#augusnippets day 19

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 19

Collared / Branded / Chipped

Captivity, pet whump, kidnapping, noncon surgery

°

Whumpee groaned, opening his eyes. He had no idea where he was or why he wasn't waking up in his own bed. All he knew was his head ached painfully, and the lights were way too bright.

"Ahh, there we are!" a man spoke cheerfully beside Whumpee, and he turned, squinting his eyes against the bright light. The man gasped softly. "Oh, I'm sorry, puppy. Are the lights too harsh. Let me get that for you."

The lights dimmed, and Whumpee could look around. The man he was speaking to was a tall, muscular man with a sweet smile. He was in a small room with a bed, stuffed animals, a mini fridge, and a large kennel.

Whumpee was lying on a metal table with the man standing over him. He seemed friendly enough, but the circumstances seemed to prove otherwise.

"Where am I..? What did you call me?" Whumpee sat up, only to be pushed back down gently.

"Just relax. You don't need to worry."

Whumpee felt a stinging in his arm, looking over to find it bandaged. "W- why is my arm—"

"I chipped you! Gotta make sure my new puppy can't run off!" Whumper grinned, lifting a collar and snaking out around his throat. "Now... let's see if we can't get you trained."

[whumplump]

Day 19 of @augusnippets

Prompts used: collared / branded

Not used: chipped

CW: pet whump, defiant whumpee, branding, collaring, burning, torture

Kneeling on the floor, with their hands and feet tied, lay a little animal in denial. Behind them, Whumper, their Master, who with one hand held a leash attached to the collar around Whumpee's neck and with the other, held a red-hot iron rod with a stamp on the end. The animal's back was destroyed, full of burns in the shape of the stamp.

"Say, Whumpee, say you're a good pet." they said for the thousandth time.

"Go to hell!"

Unsatisfied with the answer, Whumper pulled Whumpee's collar leash, bringing them closer, until their back touched the hot iron stamp. Whumpee screamed desperately. Whumper loosened their grip on the leash, giving the skittish 'animal' a few seconds of peace.

"Come on, darling, be good, be a good pet for Master and you'll get a treat."

Whumpee twisted their neck as much as they could to try and look at Whumper behind them.

"Fuck you", they scoffed.

And Whumper pulled the leash again.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Augusnippets Day 19: Branded

CW: branding (obvi), Gothic whump, winged whumpee, 2nd pov from whumper's perspective

Whumpee’s wings gleam like obsidian in the firelight. His face is hidden in shadow, partly concealed by his feathers, but you already know his expression. Fear. Trepidation. A hint of defiance, persistent despite the way you’ve treated him.

He cowers back as you crouch next to the fire.

“Please, no…you can’t do this…please don’t do this to me—”

“And why not?” you interrupt, turning to him. The tip of the red-hot brand glows like an ember between you. “You belong to me. I don’t want anyone to steal you away.”

Whumpee’s wings tremble. You watch him and see that he’s caught between fear and anger, defeat and rebellion. His eyes, his ebony feathers, all beautiful beyond price or reason. Half-angel, half-creature, whumpee stares back at you, begging silently. His bare chest is a waiting canvas.

“I’m sorry, whumpee,” you murmur, drawing close to him. “I have no choice. But I hope you will wear it well.”

With that, you lunge forward and press the brand to his skin.

An inhuman scream bursts from whumpee’s mouth. The air fills with the odor of burned flesh. You pull the brand away, revealing a perfect, red-raw symbol. Your symbol. Your creature.

Whumpee’s black wings close tightly around him, creating a shield. A broken whimper issues from beneath. You thrust the branding iron back into the fire and dart forward, prying the wings apart. You have to see it, the mark in his flesh. You have to see that he’s yours.

Whatever resistance whumpee had before has been decimated by pain. His wings come apart easily, and he looks up at you between them, his pale skin framed by swathes of gleaming black.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice rough and cracking.

“Because,” you answer, reaching out to touch his trembling feathers, “this is your new life. You belong to me now.”

@augusnippets

[sufrimientilia]

The Exchange

collared | branded | chipped @augusnippets Day 19

cw: living weapon, captivity, conditioned, noncon drugging (mentioned), see above

They discussed the matter over a generous pour of Macallan 50.

He stood in the middle of the room, naked all the way down to his toes, and somehow it was like he was the most dangerous person there. Flanked on all sides by armed guards, heavy restraints dangling from his wrists to his ankles, the uncomfortable bite guard clamped tight around his jaw. Like they couldn’t be too cautious, even with the implant and the collar and the drugs. The conditioning and the training and the torture.

“That’s what I find tricky about these… things.” Amber swirled around and around, smooth against heavy glass. “A certain level of autonomy is necessary for what they do. Some aggression and unpredictability is to be expected. Predatory instincts, if you will.”

“I’m not so sure,” the buyer reasoned back, eyeing every piece of him with close intensity. A slab of meat to be haggled over. “I can buy— what, a dozen or so of those dolls for the same price? And you’re telling me this one doesn’t even behave?”

“Our assets are designed to execute complex orders. They aren’t puppets. What you’re looking for is something designed for high-stakes operations—assassinations, sabotage, blackmail. There needs to be a fine balance when it comes to controlling a rabid animal like this. Sometimes it's best left to its own devices.” The handler gave him a keen stare. Every muscle carefully in place, eyes straight ahead. “Messy beings can be capable of such messy, messy things.”

A long moment of silence. It was nothing new, being on display like this. The buyer eyed everything but his face.

"Think of it like this. You’re investing in a unique tool. There will be an adjustment period, and if you push him too hard, too fast, you might find yourself dealing with a situation you can't control. But we can guide you through it. We’ve designed a maintenance regimen that involves regular injections and compliance protocols to keep him in line, and of course there’s the shock collar for regular at-home use.”

“And what about the implant you mentioned? Is it some sort of tracking chip?”

“Yes, in a way. The chip is our method of… quality assurance. A way to guarantee our assets stay in line.” The handler gave one big, buttery smile. The hard sell. “Nothing like it on the market, you know. We can program him to respond to certain trigger words or phrases, make him attack or shut down at the snap of a finger. We can make him dependent and loyal only to you.”

The buyer studied his face and only found more reasons to be skeptical. “How?”

“I’m afraid I’d only be able to demonstrate.”

He wasn’t sure how much he was worth in the end. Enough to make the handler quite pleased. His new handler chose some gaudy, twisted up symbol to brand him with, and he didn’t twitch or scream when white-hot metal boiled another scar into his skin. The collar made it hard enough to breathe, and this was just the first step to ownership after the initial exchange. It wasn't like it'd get better from here.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 19: Chipped

“ Newbie! How did you-”

Team Leader, who was about to rush towards Newbie, abruptly stopped on their tracks. The newest teammate had shaken their head, and their frozen, terrified attitude warned them that there was something terribly wrong. People couldn’t escape from Villain’s headquarters that easily. So they stood still too, gesturing to the others behind them to do the same, and they waited. Newbie bit their lip, seemed to think for a minute, then signed “chipped”.

If I tell you I am, they’ll kill the other prisoners.

Leader nodded briefly, then chuckled humorlessly.

“So! You thought you could come back like this? After all you’ve done?”

Newbie tilted their head, raising an eyebrow:

“I thought that escaping would more than make up for it.”

What are you doing?

Improvising, signed Leader back before scoffing out loud:

“Oh, you thought so, uh? Well, you forgot one detail: you throw yourself into danger without my orders. What does that make you, what do you think?”

Newbie stumbled on their words, and didn’t have to make much effort to sound upset:

“I’ve just come back from prison and-”

“You’re used to it, then. Put them in a cell. Maybe that will teach you proper discipline.”

Newbie nodded with pursed lips, then passed through them. Some Teammates moved to go with them.

“And no talking”, precised Leader to the others. “I want them to learn their lesson one for all.”

They watch the door closed on them. Leader sighed:

“I’m really sorry,” they said in an empty room.

*

Back to Whump/Horror Masterlist

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Nineteen

Chosen Prompt: Collared

CW: whumper POV, multiple whumpers, victim in captivity, fade to black non-con.

At the sight of the collar, Whumper’s chest swells with pride, with a sense of rightness that thrums beneath his ribs and turns his blood pleasantly warm. For the first time — of countless many, he’s certain — he presses down firmly on the remote.

The young man from the bar is not missing. The young man from the bar is right in front of him, writhing in the bed of a grey pickup truck, grabbing blindly for his own fettered throat. It’s a desperate attempt to rip off the new collar, but the sleek metal shackle will not give. He only serves to scratch himself instead, skin torn ragged by the wildness of his grasping. The rain falls like static in the dead of the night, and a burst of satisfaction blooms swiftly through Whumper. His captive is gagging, choking on his own agony as his muscles lock. His back arches. He kicks his legs out and the dull thud of his limbs against the truck bed is perfect almost rhythmic. Whumper holds the remote like a prize, his thumb pressed firmly and deliberately down, just as the seller had demonstrated. Their fingers had brushed accidentally on the plastic, a spark ghosting through him as they had — a different kind of electricity, slung low in his stomach and high on his cheeks.

The seller watches now, eyes fixed on the captive. Whumper watches the boy as well, but steals glances again at the seller. The seller lights a cigarette, casual as the boy writhes violently, his scream like that of a wounded animal. The electricity burns and aches inside him, and the heat in Whumper’s belly drifts lower.

“Suits him,” says the seller between draws. He exhales, and the smoke curls around them as if to draw them together, enveloping them here in the city’s abandoned wasteland. Whumper huffs a laugh — so giddy he’s almost lightheaded — and releases the button. The young man’s body sags at last, gone prone but for his heaving chest. He groans from the dark inside the truck, shaking with the gravity of the aftermath, of being finally left alone. He doesn’t try to get up again. He makes no attempt to fight.

“He was becoming a handful,” says Whumper. “Punched out one of my guys last night. Nearly fucking escaped.”

“Ah,” says the seller, dragging smoke into his lungs as though he prefers it to oxygen. He nods, as though he’s heard this very tale before and doesn’t mind hearing it all over again. His eyes flick to Whumper, a spark that smoulders within them. When he speaks again, his voice is low, rough from tobacco and something like hunger. Whumper swallows, wants to hit him just to touch his blood. He wants the other man to hit him first. “Well he won’t be going anywhere now.”

“Nope,” says Whumper, almost drunk on his own fantasy. He brushes his thumb over the button once more, the temptation cloying through him like hunger, like he’s been starved of this, a broken boy screaming through his actions. He wants to use this collar to condition the kid, but he knows better than to overdo it off the bat. He has to be deliberate about it, patient even. He lowers his hand to his side.

“Satisfied?” The seller asks. Whumper considers this, peers in at the bed of the truck and watches his latest toy simply breathing. He’s gasping, chest heaving. He’s muted, that spark of defiance reduced to smoldering embers, the kind that are easily stamped out. All it took was the collar, a little expert craftsmanship and a momentary expense to a smirking, striking stranger.

“Very satisfied,” Whumper breathes.

“I’ll be taking my payment now then,” the seller tells him. It’s not a question, but he doesn’t move either, eyes fixed on Whumper as he awaits his confirmation. Whumper sighs in contentment, near reverent at the alter of this master of simple torture.

“You can have one hour with him,” says Whumper, voice soft with the generosity of the offer. From inside the truck, the boy whimper in terror, shakes his head in useless protest. Whumper looks away from him, trails his gaze from the seller’s thighs all the way back up to his face. “And I get to watch.”

“Sounds fair,” says the seller, voice low, already waiting to meet his eye. His smirk is knowing, tantalising. “You need to make sure he stays a good boy for me.” He nods towards the remote in Whumper’s hand, and the two of them dissolve into breathy laughter together. It’s soft, a warmth in his chest over bonding with someone whose trade is adjacent to his own. It fills him with heat and with gratitude — desire even. He’s usually alone in these shadows. The seller climbs into the bed of the truck, and peers back at him over his shoulder. “Once more for good luck?”

Whumper grins so widely it aches. There’s something about the seller, whose name he hasn’t even been told. The spark in his eyes alights something in Whumper. He has the momentary thought of climbing in alongside him, but decides the first purchase is too soon for such intimacy. Instead, he presses down hard on the button, and pretends that’s the sole reason for the change in his blood flow, for the fact that he’s semi erect. The electricity makes his captive scream. It lurches through him, turns his body rigid and taut. Whumper watches, sees the seller’s eyes fixed on that picture of agony. The seller palms himself as the man wails and chokes, grabbing once again at his own reddening throat, desperate to rip off the brand new collar.

“Rude,” says the seller, rocking his hips forward to meet his own palm. “I made that for you, boy. Especially for you.”

“He’ll apologise,” says Whumper, ceasing the flow of electricity once more. There’s something scintillating about it — summoning agony at one simple press, rescinding it with one simple motion. His captive’s body sags again, miserable and drained.

“I’m sure he will,” says the seller, setting his finger’s to the captive’s navel. The young man’s muscles jump in recoil, too weak to do anything but gasp and tremble. The seller trails his fingers right up to his throat, the captive’s whines growing higher and shakier with the ascent. By the time the seller is tracing the collar, the man in the truck bed is quietly sobbing, and Whumper wonders if the seller makes anything else — handcuffs or cattle prods or something akin — if there’s any other excuse to reach out to him. His cock strains against the tight fabric of his jeans, and the young man tries his best to curl away, but he’s visibly exhausted already.

The seller grins down at the boy, shushes him as his fingers trace the collar. He shushes him as though he’s not moments away from crawling on top of him, taking payment in the form of forced intimacy. Whumper’s pulse thunders in reverence, but it stutters when the seller peers over his shoulder once more, lips wet, pupils blown. He poses Whumper one simple question, and somewhere beneath the cacophony of his longing, and the wet shucking sounds of the young man crying, Whumper knows that his life will be different now, that something crucial has shifted into place.

“Wanna play?”

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 19

collared/branded/chipped

Cut Down the Altar (not canon) TW: dehumanization, medical whump, non-human whumpee word count: 332 @augusnippets

[January 2010]

“Devil's preferred name?”

“Joshua Atkin. No middle name.”

“Date of original's birth?”

“April 4, 1988.”

“One of the younger ones, then. Date of replacement?”

“Yes, estimates will do. Um… September, 1991.”

“Birth place?”

“Nox, Iowa.”

“The town?”

“Correct.”

“Gender?”

“I’m not checking. Just tell me. Male.”

“Measurements?”

“6’3 tall. Weight is 138 pounds.”

“Hm, a little underweight… Any living relatives?”

“He… he says he isn't sure. Ah… He comes from a big family. ‘Fundie types,’ he says.”

“Emergency contacts?”

“Ms. Jessie- We're gonna need a full name. Middle name too, if she has one. Ms. Jessica Yolanda Simmons. Is she-? Okay, sorry. He doesn't want to describe their relation.”

“Fair enough. There's no need to agitate i- ah, him. Any prior medical history?”

“Is there any point in asking? I thought they regenerate.”

“Yes, but sometimes we have them on record for particularly severe injuries.”

“Okay… Um, he says he spent a week in the hospital summer 2007. What hap- Okay! Okay, he, um, doesn't want to say why.”

“That's fine. Usually, these questions are to work out possible allergies, which is not something I’ve heard of any Cael having problems with. That's the last of the questions. Seems like he's plenty healthy for the procedure.”

“Calm down, it won't hurt that much. This is just something we have to do for all Cael devils participating in the Cael Assimilation Trial. Why? If I were to guess, probably census data, tracking movement patterns, things like that. Now, tilt your head forward. What? Yes, this is a scalpel. Don't worry; if my experience with other Cael is anything to go by, you'll be healed by the time you're out the door. Yes, the chip is supposed to go under the skin. So you don't take it off obviously. Hold still please, this won't take any time at- OW!”

“Everything okay in there?”

“Damn thing bit me! You know, if you'd cooperate, we could've been done several minutes ago. Now hold still.”

[evilwriter37]

Forever and Ever

Augusnippets Day 19

Chipped

Rated: teen

Warnings: dehumanization

------

Hiccup didn’t mean to scream as the needle pierced the back of his neck. Not that it didn’t hurt of course—the needle was a wide gauge and went deep—but he was screaming more because of what it was.

A chip. A goddamned tracking chip. Like he was some kind of animal.

Viggo chuckled and withdrew the needle. He was very clearly amused by his subject’s pain and distress. He patted Hiccup on the shoulder, and there was nothing Hiccup could do but flinch. He was strapped down to the exam table on his stomach. 

“Why?” Hiccup asked in a voice choked with tears.

“Just in case you try anything clever,” Viggo told him. He flipped back Hiccup’s hair again to look at where he’d inserted the chip, as if he doubted his work.

Hiccup said nothing. He couldn’t promise anything, couldn’t say he wouldn’t try to escape. Again. One failure wasn’t enough to deter him.

But maybe this chip would. 

Viggo leaned down, his lips finding the curve of Hiccup’s ear. He rubbed over the injection sight, making Hiccup groan at the terrible ache of it.

“You’ll be mine forever, my dear Hiccup.”

Hiccup just kept his mouth shut tight. No point in being defiant right now. How could he when he felt like his chest was going to burst from all the turmoil and emotion within him?

No one could argue against it now. Hiccup was property of Viggo Grimborn.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Choker

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

So @crash-bump-bring-the-whump suggested I do both Collared AND Branded for today's @augusnippets fill. While I don't think this is something Lord Denholm would actually do, it's a very fun space to play in.

Contains: Captivity, branding, collars, elements of dehumanization, magic, vampires

~~~

Elze’ith was used to pain in his neck. It was a constant companion for him, a familiar anchor that he had learned well how to carry. While he couldn’t say he found it pleasant, he at least could bear it with little issue.

This was so much worse than he ever could have imagined.

The process took an eternity, with little opportunity for reprieve. Elze’ith lost count of the number of times the hot metal was pressed into his neck, had no idea when his screams had gone silent. No skin was left untouched; fresh wounds were burned over again and again with new brands, new designs, new magic. Elze’ith was certain it never would end, that this would be his eternity, just him and the fire replacing the hollow ache he had come to almost respect.

Later, he would trace the still-tender welts, feel the intricate designs and delicate runes that had been burned into his skin, wonder what they looked like across his neck and what spells Lord Denholm had incanted into them. Right now, in this moment, the pain of each design melted into the next, until his neck was just an indistinguishable blaze of agony.

One thing, though, was certain. He was claimed, undeniably and inescapably. Bound to Lord Denholm for all eternity, a collar he could never take off, a wound he could never heal. All he could do was pray for the slightest bit of relief he knew in his heart would never truly come.

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 19 @augusnippets - prompt : Branded

84 gains their brand. Characters: 84 and Sergeant Monroe.

CW: branding, control, manipulation, condtioing, living weapon.

Asset 84 masterlist

Complex 27 master list

The acrid smell of burnt flesh lingered in the sterile white room, mingling with the antiseptic odour of disinfectant—a grim reminder of the previous asset’s session. 84 stood rigidly, their back straight and eyes fixed forward, as Sergeant Monroe prepared the branding iron.

“You understand the meaning behind this?” Monroe's voice was a low, steady growl, each word deliberate and cold. He held the branding iron in the small furnace, the tip glowing a fierce orange.

“Yes, Sergeant,” 84 replied, their voice a controlled monotone. The anticipation of pain, as always, was the hardest part. They reminded themselves of their purpose. They were a weapon. They could endure.

“Remind me,” Monroe demanded, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinised 84.

“It is a mark of loyalty, a sign of my purpose,” 84 recited, “I am 84. I am a weapon. I endure.”

Monroe’s gaze remained fixed on 84, assessing their resolve. He lifted the branding iron from the furnace, the glowing tip hissing faintly as it met the cooler air. He approached 84, the heat radiating from the iron palpable even from a distance.

“Hold out your arm,” Monroe commanded.

84 obeyed immediately, extending their arm and clenching their fist to steady it. The muscles in their arm tensed, veins standing out against their skin as they braced for the searing pain. Monroe positioned the iron just above 84’s upper arm, the intense heat causing beads of sweat to form on their skin.

“This mark,” Monroe began, “is a reminder of your place and your duty. It is not just a brand, but a symbol of who you are and who you serve.”

84’s breath came in slow, deliberate intervals, their mind focused on the words rather than the impending agony. “I understand, Sergeant,” they replied.

Monroe nodded, "When combined with your tattoo, this symbolises your loyalty and your ascension from asset to living weapon."

As Monroe pressed the branding iron against 84’s skin, the immediate, intense heat felt like an electric current searing through their flesh. A sharp hiss filled the room, followed by 84’s guttural cry of pain. The sound raw and primal, a visceral reaction to the branding iron’s relentless burn.

The agony was a blinding force, the sensation of the iron felt like molten metal embedding itself into their flesh. The searing pain radiated outward, each pulse of heat merging into a continuous, throbbing inferno. The cry that had escaped 84’s lips quickly transformed into a series of ragged breaths, each inhalation a strained effort against the excruciating burn.

Monroe's grip on the iron was steady, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he held it in place. The iron’s heat continued to bubble and darken the skin, forming a grotesque, permanent mark. The pain was a relentless assault, stretching time into an agonising test of endurance.

“Every weapon bears their mark with pride,” Monroe’s voice cut through the haze of pain, “This brand signifies your place, a reminder of your purpose and utility."

84’s breaths became shallow and controlled, the pain a suffocating wave, blurring their vision and consuming their thoughts. Through the fog of agony, they managed to choke out, “I am 84. I am a weapon.”

Monroe nodded, he released the branding iron, its red-hot tip still glowing faintly as he placed it back into the furnace. The branding iron’s heat had left a deep, charred imprint on 84’s skin—a stark contrast to the pale, untouched flesh surrounding it.

84’s arm trembled slightly as it was gently but firmly cleaned with antiseptic. The ointment provided a stinging, albeit brief, relief, the contrast amplifying the residual pain from the branding.

“Remember,” Monroe said as he secured the bandage over the brand, “this mark is not just a part of you—it defines you. The pain you feel now is temporary, but the mark will be with you forever.”

84 managed a weak nod, their face pale and a pained smile tugging at the corners of their lips despite the enduring agony.

Sergeant Monroe nodded once more before turning away. "Report to medical," he said, his tone brisk as he prepared the next branding iron. "You are dismissed."

[angelic-writer]

Running Through Your Veins - Get Up

Day 19 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Collared/branded/chipped

CW: Dehumanization, whipping, branding, blood, torture, sadistic whumper, defiant non-human whumpee, hanging

Fair warning: It gets pretty intense!

"Get up." Sebastian growled. Joshua didn't say anything. He just kept his head low, not even looking the human in the eye.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed the chain, pulling the Cael devil to his feet. The collar around his neck squeezed his airway, stealing whatever breath he tried to take in. "When will you learn to listen to me, Nameless?! How many times do I have to tell you this over and over again?!"

Joshua's response was to spit in his face. He wiped his cheek, his glare burning with hatred. "Oh, you've done it now!" He began slashing his whip at the defenseless creature, new blood splattering against old, dried blood. Joshua had lost the energy to cry, to scream - doing this only brought Sebastian twisted pleasure. What was his end goal? He wanted to kill all the devils in the world. So why keep him alive? So he can enact his twisted, violent fantasies on him?

"I know what'll make you scream." He picked up a fire poker and put it in the fireplace, waiting for the metal to turn scalding hot.

"What the fuck are you doing now?" Joshua growled.

"Just a little something. Whipping you was getting pretty boring. This... is more fun."

Soon, the metal tip of the fire poker was a glowing red. "Now, let's see how you'll react to this. Don't worry, you won't die. I'll decide when I want to stop." He pressed the poker directly onto the spot between his ribs, making him hiss in pain. He gripped his clawed hands. I won't cry. I won't cry. I won't give you the satisfaction you want.

"Hm. Strange. You're not crying. Why won't you cry?" He stabbed him with the fire poker again. "Why won't you beg?!"

"Because... You're just a pathetic human. No matter what you do, it won't get you anywhere. You achieve nothing by doing this. You could've done something for humanity, but instead, you torture me. So go ahead. Give me your worst. I've lived through it. Give it your best shot!" His speech was cut off by Sebastian hoisting him up. He looped the chain around the hook that was attached to the ceiling. He lifted Joshua from the floor, turning the collar into a makeshift noose. He clawed his hands at the collar, trying to get it off, but it was wrapped tightly around him. Drool ran down the corners of his mouth as he tried desperately to breathe. His legs kicked out under him, failing to find any good footing.

"You said I'll give you your worst? Alright, I'll do it. But first, I'll leave you like this. I need to... take care of something first."

His vision was beginning to fade as the devil hunter walked out of the room. As he fell limp in his collar, his limbs twitching, his thoughts turned to Isaac.

Izzy... Wherever you are, please help me.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 19

Path of Hurt Prompt; "Branded" + "Flashbacks"

Day 19 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV; Gawain - The Green Knight

- Whumpers; Brother Salt, unnamed Red Paladins

(Characters; Whumpees)

(Characters; Whumpers)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 531

TWs; Branding, restrained, torture, PTSD, flashbacks, burning

Gawain grit his teeth as hands clawed into his hair, dragging his face towards the burning torch. The Red Paladin who wielded it laughed cruelly, a sadistic glee glinting with the light of the fire in his brown eyes. Gawain's own widened in horror at the flames drawing closer and closer, unable to stop from crying out when the Paladin drove the torch into his face, fire licking hungrily across his skin.

"Do you know me, friend?"

No!

This pain was so specific, so severe that it set his mind just as ablaze as his cheek. Yet worse than the pain alone was the sickly sweet scent of his own flesh burning, it flooded his nose with a ravenous delight, all but suffocating him.

"Have you heard of Brother Salt, and his kitchen?"

Not again...

He fought against the men that held him as the walls came closing in...

"Let me introduce you to some of my friends..."

*No. No! This cannot be happening...*

"...God's Fingers I call 'em." Brother Salt stood now before him, holding out a hand for the brand once more. Gawain watched in horror, knowing what was to come, powerless to resist it just as he was last he had sat here, tied to this accursed chair, facing the terrible torturer of Father Carden and his Red Paladins.

"Each is named for His Archangels."

Michael, he knew already, the ache flaring within his chest of last he'd felt it's scorching touch. Gawain inhaled sharply as he eyed the glowing iron, the heat searing his face even before it could touch his skin.

"When I put Michael in the fire, he glows a beautiful white. Even I can see it."

Brother Salt's mocking sewn shut eyes seemed to weep blood from between those terrible stitches. The fervour with which he spoke lacked the hard edge Gawain remembered feeling proud of coaxing from the torturer, after so many hours under his brand and knife and tool.

"The light of truth.--"

Gawain stared up at Brother Salt, wishing beyond anything this nightmare would end, that he'd dissapear, this could not happen again, how, how could this be happening again?

"--You can only speak truth to Michael."

It's happening again...

The brand moved closer and closer to Gawain's face, and he shuddered, trying desperately to move away, gritted teeth, panting in fear, now.

Brother Salt hummed, reaching out with blind hands to stroke Gawain's hair, almost rerverently. Gawain recoiled from the touch, just as revolted as he felt the first time.

"But don't worry..." Brother Salt whispered, leaning in so close he could smell the blood and sweat of the manblood. Soft caresses turned to a harsh hold, those fingers still hooked into his hair and forcing his face still. Gawain snarled up at him, knowing those next words, that deadly promise he knew to be true...

"... You will meet them all..."

And meet them all he did.

The agony of the flames tore through him, and Arawn help him, he could not hold back his screams, he screamed until his voice gave out and he could scream no more.

"This one breaks slow..."

But oh, Gods, not slow enough...

I thought it would be interesting to write a scene directly from the show this time, this is from Episode 9 "Poisons".

As always thank you for reading, onto the next!

[diegoalvesisgod]

Chapters: 13/? Fandom: Men's Football RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sergej Milinković-Savić/Luca Pellegrini, Luca Pellegrini/Mattia Zaccagni Characters: Luca Pellegrini, Sergej Milinković-Savić, Mattia Zaccagni Additional Tags: AuguSnippets, Snippets, Blood and Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Kidnapping, Aftercare, Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Non-Consensual Drug Use Summary:

A collection of snippets for Augusnippets.

[udaberriwrites]

A drabble for @augusnippets' day 19!

Path of Hurt - Branded

Fandom: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

Characters: Kim Dokja, Yoo Jonghyuk

Timeline: ??? - First scenario, round ??

Rating: T, tw: suicide, temporary character death

I’d had hope, at first. I was a 'reader’. I finally had the power to reach for something better.

I was naïve.

He wasn't the protagonist I’d known. Eventually, it became clear that I couldn't survive Yoo Jonghyuk and remain sane.

There was only one way to escape, so I turned the knife on myself.

.

.

.

[The constellation ???? is looking at you]

No, please.

[The constellation ???? has decided]

Please, let it end.

[The constellation…

.

.

.

The door to carriage 3707 slammed open. Crazed eyes met mine. The memories sent me to my knees.

Too late I realized: even death wouldn’t free me.

_

Full prompt list here

AO3 collection here

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

cw car accident aftermath

Colin gets whiplash. The team takes the piss out of him.

Day 19 of @augusnippets - collared

Read on ao3

[autobot2001]

Hidden Danger

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warning: None Pairing: None Description: Jamie believes she is getting a cold until Crosshairs notices her throat is red and swollen. The discovery of something more serious concerns the medics and Jamie's guardians.

Day 19; @augustofwhump: mistake @augusnippets - path of hurt: chipped

When Jamie wakes up with a sore throat, she believes she is getting sick. She feels like she has a cold until the afternoon when her throat hurts more and feels like it is swelling. Crosshairs lifts her head by her chin, which Jamie finds odd. "Scrap, Drift." The two observe that Jamie's lower neck is swollen and red. Saying nothing, Crosshairs picks up Jamie, and the two mechs rush to the medbay.

The additional concern is Jamie's oxygen level is a little low. It's not an emergency, but with Jamie's lower neck being red and swollen, the medics are concerned about serious illnesses.

Because of the monitor chip's metal, an MRI is impossible. Jamie undergoes a CT scan. While the medics, Crosshairs and Drift are relieved Jamie isn't panicking, they worry about how calm she is. The medics confirm that Jamie needs surgery.

"Wow," Jolt says. The two observe that Jamie's throat is swollen and there are minor burns. They can tell the monitor chip malfunctioned. The concern is that a small amount of energon powers the chip. Ratchet takes a tissue sample to check for energon, while Jolt removes some burnt tissue. How was this not causing excruciating pain? Jolt questions. Even if this is a tiny section of her throat. "We can't put a new monitor chip in for at least two weeks," Ratchet tells Jolt, "The good news is no energon poisoning." "I know her throat needs to heal, but the risk we're taking." "We'll be fine, but I can inform Prowl that Drift will have two weeks off. Unless Jamie gets an infection in the next three days, she doesn't need to stay in the medbay. This never happened before. Why now? Add, it's been eight years since this one was out in." "I wouldn't worry about it." The two finish surgery, relieved the swelling isn't severe that they need to intubate, and move Jamie to an ICU room. Ratchet still plans on examining the malfunctioned chip.m, but for now, Jamie and her guardians are his priority. Hating the trauma Crosshairs and Drift struggle with whenever Jamie ends up in the ICU.

Ratchet assures the two worried guardians she'll be okay and mentions that he's keeping her in the ICU for three days before discharging her. The two guardians worry about the delay in putting a new monitor chip in but understand Jamie's throat needs to heal. They hope Ratchet can determine what occurred and if it's preventable. They wonder if their mistake was missing signs of the chip malfunctioning. Hoping the delay in putting a new one in doesn't turn into a mistake, but it's been years since the emergency system had to kick in. They sit by the bed. Jamie is on a little oxygen via a venturi mask. They wait for her to wake up. Ratchet suspects Jamie will feel as humans do after getting their tonsils removed, and recovery shouldn't be any different except that Jamie will need another surgery.