#Augusnippets day 12

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 12

Lost/ trapped/ avalanche

Demihuman Whumpee (fox), choking, dead animal mention, guns

°

Whumpee was curled up inside the hollow tree where he lived, sleeping on a soft bed of hay from the farm down the valley and fluffy feathers. He stretched as the first peeks of dawn light crawled through the opening of the massive trunk.

A cool fall breeze was ruffling the brown and scarlet hair on his head as he carefully crawled out into the woods, sniffing the air for something to eat. He could detect the scent of songbirds that were far too high to catch and pesky little mice and chipmunks scurrying around. Nothing that constituted a meal.

So, Whumpee started heading towards the farm. The chickens there were fat and easy to catch, and they roamed freely about the property. Whumpee had ventured there nearly every day for a quick warm meal.

As he neared, he was careful to keep to what cover he could find. Humans were rarely awake this early, but Whumpee had had too many close calls for comfort.

There. Whumpee could see the chickens just up ahead, pecking at the seed on the ground. He skulked through the undergrowth, his tail twitching with excitement. A plump brown hen was cawing as she paced around, picking at her feathers occasionally.

Whumpee squared his shoulders, getting into a crouch and preparing to pounce. He jumped and only made it about a foot when something tightened around his throat.

A snare had a tight hold on him, making it nearly impossible to move or breathe. He struggled for breath, panicking and scratching at the trap desperately. He clawed until his nails were red with his own blood and it hurt too much to continue.

He heard a noise, and two humans walked up, aiming guns at him. Hunters.

"Got 'em," one proclaimed, crouching to Whumpee's level. "You're mine, little fox."

[whumplump]

Day 12 of @augusnippets

Prompt used: lost

Not used: trapped / avalanche

CW: paranoia

When they left Caretaker's house after a heated argument, Whumpee had no idea where they were going. They could just walk around the block, waiting until they could come back and be greeted with apologies and hugs. But their pride was so much that they moved a little too far away.

They knew the way from home to work, they did it every day. They could take this route and come back, it would be enough time. On the avenue leading to work, there was always a tree with fallen leaves. Whumpee only realized something when they passed it. They turned back and faced the tree. Its leaves... They were all there! The tree's crown was full!

They shook their head. No, they must be imagining something. When they turned to the front, they saw that the asphalt no longer had the yellow line for parking on the right.

They looked around. The building in which they worked... It wasn't there. But how?

They turned back, heading back the way they came. The alley on the left... they swore there was an alley there. But their eyes saw nothing. They ran for what seemed like an eternity, passing down the same street as work, but each time, there was some unsettling anomaly.

Not knowing your surroundings is the best setting for horror.

Whumpee ran in circles until the anomalies stopped appearing. Arriving home, they threw themselves against the door. Luckily, it was open. Inside the house, all the doors were strangely open.

And Caretaker... Wasn't there. They never were.

[re-whump]

Augusnippets Day 12 - Trapped

mozzy again, picking up from the concussed caretaking snippet cw: tiny whumpee (borrower), dying in a glue trap but not a meme (no actual death)

The kitchen was dark and Mozzy was still dizzy. They felt bad enough that they did consider doing as they were told and just resting until that Blake human came back in the morning. It’s just that even with a foggy head, they knew that a human acting friendly and helpful didn’t make them safe. They would take the help, but they needed to know they had a way to take care of themself when it came down to it.

Ideally, they could find a way back outside. This was some kind of restaurant or cafeteria something or other which meant there would probably be plenty of food but all sealed up specifically to prevent little pests from getting their share of it.

Mozzy slipped down the countertop and picked their way carefully through old, rancid oil spills but some of it was unavoidable. They grimaced at the texture each time they stepped in it until their foot landed in a patch of something much worse than grease, something that clung to his boots and held fast. Their inertia pulled them free of the first boot and sent them staggering. Too late, they tried to turn back and only flailed as the glue board pulled them to the ground.

Their shoulder impacted with a sick, wet noise as the glue ate their momentum. Before they could think to stop themself, they caught themself with their other hand and they were completely trapped. They pushed and pulled and writhed and whimpered when none of that worked. Mozzy pulled with all they had until their head swam from the effort and still only managed to coat themself in more of the awful, gummy paste. It slowly soaked through their clothes until it was tugging on their thin fur underneath.

Clothes. Lose the clothes.

But their thumbtack was stuck beneath them and not made for cutting fabric anyway. Mozzy could gnaw through their coat (their favorite coat) with enough time, assuming the absorbed glue didn’t stick their mouth shut. They shook their head at the thought. They weren’t even sure if they had enough time to ruin their coat. They were already panting and exhausted and sore all over. Holding their head out of the goop was starting to be a chore on its own and if that got to be too much, they might just drown in the trap. Their eyes watered and their tears didn’t do anything to make the glue less sticky.

They knew that was the point of a glue trap like this, pest control They liked it least of all the methods they’d found so far, even less than the poison they’d risked several years ago. At least they could’ve cut that one too short if it got unbearable.

So much for taking care of themself. They just had to hope that Blake woman would think to look for them down here when she came back in the morning—and that was a long way off.

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 12 - Avalanche

The roar of the avalanche was deafening, drowning out the sound of Whumpee’s yell as he was swept off his feet and hurled down the mountainside. Snow slammed into him from all sides, pressing in, choking, freezing. A sharp pain lanced through he side as he slammed into something—maybe a rock, maybe the ground—but there was no time to register it before he was buried.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the avalanche stopped. The world was nothing but silence and white.

Whumpee tried to move, but agony shot through his ribs, stealing his breath. The snow was packed so tight around him that he could barely twitch his fingers, constricting him, suffocating him.

It was like being in a tomb, and a flicker of panic set in as Whumpee realized that this could become reality if he didn’t get out of there now.

He tried to force himself to calm down, to focus on his breathing despite the pain in his ribs. He was still alive. As long as that was true, there was still a chance. He tested the snow around him, flexing his gloved fingers and trying to stretch his limbs. The snow was dense, packed hard by the force of the avalanche. But, it wasn’t impregnable. The stiff movement of his body was dislodging small chunks of snow; the chunks fell sideways, which Whumpee used to figure out which way was up.

Gritting his teeth against the roar of pain that accompanied the movement, he started to bring his arms around to brace against the snow above him, and then, taking as deep a breath as he could manage - a cold, thin, wheezing breath - he started to dig.

@augusnippets

[blinded-and-bloody]

Day 12 of @augusnippets

Prompt: Lost

WC: 393

Nicky stood outside a house in the suburbs of San Dimas. It was an irregular looking man, standing outside of an ordinary looking house.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Nicky finally stopped staring at the windows on the second floor to see an old woman approaching him. Her big Coke bottle bottom glasses made her eyes two, maybe three times bigger than they should be, and she was assisted by a walker.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can I help you? You’re staring at my house.”

Nicky frowned down at her. “Your house?”

“Yes, the last thirty-four years I’ve lived here.”

“I thought my mother lived here.”

The old lady shook her head with a vigor. “Oh, no no, I’m the only one here. But don’t think I don’t have a good security system! My grandson set it up for me, to stop punks.”

Nicky smiled a little, despite himself. “Punks, huh?”

“Oh yes! Do you watch the news?”

When he explained he didn’t watch much news, he got the low down from the little old lady on how many muggers there were, and how her grandson just wanted to keep her safe — perfectly innocent, boring conversation.

He ended up thanking her for her time, and once she was back inside, he walked away.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember which timeline was the real one. Had 410 Maple Drive been the house his parents lived in, in the original timeline? The one where Glenn was still his dad? Nicky had never asked Glenn about the original timeline — it just seemed to make him sad.

That meant that Nicky needed to call his dad again to ask for the address. His other dad, his… Jodie.

Nicky never really liked being here on earth anyways, but especially today, it was a pain. If he couldn’t even find what was supposedly his own childhood home, how was he supposed to get there in time? The estate lawyer was supposed to get to the house at one, and apparently he knew where he was going better than Nicky did.

He could call Jodie and ask him to hand the phone off to his mother — but Nicky didn’t want to hear her like that. If she was with Jodie, that meant she was really dead, and although humans dying shouldn’t be that jarring anymore, she was still his mother.

Nicky kept walking.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Trapped

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

For @augusnippets Day 12

Contains: Captivity, referenced branding

~~~

Sometimes, Elze’ith liked to sit on the grand staircase and look out towards the front entrance of the castle.

There was never any sunlight coming through the cracks in those doors. At times he wondered if there were even cracks at all, or if the entire entryway was just a facade. If there had ever been anything outside at all. But it was still nice to imagine the sun and the wind and the clouds just on the other side of that door.

He had long given up on ever seeing those things again. The brand on the back of his neck thrummed with the knowledge that quiet despair.

But it was nice to imagine sometimes.

[udaberriwrites]

A drabble for @augusnippets' day 12!

Path of Whumperless Whump - Trapped/Avalanche

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character: Wyll Ravengard

Timeline: In exile

Rating: G

A panicked child leads him to the mine, where the townspeople are struggling against the boulders blocking the entrance.

One by one, they stop to stare as he approaches. Their gazes linger on his scars and missing eye.

His borrowed power builds on his fingertips. It takes all his concentration to leash most of its destructive nature so it’ll save lives instead of taking them.

The trapped miners spill out of the open path, soon joining the cheers.

“It's the Blade of Frontiers!”

“The Blade saved us!”

Mizora’s magic nests near his heart.

The grateful voices never stop sounding hollow.

_

Full prompt list here

AO3 collection here

[inscrutable-shadow]

Augusnippets Day 12 - Path of Whumperless Whump - Lost

this one got a bit long aha. Leander belongs to @tormentum-ab-intra!

Thanatos leaned heavily against a tree, panting. Even his vampire's endurance was sorely tested by a several mile hike and the fact that he never exercised if he could avoid it. The magic of his curse buzzed uncomfortably against the very atmosphere here, which served to wear him out even more quickly.

The orb of arcana his Archfey had left him with pulsed in his breast pocket and he withdrew it to see what ae wanted. "What… see?" The signal was quite bad.

"Trees, mostly. I've no idea where I am. How far did you say this 'spacetime rift' was?"

"… east."

"What?" The orb darkened. Lovely.

He got a very odd sensation as he continued, as if the forest was watching him, from the small animals that hid when he got close to the trees themselves. At least, he assumed there were animals. He heard them, but didn't see them. He walked faster. The wind picked up as he did, rustling the leaves in a way that was somehow unsettling.

"Different…" said the wind.

Thanatos… didn't like that. "H-Hello?"

A crow alighted in front of him. "You are different."

He frowned. "What, never seen a vampire before?" Whatever this was, calling himself a vampire wasn't likely to make him any more or less dead. Please, Rea, get me out of here…

"Many, but not one like you," answered the trees, and the voice held the echo of a smile. "*What is that you carry?"

"It's… er, communication magic. Connects me to… a powerful friend."

The wind laughed, and the sound chilled Thanatos to the bone. "No need for threats. It carries an odd resonance, is all." A pause. "Are you lost, vampire?"

"No." The orb pulsed, and the trees laughed. "I'm not lost. I'm just going. So if you don't mind…"

"Leaving so soon?" This voice was much more solid, and Thanatos turned to see a very pretty nymph smiling at him from against a tree. Or, well. Nymph was Than's best guess. The proportions weren't quite right, the smile was too wide, the presence was far too strong. Unsettling. "You've just got here. Why not stay a while?"

"ksh magic is fundamentally incompatible—" the Archfey said from the orb. "What is that, Thanatos? … feels like … another manifestation…" How, pray tell, by the celestial river was he supposed to know that?

"Er, yes. Don't belong here and all that. There's supposed to be some sort of hole between planes that will return me to where I belong near here. You wouldn't… happen to know anything about that."

The nymph(?) laughed again. "Just there." He pointed, and Thanatos turned to see a glowing purple slash in the air, a hundred meters into the forest. It looked quite terrifying, but he supposed he'd have to throw himself into it. "You're from another realm then? I must admit, I'm quite curious."

"Leave me here, Thanatos," said Rea. If ae said so.

Thanatos looked back over his shoulder to where the nymph(?) was still standing, now holding the orb with the Archfey's shard, and waving amusedly at him. He stepped through the rift quickly, hoping he'd never have to come back here again. The whole place gave him the shivers.

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets Day Twelve

Chosen Prompt: Trapped

CW: broken bones, wounds.

In the service elevator, everything changes. Above ground, the hospital was sleek and clinical, white walls and sharp, colourful posters. Stilted chatter, open windows to disperse the anxiety ghosting through the air. The medical examiner’s offices aren’t much different. Higher windows, rooms lit by more determined florescent lighting, posters in black and white as if out of some misplaced respect for the dead. Jeremy swallows, wishes he hadn’t agreed to figure this part out alone.

The body is ready for him when he gets there. They help him wheel it towards the back of the building, the regular elevator reserved for the living. The ME tells him that, uses those exact words, and laughs. Jeremy can’t bring himself to fake it, so the ME clears her throat and looks away from him, and guilt whispers in alongside his anxiety. He doesn’t know how to explain either of them to this stranger — so casual in the presence of dead men, so adept at managing the corners with their gurneys — so he says nothing. The rest of the journey passes in silence. She deigns not to ride with him, pushes the gurney to the far wall of the elevator and shows him which button to press.

“That’ll get you back to the parking lot, hon,” she tells him, and then she’s gone.

Jeremy presses the button, watches her recede down the hallway as the doors draw together. They rattle as they slide closed.

And then he’s alone with a dead man, crammed into a decades old elevator.

Deep breath. He presses the button. Parking lot. He’s moments away from the fresh air, sprawling space, from manoeuvring the body onto the floor of the van and driving away from this experience. At least then he can put distance between himself and the body, a partition between them for the journey back to the house. He checks his watch. Not long now — a matter of seconds.

He’s taking deep breaths when the ground shudders. Adrenaline leaps into his blood, lurching into his chest. The buttons shows him rising between floors, less than one floor to his destination. After it shudders, the elevator trembles once more, the metal box around him groaning as it slows, then screeches to a premature halt. He hasn’t reached the ground floor yet, but the door pry themselves open six inches and then slam themselves together. They do this again, like a terrified heartbeat — metal jackhammering against metal. The air turns thick, suddenly heavy, andJeremy’s breaths turn ragged. Elevators don’t scare him when they work right, but it feels almost as though the ground is tilting — impossible, impossible — and all he can see is a smudged approximation of himself in the badly stained glass. The dead man stays dead and prone behind him, but the brakes click out of place on the gurney, and the metal rolls forward. The gurney draws towards him and he halts it with a trembling hand. The body emits its inhuman groans, broken sounds of a body undoing itself — days after the death of its inhabitant. Jeremy swallows.

With his free hand he slaps the emergency intercom. Static greets him on the other end, quiet at first and then loud and obtrusive. There’s a voice buried in there, straining through the noise. The words are shapeless and crackling badly. He tells them he’s stuck, forgets all other information that could help him.

“Help me,” he tells them, whispers it. His lungs ache. Something crawls into his throat and takes the air from him. Sharp scratch when he swallows, a sandpaper scratch. He opens his mouth to gasp, and then it’s all he can do. He gasps, and gasps, inhales until his chest pulls tight and his head turns fuzzy. He forgets how to exhale, the walls drawing closer, doors still slamming relentlessly shut — over, and over, and over. He presses the intercom repeatedly, monotonous buzzing with every fevered repetition.

He imagines the dead man sitting up. He doesn’t, of course, but the thought sinks deep, scrapes through his veins until it’s all he can see.

The elevator groans as it hauls itself up. A momentary spark of hope until it pulls right past the ground floor and continues. The walls are stale and grey and Jeremy is pale beneath the smears on the glass. Fingerprints, he thinks, like someone has been pressing desperately at the glass, crying for help, gasping for breath. The elevator shudders between floors three and four. It drops then, so suddenly that Jeremy’s stomach lurches and his knees give out. He hurtles to the ground, gurney rolling towards the doors. His head collides hard with the metal edging, the corner tearing clean through his skin.

The pain sears. The wound throbs instantly. Jeremy presses his palm to it shakily, but the blood pools into his eye and stings, blinds him. He squeezes both eyes shut as the elevator catches itself, suspended just as quickly as it had started to fall.

He cries for help. No intercom, no ability to glance upwards. He doesn’t want to see himself in that mirror. He wonders if there’s a camera in here, if anyone even knows he’s trapped here. He feels the elevator jolt back to life, feels the way his stomach roils as it drags upwards once more. Up and up, until at last it draws to a halt, and Jeremy opens his eyes.

The elevator sits at the very top floor, voices on the other side of the doors as they continue to slam together.

“Help me!” Jeremy calls. “I-I’m stuck in here. P-please. Someone. Call m-maintenance.”

He lurches forward, grips one of the doors with his right hand when they pry open. He holds it there, for a moment. Then the door stutters against his hold. They overcome his strength. They slam together with his hand still between them, and Jeremy screams at the sudden crack of his bones. The pain only sets in afterwards, urgent and blinding, radiating upwards into his wrist, his shoulder, the hinge of jaw as he clenches it, howls through his gritted teeth. He cradles his hand against his chest, tries not to peer down at it, broken skin and unnatural angles.

The intercom’s static floods into the elevator, drowning out the shocked cries of the people on the landing. Jeremy forces himself to his feet, head spinning with the altitude of suddenly standing. He peers at the list of floors by the doors, the light flickering against the top floor’s designation.

When the lightbulb goes out, something snaps overhead. The sound is muffled, not inside the elevator, but not independent of it either. Jeremy’s breath trembles. His head hurts and the bleeding won’t stop, and his shirt clings to the sweat on his back.

When the light flickers out, and the second snap sounds, Jeremy turns frozen in horror.

The elevator plunges into darkness.

It falls, hurtles suddenly downwards. It doesn’t jerk or shudder any longer. He’s not forced to stare into the glass. It’s a smooth and sightless journey, bracing and breathless all the while. Violent free fall, fast and inescapable. Jeremy can only let it happen.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[angelic-writer]

Wizards of Weslyn - Spelunking Gone Wrong

Day 12 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Lost/trapped/avalanche

Fandom: Wizards of Weslyn by @moonlightsmasquerade

"Okay, let's see..." Cedric tried to find an opening in the rocks, hoping that the one they'd find would be big enough to fit. But they found nothing. They were stuck in here with no way to call for help. They turned to Harper. "Hey, Harper. You doing good?"

"Eh, as good as I can be." She answered.

"And don't try to move that leg!"

Harper looked down at their leg which was beginning to swell up. She had been hit in the leg with a falling rock, causing it to break. "I... don't think you need to worry about that. Even if I can, I don't think I'll get very far."

Cedric pursed their lips together and continued searching for an exit. They were supposed to find some rocks for Nadia for a school assignment so a surprise avalanche trapping them inside was the last thing they expected would happen. We really are unlucky...

"Hey." Harper suddenly said. "It's gonna be alright. Ozwald dealt with a blizzard before and he survived. I'm sure we'll survive this."

His words of encouragement did little to ease Cedric's nerves. Sure, Ozwald survived almost freezing to death, but that was because everyone got to him in a nick of time. They and Harper were trapped in a cave in a forest far away from the academy. Who knows how much air was left in there?

"Psst." Harper patted the ground beside them. Cedric sighed and sat beside them.

"Yeah?"

"Your thoughts are jumbled. They're going so fast, I can't even read them all." He petted their hair. "It's gonna be okay, Cedric. Help will be here soon." He looked at his leg again which had some sticks and a handkerchief holding them together, creating a makeshift splint. "Thanks for giving me that. Xander must've given you some lessons."

"It's kind of mandatory. Not all of us have healing magic."

"Good point."

They rested their head on Harper's shoulder. Help will arrive soon. They just gotta hold out until then.

[shyday-ao3]

@augusnippets Day 12. Prompt lost. Daredevil fandom.

Matt comes awake abruptly, ribs bruised and a pounding beat in his head. Surrounded by the smell of garbage. He can’t remember how he got here. Where here is. Panic swells, drowning out the taste of rotting meat.

It’s not hard to figure out that he’s in a metal dumpster, the why becoming somewhat more apparent when trembling fingers find the new lump on the side of his head. It’s not entirely clear whether he’d crawled in here to hide or if whoever hit him threw him in here and left him for dead. Either way, he’s hoping they’re long long gone. He’s got no idea how long he was out for.

The city slaps him in the face as he tumbles from the dumpster, landing hard on his right side, directly on those ribs they were working over. They? He doesn’t know. Lying in a puddle on the concrete, he might’ve blacked out again for a moment. He’s gasping, insufficient sips of air.

He pushes up into a wobbly crouch. Impossible to hear anything over all this noise, but he needs to figure out where he is. If there’s anyone nearby. All he’s getting is traffic and sirens, raised voices and overlapping conversations. They push up against him, run him over. Something scrabbles away to his right. An angry shout. He’s got to calm down. A dog barks. He can’t pull in a proper breath. 

The phone. The burner phone in its special pocket that he’s only just started carrying around. He could call… somebody. Claire? No, not Claire. She’ll be pissed that he hit his head. There’ll probably be a lecture. Foggy. Foggy will help him figure out how to get home. 

Foggy’s programmed second on the speed dial, and he picks up the phone on the third ring. “Slow night on patrol? You bored or –”

“Fog…” 

It’s a creak of a sound, but it stops Foggy flat. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The haze in Matt’s brain is growing thicker, making it difficult to track what’s going on. “I don’t… I can’t…” He licks his lips, tries again. “Woke up in a dumpster.”

“Okaaay… Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“Don’t know.” Fear penetrates the haze, inching him closer to hysteria. “Fog, I don’t know.”

“Hey, whoa, it’s okay. We can figure it out.” 

“Think I hit my head,” he mumbles. He can’t remember why this matters.

“Great. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

God, his head hurts. The fire’s become more of a strobe effect. “Remembered the phone. Remember the dumpster.”

“Great,” Foggy repeats, his tone out of sync with the word. “So you’re in an alley?”

This feels like it makes sense. “Alley.” He struggles to keep his breathing even. “Yeah. M’in an alley.”

“And do I hear… bells? Like church bells?”

He’d missed it over the throbbing headache, the pulsing panic, but now he can hear the bells. “St. Michael’s,” he identifies automatically. 

“Stay there. I’ll find you. I’m already on my way.”

[jedi-lothwolf]

Augusnippets Day 12: Lost

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Warning: Major character death

Summary: After being sent on a quest, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover find themselves lost somewhere in New Jersey. There they find the mystery monster they were sent to slay.

    Looking for Pan was a Satyr's greatest honor. It was also Grover's second greatest honor; his greatest honor was being Percy Jackson's best friend. So when Percy told him to join him on a quest to uncover some mystery monsters, he ran to his side. After all, what are best friends for?

    They left with Annabeth shortly after Grover made his way back to camp. Now they were in nowhere New Jersey trying to figure out where to go next.

    "This feels familiar." Percy joked.

    "Yeah." Annabeth smiled.

    "There's no threat of war this time!" Grover exclaimed.

    "Nope, just some mystery monster that we have to find and kill. Easy enough."

    "We've been though worse." Annabeth responded to Percy. It was true, they had been though worse. From preventing a war at the age of twelve to holding up the sky, they faced every problem together.

    The woods whisperered with mystery. There was a monster waiting for the teens and they knew it was close. As they grew closer to the monsters lair, Grover knew what it was. "It's a cyclops." He informed his friends.

    Annabeth looked a little nervous but she was mostly used to being around them again because of Tyson. "Alright."

    "We'll be okay." Grover insured her. They were a little less lost now at least.

    Then the monster surprised them. It came out from behind a white oak tree and attacked them with a club. "Why is it always a club?!" Percy yelled.

    With no other choice, the group split up. Grover took off further into the woods. He felt like if he looked back, something would get him. Slowing down, the satyr stopped figure out where he was.

    As he wandered around, Grover tied to find his friends. "Percy! Annabeth! Where are you?!" The stench of the cyclops hadn't left his nose yet. They were loud creatures. Grover knew it was near him. He could swear he heard Percy yell for him.

    The cyclops swung a hand down, slamming Grover into some nearby rocks. He heard his bones brake on impact. Still he tried to stand. The satyr was able to pull himself to his feet and take a few steps forwards before collapsing. He tried to call out, but found it almost impossible to breath, let alone speak. It felt like his body was shutting down.

    Blood surrounded his body. Grover knew somewhere Percy would be frantically searching for him. The teen wasn't sure how much time had passed. He could hear Percy talking to him in his head. "Don't give up! Hold hold!" But as the sky was starting to fade from view, Grover knew he wouldn't make it.

    Percy collapsed to the ground when Grover died. His breathing was off. Annabeth grabbed him and pulled him away from the cyclops that had since found them. "What?" She asked, nervously.

    Shaking, Percy tried to stand back up. "He's gone." Tears ran down his face.

After getting Percy to safety, Annabeth took on the cyclops alone. Eventually she was able to slay it.

"We should bring his body back to camp" Percy started. "We can at least do that right?"

Resting a hand on Percy's shoulder, Annabeth reminded him that when satyrs die, they are reborn as plants. There was no body to be found. Now Grover would remain in the woods, forever lost.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 13

Path of Comfort + Hurt Prompt; "Escape" + "Poisoned" Part 2

Day 13 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV: Gawain - The Green Knight

- Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 591

TWs; claustrophobia mention, poisoned, injured, references to prior torture, escaping captivity

Direct continuation of Day 11

Gawain's heart was in his throat as he staggered down the winding corridors of stone, desperately hoping beyond hope that after all these months trapped here, he still remembered the way out. Lancelot was all but a dead-weight in his arms, head lolling onto his chest, dragging feet that hardly supported him, both of them leaning heavily on the walls lest they fall.

Behind them, a trail of blood that lead all the way back to the cell where Gawain and Arthur had found Lancelot. Gawain's own tortures laced across his skin, pinkish and scarring already, itching beneath his skin, aided by Nimue's magic.

No matter his healing, everything ached. And he was tired, too, so so tired, fuck, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep but he could not. He had to get them out of here, they had to escape. Neither of them could last another damned day in this hell.

At last, before them was a door he recognised... not daring to look back, Gawain shoved his shoulder against it, dragging Lancelot along with him into the dark, gloomy passage. A single torch sconce lit the way to the inky blackness beyond as cool air rushed to greet them, so sweet with the promise of freedom...

Despite the darkness Gawain didn't dare try to take the sconce, aware he was liable to burn himself and drop Lancelot if he tried, glancing at his companion briefly whilst he still had the chance. Lancelot stared straight ahead of him, unseeing, still conscious- barely. Sweat streamed from his forehead, his dry lips parted as he drew ragged, shallow breaths. He hadn't spoken, nor did he make a sound as they moved on, just a single minded determination to push forwards as the poison burned through his veins.

They needed to escape before it consumed Lancelot completely.

The tunnel seemed to go on for an age, long since descending into complete darkness, Gawain had begun tracing the wall with his fingers, keeping them on course. On and on it went, for so long now that Gawain was silently beginning to panic, terror seizing his heart at what could be upon them in an instant, cool air somehow heavy in his lungs.

Please! Let this end!

The tunnel remained as it ever was; only their own sounds echoing throughout, a quiet but steady dripping of water, the faint whispers of a welcome breeze. Gawain swallowed down the fear, silently wishing he'd grabbed that torch sconce after all.

Another expanse of time passed that could have been seconds but felt like hours. No, it couldn't have been hours, Lancelot hadn't collapsed yet. Once he did...

Stop.

Onwards into the dark they trudged, twice did Lancelot stagger, twice did Gawain pull him up before he had a chance to fall, desperate not to be trapped here in the dark any longer than necessary.

Lancelot's breathing had worsened, he'd begun to gasp half noises of pain in his throat, his skin so feverishly hot and slick with sweat that Gawain struggled to hold him upright.

As Gawain forced them both forwards, on and on, he realised that he could see the faintest outline of the walls, Lancelot's pained yet determined face, his own arm. Daylight!

Please...

Glimmering off the stones as the walls turned ahead, that unmistakable glow that had his heart palpitating, hope blossoming...

They rounded the corner, and there off into the distance ahead was a shining gateway to freedom, the open door that marked an end to this hellish place.

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 12

lost/trapped/avalanche

fandom: rad mad venture TW: collapsing building word count: 589 artwork by @/japsyi on instagram @augusnippets

The night was supposed to be an easy paycheck.

Given the Night family's fearsome reputation throughout the region, Proto couldn't fathom anyone being stupid enough to cause a scene. Especially since Wes was fighting that night. She may not have understood the way some of her underlings fawned over him, given his rancid personality, but she did understand his strength. A strength, she argued the morning prior, which surely made her presence obsolete.

Of course, her thoughts didn't matter. What the boss said went, and the boss told her and her Owls to serve as security for the Night's Colosseum. Then again, with rumblings of discourse surrounding Quota's involvement with the Night family’s operation, Proto's job was perhaps less about protecting the powerful family, and more about keeping said family in line.

Such thoughts stirred in her mind as she waited for Wes to meet her in the long hallway outside the ring – a prospect she hardly looked forward to. None of the Nights were appreciative of her or her comrades’ services, and Wes was by far the biggest thorn in her side.

The nerve of that prick, to suggest he can do my job better than me…

Proto swiftly put the thought out of her mind when the door creaked open beside her, Wes looking mildly annoyed and tired as ever. Proto's thoughts didn't matter – only whether or not the job got done.

The job that was supposed to be easy.

Proto followed Wes on his way to the ring – a nearly silent journey, save for the echo of footsteps down a barren, dimly lit hallway.

One pair of footsteps too many. Heavy footsteps, at that.

You've gotta be kidding me.

Her Glock was drawn in under a second. Even with her quick reaction time, she was stunned for the briefest moment at what was barreling towards her and her charge.

How the hell did it get down here!?

“The hell-?” Before Wes could finish his question, the creature was already dead on the ground. One bullet to the gut, one to the heart, one in the head – per Proto's routine when encountering such monsters.

“It's none of your concern,” Proto bluntly explained. As she did so, another faint rumbling was closing in. Her aim was locked straight ahead in an instant. “We're not out of the woods yet.”

She could've sworn she heard the rumbling coming from ahead of her – and based off where he was looking, so did Wes.

Yet he was the one that threw her to the ground, himself as well, when the ceiling caved behind them with a thunderous bang.

“Shit,” Proto hissed, quickly shoving Wes off her before propelling herself to her feet. A cursory glance at her surroundings confirmed the worst outcome: the entire hall was blocked by rubble. Turning around, she was only mildly surprised to see scant traces of debris around the corner. Both exits blocked.

“A ‘thank you' would've been nice,” Wes grumbled as he sat up. “Especially since, as I recall, you’re the one who’s supposed to be protecting me.”

“You didn’t even see that thing coming before I dealt with it, sightsan.”

“Is that what you think?” Proto bit back a groan as Wes cocked an eyebrow.

“Look, I'm not thrilled about this either,” Proto explained, using every ounce of self-restraint to keep her tone even and calm. “But bickering isn't going to get either of us out of here any faster. The best thing we could do… is work together.”

[astaldis]

@augusnippets

Chapters: 1/1     Words: 444 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Maria Barring | Milva, Jaskier | Dandelion, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Additional Tags: AuguSnippets, Lost - Freeform, The Hansa | Geralt's Company (The Witcher), Bickering, Friendship Summary: On their way to find Princess Cirilla, Geralt and his company get lost.

For the augusnippets prompt 12 "Lost".

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

Augusnippets Day 12 : Lost

Not sure how I feel about this one. 🤔 It's a bit different than my normal. So here you go anyway!

CW : running out of gas, mild panic symptoms

They should've just taken that exit. They could've stopped for a proper meal, asked a local, gotten actual directions. Not just the landmarks jotted down on a paper during a phone call. They swore they were going to make their friend pay for all the gas they used trying to find this remote cavern. They sighed softly, "This cave better be worth it."

They glanced at the gas meter and gasped, "Fuck." The tank was less than a quarter full, not enough to get home. There was no telling if a station was going to be coming up soon. The exit was over an hour behind them. Their heart started beating faster with panic and they pulled off to the side.

"Okay...check the phone." They reached over and grabbed the phone from their pack. "Great, no service. There's been no signs for half an hour. Just great!" Their head thumped back against the headrest.

Their best bet was turning around. Forward was no guarantee, backwards was at least towards something. Someone on the main road could see them, maybe they would get in cell service range. Make their friend come get them as petty revenge.

They mumbled to themself then straightened in the seat and turned the car around. "Right. I've got this. Nothing to panic about. If I have to walk to the station it's fine." They nodded and smiled to themself, no reason to add a bad mood to a not ideal situation.

It was about an hour in when the panic crept back into their chest. The road did not look the same this direction, the scenery itself had nothing familiar. Maybe they drove longer than they thought? They couldn't have missed the exit, they were being diligent. "It should be right around here..." they muttered.

It was another 30 minutes when the car started to slow and sputtered to a stop on the side of the road. They gripped the steering wheel tight in disbelief. "The exit can't be much further...gas was 2 miles after that....maybe...maybe 4 mile walk at most. Right?" Their eyes scanned over the backseat, hoping something there had a solution. Just their climbing gear, snacks and water, extra set of clothes, a sparse first aid bag.

They took a breath and sat there for several minutes before getting out of the car, grabbing their bag with the snacks, water, and a small length of rope. "Can never go wrong with a little bit of rope...we can do this, buddy."

They huffed then started walking. This had to be the right direction. In the back of their mind they knew they were about to be seriously lost. If they weren't already.