#tw: references to torture

[papita474]

Probably darknest shit I made for a while...

Anyways,Angband Mae and a silm bc I didn't know how to fill that empty space.

Body reference taken from this channel from yt :3

[plan-3-tmars]

And Now, The Weather!

So I noticed that the weather changes in Purge March follow a sort of pattern, so I think a meaning can be derived from it.

Amane's MV begins with clear sky's. Amane is saying her speech, she's announcing the cult's values/rules using flags and altogether things seem promising. There are no grey clouds, no looming omens, everything is pure and positive and happy - all sunshines and rainbows if you will.

But as we all know, rainbows can't exist without rain. It's very obvious from the MV that the rain is tied to Amane being punished - in order for prosperity there must be strict rules you follow. Break those rules and you'll be punished so you don't break them again. Rainbows and rainbow imagrey are also tied to very positive things. I think this might be implying how the cult brainwashes it's followers - these bad things are for the greater good! is it really a punishment if its for such a beautiful and good cause?

I would also like to point out how the weather pattern mirrors Amane's abuse she got from her mentors vs Amane killing her victim.

The first picture is before the old man tells Amane's mother that she helped a cat through traditionally ways, instead of being faithfully that her religion would fix whatever is wrong with the cat. We also know after her mother tells her this information she gets tazed, and when we see her again she has bruises and what looks to be tear stains on her face.

The second picture is before Amane kills her victim. She saw what her mentor did to the cat she tried to help and decided that he broke one of their values/rules (-> Amane is vegetarian so harming animals is most likely frowned upon.) We also know straight after this scene she beats her victim to death in her house while wearing a badge that looks to be the cults logo.

Both of these scenes have a "calm before the storm" vibe that they share. The sky isn't clear, so the mood isn't positive and we can tell that something bad is about to happen, but the rainbow is also there in the corner. What they're about to do next is for, in their opinion, the "greater good" of the cult. They're both just carrying out something they believe to be right, to help clear those pesky grey clouds and get the sky back to being pure and clear.

It also rains in both of these moments which I also think contributes to the idea that both her mentor's and Amane carried out the actions they did because they believed it was for the greater good (although we can put more blame on one more than the other ..)

Rainbows symbolise all that is great, and seeing them is generally seen as a great and exciting thing, but they cannot exist without rain. The cult's perfect, prosperous image cannot exist without harsh rules and punishment.

I also found this more philosophical interpretation of rainbows and rainbow imagrey while doing some research which I think could also apply to Amane's situation.

The cult's image of a prosperous and happy place is just that - an image. The reality is much more darker and sinister. Amane has been brainwashed since she was a kid so this is how she views her beloved beliefs but no matter how hard she tries she will always end up failing in their eyes because you can never touch something that isn't real. No matter how hard she tries to be a good girl, eventually it will get to exhausting and she will fail. And when she fails, she will be punished.

[stemms]

What if, at some point after granting c!Tommy immortality and observing the teen's profound unhappiness- hearing him plead for release from the curse gift of eternal life for the thousandth time, c!Dream manipulates him into believing that, as a powerful deity, It's capable of restoring his mortality. However, this would require a certain level of cooperation from c!Tommy... Without much hesitation, c!Tommy agrees, disregarding the suspicious nature of Its proposition, as the mere possibility of returning to his human state and escaping, outweighs the current desolation.

After a series of tests torture to prove his worthiness, c!Dream strips away a few insignificant aspects of c!Tommy's immortality (most likely, his halo and wings), feigning the restoration of his humanity. But the God goes further, fabricating an environment resembling a forest, providing the illusion of freedom to His Angel to keep him safe in :)

As for the tests, c!Dream particularly enjoys slowly and methodically crushing c!Tommy’s fingers one by one, listening to the intoxicating sounds of his agonised screams, but only pushing him further until his hands are entirely broken… He also adores breaking his bones (e.g. jaw, ribs, and legs) but his legs in particular, as every blow is a vivid reminder of the consequences of c!Tommy’s first failed escape :) :) :) On some rare occasions, c!Dream would gouge out the blond's eyes to increase his dependence on Him… He would command him to walk — or rather crawl, and be met with his expected failure. Then, He’d yank c!Tommy’s hand and make him follow Him, demonstrating just how powerless and doomed he is without his God.

In the end, according to c!Dream's plan, c!Tommy is left wounded, bruised, and weeping in misery, hurt by the “forest” inhabitants (who are merely puppets controlled by c!Dream). c!Tommy's been isolated from the outside world for quite a long period, so the slightest hint of danger or his owner's absence drive him to panic intensely.

Eventually, c!Dream arrives to “rescue” His beloved Angel, enveloping his trembling figure in His arms, tenderly stroking his hair, soothingly rubbing his back, and whispering words of reassurance :) Finally, c!Tommy pleads to be granted immortality once again, and c!Dream returns him his halo and wings, perplexing the boy as he expected further challenges torture. However, c!Dream simply assures him that his genuine remorse is more than enough... He’s quite the benevolent God and more than capable of forgiveness, after all :) :) :)

[hylianengineer]

I found this rant in my notes from that time a couple months ago when the pharmacy lost my birth control prescription right before a holiday weekend and made me deal with unmedicated PMDD for a week and I was scared out of my mind. Have an angry rant about the inadequacies of the American healthcare system.

When Julian Bashir was a child, he thought that if he was bad, the doctors would make sure he got sick. He grew out of it. But… if you live with a chronic medical condition that requires medical attention to manage, this is kind of just how your life works.

You have to do all the right paperwork and go to all the right appointments and say the right things in order to maintain access to the treatment you need to be healthy. Especially if the meds you need are a controlled substance. You have to be the good patient. You have to, or you’re in for a significant amount of pain and suffering. It feels like a threat hanging over your head.

And sometimes, you’ll do everything right, and then something happens outside of your control to screw everything up. Maybe there’s a shortage of the medication you need. Maybe the pharmacy loses your prescription. But suddenly you don’t have what you need to be okay, and you hurt. More than that, you’re terrified. You don’t want to be in pain. You don’t want to suffer.

You just want to be okay; why is that so hard?

And the doctors don’t mean to hurt anyone! They don’t understand the amount of power they hold over us. They really do, for the most part, want to help. But the system is a mess of power imbalances and red tape and fear fear fear. There are too many bureaucratic road blocks that keep people from getting medical attention. There are too many doctors who don’t give a shit. Who don’t listen to their patients. Who assume the worst of us. We just don’t want to hurt anymore. We don’t mean to be a bother, we just want to be okay.

And we have to put our wellbeing in their hands. We have to hand them our lives and our sanity and hope they hold them gently. And if they don’t? We have to pick a new doctor and do it all over again. What other choice do we have?

[teleportationmagic]

stephanie brown, throughout the years

Secret Origins 80 Page Giant | "The Ghost Birds", Karen Russell | Robin #111 (1993) | "Dead Dad Jokes", Ollie Schminkey | Detective Comics #649 (1937) | Robin #16 (1993) | Tumblr, crazyonmain | Batgirl #28 (2000) | "Monster", Olivia Olsen & Half Shy | Robin #127 (1993) | Kate McGahan | Robin #130-131 (1993) | Batman: Spoiler/Huntress: Blunt Trauma | Tumblr, deadgirlsupremacy | Batgirl #1 (2009) | "To Be Alive", Gregory Orr | Batgirl #24 (2009)

[skarwriteswhump]

Spy Whumpee

“You won’t ever have to go back there, ever again… I’ll make sure of it” Caretaker said softly into Whumpee hair, holding them tight. 

To caretaker’s surprise, Whumpee laughed lightly against their shoulder.

Their body was battered, several of their ribs were broken, their face was riddled in bruising and the poor, bandaged, broken hands were gently resting on top of the sheets. 

Whumper had taken a hammer to them, breaking each and every finger on each hand. Caretaker couldn’t even imagine how much it would have hurt.

Their throat was rough from screaming and their laugh was hoarse, nothing byt a wheeze really, but it was there. 

“Caretaker… do you really think it’s the first time I’ve run away?” asked Whumpee, resignation in their eyes as they looked up at Caretaker. 

“What do you mean? You made it here to the headquarters, Whumper can’t get to you” Caretaker said, confused. 

“Caretaker” Whumpee said weakly, like Whumpee was pitying them, like Whumpee knew something that Caretaker didn’t “I’m the spy, headquarters need me on the inside… they’ll send me back as soon as I’m healed up… as I said this isn’t the first time I’ve escaped… they always send me back.”

[serickswrites]

At Last IV

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hospital reference, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee was finally home from the hospital. At last. It had taken multiple consultations with different doctors on their treatment team to determine that Whumpee was, in fact, well enough to go home. 

Caretaker had sat through each meeting, their hand never leaving Whumpee’s. They gave Whumpee a reassuring squeeze each time a doctor hesitantly agreed that perhaps it was time for Whumpee to go home. 

At last. 

But getting home had proved difficult as Whumpee’s still healing body ached and moved differently than before. “I...I...I just need a moment,” Whumpee said breathlessly as Caretaker guided them up the porch steps. 

“Sit here, take some time, Whumpee. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Caretaker carefully deposited Whumpee onto the porch swing. 

“I just want to be home,” Whumpee said softly as they leaned against the pillows. 

“You are home with me.” At last. 

Whumpee smiled softly. “I did make it back here. I love this swing,” Whumpee leaned back and closed their eyes, the warmth of the sun filling them. 

Caretaker let Whumpee lay there for a while. They sat and let Whumpee sleep, feeling at ease as they watched Whumpee relax completely. Whumpee was home. Whumpee was safe. Whumpee had come back to them. At last. 

Tags: @lurkingwhump @pigeonwhumps @st0rmm @lilywolfgray @ha-ha-one @21whumpstreet @whumpitywhumpwhump @espzd  @whump-up-the-jam @topsheepstudent @

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Treasure trove of writing reference for the medical aspect of whump

I love Dr. Chris Raynor’s way of presenting, using 3D diagrams and memes. I learned a lot from this and thought all you whump writers would like it too. It’s all about the science of torture methods; but honestly the information in it could apply to non-torture-based whump as well.

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- I suffer only for you

Lucient hadn’t giggled. Nor had I. But someone had, and as we separated to find its source we found emptiness.

Not an emptiness in our train car, but true emptiness. Brilliant white nothing in all directions. And us in our clothes again, though we hadn’t time to dress—or clothes to dress in, for all our car had vanished in the white.

“Questo per quanto riguarda il bagliore…” I lamented our lack of afterglow—an important part of such delights, and I stand by it—while Lucient slipped in front of me in a protective stance that forced my frown into a smile.

“I am sorry for interrupting, little things,” chipper, the voice from the nothing was chipper and high-pitched. Yet ever so slightly overlapping with a deeper voice, “but you play too long and I have only so much time.”

“I assumed you a witch,” Lucient asked it, “but you’re no witch, are you?”

“No, I am not,” the voice admitted with a slew of giggles that stabbed for their pitch, “but I am here to help. Nathaly sent you. I see her sweet gray colors all over. Delight she is. Delight. As are you. Strange things, you.”

Color flashed with the words, in bright shapes they exploded in all the white and I held Lucient’s waist, him my arms.

Neither of us spoke and the voice continued, “others have been close, snuggly tight, and warm and sweet but not like you. You're fun too. Pretending at being people while you eat them. Such fun. Wish to be more, yes?”

“Treasure, watch what is said,” Lucient warned, pressing tighter against me, “I believe we’re speaking to a faerie.”

“Close!” The white exploded in another wave of colors too vivid as the voice giggled again, “sharp senses on this little thing. So close to answers. Little thing Life can't have and Death doesn't want. Unwitting pawns of dear, dreaded Desire. Close. But not there.”

“I know fae, my love, stories,” I tried for explanation, but I was grasping, rambling, “they're small, with the wings and flowers and crazy visions. And your thoughts of the ship, was the little rock not a fae?”

“Yes, treasure, that was one. They are what they wish, whenever they wish it. And this one just suggested it is more. Something witches worship.”

“Clever little thing has it now,” dimmer the colors, puffing into the white as quick as air from popped balloons, “but don't say, don't say. Speak it and you must owe me more than you can pay.”

My love? I tried silently, hoping that the metric.

Correct, in fact, and Lucient followed suit to answer, I did say there were Gods who would adore what you are.

A God, I sputtered after but said nothing—and wouldn’t quite understand yet, but the correct term is Source, as in a source of magic, in her case the Source of Fae magic.

As the nothing giggled, “you wish a binding, little things. I will provide. Keep you safe, locked in your sweet little bones where none can snatch what you are. But you will pay, yes. Whatever I wish, whenever I wish it. Not today, or next life maybe, but I will come and you will pay. Do you accept my terms?”

All my wonder shriveled in the voice’s terms. I knew a terrible deal when I heard one and spoke to it, “an open invitation to take whatever you want from us?”

“It is their way, treasure,” Lucient soothed, but he kept his defensive posture, “we are lucky it doesn't want us.”

Scoffing, the nothing dripped with darker color, “No no, you are Desire's things. I cannot have you. Only nudge, and I will nudge, protect you from being other's of Desire's. Including your claim, cold little thing,” brighter the dripping color, flowing in fierce falls all around us and continued into the nothing we stood on. “No more control unless control is desired. If you give your promise. Have I your promise?”

Pulling Lucient around to speak into moonlight, I confessed, “I already said yes to you, my love. Twice. Yours always, forever. No matter what we do, I am yours.”

“So perfect,” caressing my cheek, he smiled, “do you want this then?”

A kiss before my answer, “I do.”

“As do I,” he said with another.

And the white around us faded, leaving us back in our car, where a stout elderly woman stood wearing far too many layers of wrinkled cloth in too many colors. She bounced off the couch in a flutter of fabric, something glittering at her back for a breath, and grinned up at us from about knee-height.

“Half there then!” She tittered, “now. Let's see those bones.”

“Quoi,” Lucient asked, while I was dumbstruck by the tiny woman.

Who nodded gravely and spoke to the floor, “it will hurt.” Grinning back up at us, she snapped spindly fingers and everything snapped with. Save her voice, “do scream, if it helps.”

Straps, I felt straps first. On my legs, my stomach and across my shoulders. Wiggling did nothing to move them, but it did provide a light in the sudden dark. All at once it came and all at once I saw how little there was to see.

Shadows too thick to parse surrounded me, and I couldn’t move enough to see what I laid on, but I saw it mirrored beside me. Where my love was strapped, shirtless, to a steel table, his eyes blinking.

Hands and arms mostly free, I reached for his.

As he reached for mine.

And the tiny woman hopped up between us to yank us close enough, allowing us to hold hands as she spoke, “hold tight, little things, you must feel every part.”

“Every part of wh—cazzo perché,” my question was cut as I was cut, and inflicted with Lucient’s cries as he was cut.

While the woman, the faerie that was also a God, remained between us...fingers quite active. Dancing through the air, she seemed to control the vivid rainbow of colors slicing into our skin. It sliced and sliced, and I was able to look down and watch as my flesh peeled away. Then the muscle, down to the bone.

Where it stopped.

As Lucient and I wept and wailed for the pain, the faerie spoke again, heard too easily through it, “This forever love you desire is for one another alone?”

“Oui, for my treasure alone,” Lucient said through teeth.

As I did, “Sì, for my dream and only him.”

Those rainbows returned, drilling into the bones of my ribs as the little woman asked more, “If one sought to harm your other?”

“They wouldn’t live beyond the thought of it,” Lucient growled.

And I insisted they’d see what I was seeing, “Vedrebbero le loro fottute viscere.”

“Are you willing to suffer,” more drilling, spreading the rainbow color through bone, every move mirrored on Lucient, as the little woman’s voice remained grave and steady, “ache and cease to be if needed for the other?”

Lucient howled, begging her to get on with it, “Oui, insupportable créature, continue!”

“Si, have already,” I gasped, losing breath for every rough stab of color, “would again,” squeezing Lucient’s hand ever tighter, sure to meet his eyes, I promised, “I’d endure hell itself for my love.”

“My perfect treas—” He tried to coo and the color stabbed ever-harder, urging a rare curse, “merde, comment y a-t-il plus!”

The color it popped and exploded inside us in an agonizing crescendo while the little woman giggled, “We’re done, little things.”

As all else she had done, our move from steel tables to soft couch cushions was instantaneous.

Clothed again, neither of us could help checking for scars. Lucient peeking into my shirt and I into his. There were no scars...but there was light. A soft glow in rainbow hue.

“It glows for you only, and only when you want,” the little woman explained, standing on a table next to us. “How do the little things feel?”

Accepting a cool, weary face on my chest, I muttered, “Tired of being called little.”

“Oui,” he agreed.

She giggled, “well, to me all of you are.” Spinning with her arms out, she addressed everything, “all of this. So very little. How do you feel?”

“Itchy,” I answered, accepting Lucient’s fingers gently scratching for me.

The woman nodded, “That's Death making a face, but it will stop. Any pain?”

“Oui,” Lucient shivered, “deep and stabbing.”

“Life whining,” the woman explained, “they will calm.”

“Heat as well,” I added, suddenly hotter than even I was used to, but it wasn’t the same sort of heat, “sweet and spreading through my veins...my love?”

“Oui, mon amour,” a closer hold, a soft kiss, “sweet as your bite.”

Another hop from the little woman, “Desire approves. Excellent. It will hold then, you're bound forever. Deeper than any claim,” leaning closer to us, her grin forced us to the other side of the couch, “unbreakable even in death. Complete destruction cannot disrupt your bond and the closeness...the loss of control without each other? It is lesser, but not erased. I nudge, I can't alter.”

“Mon amour,” I teased with kisses to his fingers.

And he took mine to do the same, “Mm, amore mio.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” she bounced, “the little things want a ceremony? A party? I can manage such delight, should yo—”

“No, thank you, uh…” I hadn’t heard a name, had none to use.

So she gave one, tittering for it, “It may call me Oona.”

“Oona, grazie, but no,” gazing into moonlight, I couldn’t look away, “we will handle the celebration.”

Nor could he, “mm, si, amore mio...we will.”

“Warmth, yes,” Oona giggled, “more and more you will feel.” Spinning again, she puffed the room with color, “easing, blurring. The others will see you still, but until those marks heal you are blurred from all little things. Real and not. Enjoy while you're able.” Appearing on Lucient’s lap, as he was on mine, she forced our eyes to her and took the grave tone she held during the cutting, “and remember...you owe this one. You owe this one a lot.”

When she puffed away, we were left with questions, of course. Questions we would ask eventually, but we were also left with an abundance of warmth and an undercurrent of agony. So we remained on that couch, ever tighter and unable to stop smiling even as weariness caught up and begged us to sleep.

“All mine,” Lucient breathed onto my neck, hands digging to hug me.

I kissed the top of his head and whispered back, “as you are mine, husband.”

Oona has yet to collect on her payment, dear reader, while I have yet to decide how to feel about that...

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie

@lychhiker-writes @aziz-reads

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

Febuwhump Day 8: “Why won’t it stop?”

Fandom: Prospect (2018)

Relationship: Cee and Ezra

WC: 1182

[thesiblingsoftheblackandwhite]

[[ABUSE/NEGLECT MENTION, MENTIONS OF GROWING UP TOO QUICKLY]]

Pokey takes the reigns this time, humming parts of musical numbers as Blinky clings to him.

I wan-want t’ kill Him, I want H-Him de-dead and I dunno how - how but I’ll do it some-so-somehow, I swear-

He gasps through wails, hardly articulate. Pokotho winces.

Don’t…don’t say that, Blinky.

Bliklotep frantically jerks his head side to side. He digs his nails into Pokey’s back.

An-and whoever the f-fuck this m-mo-mother is, she - she couldn’t have - so damn pr-proud of us, l-l-lov-

He dissolves into loud sobs, chest constricting.

-lov-loves is so fuckin’ m-much, where the fuck was she after the B-Box? The theme park, y-your first ap-apocalyp-lypse attempt, huh?! We got no love THEN, did we? We didn’t NEED it!

He’s switched to yelling, not really wanting to.

You - you heard what she said, Bliklotep. This…this hypothetical “mom” can’t…do anything. May-maybe she wanted to, but-

Blinky yanks himself away to cup Pokey’s face, brushing his fingers over his cheeks. Bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes soften when he presses his lips into a tight line.

I raised you.

Pokotho lets himself get pulled closer. Blinky shivers and flicks his thumb across gently.

He did, too.

He tilts his head to Karaxis, who watches them quietly. Bliklotep breathes in.

I raised you, Pokotho. And Wiggog, and Nibblenephim, and Webblin. For centuries. Because I knew He was scary, and so angry. And horrible. There was no one else.

He smiles, and it wobbles.

Just me and Tinky, that was it.

…B-

So, if anyone has any right to be proud of you...I know that Shadow means well, but none of our parents know what went on. We learned this shit on our own. We’re Lords in Black. We control the people in this town, their every move.

Wiggly whispers something inaudible to T’noy.

When we get to Hatchetfield high, we’re gonna show those puny mortals what for. When we get back to the Black & White - because we’re not staying here forever - we are going to have our fun, Tinky’ll get back to messing with his Spankoffskis, you with Matthews, and the Church is going to be so pleased. Got that?

With no other real option, Pokotho nods. He feels a hot feeling curl in his throat. Bliklotep grins.

Perfect.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 13

Path of Comfort + Hurt Prompt; "Escape" + "Poisoned" Part 2

Day 13 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV: Gawain - The Green Knight

- Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 591

TWs; claustrophobia mention, poisoned, injured, references to prior torture, escaping captivity

Direct continuation of Day 11

Gawain's heart was in his throat as he staggered down the winding corridors of stone, desperately hoping beyond hope that after all these months trapped here, he still remembered the way out. Lancelot was all but a dead-weight in his arms, head lolling onto his chest, dragging feet that hardly supported him, both of them leaning heavily on the walls lest they fall.

Behind them, a trail of blood that lead all the way back to the cell where Gawain and Arthur had found Lancelot. Gawain's own tortures laced across his skin, pinkish and scarring already, itching beneath his skin, aided by Nimue's magic.

No matter his healing, everything ached. And he was tired, too, so so tired, fuck, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep but he could not. He had to get them out of here, they had to escape. Neither of them could last another damned day in this hell.

At last, before them was a door he recognised... not daring to look back, Gawain shoved his shoulder against it, dragging Lancelot along with him into the dark, gloomy passage. A single torch sconce lit the way to the inky blackness beyond as cool air rushed to greet them, so sweet with the promise of freedom...

Despite the darkness Gawain didn't dare try to take the sconce, aware he was liable to burn himself and drop Lancelot if he tried, glancing at his companion briefly whilst he still had the chance. Lancelot stared straight ahead of him, unseeing, still conscious- barely. Sweat streamed from his forehead, his dry lips parted as he drew ragged, shallow breaths. He hadn't spoken, nor did he make a sound as they moved on, just a single minded determination to push forwards as the poison burned through his veins.

They needed to escape before it consumed Lancelot completely.

The tunnel seemed to go on for an age, long since descending into complete darkness, Gawain had begun tracing the wall with his fingers, keeping them on course. On and on it went, for so long now that Gawain was silently beginning to panic, terror seizing his heart at what could be upon them in an instant, cool air somehow heavy in his lungs.

Please! Let this end!

The tunnel remained as it ever was; only their own sounds echoing throughout, a quiet but steady dripping of water, the faint whispers of a welcome breeze. Gawain swallowed down the fear, silently wishing he'd grabbed that torch sconce after all.

Another expanse of time passed that could have been seconds but felt like hours. No, it couldn't have been hours, Lancelot hadn't collapsed yet. Once he did...

Stop.

Onwards into the dark they trudged, twice did Lancelot stagger, twice did Gawain pull him up before he had a chance to fall, desperate not to be trapped here in the dark any longer than necessary.

Lancelot's breathing had worsened, he'd begun to gasp half noises of pain in his throat, his skin so feverishly hot and slick with sweat that Gawain struggled to hold him upright.

As Gawain forced them both forwards, on and on, he realised that he could see the faintest outline of the walls, Lancelot's pained yet determined face, his own arm. Daylight!

Please...

Glimmering off the stones as the walls turned ahead, that unmistakable glow that had his heart palpitating, hope blossoming...

They rounded the corner, and there off into the distance ahead was a shining gateway to freedom, the open door that marked an end to this hellish place.

[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.

[very-uncorrect]

Forcing "I hate pronouns" mfs watch DHMIS on Channel 4 as a form of torture

[unanchored-ship]

7 11 17 for either helium or someone from cannibal au

7. Helium hasn't changed much at all, actually! I've always seen her as an aroace and being calm and closed-off most of the time. Something more specific to my current Helium would probably be her obsession with keeping the *entire* noble gas group free of bonding with the other elements, demonstrated by one of her rare outbursts at Argon in this post. I don't really have a reason as to why she's obsessed with this idea yet so there's room for lore :O She's fine with being around the other elements though, just hates it when one of em brings up bonding. Her old design isn't very different either, I just changed her dress a little and gave her earrings!

11. Lets just say Elder William loves using a knife. Like, your average sized kitchen knife. For everything. Cutting someone's head off? Saw through that neck using your tiny, probably unsharpened for the past week knife no matter how long it takes or how loud your meal screams 👍

17. This one is also answering Sheep's Ask :) William in the cannibal au(now known as the Family Feast AU) has gone through some mild-extreme-ish stuff(compared to what I've done to other folks). Like forced cannibalism and being forced to watch/participate in torturing someone. No specific events yet but the intensity of the torture greatly varies so image what you will :P He may go through more as I develop the story but we'll see.

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Thoughts,

not ooc for gene tbh. One of the biggest canonical scumbags and i never see ANYONE acknowledge that.