#tw self sacrifice

[shentheauthor]

LAMB COME GET YOUR CAT HE’S PERFORMING RITUAL SACRIFICE ON HIMSELF

Part 2

[serickswrites]

From a Whisper

Warnings: hostage situation, torture, captivity, emotional manipulation, self sacrifice, bruises, broken bones, blood, wounds, strangulation, choking, unconsciousness

"You look awful," Whumper whispered in Whumpee's ear. Their hot, wet breath tickled Whumpee. "Do you think Caretaker will recognize you?"

Whumpee opened their mouth to reply, but Whumper clamped their hand down on Whumpee's mouth. Whumpee swallowed their retort. There was no point in angering Whumper any further. It was hopeless.

"Look, here they come now," Whumper whispered as they tightened their grip on Whumpee's face. They began with their other hand, to press down on the deep bruise on Whumpee's collar bone. Whumpee wasn't entirely sure something wasn't broken, but with the pressure Whumper put on them, it would surely break. Their screams were muffled as Whumper kept their other hand on Whumpee's mouth.

"Let them go," Caretaker's voice carried across the room.

Whumpee looked up, their vision hazy with pain, their heart falling as they say Caretaker was really there. They had fallen for the bait.

"This is a hostage situation. If you're negotiating for their release, you've got to give me something," Whumper hissed, slowly drawing their hand away from Whumpee's mouth and putting their fingers on Whumpee's throat.

"Don't--" Whumpee started, but Whumper's fingers tightened, cutting off all air Whumpee had.

"Stop hurting them, Whumper. I am here like you asked. Let them go." Caretaker didn't look at Whumpee's face. They only had eyes for Whumper.

"Your presence is not enough, Caretaker. Give me something better. And I'd hurry if I were you, they don't look so good."

Blackness encroached the edge of Whumpee's vision. They sputtered and choked, but couldn't get a breath around Whumper's fingers. They shook their head. Caretaker couldn't give up anything for them.

"I will give you what you want, but you have to let them go first! Whumper!"

Whumper smiled and when they spoke, their voice sounded so far away even though Whumpee knew they were right next to Whumper. "I don't have to do anything. It is you who has to do something."

Whumpee gasped, their lungs burning for air. And still there was nothing. Their knees buckled, but Whumper kept them upright, the grip on their throat tightening.

"Jesus, Whumper! Stop! Stop!"

Whumpee wanted to reassure Caretaker. Wanted to ease the fear they heard in Caretaker's voice. Wanted to comfort Caretaker. But as the sounds began to fade and the darkness began to consume them, Whumpee realized there was nothing they could do to stop either Whumper or Caretaker.

And that was the last thought Whumpee had as they fell into the waiting darkness.

[vldsideblog]

Thinking about Keith being a martyr again. Most of his life he relied completely on himself, and when he found people that cared about him he lost them. With Shiro he found a brother, but Shiro kept disappearing, and then he came back different. Almost like a different person.

Keith was alone in the Blade, he thought Voltron didn’t need him. And if no one needed him no one could possibly want him around. He’s a tool in his own mind. A defender, a fighter. He does what he needs to in order to keep the war efforts alive, and doesn’t regard himself as anything more than a piece on a chessboard.

So he risks his life when he doesn’t have to. He trains excessively. He doesn’t try to make friends, cause to him this isn’t something that’s going to last. If any of them survive he’s just going to go back to his shack, maybe spend some time with Shiro or Adam if they all live through this. But ultimately, Keith doesn’t think he’s going to survive the war, and he can’t think of a brighter future than dying on the battlefield.

Naxzela should’ve been a wake up call, something to remind him that he is still alive. But no one ever brought it up.

He’s been a martyr since the beginning. And I think about that a lot

[cryptidwritings]

Hero was alive. Barely. Sort of.

It was complicated. He certainly felt alive, but there was... something else. He'd go about his day and fight crime, stop by his usual place to pick up food, then literally fly back to his home to eat and wait for the next emergency which would inevitably happen just as he was dozing off or stepping into the shower.

After years, the crime-fighting thing - along with his food - began to grow stale on his tongue, and his previously held convictions began to feel like shackles.

That's why villain was so confused when he opened the door, and Hero was there, dressed like a civilian but with a laceration stretching across his lips from their most recent fight. It was barely healed.

"I can't do this anymore," he said, a bit monotone with an empty, dismissive shrug.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Villain asked, not prepared for the answer.

"Kill me."

[multicolour-ink]

What if Bowser makes one of the bros think the other is dead in order to break their spirits?

Well I did do a version for Luigi on this post, so let's try and do one for Mario.

So my first idea was that Luigi would manage to escape, but end up accidentally leaving his hat behind; Bowser then gleefully shows Mario the hat when Mario goes to confront him, and lies that Luigi is dead.

But then I thought "Well how would would this neatly tie into a a reunion scene if Mario is wailing on Bowser?" So I did a rethink, and came up with this:

Luigi manages to lead himself and the prisoners on an escape route out of the fortress. However, right as they are near the end, they are ambushed by Bowser's minions and Kamek. Luigi makes a nobel sacrifice to fight these goons while the prisoners make a run for it. But during the scuffle, Luigi is knocked out of sight (down a shaft or towards a lava pit, or whatever), to the horror of the prisoners.

The prisoners quickly run for it while Kamek and the goons are distracted; eventually they run into Mario and Co.

After introductions Mario is then quick to notice something and asks

"Hey, where's Luigi?"

The prisoners go very quiet. One of them, the Penguin King, steps forward and, with a heavy heart, presents Luigi's hat.

And Mario just shuts down.

He's on his knees, the hat clutched in his hands. The world goes foggy around him. He barely hears Toad and DK's yells of protest ("Are you sure Luigi's gone?!") He doesn't even register Peach right by his side, trying to comfort him.

All he hears is white noise.

[whump-in-the-closet]

Classical Hero Whump Prompts

as a quasi-sequel to villain whump prompts

A hero who never messes up, who is in every possible way, unstoppable, a beacon of hope, etc. They’re mind-numbingly perfect

They never say the wrong thing. In fact, they never say anything at all. Some find this odd, but those who look too close or peer too closely past the gilded charade never return the same

The hero’s mask hides a scarred face and the shadows under their eyes

They didn’t know when they signed up for this that saving people meant so much pain for them

A hero turning themself over to the villain, expecting no mercy and telling themselves its for the greater good

It’s better for one person to suffer than an entire city, right?

They can take the humiliation of being dragged around and used as a showpiece, but they wouldn’t be able to take the guilt if the villain had hurt anyone in the city

When the hero falls out of favour with the people of the city and a new hero rises up to replace them

The old hero’s entire world collapses around them, but they accept it with what little dignity they have left and prepare to leave

But their replacement stops them with a smile. “You haven’t quite outlived your purpose.”

There’s something in their smile that makes the hero realise something is very, very wrong

[hazbeans-for-thee]

I just had the most fucked up idea for a fanfic I might’ve ever had— but my brain apparently wants me to make Vox specifically suffer

TW: suicide/self sacrifice

So imagine, for whatever reason, Vox finds himself at an impasse. He can’t use his powers. There’s two other people in the room, tied down with angelic chains.

To his left, Valentino, his current business partner, his friend, the one who took care of him on his lonely nights.

To his right, Alastor, his… he’s not quite sure what Alastor is to him. They had been partners in the past, he very much admired Alastor, but showing it had scared him off. But Vox still aches for Alastor’s attention.

In front of him is a handgun. It’s made with angelic steel. Loaded with one blindingly bright silver bullet. One of these was enough to kill an angel… and enough to permanently kill a demon.

He has to make a choice. But this choice will haunt him until he finally dies. He can’t replace either of them.

But if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s this: sometimes you have to come up with crazy solutions to solve a problem.

He looks up to the two and picks up the gun, holding it right between his eyes. The two of them are pulling against the chains holding them down, trying to scream against the rope in their mouths.

He closes his eyes.

“I love you.”

Click.

BANG

[descendinginto-madness]

never backing out.

word count: 275

content warnings: mentions of death and self-sacrificing behavior

summary: N/A

author's notes: a little... something.well tbh!! it's kinda mid in my opinion but i wanted to keep the streak going HAHA tomorrows piece should be better tbh :3

Most of the time Welt Yang doesn’t take unnecessary risks.

Sometimes, it’s okay to back down, he knows that. Sometimes there’s just no use pushing forward, especially when it’s going to bring much more harm than good - and while he certainly doesn’t prioritize his own well-being, he still prioritizes that of the others, even though he knows all of them are more than capable of taking care of themselves. As the oldest member of the crew, he feels responsible for them, like he should protect them, which also includes making decisions that won’t put the Astral Express at risk.

However, as to most rules there’s an exception to this one as well - technically. The reason for it is exactly the same; he wants to protect his friends— family, almost. That’s why, if the situation calls for it, he will be reckless, he won’t hesitate to throw himself in danger, even risk his life, if that’s what keeps the others safe, but then - is it really an exception if the only one he's putting in danger is himself? 

And - ah, he knows that many would be concerned when hearing something like that, but he himself doesn’t mind doing that, and so, he doesn’t see a problem there.

It’s what he’s supposed to do anyways; what he always did, and will continue doing, too, because some parts of him are never going to change.

If it means protecting something or someone, he'd rather die than give up. 

divider by @/cafekitsune

[monkiebois]

ive totally not been stalking your blog and noticed you have some actually good nezha angst content! which like nobody has ;-;

im sorry if you have already done this, but drop your angsty nezha hc's here? basically any angsty hc's for him you want ig

LOL THANKS, i actually haven't done that yet, just sprinkle ideas here ad there for people to read.

alright *cracks knuckles* angsty Nezha hc's here we go. buckle up cause theres gonna be ALOT.

TW--- mentions of child abuse, self-harm, suicide and violence. if u know Nezha's mythology then you know what im talking about. even if you dont Be cautious reading this i will highlight the suicide andself harm stuff in red. the child abuse is all the first half of this post

most of the first part is based off of Nezha's mythology in investiture the gods, some are creative liberties.

Nezha is literally a neurodivergent kid who has been told to stop doing the things he does bc there're 'annoying', 'rude', or 'weird'. which... their not. he just does things differently because he's neurodivergent.

no one was ever nice about telling him to do things differently. or...'normally'. he was always told off in a negative sense. it was straight-up child abuse.

of course back then it wasnt seen as child abuse much, since neurodivergancy wasnt a thing they knew about nezha was just a troublesome child, a burden. and in nezhas eyes no matter how much he tried, no matter what he did he was never enough. he was convinced that he was a mistake and a dissapointment. born with so much potential only to be thwarted by his "troublesome nature"

this "troublesome nature" was just normal neurodivergent things. normal kid things. but no one ever considered that, the only one that did was his mom. she was nicer then the rest of his family. not the greatest of course but compared to the others she understood that he was a child.

i heard its implied somewhere his father wouldnt let him out of the house for the first seven years of his life. Nezha had to sneak out and his mother would call him back inside whenever his father came back home.

one day while outside he met a man with orange hair, bright like the sun in the sky. A man with kind eyes a soft voice. the complete opposite of his father. the man stayed in the village for a few days. he kept nezha company and for once. nezha felt...safe.

but he had to leave sooner or later. even so the man promised to come back (it was wukong on his journey for immortality, disguised as a human)

his father was very picky on the way things were done, Nezha sometimes did things differently or hell probably forgot often. because ynow....hes a kid. but often that wasnt enough. there were times his father was angry, very angry. and instead of being a fucking adult about it he let it out onto Nezhas shortcomings. screaming fits, throwing things. and Nezha had to stand still, 'take it like a man' despite being a literal child. until his father was done poking and prodding at every little 'flaw' Nezha had.

all he wanted was to make his family proud.

then the dragon thing happened.

he just wanted to play with his friends.

he just wanted to protect his friends.

he just wanted to be a kid

he just wanted to do the right thing.

in a last-ditch effort to keep any blame off of his family, to keep his village safe from the dragon's wrath he took a sword at twelve years old and killed himself. offering his dead body as compensation.

he was 12

he was a child.

the man with orange hair came back and asked about Nezha. he was too late.

when he was reincarnated into a lotus body those scars remained. Scars on his hands from grabbing onto the blade and making his hands bleed. scars on his chest from....yeah, he has one on his left arm, stretching across his upper to lower arm and a shorter one on his right upper arm. both were accidental. and one on his neck.

the ones on his neck and chest were not accidental.

im not going into detail but....yeah.

His lotus body...its not exactly fit for him.

his powers i mean.

its too much.

remember how bai he's body started to crack and break due to being too weak for lbd's powers.

okay think of that but nezha in his god form.

if he uses that form for too long his body will crack until it finnaly shatters and nothing is left but a single lotus flower.

thats Nezha.

he's regenerating.

to keep this from happening too often he uses alot of weapons.

no one in heaven knows of this weakness.

Nezha began working in heaven after the whole.....trying to kill his father thing.

Context: his father destroyed a temple nezha's mother had built for nezhas soul to rest in so when nezha was reincarnated he wanted revenge.

anyways

Nezha did not have a good time working in heaven. he was 12 and...well lets just say the lotus body didnt exactly look. godlike. so over the course of a few years he use glamor and transformation magic to change his appearance. to not only look more godlike but older as well. that way people would respect him. no one would consdescend him. no one would have a reason to yell at him or poke and prod at his weaknesses.

his body doesnt grow. he's stuck the same way he was when he died.

its not a bad thing.

its really not.

he can be the child he was never allowed to be.

but he doesn't let himself be that.

he works and he works and he works.

desperate to earn respect.

desperate for people to no longer look down on him.

so he pretends to be an adult.

on one hand theres nothing really wrong with his older form, its the reason he has it thats the problem.

he stays in his older form most of the time bc...well come on. being a kid isnt always great.

despite the fact that he doesnt grow he is mature.

thousands of years of living will do that.

hes still a kid but he has many years of experience.

so being in his older form isnt a bad thing, it helps him do things that would be harder in his normal form.

like reaching tall places.

(even though he is mature due to years of experience and transforms to look older my nezha is still a child please respect this)

or fighting.

anyways

he was there when swk was punished. he didnt like any of it. at first he thought swk was just a troublesome demon but then...then he started seeing what was really going on.

it reminded him too much of his own experience.

he didnt like any of it. and when the burning of ffm happened he only pretended to join the fight. he even managed to face swk for a moment.

only for them to finally recognize each other. Swk knew this was the child from a home of thunder and lightning. Nezha knew this was the man of the sun with kind eyes.

Nezha was injured and swk told him to run and where to hide for the time being.

after it was all over...Nezha was forced to watch as swk...the only man to ever show him true kindness. the only man he feels safe around...was tortured by heaven.

he hated every second of it and to this day it haunts his nightmares. all of it. ffm. the torture, the furnace. for the following 500 years he was under the mountain Nezha had nightmares about swk blaming him for not freeing him.

worst 500 years of his life.

so much guilt.

and he already has so much on his shoulders that he is still learning how to handle.

after the journey they met up again. Nezha could barely stand to talk to him. the guilt clawing at his throat and thumping in his chest.

swk seemed cheery as ever though.

nezha invited him to tea at his home.

he moved out of his families place bc "hes an adult"

he just needed to get away from his father.

swk accepted.

it was nice for a moment. just a little bit.

then swk mentioned the elephant in the room.

he saw nezha and how horrified he looked during...that.

he wanted to ask nezha if he's okay.

for a moment nezha was silent. couldnt bear to meet his eyes.

then all the glamors and transformations fell.

every wall he'd built and fortified over the past thousand years crumbled and for once he finally let himself cry.

like a child.

swk dropped whatever he was holding (poor teacup) and immediately held the poor suffering child in front of him.

dad

Swk is dad

that day Nezha spent the rest of the afternoon letting out everything he had been holding inside. so much for someone so young.

that was the day swk adopted nezha.

nezha didnt know he was adopted swk just started showing up to his temple more often.

when swk told nezha, nezha laughed thinking it was a joke, then he got a little angry. nezha thinks he can take care of himself. he can...but he's not exactly very good at self care. swk told him he doesnt wanna coddle nezha. just... be there when he really needs it. be that person that nezha can run to when everything becomes too much.

nezha cried again.

so. yeah.

thats nezha.

he hides who he truly is from celestial eyes. working endlessly to become the perfect image of a celestial god. doing everything he can to seem perfect and untouchable. strong and unbreakable.

Swk has a room in every home he owns thats set up for Nezha to rest in whenever he needs.

Nezha and swk's dynamic doesnt exactly change much like in the show. Nezha doesnt exactly like how much Swk acts like a goofball. he's less tolerant of it around other people. then goes to ffm with him ranting about how swk is a king, a high ranking individual with alot of power. he should act more like it.

all, while he's in his true form and sits on swk's shoulders.

all while he and swk sit beside a river and lets swk braid flowers into his hair and then eat fruit on a cliff as the sun sets for dinner.

then nezha falls asleep on swk's side and she carries him home and tucks him into bed.

FFM, is a safe haven for nezha when he needs it.

swk is a safe person. the only person who ever sees his true form.

when nezha was assigned to protect the samadhi fire he felt as if he finally had the respect he's been working towards.

he stopped visiting swk as often bc of his duties.

he still visited just. not as often as before.

even so, they are father and son. nothing can change that

for more info heres some links to other posts where i talk about nezha. its mostly for au's but alot of it is also within my own hc's and not just au's

im picking out the angst ones just for u

general hc's masterpost(wip)

Nezha and his Monkey dad

Fragility

he's not good at self care

1Mother?

2Mother?

Picky eater

Sick

Unconditionally

They didn't deserve you

anyways this was fun to make. thanks mercy ive been meaning to talk about all of this for a while now

[depressed-werewolf]

“You have no where to run.”

Hero smiled. “That’s what you think.”

A look of horror creeped onto Villain face as Hero took a step back. Villain reached out for them but they were too late. All they could was watch as Hero plummeted off the ledge to the ground.

[serickswrites]

Stay. Please.

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, self sacrifice, broken bones, bruises, blood, unconsciousness, rescue, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

The bruises beneath Smallest Teammate's eyes were so pronounced, Teammate One had never seen them so dark. As far as Teammate One was aware, Smallest Teammate had yet to go to sleep since Teammate Two and them had found Smallest Teammate. And Team Leader.

Team Leader lay completely still in the hospital bed. Their face was bruised and still swollen, but improving. The ventilator whirred and hissed quietly, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor were all things that told Teammate One that Team Leader was still alive.

Because they should be dead.

Finding Smallest Teammate standing in cuffs in Whumper's compound had been jarring. Finding Team Leader covered in blood, unconscious, and hanging like a dead weight in chains just one cell over had been an entirely different feeling. Teammate One was so convinced that Team Leader was dead that they hadn't wanted to go in there. Hadn't wanted to confirm that their friend was dead. Their fear had them frozen. They couldn't move. Couldn't bear to see or think that they had failed Team Leader once more.

Teammate Two's voice came from Smallest Teammate's cell. But Teammate One couldn't hear Teammate Two's voice over the blood roaring in their ears. Couldn't hear Smallest Teammate's begging and pleading as they shoved past Teammate One to Team Leader's body. Couldn't hear Smallest Teammate's sobs as they desperately tried to get Team Leader's body down from the chains.

But they did hear Smallest Teammate's cry of delight. "They're alive. We need help. Please! Stay with me, Team Leader Stay. Please."

The words had Teammate One springing into action. They were moving without thinking. Team Leader was alive. Needed help. They could help Team Leader.

And Team Leader had stayed alive. They had stayed alive to make it to the hospital. Stayed alive through the emergency surgery that the medical team wasn't sure they would live through. Had stay alive with three broken ribs, a skull fracture, countless cuts, and burns. Team Leader had stayed alive.

"It should be me," Smallest Teammate finally whispered.

"What?" Teammate One couldn't be sure they heard Smallest Teammate right. Smallest Teammate hadn't spoken in days.

Smallest Teammate never looked up from Team Leader's face. Never stopped stroking Team Leader's hand that they clutched in both of theirs. "It should be me. Whumper," Smallest Teammate sniffed, "Whumper had wanted to hurt me. Wanted to do everything that happened to Team Leader to me. But Team Leader wouldn't let them. Wouldn't let Whumper hurt me. So I had to watch. I had to watch as Team Leader was tortured to death. Instead of me." They began to sob.

Teammate One sat down next to Smallest Teammate and put a hand on their shoulders. "It's ok. It's ok. You're both ok."

Smallest Teammate shook their head. "It is not ok. I owe them my life. I'll spend my whole life trying to pay them back. And it won't be enough."

Teammate One stared at Team Leader's face. "Somehow, I think Team Leader would rather you be in this chair than them. I think they won't see it your way. But we all owe Team Leader so much."

Smallest Teammate nodded. "Stay with me, please?"

Teammate One gave Smallest Teammate's shoulders a squeeze. "Sure."

[snowcandyz]

The Letter Under The Shoes

Genre: Dark, Heavy Angst

Main Characters: Satan, Lucifer, Solomon, Simeon

Summary: MC felt responsible for what happened in Lesson 37.

Warning: Contains spoiler for Lessons 37 & 38. Also contains heavy themes like self-hatred, self-sacrifice, suicidal attempts, depressive themes, abusive and negligence relationships, toxic relationships and a major character's death. Please proceed with caution. AVOID READING IF THE TW MADE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 [Heavy contents ahead]

Part 4

Epilogue

[go-to-the-mirror]

HEY WELL AT LEAST THEY'RE NONBINARY RIGHT?

he/they jonbinary rights. also oh god oh fuck, time for MAG 132.

@a-mag-a-day

CW: canon- typical suicidal ideation and attempt, canon-typical self sacrificial tendencies. Both discussed more frankly than in the actual podcast.

Also, I'm allowing myself free use of my reaction images (with image descriptions) because I'm in SHAMBLES. Mostly words though.

ARCHIVIST Hello, Melanie. I know I said we’d wait until Basira was back, but I don’t… I’m sorry. I know she won’t… She’d want to do it a different way.

headinhands

Wish me luck. Although, I suppose if you’re hearing this, then I didn’t have any.

The way he says "wish me luck" with that levity and then just hhh like yk joking is one his coping mechanisms for like, crushing fear and grief and stuff, and just the way they SAY it just makes me want to CRY, AAA

I don’t know. I’m… I’m scared. When does the fear go away?

I remember in my first listen, this line stood out to me, I was in shambles, shambles. "When does the fear go away" I'm so, so sorry Jon.

[ID: Drawing of a person sitting at a computer, hands covering their face, crying. /End ID]

Anyway, I’m sorry. You too, Basira, if you’re hearing this. I know you’d stop me. You’d be right to, but … But if this goes wrong, all you lose is … I’m not risking anyone else.

This is a suicide note. Now, he's hoping he'll get out -- probably -- maybe -- but that. It is. Similar. The apology. All you lose is another monster. He might get stuck there forever, he's terrified, he's doing this for someone he doesn't even like out of guilt, out of the crushing -- ha -- amount of guilt, over Tim, over Daisy, over Martin and Basira and Melanie, over his... victims.

In case I don't make it. In case I don't get lucky.

Jonny stop making this podcast so good I'm going to cry.

Let’s do this one properly.

A reference to the Unknowing, where they... did not do it properly.

Stone steps. Roughly hewn. They… They keep going.

Just wanted to point out that he's like, ooh, information gathering. For information's sake, for the people in Artefacts. I think it's neat that he's doing this, and it's a way that makes sense in the world to let us know what's going on. Like how in Malevolent, Arthur's blind and John describes stuff in eloquent detail like some sort of poet or whatever, the statement givers describe the environment and people in their statements, and Jon is describing The Buried.

[The Archivist struggles forward]

Jon's voice in this, it sounds like they're confined, Jonny did a great job on the voice acting there. And the soundscaping in general is like, oh boy claustrophobia time! It's so good.

ARCHIVIST I heard someone. He was begging for me to save him. He said he couldn’t breathe. I can barely breathe. I couldn’t find him, but I am not here for him. I don’t even know him.

The Buried and putting you under the crushing weight of responsibility? Jon went into the coffin because he felt 'crushing' guilt over Tim's death and Daisy's imprisonment in the coffin, and the whole mess that The Unknowing was. In the coffin he's being called by others, and the responsibility of their safety is put on him. Now obviously it's not the other victims who are at fault, however it's interesting that The Buried does that. Perhaps that's how it makes people stay in it, alongside the spooky magic. With putting the responsibility of others on them, making them dig themselves a hole, and not be able to climb out. But Jon has Daisy's tapes as an anchor, he has a purpose, and so he can press on without getting too weighed down?

Just some thoughts.

For all this place closes around me, I feel adrift, like nothing can get through the dirt and the muck and …

This reminds me of how a lot of people say that The Buried and The Vast are quite similar, as an example -- the statement in MAG 195 - Adrift could be either Buried or Vast, big creature, but also crushing depths of water and drowning, but also lots of water. Also the categorizations aren't really like that, again like gender and colours.

The air is heavy – soil and dust. I am very thirsty, but I know I won’t die of it.

Two fun facts about me!

1. I used to live in a desert and the air was like weighted blanket air. I loved it.

2. I used to forget to drink water a lot, and I'd go days where I'd drink like... a glass? Now I drink a minimum of two glasses a day because meds, which has really helped lessen the constant headaches lol. Yea um. Drink water, kiddos.

[He struggles to breath as the Buried squeezes him. The Buried relaxes.]

THE SOUND EDITORS THIS EPISODE WERE KILLING IT!

DAISY —just alone. I think, I think … I hear this, sometimes, singing, when it’s wet. Or, or scratching, trying to get out. But I don’t … I don’t think there’s anyone there. It’s just been me, until now.

Fay Roberts did an excellent job as well. The voice acting <333 10/10 no notes, or like yes notes, and the notes are Feeling Claustrophobic well done.

ARCHIVIST It’s okay, I’ve, uh … I’ve got a plan. DAISY This like all your other plans?

If by "all [their] other plans" she means impulsive, borderline suicidal, and likely to fail... yes.

ARCHIVIST No. I know where we are. There is no out. Not here. This is … This is forever deep below creation, where the weight of existence bears down. This is the Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up. Oh God. What have I done? What have I done?

I really like the way he delivers that line, especially the "This is the Buried, and we are alive" and "Oh God" parts.

DAISY Not alone, though? ARCHIVIST No. No, not alone.

[ID: A blurry screenshot of CC!GoodTimesWithScar from his stream. He's a bit further away from the camera than usual for streams, and has his head in his hands. /End ID]

DAISY Scared. I’m scared. I’ve been scared the whole time here, not just when it’s crushing, when it fills your mouth with dirt. It knows when to stop, or when to ease back so you don’t lose it or grow numb. Leaves you terrified for when it starts again, and when it does, you’re scared it’ll never stop.

My friend, Jay Mapleejay -- who you should follow by the way, @/mapleejay or @/mapleeowl everywhere -- once wondered how the Domains in the Eyepocolypse kept people afraid without the memory loss like in MAG 170. And there's your answer probably.

Also :(

The Hunt was me, but I don’t think I liked it. I think it just made me need it.

Idk what to say, just like this line.

I don’t … I don’t know who I am without the chase. I just know that I don’t like who I was back outside. I don’t want to be her again. I want to be better.

Same for this.

ARCHIVIST One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

Themes of choice in The Magnus Archivessssss this podcast makes me abnormal in so many ways <333

ARCHIVIST And now? DAISY Don’t know. I miss dreaming. You don’t sleep down here. ARCHIVIST Daisy, you should know I’m … If I wasn’t human before, I’m even less human now. DAISY Yeah, well. At the moment, I don’t care. ARCHIVIST And if we get out? DAISY But we can’t get out. [The Earth shifts.] (The Archivist grunts in pain.) DAISY (Pained) I’m sorry. I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry.

I just really like this exchange :(

[The coffin door creaks open and, groaning with effort, the Archivist and Daisy crawl out into the office. There are many tape recorders playing in the background.] [...] ARCHIVIST Tape recorders. M-must be dozens of them.

The Web my absolute beloathed. Now, I love Martin K-Anchor Blackwood as much as the next hopeless (a)romantic, however I don't think that it was Martin's love for Jon that pulled Jon out The Buried, I think it was The Web. Well, The Web definitely influenced Martin, however we do know that The Web has used their... undying love for one another against them *cough cough* *wink wink* *nudge nudge*, so it could have been the act of Martin leaving the tape recorders, but my personal theory is that it was just The Web. Uh oh, Jo(h)n (/ref).

Anyway! Ain't it great! Daisy's back! Jon isn't constantly alone!

He...

I'm going to have a lot of talking to do come MAG 136.

[cryptidwritings]

Dark Water

Chapter 44 : The Liar

prev | next | masterlist

cw: forced to hurt, self sacrifice, restraints, mention of blood, two POV's.

a/n: I don't have the usual pngs with me, so take some dots as separators today :) sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it!

...

A cracking boom shook the ground, and Moss’ eyes snapped open, catching the tail-end of the rumble and a bright flash of light, followed by a clatter of drops on the roof. He relaxed with a sigh, then pulled the covers on top of him.

Wait. His eyes opened again. He was in a bedroom; the single bed where he lay was shoved into the corner. A trunk was in the other corner, opposite the door where the light of a fire flickered underneath; interrupted by a small shadow rocking back and forth with a groaning creak.

Moss sat up, sucking in a breath as his leg pulsed and twitched. On reflex, he bent his knee, registering the clink of metal, and something heavy around his ankle. He flipped the blanket off of him. A cuff with a few feet of chain length was now around his left ankle, the other end attached to a bed spoke. He could feel the slight tug of a clean dressing over his wound, and his jaw clenched, hating that he was grateful for it.

He froze as a shadow appeared under the door with quiet steps. It turned slowly, then opened, and Moss lowered his head as Reid stepped inside.

“Terrible storm tonight, might not pass for a few days.”

The memories were catching up.

“Where am I?” He finally asked.

“My home,” Reid answered from another room. Then he returned, and pushed a bowl to Moss.

It was soup; spicy, warm, and watery. It filled his belly, though. The chunks were some sort of fish he had never tasted. Reid watched him gulp it down, then wipe his chin with his sleeve as he offered the bowl back.

“Ye want another? There’s plenty.”

“Yes,” he looked up and hastily added, “please.”

While Reid served another bowl, Moss could hear a distant thump, like an untethered window shade. Then, the bowl was there again,

Reid leaned on the door jamb. “Caught a catfish the size of my arm,” he smiled, his gaze hitting the back wall as the thumps finally died down, “guess they liked the bait.”

Moss paused, mid-slurp, taking in Reid’s subtle smile. He gulped, then rest the half-full bowl on his lap.

Reid’s eyebrow raised. “Ye look worried.”

Waking up chained to a bed, no matter how much more comfortable than the floor, was more alarming than the howling wind and thunder. Moss reasoned that if he had went to sleep in a cell, then it only made sense that Isidro was somewhere worse.

“I want to know where he is.” Moss spoke softly.

“Why?” Reid took a deep breath, looking down as he massaged the back of his neck. “He wasn’t concerned for ye when he lied about being a sailor, now did he?”

Moss took another slurp of the soup, recalling Isidro’s attempted confession. “Where is he?”

“He’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked-” Moss flinched as Reid’s fist hit the wall.

“It’s the answer ye get!” Reid straightened his back. “Ye not in a position to be demanding anything, savvy?!”

“I’m not demanding. I’m not,” Moss shrunk as Reid approached. “I just- I want to know where he is.”

Reid stared down at him. “Are ye sure that’s all ye want to know? Ye aren’t curious about anything else?”

Moss’ averted his eyes. “No. Why would I be?”

The pirate stopped moving, then took a breath. “Oh, lad. Ye naive son of a gun.”

Moss’ jaw clenched.

“Ye don’t know what he is, do ye? Not even a clue?”

“I...I don’t care.”

Reid backed off his stare. “Well, I think it’s about time ye do.”

...

The pirate exit his house, mumbling, “damn stupid sod, making me come out here in the rain.”

He stomped his way through the mud and towards the cell where Isidro was huddled, pressed into the corner with his arms bent. The sight of what remained of his shivering hand, adorned with his bloodied shirt, was something to behold.

Ried grabbed his blade, and slapped the bars, yelling through the whistling wind. “Up!”

Isidro raised his head, blinking away the water cascading down his face. When he saw Reid, his body twitched like a cornered animal— too hurt to commit to running away. The pirate opened the cell door and dragged him out by the pant leg. He was heavier than Moss, but the change in weight from when he had lift him onto the back of his horse was obvious. He could push him around easily, now. It would only be a matter of time before he was just skin and bones; wasting away to nothing.

When he pulled Isidro toward the table again, the man screamed and jostled around, holding his hands close to his center in protection.

“Shut up! I don’t want ye finger!” Reid yelled, pulling a set of cuffs from the wall before straddling the sailor. He seemed to get the picture; falling still as Reid squeezed a cuff around his left wrist, encasing the edge of the shirt underneath, then stabbed his knife through the knot. The bloodied rope fell, and Reid shoved him to his stomach where he made quick work of the other cuff behind his back.

He grabbed the man’s biceps and pulled him to standing, noticing angry welts criss-crossing scars and tattoos. The sailor’s muscles folded with the strain of his shoulders as Reid pulled him along.

“Ye friend wants to see ye. Behave and I won’t take it with him watching, savvy?” He shoved Isidro forward, smiling as he stumbled down the stairs, then picked him up from the mud.

...

Not a minute later and Reid returned, dragging with him a sopping wet and shivering sailor. His brown hair was water-logged and dripping, sticking to his head over his eyes and all the way down to the nape of his neck where Reid’s hand shoved him into the room.

He shivered violently, looking around the room in a haze. Moss scrambled to toss the blanket to him.

“You had him out there in this?” Moss stared daggers at the pirate as Reid kicked the blanket away.

Reid ignored him, shaking Isidro. “Tell him who ye are.” He snapped.

When Isidro didn’t immediately comply, Reid swept at the back of his knees and folded him to the floor.

“O-okay! Okay...” Isidro’s breath shook. “M-Moss...I-” he swallowed, and closed his eyes, “I’m an assassin for-mmf!” he panted, “for the C-Cathal.”

Moss listened to the low timbre of Isidro's voice.

“An assassin?'” Moss questioned, softly, “with shit aim?”

“I’m an assassin, not a ma-marksman.”

Moss chuckled. “This is stupid. What kind of assassin isn’t a marksman?”

Isidro went quiet. His eyes hallowed out, then were brought back in a click as he again focused on Moss.

“That’s n-ot the point... listen-.”

“Why are you lying?”

“I'm not lying!” Isidro’s voice cracked with desperation as he jostled and sat up a bit more. Water dripped onto the floor. Moss stared at him; trying to figure out what was going on.

He sighed. “If that’s true, then why are you here?”

“To kill someone, obviously. Idiot,” Reid shook Isidro again. He responded with a groan. “Tell the lad why he's here.”

Isidro bit his tongue. The silence was as thick as the rain.

Moss watched the sailor—or whatever he was. It didn't take much for Moss to see the way Isidro’s shoulders slumped, or to hear the way his lungs wheezed and how his voice was stuffed up with blood. He was in pain, and yet he was staring back; his eyes shifting as if weighing the words.

“What is he talking about?”

Isidro shivered again. “I... had to...”

Moss’ brows stitched together. “What?”

“I had to save you.”

“Save me from what?” The question bit.

“Y-you asked me,” Isidro muttered. “You asked me why they’d waste the time to stitch you up, aye? They wouldn’t... not unless they wanted you.”

Moss shook his head, then chuckled. “Wanted me-? They accused me of being a spy.”

“A lie,” His voice wavered. “I knew... the m-moment Jacobsen called you out on deck. I saw the look in his eye. He wanted you, but first he had to hear you. How you beg and how you s-scream, what makes you angry... and what would make you spill your guts.”

“Reiss shot me.”

“I know. Reiss lost control,” Isidro looked at Moss, his eyebrows up in distress. “I tried to stop them-”

“Ha!” Moss leaned back as if laughing with contempt to the sky, “You’re the one who handed me over!”

The silence stretched.

“I... I ha-had to.”

Moss’ jaw clenched. “So none of this is your fault? You just had to?”

“I was trying to tell you before-”

“-and what good would it have done?!” Moss stood on his right leg, the chain rattled from his left, tethering him to the bed as his gut wrenched. "Why didn’t you just leave me!” He growled. “I've been surviving my whole life for nothing. At least then I'd be someone!”

“You'd be a ghost!” Isidro’s breath caught in the effort. “Yo-you were accused of being a spy on a g-overnment ship. There's a trial at sea, you're found guilty and sen-tenced to death. Mmf!” he took a breath and repositioned, “You become who they need, you do what they want, they plan it, they g-et you out!” he took a shaky breath, “until they don't.”

“Fine!” Moss threw his hands up. He rubbed his head, then froze with realization before looking at Isidro again. “They were going to kill you, weren’t they?”

Isidro's face fell, then he shook his head. Moss’ blood boiled up his chest.

“Really? Then why haven’t you killed him?!” Moss pointed to Reid. “Why haven’t you done anything to help us get out!”

The answer came as a whimper. “My family...”

Moss rolled his eyes, “Spare me.”

“They’re all I have, Moss!”

“Only a coward would use that as an excuse!"

Isidro’s lips curled as he looked up. “You don’t understand because you hate yours!”

The insult rung out. Moss squint his eyes, “what?”

“You heard me.”

Reid began to laugh, and pushed Isidro’s head down again until it kissed the floor. Moss’ eye was trained on the man while his own hands balled into tight fists as his chest rose and fell with the huff of his angry breath.

He could feel the reverb of Reid’s deep chuckle fall over his skin, breaking up Isidro’s whimper’s of pain as a red-stained cloth rose over the curve of his scarred back.

“Ye see, lad?” Reid looked down at Isidro, “what did I tell ye? He’s not worth the mud on ye feet.”

Moss’ mind was reeling, barely latching on to Reid’s words, until:

“I’ll make ye a deal,” Reid smiled as Moss looked at him, “I’ll let ye have free run of the place, if ye don’t try to run again.”

The lad scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I swear it,” Reid held up a hand, “on my brother’s grave, savvy? I swear.”

Moss grit his teeth. “What do you want?”

The gold teeth glimmered again as Reid stood, shoving Isidro recklessly to the ground in the center of them both.

“Beat him.”

“What? No... I can’t.”

“-of course you can’t,” Isidro said from the ground. He grunt as he got to his knees, and his bare foot slapped at the wooden floor. “You have to keep pretending, aye?” He pant, his face flushed as he stood.

“You want to call me a coward? Well the sad lad story won’t fool me!” He stepped forward, his teeth barred, catching Moss off-guard as he lowered his voice, “there’s something wrong in your head, isn’t there, Moss?”

Moss’ brow twitched.

Isidro took another step, stuttering a bit on the approach before he caught himself. The rattle of his chain followed his uneven gait until he was a few inches from Moss’ face.

“I was wrong before. To hate would mean you could feel anything at all. That’s why I had to explain it to you, isn’t it?” His face twisted in cruelty, “You can’t care for anyone but yourself. Is that why you ran? No one could love a selfish little brat?!”

Moss screamed as he tackled Isidro to the ground. The man landed on his back with a thud. He shrieked, craning his head back in anguish as the veins in his neck darkened.

“D-do it then!” Isidro growled as tears filled his eyes, “Do it you pathetic piece of SHIT! HIT ME! HIT-!"

Isidro’s face whipped to one side, then the other, his goading drowned in screams of pain when Moss’ fist connected to his left temple. His body twisted away, shoulders moving as if to try and shield himself. On the third strike is when Moss stopped, feeling a tightness in his chest that made him want to puke.

He scrambled away, pressing himself to the foot of the bed as Isidro rolled to his right side with a cough that sprayed dots of red onto the floor.

Moss’ whole body shook, staring at the singular, unfocused, orb in the man’s head before Reid dragged him out with a laugh.

“Deal’s a deal!” the pirate cackled. “I’ll be back.”

...

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

[whump-in-the-closet]

I had a thought:

Caretaker giving themself up to protect their team and reassuring their friends in the few moments they have left that everything will be fine.

But when Whumper comes to take them away, Whumpee steps in front of Caretaker.

“I’m not going to let them hurt you again. I’ll go.”

And instead of guards leading Caretaker away, there are guards restraining Caretaker as Whumpee is shoved roughly down the hall.

[the-feral-gremlin]

Tw: Nazxela, nightmares and self sacrifice

Maybe The night after Nazxela, Matt has a nightmare that Keith was successful and he wakes up and cries and cries and screams. He didn’t even get to reunite with him before Keith was trying to sacrifice himself.

Maybe he doesn’t call Keith, too afraid that his dream was reality and Keith really died. Instead he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, all reminisce of sleep gone as he waits and waits for an alarm to sound off or someone to burst in and drag him on a mission.

Maybe he does call Keith, maybe he sighs in relief at seeing his sleep deprived best friend alive and not floating through space in some burnt shriveled up aircraft. Maybe they talk about anything other than Naxzela, maybe they talk about what they think the paladins are doing at this time, maybe he laughs when Keith does a poor imitation of Shiro’s snoring. Maybe they only hang up to catch some breakfast.