#tw; suffocation

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.

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. 

About Here: 

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.  

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. 

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. 

Thus this art got drawn: 

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. 

Thus I draw my Ed with a burn scar on his chest:  

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. 

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. 

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.  

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. 

Now they just need to get there before he dies....or before they’re caught.