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summertimemusician · 1 year ago

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Linktober (Shadow) 2023, Day 11

Monsters (Dead Hand)

Summer Stop Giving Reader/PoV Character and the Chain a Hard Time and Trauma Challenge (impossible) /j. But really I'll probably write something lighter for Linktober or Linktober Shadow later to compensate for this one lol. Probably a sequel to this one that has Reader actually having a nice time with the Links for once.

Technically since unfortunately studying for future exam season in like a couple of days has been kicking me in the ribs and thus my time was highly cut and unfortunately I don't have an Ocarina to give me more, this is actually a mix of prompts! The ones in the title, Keese, Wolfos, Wizzrobe, Lizalfos, Redead, and Boss, although they are not the focus here, mostly just mentioned but technically checking out the boxes, maybe next time I'll go more in deep on that (Like the original idea that basically was Reader taming a pet Wolfos as a guard hound that I will not elaborate on at least not this year), instead y'all get this with the boss that gave a lot of people childhood trauma and was never seeing again since because we really don't talk about just why Dead Hands are terrifying much, just that they are, really missed opportunity to use them more in an LU context lol.

As always any relationship between Reader and any of the Chain can be interpreted as romantic or platonic, and Reader is Gender Neutral on Purpose. And First is here because again, this would have been longer if exam season wasn't kicking me in the ribs and I have some really evil ideas involving First, Reader and Time bonding over having trauma of enclosed spaces, but thankfully y'all don't get that today lol, or not, it would be a really fluffy scene so up to y'all if it's a win or a loss.

TW:

Don't think there's anything too heavy-ish? But I'm a horror fan so I'm not someone who can accurately judge that. I'd say graphic descriptions of violence and gore, and being restrained/pinned in place and the entire deal that is the Dead Hand's existing, so please don't read if you're squeamish or uncomfortable. Health is important and specially mental health and I always leave these warnings on Linktober Shadow related prompts or heavier stories, so just a heads up so no one is caught by surprise.

Anyway, enjoy reading!

It was an almost unanimous agreement that no hero liked to pass through a cemetery in Hyrule.

From the restless Gibdo, to the mischievous yet usually cruel Poes and the lost Ghini, to the ever wandering Stalfos and the ghastly agonized Redead and ever determined ghoulish Garo, nothing good ever came from entering in areas where dead things roam. You can't be sure if it's because of the magic in Hyrule, the living force of light and shadow and the divinity coursing through the land, or simply the will of the undead or the consequences of Demise attempting to claim the Triforce, graveyards and desolated fields meant silence, they should be where those who are gone should finally acquire their final catharsis, not to roam endlessly without release, solemn as these places are they are still places for a peaceful end and to be denied such due to the whims of the Shadow... You can think of very few awful fates that can compare.

('Terrible fates, you could say.' The grimly bemused part of your mind whispers, as you walk alongside Time further down into the crypt that you and the Chain had followed the shadow into, silver, prisitne armor briefly blends with old, rusted, bloody gold and you think you hear the rattling of bones in the distance, the draw of a rusted, but still serviceable sword. You shut it away with a snarl as you cut down the Stalfos attempting to ambush Wild from the rear, and it goes down and back into the darkness with a screech alongside the chilling knowleged and the sick cracking of broken bones, not on your watch, never on your watch, you refuse.)

"Of all places why did it have to be a bloody crypt?" Grimaced Warriors, casting a weary glance towards the skulls decorating the walls, their empty sockets empty but silently cutting, as if sneering at the fact you lot had dared disturb the dead, as if it wasn't the Shadow's mere presence making what would otherwise be a place for rest into a possible death trap.

Legend smirked, though you could tell he wasn't anymore pleased from the way he marched through the cold, cracked stone floor, steps flighty and eyes darting around corners, "What, a bit too much for you, soldier boy?"

"No," came the prim answer, although the twitch of the hand near his scabbard as you stepped into an open chamber gave him away, as well as Wind being kept at his side rather than near the wall, "Just don't generally like fighting the undead in closed spaces. It's a recipe for disaster."

"On that I believe we all can agree on." Came Time's voice, cutting through the banter, tense as a drawn bowstring, you knew being back in a crypt wasn't easy for him, with the way his jaw tensed, you both had the same awful memories of a similarly buried, abandoned place where dead things roamed without cease, frantic, hungry for the warmth of the living, "Keep your guard up, and stay close together."

Almost as if on cue came the monsters from the open corridors, you didn't hesitate in drawing your blade to cut through the enemy, keese were easily dispatched by Four and Legend's swords, you spun to slit the throat of a growling Wolfos from Twilight's era going for Sky's back just as he mercilessly chased down the Black Lizalfos, the beast clearly avoiding the glow from the Sword of Evil's Bane. Time's back to yours as you cleared the path for him and blocked the Shadow's exit through the left corridor, it had already proven that it would not matter if you did or not, but you refused to not let it work for survival.

The jolt of magic being used crawling up your spine was your first warning. Like the build up of lightning in a storm, the taste of rust and a feeling like tar slithers up your throat.

The second was Wild's warning shout as the chamber shook with the grating, chilling, blood curdling howl of the Redeads, Time lunging away from your side to slash the beasts away from Wind and Warriors with all of the fury of a wolf defending it's pack, before you had to throw yourself back, slamming your back against the arch on the right as it caved in, lest you be crushed alongside the Wolfos coming for your neck the second the older hero moved.

You were separated.

You were alone.

A really, really bad spot to be when in Hyrule's catacombs.

"Are you alright?!", Came muffled from the other side of the stones, the hint of an actual wolf's growl and the distinctive Ordonian cadence, Twilight.

"I'm fine! Keep fighting, I'll find my way to you guys!", You yell back, heart racing, trying not to think about what you could find on your way back, you didn't have any bombs on you, it wasn't feasible to use them in a place as old as this, not without risk bringing down the ceiling on you and the Chain. But most catacombs have interconnected hallways, if you moved quickly, you might just avoid finding anything that you won't be able to handle on your own.

You think Twilight replies, but it's muffled by another Redead's yowl, you wince, your muscles lock up and you feel something warm drip from your ears, but thankfully you are not rendered immobile due to the involuntary wall, you swallow your trepidation and get moving.

The further you get away from the fallen stones, the more silent the catacombs extending from the crypt you were dropped in became, shadows twist oddly by the torches upon the wall with only your breathing and the cold, unfeeling remains of the dead to keep you company, the lowly burning flames bringing you no warmth. The corridors blended together in the darkness cast by the faint light, the shades contorting themselves in the crevices of your paranoia the longer you went on with only your own hurried footsteps to make any true sound.

Not one monster had found it's way to you thus far, though, and according to the copy of the map Legend had made the second you had acquired the original from a very unfortunate Wizzrobe from Wild's era. You just needed to pass one more open chamber to find the corridor leading to your boys, You couldn't keep them waiting, who knew how long it would take for the fight to finish if Redead's were involved? And staying still when the Shadow could turn itself intangible was practically begging it to switch it's attention, it usually didn't pay you as much mind as it did the heroes, Time specially (it seemed to hold a grudge against him more than any of your boys, you noted bitterly), but it would occasionally target you if it meant getting a rise from any of the Link's or if it felt you were too secure in your safety, it was better if you found your way back first to the hunt before you became hunted.

You grit your teeth, by Hylia's dripping gash, you were so. darn. tired. of. being. hunted.

Of watching your friends being led into a wild hunt with no end in sight, dragged by the noose by a remnant that refused to stay dead, you never thought you could burn with so much anger, with the desire to see if fire would scare it sober into ceasing in it's infection of all of Hyrule's Eras. But unfortunately you knew it didn't work like that, so you had to survive, you would survive, because someone had to protect the heroes when the heroes protected everyone else and if no one was going to step up to the job, you'd just have to do it yourself.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, lest you end up drowning in them, you breath in relief as soon as you come upon the metal door with the symbol of the royal family, faded and rusted with age, there. You just needed to pass through this chamber and the corridor next to it, and you'd be back with Link, all of them, and hopefully out of here. You push it open, grip tightening on your long dagger, almost a sword, good enough to cut and hide. The thick and pungent combination of old, congealed blood, sick and decaying flesh, something like rotten eggs dipped in alcohol and withered flowers hits your nose, making you nauseous but you press on, the chamber is circular and dimly lit, with a long cracked, soft stone from a leak in the walls. You studiously do not look at the far corner of the dungeon or the pillory's and shackles scattered around near the cells, there's a second door to the other side, as soon as you pass through it you'll be in another corridor.

... It's silent, too quiet. Unease slithers and twists around you like vines, but you can't delay, you won't, so you keep walking-

Until you can't.

Something has grabbed a hold of your leg. You look down, and your blood freezes, spotting a long, sickly, pale arm and a bright crimson, elongated nails, claw-like, digging into your ankle, having dug itself up from the fragile ground.

You don't hesitate, slashing down violently at the offending limb, frantic terror spreads through your blood, you knew what was here. It featured in your nightmares for a long, long time, you knew it still haunted Time's, the limb goes slack as it is severed, and you barely note the way it starts bleeding black and green at the stump, thankful for Four's expert craftsmanship and maintenance hints as you dive to the exit. You don't make it far, it's companion limbs bursting in front of your path like a snake emerging from the ground, it makes a solid grab for your arms, one of them grabs you by the scalp, firmly digging as you dodge and weave between, a stabbing pain upon your skull from the indomitable grip of something fueled by fury, twisted magic and rigor mortis and makes you cry out, your slight moment of hesitation allowing two more hands to latch onto your legs and arms, nails slicing through your flesh like easily and digging, tearing like a rabid hunting dog's teeth upon an unfortunate deer, leaving deep gashes upon your arms and ankles, it's not unlike being pinned and held to a torture rack, in hindsight, ironic given just where in the crypt you ended up.

Your hear the ground below shifting below you, a groan carrying through the air, awfully monstrous, coldly human. You struggle harder like a desperate butterfly upon a dissection board, from your peripheral, you see the form of the thing unhurriedly dragging itself over, it uses the sharp and bloody ends of where bone was broken to slice it's hands off to shuffle out of the grave, using it's stubs as support. Long long neck barely supporting it's elongated head, the scent of rot intensifies and you feel like gagging as it settles it's empty, frigid, hungry eye sockets on your bound form; it's broken jaw contorting itself in a mockery of a human smile over rotten gums and exposed teeth, stretching unnaturally and bringing emphasis to it's rotting, bloodied sunken features. From behind it's bloated, putrid shape, barely obscured by the bloodied white cloth and the grotesque vision of the undead you swear the crimson eyes of the shadow, watching you coldly, the hint of a knife sharp, serpentine smile as the sound of wet meat slamming across the ground rings in the chamber.

Fury mixes with your panic as you snarl, trying to twist the dagger in your grip as best as you can to drive it into the arms, pain and blood drips from the open wound but you don't care; you need to get away from the Dead Hand. A monster like that feels no pain when struck for it is not human, not any longer, and you couldn't hope to face an infected one alone, it shuffles over the floor, unhurriedly shuffling like a predator that knows it's prey can't run away, it moans and groans with hunger as it approaches and you have no intention of giving it a meal, you grit your teeth as the nails sink deeply into your shoulders and arms, using your blade to saw through rotting flesh and hopefully break bone with every single inch of strenght you have, the blade is slick in your hand with your own blood and the poison-tar of the Shadow's infection burning through you but you do not mind, can't. You need to get away-

The undead's teeth sink into the hollow of your collarbone, blunt, human teeth that shouldn't have half the strenght it does to rip through flesh, blood and crack bone, and you caterwaul with pain, skin crawling and numbing and set aflame with curses sent from the dark reflection of the hero, darkening, veins blackening, your eardrums vibrate with the force of your own agony and you are sure you could rival a Redead on pitch alone of your tortured howl. Struggling even more ferociously, attempting to disloged it, kick it off, your blade sucessfully slashes through the arm from your reverse grip, pushing away from it with the savegery off a cornered predator you sink your long dagger into the undead's eye sockets, tearing through it's cheek with animal ferocity, it keens high and chilling, you're losing blood quickly and it (for it's not a human, not anymore, you can't feel sympathy for it, won't. You can't hesitate.) knows, for it tries to chomp down onto your vulnerable neck, your arm being the only thing keeping it from biting it out as you growl with pain, although you can't be sure it just won't bite through, it's teeth are bared, the pitch of it's blank eyes locked onto yours in stalemate, you have the advantage of not being weakened by hunger and decay, not sluggish like it but that will not help for long, the clammy being determined to bleed you dry and feast on your corpse and you are drowning drowning drowningDROWNINGWITHWRETCHEDTORMENT MAKE.THE.PAIN.STOP-

A scream of your name, sword calloused hands yank you away from claws and fangs (because nothing with blunt teeth and nails should be able to wound someone so throughly), you waver on your feet, swaying, supported by a warm, strong body and pulled away. A sword slashes the foul being away from you and you go lax, numb with pain.

First, First was supporting you. Keeping you steady, stopping you from falling, snarling at the corpse with a lion's fury, holding you protectively. Time tears by him like a man possessed, frenzied with the look of a man looking at his worst nightmare and growling in denial. The Links, wounded but alive, the Chain had met you halfway.

The last thing you remember before losing conciousness as adrenaline leaves your body and everything goes dark, is wishing that they'll burn it to be sure it's gone for good. It's the kindest thing that can be done for a such a wretched existence.

You'd be okay.

#linked universe x reader #technically #lu first x reader #lu time x reader #but mostly only hinted at because things didn't go according to plan #anyway my pitch is that dead hands died of hunger more so than torture which is why they are so darn bitey #and that being an undead being in Hyrule is horror at it's finest actually and in this essay-#Really can't wait till exam season is finally over so I can ACTUALLY dig up those essays lmao #missing scenes include and are not limited to: First comforting Reader after because he knows intimately how unpleasant it is #to be restrained underground alone #and the two fall asleep on each other to reassure the other is still there #and protective Time caring for Reader because having Dead Hand Trauma™ dug up is not fun #On a Scale of Viscerally Hating the Dead Hands from Biggest to Lowest: Time First Twilight Warriors Sky Wild Hyrule Legend Four Wind #I will not elaborate why at this moment #And now I'll take a darn nap lol #summer writes linktober 2023 #summer writes linktober shadow 2023 #summer writes #Feral Reader #Reader gets to be capable as a treat

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generalized-incompetence · 2 years ago

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“Hey, Dirk,” says Tina, sniggering, “you ever heard of this movie Goncharov?”

Dirk drops a stack of five plates.

“Oh, no,” he says.

(Read on AO3 here)

Tina runs for the nearest broom as Dirk runs for the nearest computer. By the time the plate shards are swept up, Dirk has opened about sixty tabs. “This can’t be happening,” he says, clicking on five more links. “It’s not possible.”

“Mm,” says Tina, “seems around you, just about anything’s possible.”

“But Goncharov,” says Dirk, desperately. “It doesn’t exist.”

“Well, duh,” Tina shrugs. “It’s an internet joke. Crowdsourcing a made-up movie. There’s a pret-ty hot love triangle, too - wanna see?”

“No!” says Dirk, flinging up his hands. “It does exist, it just - it shouldn’t. It can’t, not anymore. I already solved that one.”

Tina stops looking for fanart. “Wait,” she says, “Goncharov is a case?”

—

“The mind wipe,” Dirk announces, half an hour later, “has failed.”

Tina, Farah, and Todd blink at him. “What mind wipe?” says Todd finally.

“The Goncharov mind wipe,” says Dirk. “It’s wearing off. Oh, I told Thor it wouldn’t last!”

“Thor?” says Farah.

“Wearing off?” says Todd.

“Wait, so there’s real footage of the hot love triangle?” says Tina.

“Focus!” says Dirk. “This is important! Clearly, the repressed memories are already bleeding through - if this spreads, who knows what will happen!”

“Not us,” says Todd, “since you haven’t told us anything about it.”

Dirk glares at him. “It’s very simple,” he says. “Loki, god of mischief, weaseled his way into a theatrical re-release of Martin Scorsese’s most famous mafia movie, in an attempt to spread his mind-controlling message to a wider audience - and also possibly for a chance to star alongside famed actor Robert DeNiro, though I have to say, Loki’s acting chops were nowhere near as professional –”

“Loki is in Goncharov?” says Tina, bouncing up and down. “Who is he? Not Andrey? Oh - Katya?”

“Er,” says Dirk, “frozen… Steve?”

“Ice pick Joe?!” says Tina.

“Wait - back up,” says Farah, getting off the couch and heading for one of the six whiteboards scattered around the agency (Dirk refuses to erase any “essential records,” which includes Mona’s doodles, Farah’s grocery lists, Todd’s drunk-after-midnight song lyrics, and Dirk’s confusing string walls, so in lieu of reuse, they just keep buying more). “Mind-controlling message? About - what, exactly?”

“World domination,” says Dirk. “What else?”

“What, like, make way for our mythological Norse overlords?” says Todd.

“Todd,” says Dirk, “the art of mind control is that of subtle insinuation. The smallest nudge to a person’s most seemingly innocuous impulse might one day bring about Ragnarok itself. The pathways of the human brain are far beyond any of us to begin to fathom.”

Todd exchanges glances with Tina. “So…” he says.

“So “Make way for our mythological Norse overlords” was embedded in the credits, yes,” says Dirk.

Farah pauses halfway through busily scribbling a semi-coherent list of Dirk’s far-from-coherent retelling. “If it’s just the credits,” she says, “couldn’t you replace that segment? Instead of mind-wiping the entire human race?”

“Yeah, who watches the credits, anyway?” says Tina. “Farah, you don’t count, no one else cares about the back-up apprentice costume designer.”

“Yes, that was my suggestion,” says Dirk, “but I was, er, overruled. Thor doesn’t generally go in for half-measures, in my experience.”

“And how extensive is that experience?” says Tina.

“We’re getting off-track,” says Dirk quickly. “The important thing is, the mind-wipe wore off. And if everyone suddenly remembers Goncharov, they’ll also remember the credits. And if they remember the credits…”

“Make way for Loki,” says Todd gloomily.

Everyone stares at the whiteboard.

“Okay,” says Farah, clapping her hands together, “so all we have to do is find Thor, find the mind-wipe technology, debug the mind-wipe technology so it works this time, figure out how to deploy it correctly, and get Thor to mind-wipe the entire human race a second time, before everyone remembers Goncharov and Loki comes back. If he’s not back already.”

Everyone stares at Farah.

The doorbell rings, and then the door bursts open. “DIRK GENTLY!” roars a voice. “Hail and well met!”

—

“You broke the mind wipe box?” says Dirk, aghast.

Thor squirms on the couch. Thor is the only one on the couch, because he takes up most of the couch. Farah is still by the whiteboard, and Todd and Tina are standing by Dirk, completely failing not to stare.

“I didn’t break it!” Thor protests. “I simply - misplaced it. Onto a chair. Which I then sat on. Which was, honestly, far worse for me than for that box, given all the unpleasantly sharp components.”

Todd shakes his head and wishes Thor didn’t sound so much like Dirk, with a deeper voice and a slightly different accent. It’s hurting his brain. He tries and fails to stop looking at Thor’s bare arms. They take up an unfair amount of his field of view.

“Thor,” says Dirk, putting his hands on his hips, “we’ve talked about this. You must be more careful where you sit.”

“Again,” says Thor, “I did not know that hat was valuable.”

“It was cursed!” Dirk squawks.

“Can everyone focus!” says Farah. “Thor, do you have the box with you?”

Thor shifts slightly and pulls out a mangled cube. It looks like a movie prop that, well, someone has sat on. The translucent blue sides are faded and dusty, and wires are poking out of the middle.

“...Sorry,” says Thor.

Tina squints at the box. “You’re tellin’ me this thing is why I forgot the boat scene?” she says. “I dressed up as the boat scene for Halloween!”

“...You were a boat?” says Todd.

“I was six,” says Tina, “and in retrospect, the homoerotic overtones went way over my head. Cool costume, though.”

Farah, meanwhile, examines the box. “This isn’t too bad,” she says. “It should definitely be fixable. Probably. Almost certainly.”

“If only we still had Patrick’s lab,” Dirk sighs.

Farah’s eyes twitch sideways. “Well…” she says.

The door opens again. “Farah!” yells Lydia. “Have you heard of this movie Goncharov?”

—

“Of course I can fix it,” says Lydia.

Everyone sits forward on their respective couch, couch armrests, chairs, or, in Dirk’s case, table. “You can?” says Thor.

“Yeah,” Lydia shrugs. “This is all 80s tech - it’s built to last. These transistors are comically huge. If you want, I can swap it out for new stuff - might take a little longer, but it’d be, like, credit card sized.”

“Could you really?” says Dirk. “Is this one of those Boring Law things?”

“Whatever’s fastest,” says Farah, before Dirk can fall down another endless hole of knowledge he’ll forget till his next case. “Lydia, do you have everything you need here?”

“Yeah, it’s all at my bench. Give me a sec.”

Lydia takes off towards the workbench Farah set up two months into Lydia’s Belize stay, and the rest of them sit back to wait. Dirk hums something under his breath. Farah goes back to writing on the whiteboard.

“So,” says Tina to Thor, after a moment of silence, “did you two ever…”

“I’ll order a pizza,” says Todd, shooting up.

—

Todd barely gets back off the phone before Lydia returns with the repaired device.

“That’s it?” says Tina, frowning at the cube.

“It’s an ancient artifact of my people,” says Thor.

“Which you sat on,” says Dirk.

“Something I learned from my dad,” says Lydia, “is that sometimes the smallest things cause the most problems. Even when the tech is ancient. Maybe especially then.”

She sets the cube on the table and taps something on the side. A blue glow creeps up the sides. The cube begins to pulse faintly, seeming to draw space in around it. It’s mesmerizing, in an unsettling sort of way.

“...Yeah, I hate that,” says Tina.

Dirk shudders. “Thor, can you…” he says.

Thor places one large hand over the cube, cutting off the hypnotic light. “I shall need a higher vantage point,” he says. “Wait for my signal.” He’s out the door before anyone can say anything else, to possibly everyone’s relief. A second later, there’s a flash of lightning, and a resounding boom of thunder, and everyone jumps as though they’ve been shocked.

“Well!” says Dirk, shaking himself and standing up. “That was… a thing.”

“Wait - that’s it?” says Todd. “We met Thor, and now he’s just… gone?”

“Yes, that’s how he generally operates,” says Dirk over his shoulder. “It’s part of the reason we… well.”

“Part of the reason you what?” says Tina.

“Popcorn, anyone?” says Dirk.

“Popcorn?” says Farah. “Why?”

“Why, for the movie, of course,” says Dirk, then pauses. “Er. I think.”

“No, there was a movie,” says Todd. “Wasn’t there? Something about - um - shit.”

Tina props her legs up on the table. “Hey, Far,” she says, “what’s up with your handwriting today? That whiteboard’s a mess.”

Farah looks at the whiteboard, where a whole square of notes has gotten completely smudged. “...Huh,” she says. “Must’ve slipped.”

“Pizza’s here,” says Lydia from the doorway, where none of them heard a knock.

“Pizza!” exclaims Dirk, and everyone entirely forgets what they were ever worried about.

(And somewhere, deep underground, Loki sighs and logs offline, thwarted again from his latest and nearly successful plan to escape at last.)

#i am SO sorry everyone this came out of nowhere and i haven't proofread it At All and i know i'm like four months behind the bit but #i couldn't NOT write it in fact it wrote itself so. i know i am often like 'this is the stupidest thing i have ever written' but this is #ACTUALLY the stupidest thing i have ever written but it went in directions i Did Not Expect in its short length so i hope u enjoy it too <3 #dghda #dghda fic #dirk gently's holistic detective agency #dirk gently #todd brotzman #lydia spring #farah black #tina tevetino #goncharov #my fic #(also for the record this is Sandman Loki who's underground waiting for ragnarok except instead of getting his liver eaten he's #chilling on tumblr which may be an equal amt of torture idk.)

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