#Augusnippets Day 3

[jedi-lothwolf]

Augusnippets Day 3: Thunderstorm

Fandom: EPIC/The Odyssey

Summary: When Telemachus was ten years old, thunderstorms became a common thing in Ithaca. He got used to them. As he walks around the palace, he learns that Odysseus had become terrified of them.

    Thunderstorms were a normal thing for Ithaca. Telemachus started to notice more of them when he was 10 years old. He used to fear them. Now he sits by the window and watched with lightning and closes his eyes as he listens thunder and the rain.

    It was a stormy night when the boy learned his father was scared of thunderstorms. Penelope has gone to visit Ctimene; someone Odysseus wasn't ready to see again after telling her about Eurylochus.

Listening to the storm, the prince walked around the halls of the palace like he's done since he was young. Stopping in front of his mother and father's room, he felt as if he should go inside.

Without knocking, Telemachus opened the door. Inside Odysseus sat in his bed. His sword was in his hands and his knees were to his chest.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Telemachus asked.

"They're coming." Odysseus said, his voice shaking.

Walking more inside the room, Telemachus approached his father. Odysseus jumped back, surprised by the movement. "who's coming?"

"The Gods." The king said, whispering. "They have come for me."

"It's just a thunderstorm." Telemachus approached his mother's bed and tried to sit down.

Odysseus swung his sword at his son.

"Dad, it's okay. Can you put the sword down?"

After a moment, Odysseus realized what he had done and pulled his sword away for his son. "I'm sorry." As he started to cry, Telemachus sat down with him.

"It's okay. Can I see that?" He gestured to the sword in his father's hands.

Nodding, Odysseus handed it to him. Then Telemachus put it down beside the bed. "The Gods won't get you here. I promise."

"You can't guarantee they won't." The king said softly.

"True, but it will be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be. I'll be right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Telemachus remembered what it felt like to be scared of thunder when he was little. Now his father was scared of it for a very different reason. Still, he knew that it was a hard thing to be afraid of. Only the gods can control thunderstorms after all.

"Okay." Pudding his knees back down onto the bed, Odysseus tied to relax.

"You know, I used to be afraid of thunderstorms too. I got pretty used to them. No one is going to hurt you here. You're home."

"I'm home." Odysseus repeated.

"Maybe try to sleep?"

"Yeah." Laying down, Odysseus closed his eyes. Telemachus went and sat by the rocking chair that was by a window.

"Thank you son. I love you"

"I love you too, Dad."

[whumplump]

Day 3 of @augusnippets

Prompt used: blizzard

Not used: thunderstorm / heat wave

CW: hypothermia, blood, character death

The snowstorm fell, gentle above the heads of those who were under a roof, in front of the fireplace, wrapped in blankets, and merciless above the heads of those who were on the streets, without shelter.

Whumpee clung even tighter to their own coat, which, even though it was made of heavy material, wasn't enough to protect them from the cold. Their arms wrapped around their torso also helped to stem the bleeding from the wound. The blood vessels were constricted due to the cold, making the situation even more agonizing for Whumpee.

A wave of dizziness hit them, knocking them into the soft snow. Their hands, stained with blood and parched from the dry, freezing weather, dragged themselves across the snow-covered asphalt, but their body did not move energetically.

Whumpee gave up and rested their face in the snow, blinking rapidly to try and get the snow off their eyelashes. The snow, usually white, began to darken, until it and the entire scene went from white to pitch black in a matter of seconds.

[re-whump]

Augusnippets Day 3 - Thunderstorm

hey new character, they’re gonna stick around a bit, at least for this event! gotta get my size whump in

Contains: tiny whumpee (borrower), blunt force trauma, risk of hypothermia, loss of comfort belongings

At first, Mozzy assumed the heavy rumbling over their little shelter was a truck passing by on the highway overhead and didn’t bother to finish waking up. A truck would stay on the road, and was no particular threat, no matter how threatening it sounded. Mozzy sighed and tucked themself tighter into their hammock, listening instead to the gentle plink-plink-plink of the rain.

The storm refused to be ignored. All at once, the rumbling rolled into a bang loud enough to shake the ground, loud enough to make Mozzy flinch. The stones that made up the roof to their little shelter shifted and an icy stream dumped straight onto their head.

They sputtered and flailed, trying to shake themself free of the cold, and spilled out of the hammock into an ankle-deep pool that was just as frigid. A puddle outside had spilled through the entryway and flooded the small burrow. Mozzy gasped and dove for their journals, but it was much too late. The paper stacks were nothing but unreadable mush. They took stock of what was left and despaired. Half their food was soaked and m the slight current washing through their home had washed away most of their favorite trinkets. They whined to no one when they couldn’t find their prized Lego head.

Mozzy’s pant legs wicked up the water and they shivered. They had to leave. They hadn’t thought to waterproof a shelter made this late in the year and now it was thoroughly ruined. They’d just have to hope they had better luck in the nearby human building than they had in the last. They threw on their coat, gathered what they could from the wreckage, and abandoned the ruined shelter.

The world outside was even more dangerous. It wasn’t raining.

Mozzy had never seen hail before, not personally, and at first they didn’t recognize it. That was one of the downsides of only learning things secondhand by overhearing humans discuss them. This wasn’t falling frozen water, this was frozen hell. Chunks of ice the size of Mozzy’s fist swarmed the ground, first falling from the sky at debilitating speeds, then bouncing around off the stones Mozzy had just been hiding under.

The frozen pellets pelted the little smallfolk and, agile as Mozzy was, they barely made it a half a foot from the burrow before they made a retreat, cold and sore and bruised. They hugged their belongings close and backed into their flooded shelter, huddling in the driest corner for warmth. They wished there was someone else around to hold them and share their body heat, but they were alone.

The storm continued its deadly tantrum but eventually, the hail let up into rain and Mozzy sloshed back out to look for new shelter. The rain was relentless and kicked up a mist that made it impossible to see more than a few inches in front of them. They grit their teeth, rubbed at their bruises, and pushed forward. At least the mist wouldn’t kill them.

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 3

Blizzard/ Thunderstorm/ Heatwave

cold whump, frostbite, lost/abandoned

Whumpee turned his face against the wind, the white flakes in the air stinging his red cheeks. He pulled his jacket tighter to his body, crouching against the closest tree.

"Caretaker," he called into the roaring wind, barely able to hear his own voice. "Caretaker?! Where are you?" he screamed, his tears freezing on his own cheeks.

All he could see was a vast whiteness before him, dotted with a few grey trunks that faded into the haze of the snow.

"Please, Caretaker! Where are you?" Whumpee sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

His hands. Why didn't he wear gloves? The ends of his fingers were turning a deep black color. "No, no!" If he knew he'd get lost like this, if he knew about this blizzard, he would have dressed warmer.

Whumpee huddled against the tree's trunk, curling up.

"Caretaker... Caretaker, please..."

"It's... so cold..."

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 3: blizzard

tw: descriptions of physical pain, near death experience

Obi-Wan has lost all feeling in his fingers. It’s a merciful relief compared to the burning in his feet.

He staggers as the biting wind buffets him from side to side, shaking him like a ragdoll, and he can’t quite decide whether the nausea roiling in his stomach is from that, or from the concussion he likely got when Anakin threw him just a bit too forcefully out of the way of oncoming blaster fire. Squinting against the swirling vortex of white, Obi-Wan tries hopelessly to make out anything in the haze of the blizzard.

He can’t even see the Palace anymore, though he can’t be that far from it.

Split up, Anakin had said. I’ll circle around with the gunships as soon as I can.

As the screaming wind threatens to rupture his eardrums, Obi-Wan wonders dejectedly whether that was just another cleverly concealed lie.

I shouldn’t think that, he scolds himself. A Jedi should never assume the worst of a person, at least not without sufficient proof. His cynical outlook is simply the result of the bone-deep, all-consuming chill fraying his composure, nothing more.

Blinking his eyes dazedly back into focus (not that there’s much to focus on), Obi-Wan attempts to reorient himself.

Which way had he been walking?

The gale tears at his thin robes, snow drenching the cloth and his hair and his skin and his bones. His skeleton rattles with the force of his shivers, slamming his joints together painfully. The numbness in his toes spreads to his feet, his shins, his knees, and before he can comprehend what’s happening, his face buries itself in a mound of snow.

Get up. You have to get up.

His legs are on fire; he can’t locate his arms. The snow is clogging his throat, smothering, suffocating, and the icicles in the corner of his eyes might be frozen tears; he isn’t quite sure.

An endless field of white consumes his vision, and it looks a bit like how he imagines emerging into the light at the end of the tunnel.

Air rushes into his lungs, the sudden expansion painful, and he gasps and sputters like a dying man. Somehow, he’s lying on his back, though he doesn’t remember rolling over. A figure swims in his vision, in and out of focus, blue and white and blonde.

Rex.

“–you alright? General? Can you hear me?” Terror, absolute terror like a knife to the chest.

I need to tell him I trust him, that there’s no one better equipped to keep the senator safe. The thought slams into Obi-Wan, all desperation and teeth. I forgot to, before the ceremony, and he shouldn’t doubt himself, shouldn’t think he’s anything less than the greatest man I’ve ever had the fortune of knowing–

He’s being hauled to his feet, one arm slung over Rex’s shoulders, weight sagging helplessly.

“You’ll be okay.” Rex’s voice is soothing, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes, lets himself get lost in the comfort. “I’ve got you. I promise you’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan isn’t worried; Rex always keeps his promises.

[whumperwithwings]

Augusnippets Day 3: Thunderstorm/Blizzard/Heat Wave

Content: Blizzard Whump, referenced Whumper, vague harmful thoughts

Did you know that if it gets cold enough, it burns?

That's what Whumpee figured out when 'running' from Whumper, having escaped one hellhole for another. Whumpee wasn't even sure if anybody had bothered to follow them, what with the cold that burned like fire.

Whumpee slumped over against a tree, shivering. If they stayed here in the snow long enough, they would become warm again. They would like that.

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 3 - Blizzard

Locking Whumpee out of the house wasn’t anything unusual. Really, out of all the ways Whumper could take out his anger or irritation toward Whumpee, shoving him out the door and bolting it behind him was quite tame. Sometimes it would take a while before Whumper had finally cooled down enough to let Whumpee back inside - more than once Whumpee had had to spend the night simply huddled against the leeward side of the house, falling asleep with dry grass poking into him and his cheek pressed against the siding - but this was usually more or less a painless punishment, in which the greatest threat to him was boredom.

Of course, all those other times, the weather had been tolerable. Summer heat for a while, then getting cooler and drier as autumn came in its wake.

This was the first time that Whumpee had been locked out since winter had arrived. And it had arrived with a bang, coating the surrounding miles of flat nothingness with snow. That first layer had never fully gone away; it turned to slush and refroze along with the dips in temperature out side, with new snowfalls adding gradually to the collection, getting ever thicker as the air finally settled well enough below freezing that it was unlikely he would see the ground again for a couple of months.

Today, the snow was in full force. When Whumper had first shoved Whumpee out the door, he’d been blown right over into the snow by the gust of wind that assaulted him. Before this current storm had started, about six inches of dense cold had coated the ground, leftover from prior snowfalls. When he’d been sent sprawling, though, the snow was well over a foot deep, and only climbing higher.

He had scrambled to his feet as Whumper slammed the door, and hastened to press himself up against the outer wall of the house, struggling to stay upright. With no trees or hills or anything at all to buffet the winds for miles in every direction, it felt like at any second it could lift Whumpee right up into the air and carry him away. It bit harshly at the exposed skin on Whumpee’s face and neck, pelted him with snow that was moving thick and fast enough to feel more like hail.

It took what only felt like a few seconds before Whumpee’s teeth were chattering, his body rigid with cold. Not surprising - Whumper hadn’t exactly been in a charitable enough mood to let Whumpee grab a coat or gloves before kicking him out into the cold. The best he could do was keep his bare hands pressed under his folded arms and tuck his head in, but that was hardly much of a defense against a snowstorm.

Whumper, he supposed, hadn’t really thought this through. Surely he just needed a minute for his head to cool just enough to realize that this punishment wasn’t actually a viable option in weather like this, and then he’d let Whumpee back in and come up with something else.

Whumpee waited as long as he could stand, wind howling around him and threatening to knock him down all the while. He watched the door, squinting against the snow that rendered everything else in his field of vision white, waiting for the knob to turn and let him back in.

But as he stood there, losing sensation in his limbs, nose drying, ice crystals starting to form on the ends of his lashes - the door remained still.

He knocked, lifting a hand that was already distressingly red and raw from the cold on a shaking arm. Whumper normally really did not like it when Whumpee tried to talk to him or get his attention before a punishment was done, but he was really growing concerned. Did whumper not realize how hard it was snowing out? Or, perhaps, had he tossed Whumpee out on instinct, not even registering the action, and already had forgotten that Whumpee was locked out?

The sound of the knocking was all but drowned out by the roaring winds. Whumpee wasn’t sure if that was the case from inside the house as well, but for good measure he kicked the door too. And then he shouted. Then kicked and shouted at once, as loud as he could manage. No response.

Just a silent closed door.

Whumpee gave the door one final kick, but knew deep down it was useless. As he slid back against the wall, huddling into as tight a ball as he could in a last-ditch effort for warmth, the harsh truth struck him as sharp as the icy wind: Whumper wasn’t coming.

@augusnippets

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Three

Bonus Prompt: Flashbacks

CW: violence, experimentation on human beings, past trauma, blood, wounds.

One minute, Bry is in the grocery store. They’re deliberating the best choice of apples. They like Pink Ladies but they’re so damn expensive. They’re lost to their thoughts and the beat of punk music, their headphones dutifully cocooning them from the world.

And then it happens.

A pair of hands sets upon them out of nowhere. Fingers curl tight at their biceps. Their heart lurches, their stomach slips. They’re back in that cell being grabbed at, being dragged to the lab once again. To the “operating room,” where they sank needles inside them, where they cinched their wrists tight to the metal. Scalpels and blades and fingers pressing into their wounds.

“Rate the pain,” commands the researcher, voice as cold as the table beneath them, Bry naked and trembling on the metal. “On a scale of one to ten.”

The researcher is armed with a clipboard and pen, and a scowl to match the cruelty of the surgeon. The surgeon is the one at the helm of this torture. He slices Bry’s skin and pries open the wounds. He curls one finger inside of a terrible gash to their stomach. He works two into a wound in their side, pulls them free and repeats the gesture. He pistons them slowly, the wound wet and loud. He laughs.

Bry, all the while, screams.

“Rate it,” orders the researcher once more, a hard edge of impatience to his voice. His voice echoes harshly against the tiles.

“Eight!” Bry cries. The researcher hums. In the beginning, Bry always used to answer ten. In the early days, everything had felt like a ten. But they’re used to being brutalised and studied by now, can differentiate between the severity of one wound and another.

“Good, Bry,” says the researcher. “Now, my friend here is going to stop for a moment, and we’ll time the duration of your healing. Last time you were ready for more after three and a half minutes. Let’s see if we can’t improve on that record, shall we?”

“One more cut,” the surgeon growls, peering at the researcher for either permission or forgiveness. Whichever it is, Bry cannot see, too blinded by the agony to tell. All they feel is a rip at their stomach, the scalpel forced much too deep. The pain sears and it screeches through them, the wound torn wider, wider still. The researcher shouts at the surgeon to stop. The surgeon barks back his own protest. Moments later, Bry’s stomach is slick with blood. It cools on their skin and pools beneath them on the metal, and the researcher and surgeon are laughing together. They’re reminiscing casually about last weekend’s sports. Healing is almost as painful as injury, and Bry writhes and shakes on the table, whining despite their efforts to be quiet.

“Four minutes forty,” says the researcher flatly. “Very disappointing, Bry. Let’s try again.”

“No!” Bry cries, voice a tangled wail at the back of their throat.

The hands release them now. The shadows of the lab fall away from around them, and the world rebuilds itself around them. Soft lighting, long aisles, gentle music overhead. Their headphones have been thrown hard to the linoleum floor, and a stranger peers at Bry with gentle concern. She holds her hands up — in innocence, or surrender, or even to simply placate them.

“It’s okay, love,” she tells them. She’s older, late middle age. She reminds them of their mother, looks shocked but kind. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry. I just needed into the apples, you see. I said excuse me and you—“

“I’m sorry,” says Bry. They stoop down and gather their headphones, trembling legs and shaking hands. “I-I’m so sorry. Ignore me. Fuck.”

“Wait,” calls the woman. She reaches out to touch them — instinct, habit — and halts mid-motion at Bry’s ragged gasp. She opens her mouth to say something. Other shoppers around them have paused. A kid stacking shelves stares openly from his step stool. Bry drops their basket in the middle of the aisle, and flees through the sparse crowd of onlookers.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for the event!

[taters169]

The Tin drabbles

Thunderstorms

Masterlist

@augusnippets day 3 thunderstorm/blizzard/heatwave

TW tiny whump

Another flash of lightning lit up the room shortly followed by a boom of thunder as Michael stood shaking by the tin.

"There's no use crying about it now" said his Master. "You earned your time out so get in the box" he nudged the open tin even closer to Michael

"Please sir, I'm sorry! Please just let me stay inside" Michael sobbed as he stepped into the tin

"If you are very lucky I'll bring you back in in a couple of hours. And if you're really lucky this conductive metal tin of yours won't get struck by lightening" his Master said gleefully as he pushed on Michael's head forcing him to curl up in the bottom of the tin. "After all if that happens I doubt there would even be much of the tin left, nevermind your pathetic little frame"

Michael wrapped his trembling arms around his knees making his already tiny form even smaller. Wracked with sobs struggling to catch his breath as he felt the panic rising. He saw the grin on his Master's face as the lid was snapped shut trapping him in.

"Come along then little toy" said his master as he felt the tin being lifted "let's find a good spot in the garden for you"

[evilwriter37]

Thor’s Wrath

Augusnippets Day 3

Thunderstorms

Rated: general

Warnings: none

———

Hiccup hated thunderstorms. It was just a fact of life. Even after his burn scars from the lightning oh so long ago had faded, he couldn’t relax whenever there was a rumble in the sky.

“Hey, babe, you okay?” Astrid asked. She’d come to the front balcony, where Hiccup stood brooding and staring at the sky.

It was a dark sky, black and gray and mottled with green. It was going to be a big one.

Lightning flashed across the sky, momentarily blinding Hiccup. He reeled backwards, but his wife managed to catch him.

“Let’s get you inside,” Astrid said, putting an arm around his waist. “Toothless is worried.”

Hiccup wanted to say that yes, of course Toothless was worried—he’d been the one to save him from drowning after the lightning strike after all—but instead just nodded silently.

So now Hiccup sat in his house with his dragon and his very pregnant wife as the wind rose to a shrieking gale outside. He hated this. Hated it. Hiccup was 26, a Viking chief, a Dragon Rider, and soon to be father, and here he was huddling in his dragon’s legs and wings like a child because of a thunderstorm.

They were more common on New Berk, sadly. Especially big ones. Fishlegs was fascinated by it, of course, but the thought of all that wind and lighting, hail and rain, just made Hiccup’s stomach twist.

Thunder boomed so loudly it shook the house, and Hiccup was not proud of what he did. He whimpered and snuggled closer to his dragon. Toothless didn’t mind, and pulled him in tighter under his wing.

“Th-thanks, Toothless,” Hiccup rasped out. His mouth and throat were dry from his heavy breathing. “I know I can always count on you.”

Toothless cooed and rumbled, a rumble that was very much comforting, unlike the thunder assaulting his ears. He nuzzled Hiccup’s face with his nose, and it made him smile a bit.

Maybe thunderstorms weren’t all bad since he got to spend this time with Toothless.

That didn’t change the fact that Hiccup flinched when lightning illuminated the windows and thunder followed suit.

He would just have to hunker down and wait out Thor’s wrath.

[snek-in-a-hat]

Day 3 @augusnippets

3: Thunderstorm / Blizzard / Heat Wave

------------------------------------------------

'Should I get out and push?'

Leader glared at Right Hand's question as they pressed on the accelerator for the third time to no avail.

Cetus I - 77 was not a temperate planet, but was rich in rare minerals and deemed worth attempting to set up a base camp for future mining operations. It's surface was typically about 250 degrees Fahrenheit, reaching 300 in some places at the peak of the solar day. It's atmosphere was not quite breathable, nor were the gaseous particle storms non-hazardous, but all in all, it would not be the most difficult planet the human systems union had attempted to tame, even if only temporarily.

Unfortunately they would be no closer to setting up the base camp at the location Scientist had proposed if their climber kept getting stuck in the fine sands that covered a majority of the planet.

'They need to start sending us equipment that works,' growled Leader as they made to secure their suit and exit the vehicle.

'You'd hate it. It would make the job too easy.'

Leader couldn't stop the little chuckle from escaping.

'Stay here,' they warned as Right Hand began to unbuckle themselves from the co-pilot seat. At their confused look, they added, 'Someone needs to keep an eye on the weather patterns and the radio.'

Right Hand slouched back in their seat with a huff.

'Be right back,' Leader called, grabbing one of the folding field shovels.

The chamber depressurized and it was like the opening of an oven. Leader cursed at the brightness overwhelming them and the heat that immediately began to put their suit systems to work.

They ignored the blaring of the heat alarm and trekked to the back of the climber. Thankfully nothing looked broken, but it seemed that the wheels might need to be dug out of the sand.

Leader felt the sweat pouring down their back and temples before they'd even started.

Too easy, they scoffed to themselves and began digging at the back left wheel.

It felt like they were moving in slow motion. It seemed that every shovelful was almost replaced by the wind blowing more sand back into the hole. Leader cursed again at the heat and themselves for not thinking to drink some water before sealing the suit and going outside.

A pounding headache was making itself known right behind their eyes and the arm holding the shovel began to shake.

Slowly leader moved their way over to the other wheel and began digging it out. They tried to go quickly to avoid the wind undoing their work. They had only intended to be outside for about 5-10 minutes, but they had no idea how long it had been. Somewhere in the back of their mind, they recognized that probably was not a good thing. As leader bent down to get another shovelful, a sudden wave of dizziness overtook them and they crashed to their knees.

They reached a shaking hand to their communicator and called for Right Hand. Something was definitely wrong.

Hearing no answer, they tried again, but the last thing they heard was static before darkness took them.

----

Right Hand kept glancing at the clock while keeping an eye on the radar. A storm would likely head in their direction, but probably not for another 30 minutes. As it was Leader had already been gone for 10 minutes, but Right Hand didn't dare bother then when they were pissed at the climber. It was a recipe for disaster. Besides, the proximity sensors were showing that Leader was working on the back left wheel.

Another 5 minutes passed and Right Hand was beginning to get worried. That storm was definitely going to hit.

'Hey, Leader. Sorry to bother you, but I think that storm is coming our way. I think we've got another 15 minutes. Do you need some help?'

There was nothing but static. It wasn't necessarily surprising. Leader often didn't answer Right Hand, especially if they offered help. They checked the sensors again. Leader was now by the right back wheel.

Another 5 minutes passed and Right Hand made up their mind. Angry or not, Leader would need their help to finish up and get them out of the storm's path. Besides they had already exceeded the recommended time for being out on Cetus' surface.

Right Hand affixed their suit and depressurized the chamber. The sudden wave hit them and their stomach clenched. It was HOT.

They worked their way to the back of the climber, but noticed a distinct lack of noise. No shovel scraping sand, no clangs from Leader hitting the vehicle, or muffled curses.

As they rounded the corner, Right Hand gasped. Leader was face down in the sand and slowly being buried as the wind blew more and more on top of their body.

'Shit. Shit. Shit!'

They rushed to Leader's side and began tapping on their helmet. Right Hand cursed at the lack of response. They looked to the horizon and saw the storm was now visible and growing closer. They needed to get inside the climber now.

Right Hand stooped and pulled Leader into a fireman's carry. They would have to ride out the storm inside the vehicle and hope that the seals didn't come loose.

As carefully as they could, they placed Leader on the floor and repressurized the chamber. Right Hand ripped their helmet off and then Leader's.

Right Hand felt for a pulse and let out a small sigh. It was strong, but way too fast. Further inspection revealed skin that was far too hot and dry. Not to mention the fact that Leader was out like a light.

An examination of Leader's suit showed that the cooling systems were broken and probably had been for some time. The communicator was fried and the seals were worn. But at least the heat alarm works, Right Hand thought wryly.

The climber shuddered as the storm finally hit and the emergency lighting switched to red. Holding their breath until they were sure the seals would hold, Right Hand resolved to go get some cool towels and water. If they were lucky, the secondary transmitter was still functioning and they could get a distress call back to the ship.

'They definitely need to start sending us equipment that works.'

------------------------------------------------

Apologies, I know this one is probably double the max recommended length, but I didn't feel like I could cut it down! Please let me know if I missed any CW tags. Day 3 done!

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 3

Heatwave

cw: none. somehow this is also pure fluff

Summary:

Colin knew the rule. Above all else, there was one sacred rule, and it followed the Greyhounds from the showers at home to the dressing rooms away to every pool area they travelled to as a group: Always bring your shower slides.

Here on AO3

Sam kicked towards the edge of the pool. He answered his phone.

“Colin! Where are you-“

“Don’t tell Isaac.” 

Sam glanced over his shoulder. Their valiant captain had declared himself half-lifeguard, half-referee in the brutal game of chicken occurring on the other side of the pool. Richard and Jan made for worthy adversaries, with Jan’s height and Richard’s willingness to play dirty, but Dani and Jamie were putting up a spirited fight. Jamie had already lost one round to a well-timed poke at his sunburns, followed by a very embarrassing shriek. After that, him and Dani had swapped places, with Dani perched on Jamie’s shoulders and ready to redeem their honour.

It wasn’t going well, Sam noted as Jan crossed the boundary line to trip Jamie with his foot underwater. The two went tumbling back into the water to the sound of Isaac shouting.

“Isaac is busy preventing a murder,” Sam explained as Jan suddenly disappeared below the depths. He hoped he would resurface. “Is everything all right? You’ve been gone twenty minutes. Did you find your sandals?”

“Slides,” Colin corrected. Sam ignored him. “Yeah, boyo, about that…”

Sam listened, deeply amused.

Once he hung up the phone, he pulled himself out of the pool. He waved at Jeff. Their third lifeguard paused from his assigned task: flicking coins into the deep end of the pool for Moe to dive after. He saluted cheerily when Sam indicated he should keep an eye on Sam’s appointed zone for a while.

Sam’s lifeguard duties now dictated that he travel to more hostile territory.

Exiting the hotel felt like walking onto the surface of the sun. Even Sam had to admit that while the weather in England was typically nothing compared to the temerity of the weather in Lagos, the heat today was scorchingly unpleasant.

No one enjoyed a noontime kickoff, but by the time they’d finished their match, the Greyhounds had needed to be peeled off the grass. In the hours since then, the heatwave had yet to abate. It took only a few seconds for the water on Sam’s bare shoulders to dry, and the humidity left behind a soggy residue. He circled the building. The pavement radiated heat like lava, threatening to burn the tips of Sam’s toes over the top of his sandals. The sun gobbled up his wet footprints as he sprinted towards his target.

He rounded the corner. Their beautiful team bus gleamed innocuously, cool and aloof like a mirage in the desert. 

A moment later, Sam spotted his beautiful friend, sitting shirtless in the grass behind said bus, as red as a ripe tomato.

Sam beamed brightly. He flip-flopped his way across the car park, shouting, “Did you find your sandals?”

“They’re on the coach,” Colin sulked. With his blisteringly pink shoulders pulled up around his ears and his arms wrapped around his knees, he resembled a red shell from Mario Kart. “I can see them lying in the aisle through the window.”

“The bus is locked,” Sam guessed.

“The bus is locked,” Colin sulked harder. It would be sad to see his usually vocal friend so quiet in his irritation, if the situation weren’t so humorous.

Sam bit his tongue. “And did you try calling Kenneth?”

“Yes. And Beard. And Roy, but he hung up on me when I told him what happened.”

Sam hummed in sympathy, though truthfully, he was in agreement with their coach on that one.

Because he couldn’t resist, he said, “If I may ask, where are your normal shoes?”

He stared pointedly at Colin’s discarded, grey socks where they lay next to him on the grass. They were thin, worn through at the ball and heel, and the soles were now stained a deep black from Colin’s unwise jaunt across the asphalt. Frankly, Sam still didn’t understand how Colin had failed to realise that he wasn’t wearing shoes all the way until they arrived down at the pool.

After all, Colin knew the rule. Above all else, there was one sacred rule, and it followed the Greyhounds from the showers at home to the dressing rooms away to every pool area they travelled to as a group:

Always bring your shower slides.

Colin groaned. “I didn’t want to walk all the way back up to my room! I figured I could sprint across the car park to the bus, but…”

“It’s really hot,” Sam chirped.

Colin sunk his face into his hands. “Sam, please. If I wanted to hear someone take joy in my misery, I would’ve called Jamie. For real, I think I burned my feet.”

He leaned back on his hands and held his foot up for Sam’s inspection. 

“Yeugh!” Sam winced, recoiling away in sympathetic pain. “I don’t think you should walk on these.”

“I certainly don’t want to! Sam. Please. Be a hero. Will you go get my shoes from out my room?”

“I will do you one better,” said Sam. He tugged the towel off like a cape, swishing it around to cover the violent pink of Colin’s shoulders. Then he crouched, facing away from Colin. With his arms held out at his sides, he beckoned, “Come. Hop aboard the Obisanya Express.”

Colin clung onto his back like a grateful limpet. “Thanks, boyo. You’re a lifesaver.”

Sam – lifeguard, lifesaver – carried Colin back to safety.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Blizzard

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

A chance meeting that sparks a lifetime of devotion.

For @augusnippets Day 3: Blizzard.

Contains: Blizzard, hypothermia, blood, caretaking

~~~

It was a small miracle that Elze’ith stumbled across the man collapsed in the snow.

The howling winds and swirling snow made it night impossible to see; everything was just an expanse of white and cold. Somehow, inexplicably, there was still enough crimson visible against the snow to catch Elze’ith’s eye. He rushed over as quickly as he could, shielding himself with his magic against the worst of the storm, though the freezing wind still sapped the heat from his core.

The man was already half-buried by snow and ice when Elze’ith knelt down beside him. The furs he was wrapped in, haphazard as they were, were likely the only reason he was still even shallowly breathing. And a quick examination revealed the source of the bright blood against the snow; a wound on his temple, another in his shoulder, bleeding his life away sluggishly but unceasingly.

Elze’ith didn’t know who this man was. He didn’t know why he was out here. But he knew he couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t bear to watch this man die.

The cold air stung against his skin as he took off his glove, but he needed direct contact to heal the man’s wounds. Luckily, they weren’t deep, and it didn’t take too much magic to seal them over. The man groaned as he did; he was strong, Elze’ith realized. Even after all he had clearly been through, he wasn’t fading. Not yet.

As gently as he could manage, Elze’ith bundled him into his arms. His camp was nearby, and he needed to get this man warm if he was to survive. And Elze’ith had no intentions on letting him die now.

[angstyaches]

Augusnippets Day 3

Prompt: Thunderstorm, requested by anon

OCs: Mitsuko and Bastian

Word Count: 476

CW: fear, werewolf whumpee, (oblivious) human caretaker, secret identity.

___

“Oh, mahal,” Bastian murmured under his breath. He had been waiting for her with a towel as she had plodded miserably from the building’s exposed walkway into their genkan. He had barely given her a chance to slink off her drenched platform boots before he had ushered her into their western-style living room and parked her in front of the space heater. It was early summer, which meant he had gone rummaging through the cupboards to get it out for her. 

Now he was scrubbing at her hair and shoulders with a dry towel that was quickly becoming less dry. 

And yet the tension was reluctant to let go of Mitsuko’s trembling muscles. The frown felt permanently welded onto her face. The rainwater felt as though it had not only penetrated her clothes, but her skin, too, and was driving its spiky coldness deep into her bones. And as if that all weren’t bad enough, each clap of thunder that barreled up through the building’s foundations and into their cramped living room made a growl sneak up behind her teeth. She was fighting a war with her own face, desperate to keep from baring her gums in front of Bastian.  

“You’re shivering, Mitchie. You’re like a poor little puppy who got lost in the storm.” 

Puppy?! Was he... What was he getting at?! Mitsuko stomach did a queasy, nervous flip that had nothing to do with the clapping of thunder outside. She hungrily scanned the glossy brown of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the set of his jaw. Her nostrils flared as she calculated his intentions the best she could, sifting the air for any shift in his pheromones that might indicate that a confrontation was imminent. 

But... no. Bastian was just a little sad. Probably because his joke – she was now fairly certain it had been a joke, albeit one that struck a little too close to home – had made him think about real puppies getting lost in the storm. It was just the kind of thing that – 

Thunder crashed overhead. It sounded just like a tree cracking in half. 

A growl rumbled in Mitsuko's chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, sucking a steadying breath in through her teeth. Her lips curled back from her gums, her jaws gnashed harshly, and she felt goosebumps bristle all the way up her back until her hair practically stood on end. 

A defensive snarl slipped out when he grabbed her, taken by surprise, but found herself pulled her into a hug. She was freezing and damp against his dry clothes. Once she settled, Bastian lifted his hands and gently cupped them around her ears. 

She settled her forehead against his chest. When the next clap came, she barely heard it, focusing instead on the soft, squelching blip, blip, blip of his heartbeat behind his ribs.

___

@augusnippets

[blinded-and-bloody]

Day 3 of @augusnippets

Prompt: Thunderstorm

WC: 421

Sometimes the great, endless eye in the sky was blocked by storm clouds. It never seemed to be happy when that happened, because Sparrow didn’t remember storms being this cruel before the Doodler.

He sat in his parents car, in the passenger seat, and tried to look out the window. The torrential downpour made it impossible to see, even if it weren’t night, just sheets and sheets of oppressive rain water, that the windshield wipers had no ability to keep up with. At least they had pulled over before they crashed.

In the driver's seat, Lark sat, and looked irritated as he cleaned off his dagger again.

“You've been wiping that off for like, five minutes,” Sparrow said.

“You have something better I could be doing?” Lark asked.

“No.”

Their phones didn’t work all the way out here in the California wilderness, Sparrow had been trying for ages. It didn’t really matter that much anyways, his phone was almost dead.

“I knew this was a bad idea—“

“Oh my god, we already talked about this,” Lark interrupted. “You were the one who wanted to come with.”

Lark had turned the car off to conserve the gas, and it was starting to get cold. Sparrow rubbed at his arms, trying to warm himself up. He was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts; the weather had been in the high seventies before the storm settled in.

“No, I said I didn’t want you to go on your own.”

Their parents didn’t know they spent most nights out of the house like this, hunting down the minions of the Doodler, and Sparrow was pretty sure the only reason Lark made it back half the time was because Sparrow held him accountable for his own safety. Can’t let yourself die at the hands of the monster you helped unleashed if your twin brother is sitting there, battering you for not being careful.

Sparrow hoped his presence did something to keep Lark from being dangerous and stupid.

A strike of lightning came across dimly through the rain, and was accompanied by a loud crack of thunder that made Sparrow jolt.

Lark sighed, put the knife down on the dashboard. Then he held his hand out for Sparrow to take.

“I’m fine,” Sparrow said.

“You always hate storms. It’ll be over soon, just take the hand.”

Lark’s hand was as cold as Sparrow’s, but it was firm, and kept Sparrow grounded to the moment.

Sparrow let out a tired sigh, and hoped the rain would end soon.

[doliminuz]

Day 3 - Thunderstorms

Church On Michael's Street

OCS: Adam

TW: none i can think of

Words: 164

@augusnippets

------------------------

Rain slams against his rotting house, wind rattling broken windows and water leaking in through all of the gaps.

Its still better than being outside, Adam supposes as the storm rages on. He can't help but cringe at the next flash of lightning and boom of thunder, right, thunderstorm.

Hes not cold, he never gets really cold, but he is as damp and wet as his house. It's shelter, yeah, but wow is a lot of rain getting in. His clothes are sticking to him due to all the water and its icky and gross. He wishes he was somewhere warm and dry-

Joan's.

He can go to Joan's and Evies place, it's near the woods and Evies nice she'll let him in!

Adam gets to his feet, grabbing Pine (he named him after the tree and shade of green, his two favourite things for his favourite toy) and he sets off through the thunderstorm to the girls place, hoping he doesn't get shocked.