#asphyxia tw

[ceceliaknowsbest]

Cece: [Interrogation] Cecelia! You mean to tell me you never knew of the actions of Woof? God, apparently you two were so close. It seems odd you were unaware of both your husband and someone who was your mentor, doesn't it?

Cecelia felt like she kept saying the same things over and over again but nobody ever listened. How many times did she need to tell them that they kept her out of their plans? That Woof hadn't let her in.

"It's not odd," she said brokenly as she tried to catch her breath. The interrogations were somehow worse when she couldn't see the person asking the questions. Their voice was so loud and her head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. "They wanted to protect me...Woof always wanted to protect me. Sterling always wanted to protect me. They didn't tell me because they knew I didn't feel the same way." Cecelia couldn't stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

All of Sterling and Woof's late nights when she went to bed suddenly made sense, but she still wasn't willing to tell them about that. It made her look complicit even though she was anything but complicit. "Let me go...please....I didn't know anything."

"You expect us to believe that? You are linked to at least five known rebels, Mrs. Whitvale. Maybe you need another round to jog your memory. All those kids must have hurt your memory."

She didn't have any time to say anything before the oxygen was sucked from the room.

[necro-fil3]

Nearly panting over the idea of kicking someone in the ribs till they cough up blood

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Whump Potluck!

To celebrate 400 followers (!!!! What?!??), I encourage everyone to share a recipe for their favorite whump scenarios. And, because everyone always has more than one favorite (I know I do!), share another recipe! And another if you like! Not only does this get the info-nugget out of your brain, but you could find others who enjoy the same thing and it could even help some struggling writers! Better yet, why not use these delicious recipes as writing prompts? I'll start with my own favorite recipe:

Comfort Can Hurt

Restrained/Handcuffed

Blood loss

Thrilling/Intense rescues

Panicking teammates

Manhandling

Grasping hands (for comfort, to keep from getting separated, trying to break free, etc.)

"Just hold my hand. You're gonna be fine."

Can't breathe/Catch their breath (!!!!!)

Struggling against caretakers because it hurts

"[Name], you need to calm down!"

Involuntary sedation

Can't go wrong with some classy whump tropes, am I right? Here's one more:

Martyrdom Idiot Heroes

Strong/Angry at the world/Distant whumpee (thinks everyone couldn't care less about them)

Pushing past their limits

Self-sacrifice

Gunshot injury

Blood loss

Injury reveal (jacket/coat w/ a white undershirt? (!!!))

Collapsing (with a dash of teammates rushing to catch them)

"It's okay, we've got you."

Sunshine medic turning into angry, no-nonsense medic

Soft/Hazy awakenings (esp. if everyone else is sleeping nearby/standing guard)

Confusion at being coddled

"Pull that stunt again and see what happens."

See?? Delicious. Feel free to contribute or modify recipes to fit your personal tastes <3 no recipe is too niche or too flavorful!

[nihilism-0]

you should strangle me until I pass out and use my puppyparts whenever I misbehave, or whenever you want <3 🫀

I will untie my belt to wrap it around your neck.

I will appreciate how your face turns different colors and the blood rises to your head.

You will be excited to know that I have your life in my hands and that I am the one who allows you to breathe.

[caesarsprincess-selfship]

[Content warning: noncon/dubcon]

Waking up to a pinkish-purple cloud of clinical-scented gas all around me... mmmm, I love it. That wooshing sound other people find annoying is like music to my ears. But when it goes into me - trough one or more orifices - the feeling becomes unexplainable. It's so pleasurable it's almost dangerous. It's not even a dick thrusting into me - it's Caesar Clown, his entire body, and he's forcing me to breathe him. And the feeling of pleasure is all over my body, It's like my entire body is as sensitive as down there when he's inside of me. He can make me float, even. That's the Gas Gas Fruit.

The first couple of times it happened, I was screaming and shrieking in terror, thinking I was gonna die from that feeling. It was actual ear piercing screaming. It has toned down since, and I'm not scared of it happening anymore. Still, he finds it fun to just do it at random times at night. I wake up with him about to go inside me. Sometimes I'm begging him to stop, since even if I find it pleasurable, I can't help but beg for him to stop. It's just become a habit. And he never respects it. Doesn't matter though. I love him, which means I accept anything, really.

But even though his full-body penetration is definitely unbeatable, I still get the urge to just "do it" the normal way. If only he wasn't so goddamn tall.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

The Broken Veil: Chapter 5 - Bloodless, Airless

Image source from Effect Magazine

TW: choking/breathplay, animal death, mental and physical child abuse (flashback to young Jardani)

Summary: John Wick has just agreed to kill Gianna D'Antonio, repaying the marker that gave him a life with Helen. However, Helen is trying to contact John from the afterlife, to show him that it is possible to stop the cycle of violence – not by forfeiting his own life, but by creating a fundamental shift in international systems and perhaps even the balance of good and evil in this world. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. She’s coming back.

“I have to remind myself to breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat!” - Heathcliff, Wuthering Heights

Waking up in Helen’s arms. Waking up with his face still nestled in her hair, with their limbs tangled effortlessly, seamlessly. It wasn’t a dream. She’s here, she’s safe. She’s so beautiful. She’s close to his own half century of age, but filled with the real, timeless beauty of liveliness. Her chest moves up and down and her cheeks are not hollowed with the wasting of her sickness and her flesh has the same healthy vibrancy as when they met. “I’ll do anything it takes,” she said. So will I. He will never allow any harm to come to her again. Ever, even from her own body. If it is possible for her to warp the fabric of reality, then so will he.

The sunrise floods over the balcony, the bedside table, the starched sheets and billowing blankets. He pulls her closer by the waist and nuzzles against her, and she turns in her sleep to embrace him. All of him is fluttering. The alarm is about to start blaring, but John shuts it off and kisses her awake instead. It’s time to get up, and board a plane, and beat this entire world into a shape that will hold her gently.

***

Half a world away, Santino is struggling not to fear death. Something is wrong, Ares should have contacted him by now. It’s at moments like these that his blood runs icy with the knowledge that he could make a wrong move at any moment. I could, but I won’t, he tells himself. No, he’s Santino D’Antonio, he is destined for power, he has a hold on the situation. No, it’s that pathetic dog John Wick who will be snuffed out of existence. He was fool enough to give me a marker. He’s dead no matter what he does. Santino smiles.

Winston’s voice breaks in again. He’s been pressuring Santino ever since Cassian’s report reached him, with the marker ledger open on the table between them. “He completed the task. The marker is over.”

“I want to hear it from my own people.”

“Just mark it, you’re dragging this out for yourself. Ares will be dead by now. Why else-”

Ares walks in. Winston’s breathing stops for an instant. He tries to control his expression but Santino catches the horror that flashes through him.

Ares starts signing. “I fucked up. Wick is alive. The rest of my entourage is dead. I’m sorry.”

“And the target?”

“Also alive. He went all the way to her chambers and then didn’t follow through.”

Santino swears, then stands up and paces. That icy feeling is taking full control, but he refuses to admit it. He glares at Winston. “Seems it’s good that I waited.”

Winston is at a loss for words. He closes the ledger in resignation.

Santino turns and snaps at Ares, “Why didn’t you finish the contract in his place?”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement. Wick was my focus and I stayed on him. No way in hell I’ll take on a target of that profile without a marker of my own.”

“Lot of good that did!” He laughs darkly. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s dead walking.”

Winston’s still there, the damned pest. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you?”

“I have everyone in New York looking for him. I doubt you will see him again. Besides, I still hold the marker. He’s dead if he comes for me.”

“Is that so? You stabbed the devil in the back and forced him back into the life that he had just left. You incinerated the priest’s temple, burned it to the ground. Now that he has nothing left to lose, what do you think he’ll do? He had a glimpse of the other side, and he embraced it. But you, Sr. D’Antonio, took it away from him.”

“He was already back!”

“Oh, he came back for love, not for you.”

“He owed me, I had every right!” Santino takes a step towards him, heated, struggling not to lose his temper at the way Winston is trying to scare him. It’s insulting.

Ares taps loudly on the table until both men look to her. “There’s something else you need to know.” She pauses. “There was a woman with him. I saw her appear out of nothing.”

“I think she answered his phone. Stealth fighter?”

“No. I mean she wasn’t there, and then she was. I know I never looked away.”

Santino shakes his head. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“I’m not. This isn’t a joking matter. She took a full clip to the back and didn’t flinch.”

“Well-funded then. Good body armor.” Ares looks like she wants to say something, but she thinks the better of it, so he continues. “Do you know who she is?”

“She claimed to be his wife, Helen Wick. And he claimed she was contacting him from beyond the grave. That’s what he said to Gianna.”

“So you know nothing. Useless.”

Winston has gone strangely pale.

Santino’s patience is fully exhausted. “Fix this within 48 hours or Wick won’t be the only one who’s dead walking.”

On the borderline between obedience and passive aggression, Ares signs, “Ok.”

***

It’s seven million. He might have been too blissful to care last night, but now he cares. He’s shoving the incriminating weaponry from last night into a disposal bag supplied by the hotel (along with a new cell phone), and he’s thinking about his hands around Santino’s throat.

That one bag would give any TSA agent a heart attack, Helen thinks to herself as she watches him dump in another set of knives.

Without looking up, he places information in front of her ears, his voice too monotone to be called speech. “They will swarm us. They’ll go through anyone I’m with to get to me.”

“I’m so sorry. This is an extremely frustrating situation. But I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

He continues as if she hasn’t spoken. “When we touch down, I will go to work, and you will take a taxi and go…well I would have sent you to our home, but it has…” He forces out the words, “recently exploded.”

“I know. I saw. But John-”

“So instead you will go to a random location, with some money that I give you, and two days from now we will meet up-“

She steps between him and the door and takes him by the shoulders. “Look at me, and let’s talk for a second.” When he meets her eyes, she continues, “It makes no sense for us to separate. Do you leave your body armor behind when you go into battle? No. I am your body armor now.”

It’s so difficult for him to look at her when he knows she’s about to be attacked because of him. She looks stunning today. And every day. “I never want to think of you as my body armor.”

“Then think of me as your teammate. Your other half. We don’t separate, okay?”

Fine then. I’ll just kill them all. Anyone who touches her. “…Okay.”

She relaxes, and opens the hotel room door. He shakes his head, amazed at her calm, and guides her down the hallway, his hand on the small of her back. She’s in black lace, a superb Valentino cocktail dress, and the heat of her skin through the fabric only amplifies his protective rage.

“Do they serve breakfast on the flight?” she asks.

“We’re taking a private jet. They serve anything you like.”

“Good. You should eat something. You’ve been pacing around all morning.”

“What about you? Do you…eat?”

She thinks for a moment and replies, “I’m not hungry, but I’m not repulsed by the idea. I imagine I could if I wanted to.”

Once they’ve boarded, he orders her favorite breakfast of French toast and strawberries. He hasn’t forgotten. Even though there’s no hunger, it feels good to eat again, especially while flying over the sunlit Spanish countryside, reclining on quilted leather. She savors every sensation. But she can’t help being a little distracted by the anger still coursing through him, intensified by black coffee.

When she’s done, he clears his throat. “So how does the invulnerability work? Is it just bullets, or all forms of damage? Knives, for example?”

“The rocks didn’t cut my feet when I was running barefoot last night.”

“What if someone put you in a chokehold? Do you need oxygen to the brain?”

“I’m not sure.”

“…We’ll need to know very soon.”

“Well in that case, let’s test it.”

“I-what?”

“You could choke me.”

***

“Choke me, John.”

They were on her couch, after having dinner with her friends. He already had a hand up her skirt and towered above her with a knee pressed into either side of her hips.

He hesitated. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t have to, silly.” She dropped the playfulness for a moment. “Is that not something that appeals to you?”

“No.” He’d suddenly gone very stiff, and not in the ideal places.

“That’s okay. Hey, I’m sorry if I brought up something unpleasant. It’s not important what we do. Being with you is enough.”

He laid back against the cushions, clearly trying to push the “something unpleasant” out of his thoughts and failing. He managed to say, “Your friends would be pretty shocked to hear me refuse that request.”

Helen laughed. Her friend Mindy had made a risqué joke about how wild he must be in bed. Like everyone else, she was taken in by his imposing figure, his rumblingly deep voice, his confident motions and the vice grip that closed too tight on the back of Helen’s chair when someone made her uncomfortable. “You are far sweeter than you let on with other people. I understand and I love that about you.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not just that I have a taste for…gentler forms of intimacy. And I don’t…I don’t mean to say that aggression can’t be sweet.” He was having trouble speaking. She waited. “I don’t want that image in my head. Of my hands around your neck. Not ever. If you understood what that image means to me…that act and you don’t belong in the same world.”

“Then help me understand.” But that wouldn’t be the night he told her. After his first refusal, she let it drop and just tried to bring him back to himself. She didn’t yet know exactly what was bothering him so much. She knew only enough to make out that there was violence in his past, and perhaps in his present, and that was enough to make her concerned for him.

It was also enough to teach her how to interact with him. She learned quickly that they could be rough together, he could take her hard and fast, he was honored by her trust in him. But any play that placed her in the role of masochist at best turned him off and at worst sent him spiraling. It wasn’t that he lacked dominance. It wasn’t that he didn’t want power over her body. It was just that power never seemed to translate into violence. Not even play-pretend violence. Not with her, even if she wanted it. Violence…that was reserved for others.

***

“Choke him, Jardani. Until he’s dead.”

The little boy refused to let his voice break. “I don’t want to.” He was about ten, though he doesn’t remember exactly now.

The Director repeated his words, tutting. “You don’t want to. Tsk.” She had placed a viper in the cage with his pet pigeon. He grabbed him quickly enough, and clutched him just below the base of the skull between his fingers. But he was being trained as an assassin, and assassins do not just grab their prey to hold it firmly by the base of the skull. “Then let him go back in the cage.”

“I would like…to put him outside.”

She laughed uproariously. “That’s not one of the options I’m giving you. Sometimes, life doesn’t give you any options you like, boy. Kill him, or let him go back in the cage and eat his fill.”

He could feel the snake’s strangely malleable throat thrumming against his flesh as he turned his head and flicked his tongue, desperate to escape. Jardani hesitated.

“Too late.” The Director smacked his wrist, hard, forcing his fingers to splay open. The viper fell back to the floor of the birdcage, momentarily stunned. She closed it and dragged him away, his arms twisted together behind his back in a single one of her hands. “Stand still and watch.” He let his body go slack and she released him. The viper, rapidly recovering its strength, sprung forward and sunk fangs into the fluffy white breast that Jardani had so often cradled to his cheek. Red, seeping from the wound. Her body, thrashing as if in seizure. And The Director, standing above him.

In a moment of blind rage, he lunged at her throat. He was already well trained enough to make contact with her collarbone before she flipped him to the ground. Panting above him, she praised his outburst. “Good. You’ll do so well in this world.”

“I loved that bird,” he grunted from underneath her shoulder, seething. “She was my friend.”

“Love? I’ll tell you what love is. Love is a stranger’s body hitting the floor. We kill strangers so we don’t have to kill the ones we love. If you love anything in this world, kill the first thing that tries to take it from you. An enemy, a bystander, even someone you are sworn to. It doesn’t matter. Kill, without hesitation. That is love. If you loved her, that’s what you would have done.”

***

“I don’t want to choke you. I want to choke the people who would ever try to choke you. You know that.”

“You don’t have to. But I want to put it on the table. You’re not doing violence against me, you’re getting information to protect me. And you won’t hurt me, things are different from when I was alive. I think there would be some value in understanding viscerally that I can’t be harmed. I can see you spiraling, John. You’re afraid for me. I don’t want that to run you right now.”

He sighs, considering.

Again, “You don’t have to. I could just hold my breath.”

He glances around, checking for any sign of the flight attendant, but the coast is clear. Finally, he takes her hand and places it over his left wrist. “If you feel yourself losing consciousness, tap.”

The light from the jet’s porthole is pouring across them, warming them both with the brilliance of white clouds stretching into an endless beyond. As he leans forward, his shadow falls over her, creating a patch of chill, as slivers of sun burn white at the edges of his dark hair. Slowly, his free hand moves to her neck. Her eyes are locked onto his, completely peaceful and trusting. She’s so fragile, and his palm is massive. There’s the small lump of her voice box, the hard but so-brittle ridges of the cervical spine. He knows where to press to shatter them. His thumb on one side and fingers on the other find the pulse of her carotid arteries, and gradually they squeeze, severing blood flow. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Her face is white but completely alert, still smiling at him in reassurance.

His touch feels so strange, dizzying and cold but completely incapable of rendering her unconscious. He’s so powerful. She can feel his pulse too, through his fingertips. He’s shaking in every part of his body except this arm, where he maintains perfect control of his muscles, terrified to slip and hurt her.

Severed blood flow does nothing then. What about total asphyxiation? It doesn’t really add anything, but now that he’s here… Another slow, small movement compresses her trachea.

She can feel the walls of her throat touch together. Thirty seconds. Forty seconds. Sixty seconds. Ninety seconds. Seconds stretch into minutes. She’s not breathing at all. But she basks in the pressure of his touch, and the way his emotions are gradually changing in flavor. He hasn’t realized it yet, but he’s hard, and she can feel it. The blood that can’t reach her brain is pounding in her pelvis.

She’s still beaming up at him, her lips slightly parted. He realizes that he hasn’t been breathing much either and exhales in relief. There is her life, in his hand, her bloodless, airless, undead, unkillable, willful life. And there’s nothing he can do that will go wrong, and even if there was, he would not do it. His hand is not murdering her. It’s framing her face, adorning her like a necklace, hugging her, supporting and directing her head. It looks good on her. So affectionate, pressing into her so deeply. Expressing his love for her without killing. He feels strong, he feels beautiful, he feels in control of himself. He feels almost worthy of her trust. This…this is what she wanted to show him.

With her hand still resting gently on his wrist, and her smile still radiant, he leans forward and tilts her mouth to his.

[catnykit]

whump idea #1

woods+maggots+insanity? Not a good deal.

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

TW: READ THE TAGS.

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

[heirbane]

"you look good with my hands around your throat" Gaius x Your WOL

It was a game. It all was, wasn't it?

She had scarcely pulled the washroom door shut behind her when his hand encircled her throat. It was slow, as it oft began: testing the waters, giving her time to decide she wasn't quite in the mood to play. The wall behind her was slick with condensation as the fire crystals in the bathwater bubbled, warming it so thoroughly it nearly seemed to boil.

Even if she had something witty to say in response, it was snuffed out under the breadth of his palm. She could feel the callouses on his fingertips on the back of her neck, the blood pumping in even time under his well-placed thumb.

Her lips began to tingle. One bare leg fumbled, attempting to get purchase against his thigh to bolster herself. For a glimmer of a moment, she had relief: he hoisted her by her thigh, bringing her up off the ground by several ilms and relieving some of the strain she felt.

It did not last long.

Her tail eloped his scarred wrist, the serrated scales and the jewelry adorning the thorned ends digging into the thickened, mangled skin. He didn't have much sensation there anymore, she knew. But the stillness of his body betwixt her legs told her he had just enough to feel it coil, the thorned end sharp and dangerous against his flesh.

This was a dance they were familiar with, a waltz they took turns leading. She had nearly killed him once, and she had nearly perished on more than one occasion, the both of them brought back from the brink of death's sea just as the taste of saltwater touched their tongues.

They flirted with dying more than each other, a controlled free fall. They were as afraid of each other as they were death.

It had claimed neither of them yet. And so they danced, feet dipping into the shores of dark waters, teasing, coaxing.

The pinpricks of adrenaline began to seep in. Her knees dug into his hips, the tip of her tongue as blue as her lips were becoming. He watched her eyelashes flutter as she struggled to keep wholly cognizant, the rings that encircled her irises a shade of midnight as they stared at each other.

Her tail tightened around his wrist. The warmth of blood trickled onto her thigh, so startling and unexpected that her eyes flashed open and her heel sank into his back - once, twice, a third time.

The gasp that tore from her chest had her small torso nearly against his. Her tail unraveled from it's serpentine grip. Even as her chest heaved, desperate to rid the static from her mind and the numbness in her limbs, a shaking hand came to wipe at the bloody slices in his forearm.

"I'm -"

"Quiet."

He didn't give her much of a choice. She was still sucking in gulps of air when his lips met hers, a wolf that had smelled blood and was desperate to gorge on it, to play with the food he had trapped so deliciously.

Her bath would still be warm whenever they finished, he knew, and be needed more then than now.

It would have to wait.

[ceceliaknowsbest]

[Propo] What did you endure at the hands of The Capitol when being held captive?

When Cecelia had been asked to do a Propo she had wanted to tell them no.

But she didn't feel like she could actually say no, so she said nothing instead. She didn't say anything as the prep team did her makeup and her hair and she tried to ignore that it felt familiar. How many times since she won her Games had she been prepped for something? If it wasn't for Waking up with the Whitvales than it was for an interview with Caesar or some other member of the press. Or it was to get ready for a meeting with a 'client'.

The thought made her sick. Cecelia very much wanted to forget everything that had happened to her.

The lights nearly blinded her as she stood in front of the camera, looking very uncomfortable. That was a change for her. As much as she hated this kind of thing, she had never allowed herself to look like she hated it. That would be dangerous. Was it still dangerous even in Thirteen? Cecelia wasn't sold on any of it.

She very nearly almost laughed when they asked her the question. If she had known that this was what they wanted her to talk about she would have said no. She wasn't ready to talk about it. But she looked at Sterling, standing off to the side, and felt reassured that he would be there for her.

"There was a room," she finally started speaking, her eyes haunted and her voice quiet. "We all had a different room where the Capitol would torture us. At first, it was for information on the Rebels. But when they realized that I knew nothing the torture was for sport or for punishment."

Cecelia took a deep breath. "The room that they brought me to...I would be strapped down and all of the oxygen would be sucked out of the room. Over and over again. For what felt like hours. But that wasn't the worst part. The hunger and the beatings...they weren't the worst part. No. The worst part was President Snow lied and said he had my son." Tears started to stream down her face. "I believed that Snow had my son and was going to give him to another family and erase his memory. I spoke to a voice that I believed to be my son. President Snow paraded some Capitol child around pretending to be my son."

"Victors are strong. I have always believed that I was stronger than anything the Capitol and President Snow could throw at me. But I am not so sure anymore. I have already begun to heal from the physical toll of captivity, but healing from believing that my son was in danger and being helpless to stop it...that's going to take a lot longer."

Quiet sobs began to wrack her body. "I'm done," She told them in a choked voice, before walking away from the cameras and to her husband.

[ravenanimationz]

‼️⚠️Fake Bodies, Fake Blood⚠️‼️

Goretober days 1-3 going to be posting in batches every Friday or so.

Day 1: Cannibalism with my spider lady, Kumo, she is a Jorōgumo. Lovely Lesbian woman who eats men by luring them to her home.

Day 2: Sharp objects- or sharp rocks in this case with Aeglaeca, leading to Their death before their rebirth as a Shadow walker

Day 3: Asphyxiation with Violet, leading to her death before her rebirth as a demon.

Hope you all enjoy and look forward to showing more content. Please feel free to ask and learn more about the characters

[mjfass]

The end of BCC - All Out, 2024

[vorktyunal]

Goretober 2024

Day 3: Asphyxiation

⚠️TW: asphyxia, claustrophobia

[jaylleoo14]

A little Azul brainrot I got when I was thinking about the lion funnily enough

(If you want to be more fully immersed try listening to “My September” by Nastyona :D it really set the mood for me and vibed nicely along throughout the read<3 It may be a difficult read but keep in mind that there are two separate things going on at the same time and it goes back in fourth.) 

Amnesiac Asphyxia- Azul drabble

TW: slight gore, Amnesia, stalking, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, implied power abuse, drugging. All characters are aged up and this is a work of fiction

Thinking of something where you're on your way to go get groceries but then suddenly you get into a car crash. Waking up in the hospital you find yourself with a nurse and a complete stranger across from you. With a sigh of relief the nurse quickly leaves the room to inform the other doctors and nurses while you're left in a state of confusion as to what's going on. The light from the window looked shallow and a low contrast of clear yellow, the room looking clean with tile pattern walls, a pattern of scorpion grasses decorating the border of the room. A light breeze falls through and makes the blue-to-white curtains swift in the air. You can hear noises of carts and wheels being heard and the sound of cars leaving and coming outside the window. To the corner of the room near the window you spot a man sitting on a cushioned chair. He looked so pale and worn out, few bandages scattered across his face. Suddenly, the man gets up and goes over to you, hugging your hand with the most tear relieved smile ever. You could feel that his warmth seemed to radiate a sense of relief in this mellow room you both were in while your eyes adjusted to the light of the room. 

"What... Happened? What's going on here?" Barely managing to let out a clear voice, raspy and lower than usual from the lack of using it constantly for it to sound like how it did consistently before the accident. 

Your head is throbbing and your body is in so much pain, the feeling of your aches soaring through your bedridden state. "Ah everything's alright my love. I'm so glad that we could get you to the hospital quickly enough. I'm so happy you're alive, my angelfish." His voice was so shaky, so full of emotion yet it was as if he was holding himself back from letting it all out. 

Noticing your hand is being tenderly squeezed as it lays beside you, you give him a look of hard confusion. "Who are you?" Your voice sounds on edge and nervous, unsure of who this man could be. It soars and scratches against your neck as you speak, feeling pain reverberating hoarsely.  So suddenly calling you all these pet names in such a comfortable manner. His expression displays one of shock and distraught, his grip on your hand loosening as if at a loss. Outside, the trees sway from a light breeze, yet so many leaves fall down. The breeze, although light, comes hitting in for a long and continuous time; the curtains moving in motion as it dances along to the music the wind provides and the melody of your interaction plays out.

"Dear? Excuse me? Please be joking right now, you…. You can't be serious, right?" His expression was one of wide eyed horror, getting up closer to you. Flinching back, you withdraw your hands and the nurses and doctors come back into the room. "I don't know who you are sir." Your words of sudden hostility and confusion were like a knife and it looked as if you just physically and visibly stabbed through his chest, and all he can do is just stand there and freeze from the sudden injection. The realization that he was stabbed, not yet registering in his brain. Letting go of the knife, it clattered down on the floor and you looked at him like he was a stranger. Staring back at you, he holds the gaping deep cut of the imprinted knife injury you bestowed upon him while giving you a frozen look.

"Thank goodness you are awake, Mx. (L/N), you were caught in a car accident a couple of hours ago." The doctors are catching you up in the events, but the man standing there is left struck with tears in his eyes. His hands clenched tighter where his heart burns, where blood seeps out of the wound and he looks down to stare at his bloodied hands. Hands that were already stained and tainted.

"Sir? Are you okay? Is everything alright?" One of the nurses comes over and pats his back, but he only comes back up to you and kneels down in front of your bed. He snaps back out of his frozen and dead state, placing his hands firmly on the hand rails making up the bed. The nurses share a look of concern and sympathy, already understanding the situation and feeling of dread he must be feeling at the moment. 

You look at the man continuing to bear those confused eyes, staring at his bandaged face. Those pale lips of his open, as if a pot full of trickery only lied in them. "I'm… Azul.” A moment of silence as he pauses to recollect his voice, a hardened look in his eyes as he stares at you in a heartbroken manner. “Azul Ashengrotto. Your boyfriend."

"If it weren't for your boyfriend then we wouldn't have been able to get you here quick enough."

You stare at this man who calls himself your boyfriend. You don't remember anything. Nothing at all. Nothing leading up to the accident, nothing on what you were going to be doing today, nothing about a boyfriend. "I... I don't remember anything." Azul lets go of his chest, letting his blue blood slowly stain and soak his shirt, almost looking like a soaked wet rag. He falls to his knees and droops his head, staring ahead at your standing figure that looked down on him. 

The doctors all share the same look of deep concern, saying in a firm but gentle voice. "Your name is (y/n) (l/n), it seems that due to the car crash you suffer from amnesia right now. But with the help of your boyfriend I'm sure you will be able to regain your memories."

no

"Oh, I see. So... You're my boyfriend?" You turn to look at the man who seems visibly stricken to his core. But with a desperate nod he comes over to you with his hand over his heart as if he means well and true. Slightly standing up as he used the railing for support despite not needing it. 

“Yes, I've been your boyfriend for two years now.” He says it so surely to calm you down that he’s known you for so long now. Such truthfulness in his heart as he cant help but give out a worried look. Yet the uncertain and warry expression on your face doesn’t ease him one bit. He sits back down on the chair, bringing his hands to his face with a low drooped sigh. He was devastated. Really. 

To think such a tragedy like this could happen to you so suddenly, how was he able to process all this information. “I informed them that you were okay. Your parents that is.” He speaks up once again, his face remaining buried. The medical professionals in the room start to get busy, the wind picks up and instead of leaves falling a bird flies away from the tree.

“They have been worried sick about you since I made the call, but I assured them I would take care of you for the time being.” You notice his shaky and shallow voice, as if he was on the verge of just breaking down. But it gives you a sign on how serious and how real this all was. Even though you didn’t know this man, it felt like all that he was saying was true. He contacted your parents, his claims, and his raw emotions all led you to the conclusion that you in fact do know this man. 

Don't remember.

The tree is starting to become less filled around its branches as more leaves start to fall and sway off due to the gradual wind. Azul gets on his knees, crawling towards you in a pitiful manner as a slow trail of blueberry juice follows behind him. “Azul… Was it?” You say softly as you try to familiarize yourself with his name. It comes out so smoothly, the way you say his name, he wants you to say it all the more just to hear you as if you were calling out to him. He crawls more desperately towards you, his hands shaking as you give him a hardened stare. The blue stained knife gleaming a little as if it were a shell on the seashore of a cold beach day. 

Why? It was you wasn’t it?

As you repeat his name again to try and regain a sense of familiarity, Azul looks up from his hands with his head lifted. A hurt look splays across his face as you look at his reaction, though it makes you feel suddenly guilty as he softly smiles at you. Well despite how you acted towards him, isn’t that to be expected? You don't know this man, but the past you did. The you before the accident. However you can tell how deeply hurt Azul was and yet he still tries to accommodate your loss of memories and feelings. 

The past you did know him. You knew him for two years and he shared a love life with you. He would walk with you hand in hand. You two would watch movies together in your apartment as you snuggled in your blanket together. Taking showers together and sharing loving touches with each other, sharing intimate and passionate nights together. You’ve known him a bit longer than two years, only two years of that lovely dating life that is. 

“I’ll go let your parents know that you’re awake though. I’ll inform them of the situation… Hopefully, you remember us soon y/n…” His voice is gentle, as if he just cried his heart out and just recovered. He gets up from the chair, and makes his way out the room while the nurses and doctor work next to you to go through specific procedures regarding your condition.

All so suddenly Azul quickly grabs the knife laying next to your foot and makes a stand. As he suddenly jumps up, you jerk back to try and dodge his sudden attack. You can't see his face because he still hung it low, a groan escaping his lips. Hands suddenly grab at your shoulders to prevent you from moving back any further, instead pushing you forward. The sharp pointed end of the blade can be felt inside of you as you fall into the knife. He holds it firmly as he ensures to sink it into your stomach and you can only let out a bloodshot cry of pain, the feeling of flesh and skin bouncing and tearing seamlessly. You can barely turn your head back due to the amount of agonization you’re feeling in your stomach, feeling frozen stiff as ever. Your clouded and teary eyes are met with a sharp and tall figure with a toothy grin, a shadow covering his face from which all you can see and make out. Turning back to face your attention on Azul who stood firm in his position, you can see your red cherry blood spilling out of you from where the knife stays plunged into you. 

I love you, you know that?

The nurses make sure to change out your iv bag and adjust anything in particular if needed. As you sit there on the medical bed, dressed in those polka-dotted hospital gown you actually come to focus on one thing in particular in the room. Zoning out from all the questions the nurses were asking you, your eyes stayed glued to the scorpion grasses pattern bordered around the walls. It was like something that just stook out to you in all of this clean melancholy room. Outside the room, Azul walks away a good amount of distance to ensure his call isn't heard and that he is not disturbing anyone. After a few good long rings, the phone can be heard with a click as someone on the other end picks up. “Why didn’t you pick up right away, Floyd?” 

As you sniffle and sob due to the pain, Azul then lets go of the knife. Blue hand prints marked on the handle. In your hot tear-filled eyes you see someone walking up behind Azul, lifting him up to help him stand on his feet. Before you could fall down and hit your head on the floor, the same hands that pushed you into the knife catches you and keeps you still and standing. It hurts. It hurts so bad, blood seeping out of you much more than the amount of blood Azul was spilling when you had stabbed him. You watch. Watch as the person from behind places his hand on Azuls stab wound, and when he removes his hand it was like you had never stabbed him at all. It had disappeared as if it were magic. Or as if it were planned all along. You can see it so clearly yet the quality of your sight was so blurry and fuzzy. Finally, you can see Azuls face.

I hate you.

Azuls voice sounded firm and stern as ever through the phone and Floyd only clicks his tongue, seeming to sound slightly passive. “Why's it even matter? I still picked up.” Floyd sounds uncaring as ever as he holds the phone loosely in his hands, looking like it could slip out of his palms anytime. Though his long fingers ensure that isn't the case as they hold it securely in contrast. “That doesn’t answer my question, I need you to be more quick with it next time. Especially for this case in particular.” His eyebrows furrow a bit as he stands against the wall, your room being a while away down the hall. Sounds can be heard nearby but not close enough for him to worry for anyone to hear. “Yeah yeah I got it already, so hurry up n’ tell me what ya want already Azul. If you don't, I'll just hang up on ya.” Azul can hear him yawn on the other side of the phone and he can only sigh in annoyance, shaking his head slightly. “Did you and Jade take care of everything already? The cameras? The car?” 

“Ya wanna find out? I’m kinda bored right now so why dontcha come by and check for yourself? Leave ya little “lover” for a bit since they’re awake, it's why ya called isn't it?” Floyd definitely was playing around with Azul, but he wasn’t having it. Not now, not in the mood to deal with him at the moment. “No need to worry Azul, Floyd is just messing around as per usual when he’s bored. In fact, he only is because we indeed have already finished everything as you requested of us.” 

As you coughed out a bit of blood, you looked up to see Azul. A tall grinning figure behind him as a shadow looms across its face. So quickly, Azul pulls out the knife from you and another blood curdling scream is ushered out of you. Sobs and hot tears leak down your cheeks as Azul gives the blue and red knife over to the figure behind him. Swiftly, it grabs it and proceeds to wipe the knife clean away and free from ever being soaked in cherry and blueberry juices. The hands holding you up lets you go once again, and you fall into Azuls open arms. He holds you so tenderly and closely as you continue to cry and weep, crying so hard from the pain that it was getting harder to breathe. He was smiling. Even though he was there shushing you as one would to soothe a baby, brushing your hair with his fingers and holding you lovingly, you saw the look on his face. He was smiling. He looked so happy. Happy as you continue to suffer and become languished in his arms. You can't breathe.

Not anymore

The past you did know him. You knew him for two years and he shared a love life had a one sided love with you. He would walk with you behind you, lurking in the shadows as he imagined the both of you hand in hand. You two would watch movies together in your apartment as you snuggled in your blanket while he hid in your closet watching with you together. Taking showers together and sharing loving touches with each other, sharing intimate and passionate nights together . Ḩ̵̛̘̤͙͔̝̫̖̻̦̞͙̺̅̿͘͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ c̵̛̥͊ǎ̴̯̀͠ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆y̶͔͗ i̶̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ǎ̴̯̀͠ǧ̷̡̟��̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕inë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊h̸̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͝ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅl̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ǎ̴̯̀͠c̵̛̥͊t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ǎ̴̯̀͠l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆y̶͔͗ c̵̛̥͊r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ǎ̴̯̀͠ṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ.

You’ve known him a bit longer than two years, only two years of that lovely dating life that is trying to escape from him. T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ y̶͗ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ, ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅf̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅŏ̸̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠y̶͔͗ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝... T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝.     

… 

You’re discharged on the same day. You are to be given therapy to treat and help your amnesia, but with Azuls wealth he instead hires a personal medical professional to tend to your needs. Azul pushes your wheelchair, your legs not at all stable enough to properly walk yet due to the head damage you received. Along with your actual physical injuries as well of course. “Azul, do you think I'll come to remember you again?” You ask as the sound of the wheels roll against the pavement road, his shoes softly clacking as he makes his way over to the slanted curb. “I hope so… I hope you remember all the memories we shared during those two years we were together, though if not then we can start anew. I’ll do my best to make you fall for me once again my dear angelfish.” His voice is full of gentleness despite the rough situation you were in, it felt like he was just putting up a brave front and broken inside.

You’ll love me now.

As you lay in his arms limply, the pain still lingering though your body starting to become peppermint cold, placing a chaste kiss on your head. You cried so much you practically had a hard time breathing. No. This whole thing was suffocating. Because even after all this time of trying to escape from him, he still continued to persistently stuck close by like some sort of annoying parasite. Yet here you are, finally in his arms with those hazing lost eyes of yours. “I’ll make sure to take good care of you, I promise…” Laying still and motionless, your cold body is hugged tightly and longingly in his tight embrace. In the distance of this blank space, a set of scorpion grasses sway in the wind… “We’ll be together forever… Forget me not, okay darling?”... 

No response.

A black car with tinted windows eventually pulls up to the side where you and Azul were. As the car slows down to a stop besides you two, you are met with a man with sunglasses on and teal slicked back hair as the windows rolled down. “Came to pick ya up little guppie, ya missed me?” The driver tilts his head down a little as he pulls his shades slightly forward down his nose bridge and gives you a lazy smirk, waiting for an answer. Though you are only left confused and speechless. “Now Floyd, have you forgotten? Our dear friend Azul has a lover who suffers from an ailment traced back to an unfortunate incident.” Another voice can be heard coming from within the car yet you showed no new reaction. 

“Guppy?” 

“This is Floyd, he’s a little fickle to handle at times but still all the more reliable.” 

“Hiyaaaa~” Floyd waves in an amble manner, lazily waving his hand to give off a more lax vibe. His voice sounded playful and refreshing to hear considering the given situation as he props his folded arm on the open window seal, his elbow pointed outwards. 

“And you may refer to me as Jade.” A tall, well groomed, and neat looking man approaches you, his appearance was certainly something to take notice of. Something about these three, it bothered you in a quiet and lingering fashion. Despite their propper and civil introductions and interactions, they had this underlying and subtle adroit air around them that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. You give him a nod and Azul gently leads you over towards the car while Jade opens the back door for you. 

“How’s shirmpy doin’ back there, comfy?” Floyds voice is painted into the car as he speaks and tilts his head back to meet your eyes – though a dull response slips from your lips as you sit there blankly. A nod is the only thing you give to answer Floyd and he turns his head back, pressing the gas pedal to move the vehicle forward. 

“Where are we headed too?” Your voice still not entirely well, it sounded a little on the rougher end. Azul hands you a bottle and you drink it gratefully, while Jade and Floyd who don't move as they sit in front of your peripheral vision listen to the jazzy music playing from the aux. “Azul has a nice and comfortable residence to your taste. I hope it can help recall some forgotten memories.” 

“Shouldn’t I go see my parents first?” 

“They are rather a long distance away, my dear. For now you should rest up since our place is also quite the drive. I’ll wake you up once we arrive, alright?”

His hands soothe your hands in a comforting manner and you honestly did feel a little tired. Tired enough to lean against his shoulders and close your eyes. His smooth voice can be heard as a lullaby, humming along with the melody of the jazz playing at the moment. It was a nice and comfortable atmosphere perfectly conditioned to better your sleep. 

“I’m glad to see that the pills really do live up to its reputation. Maybe I should look into the ingredients myself and do a side trade.” 

“Bleh, imagine all the work for that. But it does sound fun, imagine all the sorts of people we’d run into~”

“A capitalist at heart I see Azul, but I agree. If it didn’t work as well as listed then we could have kept the pills for research purposes and have gained more from the sellers.”

The car is down the road, and as the hospital is slowly leaving the line of sight, the tree is seen with no leaves as a single bird is perched comfortably on its branch. 

A/N: I'm going to be honest, this has been in my drafts for a damn near a long time and I’m really impatient. I wish this could have had better quality work but I just rushed it off so I could post it, but I hope you enjoyed the little idea I had! And honestly if you have any ideas to continue or add onto the storyline and plot feel free to do so!

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: death, execution, crucifixion, hanging

I am going to go on my crucifixion rant again.

It is not the blood loss that kills you! It Is Not The Blood Loss That Kills You!

It’s the positional asphyxia. It is always the positional asphyxia. This is mostly a cause of death in infants who move into a position where they suffocate but when someone is crucified, they are in a position where gravity stops the breathing muscles from being able to exhale. Someone could theoretically push with their legs to get into a position where they can exhale (poorly) but this is very very difficult, especially if you are in pain and hypoxic. Plus, people know this and usually intentionally break the legs to prevent this.

This applies to any position where the person is hanging and the torso is not directly supported (including some upside down positions). It is such a pet peeve of mine to have characters hanging by their arms for hours and not dead. ‘They’re not hanging by the neck so they’re fine.’ Improperly hanged victims don’t all die from the rope. Hanging from any body part with an unsupported torso will kill you once your muscles tire or are incapacitated. It is unavoidable and will happen a lot more quickly than hours.

[purple-steven]

The everlasting silence was interrupted by several screams, layered over eachother in a choir of pain, all starting at different times. Lav is silently crying, clutching his chest, head on the floor, kneeling down. He keeps trying to breathe, he keeps trying to catch his breath, but it isn't working. It's hard to tell whether the screams are really loud or really quiet, but they feel overwhelming in numbers.

Has he forgotten how to breathe? Slowly forgetting everything? First he's forgetting his gem, now his breath?

Someone save him... Someone...

Why doesn't he... Remember the faces of people to save him?

He's forgetting everything because they aren't letting him out. But they're probably happy about that, aren't they? Whoever "they" are. They're wanting to keep him here, wanting to make him suffer-

And he doesn't lose count in his head, but he keeps losing memories, keeps losing who everyone is, and suddenly there's a feather in his hand and he knows it's important but he doesn't know who it belongs to.

He knows that it's important and he knows that it means everything to him but why?

And he still struggles to breathe and struggles to see, whenever he looks up there are notes, each painted with anger and joy that he's caged here again.

He can't stop crying and he can't stop trying to breathe but he doesn't make a single sound. How long until it'll be over?

Whoever Lav interacts with is suddenly put in danger by whatever situation Lav fears most.

It's felt... forced, recently. Lav doesn't go out as much as he used to. He's been getting worse and worse. Everything that got better just slowly crumbled in front of him. Andrew ruined everything. He got what he wanted, and it felt horrible. But... there's nothing to do but move on.

The only issue is that he can't. So many bad places in such a short span of time and he can't get his mind off of it. He hasn't even been using his journal nearly as much as he normally does in these scenarios. He wants to keep it to himself because it felt like too much. Too much to tell anyone, too much to handle.

Plus, he doesn't need the help at the moment. It's not like he deserved it anyways.

...He promised Crow it wasn't a case of "not deserving it", and he knows he does deserve help. Or, at the very least, people think he's deserving of it. But the more this goes on, the more he spirals, the worse it gets.

But he doesn't want to tell anyone. They're all going to grow tired of it. Grow weary. There'll be a point where they don't want to deal with you or your problems anymore. And - even if he hates to admit it - he doesn't even 100% know if he's safe. He doesn't know if they still care. He doesn't know if they want him here.

He knows this is because Ender keeps feeding him these insecurities. He knows it's because of his own stupid paranoia that he feels like this. But he can't stop it.

...that's enough talk about that. But he looked tired. Looked as if he's... been through a lot.

So nothing new, really.

He sat on a bench, just... hoping that today would be slightly more normal.

He's unaware of what's coming for him.

//open rp!! @varian-the-unstable-alchemist @bubble-steven @suicidal-steven @anyone! I don't remember many urls so feel free to reply :D

[ceceliaknowsbest]

Cece: [Interrogation] Mrs. Whitvale, would you like to see the footage of your husband actively fighting alongside the rebels within your District? Countless of people have died as a result.

This time she was in a different interrogation room. A hologram took up the entire wall in front of her, and the interrogator stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a mask so she couldn't see his face, not that that would help things.

Cecelia had long gotten used to her opinions not mattering. They pretended that her opinion mattered, that if she told him no, she would rather not see the footage that they wouldn't show her. But she knew better. She knew that Snow wanted her to see it and she would see it. President Snow got what he wanted every time.

But still even though she knew that it didn't matter, she shook her head. "No. I don't want to see it."

It was as if her words were the magic words and suddenly the hologram went on and she saw her husband standing there. Even in these circumstances, her heart seemed to speed up when she saw him. She could see the wear on his face since she last saw him, but it was her husband. It was Sterling. He was still as handsome as ever, and she felt that longing in her chest. When he looked toward the camera she could almost pretend that he saw her. But then he lifted up the gun in his hand and she watched as the bullet found its target.

District Eight looked destroyed. Her chest ached for her home and the people she knew and grew up with. What was happening? How had this destruction happened so quickly? When this was over would anything be left of District Eight?

"What did they do?" She whispered, horror in her eyes as the interrogator just laughed.

"That is your husband doing, dear Cecelia. Are you proud of him??"

His words spurred a defiance in her that she hadn't felt in a long time. Seeing her husband fight for what he always wanted to had spurred something in her.

"Yes."

It was worth the blows.