#tw institutionalized slavery

[cepheusgalaxy]

The WRU customer’s guide

Chapter 2 - Product receival

(Distributed by WRU ©)

Your Boxie arrived! And now what?

Congratulations on getting your new Pet! The WRU staff thanks you for your preference. 

We assure your new Pet is suited to attend all your necessities and wishes thanks to its top-tier training with WRU’s most brilliant teams of professional handlers. If your experience is enjoyable, please consider leaving a feedback on our site! Your opinion matters a lot to us.

Your pet's serial number and designation can be verified at its register that was printed and shipped alongside the product, and also sent to your online mail. If there is a mistake and you can't find it, please refer to custome service on the nearest WRU store or our site, wru.com.

What's included in your product

Inside the box that you received is one (1) WRU Box Boy, which is wearing a basic WRU shipping uniform and collar. Alongside it is your Pet's Owner’s File that includes its designation, medical record and further information.

If there is any damage or parts of your delivery missing, please don’t hesitate to call the WRU team (DDD xxxx-xxxx) that will promptly resolve your issue.

Unboxing your Boxie

Unboxing your new Pet should be very easy. However, if this is your first time unboxing a Box Boy you might ask your deliverer to assist you.

[ID: A loosely drawn pet box with the WRU logo on the side as well as two handles instead of one. Below the box is written "Box lol". /end ID.]

Please check if your package is an WRU Pet Box.

The Box was sealed during the shipping process to avoid opening up and damaging your Pet on the way. To unlock it, remove the bolt of the door and pull the six locks arranged as 2 on the top, 2 at the bottom and more 2 on the left side. This should be enough to unlock your box.

Your new Pet is awaiting inside! It might be curled up awake or sleeping, in which case you can press the button under the red compartiment on the right side of the Box, which will send a quick shock to awake it.

Depending on the delivery, your boxie might have stayed in there from two to nine hours. Give it some time to come out of the package, and it should kneel in front of it. If you think your Pet is taking too long to come out or is not taking the supposed position, it might be hurt or confused, in which case, you can demand a self diagnostic by asking it if there is any damage. If that is the case, do not worry; You can acess the Pet First-Aid guide on our site or refer to the nearest WRU store, that will promptly take care of it for you.

Tip: You can keep the Box until you have arranged a proper enclosure for your Pet.

Settling your new Pet

After taking your Box Boy out of the package, look for a green sheet that contains its information and history. That is your Pet Owner’s guide. Be sure to verify it is indeed your Pet and that it has not been any mistake in the shipping process.

Your Pet is now ready to serve you, but it needs you to state the boundaries and rules of your house, so it may act accordingly. You can let them in some room as you put the shipping package away.

Once you’re done, show your house to the Pet and tell it what its duties are gonna be. You might name it or assign a room and belongings to it, if you so wish, but be assured it doesn’t need any accomodations besides the basics to be in its best behavior.

If you have any doubts about accomodating your new Pet or how to handle it, please check our site for more information.

Thank you for trusting WRU with your comfort! :)

Did you know?

WRU © not only cares a lot about our customers, but also we care about the environment!

In order to fight climate change, we in WRU adopted the Tip for a Tree project, in which every dollar you donate goes to WRU’s partners who are working for a greener future!

Acess more information at wru/tipforatree.com.

[ID: The WRU logo, a grey W with a V crossed over it. /end ID.]

--

lmao what do you guys think

credits of the logo to @endless-whump

[whumplr-reader]

WRU Press Release (March 23, 2020)

{Day 10: In-BBU-media} Create a piece of media that could exist within the BBU - everything from twitter post to newspaper feature to ad transcript to WRU press release! Pet lib call for action to desperate owner self help reddit thread. Go wild!

I know WRU is usually set in the near-future, but I got to wondering how they would have handled the early pandemic. This isn't a well written press release (thanks mysterious illness[s] that have been killing my life the past few weeks), but I'm going to blame the employees in-universe who were overwhelmed by everything and just rushing to get it out the door...

WRU Announces New Pickup Acquisitions with Fast Payment; Online Ordering and Support Remain Open; Confirms Employee Compensation Continues

March 23, 2020 — Arlington, VA — WRU Inc, the nation's leading Pet and Service Companion company, announced today that its temporary pause on retail acquisitions due to the COVID-19 pandemic will not stop it from allowing new applicants to sign up. WRU now offers same-day pickups and Same Day Rewards™ across North America, giving even those without transportation a new path forward in life.

Same Day Rewards™ is a new initiative that delivers full payment to an applicant's designated recipient within twenty-four hours of acceptance. Applicants may also choose to have part of their remuneration paid in groceries and other necessities delivered straight to their loved ones' homes.

"We know times are tough, and we want all members of the WRU family to feel taken care of," said Jennifer Wakelyn, CEO of WRU Inc. "Whether that's assisting the families of our newest associates or providing in-home childcare to our retail operatives who are now working remotely, WRU is committed to our people, as we've shown by consistently being scored as one of the best employers in America." (Fortune 2019 and Business Week 2019 surveys, among others).

"Part of taking care of our people is safety, and that is absolutely our top priority. To ensure the safety of our employees and our customers, we have worked with doctors and epidemiologists to design a quarantine system that minimizes risk to all," Wakelyn continued. "Although we have had to close our retail locations, we want to reassure everyone that they can still rely on WRU, on our support, and on our products."

The newly designed quarantine procedures include a minimum of three days isolation followed by testing for all outgoing orders and in-coming acquisitions. Customers can request further measures, which will be added free for Caregivers and Service Pets or for a small surcharge on all other designations.

As noted in Friday's press release, all online shopping options remain open, and dedicated support team members have moved to a "work-from-home" environment that will assist them in providing industry-leading assistance to all customers and applicants. Employees at the company's thousands of retail locations across the country are being fully compensated while their workplaces are shut down.

You may also be interested in...

WRU Announces Pause in On-Site Retail Operations; Online Ordering and Support Remain Open; All Employee Compensation Continues March 20, 2020 — Arlington, VA — WRU Inc will temporarily close all retail locations in response to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. Read more…

@bbu-on-the-side

[3-2-whump]

The Auction Floor: Thomas Costa’s POV

Hi all,

In exchange for a chapter on the current timeline (a chapter I am still working on/fixing up before it is posted), I am posting a prequel chapter. Any and all prequel chapters will be found under 'Eternal, part 0.' They won't have nav arrows, but they will have an explanation to when in the story they take place, and a link to the masterlist to read more. Hope this system works for everyone!

This chapter happens slightly before, concurrently, and a little after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: death of a minor character (briefly mentioned), institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), creepy/intimate whumper(s) (sort of a multiple whimpers situation), manhandling (nonsexual) (towards the end)

Mob boss Luciano Antonio Costa – Boss Tony - had died, leaving mafia to his grandson, Thomas, to control. The newly-appointed heir didn’t look much like a typical Italian mob boss. With his blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and freckled fair skin, he hardly even looked Italian. However, the old boss never had any legitimate male heirs to pass the helm of leadership to, having only one daughter before his wife died. Although he begrudgingly accepted his daughter’s marriage to Tom’s father, an inconsequential gangster from the Irish mob, he had always intended to pass the family business onto his surviving grandson.

“I’m so sorry for your loss” began to lose its meaning after the fourth well-meaning chump, and unfortunately, Grandpa Tony’s funeral had a good turnout. “That was a beautiful eulogy,” one of many nameless faces sniffled. “You two must have been very close,” they’d said to him. Were we ever close, though? Thomas wanted to ask, remembering only the time they last fought. It may as well have been a lifetime ago when he was a teenager who turned his back on the family to try and live a straight life, but the guilt hung over him like a curse no matter how hard he had tried to run away from his fate as the next boss of the Costas. It was always about what he wanted me to be, not what I wanted. Never once was it ever about what I wanted to do with my life, he bitterly remembered. Even now, it was all about Grandpa Tony’s wants, as he accepted his role in leading the Costas. He cast a baleful glance at the casket as it slowly disappeared beneath the earth.You won, old man.

His underboss and a few of the capos, men that he had grown up with and who now supported him in running the large criminal organization, caught on to their new boss’ sour mood. Admittedly, it wasn’t hard to notice how intensely he scowled at the freshly filled-in grave. They suggested celebrating Thomas’ ascension to head of the family with drinks and a night out, but their idea of a night out was attending a black-market auction and maxing out the organization’s funds on frivolous shit. Powerful drugs, illicit weapons, plundered antiques, and –dear god, did Jaime just buy an arowana?! Thomas looked over the side of his whiskey glass disapprovingly.

He glanced over at a corner of the auction house that seemed to gather a large crowd. He shrugged and decided to join them to see the display. The crowd surrounded an entire floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, behind which stood people from all around the world, each divided into their own little compartments within the glass wall, each of them completely naked. The way they were displayed in those little glass tanks was oddly reminiscent of how fish were displayed at a pet store.

Get a pet, people had said to him. It’ll be good for you, they said, help lift your spirits, they said, if you’re responsible for keeping one little thing alive, maybe you’ll be more motivated to take care of yourself, they said. Surely those people had meant a cat or a dog or a python, and probably not an actual human being. Although, Thomas remembered the people giving him that advice were part of the major crime families of the city, too. Perhaps this was what they meant all along?

Regardless of what those people meant, it was a whole different thing to actually commit to owning a person. He’d never seriously considered it before, but now he found himself thoughtfully observing the merchandise behind the glass. Though there were a few people who were obviously adults, most of them were teens, and most them were girls, though there were a couple boys, too.

Whichever one he’d pick, they would have to be relatively attractive, if he was going to have to bear looking at them at the end of every day. He eyed a glass cell with a stunning blonde girl futilely trying to cover herself with her hands and ignore the gazes directed within her cell. Thomas pushed past the crowd and moved on; pretty girls like that would be swiped up immediately, so it wouldn’t even be worth the trouble to place a bid. The next cell held a freckled boy who leaned into the glass, fogging it up with his breath and writing ‘HELP ME’ over and over again with his finger. Thomas passed on that one, too. One by one he would find something wrong with the human assets behind the glass cases. Too shy, too desperate, not my type, that one just stares ahead and doesn’t even move…

He finally stopped around the last few cells, where a crowd had dissipated from in front of a glass cell with discontented murmurs. Inside that one crouched a small boy, knobby knees drawn to bony chest, thin, tan arms wrapped around his shins, and a head of messy dark hair resting on top his knees. The boy dared to look up from his hiding place. Loose, unruly waves of hair and thick, dark eyelashes nearly covered his expressive dark brown eyes. Those eyes hid nothing as they shone with fear. Thomas gripped the whiskey in his hand a little tighter. The child cut a striking image inside the glass prison, reminding him of a time and a place and an incidence he never liked to think about for long-

To his misfortune, his subordinates caught him staring. “Got your eye on the little slave, Tommy-Boy?” Luca asked as he sauntered up to him.

“Don’t call him that.” Even if that was technically what he would be, the whole concept still took a while for him to get used to. “I just think he’s cute is all,” he mumbled into his glass, draining it of the rest of the whiskey while he tried to convince himself the pink in his cheeks was only from the drink.

“Why don’t you place a bid?” Thomas whipped around to see Jaime lurking behind him. When did he get here? His eyes traveled down to the large picnic cooler on wheels, supposedly where Jaime’s new fish was. “Boss Tony, God rest his soul, left you quite the inheritance, I’m sure you can afford him,” Jamie snickered. He pointed to the sign above the glass cell, where the serial number and QR code were displayed prominently. “142225,” he read.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of-”

“You shut up. Right now,” Thomas warned.

“We’ll shut up once you place a bid, now come on! At least look up the little slave!”

Thomas sighed and whipped out his phone; the sooner he scanned the QR Code with the app the black market had made him download, the sooner his underlings would shut the hell up. A profile popped up on his phone screen, the men crowding comically around him to read over his shoulder. 142225 had been collected in Pakistan, was 5’1”, and weighed barely 90 lbs. at the last weigh-in.

“They like to starve the kids here,” Luca explained nonchalantly. “Makes it easier to control them.” Thomas glanced briefly at the thin boy inside the glass, frowning a little as he let that unsettling fact sink in. He quickly scrolled past the blood type, known allergies, and other information he deemed irrelevant to hover his thumb over the ‘PLACE A BID’ button.

“Well, go on, you know you want to!”

“He looks easy enough to take care of, and easy on the eyes, too!”

“We saw how enviously you stared at Matteo’s pet at the last New Year’s party, won’t it be nice to finally have one of your own?”

 Eventually, their peer-pressure resulted in the new mob boss placing a bid, becoming $30k poorer, filling out some ridiculous form about any last-minute body mods he may want, and waiting until the end of the night to collect his new slave and go home. His companions had left hours ago, and every other buyer had gotten their slave already, so it was just him waiting alone in an emptying warehouse, trying to make small talk with one of the event coordinators.

“So, does he have a name?”

She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “He’s named whatever you want to name him.”

“Where is he from? Besides the collection point, where’s he actually from?”

“We don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“We don’t know.”

Thomas barely suppressed a groan. “Is there anything you do know?” he ground out impatiently.

“Yeah. He looks even cuter when he cries.” The woman smirked over her tablet, looking over Thomas’ right shoulder. “He’s here.”

Thomas turned around to see the boy, now clothed in a white T-shirt and bluish gray sweatpants. He kept his eyes downcast and his hands folded in front of him. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly before dropping his gaze back to his bare feet. “Khaled,” he replied, voice timid and heavily accented, “but you may call me whatever you want, sir.”

Khaled. He silently rolled the name around on his tongue as if savoring an exotic sweet. Khaled. Thomas cast what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not that Khaled saw it with his gaze fixed to the floor. “Luckily for you, I like your name.” He strode decisively toward the exit, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to direct him. “Come with me, Khaled.”

In the nearly three-hour car ride back to Thomas’ home, the mob boss learned three things about his new purchase. Firstly, Khaled was shy, only speaking when spoken to and even then, using as few words as possible. Also, Khaled probably didn’t speak much English; how much of this was because he was shy, and how much of this was because he literally couldn’t understand him? And –finally, -Khaled could run. Since the moment the car parked, Khaled dashed out and sprinted into the street. He nearly got hit by a truck before Thomas could chase after him, pull him back, and drag him inside the apartment building. The scene of a grown man dragging a distressed kid who was screaming bloody murder probably shocked some residents, but fortunately the doorman was part of the Costas and did not bat an eye.

“It is too damn early for this!” Thomas complained to himself as he practically threw Khaled into the awaiting elevator. “Do you want to be leashed up like a dog, you little shit?! Cause that’s what’s going to happen if you keep trying to run away!”

“Let go of me, please!” the boy cried, his voice brittle and panicked like a scared, caged animal as he tried to twist out of the punishing grip on his arm.

“Like hell I’m letting you go, not after maxing out my personal credit card on you and pulling an all-nighter for the first time since Kandahar!” He violently jammed the buttons that would take them to the top floor of the high rise.

Soon the elevator dinged, doors swooshing open as they reached the floor of his penthouse. “Come on!” Thomas continued to drag the boy through the hallway, ignoring him begging in that endearing accent of his. Khaled’s complaints all but ceased as soon as he opened the door to his penthouse and let the boy step inside. His eyes widened, sparkling in awe, and his jaw dropped as he let out a reverent “whoa” that transcended any language barrier.

The living room to the penthouse itself was light and spacious, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of natural light, and minimalist décor to accent the living room. A large L-shaped couch dominated the living room and looked over the expansive rooftop and the cityscape beyond it. The rest of the room terminated sharply into a dining area with a large oak table and a wood-floored kitchen with two large granite countertops. An imposingly large door –the door to Thomas’ bedroom, -stood closed to the left of the living room. A hallway to the right branched off into an office on one side, and a guest bathroom opposite. A small staircase right outside the laundry room led to a storage loft spanning above the entrance. Thomas toed off his shoes at the door. Khaled, who wasn’t wearing any shoes, hesitantly walked in. Tom frowned when he noticed the dirty footprints left behind on his beige rug.“Would you like a bath, Khaled?” he suggested. The fact that Khaled didn’t reply made him again wonder how much English he truly understood. We can work on that. He sighed in exasperation as he gripped the boy’s arm and dragged him off to the guest bathroom. Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. He got the shower head running next. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he tested the water’s temperature with his hand a few times. He nodded in satisfaction as the water finally reached an agreeable temperature. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub. “Can I take off your clothes?” he asked. The boy blinked, then shook his head as he quickly took off the shirt himself. The drab sweatpants soon followed, and he quickly stepped into the shower. Thomas drew the curtain to prevent water from spilling and to give him a shred of privacy. As the boy showered, he soon realized Khaled had nothing to wear but that depressing little t-shirt and sweatpants. He took them to the laundry room and chucked them in the hamper, making a mental note to buy some clothes for Khaled as soon as possible. Cute as the small naked boy was, he was still a minor, and Tom didn’t need any extra distractions while he was adjusting to his new role as Boss of the Costa Family.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump

[whumplr-reader]

So this is actually a really interesting question. Is the point of owning a WRU Romantic to have all your tastes fulfilled, or is the point to be seen having all the right tastes?

One could imagine WRU officially only deals in young, lithe, physically flawless Romantics. If you want something else, there are specialty companies that will be happy to take your order. (And let's not look too closely into the actual ownership structure of those companies.)

And, of course, for those who really have wealth to waste, the side of WRU that handles underage pets will of course be happy to help with your less-illegal taste. They might not be willing for you to advertise that your pet came from WRU, though...

I was just thinking about BBU Romantics the other day and it occurred to me that it's a little odd that they're always described as youthful, slender, perfect to one particular beauty standard. The idea is that someone in the market to buy a person would of course want the sort of person generally seen as physical perfection ... but would they?

In reality, you'd have buyers with all kinds of tastes beyond, like, hair color - people who like a sexual partner with some body fat they can grab, people who like body hair, people who want a Romantic that reminds them of their tenth-grade English teacher, people who like a partner older than them, etc. You'd think the facilities would take in all sorts of people to train so that they can meet any fetish.

I have sooooo much writing of my own to do, I don't have time to explore this ...

[kim-poce]

Full House/Pet-verse question: How do people become pets? Eri pretty much immediately clocked Day and Night as guard dogs, so were they born for that purpose (how German Shepherds are bred to be attack dogs) or were they rounded up somehow and, because of their size, designated guard dogs and trained accordingly?

BBU Worldbuilding. Heed the warnings.

CW: BBU (boy box universe), pet whump, institutionalized slavery, human trafficking (including children), kidnapping (including children), child abuse in general just to be sure, talks of sex slavery, racism, classism, ableism, noncon body modification (includes mutilation), food control, near death experience, torture, brainwashing, long term captivity, minor whumpee. If I forgot to tag anything PLEASE let me know.

Officially, pets are people who signed up to the facility. There are laws for it; adult applicants must have a witness, underage applicants as young as 12 years old must have the guardian’s permission and at least three witnesses; after a test, the applicant can choose which, from the given option, kind of pet they wish to be. No children under 12 allowed.

Unofficially, there is a lot of illegal human slavery, the consent papers are often fake or forced, and children really young go to the facility often and the register about it is erased.

The facilities avoid illegal acquisition because there are several people against the BBU system, people who jump at them at any given chance. There are however circumstances that makes them more prone to illegal acquisition:

Children: Easier to train and more moldable to whatever the client wants. 

Foreign people: Some clients want specific races that do not always come by so they don’t lose a chance when they get one.

Neurodivergent people: Again, some clients have specific tastes.

Pretty people/People with unique features: For obvious reasons.

Training and Customization

The training is personalized both to the client's tastes and to the pet needs. Touch starved pets are sold to not-touching clients, pets allergic to fur are sold to people with no animals and so on.

In matters of customization, well, as long as the client pays, the facility will make ANY body modification asked: tattoos, piercings, removal of vocal cords/eyes/hands/etc, sewing the mouth and make the alimentation integrally IV, and so on. The more hardcore modification the less it is shown to the public.

Another important point is alimentation: To the underaged pets (the ones who are still growing) the alimentation is controlled. Guard dogs's rations are really nutritious and meant to make them big and strong. Lapdogs are feed enough to survive so they can be small and cute. Domestic and General pets are fed in an irregular way so they can work under any circumstances. Romantic Pets are usually also kept small, but the future owner can "customize" them (feed less if small, more if big, if they want the pet thin or fat, hair length, etc). 

Guard dogs: Torture with no regard to scarring. Trained in martial arts and weapon use over stamina and strength training. Kept 24/7 with a shock collar and when the client pays enough they are implanted with a kill switch. During training, the torture often gets them in the brink of death, this happens so whoever owns them after it’s “merciful” in comparison, so the pet will see them as a “savior” and don’t try to fight back.

Lapdogs: Trained to be as touch starved as possible. Torture usually leaves little to no scars. fed and touched as little as possible so their owner may be their only source of comfort. The training is usually about being as still as possible, acting cute, identifying tricks and traps and acting as such, and makeup and hairstyle. Also, they learn to undergo pain in silence unless told otherwise.

Romantic Pets: Torture leaves little to no scars. Trained to be silent until told otherwise. Kept touch starved all the time but during sex, they have stamina training, and acting lessons so they look as if they are really enjoying it. Their interaction with everything and everyone in a non-sexual setting is cut so sex can be their only form of comfort and contact with other people. Training includes long periods of torture with no apparent reason, where the pet is kept in constant pain, the pain only stops during sex training so they make the realtion of “no sex=pain.”

Domestic Pets: Torture with no regard to scarring. Punished for every sound they make. Not allowed to talk until said otherwise, choke collar activated by speech (and it is kept on n moment they are obligated to speak so even allowed words hurt). Training includes cleaning and cooking lessons, made to overwork with little to no food, hours and hours of repetitive tasks.

General pets: Torture with medium scarring. Usually they sign up as adults and aren’t conventionally attractive so they go into basic training for all types of pets and are sold at a cheaper price.

The Full House pets:

If you want to know about other's series pets, please ask.

Beige: He is a Domestic Pet who voluntarily  signed up when he was a young adult. He had no family.

Pink: He is a Lapdog who voluntarily signed himself when he was a teen. The money went to his father. One trainer tried to make him into a Romantic Pet but the facility didn’t allow him to.

Purple: He is a Lapdog who was forcibly sold by his uncle when he was a teen, it was so he would protect his brother. Money went to his uncle.

Day: He is a Guard Dog who was kidnapped when he was a really young child. No one got the money. He was meant to be a lapdog at first (he was cute) but he grew up too much so his alimentation and training was changed.

Night: He was kidnapped in his teens for political reasons and made to be a guard dog because they couldn't tame him enough to make him a Romantic pet.

Little One: He is a Lapdog who was sold by his parents as a young child. Training was customized so the “ugly” autistic traits were not shown and the “cute” ones were encouraged. At first they tried to make him touch starved, and since it didn’t work, they made him a dancer. Was meant to be sold to a non-touching owner but his first mistress wanted to “fix him,” she signed a document declaring she was aware that she was buying a touch repulsed pet and took responsibility for any defects about it.

[parasiticstars]

To Teach an Old Dog: #1

re re re re re re uploaded bc tumblr keeps fucking it up

TW: BBU/pet whump, casual mentions of dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, and suicide idealization, and me being very pretentious

Kavan’s back hurts. Of the numerous things wrong with his situation, this is what he decided to focus on in an attempt to stave off the impeding sensory overload— and this is the only familiar, non-Pet-fuckery problem he has.

The bit was fastened too tight and digs in the corners of his mouth. He can feel drool starting to crust his beard. He’s disused to the shoddy buzzcut his masters captors gave him in an attempt to make him presentable before auction; he'll certainly never take the feeling of hair on his ears for granted again. The ear tag is pulling on already mutilated earlobes, adding to a budding headache just behind his eyes. The concrete floors look and feel like they haven’t been cleaned ever. The auctioneer’s voice is solidly the fourth most irritating sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Alas, nothing Kavan attempts to focus on staves off the visceral, skin-crawling feeling of too much. No matter how many times the man gets shuttled in and out of auctions and captors like a head of livestock, he’ll never truly get used to the non-personhood, the sheer objectification of it all. Nor will he get used to an audience leering and inspecting him and the other Pets people around him like the products they’re advertised and sold as.

Nobody seems to be interested in him, thank god. Kavan’s getting too old for most people’s tastes— even as a labor Pet, being above thirty is automatically considered a liability, as if he’d crumple into dust the second he set foot onto a construction site or a plantation or wherever the hell else. Has he felt close to it? Definitely. But that didn’t mean he would; even though some places, water and breaks weren’t a given.

(Why would they be? Employers and contractors who use Pets rather than workers don’t need to abide by silly things such as OSHA and basic human decency.)

But regardless.

With the slowly increasing amount of times he’s talked about like his expiry date has run out, Kavan wonders when he’s going to just be taken out behind the shed.

He wonders if he’ll do it himself one of these days.

A prod to the small of his back forces him to straighten, making him nearly drop his sign in the process. His attention snaps back to the crowd, all crammed together in this dingy-ass building in those dingy-ass folding chairs betting on dingy-ass people.

Long had Kavan lost the naïvety that Pet owners were this special type of evil, so impossibly cruel and uncaring that they simply couldn’t be human. Regardless, the fact that everyone here is so unassuming still screws with him. He could hypothetically see any one of them, say, at a Starbucks bitching at the barista about their overpriced order, or shopping at Trader Joe’s, or working in their cubicle, or at a PTA meeting. That in particular jars him.

Nobody around them would know that said person was willingly participating in legalized slavery, lacking even the flimsy pretense of “rescuing” their aunt’s-grandma’s-brother’s-husband’s-neighbor’s-girlfriend’s-niece’s Pet or whatever else they’d want to virtue signal on their Facebook wall or status or whatever else.

(Are Facebook statuses still a thing? God, Kavan’s been out of the loop too long. He doesn’t even know how long.)

One woman in particular has set sights on him. Judging by the fine cut yet plain color of her coat, the disgusted-holier-than-thou glances she’d occasionally give whoever she was seated near whenever they did anything particular crude, the brand name Ceilos, she’s probably fuck-off rich trying not to look fuck-off rich. What would someone like her want at a low scale labor pet auction like this? Why is she eyeing him in particular? Why are her irises barely darker than #FFFFF?

Catastrophizing is, it seems, a very time consuming activity. It muffles the rest of the auction, the auctioneer’s droning that would soon settle the man’s fate, the assistant taking away the sign Kavan was holding and tugging at the rope attached to his collar.

He stumbles as he’s led off the platform and into the pen for inspection. Through the buzzing of his ears, the sound of heels clicking follows.

[wolfeyedwitch]

Ohhhhhh my god. Oh my GOD, this is the worst version of conversion therapy that I think could possibly exist.

Im not okay. I'm gonna go scream into a pillow or something.

Leo reads Aiden's Intake Form

Masterlist

Leo jumps when his phone vibrates against the countertop, a flat buzz like an insect trapped inside a jar. It’s only Delia, probably calling on her drive home to chat, but his chest tightens as he raises it to his ear. 

“Can you come outside?” She asks. 

“What? Why?” 

He’s expecting an annoyed tsk but instead, she just sounds tired. “Just come outside. Alone.”

If only for the reassurance of seeing Aiden content, Leo goes all the way upstairs to tell him he’s going to grab something from the van. 

Aiden’s lying on his stomach in bed playing on his Switch, feet kicking lazily in the air. When he sees Leo, his eyes flick around, like he’s checking to make sure his bed is perfectly made or he didn’t leave a stray sock beside the laundry basket. He waits until Leo’s in the doorway to sit up and put the screen aside, looking relieved as he does. Leo knows how much effort it takes every second he doesn’t snap to attention. 

He’s convinced Aiden will smell the lie on him but he just says okay and nods. No questioning gaze or hesitation. Aiden picks up his Switch again but keeps it resting on his lap. Hopefully just until Leo turns away and not until he’s closed the front door behind him.  

It rained earlier. The pavement, still holding the heat of the day, evaporates the water quickly, mist hanging just above the ground in the yellow cast of the street lights. Delia’s parked behind the cover of his van. His stomach tightens at her deepening subterfuge. 

Delia has the heat in her car cranked to the highest setting and it smells exactly like the hospital and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He wants to get out immediately. 

“So? What’s—” 

“Here.” She holds a piece of paper out to him. Right before he takes it, she pulls it back again. “I just want to say, for the record, that I wanted to take his number off this and destroy it. There’s a big chance most of this is made up and it’s only his place to tell anyway.” 

Delia finally meets his eyes, waiting. 

“What do you want me to say?” The backseat is absolute chaos. Scrubs and other clothes are strewn about. He counts no fewer than six water bottles and thermoses. And the cherry on top: half a loaf of bread—bag not fully closed—and peanut butter and jelly jars, complete with the knife she must have used to make her dinner, strawberry jam dripping onto the upholstery underneath. He sighs and forces his attention back to Delia. “I can’t know if I agree with you or not if I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Fine, but I tried.” 

“Duly noted.” He means it earnestly but she rolls her eyes and reluctantly hands him the sheet of paper. His stomach is doing somersaults before he even starts to read. It’s a bad photocopy of a bad scan. The handwriting is fuzzy at best, the lines slanting across the page. He has to squint to read it. 

Handler. 

Committed. 

Revision. 

“What—”

Parents. 

Sedation and five-point restraint. 

Leo’s stomach churns. “What the fuck is this?” He holds it away even though he’s barely halfway through. 

Delia takes a deep breath. “The good news is that if we finally have his ID number, we can move forward with the paperwork for—” 

“Do not finish that sentence right now,” he grates. 

“Strictly as a means to an end,” she quickly adds. “You know it’s the first step—”

“Stop with the legalese. I already agreed to that. I want you to tell me what the fuck I’m reading.” His shirt is starting to stick to his back, he wants to rip off his jacket but the seat is too far forward in this stupid car. 

“It’s an intake form,” she says softly. 

“That is the easiest part to read.” He turns off the damn heat and the absence of noise rings in his ears. “Seriously, Delia. What does this mean? ‘Straight Paths’? ‘Committed by his…parents’?” 

“There are a lot of different ways into the System, it was designed that way. Criminals out of for-profit prisons, homeless off the streets, all the stuff you already know, but it goes deeper.” He can hear the venom, even through her clinical voice. “They have so-called treatment programs for alcoholism, addiction, and…well…straight paths.” 

He feels sick to his stomach. “For fuck’s sake.” 

“I know, it’s awful.” 

“What does ‘revision’ mean?” He isn’t sure he wants to know. 

“That’s the term they use for administering amnesics.”  

He forces a breath in. 

“But we already know that he has some—maybe even a lot—of his memories,” she rushes to say. 

“Memories of having ‘five-point restraints’ used on him?” He spits, making her grimace. “Where did you even get this?” He’s gripping the vile document so hard it shakes. 

Delia carefully extracts it from his fist. “One of Noah’s safehouse contacts has a contact at one of the facilities. They’ve helped in situations like this when we had no choice but to pull records. We only use it as a last resort because it’s so risky for everyone involved. The last time we did this it was a matter of life or death and we needed a medical file—” 

He’s not even listening anymore. All he can think about is Aiden, innocently playing video games upstairs. Comfortable, content. Now, Leo will have to face him with these fresh horrors in mind. Even if he tried, he’s not sure he could hide that he learned something new. But, like Delia said, this should have been his to share. He runs his hand over his hair. 

“I wish there had been another way,” he laments uselessly. He wishes he listened to her and never read any of it. “Are you sure it’s him?” 

“No…that’s the thing…” She swallows. “We’re going to have to ask him.” 

Leo shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, Delia. You know what it’s like for him every time we’ve tried. We can’t—” 

“I wouldn’t suggest it if there was an alternative. It’ll be different this time because he doesn’t have to try to say it or write it.” 

“But what if he still can’t recognize it?” He scrubs his hands over his face. “You said yourself the sequencing, the long number sequence—” 

She has to whisper it, “His conditioning should override any symptoms of his aphasia.” 

Leo gets out of the car, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He makes a beeline for the edge of the parking lot and vomits into the neat row of bushes there. 

Masterlist

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney

[gottawhump]

Discussion

Kolya

CW/TW: pet whump, BBU/WRU, collar mention, institutionalized slavery. Mostly just a difficult conversation. After this, and before this.

“I found Eliot wearing this,” Jonas says, handing him a black latex collar.

Kolya doesn’t recognize it at first, until he turns it around and sees the number. “I thought I threw this away. How did he find it?”

“Cleaning, of course.”

“And he was wearing it? But he’s free, I set him free.”

“It’s not that simple, Nikolai.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” The tight control in Jonas’ voice snaps, and becomes harsh. “Do you think it’s normal that he cleans all day? That he hides when he’s sick? That he keeps cleaning even though he is sick?”

He fumbles at the last part. “I’ve tried to get Eliot to go to a doctor. He panics so much.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“His last owners were quite neglectful.” Wasteful. Cruel.

“Yes, Nikolai. His last owners.”

“I’m not Eliot’s owner.”

“Nikolai, he wants you to be.”

No. Oh, no. He buries his head in his hands, feeling a heavy pit in his stomach. Then he looks up. “All right. You’re right, Jonas.” His voice catches a little. “I will-I will send him to the ssfehouse.”

Forgive and Forget taglist: @whumpsday @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds @justplainwhump @bluetheautisticrat @i-eat-worlds @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @risk606 @taterswhump

[grecoromanyaoi]

hmmm ok im brainstorming wotbeotl. tw for mention/discussion of slavery (im thinking abt how its going to fit in my story setting)

ok so. SO. the main kingdom in my story is marmar, which is heavily based on romania, n somewhat on greece, n full of shit i just invented. just for context in case anyone doesnt know - there was historical chattel slavery of romani ppl in romania, for centuries, until the mid 19th century.

now. i do not want to write abt anything regarding romani enslavement - ive asked around online n romani ppl recommended i avoid it, i am not romani, im not close enough to any romani person to rely on them w worldbuilding (nor am i comfortable asking any romani person to do that), etc. i am not touching that.

however. there r more kingdoms in my story. one of them is lirobya - its an empire that marmar was once occupied by, for 300-700 years (some part for shorter periods n some for longer). that empire is heavily based on two historical empires - the russian empire, n the roman empire. now. writing abt anything even somewhat resembling the roman empire n not discussing slavery is. hm. a tad deranged?

so i thought maybe that slavery is enforced in lirobya but abolished in marmar after they gained their independence - either bc a lot of them were institutionally enslaved by lirobya or (and i like this option better) not bc theyre morally opposed to slavery but bc the institution was seen as lirobyan and they tried to distance themselves as much as they could from lirobyan (tho there r still. many irreversible lirobyan influences on every aspect of their culture)? but wouldnt that seem like... erasure of the v real slavery in romanian history? wouldnt that kind of b like. hamilton-ing history? (not that im using "real" figures who were slave owners n erasing that aspect but i am heavily inspired by real history)

idk. what do u all think

[befuddled-calico-whump]

masterlist

Due to their unique, eye-catching appearances and general durability, Dryads are considered the ideal pet.

Easy to capture (all you have to do is threaten them with a torch), and easy to keep (dirt, sunlight, and water are all you really need), a Dryad is sure to make a dazzling addition to any collection. And the best part is, there's no guilt attached. After all, they're not people, they're plants.

Tree Dryads are the most common species. Though nearly indistinguishable from a regular tree while in their plant form, they sure do stand out in their humanoid form!

The complexion of most Tree Dryads is green, but they'll also tend to take on traits of their species of tree, making each subset look wholly unique.

While rarer and more expensive than Tree Dryads, Flower Dryads are worth every cent. Their tiny, delicate appearance is sure to delight anyone, and they come in a variety of gorgeous colors.

Another close relative to the Dryad is the elusive and dangerous Naiad. While a Dryad can be found in the home of any self-respecting lord, a Naiad will rarely be seen outside of a cirque or private menagerie.

The beauty of Naiads and rare Dryads is undeniable, but most experts will agree that a common Tree Dryad makes the best pet for beginners.

[385bookreviews]

1.45.4 The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins

SPOILERS

Pages: 528

Read Time: 9 hours and 58 minutes

Overall Rating: 3.5★ Storyline: 4★ Dialogue: 3★ Characters: 5★

Genre: YA Dystopian

TWs for the book: Violence, death, murder, child death, war, blood, cannibalism, poisoning, gun violence, classism, gore, injury, child abuse, toxic relationship, death of a parent, confinement, toxic friendship, torture, police brutality, grief, execution, animal cruelty, animal death, su*c*de/thoughts/attempts, alcohol, drug use/abuse/addiction, physical abuse, gaslighting, emotional abuse, vomit, medical content, fire/fire injury, xenophobia, medical trauma, genocide, forced institutionalization, panic attacks, bullying, colonization, mental illness, slavery, kidnapping, hate crime, misogyny/sexism, stalking, dementia, trafficking, terminal illness, abandonment, chronic illness, racism, bombing, eating disorder, self harm, deportation, ableism, domestic abuse, infidelity, miscarriage

POV: Third person; Coriolanus Snow

Time Period/Location: Over the span of around 6 months in Panem, the new name for a fictional, dystopian version of North America, set 64 years before the first The Hunger Games.

First Line: Coriolanus released the fistful of cabbage into the pot of boiling water and swore that one day it would never pass his lips again.

The story centers around Coriolanus Snow, the future president of Panem we see antagonizing Katniss and Peeta throughout The Hunger Games series. 10 years after the rebellion of the districts and their defeat by the Capital, Coriolanus and his cousin Tigris and their grandmother are still feeling the affects of it. Tigris and Coriolanus have lost both of their parents, and the family has lost their fortune, barely managing to maintain appearances that they are still wealthy. Coriolanus goes to the Academy, and has plans to attend University the next year, but only if he can manage to win a prize by mentoring a tribute in that years Hunger Games.

He feels insulted by being given a District 12 tribute but hopes he can turn it around upon seeing the charismatic singer, Lucy Gray Baird, put on a performance at the Reaping and capture everyone's attentions. He waits for her at the train station and offers her a white rose from his grandmother's garden. She only takes a petal of it, but resolved, he rides in the caged truck bed with her to where the tributes are to be kept. This ends up with him and the rest of the tributes being dumped into the monkey house at the zoo. He is embarrassed, but Lucy Gray tells him to own it, and he plays it off for the news cameras. After being removed, Dean Casca Highbottom, who seemingly has a vendetta against him and knows of his family's poverty, gives him a demerit. Dr. Gaul, a mad scientist and head gamemaker overseeing the student's projects, commends him. Coriolanus continues to visit Lucy Gray at the zoo, along with Sejanus, a fellow classmate who Coriolanus despises but keeps on his good side anyways. Sejanus and his family were from District 2 but became wealthy Capitol citizens when his father supplied weapons to the Capitol during the war. Sejanus is guilt ridden by this, made worse by the fact that the tribute he is supposed to mentor was a classmate of his in District 2. He offers food to the tributes, but his tribute Marcus refuses to take anything. During school, Coriolanus and Dr. Gaul come up with new ideas for getting the citizens of the Capitol and all of Panem involved in the Games, such as betting on tributes and sending food into the arena, seeking to make it some kind of sporting event. On a trip back to the zoo with some of his other mentors to give the tributes food, Arachne Crane, the mentor of the District 10 girl, is killed by her through the bars of the enclosure. The District 10 girl Brandy is then shot by the Peacekeepers.

After this, Coriolanus and another classmate Clemensia are chosen by Dr. Gaul to put together a project explaining how to make the betting and food donation system for the Games work. Clemensia is too distraught to do the project, but Coriolanus finishes it on his own. They are summoned by Dr. Gaul to her lab where she is working on genetically engineered rainbow colored snakes. If the snakes are familiar with your scent, they are friendly and calm, but if not and you approach them, they attack you with venom. Dr. Gaul put the project papers in the snake tank and asks Coriolanus to lift them out, which he does without issue, however when Clemensia tries, she is bitten and begins to die and is whisked away to the hospital. Dr. Gaul says this happened because they lied about doing the project together when he did it on his own. Coriolanus sings the anthem of Panem at Arachne's funeral, and Brandy's body is dragged through the streets. The rest of the tributes are paraded through while shackled to the back of a truck. After this it is arranged for the tributes to tour the arena with their mentors, when suddenly bombs go off. Both District 6 tributes are killed along with their mentors, twins Diana and Apollo Ring. Lucy Gray rescues Coriolanus instead of trying to escape. The District 1 tributes are shot by Peacekeepers as they try to escape, the District 2 girl dies, and Marcus, Sejanus' District 2 boy, escapes. After his recovery, Lucy Gray begs Coriolanus to believe that she can actually win the Games and they begin plotting how she can do so. Before the Games begin, Coriolanus gives Lucy Gray an old compact of his mother's so she can smuggle rat poison into the arena. She gives him a kiss and tells him he has stolen her heart.

The boy tribute from District 5 dies before the Games can begin, so only 14 tributes enter the arena. They find Marcus' body beaten and tortured but still alive hung up on metal poles. This enrages Sejanus and he has an outburst in the Academy and leaves. The District 7 girl Laminia kills Marcus as an act of mercy. Dill, the girl from District 11, dies of illness some hours later. After an uneventful first day, Coriolanus returns home to find Sejanus' mother, and she says that Sejanus has disappeared and not come home since his outburst. That's when they spot him on TV in the arena, sprinkling bread crumbs on Marcus' body, something that was done to the dead in District 2. Dr. Gaul calls Coriolanus, demanding he come to the arena and rescue Sejanus. When he goes in, Sejanus refuses to leave, wanting to make a statement with his death, but Coriolanus convinces him otherwise. On their way out, Coriolanus is forced to kill Bobbin, a District 8 tribute.

As a way to cover up for his son's stunt, Sejanus' father creates the Plinth Prize for the mentor who's tribute wins the Hunger Games. It is a full ride scholarship to University, which is something Coriolanus desperately needs in order to be able to go because of his family's poverty. Sol, the girl from District 5, is killed almost immediately the second morning of the Games. Lucy Gray and Jessup, the District 12 boy, finally emerge from their hiding places, but it is clear that he has rabies and is trying to kill Lucy Gray. Coriolanus and Lysistrata, Jessup's mentor, send in huge amounts of bottled water, which trigger Jessup's hydrophobia and cause him to fall to his death. When Coriolanus arrives home he learns that his family will lose their apartment due to a new tax bill that they can't afford to pay.

On the third day, Mizzen and Coral from District 4 and Tanner from District 10 kill Laminia, who has been safe up on top of the rafters. Coral and Mizzen immediately turn on Tanner and kill him. Reaper from District 11, the most feared tribute, emerges and starts lining up all of the dead bodies. His mentor Clemensia, who was hospitalized for very long and deformed from the snake venom, cruelly refuses to give him any food as he isn't killing anyone. Gaius, one of the mentors in the program, died from his injuries from the bombing on the arena. Coriolanus discovers Dr. Gaul is planning on dropping the mutated snakes that bit Clemensia into the arena. He decides to drop a handkerchief that Lucy Gray had been using in the snake pit before it is put into the arena so that the snakes will not attack Lucy Gray.

Wovey from District 8 emerges the next day, only to immediately foam at the mouth and die. Coriolanus suspects Lucy Gray killed her with rat poison. Dr. Gaul announces Gaius' death and sets the snakes loose in the arena. Circ from District 3 is killed, along with Coral. Lucy Gray, however, emerges from the tunnels singing to the snakes, and they wrap around her dress and her arms perfectly at peace.

The next morning Teslee from District 3 uses drones to knock Mizzen down from the rafters and he falls to his death. Treech from District 7 kills Teslee with an ax to the skull. Lucy Gray emerges and he goes to attack her as well, but she runs and hugs him before he can swing at her and attaches a snake to his neck. The venom kills him. Lucy Gray taunts Reaper until he decides to drink from a puddle of water she poisoned with rat poison and he dies, making her the winner of the 10th Hunger Games. Before he can celebrate his victory, Coriolanus is sent to Dean Casca Highbottom, who reveals the handkerchief he dropped in the snake tank and the compact with the rat poison. With his cheating revealed, he has no choice but to give up his victory and join the Peacekeepers.

As a Peacekeeper Coriolanus goes to District 12 as he hopes to be able to see Lucy Gray there. He is beginning to consider su*c*de when Sejanus appears, having also joined the Peacekeepers. Sejanus was also given the choice Coriolanus was of expulsion or Peacekeepers, but he agreed to do so as long as Coriolanus could officially graduate the Academy with High Honors. Coriolanus resolves to take the officer's test to move up in the Peacekeepers. He makes plans to see Lucy Gray at a performance of her and her band, The Covey Bairds. He is forced to witness the execution of a rebel, who tells his lover to run before being hung from a tree. At the Hob, Coriolanus sees Lucy Gray perform, and they are about to reunite when her spurned lover Billy Taupe appears and causes a fight. Sejanus and Coriolanus leave the base the next day to go visit Lucy Gray and her family. She sings Coriolanus a song she wrote about the hanging the previous day, called The Hanging Tree. They talk and say it was written in the stars for them to be together. When Coriolanus and Lucy Gray return to the house, Sejanus and Billy Taupe are seen conversing, and Sejanus is drawing him a map of the Peacekeeper base and Sejanus admits they were discussing the girl who the rebel who had been hung told to run. She was captured by the Peacekeepers. Lucy Gray tells Billy Taupe off, and Coriolanus begins to suspect Sejanus as being a rebel sympathizer. Coriolanus writes a letter to Dr. Gaul as if he is still having lessons with her, telling her of what he is learning by being in the Districts.

The soldiers are assigned a new task of shooting jabberjays and mockingjays, but only after they assist Capital scientists in trapping 100 of each. Coriolanus is thrilled that his ideas are being heard, as he hates the fact that the mockingjays exist, seeing them as being out of control. When they go to see the Covey perform again, Coriolanus finds Sejanus sneaking around the Hob and decides to keep a closer eye on him. Lucy Gray confesses that Billy Taupe wants her to run away with him up north. While working with the jabberjays, Sejanus comes up to Coriolanus to confess something to him, and Coriolanus presses record on a remote so the jabberjay records the conversation. Sejanus tells him he is going to run away and go north with Billy Taupe, and needs Coriolanus' help to free the captured girl. Coriolanus refuses to help and tries to talk him out of it but fails, and then sends the jabberjay off knowing that Dr. Gaul will hear of Sejanus' treason. Lucy Gray and Coriolanus walk in on Billy Taupe and Sejanus trading illegal weapons, and Lucy Gray diffuses the situation by saying she'll go north with Billy Taupe. Then Mayfair Lip, the mayor's daughter that Billy Taupe cheated on Lucy Gray with, appears and threatens to reveal the whole scheme, so Coriolanus, not wanting him and Lucy Gray to look like rebels, shoots Mayfair, and then another rebel present named Spruce shoots Billy Taupe when he tries to stop Lucy Gray from leaving. Spruce runs off with the guns that have Coriolanus' fingerprints, but is brought to the Peacekeeper base the next day severely wounded. Sejanus is then arrested and executed for treason.

Coriolanus is told that he is being sent off to become an officer, but with Spruce now dead he is worried that the guns with his fingerprints will show up eventually, and he decides to run away with Lucy Gray. In the time that it takes for them to get to their usual hangout spot deep in the woods, Coriolanus has already decided that this kind of life isn't for him. In the abandoned cabin he finds the guns with his DNA and realizes he can go back and become an officer, but Lucy Gray runs off, realizing he plans to go back and that he betrayed Sejanus. He chases after her, and she planted her orange scarf by a snake that bites him. He fires the gun at random into the woods but can't tell if he killed Lucy Gray or not. He throws the guns into the lake and makes it back to the base. The next day he gets on a hovercraft bound for District 2 so he can become an officer. He is sent to the Capital instead and is greeted by Dr. Gaul. Him becoming a Peacekeeper was a plot of hers the whole time, and she had him honorably discharged and enrolled at the University.

He becomes an apprentice gamemaker, and became the heir to Sejanus' family fortune as they didn't know he was the reason he died and adopted him as their new son. He finally learns the truth as to why Dean Casca hated him so much. Him and Coriolanus' father were friends at the University and given a project by Dr. Gaul to come up with a way to punish the Districts after a war, he joked that they should have the Hunger Games. Coriolanus' father turned the assignment in to Dr. Gaul, betraying Casca's trust, and making him the creator of the Hunger Games. It is left unsure whether or not Lucy Gray ran away into the woods or if she died, as back in District 12 it is speculated the mayor had her killed. He uses rat poison to kill Dean Casca, and the book ends with his family motto: "Snow lands on top."

Coriolanus Snow (Coryo): This was an incredible backstory for Snow. You know that he's going to turn out evil, but at the same time you are rooting for him to be a good person and to win the Games early on in the book. Getting to finally see his internal monologue and his motivations and logic, and how he was shaped by Dr. Gaul, really puts the rest of the book series into perspective. He isn't a loveable protagonist whatsoever, and at the end of the book when he is a Peacekeeper you really start to get his true perspective of things. He never loved Lucy Gray, but saw her as his, an object and a possession, a toy that he eventually got bored of. He saw the mockingjays as an affront to the control of the Capitol, like a mockery. This series puts into perspective everything Katniss did later on and her entire symbolization and why it was so triggering to Snow and why he hated her so much.

Lucy Gray Baird: I agree with a lot of the character evaluations of her that I have seen that she is not meant to be similar to Katniss, but rather to Peeta. They both are able to manipulate audiences and put on a show, and I believe this is why Snow targets Peeta and uses him the way he does in Mockingjay. Lucy Gray wasn't what he wanted her to be, so he discarded her when she wasn't useful. I like that they ended her story mysteriously, with you not knowing whether or not she died or if she escaped on her own and made it north.

Sejanus Plinth: Following the theory that Peeta reminds Snow of Lucy Gray, Katniss reminds him of Sejanus. Sejanus was arguably more influential in Snow's life than Lucy Gray, and his "betrayal" affected Snow more. This might explain why Snow treated Katniss more like a peer, and Peeta more like toy. As for Sejanus himself, I enjoyed his character a lot, just wishing he was less naive and didn't trust Snow like he did.

Tigris Snow: We see Tigris in the Hunger Games, a mutated person altered beyond recognition and wanting Snow dead. I so desperately need to know what happened between The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and Mockingjay that turned their close relationship to the point that she wanted him dead.

Storyline: Watching Snow transform into the monster we know him as was an immensely compelling storyline. You slowly watch his downfall into authoritarianism and cruelty and it's a painful read but so, so good. Suzanne Collins gave so much backstory and explanation for things that happen later. None of it felt forced or thrown in there just because. Things like The Hanging Tree song and Snow's connection to it being fully explained makes the rest of the series feel so much more real and everything has a lot more significance than it did. Also learning that Snow (with the help of Dr. Gaul) made the Games into the spectacle we see in the original trilogy ties everything together in the best way possible.

Representation: Pluribus, a club owner and smuggler close with the Snow family reveals that he used to have a husband. One of the Covey Baird girls has a girlfriend.

Summary: The writing style between this book and what I remember of the original books is definitely different, and it was weird to me at first but ultimately, as it's from Snow's perspective, it makes total sense and adds to things. Snow is an unreliable narrator from the jump, but you don't really realize that until nearing the end of the book. This book really just adds to the series as a whole and takes to an impossibly high standard for an already legendary dystopian YA series.

Quotes: "I'm so blameless I'm choking on it."-Sejanus Plinth (pg. 73) "He comforted himself with the thought that she was old and no one lived forever." (pg. 161)

[hold-him-down]

SNIPPET TIME

here you go this one is from 'hold him down - part 2' (which follows hold him down - part 1) when leo is handed back to the department post-parker. if you'd rather wait until the semi-polished entire thing is ready, skip this one! this piece is like half complete but snippets have been requested and i do love a good very-poorly-tuned snippet dump:

✥ ✥ ✥

“It’s difficult to speak with him when he’s like this,” she says, her attention shifting abruptly to the handler who stands by the door.

She’s not speaking to Leo, though, so Leo draws his gaze back to the water, weighing the odds that he can take a sip without spilling it. His throat is on fire. To help occupy his mind, he shifts his focus to the wall behind Rachel Tippin, LSW, at all the certificates that hang there. He wonders briefly if she saw herself in this type of position, if she dreamt of this type of work as a kid. He thinks about how, when he was a kid, he dreamt of becoming a cop so that he could show the cops that he was important and that he could do good and that his family was harmless, and in the deepest recesses of his seven-year-old mind, he prayed that if he impressed the right people,  they would give him back his dad–

The stray thought comes out of nowhere and Leo slams that door shut, forcing his mind to the blank, quiet place that he sometimes holds onto because, he thinks, if he has another outburst today, he may not survive it.

“Ask me what you want to know, then,” Leo can hear Handler Grey saying. 

Leo drags his eyes over to the handler and tries to smile at him. In response, Handler Grey’s eyes narrow, just for a second, and Leo shrinks back in on himself, mumbling an apology that he can’t quite place the source of. The look the handler gives him is scathing, and he locks his jaw. He needs to focus, and he knows that, but he also knows that he’s been drugged out of his mind and how is he supposed to focus? Handler Grey can see what medicine he’s been given to calm him down, and has to know the limits of what he can push through.

[3-2-whump]

Break my heart why don’t you 🥺💔😭

We Search For Stolen Personhood - Say It

Masterlist

cw: fantasy of murder/choking, noncon/dubcon kissing mention, pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee

——————

The room was unlit, save for the shine of the crescent cut moon glimmering through the window. The fan, white as everything else, buzzed above the bed, a humming thrum that coated the squealing of crickets and hoots of owls from the outdoors.

Usually when Prince would awake at some random hour in the middle of the night, he would flush any thoughts out from his mind and watch outside that very window at the glitter of stars in the dark night sky. He didn’t understand why, but oftentimes the images of constellations would arise, as if that was anything for a pet to concern themself with.

But this was not like usual.

Instead, Prince stared daggers at his sir with beady, piercing eyes, his sir innocently oblivious to it all. Asleep, even, chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm. Prince held his breath, only releasing and sucking in a new heave of air every so often. His fists were tightly wound around the comforter, holding on with an iron grip.

His sir hadn’t said it. Again.

He passed on his chance, neatly laid right out for him to just take it, and didn’t fucking say it.

Jaw working, Prince grit his teeth. He’d never been so furious before, rage coursing through his veins. He didn’t think it was remotely possible for him to be. 

Prince was so sure he was going to say it. He was so hopeful, too hopeful, because if he hadn’t said it already then why would he ever?

They had kissed, his sir’s burly hands holding the sides of his pet’s smaller, more angularly shaped head, a thick bead of spit connecting their lips even after his sir had let go. Prince had believed it was just the right time as perfectly round pools of brown met green, both accompanied by up curled lips.

Prince had made sure his speech, his mannerisms, his everything was so utterly perfect, having practiced the words in the mirror for hours before his sir had returned home.

Fluttering his lashes, cocking his head, and keeping his voice low and slick with rasp, Prince spoke just as he was trained.

“I love you, sir.”

Sir had laughed a little around his heavy, warm breathing, blushing even, which he rarely ever did, as he brushed a thick strand of Prince’s hair out from his gaze. He pressed one more peck to his pet’s forehead, scruffy beard tickling Prince’s skin and parting his lips as he went to respond.

“I know you do, Princey.”

Biting his lip hard, nearly enough to pierce the skin and fill his mouth with stinging copper, Prince dug his face into the soft, silk coated pillow beneath him, wetting it with flowing tears. He caught a sob in his throat, holding it there for a second before he released it, twisting into a croaking whine.

Was he not capable of being loved? Was it his fault? Was Prince not good enough for him?

God, he looked so fucking peaceful while his pet was forced to agonize. He appeared vulnerable, even. Prince could catch him off guard right then and there, teach him a lesson and make sure he never dared upset his docile, obedient property ever again.

Prince could do whatever he so pleased. Wrap his slender yet still strong hands over his sir’s throat, twist and turn as he grunted and squealed for help. Watching as his sir’s face churned with indigo, just until he lacked the life to fight back.

At that Prince wailed hoarsely, muffled by his pillow. A terrible pet he was to think something so monstrous. Maybe that was why his sir couldn’t bring himself to love something so broken.

“Prince…?” The pet whimpered, going rigid as his sir’s gravel coated voice tainted his ears, fearful that he had somehow spoken his horrid thoughts out loud. Carefully, with stained cheeks he turned to meet his owner’s gaze, hazy and drowning in drowsiness. “You- you’re crying. Why are you crying?”

“You- I-,” swallowing, his lip shook with a heavy tremble as he stumbled with his words. “Do you- love me, sir?”

Sighing, his sir placed a moistened of Prince’s hair back into place. His features glistened in the light of the night, caressing his roughened face. Prince nearly wanted to kiss him, but another, locked away part of him, wanted to gag at the thought. “Silly pet. Why in the world are you awake at this hour?”

Prince pressed onward, brushing off his sir’s undeserved tenderness. “S- sir, do you love me?”

His sir’s clammy hand was settled over his mouth, a touch he wanted to shy away from, but was unable. “Shhh, Princey, calm yourself. There’s no reason to be letting such emotions get to you like that. I didn’t ask you to cry, did I?”

“N- no, sir.”

“Correct, Princey. And good boys only cry when sir asks them to, don’t they?” Prince nodded, sniveling incessantly like an upset child. “And right now sir wants us both to sleep. You woke me up with your foolishness, your idiocy, and you will pay for that later. Understood?”

His expression darkened, a cold tone shifting over his gaze. Prince wished he could bury himself underground and never come out.

“Yes, um, sir.”

Tucking the blanket back up to his pet’s shoulder, Prince’s sir gave him one last little sleepy smile. “Go back to sleep, Prince.”

“Goodnight, sir.” Slipped out automatically, before Prince licked his lips and in a cracking voice choked out one more I love you.

His sir, already flopped over and facing toward the wall, did not respond.

Prince got his answer, wether he liked it or not.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[3-2-whump]

Whumpee Intro: The Auction Floor

next>

Thanks @dresden-syndrome for helping me bounce ideas off you! We talked about how pet stores display the fish in glass tanks, especially how some of the good stores display their betta fish in individual glass tanks. And I was like, "why not for pet whumpees?" Inspiration comes from the unlikeliest of places.

TW/CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), noncon body mod (briefly mentioned), light gore (briefly mentioned). I also have little to no idea how auctions like this would work, so I'm skipping over some details. Enjoy, regardless.

The boy backed up as far as his glass prison would allow, but the hungry eyes of the bidders outside never left him. He hoped and prayed nobody would buy him, but his hope diminished with every scrutinizing stare and comment muffled through the glass. He slumped into the corner of his cell and curled into a ball, ignoring the handlers’ threats they drilled into each prospective asset before the auction began. He shut his eyes and buried his head into his folded-up knees. If he was just boring enough to look at, maybe the people outside would move on and buy somebody else.

The floor was cold. The glass walls of his cell were cold. He was bare, completely naked in the empty glass container. The back of his left ear was itchy, but he made no move to scratch at it. If he interfered with the tattoo as it was healing, they promised to pull out his fingernails. It had already happened to one girl; he had seen it. He dug his nails into his shins until the unbearable itching subsided enough to ignore it once again.

The murmurs outside died down, accompanied by the sound of retreating footsteps. The boy dared to peek out from his hiding place. He locked eyes with a man standing right in front of his cell, staring at him with a glass of whiskey in hand. He was a big man, broad shouldered and solidly built underneath that crisply pressed suit. He was easily two heads taller than his father, and up until that point, the boy thought his father was pretty tall. The man had short, dirty-blonde hair and sharp, steel-gray eyes. His mouth was downturned into a frown, the only indication of what he may truly feel behind the blank expression he bore.

Two more men –presumably his friends- materialized alongside him, jovially poking at him and gesturing inside the boy’s cell. It was next to impossible to make out the words they were saying from within the cell, but the boy got a sinking feeling in his stomach. The whole time, the man’s eyes never left his.

---

The auction part of the night had ended, their area of the black market had been closed off, and he (among many others) was retrieved from the glass box. The handler who fetched him threw him a pair of pants and a shirt. “Put those on, and follow me.”

So, I did get sold, the boy realized. He dressed quickly and followed the handler silently, dread weighing down each footstep. He mentally ran through the faces he dared to look at while he wondered who among the crowd had bought him. His mind circled back to the tall man with the scowl. Please, God, please, not him, he begged.

He stopped in his tracks when they came to the exit. The very same tall man turned around to meet him. The handler quietly disappeared from his side. Those steel eyes looked far colder and sharper up close. The boy averted his eyes, staring at his bare feet while keeping his hands folded in front of him.

“What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly. Faint freckles danced across the man’s pale cheeks, and an old scar grazing across his left temple disappeared into his hairline. Those sharp steely eyes continued to flay him. He was so scared he nearly forgot his new owner had asked him a question. My name? He dropped his gaze back to his feet. “Khaled,” he all but whispered. “But you may call me whatever you want, sir,” he added, remembering the ‘correct’ answer.

The man above him murmured his name a couple times to himself as the boy stood ready to accept a new name, if his new master so wished it. “Luckily for you, I like your name,” he said decisively.

Before Khaled could breathe a sigh of relief, the man placed a broad hand on his shoulder. The boy tensed; his palm covered his whole shoulder blade. “Come with me, Khaled.” Not like he had a choice, when his master’s hand pushed him out the door into a future of unknowns and uncertainties.

[whumpingisfun]

Respect and Responsibility | 1 | Doorstep

TWs: dehumanization, pet whump (of the human variety), modern institutionalized slavery, fantasy whump, overuse of magical abilities, offscreen beating

Theo is a thief. He’s had sticky fingers since he was little. Shiny things hoarded away in his room. Silverware, coins found under the couch, chocolate. His mother had teased him about being a little dragon, and he supposes it’s true in a way. 

As he’d grown older, the shiny things he collected grew in value. 

But he’d never stolen a person before.

Okay. Back up, rewind. 

Theodoric de La Rosa is a thief. But even a thief has morals.

Theo had come to Rynthem’s capitol Zale for a heist. It was a simple one, something, something, wrongful inheritance, stolen from natives,something, something, the usual shit that a rich schmuck would do for something shiny, blah, blah, hoarding away relics that deserved to be with their culture and people where it would be properly used and kept safe, etcetera, etcetera.  

This time it was a painting. And a few statues. Masks? Lots of shit. 

Anyways, Theo had gone in for a painting. 

He’d done all the proper paperwork, gotten all the visas squared away. Juniper had done an amazing job giving him a proper cover as someone well off and in good standing. 

But the check in for Rynthem was… weird. The vibes were off. It made all of his long honed instincts rise up. 

Maybe it was the person who was also behind the checkpoint desk with the chipper customs agent who signed his passport. The blue collar cinched tightly around their pale neck, the artful way their bright sunshine yellow hair swooped over their bright blue eyes, looking like they had just stepped off a movie set. The way their smile was just, this side of fake. Almost plastic. Different from the cheerful customer service smile in that there was a sense if Theo tried to get them to have any expression other than the one painted on their face… it would crack their face wide open. 

“...I like your collar.” he compliments the person. “It’s a very pretty shade of blue.”

“Thank you, Mr. de La Rosa.” the customs agent smiles, widely, all teeth,  instead of the person Theo had addressed. 

It’s clear, in the flashing of the customs agent’s eyes, how the person standing at attention behind the customs agent looks down briefly, that Theo had misstepped. “I hope you enjoy your stay at Rynthem~” their voice is cold.

Theo clears his throat awkwardly, taking off his glasses and cleaning them. “You, uh. You have a nice day?” 

Theo didn’t know it at the time, but that was the first time he’d interacted with a Pet. It wouldn’t be the last, either. 

That vaguely off-putting sense just grew stronger as Theo entered Zale proper, leaving the hustle and bustle of the Transportation Hub Station. 

It wasn’t obvious. Of course it wouldn’t be obvious. It just was. 

It was the small things. How certain people followed others at just the shortest clip behind and to the right or left - presumably the dominant hand. The collars that Theo had first thought was just a fashion statement tightly cinched around certain people’s throats. Some even had leashes. 

Hybrids, people with brightly colored hair that would have looked unnatural on other people’s faces, all with collars, all of them just slightly off, too perfect. Uncannily so. 

Places in the restaurants with spots for a leash to be attached to, pillows to kneel on. 

Signs in shop windows saying ‘NO PETS ALLOWED’, and places where you would tie the leash to a post. All of them human, kneeling or standing in the designated area. Waiting. Some of them drinking out of small dishes as they waited in the dry Rynthian summer heat. 

What was horrible about it was that it was so normal.

It was so casual, that it took Theo ten minutes to realize that those were people that the signs referred to. It took someone exiting a store, with a collared person in tow, staggering under the immense weight of all the bags and boxes and totes. 

Too perfect, too shiny, too artificial. 

These people were slaves. 

These people were Pets.

Theo was sick in the next public trashcan and had to go find a medical mask in a convenience store after he’d been stared at for too long for doing something so ‘unseemly’. 

And then he spent the next ten to thirty minutes hyperventilating in an alleyway, because Pets were everywhere, tagging along with their owners, seemingly happy with their lives of servitude, eyes always plastered adoringly on their owners’ faces. 

He dials Juniper, despite the long distance charge and the risk factor.

“Juni I can’t do this.” 

“WHAT?!?? After all the extra effort it took to get you the proper clearance and identification?!” Juniper’s tinny voice echoes in Theo’s ears. 

“Juni, there are literal slaves here!” Theo’s voice shakes as he tries to keep his voice down. “There are slaves, and I can’t save any of them, and I get the feeling if I try anything, they’re going to make ME disappear.” 

He’d gotten the feeling from how he’d addressed the customs agent’s Pet. How he had misstepped and was on thin ice. The realization of the danger he was in was like a cold ice cube melding with the sweat prickling his body, dousing him in a terribly horrid polar plunge.

He was shivering. 

“--eo, Theo, my boy, listen to me.” The calm, assured voice of Theo’s dear mentor, Professor Hale, rolled deep into his ear. “Take a deep breath.” 

Oh. Right. Breathing. Breathing was a thing. 

Theo sucked in a deep shuddery breath and held it, counting to five.

“There’s a good lad.” Professor Hale murmurs. “Now, let me know when you’ve calmed down. You won’t retain anything if you panic.”

Right. Right. Panic was the archnemesis of a proper thief. 

Okay. Okay… shit it wasn’t okay -- but breathe. Breathe. Exhale for five… Inhale… hold, two, three, four, five… Cycling air in and out of the lungs in a measured fashion. 

Stinky trashcan. 

Theo’s eyes flicker around the alleyway, nose wrinkling under his glasses. 

Brick wall.

Really noisy neon sign.

Gravel and rocks poking me in the ass.

…why do I feel like I’m forgetting something.

OH RIGHT AIR--

Theo coughs as he sucks in a deep lungful of air. 

“You know, when I told you to breathe, I meant it, young man.” Professor Hale’s voice rumbles in his ear, slightly tinny from the connection.

“R-right--” he coughs, wheezing slightly as he swallows spit wrong. “Fuck!” 

“Swear jar.” 

“Damn it Hale, I’m in a situation!”

That gets a bark of laughter from the other side of the phone. It makes Theo smile, but it quickly fades.

“Professor, what am I going to do?” he asks helplessly. 

There’s a pause on the other side of the phone, and Theo can’t help but picture the concentrated look on the old man’s face as he considers his words carefully. 

“Theodoric, I want you to listen to me carefully.”

Theo straightens. Oh shit, full name coming out. “Yes sir.”

The smile is audible but strained in Professor Hale’s voice. “I want you to document everything you see carefully.” 

Theo swallows. “...you mean…”

“Yes. I believe the situation calls for it. I know it will leave you exhausted every day, but if you take some over the counter pain management, you should be fine.”

“You mean not debilitated by migraines and able to get the goal you sent me here for.” Theo cuts in.

Another pause. “...well, yes.” 

Theo sighs, rubbing his forehead as he sets his head back on the wall. “Okay.” 

There’s an audible scuffle of the phone being argued over quietly before Juniper audibly wins by elbowing Professor Hale in the gut.

“Theo I’m sorry, I should have looked harder at where you were going, I would have NEVER sent you there alone if I’d known--”

Theo sighs, eyes sliding shut. “And have you and the Professor at risk too?” he wearily asks. “No, its better if I’m the only one here. I’ll get in, and get out, and send the prize back to HQ as soon as I can. Just… if you guys don’t hear from me again, if things go wrong--”

“Don’t talk like that.” Juniper’s voice is breaking a little. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna get home, and make us chili again. You hear me de La Rosa? You’re going to make me chili again, the really spicy one!” 

That gets a laugh out of Theo. “You just love me for my food, Juni.” he teases. He sucks in a steadying breath. “A-anyways. If I don’t make it back, make sure to look after Whiskers for me.” 

“I still can’t believe you named your cat Whiskers.” Juni sighs. “It’s like naming a baby Fingers.”

There’s a strangled choking noise on the other end of the line that doesn’t come from Juniper as Theo snorts and then starts to laugh hard enough tears begin to roll down his cheeks. 

“Sure, Juni. Next time I’ll let you name my cat.” Theo wheezes. “I love you guys. I’m so sorry about the bill.”

A soft sigh. “I’ll handle it, Theo.” the Professor’s voice is warm. Soothing. Theo can hear his shoulders loosen even oceans away just by hearing the old man’s voice. 

His eyes slide closed with a soft sigh. “Thank you, Professor. …I should get out of this alley.”

“Be safe, Larcine.” 

He straightens. 

“I will. Thank you Professor. You two stay safe, keep HQ running.” 

“Yes sir, Leader sir!” Juniper cackles and then the connection crackles shut. 

Leaving Theo alone, in a country run by the very thing he despised.

So, almost to present day. How about that heist. 

The target? Lord Harrison Carter’s summer mansion. 

Theo gets in as serving staff. New hire, sweet face, no one can resist his sweet face, and with the high pedigree and service record Juniper had forged, no one can resist his resume. 

He’s put in rotation. But there are whispers in the staff room after the noon tea is served. 

Lord Carter is getting a Pet.

Theo is practically invisible as he goes about the usual menial tasks the staff are wont to do. Cleaning. Tidying. Dusting. There’s a lot of dusting. Theo can’t see any spec of dust anytime he’s sent to do another round of dusting. 

If it weren’t for everyone doing the dusting, Theo would think he was being hazed. 

No, the hazing comes from a different angle. 

It’s his face that gets him in the most trouble. 

He’s pretty and he knows it. Flaunts it a little with the girls and the boys who swing that way, winking and generally getting a laugh out of everyone once it’s clear he’s just having fun and has no intentions to flirt his way into a bed. 

Despite him not having any intentions, it still gets him slammed up against one of the lockers in the changing rooms. 

Frankly, it gets him beat to hell and he staggers out of it, bleeding. He doesn’t remember much, after a certain point. There was the richly decorated hallway swimming in his eyes… and then nothing.

He wakes up in the hospital wing of the mansion. Bandaged and with a pounding headache he can feel through what must be a nice cocktail of pain medication because wow is he floaty. 

A man, who must be his temporary boss, sits at a chair by his bedside, reading a novel that Theo is too fucked up to read. Oh. Right. They broke his glasses. Damn. 

“Good morning Sir.” is what he tries to say. 

What comes out is a garbled, “Gurdmurnigir.” 

Larcine, one of the rising thieves in the underworld, reduced to incoherent mumbling. 

Great. 

“Mr. Rosa, you’re awake.” The man closes his book with a snap that makes Theo flinch. Ow. Motherfucker. 

Harrison Carter is a man who, in Theo’s drug addled and blunt mind, looks sick as fuck, and not in a good way. The man is frail, gaunt, with the same air of fragility that the Professor gets when it’s a bad day and the man feels all of his many years. Thinning brown hair frames his narrow, gaunt face and his cheekbones could cut glass. The only reason Carter isn’t as pale as a white sheet of paper, is because the man still has a healthy dose of melanin in him. 

His dark brown eyes are sharp, however. 

Sharp and cold. 

“Tell me, Mr. Rosa, who did this to you? I wish to have them… disciplined.” 

Theo swallows. “Hhhhow?” he chokes out.

A hand runs through his hair. It makes him shudder at the subtle intimacy of it. Like Theo is a kid sick at home. He doesn’t like it. This old man who’s probably in his fifties, maybe sixties is nowhere near his father. 

…despite having investigated Lord Harrison Carter on the outside, before heading in, the man doesn’t look a day over thirty, despite the sickness obviously ravaging the man’s body. 

Chills run up and down Theo’s spine. 

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that, young man.” Carter says idly, playing with Theo’s hair. “Just let us good folk take care of it for you.” 

Theo stares blankly up at the man, and then just lets his eyes roll up in the back of his head. 

The next time he’s awake, he’s much more clear headed, and in much less pain. It’s a tiny little nurse on a large stool with big green owl-like eyes behind thick glasses who just stareeees at him quietly and makes notes in her little tablet before informing him that he is free to go home with two weeks of paid time off which - when she sees him about to refuse - is non-negotiable and the pay includes hazard compensation. 

“The culprits who have harmed you on Lord Carter’s property have been dealt with.” she informs him primly. “When you return from your rest, you will not have to worry.

Theo smiles a smile that’s only charming in how miserable and pathetic it is. “...thanks.”

He’s trying really hard not to think about what kind of punishment his current - temporary - employer had handed out.

She hands him his glasses. “Your eyeglasses have been repaired, free of charge.” she says. 

“...thanks.” He puts them on, instantly relaxing when his vision comes back into focus. No migraines. Thank Lupin.

He slowly sits himself up completely and limps out of the medical wing under his own power, and wishing that the generosity of the Lord he was working under didn’t come at a price.

There’s a box on the mansion’s doorstep. 

Theo stops, staring. 

There’s a box on the mansion’s doorstep.

It’s big. More of a crate than a simple package box. 

He turns back around. Hands fists by his side. He can’t risk the heist. The Lucine Guild had already promised the museums and families they would get their heritage back. He can’t. 

He can’t.

…

……

………

“Fucking damn it.” He turns around again, ripping off his glasses and this time, the world doesn’t go blurry, but instead sharpens. Every blade of neatly mowed grass stands out next to each other, sharpened into high definition as time unspools around him. It’s like walking through molasses. It’s like walking through air. The beat of his heart is his drum his drum his drum and he’s almost drunk from the heady beat it brings him. 

He watches himself move through time, a phantom. Separate from himself as he is now, decked in purple hues. He watches as he stops. He looks back. He looks forward again. And then time shatters in two. 

In blue hues, Theodoric de La Rosa goes on, never stopping. He nudges that timeline back into view as he grabs the box and wrestles it inside the haze. In that hazy, flickering timeline, the box disappears sometime later while the blue coated Theo is still walking, oblivious, visible on camera to be too far away to have even grabbed the gigantic box. 

Theo is sweating. 

His head is pounding. Vision swimming. 

He pulls and pulls the box even as his muscles burn.

He pulls and maneuvers this box, all the way through town, inch by grueling inch, his world completely coated in red hues. All the while, the specter of his blue self haunts him, blocks ahead, growing farther distant and as that distance grows, so does the pain in Theo’s head. 

The red world blurs until it is just Theo and the box. The box and Theo. Something warm and wet trickles down his neck. Down his chin. But he doesn’t have time to stop, and wipe away what must be blood from him overusing his Gift. 

If he lets go, time starts for the box, and Theo will lose his chance with so many people around to see the box suddenly appear. 

So inch by grueling inch, he pulls the box closer to that blue specter of a self that chose differently, of a self that Theo made real by forcing the timelines to behave as if only one choice had happened in a tree of choices. 

He gets the box into his apartment. His shielded and warded apartment. 

He lets go of the box, and with shaky fingers he shoves his glasses back on, sucking a deep ragged breath as he melds and slams into his other timeline’s self. The memories make him gag, as memories that are alien and foreign to him slide slick and oily into his mind. 

In another life Theodoric de La Rosa never stops to help another person. He steals and steals because of his own sense of greed. Alone--

 He collapses against the box, choking on bile, swallowing rapidly. His hands fumble with the mechanisms of the box, fumbling for the latch. 

The last thing he sees, as his blood soaked fingers hit the right mechanism, are wide gold eyes, rainbow hair and porcelain white skin, half in shadow as the box opens like unspooling origami. 

And then he is enveloped in darkness once again.

[octopus-reactivated]

Kicked While Down - Bad Things Happen Bingo

If anyone was ever interested in Juli's backstory, there it is :3

(also requests for BTHB prompts are open)

Tw/cw: Pet Whump, Institutionalized slavery, kicking and beating down, scars mention, unfair punishment

Another day, another bruise. 

753 was trying so hard to follow instructions, to be part of the team. He could swear he was doing everything like everyone else. 

And yet, Trainer dragged him out of the group again and threw him on the ground. He was yelling, but the meaning of words was lost to 753. 

He made a mistake, and no matter how many times he tried to correct himself he couldn’t do anything right. 

753 was grabbed and lifted by the collar of his shirt and pushed back to the group who had to start the task from the beginning. 

“I’m sorry” he wanted to say “I don’t want you to suffer because of me”

But he couldn’t say that and his apologies meant nothing anyway when he’s not getting any better. 

__________

Again, and once more. 

His group had to repeat the same task so many times, and it was mostly his fault. 

More than once his group missed a meal or went to sleep late because of it. 

If only he could explain that he was trying, trying to not be a burden… But who would listen? Who would believe him? Who would care?

At least sometimes only he was punished. At least sometimes his teammates didn’t have to suffer because of him. 

__________

One day he was punched in the stomach. It wouldn’t be anything unusual, he was beat up all the time. But this time it wasn’t another punishment from the Trainer, it was another Pet. 

It was because 753 stumbled and that could interrupt the flow of the group and it was bad enough to make one of Pets snap.

He grabbed 753’s shirt.

“I had enough of you” he hissed “get your act together or get lost” he then threw a punch into 753’s stomach, strongly enough to make him lose all the air in his lungs. 

Later on 753 learned that the other Pet was a former Guard Dog who was repurposed because of some injury.

“Do you know how hard it is for us, because of you?”

Putting arms up and trying to shield the stomach and the face gave nothing. The beating ended only after Trainer jumped in and separated them. 

Later that day 753 got his meals taken away for starting a fight. 

__________

“Sir” he said, bowing down so much that his forehead almost touched the floor. 

“Why doesn’t it surprise me anymore?” Trainer asked. “You are getting worse by the day. Of course you would talk without permission”

Trainer Roger was right. Talking without permission was bad enough, and asking for something other than punishment was even worse. But if he won’t his team will be stuck in training forever. 

The shoe tapped on the back of his head.

“Now what was so important that you had to speak to me?”

“Can I be placed back into the chore Pet… I meant the individual chore Pet training? 

Trainer Rogers pressed the shoe down, so 753 shut down. 

“No, continue” prompted him Trainer Rogers “If you think you’re so smart as to question our decision on what purpose you’re about to serve”

“I am dragging the team down! Please! I know I am bad and useless and that there is no hope, but the rest of them don’t have to suffer because of me!”

The pressure on his head disappeared and for a second the room was completely silent.

And then the shoe came back crashing into Pet’s face.

753 was never kicked in the face before. Punched - yes, or kicked in the stomach, but never kicked straight into the jaw.

He instantly felt a metallic taste of blood and his scar that should be healed by now started hurting again. His vision got blurred by the tears and his body was shaken by a sob. 

Trainer Rogers grabbed Pet by the hair and forced him to look into his face.

“Honestly, it’s humiliating that I have to explain myself to a Pet, but I feel like this won’t stop otherwise. When we assigned you to a team we didn’t consider your thoughts about  - oh stop whining - about what the team needs or deserves. We considered where you would sell and you won’t sell unless someone is getting a lot of cheap Pets and is willing to overlook if one is useless or has a history of violence or both. You say that you drag everyone down? True, but you wouldn’t leave the training ever unless others pull you up. Is that clear?”

“Yes- yes sir” 753 sobbed out. 

“You better remember that. Now, I hope you’re ready to start your punishment”

__________

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