#augusnippets day 23

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 23

massage/wiping away tears/gentle touch

Conditioned Whumpee, BBU-adjacent, pet whump, nudity, drug mention

Written tired, not proofread

°

Caretaker walked into the back of the facility slowly, eyes scanning the kennels lining the walls. He shivered, put off by the conditions these people were kept in.

Humans were in each kennel, stripped naked save for a collar. They ranged in age and appearance, each of the "pets" having a sheet with all their information.

God, Caretaker hated this place. He knew it was all legal, and it was slowly becoming normalized, but the idea of human pets was disturbing.

One of the employees walked over cheerfully, holding her clipboard. "Hello, there, are you interested in adopting today?"

"Yes," Caretaker replied, voice even and level.

"Well, that's just amazing! What are you looking for today? We have a wide selection of gorgeous girls and boys ready for a new home!"

Caretaker cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing around. "Who's been here the longest?"

"Oh, Whumpee," the lady responded, starting off towards a kennel on the left wall. "Well, we brought this guy in a long time ago. He was living on the streets, addicted to dugs, poor thing." She flipped through papers on her clipboard, tapping one with a pen. "Even after extensive training, he really struggles with social interactions. That's why he's been here so long."

Caretaker looked into the cage, watching the human huddled in the corner, shaking. "I'll take him."

"We recommend a visit—"

"No need, give me the papers."

•••

Caretaker got Whumpee home, watching as the frail boy huddled on the floor. Caretaker reached down. "Hey, bud... you okay down t—"

Whumpee flinched hard, his breathing quick and panicked.

"Oh, hey, hey. It's okay." Caretaker soothed, holding his hand out.

He delicately stroked whumpee's cheek, paying attention as the boy leaned into his touch. "Its okay, baby. You're safe now, I've got you."

[whumplump]

Day 23 of @augusnippets

Prompt used: gentle touch (scheduled prompt), protective caretaker (bonus prompt)

CW: recovery, stern but protective caretaker, hurt/comfort, mentioned past captivity

Whumpee looked around, worried if someone was getting too close to them. They didn't sense anyone, but they still remained alert. A strong but soft-touch hand touched them on the shoulder. Whumpee turned around in fright, only to see that it was their best friend, with a worried expression on their face.

"Let's go," Caretaker said. Their voice had a firm tone, but at the same time, comforting, as it was exactly what Whumpee wanted to do.

The two slowly moved away from the crowd of people, careful not to bump into anyone. A woman with a friendly face stopped them.

“Are you guys okay?"

Caretaker looked at her with respect and replied to be polite, but they were very curt.

"We're fine. Excuse us."

They continued on their way, guiding Whumpee with their hands on their shoulders, leaving the woman behind. Sufficiently far away, Whumpee began to speak.

“How did you know I wanted to leave?"

"I know you, silly. I know how anxious you get around other people. I'm not stupid."

The two exchanged a sincere laugh. Whumpee had a genuine smile that they hadn't had in a long time since they were freed from their confinement.

“...Thank you.”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 23: Massage

cw: chronic/phantom pain

Wildefire Masterlist

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 516

=~=~=

He was quiet this morning. Not the usual Lex quiet either; brooding or just comfortable in silence. It was something focused, intense despite the lack of sound, and Sarah was pretty sure she knew what that meant.

“Hey. You okay?”

A nod, a little too jerky. She could hear his heart racing beneath layers of clenched muscle, see the sweat start to bead at his forehead, the faraway look in his eyes.

“Tylenol?” she asked.

“Took some already.”

After the first bout of phantom pains she'd seen, She’d made sure his bathroom was well-stocked. What else could help? A heat compress? Or would that feel like a whole lot of nothing, given his powers? She bit her lip. Taking off the cybernetics would probably do something, but she knew they were a source of security for him. The only time she'd seen him without them was after the river, and he'd woken up in a panic. Still, when she looked closer, the skin around the metal looked irritated.

“Do you think taking off your arms would help?”

Unsurprisingly, he shook his head. “No.”

“Not even for a little while?”

“Can't.”

“You know you're safe here—”

“Can't,” he repeated, then added, voice nearly a whisper, “Not… not like this.”

Okay. She could work with that. Maybe once he was in a better headspace they could get a look at the skin under the metal… Fuck, they should probably find some… silicon sleeves or whatever. Those were a thing, right? She didn't know how she'd find someone who specialized in that and wouldn't turn him over to Fox, but she'd sure as fuck try. In the meantime…

“Is it okay if I touch you?” She didn't expect a yes, but after a moment, Lex nodded.

“I'm gonna be behind you, okay? You can tell me to stop at any time.” Another nod, and Sarah moved into place. Her hands were slow to lay on his shoulders, hearing intensifying to listen to his heart.

Slowly, gently, Sarah began to massage his left shoulder, kneading her fingers as close to the metal of his cybernetics as she could.

A soft exhale slipped out of Lex, so loud compared to his heartbeat that it almost made her jump.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah. That's…”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

She moved to the other side. Her hands were already getting a little tired, but she tuned them out.

“If you're comfortable with it, I can do this without the prosthetics on sometime. Might be more effective.”

He nodded against her. “Now?”

“Now?” she repeated.

“Just… one at a time.”

“Yeah.” She stepped back, giving him space to access the mechanism that would release his left arm, extending her own hand to help catch it and lower it to the couch. The scars underneath were thick and uneven, the skin around them reddened. She'd have to be gentle.

He shifted as her fingers grazed the residual limb, eyes drifting closed as she began to knead the tense area. 

Little by little, he relaxed against her.

Little by little, his heartbeat slowed down.

[evilwriter37]

Blurred

Augusnippets Day 23

Wiping Away Tears/Gentle Touch

Rated: general

Warnings: none

------

“Astrid, I promise it’ll be okay,” Hiccup said. He kissed her on the top of her head, and Astrid let out a choked sob.

They were at Gothi’s because of Astrid’s eyesight. In the past few months, it had started declining. She could hardly see things that were ten feet away, now.

Gothi had said it was from the time she’d been blinded by the lightning. It had left lasting damage, and now her vision was going. It was only a matter of time before she went completely blind.

A sob clawed itself up Astrid’s throat. She was trying so hard not to cry, but she’d just been told she was going blind. If she was allowed to cry over anything, couldn’t it be that? 

“How, Hiccup?” she asked. “How?”

Hiccup cupped her cheek, wiped some of her tears away with  his thumb, and she leaned into his touch desperately, as if it would fix all this.

“Because I’m going to help you,” Hiccup told her softly. “We’re all going to help you.” He gave her a thin smile. “Besides, you’re Astrid Hofferson for gods’ sakes! You’ve got this.”

Astrid took Hiccup’s hand, still leaning into his touch. She could see his face clearly, this close up, and she was afraid of the day when she wouldn’t be able to. 

So, she drank in his touch and his features, even though her sight was blurred by tears.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Gentle

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

A gentle touch is all Prince Elze'ith needs.

For @augusnippets Day 23: Gentle Touch

Contains: Royalty, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort

~~~

“Are you alright, my prince?”

Was he? Elze’ith was shaking. Part of him wanted to hide away until an eon had passed and no one remained knew him. He felt afraid. And yet, he had no reason to be. Lord Denholm was his betrothed; they were to be partners, to unite their kingdoms and bring peace and prosperity. With that came certain obligations, duties that Elze’ith had long understood, even if he did not care for them. So why did Lord Denholm leave him wanting to crawl out of his skin?

“Prince Elze’ith?”

He startled at Altair’s voice, gentle and careful though it was. The concern in his knight’s eyes made his heart twist, even as he forced a smile.

“I am alright, Sir Altair. You need not worry about me.”

“My prince.”

Slowly, giving Elze’ith time to pull away, Altair took his hand. Elze’ith found himself grateful for the touch, even as he wished to take both of their gloves off, so that he might feel the warmth of Altair’s hands.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Altair squeezed Elze’ith’s hand, ever so gently, as he bent to kiss his knuckles. The tenderness in the gesture was punctuated by the certainty in his voice as he looked up at his prince. “Anyone.”

Elze’ith’s face softened, his smile becoming just a bit more genuine. “Thank you, my knight. I know you will.”

Luckily, they were alone, so no one had to see how long their hands remained joined as the apprehension slowly left Elze’ith’s blood.

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Twenty-Three

Chosen Prompt: Wiping Away Tears

CW: Past violence, past captivity, implied past non-con

In the dead of night, Whumpee staggers out of the bedroom with the ghost of his nightmare still clinging to him. It feels like an infected wound at his centre, thrumming beneath his sternum, aching. He moves through the hallway, muscles taut from lurching awake. He steps into the lounge, throat raw from his ragged breathing. His eyes draw instantly to Caretaker’s form, hunched over at the kitchen table, elbows on the granite, tired face aglow in the light of the laptop screen. He taps at the mousepad twice before Whumpee sniffles, and the cocoon of the silence is pierced.

Caretaker startles, soft gasp at the back of his throat. His gaze snaps to Whumpee, body poised swiftly with tension. It’s like that a lot since Whumpee was rescued; the two of them ready to fight at the merest shifting of shadows. Whumpee longs to reassure him, but he’s out here for a reason and his pulse thuds, laced with a dread so heady it dizzies him. He can’t even bring himself to smile, worries his lip instead. At the sight of him, his sleepwear oversized from the stress related weight loss, his arms wrapped around his slim frame, Caretaker gently sighs. The tension eases from his frame, and slips from the kitchen stool to slowly cross the room.

“Sweetheart,” he says. His bare feet pad across the dark wood, a sound so soft and domestic that it only worsens the ache in Whumpee’s chest, sends the teeth of his terror deeper towards his bones. Caretaker hesitates then, ten feet between them as he ducks down to catch Whumpee’s gaze, rises to full height to draw it up with him. “You can’t sleep?”

“Are you coming to bed?” Whumpee asks. Caretaker scrubs a hand down his face. When he looks at Whumpee again his eyes are heavy with fatigue, blooming with worry so physical it might as well alter their colour. He’s visibly troubled, and it’s all because of Whumpee. Three days spent in the presence of evil and Whumpee isn’t the only one changed. Three days spent thinking his lover was dead, and Caretaker is different too. The ghosts in Whumpee’s dreams follow him into wakefulness, slip out into the shadows that crowd the corners of their apartment, seeping under Caretaker’s skin just the same, drawing into his lungs with each breath.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes. “I was just…doing some research.”

“Into what?” Whumpee mumbles. Caretaker shifts through the distance between them, reaches slowly for Whumpee’s hand.

“Into therapists,” he answers, squeezes Whumpee’s hand.

“Oh,” says Whumpee, squeezing back even as his eyes drift from Caretaker’s face to the slow rise and fall of his chest. “Okay.”

“It can wait now,” Caretaker tells him. “Did you have a…a nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it, love?”

The question is a door drawing open between them. The thought sends him hurtling backwards in time — tied up in that farmland shed, torchlight finding his scantly clad body as the door creaks slowly open. It illuminates him where he waits in his terror, slung from the ceiling by a meat hook, by handcuffs that limit his blood flow. The memory stands like a barrier between them, like a wall over which he can no longer see Caretaker. His selectivity on what happened to him in that place feels less like free will now, feels more like deliberate suffocation. It feels like Whumper’s hand over his mouth when the beating was finally over, blood and freshly broken bones ignored, one leg hiked painfully up.

Whumpee’s eyes well suddenly, the burn of their wetness so stark that it aches. His breath stutters. He’s been home for two days now and his body is taxing him, taking physical recompense for his secret. There’s an ulcer throbbing dully at the inside of his cheek, low enough on the left that it catches his bottom teeth sharply, sore enough that it’s too hard to eat. His stomach aches from morning to night, a counterpart brewing inside of him. The tears blur his vision and it feels like restraint. He pulls his hand free of Caretaker’s grip, presses the heel of it hard to his eye. He wipes his left eye roughly, grinding the heel of his palm without mercy, desperate to clear up his vision. All the while his chest heaves, his free hand shakes, and he wishes there was nothing to tell Caretaker.

“Hey,” breathes Caretaker. “Hey, sweetheart, wait. Shh, hey.”

He touches his fingertips to Whumpee’s hand, guides it slowly away from his face.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he tells him, voice as soft as the touch that follow, as the fingertips that touch Whumpee’s cheek. “Let me.”

And he does. Whumpee’s tears have turned closer to sobs, hiccuping gasps as Caretaker leans in close. His uses the edge of his delicate thumbs, skating his touch upwards along the length of Whumpee’s cheeks. He gathers the tears on his skin as Whumpee watches, Caretaker’s warm and worried gaze shifting from one side of his face to the other. He’s watchful and diligent, committed to the task of wiping his tears. Beyond the tall windows of their sixth storey apartment, the moon eases outward from beyond darkened clouds, full and round and almost orange. He remembers tracking the moonlight in that shed, its paleness shifting over the concrete for hours, rescinding as the sun rose in its wake. The days — the three he spent in that place — were always easier than the nights, as if even someone like Whumper couldn’t bring himself to abuse him then step into sunlight.

“There’s something I haven’t told you yet,” Whumpee whispers. He says it like an apology, and maybe it is. It’s born of shame — a painful infection inside him — and it comes from the guilt at his silence. Caretaker stays close to him, keeps his hands pressed softly to his face. “It’s not because I don’t trust you. I…I promise it’s not. But I have to tell you now. I can’t…I have to—“

“Shh,” Caretaker soothes. “You can tell me anything, sweetheart. Nothing you can say will make me love you any less, or think of you any differently, okay? You’re my light. That’s never changing.”

“Okay,” Whumpee whispers, then swallows hard, worries his lip for a moment longer. Caretaker brushes his thumbs over his cheeks as though Whumpee is still crying. And maybe he is, his eyes still aching. Right now he can’t imagine ever stopping.

He draws a deep and shuddering breath, and opens his mouth to tell Caretaker the truth.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[angstyaches]

Augusnippets Day 23

Prompt: Massage, requested by @writing-whump

OCs: Elliott and Felix

Word Count: 497

CW: vampire whump, supernatural abilities, loss of control, anxiety.

___

“Oh, gosh, what was that?” 

Elliott cleared his throat and glanced towards Felix as though he were surprised. “What was what, boo?” 

A sulk played on Felix’s lips. He kept his eyes trained on Elliott’s face, but reached across the duvet to take Elliott’s right hand in both of his.  

“Darling, do not play coy with me. Your arm disappeared,” Felix said incredulously, gliding gentle fingers up Elliott’s arm, “all the way up to your elbow.” 

“It did not,” Elliott half-chuckled. “It turned into a swarm of incorporeal bats.” 

“Did you intend for your entire forearm to dissipate into a swarm of gosh-darned ghost bats for no apparent reason?” 

Elliott had been dead set on downplaying the whole thing, to keep Felix from getting worked up and anxious right as he was supposed to start getting some sleep, but the light touches to the soft underside of his arm sent tingles through Elliott’s skin and down into his muscles, loosening a tension in his core that he hadn’t even registered.  

“Not exactly, no.” 

Felix looked up at him now, with wide eyes full of concern. “Has it been getting progressively worse?” 

An amused smile rose to Elliott’s lips. He sank further onto the bed, careful not to shake his arm free of Felix’s hands. “It’s not a sickness, Fee. Not some... unknown affliction. It’s my ability, and it’s new, and I just need more time to learn to control it.” 

“Well, that’s all fine and dandy,” Felix muttered. He clutched Elliott’s forearm with both hands now, clutching as though he could keep it from transforming again. He began working his fingertips into the flesh, perhaps to try to displace some of his anxiety. “But you must understand that it is distressing, to say the least, when parts of you begin disappearing before my very eyes.” 

“Technically, not disappearing,” Elliott corrected him again. 

“Technicalities and ghost bats aside, darling, I am voicing my worries! Specifically, my worry that you don’t worry enough about yourself –” 

“Why would I worry?” Elliott reached across his own torso with his left hand, his free one, and placed a hand on the top of Felix’s head. Felix grunted, and then moaned softly as Elliott ruffled his mint-green hair. “When I have you worrying enough for the both of us, and then some?” 

Felix pulled an adorable little scowl. His fingers continued to press on his arm, moving in little spirals that felt as though they were rousing nerve endings that had been sleeping forever. Elliott’s arm suddenly felt very much like his arm, and it concerned him that he could have previously felt otherwise. 

“Mmm. Jesus,” Elliott sighed, letting his left arm drop again and relaxing against his pillow. “That feels incredible, Fee.” 

“This?” Felix pointedly pressed a little harder. 

“Yes.” 

“Is your arm hurting?” 

Elliott shook his head. “When you are training to become incorporeal, it’s nice to be... reassured that you are, in fact...” 

“Corporeal?” 

“Real,” Elliott whispered. “This feels real.” 

___

@augusnippets

[udaberriwrites]

A double drabble for @augusnippets' day 23!

Path of Comfort - Wiping away tears/Gentle touch

Fandom: Scum Villain's Self-Saving System

Characters: Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan

Timeline: Immortal Alliance Conference - (altered) canon

Rating: G

It's over.

Shen Yuan falls to his knees. The ground gradually stops shaking, the last echoes of the Abyss quiet down and the qi storm clears. Xiu Zheng slips from his numb fingers as he watches a few demonic beasts scuttle away from the destruction.

Luo Binghe lays unconscious by the treeline, his demonic seal unbroken.

The System is silent.

The sun shines over their heads, dispelling the weight of several decades of fear and failure from his heart. Tears flow down his cheeks, but he’s too overwhelmed to care.

Jiu-ge finds him of course. His brother —who’s seen as a prickly scholar but not a lecher, a distemperate man instead of a villain— wipes the tears away. His fingers are warm, calloused from music and swordplay and still attached.

He buries his face in his brother’s neck, holding onto his robes like he’d done back when he realized where he was reborn.

"...A-Yuan?” Shen Jiu awkwardly settles a hand on the back of his head. His body is trembling as he physically bites back his questions, but Shen Yuan is too choked up to speak.

I did it. I changed it.

The future isn't perfect, but it’s here at last.

_

Full prompt list here

AO3 collection here

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 23: wiping away tears

tw: self-depreciation, implied physical abuse, implied amputation

That’s not true, Obi-Wan wants to say. He remembers the dream, the burning pyres and yellow eyes, the truth the Force had been trying to show him. The little boy and the broken promise.

The horrific abuse Rex suffered at the hands of Anakin, has probably been suffering for years, is a result of Obi-Wan’s abysmal teaching, he realizes that now. He wasn’t prepared to take on a padawan, but he’d promised his master. In the end, he’d ruined not only Anakin’s life, but Rex’s and Padmé’s and the life of every clone under his former padawan’s command.

Rex is still distant, an ocean of bedsheets between them, and Obi-Wan can’t blame him for staying away. He’s still staring, though, piercing golden-brown eyes boring into Obi-Wan’s soul with an intensity that makes him shudder, look away.

There’s an slow intake of breath, and he braces for whatever gutting remark Rex is going to say next–

The tent flap whips aside, Padmé streaking through the opening in a whirlwind of emotions. Her hair is mussed, strands cascading from the loose topknot, and she’s breathing heavily, gasping for breath in a way that strikes Obi-Wan as unnatural, even if she had been running.

As if she barely has the energy to hold herself up anymore, she stumbles. Rex catches her by the shoulders, helps her down onto the edge of the bed.

“What happened?” he asks, one hand already drifting toward his pistol.

“Anakin,” she gasps, and Obi-Wan’s blood runs cold. “He just snapped– I couldn’t–”

There’s a faint ring of bruises around her neck. Rex notices it, too, if the way his gaze hardens is any indication.

Breaths hitching, body trembling, the last shred of composure seems to slip from Padmé’s grasp. Silent tears begin sliding down her face, and Obi-Wan’s heart clenches knowing he’s the one who let it get this far, who never paid enough attention to how far Anakin was falling until it was too late.

With a desperate desire to fix something, he reaches out to rest a hand on her face, but stops short. It hits him that he has no fingers to wipe her tears away with, and isn’t that just karmically ironic?

Before he can drop his hand, Rex grabs it, guides it to her cheek. Resting his own hand atop Obi-Wan’s so that his fingers align with his stumps, he swipes a careful thumb across the tear spilling from her eye. Padmé shudders, leans into the touch, into Obi-Wan’s heavily bandaged palm. The gesture doesn’t stop the tears from flowing, but none of them expect it to.

Dragging her closer, Rex slots Padmé into the space between himself and Obi-Wan. The three of them sit together for a moment, limbs tangled and hearts beating in sync, letting each others’ weight ground them. It feels… right.

“It’s alright.” Rex’s voice, rough, breaks the silence. “You’re–”

Safe now. That’s what he wants to say. But how can they promise that when Anakin is only a couple of tents away?

[when-jaguars-are-sick]

Augusnippets Day 23: Wiping Away Tears - Alix

Alix frowns at the painting in front of them, embarrassed to feel tears pricking their eyes.

He’s been working on this piece all morning, and just can’t seem to get the lighting right. None of the shading is the right shade, and it’s warping the shape of the piece.

For a few hours of work, he has almost nothing to show for it, and it’s frustrating him to no end.

It doesn't help that their stomach has been squeezing uncomfortably all morning.

Annoyed, they drop their paintbrush in a pot of water, glance around quickly to make sure all their paints are all closed, and their brushes are all in water before they hurry from the room in a huff.

He's about to flop on the couch, but he hears a sharp “Wait!”

Jayden hurries over to him from his desk in the corner, and he unties his apron, gently pulling it off his head, and setting it aside. After a moment Alix feels a wet cloth swipe across his face, then gently over his hands, Jayden frowning slightly as he makes sure all the wet paint is removed.

Finally he steps back, and allows Alix to faceplant on the couch.

Alix hears him crouch down next to his head, but still startles when he feels his hand running through his hair. He shivers slightly, as Jayden gently pulls the elastic from his hair, and starts threading his fingers through the strands.

Alix feels tears start to slip from his eyes, and he’s startled to find he can’t control it at all. It’s weird that he’s so emotional over this painting; usually he’s able to work through the challenges, and sometimes he even relishes them. Why today is so different, he doesn’t understand.

That is, until Jayden gently says “Lex, love, I think you’ve got a fever. You're feeling pretty warm.”

Oh, that actually makes a lot of sense. And it explains why his stomach's been bothering him too.

 “Oh,” he says softly, turning over on the couch, until he can press his face into Jayden’s stomach instead, whose fingers run softly across his face, smoothing his frown. Jayden leans over and kisses his forehead carefully when he feels Alix’s tears soaking into his shirt.

“How about you take a break from your piece for the rest of the day. Maybe it’ll be easier tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”

Alix smiles at the care in Jayden’s words, and the tears slow. He sniffles pitifully, and Jayden gently swipes away the tears, watching Alix carefully for any changes in his comfort.

Alix’s stomach grumbles slightly, and he winces, sitting up, and leaning into Jayden’s embrace.

“Jay, I don’t feel good.”

Jayden buries a smile in his hair, as he whispers “I know love, I’m sorry.”

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 23 @augusnippets - prompt : gentle touch

83 tends to 84s wounds

CW: injuries, aftermath of torture, medical setting.

Asset 84 Master list

Complex 27 masterlist

The clinical surroundings of the medical wing seemed colder than usual as 83 moved carefully, gathering supplies. The sterile smell of antiseptic permeated the air, mixing with the faint, metallic scent of blood that clung to 84's battered form. Some degree of medical skill had been part of Sam's training—as with all odd-numbered assets—but it was intended to be for field treatment, not… this.

They were almost certain that what they were about to do would be against the rules, against protocol, but they couldn't just leave 84 in this state. Their back was raw and bleeding, a crisscross of welts and torn flesh.

The harsh, white light of the medical wing illuminated every cut, every bruise, casting stark shadows on 84’s back. Sam took a deep breath, steadying themselves as they began to clean the wounds. As the antiseptic met torn flesh, 84 flinched, a low, pained sound escaping their lips.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, taking another breath to steady their hands before continuing.

84’s body shook slightly with each touch, but they didn’t utter another word of protest. Instead, they focused on breathing deeply, trying to push through the pain.

Sam worked meticulously, their hands steady as they cleaned the wounds. “How many?” they asked quietly, their fingers moving gently over 84’s battered skin, applying antiseptic with a deliberate touch. They could see the swelling and deep cuts as they worked, each movement done with care to avoid causing more pain.

84's response was barely audible, their voice strained and filled with pain. "How many what?" they managed to ask through gritted teeth.

"How many lashes did they give you?" 83 asked, their tone steady but laced with concern.

For a moment, there was only the sound of 84’s ragged breathing. Then, almost as if the memory itself was too painful to recall, 84 whispered, "Twenty. Maybe more."

Sam's hands paused briefly, a wave of anger and sorrow threatening to overwhelm them. "They weren’t supposed to…" They didn’t finish the sentence; they knew better. Rules didn’t mean much when it came to discipline, especially as 84’s handler was Colonel Carter, who had a reputation for being particularly harsh.

The reality of their existence within the facility was a stark, relentless regime of perfection and obedience. Emotions were seen as weaknesses, humanity as a flaw to be suppressed. Any deviation from the expected norms was harshly punished. To fail, to show weakness or vulnerability, was deemed unacceptable and was met with severe reprimand.

“and they still expected you to make it to medicalon your own?” 83 asked softly, trying to mask the anger that was welling up.

84’s breath came in short, pained bursts as they lay face down on the bed, the antiseptic stinging their wounds. Their eyes were squeezed shut, fighting back tears of pain and exhaustion. They tried to focus on 83’s voice, but each touch sent waves of discomfort through their battered body.

“Yes,” 84 mumbled hoarsely. “it was… a lesson in endurance.”

83 applied a layer of salve to soothe the raw wounds, their fingers moving with as gentle a touch as they could muster. They could feel the heat radiating from 84's skin, the tremors of pain that rippled through their body with each movement.

“Endurance," Sam muttered, disbelief heavy in their voice. The cruelty of the punishment was one thing; witnessing its aftermath ignited a deeper, more visceral anger. It was a reminder of the facility’s relentless brutality

The last wound was finally dressed, and Sam took a step back, their expression a portrait of concern and unease. “You need to rest,” they said quietly, fully aware that rest would be a rare commodity in the coming hours. “I’ll stay here for a while, just in case you need anything.”

“You should go,” 84 managed, their voice a strained whisper as they winced with pain. “If they find you here—”

Sam hesitated, their eyes flickering towards the door of the medical wing, the looming threat of discovery palpable. The consequences of being caught would be severe, not just for themselves but for 84 as well. The protocols and punishments were well-known and ruthless. They knew the stakes.

With a deep, steadying breath, Sam shook their head, their resolve firm despite the gravity of the situation. “I can’t leave you like this,” they said softly, their voice laced with genuine concern.

“83,” 84’s voice, though pained, carried a note of urgency as they turned their head slightly to lock eyes with Sam. “Please, you have to leave. It’s too dangerous.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on 84’s face, reading the mix of pain and worry etched there. It was evident that 84 was more concerned for Sam’s safety than for their own suffering. The selflessness in 84’s plea was a poignant reminder of the harsh reality they lived in, where even in their suffering, they worried for others.

Taking a deep breath, Sam’s shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of their decision. The responsibility of caring for 84 was heavy, but so was the risk of remaining. They knew they had to balance their own safety with their compassion.

“I’ll go,” Sam whispered, their voice barely more than a breath. Reluctance and sorrow tinged their words as they turned toward the door.

[astaldis]

@augusnippets

Chapters: 2/4   Words: 419 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Maria Barring | Milva, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Angoulême (The Witcher), The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members (The Witcher) Additional Tags: AuguSnippets, Chronic Pain, geralt's bloody knee, regis is a good friend, Friendship, Massage, The Hansa Found Family (the Witcher), Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling

Summary: While travelling through the Sudduth valley on their journey to Stygga, Geralt's knee is making problems. Regis helps.

[angelic-writer]

The Mandela Effect - I'm Here

Day 23 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Massage/gentle touch/wiping away tears

Uses characters from FOTD and Cut Down the Altar by @moonlightsmasquerade and @missr3n3

CW: Nightmare, Referenced drowning, referenced medical whump

Sean comforts his friend June after she has a nightmare about his near death.

-------

It was unmistakable. Sean was right there, lifeless, on the floor of the boat. The others were desperately trying to revive him, shouting at him to wake up. They did everything they possibly could to keep him alive from chest compressions to shocking him. Nothing seemed to be working. He was as still as death.

The world around June was warping. She could barely see Leah and Maddie trying to comfort a soaking wet Joshua, could barely hear Dylan speaking on the radio for the rescue team to get there as soon as they could. The roaring thunder, the waves crashing against the boat, the mechanical beeps of the defibrillator - Everything blended together to make a chaotic symphony.

She could see the search and rescue officers on the boat now. Llweylyn trying his best to keep the kid alive, but his body was stubborn, not even taking a single breath.

"Time of death: 4:31 A.M."

No.

No, this can't be right.

She can't let Sean die.

She was at his side now, desperately pumping his chest, begging him to wake up. The others gathered around her, creating a barrier that no one can get through. They barely knew each other yet they displayed a camaraderie that left her speechless. She kept on trying, trying trying trying trying her hardest to get him to breathe, open his eyes, anything!!

"June..."

A voice spoke through the crowd. She can't bear to look at who spoke. If she did, it would be all over.

"June!"

The voice was getting louder now. It was becoming more recognizable.

"June!!"

June's eyes snapped open, shooting up in bed like a rocket. She looked around frantically, her voice jumbled. "W-Wha?! What the-"

A soft hand touched her arm, making her flinch. Looking to see who touched her, her fears instantly melted away. It was Sean, sitting beside her in bed, looking at her with a concerned expression. "Hey, it's okay. It's just a dream. I'm here. I'm okay."

The next thing she knew, she was hugging him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. He's here. He's here. The nightmare is over.

Sean rubbed her back, whispering comforting words into her ear. "Shh... It's okay. I'm fine now. Everything's gonna be okay." He ran his hand through her hair, humming a gentle tune. Once she had calmed down slightly, Sean wiped away her tears.

"I... I can't get that image out of my mind. Y-You were dead. The officers called it. I thought you actually..."

"I didn't, okay? I'm here now. I won't let anything come between us, okay?"

June rested her head on his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat. It was hard to believe that there was nothing last time she checked. When Joshua pulled him out, there was no pulse. Nothing that indicated life. She still shuddered at the image of the bruises dotting his chest.

Sean glided his hands on her shoulders and starting massaging them, his thumbs working to relax her tense muscles. June hummed in content as she smiled. Despite how long he was under for, he was still the same Sean she knew. Everyone called it a miracle with how fast he recovered. She wondered if someone else had a hand in his miraculous recovery.

Sean's right hand stroked her hair. "Your hair's getting a bit long. Do you want me to braid it?"

June nodded.

[autobot2001]

A Misunderstanding

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: T Warning: Talk of poor mental health. Pairing: Drift X Jamie (OC) Description: Crosshairs can't believe Drift thinks everything Jamie went through and still deals with is fate.

Day 23; @augustofwhump; Fate @augusnippets - path of comfort; wiping away tears/gentle touch

Crosshairs walks into the lounge room, seeing Drift sitting on the sectional. The TV isn’t on. He knows by Drift’s expression that Drift is thinking about something. His smile tells Crosshairs that it’s something good. “What are you thinking about?” “I’ve been thinking it’s fate how things happened—.” “Really? You think it’s fate that Jamie deals with the scrap she deals with?! That she’d rather be dead?! This is the absolute stupidest thing you’ve said!” Crosshairs walks away, disgusted. Drift stays in the lounge room a little longer before seeing if Jamie is awake.

With Jamie still asleep, Drift ponders his circumstances with Crosshairs on the couch. Hating that Crosshairs wouldn’t give him a chance to explain.

The second Jamie wakes up, she lies on the couch. Resting her head on Drift’s lap. This action has Drift thinking Jamie is not in a good mood. Crosshairs and Drift chose not to get Jamie to tell them what was wrong. Often, they know what’s wrong and would rather avoid causing Jamie to cry, but this time, Drift believes he has to get Jamie to talk to him. Exactly what he hoped to avoid happens. He sits Jamie up, moves her onto his lap, and hugs her. Judging from her tears, Drift suspects Jamie has been suppressing her emotions for a while. He knows it will be difficult to get her to calm down. Drift worries Crosshairs will ignore his message if he texts Crosshairs. Drift does what he would do to calm Jamie.

“What troubles you, Crosshairs?” Optimus asks. “Drift thinking everything Jamie has dealt with over the past twenty-three years was meant to happen. I can’t believe he thinks her mental struggle is good!” “I do not believe that is what Drift meant.”

Drift is relieved Jamie didn’t take long to calm down. “You know how much everyone cares about you,” Drift says as he wipes the tears from Jamie’s face, “we’d love to help you more. I love you.” Drift kisses Jamie. He knows she needs to eat but thinks staying in the room is a good idea. He looks to see if there are any Belvita breakfast biscuits. Drift finds the last two packages and sits back on the couch. He’s happy to hear Jamie tell him she wants tea. He knows she’ll be fine sitting here for ten minutes.

“Is she still asleep?” Drift hears Crosshairs. “No, she’s having a rough morning.” “I’m sorry. You are right, even if it sounds fragged up. Had she not faced bullying and made friends during her youth, Jamie wouldn’t have stumbled upon the ability to journey across dimensions, and our meeting wouldn’t have occurred.” “You know I hate what she deals with.” Crosshairs hugs Drift. Drift makes the tea, and the two go to their shared bedroom. Hoping Jamie will do better mentally as the day goes on.

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 14

Prompt: gifts

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

Summary:

Sometimes gift-giving ain't all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes it is. - A series of moments from Jamie's life.

Here on AO3

Age 4

Gasp! “Is this for me? Did you make this? Oh, Jamie, it’s beautiful, I love it. Come on, now, give mummy hugs.”

Age 7

“Oh, thanks baby. That looks wonderful. No, I do, I do like it! I do! Mummy’s just really tired today, I promise. Soon as the holidays are over, I’ll go back to working my normal shifts.”

Age 9

“Did you make me breakfast in bed? That’s so sweet! Thank you so much, love. …Was this by any chance the last tin of beans in the cupboard?”

Age 11

“What the hell is this? Did your mum put you up to this? Bit cheap, innit?”

Age 12

“No, of course I’d love to come to your match, Jamie. But you know with this new job I started, it’s not a good look if I ask for time off so soon.”

Age 13

“Did you think that I wouldn’t already have the new kit? Huh? You think I’m broke? Is that the kind of garbage your mother’s been filling your head with? Teaching you how to disrespect your old man?”

Age 14

“Look, junior. I know things got a bit heated between us last time I came around. Just the way it is with us men sometimes, am I right? I’m sure you said some things you regret too. But your mom and I, we’ve been talking, and I think I’ve got a shot there. Make us a proper family again. Now, what do you say you and me, we celebrate the occasion by taking ourselves a little father/son bonding trip? Ever been to Amsterdam?”

Age 15

“We can make a day of it. Get lunch, maybe go to the cinema? Oh. Oh, no, that’s all right, love. I didn’t know that you’d made plans with your friends already. Right. Right. Well, if you think you’ll be home in time for dinner-“

Age 16

“-right. Uh huh. No, I know you’re busy, love, but I was thinking. I know how stressed you’ve been lately and how hard you’ve been working. Maybe later this year, you and I can take a trip, hm? Around New Year’s? Just the two of us. Get away for a little bit before you skyrocket into superstardom.

“No, you don’t have to help pay for it any of it, Jamie-”

Age 17

“-No, I know you’ve got a match, Jamie. It doesn’t have to be this weekend. I told you, whenever you’re free-“

Age 18

“Now that you’re making money, I think it’s only fair you treat your old man to a drink.”

Age 19

“New fancy contract, and you’re telling me you can’t afford to do something nice? For your own dad? C’mon, son, I’m not asking for a Porsche here-“

Age 20

“I’m not saying you have to like him, Jamie! But Simon’s important to me, and I’d like you to actually meet him before-“

Age 21

“-lazy, uninspired, waste of fucking space on the pitch! Is it any fucking wonder that Pep’s got you warming the bench for the real players when you’re out there bottling penalties? Hey. Hey! You fucking look at me when I’m talking to you-!“

Age 22

“I know you’re still screening my calls, but I just called to thank you for the flowers. I’d ask about your birthday, but I’m sure you already have plans.”

Age 22

SMACK.

Age 23

“Oh, babes, I wish you’d told me. I already promised my mum I’d go ‘round hers for the holiday. Only she’s just moved down here, and she hasn’t been able to meet anyone yet- no, you do not want to meet her, trust me. But hey, you have fun in Spain- wait you didn’t already buy the tickets, did you?”

Age 24

“Would you look at that? City wins on my son’s birthday, and he ain’t even here to see it. All because he let some stupid yank make him soft, and now he’s too much of a pussy to stick it out when things get tough. What’s wrong, junior? Did Roy Kent calling you little bitch on TV hurt your widdle feelings? Huh? You gonna cry? You gonna cry about it?-”

[“Dad”]: Don’t you fucking hang up on me

[“Dad”]: Jesus Christ, no need to be so sensitive

[“Dad”]: Did you sort my tickets for the next match?

Age 24

“Yeah, but, you know, some folks might also consider that buying affection, you know.”

Age 24

“Jamie? Oh… we didn’t expect you to call. No, it’s fine, we aren’t going anywhere; Simon’s tinkering around in the kitchen… You tried them? Really. That’s- ahem, of course. Of course I’ll let him know.

“SIMON! Jamie tried your gluten free lemon pound cake! He said it was ‘fucking tasty’! His words!

“Jam, Simon would like to know what your nutrition guidelines say about – love, is this a list?”

Age 24

[Isaac]: Alright, everyone. Jamie’s birthday is coming up, so it’s time to start making plans.

[Sam]: Did you remember to remove Jamie from the group chat before you sent the text?

[Isaac]: Shit

Age 25

“...and this is going to sound so weird, but I promise I am not a stalker. I��m Roy’s sister. Yes, that Roy. Uh, you may be aware that he has a niece – Phoebe, yes – and she has something important she would like to ask you.”

“Hi Jamie! It’s Phoebe! Would you like to come celebrate Uncle’s Day with us?”

Age 25

“I love it.”

[whumplump]

Augusnippets works Masterlist

Doing this just to be organized.

Path of HURT:

Day 1 - Gaslighting

Day 4 - Vivisection

Day 7 - Drowning

Day 10 - Execution / begging for mercy

Day 13 - Drugging, poisoning

Day 16 - Humiliation, conditioning

Day 19 - Collared, branded

Day 22 - Captivity, recapture

Day 25 - Intimate whumper, stalked

Day 28 - Mind control, body control

Path of COMFORT:

Day 2 - Platonic bathing

Day 5 - Drunk caretaking, feverish caretaking

Day 8 - Reunion / found family / friends

Day 11 - Escape / safe and sound

Day 14 - Toys, gifts, celebration

Day 17 - Forgiveness, resolving a misunderstanding

Day 20 - Homemade meal

Day 23 - Gentle touch, protective caretaker

Day 26 (1) - Warm blanket, snuggling

Day 26 (2) - Tending to non-human Whumpee's non-human parts, phantom pains

Day 29 - First words

Path of WHUMPERLESS WHUMP:

Day 3 - Blizzard

Day 6 - Car accident / plane crash / shipwreck

Day 9 - Hypothermia, dehydration

Day 12 - Lost

Day 15 - Food poisoning / starvation / throwing up

Day 18 - Infection / self administered medicine

Day 21 - Delirium, hallucinations

Day 24 - Medical complications

Day 27 - Chronic pain

Day 30 - Self harm, addiction

Day 31 (bonus day)