#augusnippets

[the-rad-pineapple]

day 25 of @augusnippets

intimate whumper

Whumpee is chained to the wall, the cold metal has rubbed his wrists and ankles raw. When Whumper quietly comes into the room, he flinches. 

“Shhh,” Whumper hushes gently as he approaches. 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Whumpee is shaking his head, curling in on himself, ducking his head down. 

“Oh, my beautiful thing, please don’t hide from me.” And somehow Whumper actually sounds hurt. As if it actually bothers him to have Whumpee shy away from him like this. 

Whumper is close. He kneels, and Whumpee can feel his body heat—his warmth—and craves it. 

He’s disgusted with himself for wanting it. 

“I’m here now,” Whumper reassures as if his presence is a wanted thing. As if he’s the balm to the wound instead of the knife. 

Days of torture and little sleep have caused Whumpee’s inhibitions to crumble like the Tower of Babel, and a fearful whimper passes through his lips without his consent. 

“Oh, my pet. You make such beautiful noises for me. Such a gift, and I haven’t even started.” 

A firm yet gentle grip on his chin has Whumpee tilting his head up to meet Whumper’s eyes. 

Whumper is staring at him with awe like he’s a shepherd in Bethlehem seeing the angels tell him of Christ’s birth. 

No one has ever looked at Whumpee like this. 

Whumpee’s eyes flutter closed, and he hears Whumper’s sharp intake of breath. 

Warm hands are on his shoulders. They pull him flush against Whumper, and he feels so warm and soft that Whumpee falls into him willingly. Whumper’s hands skate down Whumpee’s ribcage. Whumper holds him close. Tightly but not rough. 

One of Whumper’s hands slips under Whumpee’s shirt. There’s a half-second where Whumpee feels the cold press of the blade before the pain. 

Whumpee isn’t quite sure what sound he makes when the blade penetrates his skin, the pain floods his senses and blots out everything except Whumper’s warmth. 

Whumpee grips onto Whumper’s shirt. All he can do is hold on and ride out the pain. This is how Whumper likes it. 

Whumper has tortured him sharp and slicing and ruthlessly fast, but Whumpee soon realized if he allows the broken noises to escape and reaches to Whumper for comfort, Whumper will slow down. He’ll hold Whumpee. He’ll hold him like he’s something rare and precious. Valuable. 

“Shhh, shhh,” Whumper says. He begins rocking them slightly, the blade stabbing deeper and deeper into Whumpee with the movements. 

Quiet, devastated noises erupt from Whumpee’s throat each time the blade sinks in farther. 

Whumper presses gentle kisses to Whumpee’s head. The touch is light like a ghost. Ethereal. 

“Your beauty is magnificent,” Whumper praises. “There is nothing in all of creation like you.” 

Whumper drops the blade with a clink before his hands are under Whumpee’s shirt again. He traces the newest wound with so much reverence it would make a saint jealous. 

“I think I’ll keep you forever,” Whumper promises. 

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

When I’ve posted snippets two days in a row and neither have included Jamie Tartt.

[blurryeyeswhump]

augusnippets

Day 1: gaslighting, hypnosis, brainwashing

Whumpee was face down on the ground heaving in gulps of air and dust and whatever else littered the concrete floor beneath them. They showed no signs of getting up or even trying. Whumper stepped back a little, admiring the beating he’d just dished out. Restraints weren’t even necessary anymore. Whumpee never even tried to fight back, not for quite sometime now.

“What did you do to deserve this?” Whumper mused.

“What?” Whumpee coughed out a few moments later, lifting their head to wipe the blood and saliva from their mouth.

“You’re religious aren’t you? I hear you down here sometimes, praying. You find God in here or did you bring Him with you?”

“No, I-“ Whumpee swallowed hard, “it’s from before.”

“So what did you do? To deserve me?” Whumper had no idea if this would work or not. But Whumpee’s mind was ripe for fucking. Starved of food and water, of light and any human interaction that wasn’t pain.

Whumpee finally started to push themself up to their knees.

“That’s not how it works,” they said, eyes lowered.

“No? You don’t think so? You can’t think of one thing you’ve done deserving of hell? Even one on earth? Come on, you think the universe would allow something like me to happen to you if you didn’t deserve it at least a little?”

Whumpee looked up at him with new eyes. Guilty, shameful eyes.

“I can absolve you, sweetheart, I can free you from all of this. But you have to admit

to me, and to yourself, that you deserve it.”

Whumpee looked down again. Whumper cocked his head and spoke.

“Do you deserve this?”

“No,”

“Whumpee…” he was so close he could fucking taste it.

Whumpee covered their face with their hands, but Whumper could still hear their little tear-soaked voice.

“M-maybe.”

[whumplump]

Day 26 of @augusnippets (1)

Prompts used: warm blanket, snuggling

CW: hurt/comfort

Whumpee wrapped themselves tighter and tighter in the blanket with each new thunder that sounded. It seemed so close, they could swear they felt the shock of the lightning's electricity through their body. With each new booming sound, they flinched as if they had been hit, until they disappeared under the covers, looking like a quivering little ball of fur.

Caretaker entered the room and chuckled to themselves when they saw Whumpee's condition. They approached and knelt on the floor, to be at the height of their friend, who was on the sofa. They lay forward, wrapping their arms around Whumpee. The scared little ball of fur stopped shaking.

Caretaker continued to hug them without saying anything. Over time, Whumpee calmed down and was no longer afraid of the lightning, as they were already sleeping peacefully and would not wake up anytime soon.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Augusnippets Day 1: Brainwashing

CW: 2nd pov from whumper's perspective, brainwashing (obvi), general Gothic whump

In the shadowy dining room, whumpee sits alone, candlelight flickering across his expressionless face. His folded hands lie motionless in his lap. His eyes stare at nothing, two blank windows that open into emptiness.

Perfection. Just what you always wanted. A beautiful, flawless doll of your own.

“My dear whumpee,” you murmur, “I see all our hard work has paid off. You look exquisite.” Gently, you brush the back of your hand against his collar and down his silk vest. Its embroidery glimmers like stars.

Whumpee remains statue-still at your touch. Just what you always wanted.

“Not a single thought in your head,” you muse aloud, walking around whumpee to examine him from all angles. “Of course I can always change that if I want. But for now, this emptiness is—”

With an echoing crash, the door to the dining room slams open. Caretaker. The ferocious glint in his eyes delights you. Such a contrast to the magnificent blankness sitting before you.

“You’re too late, as usual.” You stride forward, shielding your precious whumpee from view. “I’ve already completed the process. And only I can reverse it. If I choose.”

“Then do it,” caretaker growls, drawing his weapon, “or I’ll make you beg for death.”

How silly. Threats mean nothing to you now, in the wake of your triumph. You step aside, revealing whumpee’s seated form, frozen and lifeless as if made of porcelain. Caretaker gasps and rushes forward.

“And why would I undo this,” you ask, gesturing at whumpee, “when at last I’ve created the perfect living doll?”

@augusnippets

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Fourteen

Chosen Prompt: Protective Caretaker

CW: past violence; implied past non-con; non-con touch

“Get away from them,” bites Caretaker. All it took was a momentary glimpse, the party in full swing in the very next room. Whumpee’s birthday. They’d insisted they didn’t want celebrations, all that attention like a spotlight upon them. It’s been like that since The Incident, the one Whumpee has barely spoken of. They turned up one night, darkest hours of the morning, bloodied and bruised and trembling badly. Their knees had buckled in the doorway. Caretaker had urged them to come to the hospital, then respected them when they refused. Caretaker brought them clean clothes instead, stayed with them in the bathroom while the water ran red.

“He hurt me,” Whumpee said, as Caretaker towel dried their hair. “He made me…he…he hurt me.”

“Who?” Caretaker had whispered. “Who did this to you?” The question hung between them on the steam, and changed something in Whumpee forever. They’d smiled when they looked up at Caretaker then, a forced and terrible mask.

“Never mind,” they’d said. “It’s doesn’t matter now. I’m fine.” The haunting was plain in their bloodshot eyes, but they only repeated the insistence when Caretaker pressed them.

That’s how it’s been for the last four weeks.

Now Caretaker drifts past the kitchen doorway and sees two figures close together by the sink, water running like static. Whumpee pulling away, Caretaker’s best friend leaning into them as though magnetised, a hand on the small of their back. Whumpee makes a noise in their throat. It’s quiet, a strangled whimper that transports Caretaker back to the night Whumpee careened down onto his doorstep. That, coupled with the way his best friend laughs at the way Whumpee withdraws, how he follows their bodily recoil instead of easing away.

Caretaker’s blood sparks to magma in his veins. A rush of sheer anger sweeps through him.

“Get away from them.”

The air changes in the kitchen. Two sets of eyes snap quickly towards him. Whumper’s hand falls back to his side. Whumpee’s shoulders drop in relief. For a moment, a heaviness encases the three of them, the air thick with the tension of waiting to see who breaks it.

“I’m sorry, Caretaker,” says Whumper. “I didn’t want you to see that just yet. We were going to tell you soon, you know — about us.”

Whumpee’s lips part in horror. Their pallor turns instantly ashen. Caretaker’s heart pounds hard, his blood sparking hot with adrenaline. And the air is still, gone breathless and thin. Whumpee stares wordlessly at him, pleading and terrified. Whumper looks down at his shoes, and feigns an affected self consciousness. There’s three feet of distance between their bodies, the water still running behind them. Whumper reaches for Whumpee’s hand.

Whumpee whimpers, and Caretaker jolts into motion.

“Come here,” says Caretaker, but he’s moving already, crossing the kitchen with his teeth clenched together. Whumpee meets him halfway, arms open. They press themselves against Caretaker, cocooned instantly in the safety of his arms. And they tremble. They shake as though gripped by cold terror, and it stokes the flames of Caretaker’s anger further.

He glares across the room at Whumper.

“I should have known it was you,” Caretaker says. “You’ve been way too interested in them lately.”

“We’re in love,” Whumper tells him. He flashes a momentary tell, a half second of his lips quirking upwards. Caretaker grits his teeth so hard that he wonders if they’re going to crack.

“It was him,” Whumpee manages. They murmur it into Caretaker’s chest. They gather fistfuls of Caretaker’s shirt and they tell him what he needs to know. “He’s the one who…who hurt me.”

“I know, love,” Caretaker tells them. He strokes his hand down their spine. “You’re safe now. He’s leaving. We’re done with him, and he’s never coming near us again. Are you.”

He doesn’t say it like a question, and he doesn’t loosen his grip on Whumpee.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[whumper-whimsy]

Augusnippets day 1

Gaslighting/Brainwashing/Hypnosis

Content– gaslighting, pet whump, police, hospital.

Whumpee awoke in the night to the sound of sirens. He jumped up, scrambling to the window and looking out. Red and blue lights dazed him, and he pulled away, covering his eyes. The sounds of car doors slamming shut sent him into a frantic kind of panic, and he ran for Whumper's bedroom.

"Sir!" he cried, grabbing the hand that hung off the side. "Sir, wake up! There's sirens, a- and there's lights, and people are here—"

Whumper sat up, sucking in a breath. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing Whumpee's cheeks. His voice was serious, with a hint of panic creeping through, "Whumpee. The cops are here for me. They are going to take you away from me," Whumper explained, running his right hand through his trembling pet's hair. "I need you to listen. They will try to lie to you, try and fill your head with their words, and convince you I'm a bad guy so that they can send me to jail. You can NOT, under any circumstance, let them get to you, do you understand?"

Whumpee began to tear up, shaking his head frantically. "No, no, why? Why are they taking me?" he cried, grabbing at Whumper's sleeves. "Did I do something bad?"

"No, dear. They— they don't... approve of relationships like ours, see? They'll tell you that I kidnapped you, that I abused you. This is not true. Do you understand me, Whumpee?" Whumper grew more serious.

"What? No, you- you saved me! You trained me to be good! You aren't a kidnapper!" Whumpee blubbered, flinching as hard knocks sounded on the front door. "No, I can't—" he choked on his own words, interrupted by Whumper's steady voice.

"Do you understand, Whumpee?"

Whumpee nodded tearfully, hiding his head between Whumper's knees. He only looked back up when something bumped against his head. He looked up to see his stuffed bunny, which Whumper handed down to him.

There was a bang as the door was knocked down, and footsteps thundered into the house. Whumpee squealed as cops filled the room, guns aimed at Whumper. He ducked down when they began to bark commands, clutching his bunny as he cried.

The cops grabbed Whumper, cuffing him and dragging him away. Whumpee couldn't help but sit up, crying out, "Whumper!"

Two more cops crouched down to grab Whumpee, scooping him up and bringing him towards the door.

As he was brought outside for the first time in years, Whumpee searched frantically for his owner. He caught a glimpse of his face through the barred windows of the cop car's backseat and called out again, only to be hurried into an ambulance.

Whumpee was dimly aware of his bunny being pulled off his chest, of gloved hands easing him onto the stretcher, of machines beeping around him. He seemed to blink, and all of a sudden, he was in a hospital bed with IVs in his arms and his precious bunny at his side again.

A doctor was talking to him, probably— he could see lips moving, but in the haze of the situation, he heard only noises, not words. Whumpee was only thinking about his owner, his poor, poor Whumper in trouble all because of him. Whumpee could only clutch his bunny and cry, inhaling the remnants of Whumper's scent on its dingy fur.

[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."

[honeycollectswhump]

I just want you to know that the whumperflies you are able to give me with Ashtray are so good!!!!

And i just read a recent post of yours and i would actually love to see Mireille consider drugging ashtray, if you fancy it :)

Thank you!!

- ☆

im so glad you enjoy my silly story!! i thought i'd mix your request with an event, i hope you don't mind

Augusnippets Day 13

drugging/poisoning/cannibalism

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, noncon drugging, noncon touch

Perhaps there was something in the water Mistress had given him. The fogginess was its only indication but the ash on his tongue hid any suspicious taste. And it wasn’t suspicious after all, of course he’d take anything given to him by his Mistress. Whatever was in the water, it did exactly what it was supposed to. 

Now Ashtray floats on a cloud made out of cotton, which is strange because his limbs are made out of lead and shouldn’t that be too heavy?

He is draped languidly on the couch cloud, an arm and a leg dangling down. There is a hand carding through his hair, caressing his bare skin, but perhaps it is just the wind. 

Ashtray purrs from deep within his chest, a sound that makes his body vibrate in waves. Fingers trace over his torso, circling each burn like constellations. If only he could lift his head to look at the night sky on his stomach.

Slowly, he can feel the fingers dip deeper, tugging at the covering fabric, and every moment makes his being become undone.

He whines uncomfortably, pushing his head into the cotton, as the hand in his hair grabs a fistful. Even on the cloud, somewhere high up, he understands the command. 

Be still. 

Ashtray swallows a second whine and instead looks up into the swirling night sky. Maybe, if he concentrates hard enough, he can leave his cloud and fly between the stars. 

Maybe, he can ignore the touch coming closer and closer, shooting him down. 

Maybe, he can delay his crash into earth a little bit longer.

@augusnippets

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox,

@sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight, @itsawhumpsideblog, @piniatafullofblood, @katwriteswhump

@opaldream16, @whumped-by-glitter, @whump-queen, @electrons2006, @vampirewhump

@saffitaffi let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[re-whump]

Augusnippets Day 10 - False Execution

cw: death wish, vampire whumpee, (implied/impending humanish experimentation), stabbing

A turned hunter was a failure.

What else could they be called? The purpose of a hunter was to eliminate vampirism and they had allowed another of the undead parasites to spawn.

He had perfect access to his prey now. There was no need to hunt with the monster staring back at him in the mirror, but he couldn’t bring himself to strike. He was a coward. A disgrace. A mockery of his vows.

Eventually, his partner came to investigate his disappearance and inevitably put him out of his misery. He prepared himself—he did want the loathsome creature dead, he just couldn’t find the will the land the blow himself. He left a note on the door that explained the situation and would serve as his last words, then restrained himself as best he could. Hunger festered in him now, and he didn’t trust his own self control.

His partner was nearly silent as he made his way up to where the vampire waited. They greeted each other neutrally, as if this were any other hunt.

“Make it quick, please,” the vampire said as time dragged on.

The hunter nodded and pulled out a shining blade. The vampire closed his eyes and waited for the sharp blow to land. His chest exploded into pain and he gasped desperately, reflexive for another breath in his punctured lung.

But what twisted most heavily through his veins was dread, not pain. The searing pain was nothing compared to the icy truth that he was still breathing. Still thinking. Still alive.

“I’m just kidding, man, I’m not here to kill you,” the hunter said, sounding amused.

He withdrew his weapon from the vampire’s chest with a laugh. He ran a finger through the bloodless skin knitting itself together. The flesh roiled and pushed away the intrusion until it was as smooth as the day the ex-hunter had been born. The hunter pulled a length of silver chain from his case.

“Bossman says there are much better uses for a spawn as cooperative as you.”

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 1 - Gaslighting

The only piece of decoration in Whumpee’s room was the clock.

Everything else was gray and flat and bare. The walls, the ceiling, the floor - plain, cold, gray stone covering every inch. There was the light in the ceiling too, of course, the one that would dim or brighten or turn off completely at regular intervals; and the stiff cot bolted to the floor in the corner.

But besides that, there was just the large analog clock in the center of the wall. Framed in a dark ring of wood, the second hand moving silently at all times, flowing rather than ticking. It was always there for Whumpee to watch. It even had a dim backlight that rendered it the only thing visible at all when the overhead light turned off.

Whumpee had relied on that clock the whole time he’d been stuck here, using it to keep track of the days and Whumper’s schedule, to know when to next expect food or whether it was day or night.

But lately…

He was starting to wonder.

Whumper was meticulous about keeping time. The light went out at ten p.m., then turned back on to wake him at six a.m. Food and water were given to him at the same times every day. And Whumper would give him time limits on tasks, and tell him how long punishments would last. Down to the minute, they would follow the clock precisely.

And yet Whumpee could swear something was off. Sometimes he would fall onto the cot only for the light to wake him feeling like he couldn’t possibly have gotten more than an hour of sleep. Sometimes the time between meals seemed endless, and by the time he was fed again he was near delirious from the hunger pangs in his empty stomach. Whumper would give him five minutes to wash himself and then cut him off before he could do much more than a quick rinse. He would tell Whumpee that he’d have to stay still for one hour, and Whumpee would be left wondering if Whumper had left and forgotten him as his muscles cramped and stiffened and he was sure he would never move again, only for Whumper to tell him an eternity later that his hour was up.

According to the clock, everything was correct. The time on the clock always matched what Whumper said. Whumper would point to the clock. “See?” he would say. “It’s four-thirty,” he’d say, or “It’s been thirty minutes” or “It’s morning” or “Time’s up.” He would always be right.

Whumpee would stare at the clock sometimes, follow the second hand with his eyes, try to count the seconds. Sometimes it would seem to be moving too fast or too slow, but it also could have been his own counting that was off.

He could swear one time he glanced at the clock to see an earlier time on its face than what it had displayed minutes before, but he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t thought to memorize the time between glances. Whenever he did, whenever he stopped to focus and test it, nothing seemed off. And he couldn’t just stare at the clock all the time.

Really, though, did it matter? Whumper followed the clock. What the clock said was law. He didn’t know how long he’d been there - surely long enough to throw off his internal clock. Maybe time itself moved differently between these walls. He knew the basics of relativity, that time felt slower when you want less of it and faster when you need more. That would make sense. It would explain why sleep kept feeling shorter and punishments kept feeling longer.

He stopped keeping track of the days at some point. Stopped testing the clock and trying to count seconds. Things happened when the clock said they would, and that was the way of it. Seconds and minutes and days passed at whatever speed the clock commanded.

It wasn’t worth questions or suspicions. The clock was in charge here, not him. Whumper always pointed to the clock, and the clock was always right.

@augusnippets

[whumplump]

Day 29 of @augusnippets

Prompt used: first words

CW: aftermath, recovery

Whumpee is not a beautiful name

"Okay, let's try again." Caretaker said, approaching empty-handed. “What's your name?"

The rescued one did not respond. They remain with their head down, in total silence. Caretaker was getting a little frustrated with the failed attempts to get them to talk. Still, they tried to be patient.

"What's your name?" they tried again.

Whumpee tried a few times, but no sound came out of their mouth. They forced their throat again, until they managed to formulate a sentence, almost inaudible.

“Whum... Whumpee."

Caretaker smiled proudly.

“What a beautiful name.”

[sufrimientilia]

Dinner Bell

captivity | recapture | tearful goodbye @augusnippets Day 22

cw: vampire captors, bloodbag captive, hypnosis, see above

The days blended together. Maybe there was a time when the thought of getting away mattered, when every second felt like captivity and torture, when the only choice was to fight and to run.

Now he wasn’t so sure. 

He had been close, once. Stumbling through the cold morning air further and further from that damn estate. Freedom hanging right there at his fingertips, safe in the crisp warmth of a sleepy winter sun, right there within reach until— 

That damn bell.

One soft melodic chime rang in the distance and suddenly his breath hitched, his body reacted before his mind could catch up, and he made one hard stop and turned right back the way he came. Like a phantom touch rippling over his skin and dragging him closer and closer on an invisible thread. 

It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing. Every time the bell rung it resonated deep in his chest, dazed his mind in one sudden burst, and everything just fragmented and distorted. Muffled like he was trapped underwater. It didn’t matter if he was trying to run, or hiding away, or doing all his stupid fucking tasks—  the bell always rung, and he always stopped, and every single time his thoughts melted into mush. Soothing tones, deliberate steps. Pulling him closer and closer and closer. 

Every day it was that fucking bell. Tiny silver ringing so delicate across the air, everything else distant and inconsequential. His mind wandered and his body wandered and it was always until he was back to the inevitable—back in the arms of something darker, deeper, overwhelming and all-consuming. Back where pain pierced through skin and brought pleasure, draining away warmth and energy until the soft whimper escaping his lips was the last sound he heard.

The bell rung and he came at once. Sweet gentle sounds melted into one smooth void, growing louder, warmer, until there was nothing at all. 

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 21: Delirium

cw: dissociation, scattered narrative, past torture, infected wounds, substance dependency, needles

previous // next

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 410

=~=~=

He dreams of rescue.

It's almost funny; he used to dream of rescue all the time, back when he was with Vic. Wake up and tamp it down and stop the tears before they fell; chase it away with extra training before breakfast, forget. 

Here in this cell, it doesn’t hurt so bad. Maybe it's because he knows it's a dying dream, and he's just grateful it's a pleasant one. Peace before the ending.

The spy (Sahota) (Ander) doesn't blame his team for failing to find him.

He could never blame his other team either. They didn't have the training, the knowledge. Just a bunch of kids; it wasn't their fault.

It isn't their fault.

Joy is kneeling over his body, checking his pulse, fingers grazing over the wounds that cover him

(branching pain, he screams when she brushes the bad one, just above his hip)

Jericho eases arms under him, lifts him, pulls him into a broad, warm chest. The spy (Sahota) shudders from the sudden heat, he's been cold for so long—

(is this how it feels to die?)

He can't hear what they're saying, but he can hear the worry. It's exactly how he would've staged it in a daydream, if he could've got his wits under him. Held, warm, surrounded by a gentle fear for his well-being. Hands are careful around his wounds, careful not to jostle his broken leg. He drifts somewhere else, and then his wounds are being cleaned.

(He would've thought the dream would end there, warm in someone's arms)

Smells the antiseptic, screams as it's applied.

Antibiotics, someone says, the only word he’s made out so far.

He's in pain, they hurt him, says the other voice, they hurt him so much.

Once upon a time the spy might've recoiled from the words, insisted he was fine, unbreakable.

But he is. They did. He only wants to sleep, someone watching over him to keep the monsters away, and the hands that keep him steady are gentle.

Sahota is vaguely aware of a needle at the crook of his arm, a pinch he barely feels. A second follows it.

The relief is near instantaneous, a different kind of comfort flooding his veins, warmer than the arms that carried him from the cell, whisking him away from the pain, so potently good 

(the creature stops clawing at his chest, momentarily content, wide awake)

He feels it. He's felt everything.

That must mean…

that must mean

[jamtartandsunshine]

augusnippets Day 7 * Choking* ________________________________________ In hindsight, Colin kind of can't believe none of them knew. It was particularly stupid because the entire team had taken part in multiple conversations where they sometimes lovingly and sometimes not so lovingly, made fun of the stupid little bags Jamie was always carrying around. Except turns out they weren't just stupid fashion choices. Jamie was using them to carry around a fucking Epipen that none of them knew he had. Except Roy apparently. And Ted And Beard

"Thank fuck for mandatory medical training for coaching staff." Colin sighed wearily throwing himself back down into a hard plastic hospital waiting room chair after yet another session of pacing up and down the waiting room. "Don't know what we'd have done if Roy hadn't known to go for Jamie's bag so quickly." He receives several grunts in response, but otherwise the small collective of the players selected to follow Jamie to the hospital remained silent. Colin didn’t blame them. All of them were shook up. How could they not be? After seeing what they had, seeing Jamie clutch at his throat, watching his face turn red as he struggled to take in the tiniest breath.

Colin had frozen but thankfully Roy had appeared out of nowhere, ripping the bumbag from Jamie’s shoulder and practically tearing it open to get the epipen from inside it.

Colin winced at the memory of watching Roy stab it into Jamie’s thigh. Rubbing at his own leg absentmindedly. It had seemed so rough and brutal, a massive contrast from the way Roy had held Jamie’s hand until the ambulance arrived. The coach gruffly promising “you’ll be okay you little prick” even as he ran his free hand over Jamie’s hair gently.

Colin shook his head and looked around the private waiting room they’d be secluded to.

Isaac was sat several seats away from everyone else in self appointed time out, he was appalled at himself for not knowing Jamie had a life threatening allergy. Blaming himself for not being quicker to help Jamie, which was to Colin fucking ridiculous. How could any of them help Jamie when they hadn’t even known he was allergic to nuts? Colin sat as close to Isaac as he could get with the captains self imposed exile, watching the door they'd taken Jamie through like a hawk. Ted and Beard stood a little way down the hall, talking to each other in low voices. They'd been told one person could go through with Jamie and it hadn't even been a discussion. Roy had followed the gurney without sparing any of them so much as a second look. Not that they'd thought it would be any other way, especially with the grip Jamie had on Roy's hand. Dani and Sam made up the rest of their ragtag group. Sitting huddled together on the opposite wall to Colin and Isaac "I don't understand why Jamie didn't tell us." Sam says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the private waiting room. "Maybe he was embarrassed?" Dani offers with a soft shrug. "He gets funny about things like that." "That's bullshit" Isaac growls looking up, his eyes ablaze. "Jamie knows we fucking have his back." "Except we didn't" Colin points out sadly. "We just all stood around and watched him stop breathing cause we didn't know what was happening." Ted looks over at them with a frown. "Now y'all better not be blaming yourselves for all this, ain't nobody to blame." "Except the manufactures of the nut contaminated protein bar" Beard points out. Ted points at him "That's true buckaroo" He nods before looking back to the boys "and you can bet Rebecca's legal team is going to unleash hell on those poor suckers."

They all nod and murmured their agreement before falling silent again, all of them pretending they’re not watching the door they know Jamie and Roy are somewhere behind.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

day 11: escape/breaking the conditioning/safe and sound + daero

Prompt from the Augusnippets @augusnippets challenge!

Path of Comfort: day 11: escape/breaking the conditioning/safe and sound

Could loosely be read as a follow-up to this, with the same caretakers

Content Warnings: demon whump, aftermath of captivity, aftermath of torture, trauma, nightmares, comfort, rescue, recovery, pain medicine

----

A week later and it still doesn't feel real.

The two humans tell Daero that he is safe and sound. That there will continue to be food and water, that their hands won't strike him. Their touches are soft, their voices quiet. They smell like citrus and cinnamon.

But still Daero flinches when either one enters the room. He still expects to wake in that damp dungeon, chained, beaten and starved.

Nightmares plague him, disrupting his much needed rest. On the worst nights, like tonight, his cries wake the humans and they are quickly by his side.

He is just awake enough to hear and feel them. One soothes him with kind words while wiping his tears away. The other holds a spoonful of pain medicine to his lips until he drinks. Then they sit on either side of him and wait.

In the moments just before falling asleep, when the medicine kicks in and he melts into the cushions, Daero feels something like peace.