#running out of air tw

[robinrites]

Day Five: Best-Worst Bad Guy

Happy Whumptober Day 5!

Prompts: Every Whumpee's Needs, Blood Loss, Running out of Air, Hyperthermia

TW: Suffocation, gunshot wound, heat stroke, hallucinations, water deprivation.

Villain knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. They held their right hand against their left shoulder as they darted down the hallway, occasionally stealing glances at their pursuers. They pulled their hand away for a moment, only to see it was covered in their blood. 

“Fuck.” They whispered before pressing their hand back over where they had been shot.  

“You can run but you can’t hide Villain,” Supervillain called as she followed them down the hallway. 

Villain ducked into one of the empty labs along the hallway and hid out of sight as best as they could. They held their breath as they heard Supervillain’s heels click on the floor, then paused at the door to the room they were currently hiding in. Seconds passed, Villain held in their breath, afraid even the tiniest noise would alert their pursuer of their location. As Supervillain’s heels clicked away, Villain let out a sigh of relief. They went to inhale, but suddenly found all the air had been sucked from their lungs. As they gasped for air, they couldn’t help but want to cry. 

“Tt, foolish Villain.” Supervillain’s shoes clacked as she came back towards where Villain was hiding. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of?” Even if Villain wanted to respond, they weren’t sure they had the air to do so. “Show yourself if you want to breathe again.” Villain felt their face turn blue, their lungs burned for air. Somehow they stumbled back out into the hallway, and the air rushed back to their lungs. Villain took gasping, shuddering breaths as they tried to regulate their breathing again. 

“Fuck you.” They panted, mentally promising themselves they would flip Supervillain off once they could focus on anything but being suffocated. 

Supervillain squatted down to where Villain was kneeling and tilted their chin upward, “To think I took you under my wing.” Supervillain spat in their face, then sneered, “I think it’s high time you relearned some manners.” 

Two guards, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, each grab one of Villain’s arms, quickly dragging them away from Supervillain. Villain wants to fight so desperately, but one look in Supervillain’s eyes reminds them of what will happen if they try to escape again. If only suffocation got easier each time it happened. 

Villain feels a pinprick in their neck as Supervillain begins to walk away. The guards are smart like that. Without the threat of suffocation, what else would keep them in line? They numbly register being dragged down several flights of stairs. Villain knows this will hurt later, they’ll probably be bruised from it, but what else can they do? Their limbs feel heavy, almost as if they were lined with lead. The lights get dimmer and dimmer as they descend levels until finally they have reached sub-basement 3. 

Villain barely registers being tossed in a cell, or the fact that they are now chained to the wall with barely any wiggle room. They want to call after the guards, maybe bribe them, but their mouth refuses to open. Words die in their throat before they can hit their lips. 

When they wake up the next morning, the first thing they notice is the intense heat. All the moisture is gone from Villain’s mouth, and there isn’t a single drop of water in sight. Villain goes to rub their eyes, which are itching from how dry they are, only to be reminded that they are chained to a wall. They let their head roll backwards for a second, hoping it’ll help them collect their thoughts. It doesn’t. 

“Hello?” They call, as loud as they can. “Hey I think you guys left the heater on!” Villain tugs experimentally against their chains to no avail. “What’s a person gotta do to get some water around here?” They try to joke, but the lack of moisture makes Villain cough over the sound of any response. “Hello?” They drop their head, sweat rolling down their forehead in droves. “Fuck! Okay I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll be a good little villain now just please! Can I at least get some water?” 

They are about to give up on yelling, when they hear the sound of a lock turning in the door. A guard storms in, face red with rage, and he’s carrying what looks like a water bowl for a dog. He sets it in front of them, then crosses his arms. 

“Will this get ya to shut up?” 

“Yes! Oh gods yes please thank you!” They wait expectantly for the guard to uncuff them so they can drink, but he doesn’t make any moves to do so. “Can I be uncuffed so I can drink please?” 

“Ha!” The guard rolls his eyes, then kicks the bowl a little closer with his foot, spilling precious water. “Boss lady said she wants you trained, so we’re startin’ with the basics. Eatin’ from a bowl.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I could jus’ take the water away if that’ll make you happy.” 

“No!” Villain shouts, “I’m sorry, please don’t.” They awkwardly bend forward until their head is inches from the bowl of water, wincing at the strain this position puts on their arms. They take a sip of the water and almost spit it out when they realize it’s warm. They force themself to swallow, then steal a glance up at the guard. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

“The water it’s-” 

“Warm? I’m aware.” He laughs cruelly, “We’re sweatin’ the goody-two-shoes out of ya. Now drink up before I take it away.” 

Villain bites back a cry before returning to the warm water. They drink the whole bowl, feeling slightly less parched than before, but still craving crisp cool water. The man picks up the bowl, then glares at Villain one more time. 

“Aren’t ya forgetting something?” 

“Thank you for the water.” They drop their head, both as a sign of respect and a sign of exhaustion. Satisfied, the man exits the cell, quickly locking it behind him. 

Villain wants to bang their head against the wall behind them. They want to cry so badly. Their throat begins to choke up from holding in the tears, but they know crying would waste precious water. Eventually, the urge to cry disappears, replaced by a new feeling: fear. They aren’t sure how long they’ve been sitting in the cell, possibly a couple hours. 

All they are sure about is how hot it is. Villain’s heart feels like it’s been moving a thousand miles per hour, and they feel absolutely drenched in sweat. Villain pities whoever will walk into the room next, even though they are numb to the stench of their sweat, they are positive this room reeks. Villain spots a figure in the room, when did the door open? 

A warm glow surrounds the other person in the room. Villain can’t help but smile as they take in the glittering nest of curls resting atop this new person’s head, as if it was a halo. They watch this woman step closer to them, then they feel her hand cup their cheek. So faint it’s almost as if she wasn’t really there. She laughs, was it something I said? Villain doesn’t remember saying anything, but why would this person laugh if nothing was said? 

“Help me.” Villain manages to sputter out, but the person just smiles, then turns to go. Villain tugs as hard as they can on their bindings. “Wait! Please don’t leave me! I’ll be good-er bad! I’ll be the best-worst bad villain there ever was….” Villain shakes their head, “I’m getting all mixed up now aren’t I?” The woman grabs the door handle and pulls it open, then walks into a white light. What happened to the corridor outside? The guard? 

The sound of the door creaking open snaps them back into reality. Was it really all fake? A caped figure sneaks into the cell, quickly scanning it for any threats or weaknesses before focusing on Villain. They move the hood so it no longer obscures their face, only to reveal the woman from Villain’s hallucination. 

“Villain?!”

[lunar-years]

To preface I would never pretend to be any sort of expert on child abuse and trauma nor on healing from that trauma etc. but I also think the "Jamie wasn't forgiving his father, he was releasing his father's control over his life" viewpoint, while not necessarily wrong, is also...too simplistic? First of all Ted DOES frame it as "forgiveness." The phrase he uses literally is "just forgive him." So that's the message the show is sending regardless of whether that's how we personally make sense of Jamie's actions or not. Secondly, you don't just flick a switch from being terrified of your father and dictated by that fear one day to being totally free of his grip on you AND in a healthy and mentally stable enough place to reach out to him the next (let alone in the span of like, two hours, in the middle of a football match and immediately afterwards. Right after starting to emerge from a depressive episode!!).

I can definitely understand why Jamie may have texted his father in that moment, given the enormously high stress + bad mental health combo he'd been living under for days (weeks?), on top of Ted's (imo ill-fated) advice. But I can't for the life of me make sense of that being a "healthy" choice for him (which I think is how the show would like us to view it). The text alone may have not been inviting his father back into his life, but we see him going to visit his dad in the very next episode. I mean??? we skipped about 1200 steps to get there in an actually healthy way, I think, and talking to an actual therapist about the matter is top of the list.

If Jamie is working to free himself from his father's hold on him, that's a complicated and slow process that I'm not convinced is going to be helped by getting more involved in his father's life and potentially, given the rehab situation, care. I mean we know Jamie's character and I don't think it's really his personality to visit once for peace of mind and then drop this. It's much more likely he extends time and help to his dad and ends up more invested, rather than "free." That could be something that ends well for everyone, if his dad really is putting in the work and is in fact deserving of a ~second chance~ (or third, or fourth...we literally don't even know if he's tried and failed to get sober and Be Better before, but it's very possible), but it is also something that could go very very poorly and result in new devastation and instability for Jamie all over again. At the time Ted was giving Jamie his little speech about it (which he based on an extremely different situation with his own mother in his own life, mind you), he was completely unaware James Sr was even in rehab, and it was actually dangerous (imo) to Jamie, mentally and physically, for him to have given the advice that he did.

Basically, I think Ted's words were well meaning but ultimately very misguided, the actions we see Jamie taking as a result do make sense for the character's state of mind but not necessarily for his well being, and if Jamie would like to give his father another chance it is fully his decision and right to do so. But the storyline wasn't given the time nor care nor complexity that sort of story absolutely requires in order to be done well. And the fact that Jamie leaps in full-force on it without onscreen evidence of him getting any input on the matter from anyone in his life apart from one (questionable) conversation with Ted does not exactly instill confidence in me that the situation ends happily tied up in the bow of father-son reconciliation the show surface-level portrays it to be.

[a-a-a-anon]

this is a random post but i stumbled upon an episode of a panel show called school's out that ade did (available here). the show did some research about his school days and it was a bit surreal to hear the stories they dug up in panel show format after listening to ade's reading of his autobiography berserker! ade was quite honest about his disturbing experiences as a schoolboy in his book, including the many times he was beaten. there's a story about how he was beat for threading a conker in latin class. in berserker! adrian describes the teacher as a bully, and says it hurt a great deal, and says he cried and no one laughed out of fear of being picked on next. it's a short section, and there's kind of a "punchline" in the sense that he points out the irony that he was learning the latin verb "to love," but he also points out he really only learned hatred. ade is quite seriously against corporal punishment in the book and talks about how he became emotionally maladjusted from his upbringing. in the school's out episode the conker story - without the sadder details - garners Audience Laughter and ade really does present it as a comedic anecdote. it's interesting how the very same story can be shocking (sad) or shocking (funny) and how ade can deliver it in both ways. ade says he's an accidental comedian but it absolutely takes skill and intention to take that experience and make people laugh from it. they also bring up his old school masters and i wonder how ade felt seeing the men who used to cane him..

[serickswrites]

Time is Running Out

Warnings: betrayal, running out of air, drowning

Whumpee glared at Whumper through the glass of the giant aquarium they were trapped in. Glared through the freezing water that filled the aquarium. Glared through the water that was preventing them from taking a breath. 

“Don’t look so mad, Whumpee, you had to know it was coming.” Whumper’s words were muffled by the water. They spread their hands. “The offer was too good to pass up, it’s nothing personal.”

Whumpee glared harder and started to open their mouth in a snarl and realized they had wasted precious air. They clamped their mouth shut, putting a hand over as they struggled to keep from breathing. 

Their lungs were burning. And it was entirely Whumper’s fault. 

Whumper, the person they thought was their friend. Whumper, the person they thought was their closest confidant. Whumper, the person who shoved them in the tank full of icy water and locked it closed with a padlock. Whumper, the person who betrayed them for money. 

Whumper, the person who was walking away. 

“I can’t watch this, Whumpee. Don’t be mad. It’s nothing personal.” Whumper called over their shoulder as they walked away. 

Coward. Whumpee hissed internally. The least Whumper could do was watch the true consequences of their actions. Watch Whumpee drown. 

Because Whumpee was drowning. They were running out of air in their lungs. It was becoming harder and harder to keep their mouth clamped shut, even with their hand over their mouth. 

They didn’t want to drown. They weren’t afraid of dying, but they didn’t want to go out in a painful way. 

And most of all, they didn’t want Caretaker to find them like this. 

Caretaker was right, as always, about Whumper. Caretaker had warned Whumpee not to trust Whumper. That they didn’t like Whumper’s vibe. Didn’t trust them. 

I’m sorry, Whumpee said as a silent prayer to Caretaker. They closed their eyes, not wanting to be found with bloodshot, wide eyes. They let their arms float in the water and they let themselves drift. They willed themself to be as peaceful as possible. 

Whumpee’s lungs and throat burned with the desire to inhale. They couldn’t hold on any longer. Please forgive me, Caretaker, Whumpee whispered in their mind as they inhaled. 

They sputtered and tried to fight, their body bucking involuntarily as it tried to expel the water, but only inhaled more. As their body stilled, desperate for air that wasn’t there, Whumpee heard a voice that had them wrenching their eyes open. 

“Whumpee? OH NO!”

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 5: Every Whumpee's Need

Whumptober masterlist

Javier Pena

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 361

Warnings: Buried alive, running out of air, ambiguous AND sad ending, devastation. Implication of death.

Summary: Javier wakes up somewhere that might be impossible to get out from. This is heavy one, please mind the tags before going further

Blood Loss | Running out of air | Hyperthermia

He can feel the desperation rise in his chest like a led weight that’s slowly being pressed on top of him. There’s nothing left to do anymore, he can’t get out. He’s tried everything possible already, all scenarios and all slim hopes used up. 

There’s no magic lever, no way to spring open the casket roof, no hidden key to safety under the white satin pillow or the linings made out of similar fabric. He’s ripped them all apart the best he can in the enclosed space, only to come up empty.

They’ve removed all his weapons, his boots and even his belt so he only has his hands to use and he knows the wood of a casket is hard and unyielding. His bruised knuckles and broken fingernails know that too, having pounded and scratched at the wood paneling since he woke up and understood where he was. There is no way he can manually break the wood.  

If he could, Javier would scream but his voice is too broken and his throat to tired from all the yelling already. It hurts to swallow, though that is the least of his worries. It’s going to burn a lot more soon if he can’t miraculously cheat death this time.  

The reality and graveness of the situation settles in and Javier loses the final battle to the panic; his eyes burning and lungs squeezing painfully as he battles the nausea rising up in his oesophagus. He can feel the tremors wrack his body and his brain refusing to accept what is inevitable. But he forces himself to face the music.  

He is buried alive, in a casket that’s not only his prison but will soon become his actual grave since there is no way out with the limited time he has left on this earth. Because while the casket might hold, he won't. The air running out in the enclosed space will take him to oblivion soon. 

I’m sorry, papa, he thinks, hands pressed to his eyes, the wetness on his face mingling with sweat and the blood from his knuckles. I’m sorry your son didn’t make it home.

I’m so sorry. 

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Pt. 21: Every Whumpee’s Needs

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Blood loss | Running out of air | Hyperthermia

It’s been too long since Jane last hurt you. Something’s coming. You wish you were brave enough to run again, but you can’t even think about it without thinking of overwhelming pain.

Your wounds are finally healed. You can finally move without restriction or pain. Everyone’s relatively okay. Kit is mostly healed. It’s absolutely terrifying.

Your nightmares are getting worse. You are constantly full of dread and fear.

You keep practicing holding your breath. You alternate between freezing cold and boiling hot showers. You sit in uncomfortable positions for hours, trying to learn to handle stress positions. You eat less, hoping to get used to hunger.

You wake up crying often and beg Kit and Dollie to not let her hurt you, to protect you, please please please.

You know it’s not fair. You can’t protect them, to expect them to protect you is unfair. Still, you want so badly to feel safe.

It’s almost a relief when Jane calls you down to the basement. Almost.

You’ve been doing this thing lately, where you compare the fear of living here to your old greatest fears. Would you rather spend an hour in the basement or a day in an airplane? Get beaten with a crowbar or bitten by spiders?

Over and over, you come to the same answer. You would rather be anywhere than here. You’d be less afraid if you were walking down a staircase to be executed.

“Hi, Bunny. Give me your collar.”

You slowly undo your collar and hand it to Jane. It’s a lot easier to breathe without it, but you know that won’t last long.

“That’s a good Bunny. What’s your name?”

“Bunny, Master.”

Jane laughs. “No, not yet. But we’ll fix that, won’t we?”

“Master, please.” There’s nothing else to say.

Jane just smiles. “Kneel.”

You kneel.

Jane produces duct tape and tapes your mouth shut. And then she plugs your nose.

Your lungs start burning almost immediately. You didn’t get a chance to take a breath.

“Liam.” Jane’s voice drips with an emotion you don’t recognize. “Liam.”

If you could breathe, you would laugh. It’s so stupid. Just saying your name over and over again while she tortures you. And even more stupid is that it will work, because it worked on Dollie and Kit and they’re stronger than you. You’re going to be too scared to even think of your name because of something so stupid.

Tears leak from your eyes and your vision blacks out. You think, for a moment, that she’s going to let you pass out, but she lets go. You breathe as deeply as you can through your nose.

“You’re so cute. I know you’ve been practicing holding your breath for me. Sweet little Bunny. Show me how good you’ve gotten.”

Jane plugs your nose again. The fact that you practiced does make it less scary, makes the feeling of suffocation more familiar. But you don’t have any control. You’re not the one choosing to hold your breath, and it won’t end until Jane wants it to.

Your practice and preparation don’t matter. It never will. You’ve been spending all this time hurting yourself when you should’ve just been enjoying the time you had where you weren’t being hurt. Kit was right. Of course they were right.

You can’t beg. You know it wouldn’t help anyway, but somehow that makes it worse. You’re completely powerless against someone simply plugging your nose.

You force your hands to stay down at your sides and try not to squirm. Fighting her will do nothing at best and get you punished at worse. You squirm anyway. God, you’re so fucking weak.

It’s amazing how long a minute can be. Jane once again releases you right before you pass out. You inhale, and she cuts off your air supply once again.

“Does it help? Do you feel powerful? In control? Strong? Was it worth it?”

You can’t answer.

“I doubt it. There’s only so much air your lungs can hold. You’ll always run out of air pretty quickly, no matter how much you work on it. Liam. My Bunny. You’re not the brightest, are you?”

Your vision swims. Can she do permanent damage, like this? You don’t know. Isn’t it three minutes of oxygen deprivation before your brain gets damaged? No, wait, that’s before you die. You can go three weeks without food, three days without water, and three minutes without oxygen. But you remember something about people surviving being stuck under ice for hours without air… Where did you even hear that three rule, anyway? Was that even true?

Jane is still talking, saying your name over and over. Your insides burn, but you feel nice. Ha, she’s trying to torture you but instead you feel nice. Wait, why’s she trying to torture you? You didn’t do anything. What’s happening? Why can’t you open your mouth?

The world spins and your vision is tinged with dark blue. Jane lets go. You still can’t get enough air. She plugs your nose.

You smile beneath the tape and close your eyes. The ground is rippling, up and down, up and down. You think this wouldn’t be the worst way to die. Are you dying? Where are you?

You feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a flame, flickering, flickering, flickering. You feel like…

You feel like…

You wake up sweating.

You lie on the floor of a room you haven’t seen before. It’s so fucking hot. Your clothes are soaked with sweat. It’s so hot.

Your head hurts. Your mouth is still covered with duct tape, but your hands are unbound. You could take it off. She never told you to keep it on, you wouldn’t be breaking any rules.

Or maybe she did tell you to keep it on. You stopped listening to her, while you were being suffocated. You should’ve been listening.

Best not to risk it. You don’t want to give her any reason to hurt you worse.

You slowly get to your feet. It feels a bit better, to not be making as much contact with the hot concrete. But it’s not enough.

This is the hot room. You try to remember what Kit told you about it. They didn’t say much, except that usually Jane leaves people in here for longer than an hour.

You’re not sure how this is supposed to help with the goal of forgetting your name. Maybe it’s not. Maybe Jane just wants you to suffer.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, after only a few minutes of standing. You feel nauseous.

The door doesn’t have a handle on your side, and it won’t push open. Like always, there’s no escape. You will be left in here until Jane wants to let you out.

Your heart pounds. You shouldn’t be panicking, that will heat you up even more. Still, your thoughts race. How long will she leave you in here? You don’t want to be in here, you want it to stop.

You double over at another wave of nausea. The room spins. The duct tape is loosening from the sweat on your face.

What would Kit do? What would Dollie do?

You wish Kit had given you advice. That’s what you wanted, when you asked what things might happen. Is it better to take your clothes off, or are your damp clothes keeping you cool? Should you be standing, or should you be finding a position that takes less energy while still lessening contact with the ground?

You don’t know. You wish Kit was here, which makes you feel bad. You shouldn’t wish they were being tortured with you. But you know it would be easier if they were here.

Tears fall from your eyes. No, you can’t lose any more water! You have to stop!

But your panic just makes the tears fall faster. You want to curl into a ball, but that will just make things worse.

The duct tape over your mouth falls off. You would put it back on, to avoid upsetting Jane, but being able to breathe through your mouth makes you feel one hundred times better.

And, well, now it’s already fallen off. So if Jane told you to keep it on, you’ve already failed. No point in going back.

Your hand spasms and you gasp. It reminds you of being electrocuted and it /hurts/. Is that normal?

When your feet start spasming, you have to sit down. You try to focus on your breathing, but your mind keeps going back to how hot you are.

And how sweaty you are.

And how badly your head hurts.

And how your throat hurts.

And how you’re dizzy.

And how you’re thirsty, so so thirsty.

And how you’re nauseas.

And how your muscles keep spasming.

You’re going to have to get better at distracting yourself if you ever want to handle situations like this. You know you’ve experienced it before, that feeling of separation from your body and the pain, but right now you are stubbornly locked inside your body.

Your nose starts bleeding, because of course you need to add blood loss to the long list of things going wrong with your body.

She won’t let you die. She said that that was a long way away. She won’t leave you in here long enough to die.

You don’t know if that’s a relief or not.

You recite songs in your head (not out loud, you’re too thirsty for that). You count the minutes. You focus very hard on not crying. Blood and sweat and maybe some tears drip onto the ground.

Your chest hurts. Is this it? Did she go to far? You throw up and it hurts, it hurts your stomach and your chest and your throat and your head, and you can’t breathe. You hands spasm at your sides.

There’s only so long this can go on. Either she’ll let you out or you’ll die. This will end.

You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. This will end, this will end. It can’t go on forever. This will end.

You start to feel like you’re not so much breathing as moving air around. Hot air comes in and out of your lungs, and it doesn’t help. You’re suffocating, you’re dying, oh god you don’t want to die, you don’t you don’t you don’t. You need to get out!

You are overwhelmed by dizziness. You know, suddenly, that you’re going to survive. You’re starting to realize that what you need to survive and what you need are two very different things.

Your body falls forward, and you’re unconscious before your head hits the concrete.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

[winteratdusk]

Whumptober Day 10

Next chapter of four dreams in a row is out! Here’s the post with more details from the first chapter as well. 

Steve’s wrestling with a guilt he can’t seem to get over. He wants to know exactly what happened to Bucky in the time they lost.

warning for depictions of violence, torture

Small snippet below the break:

“Last chance, Soldier. Are you ready to comply?”

Bucky’s lips twitched around the gag, a conflicted expression flickering across his face. Steve didn’t know whether to will him to keep fighting or beg him to spare himself.

It didn’t matter. Bucky couldn’t figure out how to speak before a hood was dragged over his head and tied tightly around his neck. Bucky thrashed in the chair, but the restraints on his arms and legs kept him stuck fast.

“Too late.”

One of the guards was dragging Bucky’s covered head back with no regard for the painful angle at which it put his neck, and another was dragging buckets of gray, sloshing water into the room. Steve’s mouth filled with saliva, that awful metallic kind that meant impending nausea. He knew where this was going. He wished it was going anywhere else.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[snowyjay]

every person should be masked at all times within medical facilities. period. pandemic or not. why is this not treated as a normal fucking safety requirement/precaution like wearing gloves?

[savebatsfromscratch]

Day 5 - I’m Sorry, I Can’t Really Focus Right Now?!?!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42168798

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Summary: Hiccup has fallen into the ocean, his boat is wrecked by fear. (And the current lol.)

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Note: Idk. Hiccup in the ocean what will he do. I haven’t read these books in a while, not sure if you could tell lol.   The italics is either dragonese or Hiccup thinking, depending on where it is.

Cws and Tws: Almost drowning, numbness, getting knocked out, previous injury, bleeding

Words: 686 (oh wow that is pathetically short, sorry small fandom you deserve more than this)

Prompt: EVERY WHUMPEE’S NEEDS | Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

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Chapter text (under the cut):

Hiccup flailed in the water, gulping for any flash of air as the stormy waves of the open ocean crashed over him. The vampire spydragon bite on his arm made it near impossible to swim, but at least to was numb, because the pain of an open wound in the salty waters of the ocean wasn’t exactly something that Hiccup wanted. 

Even so, the water was cold, and the splintered pieces of his boat kept smacking into him with each change in the current. And as both things shocked any small bit of breath out of him (in a rather irregular schedule), Hiccup already had a few too many problems to deal with.

”You have to get up!” a crackly yet high pitched voice squeaked above him. It was the Wodensfang, and based on his frantic sounding wingbeats, he was struggling in the wind and rain just as much as Hiccup was in the water. 

“Thanks,” Hiccup choked, spitting out water as a momentary lack of waves filled his little area, “I hadn’t quite realized that yet.”

The Wodensfang continued to speak, but Hiccup was plunged under the waves before he could hear the conclusion of the little dragon’s words. He squeezed his eyes shut, so he couldn’t quite see what was happening under there, but he could’ve sworn he felt the obvious roughness of a dragon slide by his leg… 

He was back into the air as four tiny paws gripped onto his shoulder, dragging him up with all of their might as the Wodensfang flapped his wings like a hurricane. Hiccup opened his mouth to thank him, but another cold wave of seawater smacked into him before he could form the words, filling his mouth with salt and splinters from his shattered boat.

“You mustn't do that!” The Wodensfang chidded, breaths heavy and wings slowing as he let go of Hiccup’s shoulders, “You have to get to Tomorrow!”

The thought of the island made Hiccup so worried that he almost didn’t notice the odd numbness in the side of his body that wasn’t numb from the Vampire Spydragon bite. “But I haven’t-” he started, pausing to choke on seawater for a moment, “-haven’t got any of the things!” 

The Wodensfang scoffed, flying a bit closer to him as he spoke, “That’s never stopped you before.”

“I HAD all the things before!” Hiccup yelled back, his arms slowing even as he dipped further before the water. (He was just so cold.)

The Wodensfang spun in a little circle, clearly trying to think, “But you’re the future king of-” he dodged a falling piece of the mast, “-the Wilderwest! You’ll figure something out.”

Hiccup was really feeling the effects of the cold now, and when he looked down at the water, he was horrified to find a red stain filling it. When had he started bleeding…? “Wodensfang!” He said, speaking in Norse out of desperation for a second, “My boat crashed in the middle of the ocean!” He paused less for effect and more to spit out water, “I CAN’T get the things from the bottom of the ocean, let alone in a short enough time!” 

The Wodensfang paused, and Hiccup tried to feel for whatever part of him was bleeding. But it was either numbed from the cold of the water (which was taking away much of his mobility), shock (which he had forgotten could do such a thing until that very moment), the Vampire Spydragon bite, or some unholy combination of the two.

‘Oh Thor,’ he thought as another wave crashed over him, ‘I need to get out of the water…’

The moment he resurfaced the Wodensfang was talking again, but before the water could finish spilling out of his ears (and therefore before he could hear what he was saying), he felt something hit the back of his head. It was like the pain happened in slow motion, first an unexpected shock of splitting pain, followed quickly by an overwhelming sense of dizziness as his arms gave out on him, and then…

Nothing.

And the pain of the world drifted away from him.

End of Chapter notes: Yay. :) I finally wrote for this fandom again.

[eyndr-stories]

Almost forgot to post this!! Sorry its not fnaf related lol just wasn't sure what to draw so I ended up painting some random stuff!

[alastors-radioshow]

Ooooo you gonna make me suffer? for what? insulting you or insulting your little kitty cat?

There was a slight twitch at his eye, annoyance evident as he slowly approached the masked one.

"You know.. That is not a bad idea~" He'd muse, before he took a step back, shadows consuming his presence.

But not for long..

Long arms reached out from the darkness behind the poor fool, sharp claws digging into their neck, only to rip out the main artery, simply causing them to bleed out.

It was quick, this time. He simply had no interest in continuing that conversation.

He'd step back out of the shadows, stepping over the lump on the floor as he slowly licked the substance from his palm.

"Anyone else~?"

[amikotsu]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Obito, Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito Characters: Uchiha Obito, Hatake Kakashi Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Buried Alive, Denial of Feelings, Hugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Protective Uchiha Obito, Good Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Obito-centric, Hatake Kakashi Needs a Hug, Bottom Hatake Kakashi, Near Death Experiences Series: Part 5 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

He dug at the fresh dirt with both hands, his hands and fingernails caked in wet earth. The scent alone had him feeling sick; petrichor overwhelmed his senses, reminding him of the fact that he was digging up a fresh grave. Limited on time, Obito was desperately flinging dirt in every direction, just focused on reaching his companion. When his fingertips met skin, he hurriedly shoved the remainder of the damp dirt aside and dragged Kakashi from the shallow grave.

[harmcityherald]

Thunder walking overhead. Artemesia runs for shelter. We are like two school children.

[skrunksthatwunk]

playing dmc1 with my earbuds in (but on low volume bc they're being weird) while my roommate and her shitty bf argue. i feel like i'm recreating the very specific experience of some child of divorce out there

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, noncon/dubcon, angst, unwanted pregnancy, blackmail, ish-baby trapping

PART ONE only avaliable on AO3 due to Tumblr restrictions

fem reader

You went cold and forgot how to breathe.

When you got to the kindergarten, they told you his father had already come and collected him early. All looking at you as though you were crazy, assaulting the daycare workers with your hands in a bruising grip, shaking her by her shoulders—demanding she tell you where he took him. 

She spilled the name of some family restaurant down the road and said he’d wanted you to join them there. The poor thing was on the verge of tears when you let go.

Rushing out, you all but ran down the streets before pushing yourself through the doors—cold-sweating and swivel-eyed—in a panic, scanning faces with his name coming out weak under your breath. 

With your vision spinning, you felt faint before you heard it.

“Mommy! Mommy! You’re here! Look! I’m King of the castle!” he shouted, and your peeled eyes snapped to see him up high in a bright red plastic tower.

But before your shoes could hit the soft foam of the playground, you were intercepted by something larger.

“He’s fine,” he said under his breath, catching and stopping you in your beeline, holding you by the waist. “I need to talk to you.”

Something old and instinctive didn’t bother paying him heed—as if forgetting how to speak, you just ignored him in favor of pushing past him, eyes glued to the sight of your son blissfully unaware, playing with other kids with an oblivious smile on his face. But his grip was stronger than your instincts, firm enough to keep you still but not enough to hurt you, even when you tried twisting yourself free.

“Come on,” he urged.

You were about to sneer something, finally looking at his face—that face you hated—but the bark of curse words got held back.

“Look around you. Let’s not cause a scene.” The wild animal within went silent while your eyes flickered around at the surrounding picnic tables where families were having their dinner. “We can talk outside. My assistant will look after him.”

You didn’t feel much inclined to listen, but still, even though it made you hate to fold on his behest—reluctantly, you accepted the sense of what he was saying. Looking back at your son still laughing up in his tower with cinched brows. You didn’t want to scare him when he didn’t know what was going on, even though you felt the need to scream at the very top of your lungs.

You allowed him to lead you outside, but as soon as the fresh air welcomed your rigid state, you were at once whipping around and pushing him away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” snarling at him. “How fucking dare you?!”

“Calm down. He might still see us,” he hushed, hands raised in halfhearted surrender, casting a nod to the glass walls separating you from the frivolity inside. “Let’s just talk rationally.”

“Rationally?!” you scoffed in a shout, eyes still manic. “You fucking kidnapped my son, you psycho-”

“You wouldn’t answer my texts or calls,” he snubbed. “He’s my son too-”

“Fuck you,” you interrupted to return the favor. “If you fuck with me on this, I swear I’ll ruin you.” You had a finger raised at him, breathing furiously—looking down-right mad—sweaty and disheveled from your run with your face twisted with such a state of frenzy. “I’ll tell everyone how I got him in the first place!”

Despite the threat, he didn’t seem all that fazed. 

“Think about it…” he said calmly, much in contrast to you. “Who do you think people will believe? A teenage mom abusing her son for a paycheck or his estranged father wanting to provide for him?”

You blanched, and before anything else made it out—whether it be more rage or something else, he was already further silencing you.

“Not to mention… the trial would be gruesome, and Junior would have to grow up with it always hanging over his head—is that really what you want?”

You look at him, and you still can't believe it. How could it have turned out like this? You’d been perfect only a month ago before he’d shown up at your apartment.

You thought you’d sent him on his way for good that day, but only now did you realize he had no plans to leave you alone.

“Come, let’s talk in the car. It’s cold, and you’re not dressed,” he ushered, taking your arm again where you stood, stunned and still, trying to wrap your head around his threats. Letting yourself be led into the black vehicle standing perfectly parked in its neat white rectangle.

You both got in the back with enough room to battle your homey sofa nook at home.

“I don’t want this to get ugly,” he started anew—his voice still so irritatingly calm, unfairly so. “I just want to see my son-”

“He’s not yours,” you croaked, feeling the situation slip from your fingers—battling a drumming heart, shifty breaths, and the mean sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

“If you try and keep him from me, I’ll sue for full custody. And given I’m the only one out of us who isn’t a pro-bono case and the only one with any future that isn’t managing a register, I’d say I have a pretty fair shot at winning.”

You can’t keep from bursting out crying then, overwhelmed by the fear of losing the only thing that mattered and the pure disgust of the man who’d given it to you. It felt like everything was tearing—your whole life—crumbling before your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, his hand coming to drape your hunched shoulders where you held your tears. “I don’t want to take him away from you…” His attempt did little to comfort you, but the next words had your heart grasping for what little hope they offered. “And I’m not going to either.”

You looked at him through the hurt of swollen eyes, tears still falling while he wiped them away with the course pad of his thumb—rubbing your cheek affectionately. In any other circumstance, you’d surely slap him, but right now, all you could do was listen.

“I’m buying a house,” he revealed, still holding your cheek and gaze. “Fit for a family. Safe neighborhood, good school district, giant backyard.” The list went over your head—it was all too surreal to register. You couldn’t even fathom what he was getting at until, “I want the two of you to come live there with me.”

Stunned, you remained completely silent until the tears dried, and he let go of your face. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” He reaches across you and fetches the seatbelt before coming back over you to click it in place. “I’ll go get Junior and drive you home. Just stay here.”

You do as suggested and stay seated as he pops his door open and leaves—feeling all but cemented in place as your thoughts go tumbling around and around as if caught in a rip curl. When Junior jumps in beside you, a farfetched smile is all you can offer. Thankfully, he’s so enamored by a toy he’d gotten to notice much of your state.

When your door opens again, you’re led out and onto your neighborhood street. The fresh air does little to clear your mind. Feeling all but feverish as you hold Junior's small hand in yours while the man of your nightmares smiles all too fondly at the two of you.

“I’ll come pick you up after your shift on Monday.,” he says decidedly—cheerfully as he ruffles Junior’s hair enough to make him giggle. “Bring the rascal with you, and he can pick his room first.”

You weren’t planning on staying. You were never planning on staying—certain you would leave the second the opportunity to skip town arose—you just need to scramble the money together first. 

But the house was huge… nothing you could ever dream of, and while it made you desperate with grief, you couldn’t deny it either… Junior really loved having a dad.

It nearly brought sick to your throat to call him that. It was a shot through the heart every time you heard Junior’s boyish call, squealing with giggles, saying “Daddy, daddy, daddy-”

None of it seemed right to you. Seeing his bright smile, now at the age where a new tooth fell out every other week—looking so goofy as he proudly shows the two of you the new one he’d just knocked out playing soccer at school. “Mommy, Daddy, look!”

What’s worse is that you can't even deny how good the man you hate is at it all—spoiling him with gifts and making him laugh—giving piggyback ride after air-plane flight after tickle-fight and a game of tag and hide’n’seek. 

And it’s not just the easy stuff. He’s good at the shit that used to make you go crazy—putting him to bed, getting him dressed, making him eat the right stuff, and not just scuffle down candy. It’s as if the two of them have developed a secret language you’re not a part of. If Junior weren’t a toddler, you’d even suspect he’d been bribed and told to do his best to make you lose your mind. But no, it’s just reality.

The man you live with drives and picks your son up from school as if he’d done it since he was born, goes with you to meet the teacher if and when he gets into trouble and helps the two of you pick out the right shoes—shoes that you can now afford, thanks to him.

“I thought I might sleep in the master bedroom tonight.” He says, leaning against the frame in the doorway.

You’d been living there a month now. He’d been generous enough to sleep in the guest room up until now.

You don’t know how to deny him. It feels as if anything you might say would just be ignored or threatened until you eventually took it back. You didn’t want him in your bed—you didn’t want him in the same house—in fact, preferably, you’d want him to be six feet deep in the dirt.

You end up not answering. But he’s used to that by now. 

“I get it…” he says, taking steps into the room you’d wrongfully thought was your safe space. “You don’t trust me.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and reaches out across the sheets. You’re too late to pull your feet to yourself before he has one in his hand. He doesn’t do much but stroke it. “But you can.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes you want to gouge them out. It’s all been some cruel joke ever since you moved in—all the pleasantries and presents, as if trying to distract you from the past. Your wardrobe is chockfull of it, and so is Junior’s room—filled to the brim with lies.

“I’m never gon’ hurt you.” Another lie. “I did you wrong once, and I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ up for it.” 

You want to shake your head, laugh in his face—anything to reject it. But you’re terrified of what he might do if you didn’t play along. The threat of losing Junior is enough to make you cooperative.

“I know I’ve not been fair—pushin’ you into all of this so fast.” He gets down on his knees on the floor as if praying, right down beside you. “I took advantage of a vulnerable situation ‘cause I’m an impatient asshole—but I promise you—” He takes your hand in both of his. “If you give me the chance, I’m gon’ make our lives together like somethin’ outa’ a fuckin’ fairytale—all that happily ever after shit and more, just like you always wanted.”

The kiss he presses upon your knuckles beckons goosebumps to rise all across you. All his words feel like a bad script read by an even worse actor—in fact, this whole thing feels like a prank. And still, it doesn’t surprise you—he’s been laughing at you ever since you were children.

And now, laughing still, only with a fucking ringbox in his hand.

“I want Junior to see us as a united front. I don’t want him askin’ question why we ain’t sleepin’ in the same bed, why we fight behind locked doors, why you cry in the bathroom.” 

He pops the black velvet lid and reveals something so outrages it almost looks tacky lying there in a plush bed of red silk.

“I want us to be happy.” He picks the little thing out and holds it up between his thumb and index, still holding your hand in the other. “I want us to be real.” You can almost see your life flash before your eyes as it threatens your ring finger. “Let’s make us real.”

You don’t say anything as he eases the tiny hoop on, sliding it all the way back until it sits snugly right at your knuckle—dazzling in the dark. A tiny tear slips down your cheek—equally dazzling.

He played some with the digit—a smile on his face. 

“Looks good on you, Mrs.” As he calls you by his last name you almost shake the ring off as if it burned to wear, but it all gets lost when he rushes forward and locks his lips with yours.

You yelp against his mouth, kept from turning away by the large hand holding your jaw, threatening to seize your throat and squeeze. You remember how it had felt. You don’t want more of a reminder, so you intercept his tongue with yours before he forced it down your throat.

He groans at the warm welcome, and your entire body shudders in memory.

You hadn’t let anyone touch you since that time five years ago. It had left a poor taste in your mouth, and the hunger for it had never come back.

You choke it down now as he climbs on top. 

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[cute-little-crow]

Based on a request by 💌 anon on how Sylus might react if he finds out you’re ovulating…

tw: female reader, talk of ovulation, implied breeding kink, Sylus has a strong reaction to the news, mention of birth control, NSFW throughout but part two will be worse 😈

Part Two

Fragrant water sloshed over the edge of the tub, your skin slippery from the concoction of essential oils added earlier in the hope of relieving your aches and pains. Your hand slid against your body, glossing over hardened nipples and dipping past your navel towards the dull, throbbing ache between your legs.

Your eyes remained stubbornly closed, thoughts of the debauched nature swirling in a vortex of crimson and obsidian feathers. God, you wished you could admit everything to him… admit that you were struggling, but it wouldn’t be fair to press your burdens onto Sylus.

That was why you had avoided him as much as you could. Why you had dodged the touches he tried to brush against your skin, worried that one touch alone would be enough to give the game away. That he would know from the blazing heat of your skin that things were not as they seemed.

You knew it bothered him, not that he had said anything on the subject, but it was only a matter of time. Sylus was not one to be denied.

As if summoned by thought alone, a sharp knock punctuated your daydreaming. Sinking lower into the tub until your chin hit the waterline, you listened as the low rumble of Sylus’s voice drifted through the door.

“Can I come in, sweetie?”

A tiny part of you wanted to refuse him, but that would be cruel, and cruelty was not a part of your nature, not even in your current state.

Vermillion eyes locked with yours, curious and if you weren’t mistaken, concerned. Sylus sat on the edge of the bath, his back resting on the ceramic tiles whilst he cocked his head and let out a weary breath.

“For a minute, I didn’t think you would let me in,” he admitted whilst carefully rolling the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. “You’ve been avoiding me, kitten, why?”

You glanced off to the side, heat warmed your cheeks at the accusation. How did you tell him that it was for his own good? He didn’t need you distracting him unnecessarily with wants that made you blush and squirm with embarrassment.

Splash…

His strong hand plunged into the steaming water and wrapped around your ankle. He thumbed across your ankle bone delicately, long fingers splayed around your heel and towards your arch.

“Talk to me.”

The words were followed up with a squeeze of his hand, eliciting a moan that you couldn’t suppress. The corner of Sylus’s mouth twitched upward into a subtle smile, his grasp loosening to run the length of your calf.

“Sylus… I—it doesn’t matter. I’ll be okay, in a few days I’ll be back to my old self.”

“A few days? Nuh-uh, sweetie… I am not prepared to wait so long and I am certainly not willingly to have you continue to avoid me. What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He asked, brow furrowed and the first tendrils of his power leaked out to wash over you.

The power called to your own, entwined around each other in a lovers embrace, twisting and writhing. You weren’t sure if he felt it too, though if you were more present of mind you might have noticed how his breathing had turned shallow and his fingers had stopped massaging calf.

You licked over your parched lips. Gaze low-lidded as desire overrode your previous reservations.

“I’m… can you not look at me like that whilst I tell you this? It’s not helping.”

“Looking at you like what?”

“Like you’re going to devour me whole.”

Sylus huffed a laugh. “I just might, but fine. I’ll close my eyes, how about that?”

He was so handsome and that was certainly a large part of the problem. You’d lost count to the number of times you had fantasised about him soothing the ache in your belly. A large palm pressed against your soft belly whilst he thrust into your hot, wet cunt. His silver hair tickling your shoulder as he marked the skin of your neck, blowing cool air across the blooming bruises. Filling you up over and over until sleep took you hostage and you could happily drown in the fatigue of overused muscles.

“I’m ovulating,” you finally conceded, rushing on to explain. “It makes me feel needy. My body is hypersensitive. I’m prone to my emotions getting the better of me. Picking fights over nothing. Letting jealousy win. It’s a lot and I’m trying not to let it affect you…”

There was a weighty silence, filled only with the gentle sway of the water, and then it was broken.

“Ovulating. You’re… shit—well, that explains a thing or two.”

His eyes were positively glowing. His jaw set into an expression of pure agony. If looks could inflict damage you knew you’d be bloody beneath his dangerous maw.

Sylus was pure predator and you were the only prey he ever wanted to both consume and protect.

“Soft or rough?”

The question didn’t make sense and you frowned in confusion, nose wrinkled.

He answered by submerging his arm into the tub, right between your legs. Not even your attempt at closing your knees together would hinder his progress, not until he cupped your sex.

“I am giving you a choice,” he grit out, jaw flexing, “on how the next few hours are going to go. Either way, you will be asleep in my arms and content by the time I’m finished.”

“Oh, Sylus~”

Sylus groaned. His middle finger rubbed along your slit swollen with heat and desire, dipping through the hot flesh like a knife through butter.

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like that or I’ll make the decision for you,” he warned.

Saliva filled your mouth, runny and hot. “Rough,” you purred, letting your pussy answer for you. “But Sylus… I’m not on birth control right now.”

Sylus, who had started to rise to his feet with his arm dripping and his shirt sleeve dark with water, paused. He turned his gaze on you once more and your spine arched off the porcelain tub, nipples peaked and swollen emerged from the fragrant water.

“Stop talking, princess. I’m already a hair away from plucking you from the water and taking you on the bathroom floor like a dog.”

He strode for the door, ripping it open with such force that you shuddered.

“Five minutes. You have five minutes to get out and get onto all fours on our bed. I want to see my pretty pussy glistening and ready for me… maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you, if you’re lucky.”

You asked for rough… you were going to get it.

an: part two coming soon… dividers by @/roseschoices