#augusnippets day 22

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 22

Captivity/ Recapture / Tearful Goodbye

bbu-adjacent themes, captivity.

°

"I don't understand," Whumpee cried tearfully, watching as Caretaker hurried around and packed a bag. "Why do I have to go back?"

Caretaker didn't even glance at Whumpee, going through their underwear and stuffing some in the large duffel bag he was packing. "Whumper is going to be here soon. Grab what you need, please."

"Caretaker! I don't wanna go back!" Whumpee begged, heart pounding. "T- tell him to go home!"

"I can't, Whumpee. You have to go back."

Whumpee sucked in a breath. "Why—"

"Because I can't fucking afford paying for you right now, okay?" Caretaker snapped, whipping around. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. "Whumper legally owns you. I am renting you from him, and money is tight right now." Whumper placed the duffel bag by Whumpee.

"Wh‐ how long do i have to stay?"

Caretaker sighed shakily, wiping his eyes. "I... I don't know. It might be a month or two before i can get you back..."

"..."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I'll try hard to get you home."

[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. 

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 22: captivity/recapture/tearful goodbye

“So…” said Hero, tuning to their team, “I guess this is it, then.”

“It there really no other way?” asked Sidekick, grabbing their arm. “Are you sure?”

“Not that I think of.” Hero patted their shoulder with a faint smile. “But you’ll find something.”

Behind them, Villain was waiting, their arms crossed, but no one looked them in the eye. For the moment, they were something in the background, something to be forgotten. They felt that so well that they cleared their throat and raised their voice:

“And some people say I take too long for my monologues. I agreed to let you two minutes for your oh-so-moving goodbyes, not an eternity. Supervillain is waiting.”

Hero dryly nodded, but then Teammate rushed into their arms.

“We’re going to get you back,” they whispered into their ear. “It doesn’t matter how, it doesn’t matter when-”

“It kinda matters when,” corrected Hero. “To me, at least.”

“Yeah-”

“I mean, sooner would be nice.”

“I’ve ruined my solemn promise, haven’t I ?”

“I get the intent.”

Instead of disentangling each other, the other Teammates joined in. Exasperated, Villain clapped. Everyone yelped in pain and stood away, leaving Hero alone. They turned toward their foe, their hands raised:

“All right, we’re going to Supervillain.”

“We need to make a stop. They want you chained up.”

“Of course they do.”

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[whumplump]

Day 22 of @augusnippets

Prompts used: captivity / recapture

Not used: tearful goodbye

CW: sadistic whumper, captivity, degradation, defiant whumpee, blood, gunpoint, swear words

Two henchmen carried Whumpee through a dark and unpleasant corridor, which they were already familiar with. They struggled from time to time, when they felt a tighter grip on their arm. They reached the basement. The henchmen threw Whumpee inside and closed the door. Whumpee lay on the floor like a worm, with their legs and arms tied, and their mouth gagged. After a while, Whumper entered the basement with a smile and a gun on their hip.

“Well, well, well, look who it is! I'm so glad you're back!”

Whumpee looked at them with contempt. Whumper just laughed and pulled out their gun.

"You're still the same devil as the last time we saw each other. Did you miss home?"

They reached down and pulled the makeshift gag from Whumpee's mouth.

"Go to hell," was the first thing Whumpee said.

Whumper smiled cynically and hit Whumpee's head with the barrel of the gun, producing a small cut on impact, which quickly began to bleed. Whumpee looked up from the ground with hatred in their eyes.

Whumper pointed the gun at their head.

"You're so worthless, you're still so weak under my control."

"You bastard..."

“I'll adapt you to your routine again. Now, sit up and… Kneel.”

[the-rad-pineapple]

day 22 of @augusnippets

 recapture and tearful goodbye

part 1

Whumpee is waiting for her drink to be called at a café. The rest of her friends already got their drinks and are at a table outside waiting for her. It’s the prime of spring, and flowers are budding and the sun is shining. The air feels fresh. She feels alive. 

Finally. 

It’s been a tough few months recovering from Whumper’s torture, and her friends have been there for her every step of the way; she couldn’t have done it without them. She looks over at them, all seated beside each other, smiling and laughing in a rarely lighthearted way. Her heart grows soft and fond. 

And Whumpee is grateful for her friends and their support, but sometimes she’s found herself missing Whumper. It’s a completely unintentional and unexpected feeling. She’s not quite sure what to do about it. It’s like she logically knows she should feel disgusted at the thought of him, but…when he crosses her mind, she’s filled with yearning so strong it’s nearly debilitating. She knows there’s some sort of psychological explanation for this, but she isn’t quite sure what it is since she hasn’t told anyone or looked into it. She doesn’t want anyone taking her feelings for Whumper away from her. The ultimate guilty pleasure.

She flicks her gaze back down to her phone, waiting for her name to be called. And that’s when she feels it. An icy chill that causes goosebumps to crawl up the nape of her neck. She’s being watched. She turns, and he’s right there.

Somehow—impossibly—Whumper is here. 

Her heart stops. Then restarts erratically like a bird throwing itself against a cage. 

“I see you’ve missed me.” His voice sounds exactly as she remembered.

He lifts a hand to her neck, and she freezes, thrown back to every instance where he’s touched her. But instead, he delicately presses a finger beneath the choker she’s wearing; something she wore since it reminded her of the collar he used to make her wear. 

He leans in, breath ghosting the shell of her ear. Then he whispers, “Do you want to say goodbye to your friends?”

“Wh… Goodbye?”

“Oh, I’m keeping you,” he promises, “but I’m not cruel. You can say goodbye to them.” 

Her name is called for her drink, and she jumps. 

“I can grab that for you if you want to say goodbye.”

Heart pounding and hands shaking, she turns to look at her friends. 

They’re all still smiling. Joking and laughing. All she’s ever done is make them sad. Perhaps it’s better if she goes. 

“I… I don’t want to.” She turns back to Whumper. “Let’s just go.” 

He looks mildly surprised before wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and leading her to his car. He opens the passenger door for her. It closes, and for just a moment, the world is muffled and distant. Peaceful.

She sees her friends outside—happy and alive—probably for the last time. 

“Goodbye,” she whispers, a lone tear streaking down her cheek. 

[evilwriter37]

For Those He Loves

Augusnippets Day 22

Tearful Goodbye

Rated: teen

Warnings: none

------

“Hiccup, you can’t do this!” Astrid cried. “Don’t! You can’t just give yourself to him willingly!” 

“He’ll kill all of you!” Hiccup shouted, turning from his soon-to-be captor, who was smirking, because he knew he’d won. 

“Come along, Hiccup,” Viggo said, holding out his hand to him. He said it sweetly, as if this wasn’t an act of violence, as if his men didn’t have Astrid at arrow-point.

The stand off was happening outside of Berk, the island within flying distance. Viggo’s ships had most of the island surrounded, and Berk had been under siege for days now. Viggo had offered an ultimatum: Hiccup in return for Berk’s safety. 

Stoick had outright refused and nearly killed the messenger Viggo had sent. Hiccup had pretended to go along with it, while really, he planned to give himself to Viggo. He’d tried sneaking away by boat, wanting to leave Toothless out of this, but Astrid had caught him. Now, she and Stormfly were on Viggo’s ship with Hiccup, held at the point of about a dozen weapons. Stormfly had already taken a dragon root arrow and was incapacitated.

“Please, Hiccup.” There were tears in Astrid’s words, tears that had yet to fall. She was Astrid Hofferson; it was rare that she cried. 

But the sound of her voice broke Hiccup’s heart. 

“Can I at least say goodbye?” Hiccup asked of Viggo.

Viggo gave a nod, and then raised a hand to tell his men to lower their weapons. They looked at him like he was crazy, but did it anyway.

Hiccup ran to Astrid and hugged her tight, tears forming in his own eyes.

“I love you, Hiccup.” Astrid kissed him hard on the lips. “We’ll get you out.” Those words were quiet, a sob bubbling up behind them. “Promise.”

Hiccup felt all broken inside, but he knew he had to do this. He had to keep his people safe. He kissed Astrid one last time, and then turned to Viggo. The man looked displeased.

“Don’t keep me waiting, my dear.” 

Taking a deep breath, Hiccup stepped away from Astrid, stepped away from his life on Berk. 

He went across the ship to Viggo, something inside him crumbling when the man put his hand at the small of his back. But, even as he did it, he felt a surge of relief. He was doing this for those he loved. Wasn’t that reason enough?

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Twenty-Two

Chosen Prompt: Recapture

CW: Discussion of previous violence

The date goes surprisingly well. It’s Whumpee’s first since his rescue two years ago, and he was certain he was awkward and rusty throughout. His date, however, was kindly and talkative, reached across the table to take his hand in the restaurant, then drew back when Whumpee gasped at the contact.

“Was that overstepping?” His date asked immediately. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay if you don’t want me to touch you.”

Whumpee had considered it, fear and excitement going to war beneath his ribs. He told himself the fear was useless, just an aftertaste of that last awful date two years previous. Whumper had seemed charming and saccharine too, then he’d beaten him bloody and kept him locked in a shed, weeks of torture before he was rescued.

“It’s okay,” Whumpee said to his date this evening. He swallowed hard, stared at the man’s hand and then into his eyes. “You…you can touch me. If you could ask me first next time that would be great, but I…I really do want to hold your hand. I-I mean, I’d like to, i-if—“

His date cut him off with a delicate laugh, slipped his hand over Whumpee’s once more. Whumpee fought the urge to shudder. This was normality. It had two years already. He had to get over Whumper. Maybe if he held this man’s hand for long enough, it would erase the lingering echo of how Whumper had touched him the same.

The moment Whumpee realised that, his shoulders eased and his chest felt more open. He hadn’t realised it was difficult to breathe, but suddenly everything was okay. And that was the moment it dawned on him — exactly what he needed to do. He made the plan in his head, quietly, right there at the table as his date stroked his thumb over the backs of his knuckles.

He was going to do everything he needed to do in order to erase Whumper from his muscle memory. He was going to do anything it took. A self exorcism of sorts, after all this treacherous time.

So when his date got shy at the end of the street, it was Whumpee who took the lead. He leaned in, close enough to kiss him without actually doing it.

“Wanna come back to…to my place?” He asked. He meant it, but through all the excitement that was typical of a first date, that glimmer of fear simply would not dull. It sat beneath his ribs and gnawed at him. It sparked in the periphery of his vision. His date smiled, and Whumpee blushed fiercely in response.

“I’d love to,” he said, and so they had. They’d walked together, hand in clammy hand back to Whumpee’s place, his flat tucked away in a quiet part of town — safe. He unlocked the door, switched on all the lights as he went. This was his routine, to eliminate as many of the shadows crowding into his home as possible. It was habit now. His date watched him but said nothing, no trace of judgement for it on his face. Light switch by light switch, Whumpee led his beautiful date into his bedroom. He hadn’t had anyone in here since he moved here. Part of him wondered if he should share this information, a sort of preemptive apology for any ineptitude that may arise as a result of recent inexperience. He remembered a television show in which one character asked another if something vital had changed in the act of sex. The same irrational fear sang through him, but he was groping for the light switch that would flush the darkness from his bedroom, and it was much too late for all that. He would just, he supposed, have to hope for the best.

He switched the light on, and all the air went out of the room.

He noticed the outlier immediately, this thing that was not in its place. He blinked at the letters on the wall, crude lines in thick red pen, the white wall behind his bed vandalised, ruined. It took him longer to process the words, his lungs turned to stone, his blood running cold. There, on the wall above his bed, read two simple words, in a scrawl so crude it was chilling.

Found You

“Oh God,” he whispered, pulse pounding through his body now, ricocheting badly enough that he trembled. The whole world tipped off balance, and this time, when his date touched him, he did no relent when Whumpee flinched. The hand on his bicep simply tightened. Another aimed hard and fast at his face, a terrible, deafening punch.

Whumpee blacked out near immediately. When he woke, he had the sense that mere seconds had passed, supported by the fact he was still on his bedroom floor, wet with the blood that streamed from his nose, and a pain that seared cruelly through his skull, like ragged fingernails against the bone.

“What…” he breathed, the only word he could get out. His eyes found his date, trailed up the length of him to find him grinning down at him. Only then was his gaze caught by a shadow — another thing that should not have been there. In the doorway stood a figure, tall and muscular, broad enough to fill the doorway. The shape of him was instantly recognisable — as was the way the air changed with his presence, the way Whumpee’s fear spilled out of his body and infected the air around him as he gasped and trembled, choked on his own breath. The figure in the doorway laughed at him, the sound distant, muffled by concussion or perhaps a fractured skull. And although his vision swam, Whumpee saw the curve of his smirk, saw the hungry spark in his eyes, and remembered the first time he’d peered up at that exact sight. Two years younger, innocent in a way he never would be again, with no idea what was waiting in store for him.

He did not have that luxury this time.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[nativestarwrites]

Written for Augusnippets bonus prompt 'Stalked'

Jamie had a stalker. Now he doesn't. It's over. He should be fine now. Right?

[inscrutable-shadow]

Augusnippets Day 22 - Path of Hurt - Recapture

military au because i have endless brainrot about war mage thanatos, mariano and luis belong to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump as usual

Thanatos had been hopeful when he'd heard the base alarms start going off. He was being held separately from Ortiz, and probably being tortured much less, given that his dog tags identified him as a noncombatant. The ones he'd worn in the war mage corps were at home, on Rea's mantelpiece, cushioned in velvet after his discharge, but the lessons he'd learned there were engraved into his mind deeper than laser-cut metal: no rescues. Come home on your own two feet, or not at all.

The alarms probably meant that Ortiz was loose and causing problems for their captors. Without his magic, Thanatos had no hope of slipping his own restraints, much less escaping, but Ortiz had a much better chance of getting away. And the Diamond Dogs weren't war mages. If Ortiz could get back to them to report, maybe they would come back for Thanatos? No. No point in getting his hopes up. No rescues was the policy for a reason.

The alarms stopped after several minutes, and Thanatos heard nothing for a long time. When his cell door scraped open and a shivering and soaking wet Ortiz was unceremoniously dumped on the floor in front of him, he understood why.

"Reconsider any further escape plans," the person he'd taken to calling "Lead Goon" in his head said, and then left the two alone.

Chained to the chair as he was, Thanatos couldn't offer the kid, who was trying very hard not to cry audibly, much in the way of comfort. All he could do was brace his knee against the mage's back and call up words Luis might have told him in this situation: "You did well, Mariano. Don't worry. You'll get them next time."

Hmm. Maybe Luis wouldn't have been as forgiving.

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 22

captivity/recapture/tearful goodbye

fandom: cabin tales (on a holy night AU) TW: threatened cannibalism, starvation, referenced character death word count: 339 @augusnippets

Arthur should've known where his protests would inevitably lead.

Then again, he had an idea of what was coming when he heard his parents arguing downstairs yet again. To his surprise, his mom was much more sympathetic to him than usual – a trend which had been building for the past week.

Of course, you only decide to listen when I'm dying…

Ida's pleas weren't enough, something Arthur realized when his bedroom door creaked open. Rather than either of his parents standing in the doorway, he was greeted by two large, unfamiliar men. Behind them was that damn Merchant, grinning like he'd won the lottery.

Pure instinct took over. It didn’t matter if the Merchant's goons were likely four times Arthur's weight. It didn't matter he was severely outnumbered, 3 to 1. Arthur darted out of bed, scrambling past his desk and towards the window. He barely made it halfway before two heavy bodies were pinning him down.

Arthur barely had the energy to move following the tackle, his entire, frail body hurting from the impact. The pain lingered as he was dragged out of the house and into an all too familiar caravan, as he entered a haunting tent, as dashed lines were drawn all over his limbs.

Different cuts of meat… I'm going to die. It was always going to end this way, wasn't it?

Arthur mentally kicked himself. He should've known that damn Merchant had it out for him since he killed Kurt. He found himself oddly calm as the minutes ticked by, halfheartedly eavesdropping on the guards' benign conversations. He could at least look forward to seeing Kurt again.

Several more minutes passed. Either from the earlier tackle, or from Arthur's de facto hunger strike, he faded in an out of consciousness.

As a result, Arthur thought he was dreaming when he saw his mom standing at the entrance to the tent. Only when he felt her familiar, warm hands on his wrists while she picked the shackles open did he realize he wasn't dreaming.

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 22 @augusnippets - prompt : tearful goodbye

Characters: caretaker and whumpee

CW : character death

"Stay with me, Whumpee," Caretaker pleaded, their voice cracking. Their fingers dug into Whumpee’s shoulder, as if their grip alone could keep Whumpee anchored to life. "Please, just hold on a little longer. Help is on the way."

But even as they said the words, Caretaker could hear the lie in them. The truth was in the way Whumpee’s lips quivered with the effort to speak, in the way their body trembled with every breath. There was no more time. They both knew it.

Whumpee’s hand, shaking and weak, found Caretaker’s. Their touch was icy, a cruel reminder of the warmth that was slipping away. They forced their eyes open, meeting Caretaker’s gaze with a flicker of the stubborn fire that had always defined them, even now, in their final moments.

"Don’t... don’t blame yourself," Whumpee rasped, their voice barely above a whisper. Each word was a struggle, and Caretaker felt their heart shatter with every syllable. "You did… everything… you could."

Caretaker shook their head furiously, tears blurring their vision. "No, I didn’t! I should have been faster, stronger… I should have protected you. This isn’t fair, Whumpee! You can’t leave me… not like this."

Whumpee’s grip tightened, a last surge of strength that was as fleeting as it was fierce. "It’s not… your fault," they said, their voice growing softer, fading. "Promise me… you’ll keep going. You’re stronger… than you think."

The sob that tore from Caretaker’s throat was raw, painful, as they pressed their forehead to Whumpee’s. "I can’t do this without you. You’re my everything, Whumpee… I need you."

Whumpee’s breath hitched, their eyelids fluttering as they fought to stay with Caretaker just a little longer. "You have to," they whispered, their voice so faint now, barely there. "For me… live for me…"

And then, with a final, shuddering breath, Whumpee went still.

Caretaker froze, their mind refusing to accept what had just happened. The silence was deafening, a gaping void where Whumpee’s heartbeat should have been. Their hands shook as they clutched Whumpee’s lifeless body, a desperate denial swelling in their chest.

"No… no, no, no…" The words tumbled out in a broken litany, their tears falling freely now, soaking into Whumpee’s shirt. They pulled Whumpee closer, their grief a physical thing, a weight crushing down on them.

Caretaker rocked back and forth, holding Whumpee as if they could somehow will them back to life, as if their love alone could defy death. But there was no warmth left in Whumpee’s body, no life in their eyes.

The world around Caretaker blurred into nothing, the pain of the loss drowning out everything else. They were alone now, the only sound in the room their ragged sobs, echoing in the emptiness Whumpee had left behind.

[udaberriwrites]

A drabble for @augusnippets' day 22!

Path of Hurt - Tearful Goodbye

Fandom: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

Characters: Kim Dokja's Company (RIP), Yoo Jonghyuk

Timeline: Round ??

Rating: T, tw: major character death, manipulation

Jung Heewon dies first. Judgement Time is too powerful to leave unchecked. (He has no delusions of goodness).

Han Sooyoung is next. She's an enemy so she goes unmourned. (She reads him too well. It’s never been her privilege).

Lee Gilyoung disappears one night. Shin Yoosung is killed to prevent a disaster. (They always demand too much).

Lee Hyunsung overreaches before his attribute can awaken. Yoo Sangah consumes herself too fast (Poisonous words urge them on, every insecurity rubbed raw).

Kim Dokja mourns them all and never runs out of tears.

That’s alright.

Yoo Jonghyuk’s always there to console him.

_

Full prompt list here

AO3 collection here

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 22: recapture

tw: emotional abuse

Anakin hovers like a circling vulture as Padmé is escorted to the medical tent and examined. He questions every procedure, never letting the medic close enough to touch her until he knows exactly what the clone is going to do and how he’s going to do it. He orders more tests when the medic reports that her ankle is only mildly twisted and she’s showing no signs of hypothermia, despite Padmé’s repeated attempts to assure him that she feels perfectly fine. And when she’s discharged, he grips her by the waist, hard enough to bruise, and steers her toward the privacy of his tent.

Padmé is too numb to fight back against any of it.

Why didn’t I do anything? Her paralysis haunts her, makes stinging guilt curl tighter in her chest. Anakin’s treatment of Rex, the insinuation that the captain’s life is less valuable than anyone else’s, had been absolutely abhorrent to watch. And yet–

And yet, her body had locked up, limbs frozen and mouth clamped shut as Anakin turned his cold eyes on the man that had just saved her life, Obi-Wan’s as well. Padmé is used to Anakin’s hot-and-cold temper, the way he can praise you and berate you in the same breath, has accepted it as an unavoidable facet of their marriage. His mood swings don’t faze her (or so she tells herself).

But her brain isn’t quite able to process the realization that Anakin’s fits of passion aren’t solely hers to suffer.

Is that how she feels, being married to a man who expresses his emotions in such a volatile manner? That she’s suffering?

Her husband deposits her on the bedroll, eyes full of concern and care roving over her form.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, like the last ten times she answered yes aren’t enough proof.

Padmé humors him anyway. “I’m fine, really.”

Exhaling heavily, Anakin wraps himself around her, clings, and it feels nothing like the soft press of Obi-Wan’s body against her own. He stares at her, unbroken, like he thinks if he looks away for even a second, she’ll vanish. But unlike Rex’s protective, watchful eye, Anakin’s is hungry, possessive.

It feels a little like being caught in a web.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology is absolutely absurd. It’s placating, patronizing. Padmé tethers herself to it like a lifeline.

“I just– you know I worry,” Anakin continues. “I love you so much.”

He plants kisses across her collarbone, traces a path up her neck, and Padmé is keenly aware of the lack of butterflies in her stomach, can’t quite remember the last time she felt them with Anakin. But when he presses his lips against hers, she drags him in, crushing their lips together as if the bruising pressure could ever be enough to drown out the hollow ache in her chest.

She thinks of Obi-Wan’s accusation that Anakin’s actions were more like that of a Dark Sider than a Jedi. She thinks of dead Tusken children. And then she thinks, with a sinking feeling, that maybe she wasn’t so much caught in his web as willingly complacent to lie there and be bound.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 22

Path of Hurt Prompt; "Captivity" + "Recapture"

Day 22 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV/Whumpee: Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 498

TWs; captivity, recapture, injured, blood, trauma, PTSD, panic attack, references to torture

Drip...

Drip...

Drip... 

Lancelot listened to the curious sound, slowly opening his eyes and wrinkling his nose at the sickening stench of fear that mingled readily with the similarly heavy scents of iron and blood. The air was cold and damp.

Blood dripped steadily from his fingertips. It oozed slowly from a carving upon his left shoulder, tracing rivers of crimson down his arm before collecting between the metal shackle and his skin. So close was the metal to his sore, broken skin that the blood now pooled up and over the outside of the cuff like an overflowing dam. It offered his abraised wrist a modicum of relief. Scarlet glistened in the low light as it invariably flowed down down down, following the swell of his knuckles and the length of his fingers to splash into a coagulating puddle on the floor, steadily staining the cold ashen stone into a dirty red. 

As Lancelot's eyed adjusted to the low light he was struck with an air of... familiarity.

No, it couldn't be.

It was...

The haze of his half awake state shattered before the realisation he had just made, eyes widening in horror.

This, the very same room he had once been tortured in before, but as a boy, not a man, this, the room he knew without a shadow of a doubt had been picked on purpose to hold him, to break him. This, the place that echoed in his nightmares day after day, the same sight, the same scents, even the sounds were achingly, hauntingly familiar.  

His own, shuddering breaths. The incessant sound of blood splattering across the floor. The flickering of the torchlight in the brazier across from him. The awful scents, the pain of his wrists... the restricted movement, restraints bolting him upright to the slab of wood and metal he was strapped to. The thick belts across his chest, hips, and thighs. The shackles at his wrists and ankles. All of it, all of it, the Goddamn same. 

Shit. SHIT!

Lancelot struggled fiercely. Nausea, pain, desperation all swelled within him, quickly giving in to a blind panic, no longer responding to the hellish toment of his injuries so strong was his fear, battling and raging against the restraints to no avail. No matter how hard he tried it was utterly in vain. 

He felt something snap within him as the terror gave way to a soothing wave of icy numbness, it set his teeth on edge and his head spinning, his arms, legs, face even his tongue prickled and tingled like he'd been struck by lightning. 

Left alone in the dark with the biting swarm of his own panic, Lancelot found himself losing every shred of will he'd held onto so firmly. His body shook and quaked. At times he cried out, whimpering and weeping, whilst at others he laughed near maniacally from the utter absurdity of the situation he had somehow found himself in, again.

The hours stretched on and on.

Rewrote something I wrote a while ago for the main fic for today's snippet since my work has gone slightly mad and I appear to have inherited a tattoo studio, since my boss is leaving and I am the only other person here. I think I now need like twenty of those job title card things, its hectic, I'm stressed to all hell, but hey at least I don't have to worry so much about getting caught writing hardcore smut at work anymore since I have no coworkers to catch me...

Anyway... Thanks for reading as always, onto the next!

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 22 - Captivity - Ted Lasso

Roy looked after Jamie when Jamie was ill. It's only fair that he return the favour

A follow up to The Portable Heater (you'll be cold without)

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

[blinded-and-bloody]

Day 5 of @augusnippets

Prompt: Feverish Caretaking

WC: 377

Henry didn’t often see his mother.

She spent most of her time actively avoiding the two of them, her son and her husband, and Henry couldn’t blame her for either.

That meant when he awoke on his second day of fever, tucked away in the medical tent, he was surprised to open his eyes and find her sitting over his bedside.

“Mom?” His voice cracked on the word.

“Drink,” she said.

She held out a ceramic mug of hot tea. Perhaps it was a trick of the dim sunlight that filtered in, or maybe a trick of Henry’s fever, but he swore that despite his mother’s harsh words her eyes held a flint of genuine worry.

With his shaking, exhausted hands, it took a moment for him to sit up against the pillow enough to take the mug.

He blew on it a bit before he took a sip. It still scalded him, but the steamy vapors of the tea refreshed him while he held it close.

“It’s mint tea,” she said. She sat down on the healer’s stool next to the bed. “My own mother often made it for me when I took ill.”

“Mint?”

“It’s a plant that grows outside Oakvale. Your father finds it unsightly, doesn’t allow it… I persuaded him to let me collect it. Can’t keep the prince stuck with the healers after all.”

Henry had never heard of mint before, but even just smelling the tea gave him an amount of relief.

“It seems like a wonderful plant,” he mumbled.

The pull of the fever was going to drag him under again, he could feel it. His head was impossibly heavy, his body shivered from being too hot and too cold all at once.

His mother hummed, and took the mug from his weakening hands to put on the bedside table.

“Rest more,” she commanded. “Regain your strength. Don’t forget to finish the tea.”

Henry hummed, and his eyes fluttered shut. Before he drifted off completely, he felt a gentle hand in his blond curls, someone pushing the locks off his face.

Perhaps his mother avoided him and his father most days, but as Henry fell back asleep he knew that at least somewhere within her, she held love for him.