#tw death trap | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bleedingichorhearts · 14 days

Text

𝕾𝖊𝖙 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: What if I combined them all into one, for maximum efficiency? I blame this one, @kit-williams and this one, @barn-anon for this.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, NonCon and Dubcon, Baby Trapping, Drug? Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror, Cannibalism.

Blasius slowly turns his head to the side from his crouched position. His mouth opening for a better scent thread as he sniffs the air heavily and chuffs.

So soon? He shakes his head, rising from his crouched position. Casting a shadow over the broken body below him. Such an eager little mate.

Glancing back down at the mauled body. Blasius brings forth an main appendage between his armor plates and licks the warm crimson staining his gauntlet. Savoring how rotten it tasted. Something he had almost forgotten about. How atrocious some could be, hopeless and decaying.

Something his little mate was not. Unlike this waste of flesh below him, unable to bring his little mate what she wanted. What she craved for. He can see it in her eyes, in her scent. How could this one not?

He was ignorant of course, too witless to acknowledge her effort. Too endorsed in his time running away from the nest and coming back smelling like another. His little mate was distressed when she figured out what he was doing. Yet, she still believed that he had some “good” left in him. Putting more of her dedication to prove that she was the worthy mate, when it was the other way around.

This false male was the unworthy one of breathing in the same air as his little mate. Undeserving of her attention, her love, her gifts and lingering touches of her commission of fidelity. It drove him crazy that she wasn’t paying attention to him as she poured her devotion into this male who uses her as a side trophy.

He wanted to give his little mate all that he had to offer. He wanted to return that love and attention she put on that failure of a human. He wanted to gift her all the things she found an interest in, but never acted upon it. Craving for that male to gift it to her, to acknowledge her. He wanted to provide what the male would not, could not.

It was no secret this man was a disappointment to any female that he encounters. He can hear the difference between the real and the fake moan’s his little mate does when they are coupled together or how his little mate has to take care of herself afterwards. Having yet to climax herself, but the male was also a disappointment by being infertile. Not that his little mate knows of that.

It is one of the reasons she has gotten a toy however, to sedate her ever growing desires. To finally have something to finish her off and at first, he wanted to rip the toy to shreds. Watch it decay beneath his fingertips, but he stops mid-way of finding the silicone c*ck in her closet. Realizing this singular tool has had a lot more to it than just for making his little mate climax on it.

So, he puts it back in its place where he found it. Leaving it to his little mates next use.

Blasius hums deeply as the appendix of the open body below him bursts, a quiet wheeze coming out of the mouth of the body as it splatters against his greaves. A mix of puss and blood inching down his armor to his sabatons. Another appendage coming out between his plating near his knee to clean up the mess the weak, organic body had made.

He uses another main appendage to reach inside the cut opening in the males body, pushing underneath his sternum and ribs, providing wet sounds and a squelch each time the appendage slips underneath another rib. Reaching the top of the body’s rib cage, he digs the appendage downwards between the lungs and wraps around the windpipe and tugs. A sickening squelch-like pop sounding out.

Pulling his appendage back to him. He wraps the rest of his appendage around the organ and lifts it up to his face, observing it. Sniffing it before he rumbles lowly in refusal. Whipping the rotten lung away with his appendage. Hearing it splat somewhere else.

That was not something he would preferably eat. Healthy organs are the better route of eating, they taste better. Saccharine even. They envelop the tongue like thick wine. Not that he found eating humans was a satisfactory, just a tasteful treat. He found far better sweets in this world to sedate his hunger than he would in his own world, but that rotted lung wouldn't give him the treat he was looking for.

Perhaps, his liver would work better? They were always far cleaner than the rest of the body’s he’s taken a snack on before. Maybe a little bitter with their alcohol consumption, but that doesn't deter him, he’s had worse before. If anything, that marinates more flavor into the organ.

Sliding his appendage between the body’s ribs and organs again. Wet sounds followed while he wraps his appendage around the liver twice. Pushing the other organs aside and over the opening of his torso and stomach. Feeling how the male's organs still pulsed with life. His dull eyes still staring up at his figure. A mule this one was.

With a particularly harsh tug, the body’s liver popped out with a sickening crack of his rips flying apart. His sternum breaking in half as bone shards littered inside and outside of the blood spewing body. The dirt drinking up the body’s lifeline like desert sands would do to water.

Blasius purrs quietly, approving of this body’s liver as he sniffs it. His mouth opening to wrap his tongue around the organ and lay it in his mouth before squeezing it with his tongue. Feeling it pop in his mouth and splatter before he chews, savoring the taste and the memory’s it came with it.

At least, the memories with his little mate in them. Ranging from how sweet his little mate was and how remarkable she was. Offering her food, her home to this male. Never blowing up on him when she clearly wanted to. Some of the many things that he hates the male for, but that was not a matter anymore.

Nurgle, and the intercourses with her. He knows he could have done way better than this male, but to envision her nude and submissive before him? His appendages began to salivate, including his mouth.

The things he would love to do to her.

Her scent wafts over him as he swallows hard. Shivering as his appendages become eager, desiring, and aching. Pushing up against his armor almost painfully. Telling him he wasn’t actually envisioning her scent of her arousal at all. This was real.

He takes a step away from the mutated body, not looking back as his appendages inside of him twitch in anticipation. Those wild packs of wolves that roam around here should eat the rest of the body up like nothing by tomorrow's dusk. Leaving absolutely no trace of him to be found.

Blasius uses his appendages to clean the rest of his armor off to temporarily relieve their eagerness to come out while he slowly follows his little mates arousal back to her nest. He knows has some time to get there before she climaxes and he must be presentable to his little mate after all. He knows how… unnerving he could look.

He hears her soft moans before he even enters into the nest. His senses heightened to seek her out through her strong arousal that begged him to fill his little mate as he inhales deeply, leaning down through the front door.

Nurgle, he is here little mate. He is here to provide. Let him provide for you.

He hears her cry out in ecstasy and that makes him move a bit faster through the house. Holding his breath as he moves swiftly between furniture. Quickly, opening the door and lean down through it to his little mates nesting spot.

The first thing he sees is her riding the false c*ck up and down into her core at a fast pace. Her skin glistening with sweat at all the effort to make herself climax. Her heated breaths staining her own skin as she moans out again, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.

He rumbles quietly and takes side steps into the grounds of his little mates nest. Watching as she chased that high. Kneeling down to the ground in front of her bed. Observing how her folds fluttered around the c*ck. Her muscles constricting around it as she cried out. Her juices leaking down the c*ck.

Yet, she doesn’t turn on the toy? Isn’t that what it was for? To fill her up her womb? Isn’t that what she wanted?

So, he turns on the toy instead, a gasp escaping his little mate as the toy pumps his c*m into her. Selection by selection, until there was nothing left in the toy.

Unfortunate, no worries. He has more to provide.

She makes a move to get up from the false c*ck, but he growls. His appendages coming out, spooking his little mate as he takes her by the hip and pushes her back down on the fake c*ck. Watching as she squirms on it, his c*m leaking around the edges from her hole and down the false c*ck.

He didn’t get drug from that questionable Ultramarine for no reason.

She whines at him, and as much as he would love to hear her cry out to him. He sticks an enthusiastic appendage down her throat. Silencing her cry’s as he shoves moves her shifting hips back down onto the false c*ck again.

Shhh, little mate. Let me take care of you. Your… partner won’t be around anytime soon to please your needs like I will. To caress your skin like I will. To protect you like I will. To provide to you like I will.

To have yours and mine procreation.

66 notes · View notes

zu-is-here · 1 year

Text

TRAPPED [ Sans ]

Previous • Masterpost • Next

779 notes · View notes

sweeneydino · 7 months

Text

AU idea for you to build upon and chew. Credit to @cupidsynth for helping me with A LOT of this

I don't have a name for this. Does anyone have a good name idea?

Edit: The Name is now "Transporters don't act like they do in Space Heroes Leo!", courtesy of anon ;) (TSHL)

Basically, what if when characters from other universe's are transported to rise and the rise universe changes them to fit in the world.

They all start out weak(the new villains and the new turtles) as they change, morphing into what the rottmnt universe desires. They must get used to their new forms and what comes with it(Turtles must work on ninpo and their bodies morphing to what it sees fit. The villains must get used to the impulses their new bodies bring, i.e., the Kraang become cannibalistic and aim to destroy the weak, destroying themselves from the inside, and the Shredder soon became consumed with the desire for more power and the souls of the innocent like his incarnation in the rise universe.)

The rise turtles will be there to support the other turtles and the Shredder and kraang... well, the Shredder might have to trick a cult like foot clan, and the kraang would not have a fun time at all (I'm just saying)

The triceratons are dead. (Probably lol)

Somehow, this turned from a silly idea to body horror, psychological torture, angst, cannibalism(i just think the rottmnt krang would be cannibalistic) and finding yourself through a lot of trauma. Don't worry, I'm sure you could slip in family fluff, humor, and comfort in there.

This whole AU idea is just the Rise Universe saying, "lol, you're too puny to be here, have some steroids."

And then they all turn into monsters.

Live rottmnt Triceraton sketch by me. Everything else is from the shows, obvs. Don't look up triceratons btw.

Happy October :D

Edit: Forgot to add, but it works in reverse as well. So while the villains may be powerful in the rise universe, they'll be their original self in their own(if their not dead).

Just some silly ideas, no biggie

156 notes · View notes

bloody-shadow666 · 10 months

Text

So the Navy has confirmed that the Titan imploded on Sunday when the vessel lost communication- that's why it lost communication. It imploded when it did because that's about the deepest that sub was actually built to go. They did not freeze. They did not suffocate. They probably didn't even know anything was wrong. A sub implosion is over in mere milliseconds. If you're worried about them suffering, about them being scared, you don't have to, because they didn't and it was quick. The Coast Guard opted to continue the search as long as they did because at the time the sounds the Navy found weren't definitive, but since the wreckage was found this morning, the timeline fits.

#death tw #oceangate #titan submersible #I'm sad for the kid that didn't even want to go #I do not grieve for the man who knowingly made that death trap #They KNEW it couldn't go down that far and sent it out anyway #I'm ANGRY about it #Im glad it was quick but i wish theyd been found so that stockton rush could live with the horror of what he created

192 notes · View notes

bunnakit · 4 months

Text

BEFORE / AFTER COLORING 🌸

thank you so much for the tag @maxescheibechlinichacheli !! i've only been making gifs since september but seeing the before and after coloring is one of my absolute favorite things.

PHAYA & THARN | THE SIGN 🌸 i absolutely love the pink tones in this scene and tried to boost them as much as possible (though for whatever reason it doesn't look quite as nice as the first time i made a set of this scene)

CHEN YI & AI DI | KISEKI: DEAR TO ME 🌸 the purple and orange lighting of chen yi's room is always fun to color and i love the way it creates this almost neon effect on ai di's hair

THARN | THE SIGN 🌸 it took all my willpower not to just keep using scenes from the sign. i wanted to use the garuda scene but set myself a personal challenge not to, and the glow effects in this scene were too much to resist

PISAENG & KAWI | BE MY FAVORITE 🌸 my babies. i miss them so much. i love the pink tones in the background of this scene and the way it makes this loving moment so soft.

JIM & WEN | MOONLIGHT CHICKEN 🌸 we all know im a slut for p'aof. the lighting in moonlight chicken plays such a huge part in setting the mood of the show and this is one of the best scenes to showcase that imo.

PISAENG | BE MY FAVORITE 🌸 debated using this bc of the flashing lights but i love pisaeng and i love that he's awash in all the colors of the rainbow as he struggles with his own identity while watching a gay couple live his dream.

JANG JAEYOUNG | SEMANTIC ERROR 🌸 give. him. the. lip. ring. back. i really just wanted to make a gif for semantic error and originally tried with the alley scene and all the neon but it's such a static scene it didn't work too well, so i went to find some lip ring jaeyoung because we were robbed.

TAN & BUNN | MANNER OF DEATH 🌸 my loves. i wanted to use a scene where i had to do quite a bit of color correction - i used a very minor amount in the moonlight chicken gif but this is such a dark, blue toned scene (as so many scenes in MoD are) so i thought it would showcase it a lot better.

TIN & TOL | TRIAGE 🌸 this is a much more subtle one but i figured it was good to show the whole spectrum. this scene is so soft and comforting, i absolutely love it and there aren't enough triage gifs in the world.

TANG YI | HISTORY 3: TRAPPED 🌸 this made me insane. this gentle, worshipping kiss lives in my head rent free. i just wanted to look at it again, to be honest, and they have such beautiful skin tones. i think the vast majority of my gif making friends have been tagged but in case you havent here's some no pressure tags (i know quite a few of you are dealing with some shit irl) @sparklyeyedhimbo @kinnbig @aikinn @panncakes

65 notes · View notes

dragonsareawesome123 · 10 months

Text

Nobody:

Absolutely nobody:

Main couples in Asian romance thrillers: *One of them shoots the other*

109 notes · View notes

rowiewritesstuff · 1 year

Note

YAN EARTHSPARK SPIDER?!?!?? PLES

Yandere TFE Tarantulas- The Possessive/Manipulative Yandere

Normally, this bot had a general distaste for humans. Most of them weren’t to be trusted. When he had first started his work at the cemetery he was sure that no humans would go to such a dreary place.

One day when he was returning with some materials, you were there. You had a small kit with you- a brush, a spray bottle, a bag, and some cloth. Gloves adorned your hands as you gently scrubbed at the tombstones.

He soon realized that you were cleaning the tombstones. Quietly, he went back into his lab. He hoped that you would go away, lest he have to take more serious measures. After a while, you left.

A week later, you returned. This time, you were cleaning the grave in which he made his lab. He was so focused on his work that he failed to see you enter.

“Ah, hello there. Is this your home? I’m sorry to bother you,” your gentle voice sounded. He quickly turned around. You had a blank look on your face as you looked at the spider bot.

He quickly stuck you to the ground with his webbing and skittered over towards you. “You will pay for entering my lab, human.”

“Ah. Okay,” you shrugged, leaving him stumped. All he could do was stare at you as you looked around his lab. A light sparkle shone in your eyes. “What are you working on?”

Tarantulas squinted at you. He was going through all of the consequences of telling you in his processor, before you spoke again. “Oh- are you working on some kind of projection? No- this is more advanced than that. Hmmm.”

His mandibles clicked lightly in shock. So you had some semblance of intelligence, unlike most humans. “It is a holomatter avatar. I haven’t been able to perfect it yet.”

“Ah. Sorry, I’d help if I could. As much as I like looking at science, I’m not too good at it.”

Tarantulas made a spur of the moment choice and cut you free of your webbed prison. You quickly moved over to the tech that he’d built, looking on with fascination.

Slowly but surely, you became his assistant. You knew some basics enough about tools and such that you could help him with minor things. He taught you as you helped him, too. You slowly became more knowledgeable to the point where you could make some suggestions to him.

Eventually, a few months had passed. His lab had grown, and so had his compassion for you. You were an intellectual like him- you could be made into a scientist like him.

You would stay longer and longer at his lab. Sometimes you’d be there for days on end, working away. Tarantulas had gotten you a bed for you to sleep on so that you wouldn’t have to leave as often.

Every time you would have to leave for food or work, he got frustrated. He wished you could stay here all the time- which gave him an idea.

“You don’t have to work, you know. You could live here, and I could provide you with anything you might need. I could get you all the money you’ll need, and anything you want.”

You looked up at him with sadness. You knew he was lonely when you weren’t there. “I’m sorry… but I have to work. I like to work. I love helping the animals.”

He scoffed at you, “Don’t you like to help me? Am I not enough?”

You frowned at him. “I don’t mean it like that. I just… I like my job. I don’t know where you’d get the money from, either. Stealing is wrong, you know.”

“It’s from G.H.O.S.T., so it shouldn’t matter. They’re a horrible organization. Stay here, with me! Every time you go out, it’s a bigger risk that I may be caught by them. Staying with me is safer.”

Even being a little emotionally stunted, you knew something was off with what he was saying. “Tarantulas, maybe I shouldn’t come by as often as I do, then. I have been falling behind on paperwork at my job. I’ll see you later.”

As you turned to leave, he jumped in front of you. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you really think I’d allow you to leave just like that? After everything I’ve done for you? I’ve taken care of you- I’ve given you a place to sleep, taken care of that rotten boss for you. You’re being selfish.”

Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Your boss? The one that had gone missing a month ago? “Tarantulas… you didn’t…”

“Oh. I did. You see, my dear, I’d do anything for you. Only I know what’s good for you. You’re a little lost right now- but such is the nature of a human. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you in the right direction. It’s my job as your teacher.”

You began to back up. There was a back entrance to this grave that you knew about. As soon as you moved to get away, your feet stuck to the ground. You collapsed to the ground with a grunt. Tarantulas had pinned you to the ground with his webbing. You reached for your pocket where your utility knife was held. Before you could reach it, another web pinned your entire upper body to the ground.

You looked up in fear as Tarantulas loomed over you. “Tarantulas! Let me go! You’re being…being… a monster!”

His mandibles clicked in anger and he webbed your mouth shut. He picked up your webbed form and wrapped you tightly in more web so that only your head peeked out. He placed you on the bed not-so-gently.

“Someday, you’ll see this is for your own good. Now, I’ll release you when I get back from my food run- since you clearly can’t be trusted to go by yourself.” Tarantulas stood at the exit before turning back to you, “If you somehow manage to escape, just know that I’ll pay those precious little animals a visit for you.”

Tarantulas then left the room, shutting the heavy rock door behind him.

105 notes · View notes

starpirateee · 16 days

Note

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

Warning a bit dark and angsty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"... Huh."

"What is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your name, for a start."

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded carefully and noted that down.

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

"What does the voice sound like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Power.

Darkness.

Betrayal.

Chosen.

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

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

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

"Teddy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where?"

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

"... Bad dream."

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

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

"Huh?"

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

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

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

"Of course I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

C-8.

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

Do not enter. Experiment conditions extremely unstable.

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

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

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

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

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

"SpanKOFFSKI!"

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

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

"Oh my fucking god-"

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

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

C-8. Temporal manipulation.

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

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

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

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

Betrayal.

Betrayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10 notes · View notes

one-time-i-dreamt · 3 months

Text

There was a Star Wars movie in the style of Escape Room where a secret society kept playing each other in deadly traps that eventually ended with the final assassin manipulating Anakin subtly to fall to the dark side.

#dream #star wars #movie #film #escape room #deadly trap #horror #nightmare #death tw #assassin #anakin #anakin skywalker

157 notes · View notes

and-stir-the-stars · 11 months

Text

@dire-kumori has an au where Scooped Mike gets time-travelled to before CC and Liz's deaths, and he's filled with such blind rage and self-loathing upon seeing his younger self that he kills young Mike over and over again in a time loop that young Mike barely even understands. Guess who wrote a one-shot for it? (I'm also tagging @serenefig and @cloudwhisper23 bc I feel like you'll be interested in reading)

word count: 3,715

“Have fun with your friends’, brats. Don’t even think about coming back until morning unless you want to spend the night outside, ‘cause I won’t bother unlocking the doors for you.”

Cold lines of metal pressed grooves into Mike’s back as he leaned against the front door threshold and waved his siblings goodbye. His voice resounded in sharp echoes across the tree line; he spoke a bit too loud considering that his little siblings were only a few feet away, but then again, that was the point.

You never knew what things were lurking in the shadows, listening and lying in wait for the moment they could get you alone. Sometimes, however, you could use that to your advantage.

Michael’s gaze roved over the tree line as his siblings turned their backs on him and walked down the driveway. The trees surrounded their entire house in a near-perfect circle; shadows crept beneath the trees’ gnarled, grasping finger-like branches. As the sun slumped further down in the sky, the shadows drew steadily closer and closer to the house like a tidal wave of darkness begging to be held back no longer.

The eldest Afton’s jaw clenched as he dug his teeth into his gum with even more ferocity. Slowly, he pulled his Foxy mask from the top of his head to cover his face.

He didn’t have to be afraid with the wicked smile and sharp teeth covering his face. It was an assurance that Michael could be strong and brave even when– no, especially when he was all on his own, just like the pirate fox he felt so much for.

If a monster wanted to chase him down, then so be it. But as long as Mike had his mask on, the monster wasn't the only dangerous thing around.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Electricity shot through every nerve ending in Michael’s body. The jolt of adrenaline made every hair stand on end, and heat roared through his veins like wildfire as Mike crouched behind the garage wall with his fingers white-knuckled and half-numb against the cool metal of his bright red bat.

Each breath passed his lips at a crawl. Everything around him seemed to blur and fade to gray as Mike focused his entire being on the harsh slam of rubber soles coming closer and closer.

A million ghostly aches, sharp and dull and stabbing and pressing aches of a million undeaths, all sparked to life with increasing intensity as the monster drew closer and closer, but Mike pushed away the memories of aches and pains assaulting his limbs.

He only needed to get one good shot in.

He smelled the bastard long before it got close. It was something like the curdled cup of milk that Mike had found in his room last week, the maggot-infested animal carcasses he and his friends would poke at when they found them on the side of the road, the stank of rotten eggs– all those putrid smells and more clinging to the bastard's skin in an eye-watering stench that made Michael’s stomach churn and his throat burn on principle.

Mike's heart hammered in his chest, almost to the same beat as the footfalls chasing him.

There was a flurry of movement as the sicko ran past Mike where he was crouched out of sight behind the wall.

The reaper's footfalls quickly slowed as though somehow aware that it had been duped, but Mike was already moving.

The decaying monster didn't even have time to turn around before Mike jumped forward and slammed his bat into the back of its head.

His years' worth of practice hitting baseballs did nothing to prepare him for the vibrations that rocketed painfully through his arms and shoulders and all the way down his back, nor for the sickening crack of a human skull shattering under his hands.

The monster went down, but Mike could only stand there even as a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to run. Vomit burned his throat at the curdled blood and the dark red and purple slimy skin that clung to the metal of his bat before it fell to the ground with a wet plop beside the monster. Thick droplets of the creature’s ice-cold blood dribbled down Michael’s face and smeared against the teen’s lips as he stood there in shock.

Boney claws wrapped around Mike’s ankle. The sharp pain of bone digging underneath his skin jerked Michael’s mind back to awareness, and he brought his bat down on the thing's wrist just before it had time to yank him to the ground.

The fingers didn't let him go even after the impact of Mike’s bat ground the compact bones along the creature’s wrist into fine dust held together only by moldy stretches of tendon and skin.

Michael brought the bat down on the thing's arm again and again and again before its other hand finally snaked around and grabbed hold of the slippery dark red metal.

Michael yanked the bat closer, cursing himself for giving the reaper a chance to rip his weapon away. But the reaper didn’t; instead, it used the momentum of Michael’s action against him.

Mike's vision went red with pain as the handle of his bat flew back at him and slammed into his lips with enough force that Mike heard his plastic mask crack on his face.

Except Michael realized a split second later that it wasn’t just his mask that had cracked. Something sharp and coppery exploded in Mike's mouth and the teen choked on shards of his own teeth as the fractured remnants slid down the back of his throat.

The thing's fingers were still locked around his ankle, and the moldy strands of tendon and skin keeping its bony purple hand attached to the rest of the monster's body snapped apart as Michael stumbled backward with tears in his eyes and dark red blood dribbling down his chin. He was too stunned by pain to react even as the monster peeled itself off the ground with one arm; its other, handless appendage hung limply against its side in a mess of unnatural angles kept together only by thin layers of rotting skin.

Its neck snapped down to look at its obliterated arm, but somehow, the creature looked almost bored as its empty eye sockets focused on the mangled stretch of flesh and shattered bone attached to it. The monster’s remaining fingers latched around its broken arm before ripping the twisted limb from its shoulder with enough force that its entire body jerked at the motion.

The shattered lower part of the arm flopped to the ground in a pile of putrid skin, and the reaper's head snapped back up and its empty eyes focused directly on Michael with its fingers still grasping the remains of its upper arm.

"You're going to regret that,” it whispered in the grinding croak reminiscent of a bag of gravel and forks shoved down a garbage disposal.

"M-Make me."

Michael had wanted to sound stubborn and strong, but the words cracked in the air and passed his lips in nothing but a whimpering stammer as he tried not to gurgle on his own blood.

He should have ran the second he had gotten a hit in on this– this stupid son of a bitch. Things were– Everything was already going so wrong.

The creature lurched at him. Michael didn't have time to run or stumble away; he barely had time to raise his bat.

The reaper still had the upper part of its broken arm in hand, but Michael didn't notice the sharp end of broken bone protruding from the severed arm until the jagged point had already buried itself inside Mike’s shoulder.

Two pinpoints of light sparked to life in the monster’s eyes, and its gaping black eyes looked directly at him as Michael screamed.

The reaper ripped its broken arm out of Michael’s shoulder and aimed for the teen's heart.

Michael just managed to ram the end of his bat into the reaper's neck at the last second.

It was a weak blow. The monster’s close proximity didn’t give the teen enough room to maneuver the long bat and Mike's arms and wobbly legs trembled dangerously, worsening his ability to strike. But by some miracle, it was enough to make the monster stumble a few steps back, though it grabbed onto the teen's bat and ripped it from his hands as it stumbled.

Michael didn’t fight to get the bat back. He turned on his heel and ran.

The teen’s hands clawed at his own shoulder as the monster’s footfalls echoed behind him once more.

Tears stung Michael’s eyes as he remembered that bloody, grimy, disgusting bone piercing into him. God only knew what kind of germs that thing had put into his system– what if the wound got infected?

Not that an infected wound would matter if Mike didn’t keep himself alive and out of the creature’s way.

Michael forced the pain and panicked delirium away. He had to focus; this was the important part.

The reaper was just behind him, following at a pace closer to a walk than a run.

Somehow, that was so, so much worse. The monster didn't have to run to keep up with him, and it knew it. It would always catch him in the end, like a hunter casually strolling after the blood trail of a wounded deer. The creature would never tire nor stop chasing him, and it was just a matter of time before Mike got too tired to go on running from it.

‘No. No, no, no– not this time.’

The monster’s slower pace did make this more difficult, though. Michael couldn't move too fast. He needed to always be just out of the creature's reach, or he would risk the monster getting distracted or frustrated and trying to cut him off by going a different route.

This would have a way better chance of success if Mike could keep the monster right where he wanted it.

Michael dashed into the house from the garage and raced up and down hallways and from room to room. As he ran, he ducked and jumped periodically to avoid tripe wires, avoided stepping on any rugs, and danced around jagged pieces of metal and nails and blades that had been embedded into the hardwood floor.

He really couldn’t afford to mess up this part. Any wrong moves or missteps would have to be avoided at all costs. But with any luck, the monster hunting him wouldn’t be so careful.

As he raced up the steps, he made sure to skip the fifth step down. But as he reached the top, it slowly dawned on him that things had been unusually quiet. As far as Mike was aware, the monster never seemed to react much to pain, but there was a distinct lack of surprised grunts or infuriated yells, or whirring gears and mechanical parts snapping as traps were set off.

Chest heaving as he panted, Michael turned and looked down.

The reaper was standing right there at the bottom of the steps. It looked exactly the same as it had when Michael had fought it in the garage, like it hadn’t set off a single trap during the chaotic chase.

Its head was tilted back, staring at the kitchen knives and heavy hooks used to hang endoskeletons that Michael had stolen and hung from the ceiling over the steps. They were hung high enough that Mike could race up and down with no problem, but the taller monster should have gotten a nasty surprise as it came after him with that single-minded focus it always seemed to have.

Instead, the monster looked up at the trap with an annoyed expression before meeting Michael’s eye.

Keeping its head ducked low, the reaper placed its foot on the first step.

Michael’s heart leaped into his throat and he stumbled down the hallway, struggling to breathe properly through all the panting and the blood still flooding his mouth and throat.

How was that thing still walking?! Mike had set death traps up in every inch of this house; it just wasn’t possible that the reaper could have stumbled through the house without setting a single one off!

The thing on the steps was still way, way too quiet. Had it seen him skip the fifth step down?

Mike turned for a split second to see if the reaper had gotten to the top steps yet.

A sharp pain sliced through Michael’s throat.

That single second of distraction had been enough time to throw several hours of analyzing the layout of every trap he'd set up in this house out the window.

The sharp feeling wrapped around his entire throat as his own momentum forced him further into the trap. The wire tightened, and suddenly Mike’s feet left the floor entirely and he slammed against the ugly red wallpaper.

Hurricane was a small town. One where there wasn't much to do, especially when your father worked at the most interesting place in town and you had to spend nearly every day there for hours on end.

Michael and his friends had explored every nook and cranny and forgotten place there was to find in the town. Including the abandoned railroad tracks in the surrounding woods.

Those tracks were so old that the rusty spikes meant to hold them together could often be found lying on the ground around the tracks, ripe for the taking; even the ones still riveted inside the old tracks could mostly be removed with some determination, and the sharp, rusty, six-and-a-half inch long spikes were attractive prizes to a group of rowdy teens with nothing better to do.

Michael had stored a lot of them away in his closet over time.

Sticking the rivets through a slab of plywood and nailing the plywood plank into the wall upstairs with the sharp ends facing outward had been a lot of effort, just like a lot of the traps he had spent the entire day building, but Michael had deemed it a worthwhile venture because he had been certain those spikes would be able to do some damage.

And Michael had been right.

Michael had put six or seven of those spikes through the plywood, but when Mike slammed into the wall, he only felt one big blast of pain set his back on fire. He didn't even have time to scream before a gush of blood and vomit slid through his throat, staining his shattered teeth and turning his inhuman screech into a quiet gurgle.

The wire stayed wrapped around Mike's throat and cut deeper as his feet–- suspended by the railroad spikes and wire too high for the teen to reach the ground– thrashed wildly in the air.

Michael’s vision went black as the thrashing jostled the spikes, widening the holes in his back and sending the sharp, rusted rivets deeper into his flesh until some of them scraped against his ribcage.

Gasping, Michael sucked in one shaky breath after another and tried to ignore the desperate need to claw himself upward. His throat and lungs were filling with liquid, but he wasn't drowning in water. There was no surface he could rise above to make it all stop.

What a strange sensation it was to drown in your own hallway without a drop of water in sight.

Bloody fingers clawed at the wire around his throat, but he couldn't pull it away any more than he could clear his airway.

Salty tears leaked down Michael’s face in a futile attempt to clear away the blood still staining his chin. Between one blink and the next, the red wallpaper and family picture frames in front of the teen were replaced by two hollow black eyes and putrid purple flesh flecked with varying shades of green mold that peeked out of the crusty white bandages holding its splitting skin together

The monster cocked its head at him, and Michael finally got a good view of the damage he had dealt it earlier. The side of its head had caved in like deflated basketball or a sandcastle under an oncoming tide, and yellowish-white shards of bone jutted out from the jelly-like mixture of blood and decaying muscle dripping from the cracks in its head.

The white pinpoints of its eyes flashed up and down him curiously, watching the blood flow down Michael’s body and drip into an ever-widening pool under his feet. The thing's lips had long ago rotted away, but Michael realized as raspy, cracked laughter spilled between the thing's dried-out, wrinkled gums and bared yellow teeth that the monster was smiling at him.

"You bastard!" More blood dribbled down Michael’s chin and gurgled inside his throat. Mike tried to spit it all out like this was nothing more than his morning mouthwash routine. "You bastard!"

Floorboards moaned under the reaper's feet as it took another step closer. Michael flinched as it did so, and immediately bit back a cry at the white-hot pain of spikes shifting inside his back and scraping against bone and organs.

"That looks like it hurts," the reaper rasped.

Michael’s tears stung as they leaked into cuts on his face from his earlier fight with the monster. He had felt hot and sweaty before from all the running and fighting, but now his fingers were iceblocks against his neck as he struggled with the wire digging into his flesh. A frighteningly cold, bone-deep chill cut into Michael's form, and the child trembled as he struggled to breathe through the blood and the pain.

He couldn't run. Couldn't fight. The monster– the reaper– was going to kill him now.

At least the pain will stop, a voice whispered in the teen's head.

A quiet sob shook the young teen's core. He needed the pain to stop so fucking much, but he didn't want the pain to stop– he wanted to live.

But if he was going to die, at least it would be on his own terms.

"Go ahead," Michael growled. "Jus– Just g-get it over with."

The creature cocked its head at him again, like it had been too distracted watching the blood seeping from Michael's form to bother listening to what he had said.

"Just d-do it!" Michael sobbed. "K-kill me, you– you wrinkly, p-puss-filled ball-sack! Come on! Just– just– get i-it over with and kill me!"

The reaper took another step closer. "No."

Blood-shot eyes locked onto the reaper's gaping eye sockets. "Why?!"

Wasn't that the point?! Wasn't that what this– thing– had set out to do, over and over and over?!

The reaper's hand settled on Michael’s chest. Mike didn't have the energy left to flinch or be wary. He only met the reaper's eye in pained exhaustion.

But then the reaper pushed.

Michael screamed as his prized railroad spikes dug deeper into him until his bloody back was finally pressed flush against the wall.

One of the railroad spikes went all the way through Michael’s chest and stabbed into the reaper's palm, but the monster didn't seem to notice. It ripped its hand away before latching onto one of Michael’s wrists as the teen frantically tried pulling the reaper's arm away from him.

"You want to know why?" Its voice whipped against the air in a wild hiss.

The dull hallway light gleamed off the dark red liquid coating Michael’s skin as the reaper shoved the teen's blood-stained hand in front of his face before it snarled at him. "Because no matter how many ways you try to run or fight it, you will always bring this hell down on yourself with your own hands. You did this, Michael."

'You're insane,' the teen wanted to say, but there was too much blood in Mike's throat for him to talk, or even to breathe. He tried shaking his head at the thing, but the wire was starting to cut frighteningly deep inside his throat. Michael could only stare at the monster in front of him with wide-eyed horror and beg for it to just end this, like the bastard was supposed to do when it caught him.

The reaper released Michael’s wrist, and the teen's arm fell limply down to his side.

He should do something; he should fight. But his energy had been draining away with every second he spent hanging on his own death trap, and there was so little left inside him.

He couldn't even lean away as the reaper lifted its only hand, moved its fingers around the edge of his mask, and traced the curve of his head with an almost gentle touch.

The reaper's broken fingers paused on a string looping behind the teen's head. It latched onto the string and pulled, ripping the Foxy mask off of Michael’s head.

The reaper's teeth ground together as it glared down at the bloody mask before letting the plastic slip from between rotten fingers and fall to the bloody floor with a wet and heavy thunk. And without hesitation, the reaper slammed its foot down on the only thing that had ever made Michael feel strong.

Hearing the sharp crack of plastic as the monster decimated the mask and shattered Foxy's maw into pieces wrenched a hopeless sob out of the teenager's chest.

The reaper stayed still. It didn't move further away, nor did it move any closer.

It only watched as Michael struggled to free himself from the trap one last time before finally giving up.

Michael struggled to gulp down another shaky breath through his sobbing but was rewarded only with more blood in his lungs and pain searing every nerve ending until even the most minuscule movements lit every cell and nerve in his body on fire.

Through it all, the reaper stood back and watched with a smile.

Not wanting to see the monster's smug, rotten face or the blood staining his own body anymore, Michael could do nothing but close his eyes and wait for the moment when the last drop of blood would drip from his body and all the pain would finally end.

(Michael had the sinking feeling that death wouldn’t be that easy of an escape.)

#tw violence #tw blood #tw injury #tw child death #tw death #tw corpse #tw body horror #tw torture #anyway did you enjoy the parallels to the Bite of '83?#and the slight parallels to pizza sim?#and the motif of mike's foxy mask making mike feel brave and like he has a chance until the reaper rips #it from his face so mike can die ''like the coward he is'' (in reaper's mind)?#ik the theme of this au is the *reaper* killing mike but i really liked the idea of #mike setting off one of his own traps and r. mike leaving him to slowly die.#because he doesn't just want mike dead. he wants him to SUFFER. and it's poetic is it not?#mike bringing about (his own) death in more ways than one. you can't escape what you are.#also ''you wrinkly puss-filled ball-sack'' ajdfajksdfhsjfks michael you think you're SO FUNNY don't you #i haven't actually written a teenage mike who isn't subdued and traumatized by the Bite before #it was fun!#10/10 would do again. young mike is so stupid and arrogant. an absolute delight to write.#paradoxical reaper wip #paradoxical reaper au #michael afton #mike afton #scooped mike #foxy mask brother #foxy mask #kats scribbles

48 notes · View notes