#augusnippets day 21

[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

[whumplump]

Day 21 of @augusnippets

Prompts used: delirium / hallucinations

Not used: vertigo

CW: psych whump, defiant whumpee, paranoia, delirium, hallucination

Caretaker flipped through the folder with the patient's data, rereading the previous diagnoses to them. They continued with their explanations, but Whumpee was more concerned with a single, specific stripe on the ceiling that was slightly crooked compared to the others.

"Whumpee? Do you hear me?"

Whumpee paid attention again.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

“Well... I've been notified that the treatment is working very well for you. How are you feeling lately?"

Whumpee frowned strangely and shook their head.

"I hate the pills."

"I understand, but it is necessary that—"

"I'm not going to take that anymore. He told me it's poison."

Caretaker tilted their head slightly.

"Who told you that?"

"Him, right there," Whumpee pointed to the corner of the room, where there was nothing but the floor and the wall.

Caretaker looked in the direction they pointed, then turned back to Whumpee.

"There's nothing there."

"Can't you see?"

"No, because there is nothing."

Whumpee changed their expression to distracted, daydreaming.

"Remember that day I escaped? I looked back and the walls seemed to be made of marble... But you guys went after me and brought me back."

"You never escaped, Whumpee. You assigned yourself in here voluntarily and never showed any intention of escaping."

Whumpee looked at them, confused.

"No it wasn't! I remember!"

"Whumpee..."

"I remember! You're trying to trap me here and poison me!"

"Whumpee, calm down, please take a deep breath and—"

"No! I'm not going to fucking take any breath! This shit doesn't work! I'm already tired of you!" Whumpee stood up and turned their back to Caretaker, hands on their head. "That's enough, I don't want to see your face anymore."

Caretaker sighed.

"Okay. Well, I'll come back later when you're calmer."

They left, leaving Whumpee alone... Or at least, giving them that impression, as there was a guard outside the door, watching them.

[evilwriter37]

Fevers and Taunting

Augusnippets Day 21

Delirium/Hallucinations

Rated: teen

Warnings: implied/referenced character death

------

Viggo lay in bed, eyes closed, a cold wet wash cloth over his forehead. The Dragon Riders were trying to bring his fever down. At least, he thought it was the Dragon Riders. That was who he’d been staying with when this illness had struck. 

It was rare that Viggo got sick. It had only happened a handful of times in his life. Worse than that, it was rare for him to get sick this badly. 

He wanted to sleep. He’d tried, but everything in his body hurt. 

“Well, don’t you look miserable.”

Viggo’s eyes popped open at the voice, a voice that he shouldn’t be hearing, that no one should be hearing.

Because Ryker Grimborn was dead. Viggo had made absolutely sure of that.

He lifted his head and searched the room. And, seeing nothing, he laid his head back down. 

“You deserve this, you know.”

Viggo groaned at the sound of Ryker’s voice. He didn’t understand. Why was he hearing this? He was too sick to respond though, too sick to cry out for help. 

But he didn’t really need help, did he? It wasn’t possible that Ryker was haunting him. Maybe it was the fever?

I’m going to die with my brother taunting me. 

Viggo rolled onto his side so that his left ear was facing up. He couldn’t hear well out of that one due to his burns. Maybe Ryker’s voice would be muffled.

“I hope you die like I did.”

��Sh-shut it, Ryker,” Viggo rasped. He held a hand to his burning forehead. The wash cloth had slipped off of it. He groaned again, keeping his eyes closed, hoping sleep would be his salvation from this.

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 21

Delerium / Vertigo / Hallucinations

implied illegal drug use / medicine misuse, hallucinations, Whumpee x Caretaker

°

Whumpee sat on their bed, knees curled tightly to their chest. The room shifted around them, walls creeping in until Whumpee looked at them and snapped them back into place. They whined softly as the darkest corner of their room seemed to darken, harboring God knows what kind of creatures.

Had whumpee had too much of their... fuck, what had they taken? They looked down to their hand, watching it as it drifted away impossibly. They whimpered, pulling at their hair.

"Caretaker!" They cried out, as loud as they could. "Help!"

Caretaker rushed in, looking panicked. "Whumpee, what's wrong? You okay?"

"No! Move quick, he's gonna get you!"

"Who is, dear?" Caretaker stroked Whumpee's cheek slowly. "Did you take something? You look pale..."

Whumpee let out a groan, eyes shut. "Please, he's gonna get me! He'll hurt—"

They we cut off by a hug, clinging to caretaker.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay..."

[pigeonwhumps]

Delirium

MD-264N masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @fuckcapitalismasshole @ghost-whump

@whump-tr0pes @rainbowsandwhumperflies @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance

@rainydaywhump @augusnippets

Augusnippets day 21: delirium | vertigo | hallucinations

Morgan becomes ill.

Set after the end of an AU timeline where Morgan and Asha are recaptured together.

CWs: delirium, distress, implied past torture

Rhian walks into the kitchen and trips right over something. She turns on the dimmest light setting.

"Morgan?"

Morgan tilts their head up, eyes glazed. They're sitting against a cupboard, knees pulled tight to their chest, arms around their legs. Rhian kneels down in front of them. They look awfully pale, forehead shining.

"I thought you'd gone to see Asha. Are you okay, sweetheart?" She reaches her hand out, pressing the back to Morgan's forehead. "You're burning up! How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Hands," mutters Morgan, sounding distressed. Rhian snatches hers away but that's clearly not what they're talking about. "Hands. Hands, hands, stop it, no you don't need to do that sir, I'll obey, hands hands get off!"

"Sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe. There's no-one here to hurt you."

"Hands. Hands hands hands no don't don't hurt Asha no please sir!" Its distress is climbing now, and Morgan brushes at its arms furiously. "Don't, sir, please!"

It's moving. Is that a good sign, because it wouldn't move at all when it first arrived? Or has it always been like this when everything was far too much? Who knows how far back it thinks it is.

Whatever fever they have, it's making them delirious, maybe hallucinating.

"Okay, sweetheart, I won't. I'm not going to touch you. Nobody will hurt you or Asha. I'm going to fetch her, okay?"

Morgan brushes their arms and nods. "Yes, sir."

Rhian dashes upstairs and shakes Asha awake, trying not to disturb Asim at the same time.

She's been a light sleeper for as long as Rhian's known her, but it's gotten worse recently, and she wakes quickly, rubbing bloodshot eyes.

"Rhian? What's wrong?"

"Morgan's–"

"Are they– have they been found again? What–"

"Asha. Listen. They're *fine*. Feverish but fine. But they think you're being hurt, can you come and reassure them?"

Asha's on her feet before Rhian even finishes her sentence and runs down the stairs. Rhian follows, and watches from a short distance as Asha finds them, crouching down in front.

"Hey Morgan. It's Asha."

"Asha! Don't hurt. Not hurt. No leave her alone no hands hands *hands*! I'll be good sir!"

"Hey. Hey, easy, you're safe. Me and Rhian will get you somewhere nice and soft and warm and then hopefully you'll realise that. How about that?"

Something seems to have broken through and Morgan nods. Asha holds out her arms and lifts them up, pulling their arms so they wrap around her neck.

"There you go. Is that better?"

"Hands," it whispers, brokenly. "Warm."

"Yeah. I expect I am."

Rhian approaches then, smiling at Morgan. "Is that better, sweetheart?"

"Warm. Warm. No hands? No hands. Don't touch don't hurt please. So warm."

And then their head drops onto Asha's shoulder.

"Sweetheart?" There's no response, and she pokes their shoulder lightly. Still no response. "They're out cold."

"Just fast asleep, I think." Asha strokes the fluff that's slowly growing on their head. "I was hoping they'd miss out on this illness. I suppose this is what happens when they insist on helping me out."

"They will be okay, won't they?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. They're not that fragile. Let's just get them to bed."

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Twenty-One

Chosen Prompt: Medical Complications

CW: mention of dubcon; gender dysphoria; unwanted pregnancy in transmasc Whumpee; implied future abortion.

The day that Ashby cuts his hair is the same day he feels his body change. He’s still in the clothes he stole from his ‘husband,’ a politician he never married, but who paraded him through high society events when it suited his cause, and kept him shackled to the bed frame by his pearls when it didn’t. At dances across the city, in ballrooms slung high above the streets, Ivan called Ashby his beautiful wife, kept him cinched into dresses that roiled his stomach. Ivan held his secret meetings, Ashby guarding quiet rooms. Ivan had Ashby’s hair curled so perfectly that it bounced as it brushed his shoulders. In each reflective surface, no matter the occasion, he found only a stranger glowering back at him.

In the bedroom, Ivan liked to spit in Ashby’s mouth, and remind him that their marriage was a sham.

“You’re a pawn,” Ivan would tell him, pushing his thighs apart. “A doll. A pretty little piece of my disguise. Your body is just a bonus for after.”

It might have been hot that they were living a lie together, if not for the matter of Ivan’s aggressive heterosexuality.

Ashby is lacing his stolen boots when it hits him. Nausea — sudden and fast. His stomach churns for a fraction of a second, and then he’s losing the battle of swallowing back bile. It singes his throat, then burns at his mouth, meagre contents of his stomach rising upwards.

This isn’t the first time he’s noticed it. He’s been bloated since he ran, would not have wanted his own clothes even if he felt affinity for them. At first he put his fatigue down to the stress of finally leaving, to almost a year of hiding his bruises and burying the truth of his soul. But he’s free now, as much as anyone can be while living in hiding. He’s taken to the bowels of the city, a far cry from the stifling high society. He’s heading towards the docks, certain that his way out of this lies in the hull of a ship. Scrubbing the decks, manning the sails, whatever reasonable labour the captain asks of him.

But he couldn’t ignore the spotting, dots of red where there should have been nothing. The only problem with his escape plan, it seems, is the living passenger in his body.

It’s been growing for weeks now, and the thought makes Ashby’s stomach twist. Memories of Ivan’s haphazard thrusting, of the way he would laugh as he rutted into him, and Ashby would use his own hand for his pleasure and would never understand the joke. Now he clutches the thick fabric of his jacket, zipped to the neck and mercifully baggy. There’s no tell to him yet, but it won’t be much longer. The thought makes him want to get onto that ship and simply haul himself over the stern. Instead he staggers across damp cobblestone streets, deep breaths meant to combat his sickness. Exhaustion feels like cotton wool in his head, thickening, pulsing behind his eyes. It yearns for the edges of the world to pull in, to allow him an excuse to keel over.

He finds the practice at the mouth of an alleyway, barely signposted and unlikely accredited. It’s a word of mouth place, mentioned only in fearful whispers and only among certain company — those gripped so tightly by desperation that it feels more like a disease. He pauses to steady himself on the street now, some of the windows broken and others shuttered and dank. He has no other choice but to enter. His body has never truly been his and now it is changing without him. He only longs to be at sea, to carve his freedom in the space between land mass. This particular condition has no place in his life there.

He pushes the door open with a final deep breath, and approaches the woman at the desk. She barely looks up from her newspaper, pencil scraping dully against the boxes of the crossword.

“I need help,” Ashby tells her, and at last she looks up. One quick glance into his eyes, and he sees the moment she realises. She looks at his hair, then at his attire. She clears her throat and stands from her seat.

“Of course, sir,” she tells him, and he blushes despite himself. “Allow me to inform the doctor.”

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 21 - Vertigo

Content warning: implied character death

~~~~~~~

Whumpee’s breath was sharp and shallow as he pressed himself against the rough stone of the cliffside. The narrow path beneath his feet threatened to crumble no matter how cautiously he stepped. More than ones he heard loose gravel dislodging and tumbling downward.

Heard, not saw. He didn’t dare to look down after his initial glance, knowing the drop was dizzying—a sheer plunge into rocks and brambles that seemed impossibly far down.

Even while taking such care not to look down, the world still swayed, leaving his head aching and stomach churning. Everything tilted and swam in his vision. He would have preferred to keep his eyes closed, to just stand still, pressed into the cliff, waiting for the world to steady itself before attempting another step.

But above him, the sounds of heavy footfalls in the dust and dirt reminded him why that wasn’t an option. The closer he stayed to the top, the more likely that Whumper would catch him.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take another step. One step, then another. He could make it. He had no choice.

But as he reached for the next handhold, the dizziness surged, a wave of nausea and disorientation that made him stumble. His foot slipped, sending more stones cascading down the cliffside. He clawed desperately at the rock to maintain balance, to regain his grip, but he was no match for gravity.

Before he even had time for this horrific turn to sink in, he was falling full speed, body knocking and scraping along the rocky cliffside, battering him as he plummeted. The cracks and crags in the rock raced past him, blurring and shaking.

At least now, Whumpee could close his eyes against it. It was the only thing he could do to brace himself for the end.

@augusnippets

[angelic-writer]

Lichtenberg - The Light of the Party

Day 21 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Delirium/vertigo/hallucinations

Fandom: Cabin Tales

CW: Underage drinking, panic attack

February 8th, 2014

"So, Rachel," Roderick looped his arm around the younger girl. "Remind me again. What's your major?"

"Oh, I..." Rachel rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm doing a major in English."

"Nice! Nice."

"Yeah, I want to be a writer someday. It's uh, it's stupid."

"No no no no no. T-That's awesome!" His face was a bright crimson. He could not believe he was actually talking to Rachel without getting rejected. Maybe it's his chance to finally-

"Would you look at that!" Jeremy came up from behind and held her close. "Rachel as I live and breathe! What are you doing here?"

Roderick immediately gripped his cup. What the fuck, Jay?

"I'm just... I dunno. I got invited so why not?"

"Absolutely! I just never took you for the party type. You're always so quiet in class."

He couldn't hide the utter contempt in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. Just when things are starting to go well for him, Jay had to come here and cockblock him. God, I want to punch that smug look off your face right now...

Not too far away, Kevin was trying his best to keep his beer cup steady. He already had a few sips and he was already getting sick. He hated the taste of beer. It left a disgusting aftertaste in his throat and he didn't understand why his other classmates could even stomach it. The room was beginning to spin around him. Nothing reached his ears as they began to ring. Chest constricted, heart racing...

Air... I need air. I need to get out. Roderick...

He spotted his only salvation at the punch stand with Jeremy and Rachel. With wobbling legs, he made his way over to him, trying to keep himself steady like he was on a moving carnival ride.

"Hey, Roderick...?"

Roderick whipped his head around, immediately going back to his confident look. "Hm? Oh, hey Kevin! What's up?"

"I... I-I'm not feeling too great..."

"Uh..." Roderick looked around him, trying to make sure that no one was watching him. Why did Kevin have to come up to him now? As if Jay's cockblock wasn't embarrassing enough. "What do you want me to say?"

"Can..." His head began to pound. "Can we go?"

Roderick gripped his shoulders. "Kev, come on, man. You're fine. There's probably pills or something you can take in the bathroom, no?"

He blinked. "What?" He expected him to be dismissive of him like before, but he thought he would make an exception just once. "J-Jay..." He reached out to him with a shaky hand, but he and Rachel were beginning to walk away.

"Rachel, you know what? You look thirsty. Come with me."

"Uh, o-okay?"

"Guys..." Why? Why are they leaving him? Weren't they his friends? Weren't they supposed to be here for him?

"You're fine! Kev, just relax, okay? Come with us. Grab a drink."

Kevin pushed him away. "No..! R-Roderick, it's-" The room was beginning to spin more and more. His legs were shaking uncontrollably now. "I'm not... feeling well...!"

"I-" Roderick started to say, but a piercing headache stopped him. He gripped his head, dropping his cup and spilling beer all over the floor as he did so. His head felt like it was in a vice, being slowly crushed. Images of what he was about to say next flooded his mind. Everything he did to Kevin, everything he roped him into...

The room. His screams.

His crime.

You murdered him.

"Roderick...?" Kevin slowly said, reaching a hand out. To rub his back or touch his shoulder? He didn't know because everything was spinning. He was taken aback when the brunette suddenly grabbed his wrist.

"Come with me." It was quick and breathless, but it was clear as day. Next thing Kevin knew, Roderick was pulling him to the front door, making him drop his cup on the way. A couple patrons gave them a weird look as they ran. Roderick was sure that a couple of his teammates were staring at him funny.

Fuck your judgement. Kevin needs me.

[inscrutable-shadow]

Augusnippets Day 21 - Path of Whumperless Whump - Delirium

for the doc lovers, except they're being 17 instead of horrifying (Aspen Weiss is their old name and Joni is their fraternal twin sister) i kinda did a weird thing with the prompt but hopefully it's ok i am eepy myself

Aspen knew they'd gone too far. Despite their efforts to ignore the fact, their body was, unfortunately, human, and there was a limit to the number of hours they could study without pausing for sleep. If they were honest, nutrition shakes and coffee weren't much of a substitute for sustenance either. Their hands were shaking around the mugful of stone-cold liquid between them.

How long had it been since they turned a page? The textbook in front of them was nothing but a blur, time and space seemed to flow around them like oil on the surface of water. Distorted sounds teased the edges of their hearing. If they didn't know better, they'd chalk it up to mania, they were no stranger to psychosis, but the sleep deprivation had induced a sort of delirium instead. The difference was something they ought to know if they were to become a doctor.

Yes. The exams. The exams they needed to pass in three days if they ever wanted to escape this seven-devilled facility. They didn't have time to study and to prepare their grand exit, so much needed to be done, and neither part could go forward without the other. Hence sleep was the first thing to be cut. Now they were realizing that had been an error in judgement.

"-spen? Aspen! Az, come on, are you in there?" Oh. So some of the sound had been real. Their eyes were slow to obey, blown pupils fixing on Joni like a drunkard's.

"Jävlar, what'd you take?"

"Nothing… clean. Promise." Oops. That had been a microsleep just then. Hopefully Joni hadn't seen it.

"Helvete. You're falling asleep standing up. You're going to bed. No complaints." That was fine, because they didn't have the energy to.

doc taglist: @i-eat-worlds , @quietly-by-myself, @demondamage, @atomiccorvid

[the-rad-pineapple]

Day 21 of @augusnippets

hallucinations (featuring the worthless US healthcare system)

part 2

He gets these…visions. Hallucinations would be a more fitting term, but he’s still in denial about what’s happening. Because it must be fixed. But he’s already seen three different doctors, already paid over $600 total, and used up all his PTO to find out what the hell is wrong with him with no results. The doctors all gave some ideas, but nothing is definitive. They need to take more tests to know for sure what’s wrong with him. But that only costs more money and time—two things he’s freshly out of.

An MRI would be next, but it’s not covered by his insurance, and he doesn’t have thousands of extra dollars to just spend. So. He’s sort of left to deal with these visions all on his own. Maybe one day if he ever saves enough, he’ll get that MRI. But for now, he’s going to have to learn how to manage this on his own.

Being the supervisor for this shitty, cramped gift shop is enough to make anyone go insane, but now he has to try and deal with these hallucinations, too?? Utter bullshit.

The first couple hours of his shift are a breeze. It’s as if his mind resets after sleep, fending off the hallucinations for a few hours. Sometimes he doesn’t see shit until the end of the day. But other times he’s tripping by noon.

He’s hurriedly refolding a pile of t-shirts some parents watched their kids topple over. It’s too stuffy in the small gift shop, and he feels sweat build beneath his uniform and wishes he was home. The buzz of the fluorescent lights seems louder, and their light seems harsher. Which is not good. When he’s this sensitive to sight and sound, it’s a good indicator a migraine will be paired with his hallucinations today.

Fuck.

He adjusts the top shirt of his recently folded pile when he hears a crash across the room. He closes his eyes, summoning his patience with a deep sigh. He hears one of his coworker’s frightful scurry beelining towards him. 

“Whumpee,” she says timidly. She’s the typical teen summer worker: a hard worker not quite jaded by retail (yet), still treating every incident with utmost seriousness. 

He sighs. “Yes, I heard.” 

“She doesn’t want to pay, but her baby knocked it over.” 

Whumpee glances over to the problem customers, and his heart freezes before jackhammering loudly in his chest. 

A baby’s head lays on the floor, haloed in a puddle of dark blood. There’s movement, and Whumpee’s eyes instinctively stick to it. The infant’s mother is still holding the child’s headless corpse. The corpse has glistening blood all down the front of it. The mother’s hands are covered in it, and she glares annoyedly at Whumpee. 

He blinks, and she’s a regular peeved woman holding a regular baby (head still attached, blood-free, etc.). 

A sharp ache thuds in time with his heartbeat right between his eyes. 

Today is going to be a long fucking day.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Unmoored

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Real short today because I! Don't feel good. For @augusnippets Day 21: Delirium/Hallucinations

Contains: Implied drugging, hallucinations, delirium

~~~

Everything was so bright.

Colors and shapes shifted in front of him, impossible to distinguish. The prismatic array almost hurt to behold, and yet Elze’ith couldn’t help but stare, transfixed. Or maybe he wasn’t staring at all; he had no idea what was real, if anything was real, if he was real.

There was a voice. Or maybe multiple. The words swirled amongst the colors in a display that might have been beautiful had it not been so harsh and intense. He wanted to shy away as much as he wanted to cobble together shards of words and tone to scrape together some semblance of meaning to anchor him back to reality. But the sea of color and light shifted too rapidly for him to grasp anything, and he found himself lost in the tide.

[astaldis]

Hallucinations

@augusnippets @augustofwhump

Fandom: The Witcher

Rating: Teen and up, no archive warnings

Characters: Cahir, Regis

Words: 525

Summary: Cahir is plagued by disturbing hallucinations of Princess Cirilla. Regis helps.

For the Augusnippets prompt 21 "Hallucinations" and the Augustofwhump alt. prompt "Guilt"

[didasgomas]

Concert

Day 21 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Delirium/Vertigo/Hallucinations

Small part of my story "Eyes Blue", an au for FOTD, a story written by @moonlightsmasquerade

Author's note: The mentioned concert, on the given place and date, was a real event, and so is the band named

July 7th, 2000

Amphitheatre.

BankNH Pavilion.

Four bands. The last one was called Slaughter.

Rock music. Enjoyable, but not her cup of tea.

People singing along in a chorus. Lights. Jumping.

Constant movement. Constant music. Constant additional voices and sounds.

There was a beeping in her ear that now just wouldn't stop. When she looked down, even the ground seemed to be moving.

Everything was spinning all around her. She didn't know where Bill and Harper were.

Lavender had agreed to go out with them today to this event. Her mom and their parents had agreed on it too.

She just hadn't realized until now just how much large crowds really messed with her.

This was so much worse than school noise.

With difficulty, she made her way towards the lawn area, hoping that some distance from the crowd would help her headache disappear.

Sitting down on the grass with her back supported by the building's wall, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

If it worsened, she'd need to call either her dad or her Oma and Opa to pick her up early, but if it remained somewhat tolerable or thankfully softened, she could wait for the show to end and meet up with her classmates once she saw them leave.

But right now, she really wished she had remembered to bring a bottle of water.

[udaberriwrites]

A drabble for @augusnippets' day 21!

Path of Whumperless Whump - Hallucinations

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character: Wyll Ravengard, nameless party

Timeline: In exile

Rating: G

'Why did you betray me?’

The barbarian falls behind, pleading with an imaginary enemy.

'Were you so quickly corrupted by power?’

The sorcerer grabs his hair, sparks of wild magic surrounding him.

'What did I do to deserve such a son?’

The curse’s anchor emits a sick purple light as its illusory puppets continue the psychic assault. The paladin freezes near the altar, a woman’s voice echoing around her.

Wyll pushes onwards. The specter of his father's disappointment heckles him every step of the way.

He grabs the anchor and the illusions break.

The heavy feeling in his heart remains.

_

Full prompt list here

AO3 collection here

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 21: alt. prompt flashback

tw: gaslighting, emotional abuse

There is a full-scale blizzard raging beyond the Palace walls. Rex is of the opinion that letting Senator Amidala die from hypothermia is just as much a failure on his part as leaving her behind to fall prey to the droids, so, instead of facing the kinetic unknown, he turns toward the mountain the Palace is half carved out of.

“I suggest we hunker down in one of the caves and wait for the generals to find us,” he shouts over the screaming wind.

“I suggest we find cover before those clankers can pick off the rest of us,” he shouts over the ear-splitting boom that rocks the valley floor. Somehow, the explosion isn’t quite loud enough to drown out the dull thuds of armored, lifeless bodies hitting the ground.  General Skywalker huffs. “C’mon, Rex. It’s just a few hundred droids. Nothing we can’t handle, right?” His shiny blue blade slices through clankers with ease, twirling in a convoluted dance, the general dodging and weaving in tandem without even breaking a sweat. Rex’s helmet is so full of perspiration he may as well be drowning in it, but he grits his teeth against the protest that threatens to slip out. It isn’t his place to question his general’s tactics. Besides, he trusts General Skywalker; he always comes through in the end.

“Good thinking, Captain,” Senator Amidala answers.

Rex blinks. He hadn’t been expecting the senator to agree with him, though he’s not sure why.

The cave is small, a bit claustrophobic for his taste, but it’ll have to do. As they slink into the measly depths of their shelter, Senator Amidala stumbles, hisses through her teeth. A hand on the wall, she balances precariously on one foot as she lifts the hem of her dress.

“Are you alright, Senator?” Rex asks, dread seeping into his bones as he watches her examine her ankle because he was supposed to protect her, he should’ve been paying more attention, it’s his fault–

General Skywalker hisses through his teeth, sharp, as Kix wraps the bandage tight around his shoulder. “Let’s attack the factory on foot, they’ll never see us coming,” he mocks. “Yeah, great idea, Rex.” Rex resists the urge to point out that he had suggested a stealth approach, and that it was the general who wanted to march the troops parade-style through the valley. Now isn’t the time to be petty. The general doesn’t mean anything by it, anyway. Rex would be just as irate if he’d nearly got his one good arm shot off.

Senator Amidala shakes her head, offers him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, I think I only twisted it.”

For some reason, that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty.

The two of them get a fire going to stave off the chill, burning scraps from the senator’s dress, and when Rex thinks it might finally be safe to set up the locator beacon, he extracts it from his belt, flicks the switch.

Then, he curses.

“What is it?”

“The signal’s too weak. It won’t reach through the rock and snow.”

Senator Amidala frowns. “Will it work if we get it beyond the cave?”

“Out into the blizzard, you mean?” Rex says, a little ruefully. Wincing, he rushes to correct his slight. “Theoretically, yes. Realistically, I don’t like our chances of survival. It only takes a couple of minutes for hypothermia to set in.”

“Alright, someone’s gotta go out there and draw their fire while I lead a squad around to the back entrance.” Rex is already shaking his head before the general even finishes his sentence. “I don’t like our chances. There are too many droids on the door. We should–” “That wasn’t a request, Rex!” General Skywalker’s glare is almost cold, but that’s just the pressure of the mission getting to him. It’s getting to all of them. “Find someone to get it done.” Pushing down the anger simmering in his chest, Rex eyes the door, levels his blasters. Because there’s no way in hell he’s going to send the shinies on this suicide run.

There’s an odd look on the senator’s face, something that might be pity, or perhaps an emotion entirely unfamiliar to him. Her slender fingers dance across the beacon’s form, and Rex is reminded, jarringly, of makeup brushes and serenity.

He almost wants to laugh. He'd been a fool to hope the day would end in anything other than utter disaster.

Senator Amidala's face hardens in resolve. “I’ll do it.”

“No!” Rex snatches the beacon from her grip, his fingers grazing her knuckles as he does. “I'll do it,” he says, and it's not quite a snarl, but it's a near thing.

Because someone has to risk their life for this, and that someone sure as hell isn’t going to be the senator.

[shyday-ao3]

@augusnippets Day 21. Prompt hallucinations. Daredevil fandom.

She’s thinking about going to bed when something thumps hard against her window. It sounds too big to be a bird, scares the hell out of her whatever it is. She climbs off the couch to cautiously creep that way. Takes a deep breath before peering around the edge of the curtain. There’s a body out there, crumpled on the fire escape. It takes a second or two before she can see through the adrenaline to identify him in the new suit.

She slides open the window. “Matt,” she hisses. He twitches but doesn’t otherwise move. Worried now, she clambers out there. He barely lifts his head when she crouches in front of him. Murmurs something as his chin drops back to his chest. “Matt.”

This gets his head back up, though it’s clearly a struggle. “Hey! You’re here too,” he mumbles with a goofy smile before his head lolls back into the metal railing behind him.

“Stay with me, Matt. Can you hear me?”

“Mmmm.”

“What happened? Can you tell me? Did you hit your head?” She can’t see anything with all this red and black. From this angle, she can’t even tell how the thing’s supposed to come off.

“Injected me with something,” he mumbles. “During the fight.”

“Jesus. Okay.” 

“Need to find Claire.”

There’s little she can do here besides symptom management. “And you found her. Can you get up, get inside?”

“Don’t know what’s in there.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes you do. It’s my apartment.”

“You’re not really here,” he tells her. “Not here here.”

“Gonna have to disagree. Are you hallucinating?” His head jerks sideways toward something she can’t see. “Matt?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

They need to get inside before one of her neighbors decides to look out their window. “This will all be a lot easier to deal with on my couch. Come on. I need you to trust me.”

“He injected me with something, Claire. Stabbed me in the neck, through the suit.” She can’t see his eyes through the mask, wants it off. The fear is too plain in his voice. “Yeah, I do,” he suddenly snaps in response to someone who’s not there.

“You came to me. Let me see what I can do to help.”

Slowly he begins to uncurl from his slump. He’s obviously favoring his left leg, is barely responsive. Too pale and warmer than he should be. Tumbling more than climbing through the window, she has to help him up off the floor. It’s a challenge for them to make it to the couch with how badly he’s reeling, limping. 

“Maybe you are here,” he concedes as she lowers him down onto the cushions. He laughs. “Hell, maybe he’s really here too.” Matt rolls his head across the top of the couch. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” he asks her kitchen.

“Let’s get th–”

“No… have to find Claire. Need somewhere safe… just for a minute…”

“Jesus. Okay,” she repeats. Time to start again.