Look at me back with drawing from the RPs again. Â
Another doodle from Camping Trip from Hell with @flameleads​
Basic Summary for those not reading:Â
After getting sent on a mission to help with the boarder war with Aerugo, Mustang and Edward discover that it’s a set up and Mustang is given the choice to choose who dies first. Â
“You or your boy, Mustang?”Â
Not wanting to make the choice or his son to get injured, Mustang attempts to shield Edward with his own body but Edward ends up taking a bullet anyway. His automail catches the bullet and even though it didn’t kill him on impact, it pushed metal into his chest and now is killing him slowly. it’s a race to get to Resembool so Pinako can pull the bullet out of him before it kills him, because due to his injury Edward is slowly suffocating.Â
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First day drabble under the cut. Trigger warnings for mentions of gore, suffocation, torture, suffering, waterboarding.
The first day is going by unbearably slow. Steel has been suffering all through the night, plagued by nightmares and occasionally failing to even make it to the bathroom. Crimson stayed up as well, taking an emergency leave to stay home and change her sheets whenever she needed it, cleaning up the throw up she’d fail to pour inside the large basin he provided her with. Painkillers were ineffective. They were not even aware of the duration this curse would have. But for one thing, Crimson had forgot all about punishments now. All he did was sit by his sister’s side, cradling her through her spasms and muffling her cries with kisses and nuzzles. Such was his love and affection for this damned creature that he risked his job, rest, health and quite frankly mental stability to stay by her side. Narcissus, on the other hand, went to work and returned a few hours later. He brought them some food from a nearby restaurant that Steel failed to hold in her stomach and Crimson only half-finished. The rest of their portions were stuffed in plastic tupperware and stored the fridge for later consumption before Narcissus took over and Crimson finally took a break to rest. Of course, after staying up for twenty-four hours of anxiety, he collapsed on his bed and was sound asleep within minutes.
When that was done, Narcissus unloaded an eight-pack of large water bottles from the grocery bags he’d carried home and grabbed a kitchen towel. Bottle in hand and towel tucked in the pocket of his pants with the white tip hanging out, he headed to Steel’s room in complete silence and entered without even knocking. Green eyes trailed over the girl’s form on the bed –laid on her back, arms crossed over her chest and a single eye staring blankly at the ceiling. Who knew what kind of pain she was re-experiencing. Perhaps it was Undyne’s slow death by being literally fried alive in her armor, somewhere in the plains of Hotland.
“Ugh. You poor thing…” He hums, slowly kneeling beside the mattress. There’s a hint of disregard in his voice. Or perhaps it’s irony. Clothes are scattered everywhere, in places they shouldn’t be and Narcissus’ irritation grows. It could be impulse or pure evil that moves his hands to slowly wrap around the girl’s neck. He receives a whimper –a pleasing whimper, music in his ears. It sounds better than all the Bach symphonies he could fathom and he tries to squeeze more out of her little neck. It’s such a delight, the pulse of her throat in his palm as she writhes and struggles, immobilized by the curse. Agony blends with the million screams stuck in her throat; an ugly mix. He knows Steel won’t beg for help; because he was there when she learned how pointless it is to do so.
Perhaps she could knock on the wall. Perhaps Crimson will hear. He should be sleeping in the next room. The idea shines in her one good eye and the next moment Narcissus releases her throat to press both her wrists down on the bed with his instead. A knee thrusts into her chest, knocking the idea out of her head along with whatever breath might have been left in her lungs out. And with that feeling begins the reminiscence of Mr. Johnson’s lungs being squished to the size of a fist and Steel starts rasping for breath. It makes too much noise and Narcissus methodically reaches for a pillow behind him and presses it firmly on her face.
That feeling; that well-known agony. The feeling of being stuck, of losing all control over your body and the situation, locked up and forced to expect some ungodly punishment.
Narcissus no longer had to pin her down. She was experiencing the pain of having two long sharp needles piecing both ones eardrums simultaneously. She wasn’t going anywhere.
 He wasn’t even aware of what she was feeling when he pulled the towel completely out of his pocket. It had been hanging there for a while now but Steel hadn’t noticed of course. Apart from the fact her room was dark and her eyesight impaired, the pain had clouded all sorts of reasonable thought processes she might have been capable of if she did. Now it was taking over her senses as well. A tickling sensation spread over her limbs, as if thousands upon thousands of tiny ants were climbing on them, raiding her aching body and pinning it against the mattress.
Accepting her horrible fate, the girl slowly closed her eyes and concentrated her efforts on drawing one final breath. The pillow was removed and the towel was draped over her face in its place.
“I thought you and I had made a deal.” Narcissus whispered, hint of sarcasm evident in his husky voice. “I don’t care whose rules you want to play by…but causing trouble like that? Getting us exposed? That’s too reckless for my taste, princess.” He coos. Steel’s palms slowly clench into fists, chest heaving up and down rapidly, writhing, struggling for a single breath. The cloth is already humid. She doesn’t know what’s coming to her. Everything is dark and she’s forced to lay there and endure through the uncertainty and the fear; the terror. Narcissus’ voice resembles the million screams she’s caused and she’s experienced. A life of pain and suffering she’s handed out and lived through herself flashes in front of her closed eyes. The hallucination of these all too familiar glowing buttons fades into the background, hand automatically making a futile attempt at reaching out and touching the immaterial surface... Grey and useless. No Reset. No Save. No Load.
                                                  No Escape.
She can sense the liquid coming from a mile away. It’s cold and humid underneath the towel. It makes her want to sneeze but she feels to weak to even attempt that. The scent of laundry detergent fills her nostrils and makes her sick.
“Uh. I’ll hate having to clean this up. Look what you’re making me do.” Narcissus groans, lifting the large water bottle over her head. Steel’s body makes a final attempt to flinch, to evade the torment. It is of course, pointless, as Alphys’ scream of horror as a knife goes through her head fades into the background of her mind. She feels the sharp blade penetrating her eye. It stings and burns and never stops. Narcissus at this point has realized that the greyface magic must indeed be something horrible. He clicks his tongue and just as his wrist turns to tilt the bottle over his Frisk’s head, the girl produces a raspy plea.
“Pl-…please…d-d…I…s-..I’m sorry!”
There’s a moment’s silence and just as Alphys’ pain gives place to the sharp sting of a stab wound to the chest, Narcissus snickers and starts pouring water on her face. At once, the gasps are muffled. Coughs replace them as her lungs struggle to function. It feels like drowning but not. It gives you the exact, precise experience of being strapped to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean but at the same time unable to find sweet release in death. Instead, it keeps you hanging –on the edge. Muffled pleas are barely audible in the form of gasps and mutters under the soaked towel gag. Narcissus lets the entire bottle contents empty before he screws the lid back on sits back to inspect his work. Steel’s chest is heaving painfully, slowly struggling for whatever release it could achieve with a knee pressing down on it and the wet towel blocking her nostrils and mouth. The cough gets worse. Narcissus rolls his eyes and leans closer to her, moving some braids to the side and onto the wet mattress to expose her earlobe.
“Listen. If you stop coughing like that and keep quiet, I’ll only use three more bottles. Otherwise, I bought an eight pack yesterday.” He whispers and tucks her braids back with the tips of his fingers. Steel barely even winces underneath the towel.
She would pass out, but her body won’t let her. Perhaps that’s what Karma is.
He’s collapsed again. But it’s not the first time since he was released from the hospital a couple of months ago. He can’t get himself off the floor but Alphonse is having no issues with that, even as panicked hands lift him up from the now blood covered tile and get him back on the couch. He’s got him in this weird awkward position with pillows pushed under his back so he’s not completely flat but still close enough.Â
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe like this. Â
His breaths are labored as he lays there and the only thing his brother can think to do is to lay a cool towel over his face. It’s got to help with something. It’s got to help with the sweat clinging to his skin and the the heat that feels like it’s burning him from the inside out.Â
It’s not the first but he’s kept them to himself. It’s not the first but he’s kept them hush hush when he started coughing or felt his chest tighten up again. It’s never been major. It’s never been this. He hasn’t spat blood since the hospital - so today that is the first time since. He had an attack the last time he had a mental breakdown. He had an attack the last time he screamed. Raw rage releasing from his lungs reverberating through him for all he was worth. He had an attack then. Â
He didn’t think much of it though. He didn’t think to tell his father or his brother because he didn’t want them to worry. He didn’t want any of them to worry .. and Sol - Sol didn’t know the signs. Sol’s never seen his attacks because he wasn’t here the last time he was in the hospital. It’s not his fault. Sol and Verna simply just weren’t here so there was no way for either of them to know when the Moon was about to collapse.Â
It’s not their faults. It’s really not their faults.Â
Alphonse is squeezing his hand and he wonders for a moment through the pain that’s tearing through his chest if his brother realizes how bad he’s shaking. Probably not considering the lacking body thing, but that armor is trembling and he can feel it against his skin. All Alphonse can think to do is keep him, cool, comfortable and stay by his side....but ragged breaths fail to improve. His chest hurts. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed and he feels like there’s bricks on his chest preventing him from getting a full breath.Â
He’s back in that forest. He’s back in that forest, laying on that forest floor, unable to anything else but gasp and wheeze. He wants his sun. He wants his sister. He wants his father. He can’t breathe like this and Dad knows how to make the pain subside. He needs medicine. He needs his medicine... he must have skipped a dose for his lungs to constrict like this.Â
“D -Dad.” He’s coughing just to say the word. “W- Where’s - D- Dad?” Â
There’s a gentle hand stroking over his head, to smooth down his hair and glide over gold locks as if in some kind of attempt to calm him. Alphonse’s hand squeezes down on his sibling’s but is to ground Edward or himself?Â
“He’ll be here soon Brother. I’ll make sure he comes real soon. Verna went to get Sol. Don’t worry Brother. We’re getting them for you. Jus’ for now....don’t speak. Please you need to conserve your strength. I’m right here. I won’t go anywhere. You’re not alone, okay?”Â
Death is never happy being cheated, little moon. Whether it be via philosopher's stone or trading away bits of your own life; Death will always come to collect, and it will be particularly vicious to those who have escaped its grasp before.
He doesn’t understand why everyone is always talking about cheating death or escaping death to him. He doesn’t understand because it’s not like he’s ever died. That would be impossible. Dead people don’t come back to life. Not now; not ever.  If he’d DIED before then he wouldn’t be ALIVE. Someone would have had to bring him back with Human Transmutation and THAT is impossible too.Â
But there’s something to consider when he thinks about it. Cheating? Oh yes. He’s cheated but he’s never died. He used his own life to cheat in Baschool. He escaped by the sound of a gunshot when Mustang saved him from Scar. He narrowly slipped by when his brother rushed him to the Rockbell’s house to prevent him from bleeding out on their basement floor. Oh yes. He’s CHEATED but other than that it’s just been close calls.Â
He doesn’t know what happened in the forest. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know how he got the bullet out of his chest, he can only assume Grandma took it out,  but he wasn’t awake for the surgery so he can’t be for sure. It’s the only logical explanation though. He can only remember waking up with his hand tightly clenched in his father’s. He can’t remember anything else.Â
He can’t say what happened in the hospital if only because most of the time he was there, he slept. If he can only remember one thing from the hospital it was a single phrase. Â
“New orders for you, Edward, They come straight from me, no one else. You listening? Don’t die.”Â
And he obeyed. He OBEYED dammit so WHY are these voices coming at him like he didn’t?! Â
He’s under orders dammit. He’s under orders. He STILL under orders. His father has yet to release him from that command. He CAN’T die because he’s been ordered not to and he HASN’T. Â
“Little Moon....” Â
The voice creeps into his mind. It infects his person and all he can see are glowing white eyes staring back at him. Staring through him, into him. He can’t escape them. They’re peering straight into his soul and he wants to run but those eyes have his feet anchored to the floor. His body starts shaking as heavy quick breaths are pulled into his lungs and then released just as fast; as frantic. Â
          “......Whether it be via philosopher's stone or trading away bits of your own life.”
How do they know? How do they know? How do they know he’s burned his own soul?! He’s never told anyone but Verna - no that’s not true but it took him forever to finally fess up to his father. How do they know?! It’s not common knowledge. It’s not public.  How do they know?! How do they KNOW?!Â
He obeyed. He obeyed dammit. He obeyed his orders at any cost. He might die later but he didn’t die NOW.Â
Why does his stomach twist when that voice calls him Little Moon? Why does it make him feel paralyzed? He can’t deal with this. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He couldn’t have died. If he did then Al and - Sol and - he would have - he would have - but they’re still here and they’re FINE.Â
He’s the one with issues. He’s the one with issues because he got shot not because he died.Â
He didn’t kill his brother or his sun. He didn’t. He DIDN’T. Â
He couldn’t live with himself if he did. Â
He knows the burning sensation when his chest sets on fire. He knows the tight constrictive feeling when he can feel the air being stripped from his lungs and the hoarse scratch that runs up the back of his throat when coughing wracks his frame and he starts of suffocate. He knows the ripping feeling that burns up his esophagus right before blood splatters against the floor when he can’t do anything but fight for air in his lungs.  He knows. He knows what his attacks feel like; punishment for getting too riled up or pushing himself too hard. He knows.Â
Death can toy with him all it wants. Twist his chest and scrape his lungs. It can choke him out until there’s nothing left of him to play with. Tear him apart. He’s cheated enough to earn such a punishment. Death can play with him for the rest of his days.Â
                   Just please God don’t touch THEM.Â
Hey Y’all cause Camping Trip from Hell is still in progress let me tell you what Ed’s dealing with currently to the thread, just in you don’t wanna read the 160+ page thread Kai and I have running right now.Â
This is just what’s current up to where the thread is, not the things that are yet to happen because boy is there more shit I refuse to spoil.Â
In the very first few posts of Camping Trip Edward was shot in the chest on his right side, and his automail port caught the bullet.Â
About Here:Â
Mind you, while this didn’t kill him on impact, it most certainly knocked him out and please remember when Roy was shot in Ishval a lead bullet did this to his pocket watch. Â
Ed’s Automail port is comprised of one sheet of solid steel versus the several layers of metal that bullet needed to go through on Roy’s watch. Bluntly put Ed got fucking lucky it didn’t break all the way through.Â
Instead what happened was the metal of his port got pushed inside of his chest and it is pushing down inside his body. After reporting to Mustang that he could still feel the bullet moving any time he moved, Mustang came to the grim realization that he would need to cauterize the wound and fuse the bullet to his port so they wouldn’t lose it or risk it actually breaking through the metal.Â
Thus this art got drawn:Â
Mustang needing to melt solid steel had to burn at 2500 degrees F so he needed to burn blue in order to fuse that bullet to his son’s automail. So for a quick minute Mustang was forced to hold his son down while he seared the wound closed with his own alchemy.Â
Thus I draw my Ed with a burn scar on his chest:Â Â
Because he took 3rd degree burns when Mustang had to fuse the bullet. The problem was the metal in his chest was still pushing down and pulling pressure on his lung and he was still at risk of a lung collapse. It bought time, it didn’t save his life. When Mustang used flame alchemy it didn’t just fuse the bullet, it took out the support bolt in Edward’s collar bone that is helping to support the entire rig to his shoulder so they were forced to wrap Ed’s automail and sling it so he couldn’t move it. They needed to avoid him moving wrong and snapping the bolt that was in his shoulder blade because it would cause damage that would prevent him from having an automail arm ever again.Â
His entire body went into survival mode, because it was trying to support his heavy weighted automail (25lbs per limb as I state in my headcanon posts) with just a sling and one bolt in his back. They’re still on the run from the men who are trying to kill them even to thread current. However, Edward’s throat is swelling and his lungs are inflamed. He’s dehydrated and half starving thanks to being stuck out in the forest and on the run from soldiers trying to kill them.Â
After making it to a small town, and running into people from Resembool who moved there - Mustang and Ed found a night of reprieve but were met with finding out their codes for outside calls to command were invalidated and they couldn’t call for help. Mustang would have to get Ed to Resembool on foot so Pinako could remove the bullet. A local small town doctor gave them a diagnosis that Edward would only make it a few more days, and Mustang is trying to get his son there before he dies. Â
Ed on the other hand is suffocating, slowly. Because of the pressure on his lung, he can’t draw in as much oxygen as he normally would and slowly he’s dying. Mustang made sure to get some Willow Bark (think aspirin of their time) before they left so he can help control the pain but ever since getting shot Edward falls to coughing fits and wheezes wen he breathes. Any form of stress makes it worse. Due to everything that’s going on right now, his body is so weak he can hardly support himself - and by the doctor’s very strict suggestion - Edward is not to be walking anywhere so Mustang is carrying him on his back to Resembool.Â
Now they just need to get there before he dies....or before they’re caught.Â
Edit: You can also see the path they’re taking and the distance that Mustang has had to // is carrying Edward here.Â
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You know what. I got a weird idea of how shsl despair got Junko's body in one piece.
Maybe the metal block she used was actually shallow inside and there was just lot's of fake blood used to do the splatters. And she suffocated to death inside that block. Because she thought it would be more despair including way to die than being crushed really quicly.
And that's why they could hack her body parts. Because she actually didn't get crushed but staged the whole thing so that she could enjoy that despair of waiting death.
I had a dream that I was in one of those claustrophobic tunnels in children's playgrounds and all these hands were tickling me and I suffocated in the tunnel while trying to escape.