Augusnippets Day 10 - Execution

Augusnippets Day 10 - Execution

Content warnings: death, guns, military whump

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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

@augusnippets day 14

Toys / Gifts / Celebration

Demihuman Whumpee (dog), Captivity, Intimate Whumper

(you guys have no idea how much i love writing demihuman whumpees!!)

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Whumpee was curled up in their little corner of Whumper's bedroom, resting on the mound of blankets and pillows. They heard footsteps approach, listening closely. Whumper's footsteps were easy to recognize, and Whumpee relaxed as he came into the bedroom. The human had something behind his back, and he looked like he was in a good mood.

"Whumpee," Whumper said fondly, rubbing Whumpee's head, "I got you a present! Close your eyes."

"Why do I get a present? Did I do something good?"

"Just close your eyes."

Whumpee obeyed, unable to stop their tail from wagging behind them.

Something bumped their nose that smelled like plastic. A squeak startled Whumpee, and Whumper laughed. "Open your eyes!"

A neon green tennis ball was held out for them.

"You got me a ball? Thanks, uhm... what an i supposed to do with—"

"Fetch."

The ball went soaring to the other side of the room, and Whumpee dove for it eagerly. They grasped it in their jaws, squeaking it eagerly.

Proud of themself, Whumpee brought it to Whumper. They were rewarded as the man ruffled Whumpee's hair encouragingly.

"Good boy," he crooned, kissing Whumpee on the forehead. "Go on, keep playing."

Whumpee realized with a pang of embarrassment how much amusement Whumper was getting from this. Still, they wouldn't let him ruin what fun they could have here. They dropped the ball in Whumper's hand and sat, ready for him to throw again.

@augusnippets day 8

Bonus prompt- Whumpee wearing Caretaker's clothes

Demihuman Whumpee (canine), past capture, institutionalized/legal slavery of demihumans, lady whump mentioned, physical abuse mentioned, mostly just fluff though :D

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Caretaker sat alone in their living room, sipping on some stew they had made earlier. They heard Whumpee's scufflings in the next room, but left them to their own devices.

Whumpee was... odd, to say the least. They were just beginning to learn which of their old owner's "rules" that they were allowed to break. The demihuman tested boundaries carefully, like they were nervous for a punishment if they sat on any furniture.

Once they learned they were allowed to sit where they liked, however, they took up a habit of napping on the coffee table. Caretaker would never reprimand them for this, though. The more freedom Whumpee felt, the happier they seemed.

The poor thing's old owner was a cruel excuse for a woman. She never let Whumpee wear clothes past a pair of boxers, she made them act like an animal for her, and even went as far as to whip them if they weren't to her precise standard. Whumpee was a kind of dog-human hybrid, yes, but nobody deserved to be treated that way. Caretaker wouldn't even treat a dog like that!

Caretaker stamped out any thoughts of her— they hated to dwell on things, especially Whumper.

Caretaker noticed that Whumpee had gone silent. They quickly got to their feet and started towards the bedroom. "Whumpee?" they called.

When Caretaker opened the door, Whumpee was scrambling to hide, choosing to duck behind the bed.

"Whumpee? Love, you can come out. It's okay," Caretaker said calmly, stepping into the room. "Can you tell me why you're hiding? Are you doing something you think you aren't supposed to?"

Whumpee let out an ashamed whine and was still for a moment. Suddenly, they leaped up onto the bed where Caretaker could see them.

The demihuman was looking away in shame, and their ears drooped pathetically. They were dressed in a big white sweater that was entirely too big and a pair of shorts that they were struggling to hold up. Whumpee ducked their head. "I– I didn't know you were coming in... I'm sorry, I'll take them off–"

They were cut off as Caretaker tackled them in a hug, squeezing them closer. "Whumpee," they exclaimed, "you're wearing clothes! I'm so proud of you, love!" Caretaker ruffled Whumpee's hair encouragingly.

Whumpee, taken aback, hugged Caretaker. "I'm... allowed to?"

"Yes, yes! Of course, love. Though... we should probably get you some clothes that fit you a little better."

Whumpee nodded, sinking their head into Caretaker's chest. "Thank you... these are so comfy..."

@augusnippets day 13

drugging / poison / cannibalism

forced/unwilling cannibalism, captivity, death mention

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Whumpee sat across from Whumper at the table, cutting into his food warily. Whumper watched with all too much interest, hands clasped together.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Whumpee asked before he could take a bite.

Whumper smiled kindly, averting his eyes to sip some wine. When the glass came back down, he spoke. "My apologies, dear. It's a new recipe— I'm eager to see you try it."

Whumpee nodded, shuffling his feet. A rattling sound came with it, caused by the chains securing Whumpee to the chair. "What's the recipe?"

"Lemon-pepper pork steak and rice."

Whumpee took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Mmh, not bad. Thank you for dinner."

"Of course, Whumpee. My pleasure. Really, you can thank Other Whumpee."

"What? Other Whumpee is dead."

"Why, he supplied our meat tonight." Whumper grinned, taking another bite. He frowned as Whumpee began to cough and try to regurgitate his food.

"You said it was pork!"

"What, never heard of long pig?"

@augusnippets day 11

escape/ breaking the conditioning/ safe and sound

Implied alcoholism, references to past kidnapping/noncon surgery/abuse, escaped Whumpee, death mention

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Caretaker was home alone again, just like every night since Whumpee went missing. The routine was the same each night— he laid back in his recliner, chugged can after can of whatever alcohol he could afford, and passed out thinking of Whumpee.

Caretaker sat back, pulling the case close to him and pulling a can out. Tonight, it was a cheap beer from the gas station he'd never heard of. He dug his nail under the tab, about to crack it open when he heard a knock on his door.

It was quiet enough that it could have been somebody knocking at his neighbor's door. Caretaker got up with an irritated sigh, pausing his show and going to the door.

His motion-activated light was on, but through the peephole, he couldn't see anything.

"Those fucking teenagers," he murmured, opening the door to shout at the ding-dong-ditchers.

When he opened the door, however, he was shocked into silence.

Whumpee was here. His Whumpee. Albeit they had longer hair and were pretty bruised up — and were those stitches up their chest?— they were here!

"Wh– Whumpee! It's you, it's really you!" He crouched to the floor, eyes tearing up. "Oh my god, you're here... oh, baby, I- I can't beleive— we thought you died," Caretaker rambled, cupping Whumpee's cheek tenderly. "Where have you been? Are you okay? Ohh, I'm so happy you're alive!"

Whumpee clung to Caretaker, their bony fingers grasping Caretaker's shirt. They sniffled, looking up with teary eyes. "Caretaker... oh fuck, I missed you... I- I got kidnapped, a- and it was terrible, but I escaped and you're here and-"

"Shhh, let's get inside. You're freezing. You can tell me everything once you're patched up..." Caretaker soothed, bringing them inside and into the bedroom. "It's gonna be okay, baby. You're safe with me."

@augusnippets day 12

Lost/ trapped/ avalanche

Demihuman Whumpee (fox), choking, dead animal mention, guns

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Whumpee was curled up inside the hollow tree where he lived, sleeping on a soft bed of hay from the farm down the valley and fluffy feathers. He stretched as the first peeks of dawn light crawled through the opening of the massive trunk.

A cool fall breeze was ruffling the brown and scarlet hair on his head as he carefully crawled out into the woods, sniffing the air for something to eat. He could detect the scent of songbirds that were far too high to catch and pesky little mice and chipmunks scurrying around. Nothing that constituted a meal.

So, Whumpee started heading towards the farm. The chickens there were fat and easy to catch, and they roamed freely about the property. Whumpee had ventured there nearly every day for a quick warm meal.

As he neared, he was careful to keep to what cover he could find. Humans were rarely awake this early, but Whumpee had had too many close calls for comfort.

There. Whumpee could see the chickens just up ahead, pecking at the seed on the ground. He skulked through the undergrowth, his tail twitching with excitement. A plump brown hen was cawing as she paced around, picking at her feathers occasionally.

Whumpee squared his shoulders, getting into a crouch and preparing to pounce. He jumped and only made it about a foot when something tightened around his throat.

A snare had a tight hold on him, making it nearly impossible to move or breathe. He struggled for breath, panicking and scratching at the trap desperately. He clawed until his nails were red with his own blood and it hurt too much to continue.

He heard a noise, and two humans walked up, aiming guns at him. Hunters.

"Got 'em," one proclaimed, crouching to Whumpee's level. "You're mine, little fox."