumpee, caught by surprise, tripped and would’ve fallen on their face had Caretaker not grabbed their arm, stopping their fall.

“Cliff….” Whumpee finished belatedly as they stared out over the abyss, the ocean waters crashing against the base far, far, far below.

Caretaker peered down and paled visibly, backing away from the edge. “Okay, so we find a different way, and—”

“Well, well, well….”

Whumpee and Caretaker flinched and turned around, finding Whumper standing behind them, flanked by their minions. Whumpee’s breath caught in their throat. They were cornered.

Whumper folded their arms. “So you thought you could escape me, Whumpee? On my turf?” They suddenly threw their arms out, indicating the forest behind them. “I know this land like the palms of my hands. You never had a prayer of slipping from my grasp.”

Caretaker stepped protectively in front of Whumpee, but Whumpee stared at Whumper, mind working furiously, trying to find a way out. “Wait….” they began slowly, a faint plan forming. “It’s me you want.”

Whumper smirked. “True….”

“If I promise to obey you, never defy you again, never try to escape, will you let Caretaker go?”

Caretaker whirled around, an expression of fear, confusion, and betrayal on their face. “Whumpee, what are you doing?”

Whumpee’s gaze fell to the ground. “I’m sorry…” they mumbled, “I’m trying to save you from this fate.”

“Whumpee, you can’t…” Caretaker’s hands were on their shoulders as if they were going to shake some sense into them. “You know what they’ll do to you!”

“Caretaker, please.”

Caretaker opened their mouth, perhaps to argue more, but Whumper interrupted them. “Deal!” They exclaimed, snapping their fingers. Their minions closed in, seizing Whumpee and Caretaker and dragging them apart.

Whumpee didn’t struggle, didn’t look at Caretaker as they were led away from the cliff. But they couldn’t block out Caretaker’s pleas, no matter how hard they tried to ignore them.

"Whumpee no!"

"Whumpee please!"

"...whumpee...."

"...please..."

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kelzthalasbandtherion · 5 months ago

Note

“Does the commander believe in doing something wrong for the greater good?”

Victory was a bittersweet song that played when the struggle of battle had ceased. It meant that there was a future and that peace could gradually make it's way into the hearts of those weary from the fight. And in most instances whether the ending was good or bad, the fight was the part most remembered. Potential outcomes were factored, fear stimuli was faced head on, and most importantly loss was something one had to endure.

Yet in this instance, victory couldn't be attained. There was too much at stake and now the Commander had only one recourse. She took each step forward - knowing that the light of the morrow was only going to come from this path.

The ground was like ash, dull, and muted from the taint that stretched throughout the Ghostlands. Trees stood as hollowed shells as life had since vacated this region - only allowing the memories of the past to take refuge in its silence. The Dead Scar was decorated with skulls throughout it as she moved from the path into the upturned earth. Still donned in the regalia of Silvermoon's colors, she carried herself to the gates of Deathholme.

What stood as a testament to time itself was the former scourge citadel and its outposts. No reanimated corpses sought to impede her ascent to the altar just outside the citadel. And while her expression was filled with determination, it did not hide her valor as she took a stance before it.

With a deliberate motion of her hands, she pulled the gauntlet free and threw it against the altar's surface in a display of challenge.

"I know you are here," her voice stated without a look to her surroundings.

"You don't fool me! Whispers, despite how soft they are, still send a message! You live in the shadows and gaze at the warmth of the living - resent us for everything we take for granted. You find the moments we are the most vulnerable and slip out of your place in hiding to remind us that... mistakes cost us. Perhaps this is some sick and twisted mindset that sets you and I apart, Malakortana. But we are two sides of the same coin. I just happen to endure the light of the Eternal Sun."

At this the Commander reached towards her belt and brandished a knife which was drawn and poised along the bare side of her hand. The cut was quick and deep as she pulled the knife away and overturned her hand so that the blood may fall over the gauntlet she had discarded earlier.

"You know sacrifice and I come baring myself in offering to you. This is the language you yearn to speak, but the conversation you can never have with the likes of me alive. I know you to be the monster you are and seek to sate that gluttonous appetite that you flaunt as power. It festers without abandon and behind that charade of your ashen smile, you hunger just like the withered. You crave it."

The blood had already stained the surface of her armor and began to pool beneath it.

"So show yourself! I have come to understand you, now it's time you do the same for me."

(( @allasticus thanks for the ask :3 Mentions @sanguinesorceress ))

#sanguinesorceress #allasticus #self-sacrifice #blood

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dangraccoon · 4 months ago

Text

Let's Live

Day 31 ~ survivor's guilt ~ (alt. prompt)

Crosshair

Word Count: 1008 Content: references to The Outpost and Plan 99, self-sacrifice, guilt, survivor's guilt

He wasn’t sure if it was the violent shivers that rolled endlessly through his body or the sharp cry of the ice vultures but Crosshair found himself awake and sitting upright in the early morning hours.

A soft, warm breeze fluttered the curtains of his open window. He could hear the sound of the tide coming in, splashing against the rocks near their cozy home. The sun was far enough from rising that the moonyos weren’t even starting to chitter yet.

Crosshair groaned, using his remaining hand to pull the blanket up over him as he flopped back down onto the too-comfortable mattress.

He knew about phantom limbs, of course–Echo had grumbled about it enough to pique his curiosity–but it didn’t stop the frustration that rose in his chest as his body insisted that his right hand was shaking again. He shoved the end of his arm under his pillow, praying for the “out of sight, out of mind” mindset Wrecker had long used as an excuse for his forgetfulness.

It never came. Groaning once more–as though acting like a petulant child might make him feel better–he shoved the blanket away, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

Their house was an older one on the island; one of the elder residents had expressed that they wanted the batch to have it as she moved in with her daughter and son-in-law. “It was good enough to raise five kids in, so I’m sure Miss Omega can handle you lot in it.”

He walked through the house, idly thinking he should visit Mrs. Neawick soon–she was one of the only residents that could match his snark and she made sour hard candies that she pretended not to realize Crosshair loved–while stepping around the occasional creaking boards. He knew Hunter could hear him, but the least he could do was not make the disturbance worse.

He made it to the kitchen, noticing the caf maker’s timer starting the machine up. He scowled at the flimsi tooka calendar attached to the fridge. Omega had insisted on picking out different colored markers for each of them to write their various activities. “This way we can plan things together, too!”

He followed the sloppy orange scrawl that indicated Wrecker’s schedule and it made sense. Although Wrecker hated caf with a fiery passion, he’d come to rely upon it–mixed with an ungodly amount of cream, sugar, and whatever syrupy flavoring Omega had picked out, of course–for his early morning fishing trips with a fisherman he’d befriended.

Crosshair felt a little guilty that he couldn’t recall the man’s name, especially when he found their symbiotic relationship so amusing; the short and skinny fisherman had someone who could pull the lines up easily and carry their haul, and Wrecker had someone that never tired of his boisterous retellings of their missions and misadventures.

While he waited for the pot to finish brewing, he moved to the window, looking out over one of the lower sections of the island. Dawn was still an hour or so out, but the sky was just beginning to glow with the idea of first light. The various light-sensitive lamps still lit lined the walkways and outsides. He had to admit the view was… nice.

“Cross?” Wrecker hummed. “You’re up early.”

Crosshair glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was wiping the sleep from his eyes. He shrugged.

“You okay?” Wrecker asked, joining him next to the window.

“Fine,” he murmured, though he could barely even convince himself of it. Wrecker would see right through him.

“Thinking about Tantiss?”

Crosshair winced. “No.”

“If you don’t tell me, ’m gonna go wake up Omega,” Wrecker shrugged, nudging Crosshair’s shoulder. “She’ll make you talk.”

Crosshair eyed his brother, almost trying to call his bluff with a glare.

“Alright,” Wrecker said, his tone shifting from sleepy concern to somewhat irritable. “That’s fine, Cross. Don’t talk about it. You’ll feel great keepin’ it all to yourself.”

Wrecker went about preparing his caf, pointedly ignoring Crosshair as he wrestled his unruly pride.

“Fine,” he growled, stalking over to the kitchen counter next to his brother to lean against it. “I had another nightmare. That’s why I’m awake.”

Wrecker’s facade of indifference fell almost immediately. He nodded, prodding him to continue.

“Not about T-Tantiss this time,” he continued, face twisting into a scowl at the way he struggled to push the words out. “Barton IV and… Mayday.”

Wrecker’s eyes lifted to look at Crosshair. He didn’t let a single noise slip, terrified that if he did Crosshair would retreat. Where Wrecker had always been open, Crosshair was the opposite. He’d been skittish around emotions since they were barely out of the tube.

“Mayday was the commander at the Outpost,” he elaborated. He’d only mentioned Mayday to Omega before, and that was only because she asked. “There was only him and two others left from his squad. They’d been there over a year guarding… stormtrooper equipment. Getting picked off by raiders. The lieutenant I– I killed sent us off to track the raiders. After we found and… eliminated them, there was an avalanche. I would’ve been killed if he hadn’t pushed me out of the way.”

Wrecker couldn’t help but notice the way Crosshair shivered.

“I carried him back to the Outpost. He was hurt a-and by the time we got there, that lieutenant… h-he wouldn’t get a medic. Mayday…”

A shaking sob crawled up his body and he was quickly encircled by Wrecker’s arms. He was powerless to stop the tears rolling down his cheek.

“He should’ve lived– it-it should’ve been me th-that–”

Wrecked shushed him. “Don’t talk like that. He gave his life for you to live, Cross.”

His hand clung to Wrecker’s shirt helplessly. “I… I owe him everything.”

“I know, vod. But we can’t get stuck in all the shouldas,” Wrecker whispered. “We owe it to them to live our lives ‘nd be as happy as we can, right?”

Wrecker didn’t say who he was thinking of. He didn’t need to. Crosshair nodded.

“Then let’s live. For them.”

« Previous Day

Thanks for reading! - River

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist DangRaccoon Masterlist Taglist Form Read on AO3

Tags: @writing-positivelyexisting @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @winter-phoenix1995 @serenityselene @nomercyforthewarrior @ravenclawbitch426 @luna-the-lone-red-wolf @padawancat97 @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

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whumpsmith-participates · 4 months ago

Text

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 13 - "Take me instead."

Tags/CW: self-sacrifice circle, kidnapping, held hostage, team whump (including ladies!)

Ever since the pilot of the sidekick programme, it became commonplace to have a clear hierarchy among each cohort of sidekicks, modelled after those first seven teens: March Hare, Magnetic Girl, Phoenix, Verdigris, Wavesinger, Blaze and Stormchaser.

The roles were clear for anyone who ever had the pleasure of working with the entire group. March Hare took charge. He was always quick to come up with a plan and knew exactly where to put everyone, keeping their strengths and weaknesses in mind. Magnetic Girl was his right hand. She had the same ability to make hard decisions under the worst of circumstances, not to mention the raw power. Opposite of her, Phoenix had the emotional maturity and intelligence to pull everyone, including himself, through the toughest situations. Whether that was through a well-spoken speech or by leading by example. What he lacked in speed and decision-making he more than made up for in motivation and emotional support.

The other four followed orders, but were able to pull their own plan if necessary, so long as no one got in the way. They were also the first to go their own way after they graduated from the programme and became recognised superheroes, passing the torch to the next cohort of sidekicks, appointing a leader and their commandants and beginning the hierarchical tradition.

Kinetica was given the proverbial torch directly by March Hare himself. One of the first times she and her fellow sidekicks had to deal with a real situation he bombarded her with questions about her friends' strength and weaknesses, telling her that she should know these things, or she would never be a good leader.

Despite his harsh words, Kinetica still sought March Hare's advice when she struggled to find her way in the role that was thrust upon her, and after a much better talk, she chose her commandants. Eclipse, who was much better at making tough decisions than she was, and Copy Cat, who was much better at keeping everyone together and motivated.

She didn't dish out orders the same way March Hare used to do. Instead she listened to her team and they came up with plans together. Eventually she got a better grasp of her friends' strengths and weaknesses and she learned to be a bit more decisive when the others were unsure.

She still had her insecurity, but at least she could always count on her mentor, Frostbringer, for guidance...until she couldn't.

Frostbringer disappeared yesterday. With his partner, Circuit, away at a conference, it was up to Kinetica and the other sidekicks to get him back safe. She only had Eclipse and Copy Cat to fall back on, as well as Freeze Frame and their latest additions Borealis and Buzzkill.

A telekinetic, a gravity manipulator, a shapeshifter, a kinetic energy manipulator, a life energy manipulator and a fledgling vampire walked into an abandoned office building to retrieve their captured mentor. And of course they walked straight into a trap.

It sounds like a bad joke, and it felt like one too. Despite their best efforts, none of their training had prepared them for the use of a power-suppressing field. They were familiar with the cuffs and the collars that would prevent them from using their powers, but to have them stolen from them without being put into any accessoires was just unfair.

They didn't even know it was possible, and now there they were, handcuffed and lined up on their knees. Their mentor was in the same position, his hands tightly cuffed behind his back, and kneeling across from them, the only difference being the tightly strapped leather panel covering his mouth, which had kept him from warning the sidekicks for the trap. The leader of the bad guys was circling him ominously, stroking the cattle prod in his hands.

"Well, well, well," he said sinisterly, "I knew we'd be able to use you to grab a couple of extra subjects, but to grab almost all the sidekicks~? We don't even have that much room in our van..."

"Let him go!" Kinetica almost immediately said, earning her a smack in the face from one of the other guards.

"Don't touch her!" Eclipse snapped, earning him a smack as well.

"E-Eclipse!" Copy Cat gasped, to which she was next.

"J-jeez dude, do you get off on smacking people or something?" Borealis asked, earning them a smack too.

"Oh! Do me next!" Buzzkill said.

Smack!

"Harder daddy~"

Bzzzt!

Buzzkill let out a pained yelp as they tased him with the cattle prod.

"You did that to yourself," Freeze Frame said, before being the last one to receive a smack.

Honestly she only spoke up so her friends wouldn't have to stand alone after all that, but she much preferred to not antagonise the people holding the key to their handcuffs.

"Uh boss..." one of the guards by the door said.

"What?" the man with the cattle prod said.

"We only have one cage, boss."

"Goddamn regulations," the boss grumbled, "fine. We'll take one of them now, and send a larger truck for the rest. The question just is, who do we take~?"

Frostbringer would've immediately volunteered if he hadn't been gagged. He tried though, but his muffled attempt at communication was easily drowned out by Kinetica.

"Take me!" she said, "t-take me...you guys already have a file on me. R-returning me will be worth more."

"Fuck that!" Eclipse said, "take me instead!"

"Don't be an idiot," Freeze Frame said, "take me. I'm not worth much to these guys anyway..."

"That is not true!" Copy Cat said, "Take me! None of them deserve this..."

"And you do?" Borealis said, "I should go. My file is older than Kinetica's..."

"Everyone shut up!" Buzzkill said, "I'll go. I'll be fine. I'm immortal now."

"You're all going, morons," the boss said, "the question just is who will go first."

The sidekicks exchanged glances, before bursting out into a cacophony of 'Take me!'s, much to both the boss and Frostbringer's chagrin. He would've facepalmed if his hands hadn't been locked behind his back. He looked up at the boss in an attempt to communicate to just take him instead, but the boss seemed to be too busy trying to decide which of the sidekicks to electrocute next as punishment for the racket.

Fortunately he never got the chance to pick his next victim, as at that moment something black and green crashed through the ceiling and landed in such a cool pose, Frostbringer wasn't sure whether to be jealous or aroused.

Circuit looked up at the bad guys, the visor of his helmet covering his entire face, making him look about as dangerous as he was.

"Take this." he said, before going loose.

With a mix of trained movements and mean little gadgets that allowed him to shock, stun and otherwise injure any opponent, he began wiping out the guards. Aided by the panic and confusion on why their power-suppressing field wasn't working on Circuit, not realising that he didn't even seem to be using any powers.

However, there was one huge disadvantage that no amount of gadgets or training could resolve...actually it was about seven disadvantages, and they were all unable to defend themselves. When the bad guys were unable to subdue Circuit by brute force, they switched to threatening the sidekicks and Frostbringer. Grabbing anything sharp they could find, or their firearms, and pressing them directly to the nearest hostage's throat.

Circuit pulled out his own firearm, catching his breath as he assessed the situation. There was no way he could fire a bullet without risking anyone's life. So with the most bitter regret...he dropped his gun, and surrendered.

They quickly handcuffed him, and stripped him of any weapon they could find, having to pat him down multiple times, before forcing him to kneel next to Kinetica.

"Ow..."

"Are you okay, Circuit?" Kinetica quietly asked.

"My pride is hurt, but I think I'll live," Circuit said, before getting smacked for talking...and then punched in revenge, followed by a kick for good measure.

"MMGH!"

Frostbringer tried to get up as he cried in protest, but he was swiftly yanked back by his hair, forced to stay in his spot, while his partner was kicked around a bit more by some of the guards that got hurt at his hand.

"Take that!" one of the guards spat, finally delivering the last kick.

"Anyone else got anything to say?" the boss asked, still holding onto Frostbringer's hair. The sidekicks glared at him, but stayed quiet, not wanting to give him a reason to hurt their mentor, nor did they want to be treated the same way Circuit had been.

"Excellent," the boss said, "now, where were we?"

"We were trying to decide who you were gonna kidnap first," Borealis said, "and they say my memory is bad..."

Whack!

"Woah, don't concuss them, their memory is bad enough as it is," Eclipse said, receiving a punch next.

"E-enough!" Kinetica said, "j-just take me. Stop hurting them every time they speak up!"

Frostbringer tried to shake his head at her, but Kinetica ignored him.

"And they won't speak up anymore," she continued, "because I'm going and you'll stop arguing. That's an order."

"Well, well, well, look at you taking charge, missy," the boss said, looking her over a bit, before glancing at the other sidekicks. He could tell they disagreed, but none of them spoke up.

"Such obedient little dogs," he said.

"Not all of us..."

He almost didn't hear the voice behind him. He wouldn't have if Kinetica hadn't finally managed to silence her friends. He let go of Frostbringer and whipped around, finding another hero in their midst. How did he get in? He hadn't seen him try and slip through the door, and there wasn't a rope running down from the hole in the roof he could've used. If he had jumped down, surely they would've heard him, right?

"Hoo boy, you're gonna get it now," Buzzkill said.

"Yeah, right," the boss said, "activate the field."

"Good...cough! Good luck..." Circuit wheezed, "I took down...the pylons before I...busted in..."

"Hoo boy!" Buzzkill repeated, sounding even more excited.

"It's just one, kid. Take him down the old-school way, boys!" the boss ordered.

The remaining guards eagerly stepped forward, only slightly unnerved as the newly arrived super didn't react much. He just stood there, staring at them with the expressionless white mask staring at them. And then Kinetica started laughing too, letting out an unnerving cackle.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard..." she said, "about the Ghost of Coral City?"

"Ghosts aren't real!" the boss snapped, "get him!"

Yet, the boy didn't move as the four remaining guards descended on him. One of them reached out to grab his arms, while another readied a set of cuffs...until his partner seemed to go right through the boy, losing his balance and falling over.

"W-what the—"

"You were looking for someone to take, right?" Ghost asked, "why don't you try to take me?"

The guard on the ground could only groan as he was suddenly overcome with a wave of crippling nausea. The other guard bravely approached with the handcuffs, trying to capture him without having to touch him, but even the power-suppressing cuffs slid right through him. As if he really was just a ghost.

"N-no way..."

"Stay sharp!" the boss snapped, "maybe it's just a hologram."

Ghost responded by sticking out his arm, his hand sinking right into the second guard's chest, to which he abruptly started choking.

"I'm just putting some light pressure directly on your lung," he explained, "it hurts like hell, but it won't kill you. The nausea might, though. Sorry."

He pulled his hand back, to which the guard collapsed, desperately gasping for air as his lung was allowed to inflate again, before the nausea hit him, and he wanted nothing more but to just lay down and sleep it off.

That just left two more guards and their boss, all three of them now proverbially looking as if they had seen a ghost. The Ghost in question slowly turned to look at them, as if trying to decide who was next. One of the guards bolted for the door. Ghost decided to let him go. His main mission was to free the hostages, and the guard running away just made that easier. Two more targets to go.

He decided to start with the boss. He posed the biggest threat right now, after all, the way he held onto Frostbringer and that cattle prod. He set a step in their direction, and he anxiously activated it, holding it threateningly close to Frostbringer.

"D-don't come any closer!"

Frostbringer braced himself for any pain. Whatever it was, he was willing to endure it until Ghost could do his thing and take that bastard down. Meanwhile the last remaining guard shakily held up his gun, but he was trembling so hard his aim was entirely off. Ghost didn't even have to use his powers to avoid getting shot, so he kept walking, to which the boss pressed the cattle prod into Frostbringer's side.

"MMMMMMGH!!"

He yelled into the leather muzzle, stubbornly holding on until the pain finally stopped as Ghost grabbed the cattle prod and pulled it from the boss' hand, phasing it through his grip without any effort.

"W-who are you?" he asked breathlessly.

"...just Ghost."

Suddenly he stuck out his arm, poking his fingers into the man's eyes, but also not really. He phased through them, blinding him temporarily. The remaining guard shot at him again, but the bullet just passed through his arm as if it wasn't even there.

Ghost pushed the boss and Frostbringer away from each other, before turning towards the last guard, who backed away, terrified, continuing to fire his gun at him.

BANG!

Click!

Click click click click click click!

"P-PLEASE!" he finally shrieked as he dropped his empty gun and raised his hands, "Please don't hurt me!"

Ghost stopped his approach, and held up his hand.

"Keys."

The guard feverishly pulled out all the keys he had and gave them to him, before fleeing as soon as Ghost had his back turned to free the hostages from their handcuffs.

"We really owe you one, Ghost," Kinetica said relieved as she was finally freed from her handcuffs. Granted, she did volunteer to be freed last.

"It's nothing," Ghost said, tossing the discarded cuffs onto a pile, and removing his mask so he could breathe a bit easier, "I didn't even know they had a power-suppressing field. I couldn't have pulled it off if Circuit hadn't sabotaged it!"

"You're welcome," Circuit said with a groan as Frostbringer gently iced his injuries.

"How'd you even get here so fast?" Frostbringer asked.

"Death gave me a ride."

"...I don't like the sound of that sentence."

"I wore a helmet," Ghost said.

"That's not the point— You shouldn't be here regardless!" Frostbringer lectured, "You were booted from the sidekick programme, you're not allowed to get involved in cases like this until you're at least eighteen!"

"I'm sorry...but the city's only active heroes and sidekicks were all taken hostage, I think I was entirely within my right to act," Ghost said.

"Oh my god, this is going to be so much paperwork," Frostbringer said.

"Sorry..."

"Stop apologising, you had a point," Frostbringer said, "also, thank you for stopping these idiots from trying to sacrifice themselves for my sake. Which they shouldn't have done."

He glared at Kinetica, but she just shrugged.

"You'd do the same for us," she said.

"How often do I have to tell you do as I say, not as I do!"

@ailesswhumptober

Phoenix, Verdigris, Wavesinger, Blaze, Kinetica, Copy Cat and Borealis belong to @dr-abitat-blog Frostbringer, Buzzkill & Circuit belong to @illustriousshadow

Masterlist Main account

Context: Ghost was pulled from the programme because one of his parents withdrew consent for his participation, but he'd rather miss out on the programme than to go back home and deal with all that.

#ailesswhumptober2024 #day 13 #“Take me instead.”#oc #fic #self-sacrifice #kidnapping whump #held hostage #team whump #ladywhump #whump writing #whump event #oc whump

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bardic-tales · 5 months ago

Text

Tumblr Games: OC Deep Dive

Thank you so much for the tag, @captain-kraken. You can find the clean template beneath.

I decided that I will do this for Bianca Moore, my protagonist in my passion project. She is the daughter of Asmodeus, the hellish Prince of Lust.

This is an OPEN Tag.

Content Warning (Alphabetical): Abandonment, body horror, death, experimentation, graphic violence, manipulation, misophonia, obsession, overbearing relationships, past trauma, physical injury, possessiveness, self-sacrifice, skinned alive, trauma-induced behavior.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Bianca had witnessed the death of two mates at the hands of her father, Asmodeus. Due to this, she is afraid of abandonment. It is this fear that pushes her to support her S/O's antagonistic actions to end the world.

Do they have any pet peeves?

She has a couple of things that she considers pet peeves. People who are overly cheerful, slurps their noodles, and mindlessly confirms are high up on that list. It could be said that she has a slight form of misophonia.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

She has black silk curtains, a black comforter and red sheets, and a modern circular, white vase with red roses sitting on the bed-stand next to her side of the bed.

What do they notice first in a person?

As Bianca has enhanced senses, she notices someone's scent. In Fantasy Worlds Collide, every animal and planet has an unique scent attributed to them. Angels / Demons can sense these underlying smells.

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Before Asmodeus awakened her celestial and infernal blood, her pain tolerance was around a 5. Seeing as her wings were concealed by her skin and they sort of burst from her body, it became around a 7 or 8. She almost died at his hands twice.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

This evolved over the years. When she was younger, she was taught that the correct response was flight. During her 20s, her 1st guardian was teaching her how to defend herself and control her powers, allowing her to become confident in those abilities but she froze in danger. By the time that she was captured by humans and experimented upon, she was fully able to fight. During her escape, she slaughtered several infantry men, scientists, and super soldiers, showing that her natural instinct was always to fight.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Bianca's father sired the incubi, so she comes from a huge family. However, she never met any of them, as Asmodeus is the antagonist in FWC. She is a family person. She wants to marry and have a child or two but is hesitant.

What animal represents them best?

As Bianca is intensely devoted, loyal, and a bit mysterious, the animal that represents her the best is a raven. Bianca has a love for ancient texts and forbidden knowledge, which is usually represented in such an animal.

What is a smell they dislike?

Bianca has a dislike for anything that is overly artificial. She has enhanced senses, such as a sense of smell. Synthetic floral perfumes will often overstimulate her senses and give her a migraine.

Have they broken any bones?

Throughout all of her life, she has been subjected to injuries that would kill a normal person. Her father almost skinned her alive to awaken her celestial and infernal blood. There was a scientist, Diana, in another universe that ended up infusing her with alien DNA and experimented upon her. All angelic beings, including fallen angels, have almost instant healing abilities. She was visected by Diana, which means her ribs were broken, etc. When she arrived on Gaia from her original world, she fell through a cosmic portal after she was injured by her father. Her right wing had a compound fracture.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

A stranger would, most likely, find Bianca charming. She can be very manipulative if it means furthering her goals. However, if the stranger is a threat to her or her significant other, Bianca is often mysterious, intimidating, and cold. Due to her duality, her presence can be both captivating and unsettling.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Bianca is a night owl. She prefers the twilight hours and will usually use these hours to go about her duties in protecting her significant other's regenerating body, study, and sometimes just taking a stroll through the desolate landscape she lives in with the dark dragon that had become her protector.

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Bianca has no love for sweet foods. She hates foods like donuts, but one of the flavors that she absolutely hates specifically is caramel. On the other hand, Bianca loves savory foods. She loves steak, especially when it is 'blue' and mash potatoes with lots of gravy.

Do they have any hobbies?

She likes to study ancient texts, explore dark and mysterious worlds, craft artifacts, compose poetry, and star gaze. One of her favorite activities is to spar with her significant other, learning how to master her powers as the harbinger of the Omniverse. She still has a way to go for that.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Bianca had a very traumatic childhood and young adulthood. She hates surprises and will likely react with a mix of annoyance. If the surprise party is thrown by someone she is close with, she will begrudgingly appreciate the gesture but would rather them to skip the surprise part of the party.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

No. She does not wear jewelry. She never seen the point of it and would rather wear clothing that will help her live in the landscape that she is currently living in or a ribbon for her hair which was given to her before her significant other lost himself to madness.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

As she grew up on the run from the cult devoted to her father, Bianca tries to be precise in everything she does. She loves calligraphic. Her handwriting is neat and meticulous, showcasing the need to be in control in everything she does.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Bianca experiences obsessive devotion and determination. She is very loyal and relentless in her pursuit of her goals and her significant other. She is not afraid to manipulate and give up her very identity for him if it meant that she will succeed in making him a god.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Bianca loves fabrics like silk against her skin. As Asmodeus is her father who is the Prince of Lust, she loves fabrics that highlights her form, teasing her silhouette to others. Her favorite silks tend to be dark in color or those that fit her color scheme: silver and black. She is also partial to shiny leather.

What kind of accent do they have?

Bianca has a slow, sultry voice. There's a huskiness to it when she talks. Her cadence is very deliberate as she is always in control of the conversation. The accent is very neutral but is refined. The best description of it would be like Jessica Rabbit from Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

The Clean Template.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Do they have any pet peeves?

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

What do they notice first in a person?

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

What animal represents them best?

What is a smell they dislike?

Have they broken any bones?

How would a stranger likely describe them?