#suffocation tw

[bloodmoonlich]

Chappell Roan for W Magazine (April 2025)

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I had to run from something, but I was really slow. My blanket began to grow and spill across the floor like water, and then it consumed me, and I suffocated to death under it.

[crackwashing]

How Jimmy actually died

Jimmy had a concussion and dreamed up the whole Mouthwashing story. Curly wanted to be a good friend and lend his friend a soft spot to lean on (his boobs). But his boobs were so big Jimmy was completely engulfed and suffocated

[mercysought]

In ancient elvhennan, a nameless priestess of Falon'din is lead to elgar'nan's temple during a diplomatic visit - the goal is to be within those of lower rank and gather any and all information about how the enlightened army fights. this drabble takes ideas from concepts of the Evanuris virtues from Joly (@theshirallen) and Tas (@theharellan), that is their original concept as far as I know and I take no ownership from it. this was also very inspired by a spider in the roses by joly!

   "Don't make yourself too appetizing."

Longing was beautiful. Beautiful in the way that the heart grew warmer at the thought of a loved one that one could not hold any longer. Fuzzy, distant, but warm all the same, a light to follow. Her hair was cut at her shoulders, a light grey that shimmered with light itself - the shades turning and shifting with each movement. The nameless priestess, walking ahead of the small entourage as they entered Elgar'nan's grounds, looks up to her for the first time.

She wants to play stupid, but the thought that she would inflict that on Longing soothes the sharpness of her tongue, the anxiety in her mind.

   "Yes, my Lady." she says, simply, leveled. Dark eyes behind a faceless, featureless helmet falling once more to the ground.

   "You are a valuable piece of this board." she continues, brushing past her words and assurances. She doesn't look to her and she cannot make her features. Beside her, Ambition moves silently. Longing sighs, exaggeratedly, her hands folding over her the front of her body, disappearing in the lavish purple silk of her sleeves, into the dark emerald, almost black fabric. Her eyes finally fall on the nameless woman and she feels them burning, and so she refuses to lift her dark eyes "And if you die now, we will be poorer for it."

You will have failed. The words are clearer when put that way. She knows. She glances up to Ambition who watches her closely, though loses interest quickly as his voice rises to a whisper.

   "She will be fine, Longing." he says, tone unaffected, distant himself. His robes are plain, starkly plain in comparison to Longing's. Almost close to the ones of the newest recruits that accompanied them. Made to fit him exactly, comfortable "She is less than nothing to most of them." he adds, giving a small hint of a smile that stokes the anxiety in her chest further - though tending into something else: nervousness, the good kind "If anyone can do this, it's her."

  

  

   "Longing. Ambition." the man that receives them at the opening of the temple could never hope to match the splendor that Longing and Ambition carried with them. And so, the nameless woman does not bother.

Instead her eyes travel across from him from behind the darknened helmet. She counts the number of priests, weapons. Exits and windows. She counts how many seemed to be combatants - given it was Elgar'nan's temple she would presume that even the lowest of archivist would have been given training and been told to defend the temple if it were needed.

It would not be needed. Not today.

   "It is always a pleasure to have you visit in Enlightened Halls." he says and the tone is flat, though it does not threaten to throw Longing's smile into imbalance.

Some of them were not Elgar'nan's. She could see some wearing Mythal's robes. They did not seem combatants, but they didn't seem to be lower ranked people. They would not be, given that they were left unattended.

   "You are too kind. Also, we come with a fun activity for your temple." her hand waves towards the nameless woman and the figures that stand behind her. She can hear some shuddering, her body remains as it had been - her head lowered, shoulders straightened, eyes now locked on the man in front of her.

He looked as unimpressed to her as she looked upon him from the safety of her helmet.

   "These are some of the newer recruits, resilient little ones."

With a movement of her hand she motions for them to stand in a line, and so the priestess does, along side the shuffling of other's tired feet. She mirrors them, hearing the clinking of armour, the coldness of the stone beneath her bare feet. Odd. How the stone was meant to reflect the artificial sunlight that poured from above, meant to simulate the heat and yet all she felt beneath scarred and bruised feet was cold.

   "I know how much the Enlightened army loves to have a live target." she hears Longing continue, no longer looking at them "Ah, the only thing I would ask..." her hand raises, as if hesitant "Is that they are returned to me alive, I grow attached too easily and, alas, I have already seen their faces, you understand?"

She smiles sweetly, so sweet it might have been saccharine when compared to the sour expression from the receiving Elgar'nan's priest.

   "You tither ever so close to calling us mindless mongrels, Longing." his teeth grind, tongue clicking. The nameless woman's eyes return once more to them, leveling her breathing. There was a lot of lip on that man for someone that dared speak to one of the Virtues like that "We would not kill your entourage for our own enjoyment, obviously."

   "Oh, I would never suggest such a thing."

   "Longing is sensitive and easily overwhelmed by the thought in their enthusiasm they may lose themselves." Ambition cuts with a warm tone, hand disappearing into the large sleeves at Longing's arm "Can we drop the act and move on to what actually needs to be done here?" his voice lowers, teeth cutting the words through the sharpness of the smile. Looking to him and then back to Longing "I tire of hearing you both prattle."

The mouth on the man opens, as if he is to give Ambition something to think about, but closes after a few seconds. Good. The nameless woman returns to her shuffling, unmasking the discomfort of multiple days travel.

   "I can assure there is no army which holds their craft more finely than that of the All-Father's." he finally says, with an unaffected tone but a sharp, proud smile as the following words are spoken "As it's been proven, time and time again."

Ambition smiles. Longing mirrors it, following closely in shape and shadow "Of course."

   "This way."

  

  

It is a familiar taste, a familiar sensation; the blood on her tongue, it pooling in the back of her mouth. The leveled breathing. Dodging. Taking the hit. The blood dripping from very light wounds - nothing deadly. The sharks were out in the water, biting at them to see how they would react. Who would be the first to run.

The nameless woman remains in a line - every single one of them still holding onto their faceless dark helmets. Dark eyes followed each of the soldiers that had entered the area. It was a large space, domed in shape with beautiful glass ceiling. Light seemed to pour from within, though outside it had poured. There were no entrances beyond the balconies and the doors they had been brought in.

Beneath her feet there were different textures. Where she stood now was firm, marbled floor. She could see blood in the cracks - blood that had not been neatly cleaned. It meant that it was dirtied often enough that proper care was not needed, not seen as valuable.

   "Creators. What is the fucking point?" a soldier yells. They do not wear a helmet. Why should they? The priests wore no armour, they were all initiates. Badly trained.

The nameless woman's eyes follow them. They are young and unblemished. Itching for a fight. The dark hair is kept short - not surprising.

   "Any time we fight any of them, they don't even fucking scream at being hit!" and, to demonstrate, a pole-arm is whacked against the side of one of the faithful closest to them. Their body bends but no sound pours from the figure. The nameless woman follows their actions carefully, watching and hearing as they continued speaking.

The frustration in their voice loud, building.

   "Might as well be fighting a fucking wall." he scoffs, walking down the line. Meandering, uncaring for a single thing in the world. She kept her head down, watching from the periphery, mirroring exactly the body language of the rest of the priests that had accompanied them "Even a tree would probably put up more of a fight."

He hums, uninterested, walking down the line and stopping on her.

   "You're a short one, aren't you?"

Shorter than any of the rest, in fact. She had always stood smaller, either by a curse of fate or her own health coming to collect - she stood with her head down. The crackling of the blunt side of his pommel slaps against her side. The inside of her cheek is bruised but she doesn't weaver, not beyond what was expected.

Another. Another. Anot- her teeth sink into her lips. The back of her throat throbbing with the collected screams and grunts. Her chest heaves, leaning forward. A small smile of glee and victory passes over his face. Large hand touches the side of her bent helmet, pressing it softly one way and tilting it up to him. Long fingers drag themselves down the side until the opening at the bottom, starting to pull it up.

Her hand snaps against his. Tightening her grip. Surprise flashes on his face, but emboldened he pushes further - the helmet creaks. Her hold tightens, it tightens until his other hand releases the weapon he was holding to grab onto her neck, pulling her up until her feet dangled.

Her lungs start to burn but her mind pushes for her breathing to slow. For her wits to remain. She corrals panic into her chest once more.

   "Ah, there it is—" he says as the helmet splits in two. From beneath, she finally sees his face, unburdened by the helmet. The dark lines of Falon'din's vallas'lin over her face. Dark skin beneath the coloured light from above. Pure ire in the darkness lingering behind her eyes.

Her closed fist hits the soldier's nose.

The spray of red drenches her hand as the hold on her neck is released. The light above them all shines, the floor swiftly becoming nothing but the same burning shade as the dome above them. Breath catches and panic settles as dark eyes fall on the figure in front of her, the bright red almost burns in the space around. What is happening?

The nameless woman can only hear the gurgling of breath against one's throat. The air around them bubbles, starts boiling and her eyes become dry, drier each second as all around her vision threatens to turn completely white. When her eyes close and her bare foot touches the floor - she can smell the blood in the air.

Her body slams against the ground and her eyes snap shut. The red of her eyelids is bright, even as she tightens the hold. One hand wraps around a metallic ankle. Short nails digging, digging further. Her body rolls on the floor, against the other leg too, rolling him down to her level.

More boots on the ground. The clattering of weapons and armour screams. The nameless woman's breathing slows, the noise pushed away with the weight of the struggling body in her grasp. Her legs wrap around the armour, the cold metal against her body was starting to burn against her too. Her back against the floor, her fingers dig only deeper the more they struggle, the more they scream. The pressure on her fingers digs through flesh, into bone and they scream.

Above her only his larger body provides shade from the deep crimson from her closed eyelids.

   "This is what the enlightened army has in their ranks?..." she grunts against the side of his head, the creaking of bone under her fingers. No more pulling back, she would give them a reason to not hold back against her - she would be another lesson to Falon'din for his folly, if it meant that they would show her more than they first intended... "You're fucking pathetic."

She whispers against this Sun's son's ears. Her teeth opening and lodging themselves against the soft shell, and pulling it until it ripped. The screams from this soldier in her arms drowns everything else in the room. With her free hand, she taps the sides of their armour, checking buckles, openings. Structure. It is barely a glimpse beneath coarse fingers, but more than she would have been allowed anyway.

   "That is enough."

The voice rings in the back of her head, cutting through the noise, the heaviness of the blood on her face, on her tongue. Her arms immediately go slack and the form dashes from her. His blessed shadow keeping the sky from turning full red away from her vision. Her muscles hurt, her skin screams from the searing burns against her ill armoured body. The cut of a blade is felt against her side as her body rises from the ground.

She spits the piece of flesh onto the floor. Her mouth is coated with blood. Theirs and hers. This time, she swallows it as she catches her breath.

Her hands do not move to the bleeding wound. One foot on the floor, the cutting of the air - grunting. She dodges. Closed eyes glancing towards where she knows Ambition is watching. One hand grabs her neck. Breath catches and eyes loll behind closed lids. Left arm rises, empowered by the blood pouring from her mouth, twisting it - in the most macabre of dances her head tilts to the side, away from the grasp.

Her body screams in effort. But she doesn't. The hand that holds the half torn piece of her helmet raises. It slams against the side of their body - so she lifts it more and slams it again in hopes of finding their face. Instead they find their fists.

She is surrounded - she can hear them now. One hand on her arm. Another punching her in the stomach. Her legs give out from under her - beads of sweat fall from the sides of her shaved hairline. A grunt torn from her mouth - her body starts to shake as the temperature rises still. Deep breaths - or so she attempts, instead they come out like gurgled struggling, panicked breaths - seeking air that didn't exist. The blood now pours openly from her mouth.

   "Provide a struggle" - the voice commands and so her head tilts, eyes still closed as her face is held up, fingers reach to open her eyes and she digs her lids further shut. A scream is unleashed from her lips, and once it starts it flows as easily as the blood on her tongue.

Pulling from within her, she forces her breathing to slow - the noise to soothe. Her body to work through the heat, slow down enough to provide enough time for whatever Ambition might want to do. She pulls her arms free, tries to. Keeping her head down, to the side attempting to escape but the hands that hold her are too strong "but not too much."

They are talking to her. Screaming at her. But she cannot make out the words, not under the well that she put herself. Not with the slowing of her own breathing. Not with the attention she paid to the only voice in the room that mattered - the one whispering in the back of her head. Her body screamed as her sweat mixed with her blood. There are no tears that she can cry, her own blood is starting to dry against her dark skin. And yet she still screams.

She only stops when one hand is wrapped around her neck. Another one at her mouth.

   "Is this your finely held craft?"

Longing's voice feels like a warm hug, even if it is distant. She doesn't know how long she had been in that agony - only that her voice makes the crimson skies dim. She is in darkness, warmed only by the burns in her body, the dried blood on her body. The roaring of voices and armour all around. Her body is still held and she pulls at her arm - at the resistance the fist holds her body tighter. Her mind swims, swims in the blood in the back of her mouth, in the pain that floods from everywhere "When explicitly told not to destroy your toys?!"

   "You can rest now." Ambition's voice swims along with her, the back of her head by his hands she could almost swear. It scratches in the back of her mind. and so she does, allowing the full weight of her body fall in the simmering darkness "Tomorrow is another day."

Tomorrow is another day.

[absolutequagsire]

Kudos to the sound designers of Outer Wilds. They sure know how to create the effect of being slammed into a wall by a giant cyclone or choking on a lack of air. Also, that “Final Hours” type song that plays when the sun is about to supernova fits the atmosphere so well in addition to being a beautiful song on its own.

[thewandererh]

debating whether i should share an older cccclinic fic…..here’s a snippet of simon having a terrible time

[randomwriteronline]

Alright got a prompt(s) for you

Either Mata Nui/Ackar late night cuddles in comforting or night terrors (either Mata Nui had them with the obi Coma stuff or Ackar with War PTSD) just general fluff with some angst

Or Kiina/Gresh of them same dune surfing and just general fluff in the form of two teenagers having fun (pre Mata's arrival)

doin only the first one, sorry

-

There is slime all over the pavement.

Well, now. Technically, most of the pavement is clean save from big glossy splotches all over the place and some droplets near them. And technically, there's a few on the walls as well but they are so few and far between that they aren't even worth counting in. And technically, that's mucus.

But that's not the point. The point is, because the splotches are literally all over the hut, now the pavement is littered in sticky puddles of mucus, which is disgusting, and it will have to be cleaned, and as much as it will not be pleasant it will still have to be done.

So, in conclusion: there is mucus all over the pavement, and it looks and feels disgusting.

Ackar's hairs stand on their end as he keeps stalking through the two rooms as though he wasn't awake, each thin sturdy string raised like a million quills while his back hurts beyond imagination, dripping mucus everywhere. His breath is shallow, his eyes wide open, his fingers curled without touching his palm in the way one holds an invisible rock. His shoulder is screaming.

There is mucus all over the pavement.

A sound reaches his ear and he moves it to intercept the noise without turning his gaze. His head moves mechanically to follow along after what feels like hours.

Faint blue lights bathe him in their glow, turning his orange-yellow markings grey.

For a period, they stare at each other.

"Hey," Ackar murmurs.

There is mucus all over the pavement.

"I cannot breathe automatically," Mata Nui whispers hoarsely in-between long wheezed pauses.

The Tapyri's thoughts completely change direction.

At some point he comes to his senses as he's pressing his hand on something that isn't metal nor flesh nor sand, forcing a ribcage up and down like the bellow livening the fire within a furnace as his voice gives out instructions on how to let go of control, lay the thought in the back of your mind, let the body handle it on its own - I'll start easing down, let's see how it goes. But it doesn't go well and so he's back to pressing patiently, up and down, and he blacks out again.

He blinks: his face is in tepid hands. His mouth is moving, murmuring alright, alright, alright; his hand rests on a chest that rises and falls on its own, very gently, caressing what should be the sternum with his thumb. Another voice repeats with him: alright, alright, alright. Mata Nui is looking him in the eyes.

They both take a deep breath and exhale it back out.

They do it a few more times.

Once they stop, the diaphragm does its work autonomously.

"Scared the tail off of me," Ackar whispers with a wheezed laugh.

His friend does not answer at first, only holding his head. Then he says, not hushed: "It has relieved me slightly."

"Why so?"

"Perhaps I will not survive long after you."

The Glatorian stares.

"Ah," he goes at last, hairs relaxing down finally: "I frightened you that much, didn't I."

He kneels near the bed - his knees will argue with him very agitatedly about it later but whatever, he's used to their complaints - so that he can shift his arm to the side of Mata Nui's head, to run his fingertips across it as if tracing the pattern of who knows what marking.

"Maybe the others are right when they say I'm a slimy old slug," he muses. "You sound so solemn all the time, and then you say things like these... The sorts of things a kid would say."

"I am not a child. I am a synthetic soul. I do not age like organic matter might."

"But it remains I'm older than you, and I will likely die before you."

"Do not say that."

"That's what I meant," Ackar smiles, "Just like a kid."

He lays his head down on the dull yellow chest: something inside of it buzzes gently, so unlike a heartbeat, so very similar to it. He breathes.

"Please do not say that," Mata Nui insists quietly. "I do not like to dwell on these topics."

"But the day will come, you know." the Tapyri continues gently, cupping his face in his palm: "At some point none of the old guard will be here anymore, and then it will be the new blood's turn, and the Children of Bara Magna's..."

"I beg you to stop. Please." the other whines. He sounds pained, his arms shaking, his eyes shut tight; a strange whirring begins to whimper out of him. "Please. My chest hurts."

Ackar places his lips comfortingly to the tepid surface.

Slowly, very slowly, as he kisses and hums, the whirring subsides and Mata Nui's body returns calm.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm sorry. That was too much even for morbid people like us veterans. I shouldn't have pushed it. It's been a grim night for me, too."

"Is that why..." there is mucus all over the pavement. "...Your hair...?"

"Hm? Ah. It was all up, wasn't it? Yes, that's why."

"And you were awake... Is your body in pain?"

"Much less now."

"Your thoughts?"

"Less unpleasant. Your condition snapped me out of it."

"It was very fortunate, then."

"Hm-hm. Even miseries can have their benefits."

Arms slip around him, drag him up on the bed, on the body already laying on it, to embrace him tight. He thinks of pulling back, or at least warn about his unusually strong secretion - but he's not dripping mucus anymore now that he's calmed down, now that the night terrors and phantom pains have melted like salt in oil, now that the days of the Core War are once again far, far behind him.

He will still have to clean his damp footsteps eventually, before they both accidentally step in them; it's a thought for later, though, not as overwhelming, not as all-consuming.

"Even miseries can have their benefits," Mata Nui repeats softly. His hold strengthens around Ackar, comforting and heavy.

The Tapyri burrows his face in his neck: "So it is."

They breathe together in the night for a while longer, and don't realize it once they at last fall asleep.

[dvsconocvdo]

open starter @lunarcovestarters

Option A: Mistletoe & Tree Shopping at Just In Bloom

"Looking for something specific?" Amrita asked someone passing by while doing her best to be super covert about the fact that a flower bloomed near the passerby. Not everyone was looking for trees, and bouquet orders were much more interesting than helping a few sad small trees look more leafy and full of life, so Amrita was hopeful the passerby was interested in the shop's flowers. "I'd be more than glad to help with whatever you're looking for!"

Option B: hours after the Lunar Cove's Town Green's Holiday Festival of Lights Tree Lighting Contest and Ceremony at the gazebo on Town Green

Lights were always comforting for Amrita during this time of year, but sometimes seeing lights ceremonies made Amrita think a bit too much about other holidays she used to spend accompanied, not alone like this year (and so many years before). Growing up her family never really decorated the house the way people did in town, and she couldn't exactly afford to follow suit into this tradition. However, what she did have was a violin and a candle, so as she sat on a corner of the gazebo, she lit the candle up with a match and took a deep breath. A little ceremony she did before each practice. Wondering if she should practice or not, she turned on the instrumental version of Experience by Einaudi and just before she started playing, she closed her eyes, hoping there weren't too many people close enough to be bothered by it. She began playing and made a small mistake, so she stopped, took a look at the music sheet and then looked around, having spotted someone (she hoped it wasn't a blown up decoration, that would be embarrassing). "Sorry for the noise," she mentioned, not in reference to the mistake, but just in case her playing bothered them. "I can wait and play later if you'd like." Though, she hoped it wasn't a problem, this was the best time for her to practice.

Option C: after the Nutcracker performance at the gazebo

"Here, you can have my scarf if you want." Noel said with a smile as they undid the scarf around their neck, careful to not get any of their grey rat make up on the scarf. Truthfully, they weren't that cold considering the amount of layers they had on. Performing the Nutcracker outside had been diabolical, but at least the kids were having fun. Just behind them were three kids daring each other to see how many small pastries they could each eat without getting sick, and while Noel tried to act like they couldn't hear the kids, they were secretly nearby in case something went wrong and someone needed CPR or to hand them a bag to puke on. "I'm not that cold." The rats costume for the performance were cozy enough to make her break a sweat while it happened. "So, what did you think?" She asked with a breezy smile.

[naz-ulusoy]

burning down the house | oneshot

After a week at the office, there as nowhere else Naz would rather be than home. Once inside the door, she kicked her heels off and called out for Judas. When the vampire didn't respond, she knew they'd likely gone out for the evening. She didn't have to cook for them but after the tough cases from the week, she didn't want to cook for herself either. Bed seemed far more appealing and with a cookie between her lips, she wandered down the hall to her bedroom.

With Judas out for the night, the spirit didn't feel the need to stay awake longer than she needed to be after the exhausting week. She moved through her nightly routine slowly but surely, readying herself for bed. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she was certain she saw something move past her bedroom window. For a long moment, she hesitated. Technically she could protect herself but it wasn't really in her nature and she didn't want to harm a human or even worse, someone's pet.

It felt silly, she had lived alone for so long that she knew her home was safe. Shaking her head, she closed all the blinds tightly, sparing one last glance out the window and into the darkness. After climbing into bed, it took far longer than it should have for her to fall asleep. Something just didn't feel right but she knew Judas would be home soon enough and that was comfort enough.

Naz drifted into her dreams like she always did, a bright pink neon rabbit chasing towards the sun. The spirit followed her dreams with fondness and longing for the life she once had, however short it had been. In time the dream shifted and changed. The sun shone brighter and brighter until she felt the sun on her skin, licking at her bare feet like flames.

The thought of flames snapped Naz awake, the spirit sitting up straight before she left out a scream. Smoke had filled her bedroom and the bright orange flickers of flame lit up the dark room. It was a mistake to scream, smoke filled her lungs and she began coughing but she was confused. How could she be choking on smoke? She was a spirit. Naz focused on phasing, trying to become intangible but nothing happened. She closed her eyes and tried again, trying anything of her powers to try and get out of harms way.

Fear and anxiety filled the spirit rabbit as she tried and tried again to make her powers work. Why wasn't it working? Naz wasn't focusing on the right things, the flames had caught onto her rug, setting it on fire as it moved around her bed. She noticed a second too late as flames licked up the side of the bed and over her calves. She let out another scream, the pain was unbearable and all she could do was scream as smoke filled her lungs. Through her panic, she knew she had to move or else but there was nowhere else to go. She covered her mouth from the smoke, trying to curl herself up against the edge of the bed, wanting to stay out of the flames past.

The spirit was frozen in fear, watching as the home she loved was burning around her. For a hundred and thirty years she had owned this home and within minutes, she was watching it crumble and fall around her and trapping her inside. There was nowhere to go now as flames encircled her, getting closer. Her only hope was that Judas was close. Hoping the vampire was close, Naz used the last air in her lungs to scream for them.

"Judas! Help me… please Judas."

[catnykit]

whump idea #1

woods+maggots+insanity? Not a good deal.

"Your stories are messed up" darling before knowing the whump community they were FUCKED UP,Now atleast I have to put a fucking category....

TW: READ THE TAGS.

I remember having this daydream/idea about one of my characters lost in the forest and having a "mindless episode"(i dont know,It could be psychosis,Drunkness,absolute and raw insanity,starvation,Delirium,mind control,You call it) but they find this weird ass pile of maggots. And eat it. And this was horrible because the maggots quickly squirm and start sparcing throught the MC's body like a virus. Tearing apart organs and tissue inside-to-outside. They start to feel sick in only some minutes after their conciousness come back. This already sounds enough agonazing,But to stress it even more,They were lost in the middle of nowhere,Their whimpers and struggles falling on deaf ears. They are supposed to die slowly and alone... BUT but,the good or worst part is the fact that,they didnt died like that!!! some maggots for some reason decided to go for the throat and lungs because Idfk they liked it there🤷‍♀️. so,Instead of getting eated alive painfully slowly they instead suffocate to death. Yes And,To stress this EVEN MORE is the fact that,No matter what was it,The "mindless episode" is a signal of probabily mentally unwell. Someone enough psychologically injured to go savague on the woods and dies in an HORRIBLE way,Without no one to help them. And even if someome did save them,This psycologicall injury would make it harder for anyone to help,ESPECIALLY if the deranged person is agressive even in great pain. So yeah,Thanks for coming to my ted talk about this whump daydream of long ago :3

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Occationally I realize how unhinged my family stories are out of context. And also in context. I don't think there's any way to make my sibling routinely trying to suffocate me with a pillow because they found me struggling funny sound normal. Or my dad's step-dad being dangled out the window of the second story of his house by his shoes by the Canadian mafia.

[sins-of-the-sea]

1/2

A storm kicks up as Phoebus is forced to hide in his hovel once again….

""̴P̶h̵o̶e̶b̶u̵s̴ ̶B̴e̸n̵ ̵G̷h̸i̶a̵t̴ ̵D̶u̴c̷h̴a̶m̸p̶,̷"̸ ̸," the Master hisses through his teeth as the ground shakes with every word spoken.

The Sin of Sloth retreats further in his hiding place, almost resorting to hiding behind rocks in his mindprison to avoid his Master's wrath. "M-Master!! W-What brings you-"

He growls. "̵W̶h̸o̶ ̵i̸s̵ ̵y̸o̷u̶r̸ ̵M̴a̷s̸t̶e̸r̸?̶"̷

"Y-You are!"

"̶W̴i̴t̵h̷ ̶w̵h̷o̴m̶ ̴d̵i̴d̴ ̴y̵o̸u̶ ̸m̸a̸k̴e̵ ̴a̸ ̴P̷a̷c̶t̷?̷"̸

"With you!"

The Master clutches a part of Phoebus' hovel. The 'stone' crumbles, melts, and completely covers the young man within it, nearly suffocating him. The fires around him start to die down… but not because he is recovering from his brother's bitterness and hatred.

"̵A̶n̷d̸ ̴w̵h̶y̴ ̶d̷i̷d̵ ̵y̴o̶u̴ ̴m̷a̴k̴e̸ ̴t̴h̴a̷t̴ ̵P̵a̸c̶t̷?̶"̴

Phoebus struggles to breath as he flails within the cement-like substance flooding his mind.

"̶W̵h̸y̷,̶ ̴P̵h̵o̵e̷b̴u̸s̴ ̸t̸h̶e̸ ̷F̴i̴r̴s̴t̷?̵ ̵W̸h̸y̶ ̸d̶i̶d̸ ̴y̶o̸u̶ ̴m̷a̵k̴e̷ ̵a̸ ̶p̶a̴c̴t̵ ̴w̴i̷t̷h̸ ̸m̸e̸?̵"̴

Phoebus gasps as he swallows up the muck, his hands clawing aimlessly for anything that could give him reprieve. Everything is drawing a blank.

And yet, the Masters continues to demand, ̴"̵W̵h̷y̷?̵"̴

"I want to live!! I want to live, Master!! I want to live!!"

"̶S̶o̵ ̷s̴h̵a̴l̷l̸ ̴y̵o̵u̷ ̶h̶a̵v̵e̷ ̵n̵o̴ ̵o̷t̶h̷e̸r̸ ̴M̸a̵s̶t̴e̵r̷s̸ ̷b̵e̷f̷o̵r̸e̶ ̷m̷e̴?̴"̴

"No, Master! I will never have any other Masters before you!"

The hovel stops collapsing all over the man. The fires return as Phoebus is allowed to breathe again, even if it's the suffocating smoke of his past. But it's something. It's something.

"Remember this, now and forevermore, Phoebus. As for the rest of your Crew." The Master then fades into the fires, satisfied that he kept at least one of his thralls from trying to reach others.

Phoebus sniffs as he crawls within his hovel and curls up, crying. He knows why the Master came to him. Now he regrets ever seeing anyone else and emerging from his mindscape, lest he subjects someone else to his Master.

[cantfightmoonlight]

Slow Down You Crazy Child - Self Para

@silaschamberlain (cause I wrote a self para between my own two charries - ignore the typos... there are probably a lot of them)

Fear was simply chemistry in the brain. It was the hypothalamus reacting by releasing a series of chemicals to the sympathetic nervous and the adrenal cortical systems. The 'stress hormones' were there to kick the body into high gear. Only it was working. With her body now completely stiff, Jas slowly reached down towards her boot where the blade she carried with her was safety tucked away, her eyes not stray from the front door of her apartment that had been left ajar.

It had been locked when she left and unless Efe had decided to use his body as ram to break the lock, the door could only mean one thing. He was here. She had hoped she might be able to leave town in time, but of course, he'd come sooner than anticipated, as if to intentionally thwart what he knew her next move would be. It wouldn't be particularly fun to torture someone's loved ones without them around, now would it?

"You got tired of your cell, did you?" Jasmine called into the living room as she moved to nudge the door open with the tip of her combat boot. She may have already packed her bag, planning on heading out of town first thing in the morning in the hopes that she may be able to lure him away from Lunar Cove. But, now, any attempt of leading him out of town had gone out the window. Silas Chamberlain had decided to tempt his own fate and, as long as he was in Lunar Cove, no one she cared about would be safe.

"And what if I did?" A deep and shiver-inducing rumble of a voice called back. "Is that anyway to greet your old man, hm? Little gem?"

Rather than humor him with some semblance of a rebuttal, Jas' eyes traced the dark muddy footprints across the hardwood floor of the living room over to where her room was tucked away. Splotches of red mixed in the dirt that had been tracked around the space as if her apartment was his to deface. Great. Just great.

"Leaving so soon?" Silas voice rang out once more as she heard the distinct sound of her duffle bag being shaken around before the bag with the few precious belongings she had hastily packed up was flung through the entrance of her room and across the floor. A few polaroid pictures of her and her mom and another of her and Nico went spilling out. One of them falling face down into the mud Silas had left from his boots. "It's a good thing I came when I did. I almost missed you."

"The horror," The sarcasm broke from Jas' lips as her gaze remained hyper focused on the photograph now laying in god knows what. "Did you track blood in here?"

"'Oh no, did I?'" He feigned a gasp. Finally emerging from the bedroom, the man raked his hands back through his hair, casually crossing one leg over the over as he leaned back against the door frame. "I redecorated your bedroom too while I was at. Thought it could use some sprucing up a bit. You don't mind, do you, little gem? I mean, after all, as far as I could tell, you were already on your way out."

"What do you want, dad?" Her voice sounded foreign and empty as she finally raised her head to meet her old man's gaze. The word dad being tact onto the end in an attempt to appease him.

"Always straight to the point with you, huh? But, fine, fine. I'll let you be a buzzkill just this once. Wouldn't want to dampen my good day and all. You see, I got an apartment here in town, can you believe it? You'd think they'd do a better background check, but I still need to get the wifi installed and-"

"Will you get to the point?" She mumbled out, watching his twisted grin only growing as she had the audacity to actually cut him off and mid-sentence at that.

"Well, if you'd let me finish, I would tell you about how I happened to make a friend. Loveliest gullible idiot you'll ever meet, let me tell you. We barely exchanged five words and he was already offering up his wifi password. What was his name exactly? Nick?"

No. Her gaze sharpened into slits as she shot daggers his way with her eyes.

"No. Was it Enzo? Eh, that can't be right."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, I remember now. Nico. That was it. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you, Gem? He wouldn't happen to be your little boyfriend now, would he? And yet, you never seemed to mention him once, now did you?"

"Fuck you," She gasped out, her hands shot forwards to release a blast of air in his direction, but he was already ready. The moment she unleashed her magic at him, she went flying backwards with his mind. Her head slammed back against the kitchen cabinets as she watched her father's eyes darken.

"You didn't even bother to call. Now, what the hell was that about, hm?" He asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he watched his own daughter squirm from where her body was being levitated up in the air. And as any 'good father' would, he was quick to give his daughter a reminder of what happens if she disobeyed him. Her body convulsed under the shock of being ever so 'slightly' electrocuted.

"Come on, Jas. I taught you better than that," He hummed out as he released the hold he had of her with his mind, watching in amusement as she collapsed onto her hands and knees. "If you're going to show off, you might as well show me something worth being impressed by, hm? Now, where is that dark magic I've heard so much about? Where's the little girl who brought her sister back from the dead and without me having to ask. For a moment there, I was almost proud. But, this?" He took a step back so that he could motion towards her sad hunched over state. "This is pathetic. Now, where were we? Oh yes!" With less than a moment's warning, Silas' dark gaze shifted into a gleeful grin. Bending down so that he was now eye level with his daughter, he reached forward. His fingers curled around her chin as he directed her sharp gaze back to his with one rough yank. "About that favor you owe me? It's time to collect, little one."

A shudder ran down Jas' spine as she thought back to when she was a sixteen year-old girl who stupidly picked up the phone to call her dad. Dad, help, please, please, she's not breathing. Dad, oh my god. Dad, what do I do? What do I do? Her mom had just died. Suffocated before her very own eyes from her magic no less and she was scared. Petrified. She just wanted to take it back. She would have given anything to take it back, but the Delaney-Yassin's were already on their way and what were her mom's friends going to think when they found her standing over her mother's body in some shady motel room? So, the naive teenager listened when her dad told it would be okay and how to take care of it. But, as with the magic they practiced, a favor from him didn't come without a cost.

"What do you want?" Jasmine's voice was no more than a hoarse whisper as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to get on with it.

"Well," He murmured out, taking his time to draw out each syllable. "I can't exactly get to know my kids with the Council on my back, now can I? Oh don't look at me like that. You should be thrilled, Jaz, it's a simple favor really. Nothing quite to the same scale of asking someone to help you hide a body. I just am asking you stick around with your boyfriend and your family. Be a good girl and keep your pretty little mouth shut. Now, you can do that, can't you? You used to be so good at keeping our secrets. As far as anyone's concerned, I'm not in town and, if your siblings come asking, you tell them about how much of a grade A father I was."

Yeah, if A stands for asshole, She thought, but didn't dare to utter it out loud. "And what if the Council starts to figure it out?"

"Well, then I may need you to distract them for me. But, think about this way, Jazzy, you do this favor for me and I'll let you out. You can do your whole little rebellious teenager thing without a watcher in sight. Play house to your heart's content with that pet of yours who hasn't even invited you into his house. I really can't understand the appeal of him unless it's to keep the Pack under your thumb. But, that's besides the point. You'll be free to travel around to your heart's content until you inevitably fuck up again and decide you need me and the Coven. What do you say, gem? You owe me one."

"I just have to keep quiet?"

"Mums the word. Either that or you and all of your friends end up like your mum. Dead in some ditch or should I say ditches. Where did you burry her exactly again?"

Jasmine had never wanted to kill someone more than she did her own father. But, that was the thing about family, wasn't it? As much as she despised the man standing before her and, oh did she despise him, it didn't matter how powerful of a witch she was. He was still family. He was still her blood and, now matter how many times she tried, she could never bring herself to fully go through with it.

"Deal," She mumbled out after a prolonged breath as she slowly pulled herself up to her feet.

"Good girl," Silas smiled as he gave her cheek a not so light pat. "And, with that, I'll let you get back to it. Your place is a mess by the way. Someone should really clean all of this up," He exclaimed as if he hadn't been the one to leave her apartment in such a state.

Jasmine stood there and watched him as he turned to leave. He was halfway across the room before she finally called out, "Whose blood is it anyway?" Her gaze tilted back down the the muddy and blood stained footprints he had tracked in before glancing back up at him in question.

"No one you need to worry about, hun. But, they did have quite the taste in clothes, now didn't they?" He mused, spinning around on the balls of his feet as if to show off the new outfit he had stolen from the recently deceased.

"You're sick you know that?"

"Love you too, kiddo. Love you too."

[strawbrryrush]

closed event starter for ashley !! @vcndetta

The maze attempts to make characters a part of itself. Roots wrap around legs and branches quickly work to surround and suffocate characters. As it continues characters find themselves coughing up leaves and small branches that scratch up their throat on the way up, and start to take root in their lungs.

"ashley." they called out; beginning to feel the pain of roots strangling her legs, "-i know fear won't get us anywhere- but I can't help but to freak the fuck out." they muttered, "-this- has to be a mind game.. -there's no way this is real." sam told; using her hands to try and untwist and break the root.

[loopielupie]

Whumptober Day 17 - Collar

Xie Lian's first conscious breath of the day gets caught in his throat and he jerks upright, choking out a pitiful, strained wheeze. His hands scrabble at the bandages around his neck, as if that will somehow alleviate this sudden breathlessness.

He knows better.

As if to remind him, the shackle tightens more and Xie Lian thinks he hears the straining creak of cartilage in his trachea. His lungs are burning, diaphragm straining against oxygen starvation and despite his experience with this kind of slow suffocation, the panic is as real as it had been the first time.

Normally, the cursed shackle is just something that is. The thing under the bandages around his neck that he doesn't put much thought into.

But sometimes it makes its presence inignorable: cutting off his speech so that he spends days or—once—months in enforced silence or, as it has now, pulling even tighter, threatening to cut off his oxygen completely. He sags back down against his straw mat, taking sips of air through the straw his throat has become. A sensation not unlike a thumb presses into the hollow at the base of his throat and Xie Lian shudders. Skin crawling, he curls in on himself as if that would help him escape it and this time he doesn't try to stop his hands from guarding his neck against a foe he's never been able to see, let alone fight. There's a scream building somewhere inside him, but it's futile. All it does it make the black spots worse, drag him closer to the void.

Maybe that would be better.

At least, he finds himself thinking, sluggish with the coming pull of unconsciousness, there's no one around; no one to witness or worry.

It has to end sometime.

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 15

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Hummingbird 15

(Story starts here, if you like) previous

The light was switched off and the door closed with a bang.

Sam was left behind in the dark, restrained in his uncomfortable position. His hands cuffed infront of him, his neck pulled up, making sure, he would definitely suffocate himself, if he fell asleep. Additionally his wrists were burning and he was freezingly cold.

'He surely was in for a long night.' It slowly started to dawn on him, that maybe compliance was the way to survive this. But he couldn't do this, not to himself, not after so many years in hell.

'This man wouldn't let him die tonight. He didn't let him suffocate on his puke, right? He even brought him back after Sam's heart had stopped. He just forced heart medication down his throat. That was counting for something, right? But that was before he was this defiant. Shit!' Actually, he didn't know, if that was really medication.

Sam could feel his body getting weak again, with the adrenaline leaving him.

His back started to hurt and a fire had already enflamed in his legs, slowly burning through his muscles. Additionally, he had the impression, that whatever he got injected with, was really hard trying to flip his stomach. His struggle against Grey's handling had drained him. Nothing to drink in so long and on top the drugs were muffing his system. That he was left in complete darkness wasn't helping to stay alert. He felt his eyes dropping and his intestens rumbling.

'He surely was in for a long night in hell.'

...

'Just breathe. Don't think about this. Don't think about this guy and what he knows about you. Don't think about Nathenial. Just breathe and stay alive. Don't think. Don't fucking think.' Sam repeated these mantras over and over in his mind, but it was in vain. Surely, doubt, fear, despair, and the sickening thought, that this guy must have been watching him for quiet some time, found their way into his struggling mind.

On top of it all, exhaustion was winning. His eyes fell shut numerous times. His air support was deminished as often, as his bodyweight was pulled down by gravity. He woke up gasping too often. Half the night he was just choking, desperately holding on for dear life.

His knees hurt so bad, his tights were made out of concrete by now, badly burning concrete. His shoulders were stinging. In his unconscious struggle, he had managed to reopen the wounds on his wrists. He could clearly feel it, even under the thick bandages and cuffs. So far there was no blood trailing down, he believed, but sensed it still soaking his bandages. It was dark and Sam was so cold. At least he couldn't feel warm sticky stuff running down his hands, yet. That was a plus. Nevertheless, he felt sick.

His mind started to play tricks on him. It was pitch black, but yet he believed to see darker shades in the room, moving around. White sparkles appearing and vanishing, different sounds and voices. There were creaking doors or creaking stairs.

At some point he believed the solid steel door actually opening in the dark. He though someone asking how he was doing. Two angrily growled words were his answer. "I'm fine!"

The strain in his voice betraying his statement. "You sure? You just need to say the word." The question much too concerned, what made Sam even more believe, that it was a pipedream. "I don't need you to help me, I can handle." He screamed, suddenly alone again in the darkness, that was eating at his last nerves.

Stiff, cool, clammy fabric was pressing on his restrained shoulders, his back and under his knees, around his tights. The thud thud thud thud of his heart was lolling him into a painful agonising stupor of loneliness. There were iceblocks were his feet should have been. His cloths had dried a good part, but they felt hard and more uncomfortable by now.

Shiver after shiver rocked through his body. Part from the cold, that had sunken deep inside his bones and part from him desperately trying to keep his position. His muscles were shaking from the strain, and he wasn't sure, he would survive this night. At least the sickening feeling in his stomach didn't get worse, but it wouldn't leave either.

After, he not only fell a sleep, but directly passed out at some point and sagged forward for a long moment, he believed the chain from the ceiling had given way a bit. It felt like he could breathe a tiny bit easier, when he was back into his position and actually able to breathe again after struggling for dear life.

It felt like his hands had a tiny bit more space moving upwards, the strain on his shoulders merely better. But maybe, he just imagined that. Sam was too exhausted to test his theory, for it still had the pretty real chance of him suffocating, when he wasn't able to get back to this unfavourable position.

He didn't know, how long it had been, it surely felt like a lifetime by now. His stomach made some undinable sounds, that it wanted to turn or needed something to digest, he wasn't sure. His neck hurt like hell, old injuries from his past made themselves known mercilessly, for him not really moving an inch all night. He wanted to lay down so badly.

On some point his body just gave in completely. All his weight fell forward, while his head sunk to his chest. The chain connecting his collar just loosened and ran down with his movement, like an anchor was dropped from a boat. Sam fell ungraciously to the ground and slumped to his side. He landed on his bruised left arm, but he was already unconscious before his dead weight hit the floor. His windpipe wasn't restricted this time.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive