@augusnippets Day 4

@augusnippets day 4

Amputation / Degloving / Vivisection

Noncon surgery (not described), restraints, past death mention

Whumpee squirmed against the metal cuffs locking them to the table, fastened around their wrists, ankles, throat, and hips.

The lights above shined blindingly as whumpee laid, listening to Whumper hum and prepare his tools.

A repetitive 'shink, shink, shink' echoed through the basement— Whumper was sharpening his knives. Whumpee whimpered, pulling at the metal again– no use.

Suddenly, the table moved. It tilted until whumpee was nearly in a standing position, a few inches off the floor. The metal dug into their wrists, making them wince.

"Alright, 004. It's time to begin your surgery." Whumper was in his white labcoat and black gloves, looking eager as ever. "Let's get you marked up, yes?"

Whumper held a black marker and approached Whumpee, starting between their pecs and drawing a dotted line down to their belly button. Then, he started at the top again and drew two diagonals, pointing out towards their shoulders.

Whumpee looked up at Whumper, panicked. "Is this where you're cutting?!" they cried, tensing up.

"Yes, yes. Just a quick vivisection, dear." Whumper pulled over a few machines and monitors, hooking Whumpee up to them. "Going to see if I can keep a subject alive all the way through."

Whumpee promptly started screaming for help, thrashing desperately.

"Good, good, get that out of your system. I'll try to keep you from dying of shock, okay? I'm administering a small dose of sedative— just enough to keep you relaxed. Don't fall asleep, though. Got it?"

Whumpee pressed themself into the wall, eyes wide. "No! No, no! Stop, you're not gonna—"

"Do I need to remove your vocal cords while I'm poking around in there? You don't even have a reason to be screaming yet." Whumper cleared his throat, pressing a button on a camera that faced Whumpee. The little red dot lit up, and Whumper talked into it.

"Today is August 4th, 20XX. We'll be attempting an exploratory vivisection on subject 004. Goals are to diagnose any internal issues, and to see if we can keep this one alive." Whumper turned to Whumpee, raising his scalpel with a grin.

"Fourth time's a charm."

@augusnippets just realized i forgot to tag this, my bad >,<

Collection of images and memes for anyone who doesn’t know what to draw

@augusnippets day 3

Blizzard/ Thunderstorm/ Heatwave

cold whump, frostbite, lost/abandoned

Whumpee turned his face against the wind, the white flakes in the air stinging his red cheeks. He pulled his jacket tighter to his body, crouching against the closest tree.

"Caretaker," he called into the roaring wind, barely able to hear his own voice. "Caretaker?! Where are you?" he screamed, his tears freezing on his own cheeks.

All he could see was a vast whiteness before him, dotted with a few grey trunks that faded into the haze of the snow.

"Please, Caretaker! Where are you?" Whumpee sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

His hands. Why didn't he wear gloves? The ends of his fingers were turning a deep black color. "No, no!" If he knew he'd get lost like this, if he knew about this blizzard, he would have dressed warmer.

Whumpee huddled against the tree's trunk, curling up.

"Caretaker... Caretaker, please..."

"It's... so cold..."

Love interest in a paranormal...

I'm the sexy ghost bf :D

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Destroyer

(Masterlist)

It was the first sunny day of the season and they had spent it out over the water. By the morning light, the sea was blinding. Each steel gray battleship reflected the White Sun’s rays right into the cockpit. The aircraft, small and inconspicuous, hovered above the enemy fleet like a nervous fairy. It was no weapon of war. The shipmen down below took notice and little green lines of inquiry began to flash upon the craft’s receiver. 

The pilot tilted the screen down and positioned the craft a good mile away from the north-most ship. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a finger pointed in the right direction, and then the unbearable cacophony of steel rendering.

The sea rushed in to fill the gap, causing massive waves to rock the once-still ocean. Where the SS Iselin had been only seconds prior, there now sat a deformed metal mass no larger than the length of a truck. The surrounding water filled with a reddish color, blood and oil escaping the same clutch. As the radio went wild between the remaining fleet ships, the broken body of the Iselin sunk quietly beneath the waves. There were no survivors. Delta had been twelve.

The hovercraft took him back to dry land. The Emperor, the only person the show had ever really been for, stood up to shake the hands of the pilot, of the scientists, and of his Admiral who had pushed so hard for the demonstration. The Emperor lowered himself to speak to Delta, the way you might any child, and saw the tremors all through his body, the cold sweat of convulsions. The Emperor wiped Delta’s hair from his face and said no more.

He was returned to his own quarters back at the institute. The nurse had to hold up one side of him just to make it down the hall. He kept it together as he’d been taught to while in company, but back in his own territory he could no longer suppress the nausea. He spent most of the night on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, as the doctors and the scientists buzzed around taking vitals and hooking him up to strange machines.

By the next week, the deal was done. The royal guards had been sent to collect him. All that he owned could fit into one suitcase, which the director had packed for him personally. The director had also picked who would be leaving with him as a charge - one physician, one scientist. Dr.Martino’s grip tightened harshly on his neck whenever he fidgeted too much. Dr.Yanna had a bad drinking habit. Delta was not happy about these choices, even from the most remote corner of his mind. But he had learned to tolerate both of them at the institute and could appreciate the familiarity. He wasn’t scared of the guards. He kept his head down until they arrived at the palace - and long after that too.

It had presented an interesting but not unprecedented engineering problem, finding out where to keep him. In the past week, they had built the basement up with the same dense psychic insulation that the institute had perfected. Delta had five hundred square feet of space, at the time sparsely furnished. His vague hope was that while in the isolated chamber, they would remove the dampening collar from around his neck. But they left him there with no mention of it. He thought back to the wreckage of the Iselin and realized it was unlikely the collar would ever come off again. He rubbed at the raw skin idly, leaning against the new bed frame. The space was larger than his old room had been, but he had not gotten up to explore it. He sensed that the guards would not like to open up the chamber doors and find him anywhere they had not left him. It was the inclination of many third parties to treat the psionics like machinery - and to be disconcerted by anything that contracted this. Besides that, he knew they were scared of him. As isolated as he had been, even in such ascetic surroundings, he could read fear. It radiated off all of them now.

(Part II)