#Augusnippets day 10

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 10

execution/ fake execution/ begging for mercy

Captivity, pet whump, threat of murder, begging, guilt.

°

Whumpee screamed through a cloth gag, pulling at their bonds desperately. Strapped to a table, they were helpless to their own fate. Whumper stood above them, a knife gripped in his hands. Caretaker was chained to the wall in front of the two, forced to watch what was happening.

"Caretaker," Whumper said calmly. "I told you enough times that your disobedience will have consequences. It's time I showed you I'm not playing around anymore.

Caretaker yanked at their chains, eyes brimming with tears. "Fuck you! Let them go," they cried, kicking and trying to free themself.

Whumper cut Whumpee's shirt off slowly, exposing their chest. He tapped the tip against Whumpee's skin. "I'll try and make it fast, beautiful. It's a shame you have to die... you were always my favorite."

Caretaker was in a panic, tears spilling past their cheeks. "No, no! Let them go, p- please, they did nothing wrong!"

Whumper paused, smirking. "Then who did?"

"I did!" Caretaker cried, gripping their own hair. "It's my fault I was bad, I'm sorry! I won't misbehave anymore, just please don't hurt them!"

Whumpee looked pleadingly up at Whumper, whining through the gag. Fear coursed through every inch of their body, causing them to shake and tremble. "Mmph, mnph!"

The knife raised into the air dreadfully slow, aimed at Whumpee's heart.

Caretaker was practically in hysterics, shaking their head. "No, sir, please! Master! I'll be so good, I'll be the perfect pet for you—!"

Whumper grinned down at Caretaker, slamming the knife down.

Whumpee flinched, expecting the sharp, intense pain of the knife. Instead, they were met with a loud thunk beside their ear as the knife plunged into the wooden table beside them.

Whumper glared at Caretaker. "That's more like it. Keep it up, and I won't have to take it any further. Whumpee lives for today."

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 10 – Begging for mercy

“But I’ve already made Hero beg for mercy,” complained Villain. “It was dull.”

Supervillain looked at their employee above their cup of tea, and slowly shook their head.

“You thought you did,” they said. “But how did you do it?”

“I’ve threatened to kill Sidekick, of course. Works every time. It’s not hard.”

Supervillain frowned, then grabbed the honey and poured a little more of it in their drink.

“That’s your problem. If they beg for someone else, that makes it noble. That’s not the same at all than when you make them beg for their own life. Then, you truly have them in your grasp. Then, you’re sure they have broken. Do you understand?”

Villain shrugged, annoyed:

“I think I do, yes. But I don’t know how. They’re pretty prideful. It’s gonna take so much time, and well, I have better things to do.”

“That’s the problem with a side hustle,” agreed Supervillain, taking a sugar roll. “In our time, we just can’t spend our days torturing people like we used to. Fortunately, you don’t have to do it.”

“Really? But I thought-”

“Do you want a sugar roll? They’re really good.”

“No offense boss, but after you poisoned Henchman 1, 2 and 3 with them, I’d rather not.”

“None taken. I salute your vigilance.”

Supervillain took a bite and waved their hand:

“Anyway, people always say that torture is refined. Actually, it’s very simple. Lock your Hero away in a cell and use the “3 No” rule.”

They raised three fingers:

“No food, no human contact, no light. If really they’re as tough as you said, add loud noises blaring at random intervals. Sleep deprivation does wonders. Do whatever you need to do and come back to see them in a couple of days. If they don’t beg, rinse and repeat.”

“You are so learned!”

“I’m good at what I do, Villain. And you’ll be, too, I believe in you. Go- have some fun.”

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[re-whump]

Augusnippets Day 10 - False Execution

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

A turned hunter was a failure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sufrimientilia]

Harvest

execution | fake execution | begging for mercy @augusnippets Day 10

cw: medical whump, lethal injection, see above

He awoke with all his limbs stretched out over hard cold metal. The air was so cold his breath fogged and melted against the harsh light suspended right above him, and he was entirely naked. Metal clicked and clinked when he started shaking, his wrists and ankles restrained. He tried to turn his head but a leather strap was pinned tight across his brow.

The smell of medical soap was so strong his nostrils might as well have been sterile. His eyes wildly shot around, trying to see everything or anything and only catching harsh fluorescent glares and smooth reflective metal in his periphery. This didn’t look like the usual operating theater, crawling with nurses and researchers and too many monitors tracking every part of him. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. Panic mounted in his chest. “Wh… where…”

“Subject MH-248.” He jerked at the voice, some whitecoat with a clear plastic face mask moving to loom at his side. He could hear latex squelching around glass. “You’ve been slated for repurposing. The procedure won’t take long; just relax.”

The whitecoat had gloves on, and they were preparing some sort of vial by giving it a gentle shake and wiping an alcohol pad over the top. Over and over again. Milky liquid sloshed around and around, and then the vial slipped easily into the reservoir of some sort of infusion machine hanging right overhead. It had three ports, and the middle one already held a big capsule of what must’ve been saline. The whitecoat moved to grab a third vial.

“Re… purposing?” he asked. Everything was behind a fine mist, even the cold biting at his skin. Numb despite the anxiety coiling deep within him. He weakly pulled at his restraints and felt the two IVs already inserted in each arm.

“It’s a transitionary procedure. Moving on to a new phase as a subject.” Another vial in the corner of his eye, this one filled with an oily blue liquid. The whitecoat carefully inserted a syringe and added a few milliliters of something else. “You have been scheduled for Harvest.”

His eyes widened. He knew what that was; all the subjects knew. The Harvest was the final, inevitable phase of their stay in the facility. “W-… wait…”

The whitecoat wiped the top of the vial with alcohol, again and again, and inserted it into the last reservoir. The infusion machine gave a mechanical click.

“Stop… stop. Please— just wait, wait.”

“Stay still now.” The infusion machine whirred to life at the press of a button. It was like something started spinning on the inside, churning and churning until the milky liquid traveled down the line.

Down the line, through two tubes, and into each arm.

“Please, please stop! I’m a good subject, I’m still useful, I'll behave—” He jerked at the crash of warmth, a sickly feeling through his veins. Like the liquid was molasses and just too thick to mix with his blood. Too thick and heavy, numbing and tingling under his skin, flooding through him all at once. “I’ll be… I’ll be better, ‘m… I’m still…”

“You’ll still be useful, yes,” the whitecoat assured him. “You're a good subject, and the Harvest fulfills many uses here at the Facility. But your last wishes are noted. Thank you for your willing contribution.”

“N-Nnno…” He lost control of his tongue, slipping uselessly behind dumb lips and a thick pool of saliva. Heavy, heavy, heavy, like everything else that sunk and throbbed under the same syrup haze. “Pl’sss.”

The infusion machine clicked and whirred again. The lines cleared with saline, cool and refreshing, but it just made the world blur and blur even more. The molasses pushed through his core.

“Mm… nnngghh…” He was so scared he must’ve pissed himself. Or maybe it was just the drug, paralyzing all of him piece by piece. It didn’t seem to matter, because there was a drain somewhere at his feet and he was lying naked on the perfect kind of table for all sorts of leaking fluids.

Fuck.

“The exit dose is quite relaxing, I’d like to imagine,” the whitecoat was saying, but even that became harder and harder to hear. “Most subjects don’t even seem to notice.”

The infusion machine gave another click, a gentle hum. Blue slowly overtook the line, traveled down and down, and slipped gently into each arm. And that gentle hum stretched out into one long, long string of sound. Indeterminable and hard to reach.

Fading, fading, fading.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets, Day 10: Begging

cw: captivity, guns, mock execution (I used two! :D), dehydration recovery

previous // next

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 695

=~=~=

He woke with a pounding headache, the surrounding air blissfully cool, a thin mattress beneath him. Groggily, Benji opened his eyes. He was in a windowless room, somehow, with a single door. An IV was taped to the back of his left hand; blessed hydration, he'd never take it for granted again. His other hand was cuffed to a pipe that jutted out of the wall like a… like a pipe. The sunstroke he'd just suffered was still doing a number on his cleverness.

So he hadn't been saved by his friends. A tragedy, but not the worst tragedy he could’ve faced. Captive or not, Benji was just grateful to be alive.

He did his best to sit up as the door swung open, offering the man in bootleg military getup who now stood before him a polite smile.

“Hi,” he began. “I appreciate the rescue. I thought—”

The man just kept coming, ignoring his greeting, and Benji snapped his mouth shut, forgetting about the cuff as he tried to get away.

“H-hey, I'm not—”

The man seemed to have forgotten about the cuff too, throwing him onto his stomach in a way that wrenched his arm painfully.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Shut up.”

The cuff fell away, and Benji's arms were arranged behind him, a ziptie cinched tight around his wrists. The man hauled him up, and he tried not to whimper at the sudden increase in headache-related pain.

He wanted to ask a question, or try to reason with the man, but he seemed like the type to take a shut up command very seriously. He choked down a protest as a bag was thrown over his head, rough material catching on his hair, and did his best to not faceplant as the man grabbed his upper arm and steered him… somewhere.

Benji was already dizzy from his desert adventure. The bag and sudden hostility didn't help matters whatsoever. After a moment of walking, he was forced to his knees.

This was fine, probably. Something he could talk his way out of, as soon as he was allowed to talk.

“One of the cops’ spies, eh?”

The what's what? 

“Found him collapsed outside. Looked like he was trying to scope this place out on foot.”

“Let's see him.”

Air hit his face as the bag was yanked off, what felt like a fistful of his hair departing along with it. A new man stood over him, wearing jeans, a buttondown, and an appraising frown.

“So I think there's been a misunderstanding,” Benji tried. Even if these were the smugglers they were after, the team didn't work with any cops. The men ignored him.

“What do we do with spies, Mikey?”

“Kill ‘em like the rats they are.” Buttondown’s hand went to his belt, and Benji froze when he drew a pistol.

“H-hey, there's no need—” he said, his voice rising in pitch as the weapon was pointed at him. Fuckfuckfuck, they wouldn't actually kill him, would they? He hadn't done anything but pass out in the desert.

A whimper escaped as buttondown pressed the gun to his forehead

“Wait,” he said. “I’m not— I didn't come here on purpose, okay? I was just nearby, I—”

“Just nearby.” 

The hammer clicked, and the sound froze his blood.

“Please!” he cried out. “Please, I swear I’m not— I swear. Please, just let me go, I-I’m not a spy, I don't even like cops I—”

Buttondown ignored him, his finger going to the trigger. Benji couldn't contain a sob.

“F-fuck, oh fuck, please don't kill me, please, I-I’ll do anything—”

He didn't want to watch the gun, but he couldn't tear his eyes away, vision blurring with tears, his very lungs trembling as the man squeezed the trigger—

Click.

Benji collapsed onto his side, body no longer capable of holding him up. It took a second to realize he wasn't dead. No bang, no brains oozing from a new hole in his head, silence ringing in his ears. Fresh tears stung his eyes; warmth down his cheeks

The men above him laughed.

“Lock him in the storage closet,” buttondown said, holstering his gun. “This one's gonna be fun.”

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

Little Lamb

@augusnippets day 10 (!!!), execution cw: cult sacrifice, child death/torture, dear GOD this is progressively getting less whimsical by the second. UEGEHFH…… masterlist!! —— The child leans into the hand pressed against his shoulder. He cannot see the source of the sudden, gentle weight, but he can feel the warmth. The hand on the child’s back does not budge. “.. Where are we going?” The boy asks, unable to see his new friend through the blindfold tightly knotted over his eyes. The walking stops, just for a second. “You’re going home, child.” The gruff voice speaks, unusually quiet. “Home?” The boy echoes. “Yes, dear child. Home, where your soul shall be cleansed of all impurities,” A seperate, fragile voice croons, pressing a wrinkled hand to the child’s forehead. Once more, he leans into the affection, giggling contently as their hand softly ruffles his hair. They guide him further. As he sits and waits alongside a lamb, he happily ruffles its wool, listening to the hustle and bustle of the crowd. He can feel the fires around him. Normally, he and the other children in the village would be sent to bed when the flames are set alight, but today was said to be his special day! He’s so excited, he— The lamb is led away, and the boy soon follows.

As he stands atop the gallows, several hands keep his mouth open, prying his jaw back further when he attempts to scream. As his mouth fills with blood, the process of ending the demon’s hunger begins. No matter how much he writhes and wails, the ritual never ceases. “M— mama.. where’s mama? Pl— please.. I want— where’s my mama?” Everything burns. Why isn’t his mama here? He wants to go home, please, please— The platform drops. The last things he hears is the cheers, chants, and laughter of the crowd, abruptly punctuated by the snapping of his neck — a full stop.

——

taglist!! let me know if you wanna be added!! ^_^

@loonybun

[whumplump]

Day 10 of @augusnippets

Prompts used: execution / begging for mercy

Not used: fake execution

CW: cruel whumper, multiple whumpees, gunshot, character death

Whumpee woke up with a bang. A sudden sound, which didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular, seemed to reverberate in the air. They sat on the bed and looked around the room. Everything was exactly as before, the room maintained the elegance of Whumper's isolated house.

Whumpee got out of bed with intensely sore legs, heading out to investigate the strange sound they heard. The hallway was as rich and chic as the rest of the house. It had several doors that led to other rooms, duly listed with writing at the top of the entrance to each one. The lights in the house were all off, and outside, the morning was rising with a cloudy sky. To the left of Whumpee, the beginning of the hallway joined the living room, which had a glass wall, letting in light. However, the appearance was still gloomy.

BANG!

Then, Whumpee realized what that sound was. A shot. The third, which came soon after, sounded so close that they had the reflex to throw themselves on the ground. Imbued with despair, they got up and ran to the living room to escape. The front door was unlocked, but the handle had a turning system that took precious seconds from the captive. Another shot rang out, accompanied by an agonizing and painful scream coming from another room, then another shot, then silence. Oh, my God! Whumper was killing all the captives in the house!

Finally, the door opened and Whumpee dashed across the yard. It was their chance. With the adrenaline running through their veins, the pain in their legs disappeared.

BANG!

The thud took their breath away and knocked them face down on the grass. Their back burned with piercing pain, and they could no longer move their legs. They tried to crawl through the grass with their hands, digging their nails into the dirt to propel themselves forward.

Seeing that the fugitive was already down and defeated, Whumper walked towards them calmly. They watched their efforts with pleasure, for a few seconds, to put an end to them with a well-aimed shot in their hand. Whumpee screamed in pain.

Whumper crouched in front of them, delighting in their suffering and tears. They held the barrel of the gun to Whumpee's forehead.

"No!" the captive cried. "No, please don't kill me...! Please…”

Whumper thought for a moment.

"You're right. If I kill you, I'll have to pay extra for the cleaners to pick you up. But if I let you live, I'll have to put up with you. The others were more annoying than you, you even were good, I could spare you..."

They made an ironic gesture, running a hand over their chin, as if they were thinking about the best option. Whumpee remained silent, hoping for a positive response…

"Hmm… Nah."

Whumper cocked the gun.

"I have money. I'd rather pay a little more than have this useless, ugly thing like you here."

"What? No, wait—"

BANG.

[starliight-whump]

Mercy

Augustsnippets day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

a little late, oops!

contains: torture, captivity, sadistic whumper, begging for mercy

“Please stop, please!” James screamed and tugged at his restraints in pure panic. “Plea– ahh!” His next attempt of begging turned into a bloodcurdling scream as Harrison dug the knife into his skin again. The cut stung and burned, adding to the jarring mix of pain. James quickly ran out of air and he took a gasping breath, which quickly turned into sobbing while Harrison watched, an amused, sadistic twinkle in his eyes and the blood covered blade in hand.

“Please,” James sobbed again. “Please, no m- more. Just ha- have some mercy.” He begged desperately, but Harrison just chuckled. 

“Mercy? Where's the fun in that?”

--

taglist: @augusnippets, @darkredrevolution, @uvanuva

[whumperwithwings]

Augusnippets Day 10: Execution/Fake Execution/Begging for Mercy

Content: Implied Killing, Implied Violence

"No, please I swear I won't do anything bad ever again, I promise!"

"Maybe you should have promised that before you killed them."

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Beg

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Me? Starting a new series out of nowhere? It's more likely than you think.

This entry is for @augusnippets Day 10: Begging for Mercy.

Contains: Royal whump, magic, begging, manipulation

~~~

Vesper didn’t like to beg.

They were a prince, after all. Royalty. They were supposed to be poised, regal, unfazed. Even despite everything they were, they were meant to be able to keep up appearances.

Sometimes, though, they couldn’t help it.

“Please, Sir Hadwin— Enough—“

There simply hadn’t been enough time since their last session. They hadn’t recovered. It hurt too much.

“Hush, my prince. I am almost done. Just endure. I know you can.”

And they could. It was a solace and a condemnation. They had endured this many times before. But the knowledge that the inexorable, soul-rending drain of their magic was survivable, was necessary, even, didn’t make the agony any more bearable.

Sir Hadwin’s comforting hand across their brow, though, was enough to quiet their desperate pleas until they had given all they needed to give.

[firapolemos05]

@augusnippets Path of Hurt

Day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

CW: minor whumpee, mock execution, government corruption, abuse of power, imprisonment, framed for a crime, future captivity

Itzal (he/him)

Word count: 756 (a bit longer but I couldn't resist)

The Champion taglist: @emmettland , @ostensiblywhump , @scoundrelwithboba

They don't listen when he says he hasn't killed anyone. When they shove the gag into his mouth and secure the strap at the back of his neck, Itzal realizes they're not going to listen to anything he has to say.

He doesn't want to die.

It didn't make sense. There wasn't a trial. No evidence given that tied him to the supposed death of whatever unnamed Lapis guard they mentioned.

Only twenty-four hours between Itzal getting brought down to this prison and learning they were going to kill him.

‘ “Rebels don't get trials,” ’ they had said, sneering laughs lapping up the tiefling's terror.

He cursed them. Would've trashed and clawed up his cell had the shackles at his wrists not held him down. Would've tormented the guards with illusions had his magic not been suppressed. All he had were his words and he used them. Such fragile pride they had that they'd waste time and resources to silence a seventeen year old vandal who dared to insult them.

Itzal's anger spat until they gagged him.

He realizes now part of that anger had been fueled by denial. Armored guards clutch his bound arms as they drag him towards the courtyard, and dread clutches his gut.

He's going to die.

He tries so hard to fight. Bucks at the grasping hands until their grip is hard enough to bruise. Lashes out with his horns until one guard grabs one to force his head still. The blindfold around his head is wet with tears he failed not to shed.

He should’ve been more careful. Should've picked a safer, less public spot for his last graffiti run. Should've went home when his mother told him to and wait for a different day. 

His mother's face flashes into Itzal's mind. His father's. His little sister's. 

What's going to happen to them?

He won't even get to say goodbye. 

The screech of a metal door opening preceeds a waft of warmth as the sunlight hits his skin. The Crescentine sun is always harsh in the summer. The guards force Itzal to his knees in the dirt, latching the chains to a bolt in the ground so he couldn't stand. Couldn't flee. He balls his hands into fists to hide how much he's shaking. 

“Itzal Azarola,” a voice booms from behind. “For the crimes of treason, accomplice to murder of a government official, defacement of government property, government slander, and resisting arrest, you have been sentenced to death under orders from the Cerulean Constellate.”

Treason?

It doesn't seem real. It can't be real. This has to be a nightmare. He'll wake up home in his bed and be safe.

There's more noises. A rifle being loaded. His heart hammering in his chest. 

He will wake up soon. He doesn't want to die.

A click of the safety being released. A muffled sob escaping his lips.

He doesn't want to die.

“Fire!”

HE DOESN'T WANT TO DIE!

A trigger being pulled. 

A deafening blast sends him reeling, all other sound drowns under the piercing ring in his ears. His head throbs. His body collapses. He hopes it'll be quick. He hopes it'll be over before he feels it. He-

He's still alive.

The pain of a bullet tearing through his organs doesn't come. No smell of blood or burning flesh. The world still dark under a blindfold he can still feel on his face. Itzal is still alive.

More hands grab him. The chain is released from the ground and he is being carried away. His legs drag uselessly. His muscles feel like gelatin. His mind in a fog.

Why?

He should feel relief but instead there's a void. Nausea burning up his throat he has no choice but to force down because he's still gagged. 

What's happening?

Was there a mistake? Is he actually dead and his thoughts now are from his ghost trying to cling to life? Where are they taking him? He still can't see. No one's saying anything. What're they going to do to him now?

They drop him on hard stone. “Is this the one you wanted, Lady Matar?”

The blindfold is removed. There's a woman standing in front of Itzal. Short red hair and red eyes. Cloaked in the luxurious vestments of the Constellate. Lady Matar. High Martinet Scarlet Matar.

The master of judicial law stares down at the young tiefling, drinking in the tears on his face.

The way she smiles at him is the most terrifying thing he's ever seen.

“Yes. I will be taking him now.”

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 10 - Execution

Content warnings: death, guns, military whump

~~~~~~~

The Soldier had never wanted to kill anyone. He should never have been here at all. The king was the one who wanted the land that they were invading; the Soldier didn’t even know why. It wasn’t right that he and so many others were forced into this fight in which they had no stake, or that the consequences were so dire if they refused.

So far, he at least had managed to stay out of the thick of combat. He didn’t cut the imposing figure expected of frontline soldiers, and was too nervy to be trusted with the more severe weaponry. The few times he had been armed outside of training, it had been for infiltration missions that ended up not requiring bloodshed, and otherwise he had been relegated to courier and recon tasks. All in all, he had been lucky.

This time, though, there was no getting out of it. Each of the conscripts in his unit had been brought out, lined up, and handed a rifle. All but one of them. The other stood across from them, blindfolded, hands bound behind his back. Even from a distance the Soldier could see the man trembling.

They weren’t even told what the other man had done - their commander simply announced that this other soldier had committed treason, and was to be punished accordingly. He barely gave the unit time to process it before giving the order for everyone to ready their rifles.

His body complied with the order even as his mind was numb with dread. He probably wasn’t the only one here who couldn’t quite hold his rifle steady as they aimed; it was doubtful that anyone else here was mentally prepared to be part of a firing squad. Breaths around him were heavy, faces gray and clammy.

The Soldier had been told before, in more casual circumstances within the army camp, that not everyone on a firing squad would actually do the killing. A couple of the rifles would be loaded with a wax bullet rather than a real one. Everyone would shoot, everyone would hear their own gun go off and feel the recoil, but a couple of those shots would be harmless. And everybody got to walk away knowing that there was a chance their own shot had been one of the fakes, a chance that there was no blood on their own hands.

But when the commander shouted for them to fire, the Soldier knew. He watched the bullets slicing into the blindfolded soldier, and the way his body crumpled amid a spray of blood that left a red mist floating to the floor and a ferrous smell in the air, and somehow he knew for sure that this was his first kill.

He wondered idly, as the soldiers were dismissed and the corpse was carted away, which one of those holes was his.

@augusnippets

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 10

execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

fandom: cabin tales prequel to day 8 TW: torture, electrocution, forced to watch, unethical human experimentation, major character death word count: 496 @augusnippets

Rachel's hands had an iron grip around her mouth. The dry, frigid basement air stung at her wide eyes. Her knees buckled, a chill coursing through her entire body.

None of her discomforts compared to what she just witnessed.

“Wha… What the hell?” she squeaked, stepping back from the sight displayed through thick, tinted glass.

Roderick. Kevin. Sam. Jeremy. All writhing in agony from a shock Rachel feared would kill them – perhaps should've killed them. Though she couldn't see Sam or Jeremy well from the window's position, she assumed they had similar, blistering burns around their wrists, upper arms, ankles and neck.

“Hm, thought they would've figured out the premise sooner,” Mr. Barnett sighed.

“Y-you didn't tell them!?” Rachel gasped.

“The idea was to control for more variables than prior attempts at this.” Mr. Barnett quirked an eyebrow. “If they were told this is a prisoner's dilemma, they could've strategized beforehand, sullying the results. If you want to really test humans’ trust in each other, such things must be taken into account.”

“But this – then this is kidnapping! It's illegal!”

“You say that like some of the most valuable research into human behavior isn't also ethically or legally dubious. Does the name MK Ultra ring a bell?”

Rachel feared her throat would completely close up. Her mind raced, desperately trying to cut through the boys' resumed bickering to find a way out. For herself, and for them.

“But… But what the hell are you going to do with the results, then?” Rachel tried with a nervous, tense smile. “I-if what happens here goes public, you'll be arrested! S-so, we should just get them out of here and try-”

“Oh, Rachel,” Mr. Barnett cooed, resting an elbow against the glass with a small, chilling smile. “This isn't about fame, prestige, academic accolades. This…” Mr. Barnett beamed as he started the timer again. Rachel thought her heart would stop from the sheer shock of Kevin's frantic, terrified screams. “This is about knowledge. The truth!”

“Wha..? Who cares about that!” Rachel snapped, voice rasping from encroaching tears. “You can't do this to people!”

“Too late now.” Mr. Barnett shrugged. “I can't do anything now that the timer's started. It's up to them.”

Them…

Rachel snapped her attention to the window, beating against the unwavering glass with all her might.

“GUYS!” she screamed. “DON'T VOTE! DON’T PRESS ANYTHING! PLEASE!” Any further words were silenced as she watched Kevin and Roderick press the dials. “Oh fuck…” she whimpered. “Oh fuck, there's gotta be something, there's gotta-”

“Well! It's about time they figured it out.” Mr. Barnett clasped his hands in pride.

“No, NO! STOP!” Rachel desperately grasped Mr. Barnett's shoulders. Just as she did so, her ears rang from the booming screech of arcing electricity. “YOU'RE KILLING THEM!”

“Incorrect,” Mr. Barnett calmly chided, pointing behind Rachel. “They're killing him.”

At Mr. Barnett's words, the foulest stench Rachel had ever encountered stung at her nose.

Burning meat mixed with ozone.

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 10: Begging for Mercy

Masterlist

tw: dehumanization, roboticization, restraints

The conveyor belt lurched forward with a sickening whirr. He tried to worm his way out of the tight restraints, but the metal cuffs and chains were holding him tight as the entrance to the assembly line drew closer.

"Let me out!" he called, in the vain hope that any kind of sympathetic ear might be listening. "Help me!"

He'd heard the screams of the others fed into the assembly line and he'd seen what emerged from the other side. More robot than human, their limbs and eyes replaced, their free will neatly removed. A fate worse than death -- but no amount of dread or protesting could stop the conveyor belt.

Just inside the darkened enclosure of the first stop of the assembly line, he could swear he saw the glint of knives.

"Please, stop this," he begged, losing his composure entirely. "Please, I'll do anything. Stop the conveyor, please!"

He wasn't sure there was even anyone human around to hear his pleas. He was begging for mercy in front of an implacable machine, his fate already sealed.

Masterlist

@augusnippets

[evilwriter37]

Bewilderment

Augusnippets Day 10

Fake Execution

Rated: mature

Warnings: general themes of death

------

The stone was rough under his cheek, maybe even cutting into it. It smelled… sharp, like it hadn’t been washed save for by the rain. The reddish tone in the gray implied that too.

The boot on his face was heavy, crushing. It smelled of dirt and other things he didn’t particularly want to think about.

He was shivering, and not just from the cold biting into his skin and under his clothes. 

This was an executioner’s block. Hiccup had never thought he’d end up here, his head about to be severed from his body. 

Oh gods, he felt the blade of the axe at the back of his neck as Ryker took aim…

He squeezed his eyes shut, praying to every god he knew.

Laughter burst from Ryker, and at first, Hiccup thought it was laughter at his fate.

But then Viggo began to laugh, and the crowd began to laugh. Hiccup didn’t understand. Shouldn’t he be dead by now? What was going on?

And then the boot came off his face and he was grabbed by the hair and pulled off the block. Viggo was now in front of him, wearing a look of glee and amusement.

“Oh, the bewilderment on your face, my dear boy!” He slapped his knee as if this was the best joke to ever be told. “I’m not going to kill you!”

“I… Wha…? Why…?” Hiccup didn’t even know where to begin.

Viggo pulled him close by the hair, these next words apparently only for him.

“But you’re going to sorely wish I did.”

[whumpy-writings]

Begging for Mercy

Pennae Volatus Masterlist

Augusnippets 2024 Day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

CW: capture, slavery, net, dehumanization, mentioned colonization, winged whumpee

Zem looked at their sheep and daydreamed about their future child. Xel would be giving birth soon. Zem couldn't wait to meet the chick, teach them how to tend the flocks, how to find the best berries, how to fly. They looked out at the sheep, who were happily munching away at the grass, and sighed in contentment.

A rumble filled the air. Zem's muscles tensed and they grabbed their crook. Zem launched themself into the air, but suddenly the ship emerged from the clouds, diving down and forcing them back to the ground. Then something hit them from behind. They fell as the net tightened around them. Of course, a distraction.

"We've got them!" The dialect was that of the foreigners, the ones who had started outposts all over the planet. The slavers.

Hands and legs pressed against Zem, pinning them to the ground. Zem struggled, their breaths ragged with panic.

"Let go of me!" they yelled. The words were harsh on their tongue, sharp and jagged. A knee dug painfully into their back and they grunted.

"Be careful!" a slaver snapped. "The bones are hollow."

Zem couldn't move, could only watch in horror as the ship landed. Their flock was long gone, scattered by the commotion.

The slavers picked Zem up, net and all, and carried them toward the waiting ship.

Icy fear flooded Zem's body. "Please! I have a spouse. We're expecting our first child. Please, don't do this!"

"Stop screaming, birdy, you should be grateful. You're getting a free ride off this rock."

Zem struggled against the net, but all they succeeded at doing was getting more tangled.

I should have stayed closer to the village, I shouldn't have taken the flock so far-

-I should have told Xel I love them.

"Please!" Zem screamed. "Please! I have a family, please have mercy!"

The slavers carried Zem onto the ship and Zem sobbed. Zem's stomach sank as the ship roared to life.

"Please," they whispered.

@whumpsday