#suffocation cw

[bittwitchy]

Chica and her cupcake

[thedeafprophet]

hm

fucked up concept of using death in the neath to kidnap someone. suffocating them and then moving their body somewhere for when they return from the slow boat

[deadlydevotion]

It was like floating, drifting in darkness that was all consuming. Silent but in a peaceful kind of way, empty of disturbance or thought. Just a vague sense of awareness of his own self and nothing else. So it was for... some indefinable amount of time. Why would he need to know time here? There wasn't any rush.

Gradually though, something made him aware. Of what, he didn't know, just... aware. Of himself? Thoughts drift sluggishly, coming to him grudgingly. Why was he here? Why was it so dark? He didn't hurt or really feel much at all, but no, he was... cold. Too cold and still and that was worrisome. He wasn't supposed to be so cold. His fingers twitched. Nothing felt real except the cold that pierced through his entire being.

That wasn't right. He was.... oh. He was dead. This was death wasn't it? Part of him simply relaxes and accepts this; after all he's spent most of his life waiting to die. Why should he fight now, when its finally been granted to him? Hadn't he sought it out again only weeks ago?

Wait. No. No he'd... he'd wanted to live... hadn't he?

Where was that tiny flame he'd only just found? Hadn't he been guarding it from even Knives?

Knives. He'd asked Legato to live. For the first time in his life, he wanted to follow that request.

His fingers twitch again and suddenly it feels like all his nerves light up at once. Its agony that he can't scream through with lungs that don't take in air. Is there any air here? He doesn't know, it hurts too much to think. But there's a beat and another and he gasps awake all at once, eyes snapping open.

He's in his room, staring at the ceiling, light filtering in through the window. The memory of the dream of that dark place slips away like sand through his fingers, replaced by the feeling of hands wrapped tight around his throat. He gasps a breath and chokes on it, pain lancing through his neck.

With no small effort, Legato pushes himself up and swings his legs over the side of his bed so he can be upright at least as he chokes and coughs raggedly. Each breath he manages burns and his throat feels like its about to collapse but he's breathing. No doubt he's loud enough to be heard but he can't control his body's violent fight against the lingering feeling of suffocation. Both hands clutch at his throat and tug the collar of his sweater down, as if that will help, and he fights back involuntary tears that prick at his eyes.

At least Vash was telling the truth. A hysterical laugh bubbles up but only starts another wheezing, choking, coughing fit. If waking up from that hurt this badly, who knew how much pain he would have been in if Knives hadn't stopped him before.

@plantfell

[negativepeanuthoarder]

I don't care about how rich they're, they're still humans

They are.

Billionares by their very nature exploit and kill people every day - no one gets that rich without a little blood on their hands, so I can see how some people would see it as karma. And I would also see it as karma if they died visiting one of their own factories or got impaled by a faulty design of their own product.

But suffocation in a poor excuse of a submarine is an awful way to go. The submarine pilot also made a poor decision but he was doing his job. Is it his fault his employer put money over his safety? Maybe he knew the risks and made a bad decision anyways.

Then theres that kid. That teenager. I can't stop thinking about him either because even though our lives are astronomically different he's the same age as I am. It's like when Techno died and all I could think about how he was the same age as one of my coworkers. There's a weird sense of confused sadness with learning that someone who died was the same age as you or someone close to you. Death feels so scary and far away and it's hard to reconcile a lost life when they feel so oddly close to your own.

I know that the chances of finding them are slim. But if they are I hope they have to pay back all of the resources that they wasted in the search. I hope there's a way to redistribute the unjustly obtained wealth that those Billionares owned.

And if they are dead, which there's a very good chance they are, I hope it was fast. I hope the hull cracked and it was a quick death to the pressure of the ocean. I don't want to imagine all five of them sitting cramped in the darkness, sweat and the stink of urine filling the room as they inevitably wait for their last stolen breaths of limited oxygen.

[plantfell]

It's the pain in his oxygen starved lungs that Knives first becomes aware of. He gasps desperately for air, and rolls over onto his side. Memories of the day before are slow to come, but the lingering feeling of phantom fingers around his throat is eager to remind him. It won't let him forget the lifeless face of the younger plant being tugged along like a puppet on strings, or of his brother decaying and deteriorating like so many of their sisters.

'Vash!' Knives cries out as soon as the memory hits him, only to realize a moment later how empty the world feels. Of course. There's no away to stop the decay. Vash must be-

Already labored breathing grows more ragged as Knives chokes back a sob. Even when their relationship was at it's worst, Knives could always take comfort in knowing his brother was out there somewhere. He was never truly alone. Not like this. Worse yet, how sure can Knives be that Vash will come back like he did? If Legato didn't finish him off, then it would be a natural death, wouldn't it?

Guilt weighs down every atom of the plant's soul, because, of course, it was his fault. It was Knives who created Legato. Who stoked the human's hatred and drove him to insanity. It was Knives, too, who drove his brother so close to death. Who destroyed everything in his wake until Vash saw draining himself dry to stop him as the only option.

As tears sting Knives' eyes and wet his cheeks, he reaches up and presses his nails against his throat. As he drags them across his skin, they leave behind angry red marks, but he doesn't care. It distracts from the feeling of the phantom fingers, which in turn distracts from the younger plant, and his brother, and all of his failures as he curls into a ball and sobs.

@deadlydevotion

[actiaslunaris]

Anata no Tonari ni Dareka Iru / 03-04

[enniewritesathing]

memory management (💧2)

⏮️Previous || (📚Previous Stories) || ▶️Beginning

(The room is quiet.)

(The Werewolf is in a dreamless sleep. His mind cannot, or will not, give him anything to dwell on. When he does dream, it's nothing more than a chain of nightmares.)

???: "He hasn't moved in a while. How are his vitals?"

??? "Stable since we've moved him in there. He's taking well to the liquid."

???: "Good."

???: "Hey, he's starting to wake up."

???: "Oh shit-- really? Thought that was supposed to be--"

???: "Start the timer, please."

(The Werewolf's hand finger twitches. Wait, something feels off... why does it feel like it's dragging across something? Why can't he hear anything?

(His eyelids are heavy. A bubble floats past his focusing vision. Everything feels heavy and light at the same time. Floating...)

(Even the air feels heavy. Another bubble lifts past. Why does it feel like-- water!)

???: "Rise and shine."

(The Werewolf snaps out of his slumber. He's surrounded by water; he reaches out and is immediately met by glass. No. No, he's trapped.)

(He summons his strength to break the glass, ignoring the razor sharp pain in his veins. There's no sign of giving.)

(The glass reverberates with each strike. He's getting out of here one way or another.)

???: "At this rate, he's going to break the tank!"

???: "No; he's not. Drop it to eighty-five and watch."

???: "And where are you going?"

???: "I'm going to observe up-close."

(The Werewolf finds himself struggling to breathe in the liquid. Instinct is wild and confused on whether he should hold his breath or breathe deeper.)

(He hears the steel door locks disengage and the sound of footsteps padding along the floor. Something -- someone's humming a bright, jaunty tone.)

???: "Well. You continue to surprise me, Johnathan."

(That voice. The Werewolf opens his eyes again, seeing the bleary outline in front of him.)

???: (reedy laugh) "You're about ten minutes in with eighty-five percent de-saturation."

"Fascinating, really. I could watch you all day to be honest."

(The Werewolf glares at the man.)

???: "Ha, what am I talking about? I do that already."

???: "Oh, pardon me. I suppose you're wondering why you're stuck in there. Right? Just a few tests to run. Lung capacity, how well they work... how they react to certain events. How long you can go without air. You're already exceeding expectations."

(The man gasps gently.) "Oh, that look! Your eyes! Has anyone told you they're absolutely marvelous to gaze into? How fiery they are? Yes, I can see the hate in your eyes. Wonderful.

"I just know you're plotting to get out and tear me to shreds. I know you're remembering my face and my voice. Right? A few inches of glass separates us. Shouldn't be too hard."

???: "Between the paralytics in your body and the fluid, you don't have a way. You're trapped here. Though, I am surprised you moving this well. I'll have to do something about that."

???: "I don't think holding your breath or whatever you're doing will help you further. In a few moments, this special fluid will no longer contain the necessary properties that allow you to breath it like air. You will suffocate and then you will drown."

???: "Please don't think of me as a cruel man, Johnathan. This is for science. I will not waste this god-given opportunity. A live, young, handsome werewolf such as yourself should be honored to be a part of this. You're one of a kind."

???: "I have confidence that you'll draw this out as much as you can. Right, Johnathan? I know that you have a lot of spirit within you. I'll be honest, it's such a sight to see you struggle..."

"...but it looks like you're nearing your limit. Your lungs must be burning. Your heart rate's dropping fast and you're beginning to black out. You're exhausted; I can see it on your face."

???: "There's no shame in giving up. You're frustrated, perhaps defeated. You're realizing things that has never occurred to you in your life. I'm sure you want this to all stop."

???: "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, my dear Johnathan. I won't let you die. No. You're too valuable to me. Priceless. We'll just..."

"...try again. I want to see what you're capable of."

// Next ⏭️

[kuroimarzipan]

when the mouth of infinity

buries its teeth in me

ill smile through the agony for you

[feleshero]

Night-Spider Episode 9: The Alien Costume (Part 2)

The first time Felicia put on the 'suit', it was... It was like the first time she was with Flash. The 'first' time, not the FIRST time.

It was warm. Tender where she needed coddling, fierce where she needed pressure. It coiled in her hands at first, threads of cooled darkness tickling at her aura. Asking permissions and testing boundaries.

She was unsure where to guide it. Sentient alien companions were a bit outside her wheelhouse, admittedly. She thought it best to do what consenting adults did and ask.

❝ How do we do this? ❞ There was a warble in her hands. A response gone unspoken, but one she understood. Deep breath.

The next part also reminded her of her first time with Flash... sorta.

The tears welling in her eyes and spilling out onto her cheeks, the impossibly disgusting yet eternally sweet flavor coating every bud on her tongue, the feeling like she was choking... pinpoint spots of the abyss forming in the center of her vision as she choked, gagged, drowned under the deluge forcing its way down her throat.

Hunched over, the darkness in her hands has grown three times as large. Ten times as heavy. It brings her down to her knees, spiking her into the earth in penance as her throat bulges at the seams.

Small veins of obsidian leak through her pores. The effusion burns COLD. So cold she can feel her skin freezing under its creeping advance. She tries to wick some away, in a panic. She succeeds, a glob of darkest black sent careening away from her, trailing a warm, rich crimson behind it.

A swatch of her flesh is ripped off, the darkness having threaded itself through her skin like needlepoint. To be rid of it, now, would be to be rid of her. She's trapped, freezing to death under a torrent of molten entropy, and her every pitiful cry is denied purchase.

Throat. Vocal chords. Even the well of her lungs have been seized by the suit. Every sound she makes is a frantic gurgle, a horrid screech, or a pitiful sob. Ichor leaks from her mouth when she tries to speak, metallic like blood, she can feel the perforations in her tongue, now swollen and barbed, too big to sit comfortable behind the serrated fangs that splintered her pristine whites and tore her gums asunder to find purchase.

Oxygen was precious. Measured in seconds now that her lungs were heavy with fluid and closed to the rest of her being.

Her phone. Just out of reach of her spasming fingers. If she can find a moment of focus, just ONE, she can call for help. Middle and Ring curl back, a practiced manuever toward the spinneret embedded in her wrist. They find purchase!

THWIP! The gossamer thread casts out, finds its target and-

❝ ... ❞

Gone. Lost beneath the darkness. Extended hand gone limp and then dragged underneath the oceanic abyss. Her flesh hardened and peeled off, her muscles untethered and splayed out, her bones dissolved. Gone.

And then the voice of GOD carves its way through Felicia.

Vibrating. Nothingness.

Reweaving. Infinite.

The divine presence changes the spider's venom within her. The tarantula's venom changes the call of the abyss without her. They both changed what remained of Felicia. They all turned into something else.

An Angel of the Void.

The spider made darker. The darkness made venomous.

Felicia was stretched. Stretched as anyone when seen from out of time. Across the call of ages, back to a universe that died to bring her this death. Almost an ouroboros. A spiral. A maelstrom.

The gravity well of a black hole, twisting inward, tightening, taking her below and below to the bottom, the heart, and through to the other side.

The Suit said: "When you hear this, you will know you are in the new you."

The Spider warned: "They'll build you till nothing remains."

Felicia agreed: "I must want these waves to drag me away..."

And then she was whole. Full. Alive? Lungs SCREAMING appreciation for the taste of air again. Veins in overdrive, pushing blood, adrenaline, and more through her hyper-powerful being.

Outside of her bedroom, out in the city, clinging to the facade of Fisk Tower and staring into... into- her own reflection? But upside down. And in a STUNNING suit! The colors were familiar, but the logo? What a design.

❝ What... the fuck did you do to me? ❞

A response unspoken, in the still-frayed edges of her mind. Like winterized lightning crashing around her synapses, the distant warblings felt much closer now.

Much easier to discern. Almost like a voice she could hear, as clear as she could hear her own. As if spoken through her own mouth.

❝ To YOU, Felicia? Nothing. But FOR US? Everything. ❞

[bleeding-handprints]

Day 10: Difficulty Breathing

Trying to fill all Febuwhump prompts with exactly 100 word drabbles.

Warnings: Strangulation/Suffocation

“I promised on his grave I’d get revenge.”

When he let go, their body swayed, suspended by the belt. They fought to get their bleeding knees back under them, but their trembling muscles failed them. They couldn’t raise their head high enough, couldn’t relieve the pressure on their neck.

Their chest was burning. Begging for air. It made them twitch in the desperate attempt to draw breath that wouldn’t come. As the belt cut off the blood flow, their vision dimmed, their frantic heartbeat hammering in their head. 

They were going to die. He was going to watch them die.

[dutyworn]

The highest grade of training, N6, provides actual combat experience in conflict zones throughout the galaxy. From day one, invitees are given basic gear, then separated and stranded on an asteroid with no nav data. The test ends when the last person runs out of oxygen. The first few are out of the program. If the trainee survives these scenarios in "admirable and effective fashion," they finally receive the coveted N7 designation.

I've been meaning to discuss this! How like. Shepard, literally, has experienced the panic of running out of oxygen in her training (I know it's not fully stated as such but for Wren at least? I take that as a type of a training mission where they were not told how the test would end. They let you suffocate to the point of losing consciousness but no permanent harm to see how you handle that kind of a situation, it's a part of it. You don't know you're not literally about to die - like yes sure you know it's a test, it's training, but in the moment, in the panic, you don't know-know) and suffocating to the point of losing consciousness, which is where the test ends and she's fetched to safety.

This is to say that when Wren is spaced and suffocates to death in ME2 prologue... she already knows that panic. Except this time she dies.

And yes she PTSD over a lack of oxygen, why do you ask-

And then in the fucking Leviathan DLC in ME3 she just yeets herself into the bottom of the fucking ocean on Despoina in a mech like she's used to spacesuits and no oxygen in the atmosphere but THE OCEAN. IN A MECH. Ma'am the way you hide your fear-

[familylightfox]

Anonymous asked:

You transgenic freaks violate the laws of nature. You don't have souls because you are abominations to the world.

                                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     There was no words to come before Volt’s actions. He’d had enough. One hand grasped the grey chest fur and shoved with far more force than was usually given. Right out the open door and onto the porch where the hybrid was right on them again. Cybernetic fingers caught and held the grey throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until air flow had become restricted. 

     “Just because my daughter and I weren’t naturally born does not make us someone you can treat like a lesser being. Keep your opinions to yourself or I’ll rip your fucking vocal cords out myself and you can start having to use sign to insult people.”

OOC: Quick mun Note: This is getting dangerously close to a topic that can be triggering for me due to religious trauma I dealt with growing up. Watch how you word things like this from now on please.

[huntershowl]

@tewwor​ | jie –– in the house, in a heartbeat.

❝ YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT ME, ❞ PERSEPHONE SNARLS, words interrupted with a grunt of pain when their positions flip and jie slams her against the wall. chin angled up from his arm pinning her throat, she stares down at him with wild fury in her eyes. 

before she can say anything else, the arm presses further –– persephone coughs, squeezing her eyes shut against the constriction of her windpipe, and brings up a knee to strike him hard in the groin.

[badmusejail]

it's a field of ash.

It wafts through the air, it blots out the sun; it paints the ground blank. It suffocates his lungs, it burns his eyes.

It doesn't matter how he blocks his face, how he braces; it's a torrent of death and smoke, and through watering eyes, he can see lights.

Red and blue, flashing in sequence, so distorted, so distant, a shimmering beacon in the dead of night.

So far away. So far away.

He's not going to make it.

He never does.

It's rather remarkable how in the moment, a mere fantasy can be so convincing. How foolish the brain can be, tormented by its own creations.

He's trembling. How pathetic.

Rage? Grief? It didn't matter. He put his feelings on the matter aside long ago. Even if that night was burned into his memory, sharp and unforgettable, taunting him with what could have been, what should have been.

(And yet, on nights like these, he can't help but notice: he has everything he could ever want, and what does it mean?)

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

[shiigures-a]

Buggy waltzes in a throws a huge red pillow with his own face printed on it at Tashigi. At least she should suffocate with style. Another marine out, and she didn't even have a bounty! What a win! (from @piratekingbuggy and I'm sorry I love Tashigi but he doesn't)

Well at least someone took her seriously until the last part was mentioned. No price on her head? The nerve! She demands him to come back and realize his mistake on his part.

Jokes on Buggy because she's worth 100 million berries. Only worth one star at their so called guild but it's something. A shame this flashy idiot was just an idiot.

Although, the pillow was going to make a nice target practice. Tashigi is sure he doesn't mind. He's used to being cut up anyways. Only fitting the little mascot is going to be the same way. In pieces.

@piratekingbuggy ( don't worry the feeling is mutual [ her hating Buggy and me loving him ] lol )

[negativepeanuthoarder]

ur absolutely allowed to feel sad about it like yea theyre rich but they're still people yknow ? you feel how you feel and thats fine even if its different from popular opinion <3

I guess?

I just feel so fucking weird about it. It's like I shouldn't feel bad but I do and I don't know how to turn off the not feeling bad I guess.

Like they were billionares, which by definition are unethical, but I can's stop thinking about that cramped dark tin can slowly crushing the life inside it as they desperatly gasp for air.