#wru acquisition papers

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 2

Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, nonsexual nudity, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan hadn’t slept. Ever since he’d signed those papers, and ever since a tag reading sold was affixed to the top of the boy’s cage, he’d been caught in a whirlwind of panicked activity. There was so much to do, and not enough time to do it. As he walked out of the WRU warehouse, his head was spinning. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the essential rescue training he was missing, how much knowledge he lacked compared to the PLF’s experienced rehabilitators.

“Your delivery is scheduled between eleven and one,” the saleswoman had said as she handed him the paperwork, like the boy was a piece of furniture. There’d been no background check, no inquiry as to his credentials, no investigation to ensure that he was purchasing a pet for its intended purposes. The only questionnaire he’d been asked to fill out was related to his satisfaction with WRU’s service at the event – a survey he’d politely declined.

Just like that, with a stroke of a pen and a touch of his credit card to a digital terminal, Rowan had been granted the legal possession of a human being.

Still dizzy from the weight of responsibility he had just created, Rowan came to his senses long enough to make it home from the liquidation event. The rest of the day, and the rest of that night, were spent trying to make his condo ready for the incoming arrival.  

Dawn hadn’t yet come when Rowan’s phone buzzed. He stopped fussing with the clothes in the hamper long enough to see it was a text from “Josh J. (Work)”

Sure man, I’ll cover your shifts this week. Everything good? You basically never take PTO.

No, Rowan wanted to reply, things were most decidedly not good. He’d acted on a rash impulse and was way out of his depth. As someone who’d been working for a decade and a half as a pet liberationist, he’d sworn to do good. He’d sworn to dismantle the system, to save who he could, to protest injustice. All that time, all that effort, and he’d still put money right into WRU’s hands in a moment of weakness.

And for what? To bring home a victim he didn’t have the knowledge or skills to help? This wasn’t even a victim that was prioritized for rescue, one with a strong chance at rehabilitation and reintegration into society, but a young man from a liquidation event with some undisclosed and undiagnosed problem.

All of that, however, wasn’t his colleague’s problem. Rowan grit his teeth and drafted what he figured was an innocent white lie.

Yeah, I’m fine. It was a hectic weekend and I realized I haven’t taken time to breathe in years. I’d think I’ve earned a few days away.

He didn’t want to elaborate any further.

Hell yeah. The response buzzed almost instantly. Then another. You fucking deserve it. No one hustles like you, boss. Crack a beer, put on the PGA, and I’ll try to make sure the station doesn’t burn down before next Monday.

Rowan would most certainly not be cracking a few beers and putting golf on the TV. At that very moment, he was doing his best not to get sick from worry or pass out from exhaustion. There were mere hours between his present breath and the boy’s arrival.

He’d spent the night doing his best to get ready to face the consequences of his actions. He’d combed the PLF volunteer site and tried to read every manual they had available on rehabilitating victims. He’d pulled his desk and computer out of the windowless den and set up the futon to make a bed, something resembling a room for the boy to call his own. He’d run out to the nearest department store and filled his arms with clothes that would be close to the boy’s size, at least from what Rowan could best guess looking over the papers. He’d tried to clean up the condo, but it was going to be impossible to make the space look livable before his latest acquisition arrived.

Hole-ridden sheets stretched over an ancient futon, clothes that likely wouldn’t fit right, the last of the toiletries Rowan could find in the drawers, a bathroom that had been hastily scrubbed with Comet from the very back of the closet - it all would have to be good enough for now. It just had to be good enough until Rowan could get his shit together.

It wasn’t much comfort to tell himself that it was probably better than what the boy had had in a long time.

As his shaking hands tried to fold yet another oversized sweatshirt - the boy would like that, wouldn’t he, something comfortable and warm? - Rowan knew there was one more call he had to make before the boy’s arrival. As much as he wanted to run from the reality of what he’d done, hide in shame from the fact his impulses had brought him to such an untenable situation, he also knew that he couldn’t get through this alone. He’d signed the papers, the charge had hit his card, he’d shaken the salesperson’s hand. He now legally owned a human being, a trafficking victim, an abuse survivor.

Folding laundry would have to wait. It was already almost seven in the morning, and the day wasn’t getting any younger. Rowan heaved a shaking breath from his lungs and sat down on the couch cushion next to the hamper. He hated how much his fingers trembled as he hovered over the familiar contact in his favorites list. It was two hours later on the east coast, and Grey would be on his way to the office if he wasn’t there already.

A lump lodged in Rowan’s throat as he hesitated again, face hot with shame. He’d come to his extensive privileges with the PLF through consistent dedication to the cause. His typical level-headedness and rationality had prevailed time and again, earning him promotion after promotion. He was one of their most crucial and well-hidden operatives currently active in the field. And yet, and yet, here he was, a pet arriving at his doorstep with no foresight or forewarning.

“How are you supposed to help this victim recover if you can’t even make a phone call, you idiot?” Rowan chastised himself through a grimace as he rubbed his palm across his furrowed brows. Rationally, making this phone call was the best way to get both himself and his incoming houseguest the help that they needed. Rationally, Rowan knew that he had to make this phone call sooner or later. But rationality hadn’t exactly been the captain of his choices over the last twenty-four hours.

It took another minute of gnawing on his lower lip before Rowan finally brought himself to hit the call button. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and-

“Hey there, Rowan! How’s my favorite videographer and secret agent?” The familiar and ever-cheerful voice washed over Rowan like a ray of welcome sunlight. It was warm and relieving, and some of Rowan’s tension immediately melted away. He could do this.

“Morning, Grey.”

“Yeah, it’s a morning indeed! What is it, not even seven there yet? Early morning for a busy man. You doing alright after the liquidation event yesterday? Any chance to pull footage or sound bytes yet? I’ve told her she needs to be patient, but you know Darcy is when they’re waiting on new content for our socials.”

Rowan took a breath and closed his eyes.

“Listen, man, I need your help. I went to the liquidation event, I got set up to take footage like I always did, they let me in without a hitch. But- but I might have done something a little impulsive when I was there.” The entirety of the admission wasn’t quite ready to come to Rowan’s lips, the words lodged somewhere behind the lump in his throat.

“Please don’t tell me they clocked you,” Grey groaned, his words thick with anxiety. It was the groan of worry that came with all the stresses of Grey’s status.

The two friends might have begun their time at the PLF together back in college, but while Rowan had been content as an agent with boots on the ground and neck on the line, but Grey’s ambition had taken him on the executive track. While Rowan busied himself with infiltrating warehouses and transportation trucks, Grey had climbed the ranks to become Vice President of the North American Division of the PLF. Although their career paths had diverged along with their practices, they’d remained as close as ever through their ideals and hard-fought friendship. And so Grey had become a full-time liberation executive, while Rowan kept his craft to weekends and evenings between his full-time job at the TV station.

“No, nothing like that,” Rowan said, falling over his words as he tried to soothe Grey’s fears. “No cops, no drama, no one suspected a thing. I got all of the footage I’d hoped to get, some sound bytes too. There was some seriously fucked up stuff, worse than usual, and it’ll make some great clips for us, this is some really great material. I’ll be editing it this weekend, at least I’d planned to do that, and-“

“Take a breath, man, take a breath. If you got in and out without a hitch, why’s the sky falling?”

Rowan swallowed, and pressed on.

“I- I, uh- I saw a victim there. I mean, I saw a lot of them, right, that’s the whole point of the event, that’s why we go. But you know, there was this one. There was something different about this one, okay? I can’t tell you what it was, you just, you’d have to see it to believe it, to feel what I felt. I looked at him, and I just- I couldn’t say no. It’s like he begged me to live with just his eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I mean never, and you know how long I’ve been doing this. So I- I guess- I rescued him. Bought him, really, if I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Cash upfront for a lifetime contract, signed on the warehouse floor, delivery set for later this afternoon. He should arrive in about four hours, actually, now that I look at the time.”

There was a pause, and Rowan could hear a slight crackling over the line as Grey took a breath. Finally, when Grey’s voice came again, it was more tired than Rowan had heard in quite some time.

“Jesus Christ,” Grey muttered. Rowan could picture his exasperated face even from more than a thousand miles away. “What were you thinking? You aren’t trained as a rescuer, you haven’t been assigned a rehabilitation team, and there’s no way we can get him in for an urgent medical work-up on such short notice. We’re not prepared for another intake, and you’re not-“

“I know, I know. I fucked up. I fucked up big time.” It was Rowan’s turn to cut his friend off. That guilt, that shame, it was heavier and heavier as Grey confirmed Rowan’s worst fears. This was a fuck-up on a massive scale. But there was no going back now. That boy was going to be in his home today, and he was going to be alive. That had to count for something, right?

“What’s wrong with him, huh?” Grey asked this over the sound of distant keystrokes. It was like the frustration from just moments ago had dissipated, and the confident leader had emerged with an air of business around him. It was that very trait that had made Grey a no-brainer for such a high-ranking role within the PLF. “You rescued him from a liquidation event, so this isn’t going to be a standard rescue case. Give me some more details, and I can try to connect you to a rehabilitator nearby for immediate and emergency intervention. I’ll need you to send me scans of the purchase papers, the ones with your contract, as well as any that come in his box later. Do you have his WRU ID number? I’m opening a rescue file in our system for him now.”

And now it was Rowan’s turn to let out a breath of relief. There was no anger left – no, there never had been anger to begin with – as Grey proved that he was every inch the liberationist that hundreds admired him to be. If Grey was going to scold Rowan, it would come at a much later time.

“I don’t actually know why he was sent for liquidation,” Rowan admitted as he hauled himself off the couch and walked back over to the kitchen table. It was piled with papers and books, all displaced during his frenzied cleaning and preparatory efforts, and it would probably take him some time to figure out where he’d actually put the contract papers. “I only had a few moments of contact with him on the floor, and the sales agent was vague. I looked over the papers, but it was only as far as the sales agent had mentioned in their words – he’s a dual-trained Domestic-Romantic with no apparent problems other than so-called ‘selective obedience.’ He apparently went through their standard and advanced refurbishment programs, but that didn’t fix the obedience issues. Cognitively, he was attentive and lively on the floor, capable of making eye contact and engaging with his surroundings. Physically, well, it was hard to tell under the jumpsuit. I saw some of the usual scarring under his uniform, and some fresh wounds on the sides of his face, but that’s it.”

Grey hummed as the keystrokes continued.

“Alright, well, that’s not really helpful. Sometimes they don’t share the true reason for the liquidation, and it’s up for the rescuer and their team to figure out the extent of the issues. I’ll need to get you a case manager who can follow up once he’s had his medical work-up and paperwork fully reviewed. It looks like our roster has a special-instance rehabilitator located about twenty minutes away from you, and I’ve already got her assigned to the case in our system. She’ll be the person you report to until we get a case manager for you both. She’s been with the PLF for about four years now, with twelve total successful rehabilitations, eight being special cases from liquidation events or other emergency rescues. I’ve sent her your contact information just now, and I told her to reach out as soon as possible. I hope she can get out there today, it being a Sunday and all. Her name is Angela Herrera, phone number ending in 8742, so pick it up when she calls.”

“You’re a miracle worker, Grey.” These five minutes had already changed everything. Rowan – and the boy – weren’t in this alone. They had not just the weight of the PLF, but the power of Rowan’s dearest friend, behind them now. Help was on the way. And by god, Rowan was going to take that help with open arms.

Grey gave a soft, strained chuckle.

“No, you’re the miracle worker today. You have given a human being a second chance at life, and that’s worth more than all the money in the world. Now, I would never recommend what you’ve today done to anyone, and it’s not going to be an easy path forward. But I know you did it with a good heart, and with good intentions. Most of all, I know that you are more than capable to handle this, even in these less-than-ideal circumstances. You are strong and you are smart – you’re going to have to be, for the sake of this boy.”

“I know. I will be. I’m going to do this, and I’m going to do it right from here on out. Even if this is how it has to start, it’s by-the-book going forward. You have my word I am going to put my whole heart and soul into making this right. Not for my sake, but his.”

Even without words, Rowan could feel Grey smiling.

“I know. Of all the people in the world, I can always trust you, even if you’re an idiot sometimes. Don’t worry about the footage from the event until you have your new guest settled in, alright? Any new liberation material can wait, and if Darcy bugs you about it, tell them to talk to me. Make sure you read through the PLF rescue manual on the rehabilitation site, then when you’re done reading it, read it again. When your guest arrives make sure you use a conversational tone, soft voice, lots of praise, slow movements and hand gestures, all of that stuff we went over in training for interacting with victims in the early stages of recovery. I know it’s been years since you took the training, but it’ll come back to you.”

“Of course. I already have the manual printed out and on my table somewhere – fuck, I swear I printed it, along with ten thousand other things, it’s here somewhere – but I read it. I’ll read it again now, as soon as I hang up. I’ll let you go so you can get back to your job saving the world. I’ve got my hands full over here, I guess. And, Grey… thanks for your help. Really. I guess I should thank you for not chewing me out either.”

“Oh, don’t count that out yet,” Grey said. “I’ll save the chewing out for a more opportune time, well after your new guest is settled in. Hell, I hope I can do it in person. We’re overdue for a visit anyway, and of course I’d love to meet your guest.”

“Noted.” Rowan felt his smile twinge slightly into a grimace. Of course, he wouldn’t get let off the hook so easily, not under Grey’s watch. “I’ll be on the lookout for a call from Angela or you, yeah? Otherwise, I’ve got to finish getting ready.”

“Yes, of course. Like I said, call me if you need anything, and I mean anything. Just because I’m Vice President now doesn’t mean I’m not your friend. You call, and I will pick up.”

“Likewise. Always. Chat later, Grey.”

“Later, Rowan.”

As soon as Rowan hung up he collapsed back into the couch, the already-wrinkled rescue manual clutched between sweaty fingers. There was so much to learn, so much to do, and so little time to do it. But it had to be better than death, right? Whether that was a lie or the truth, it was what Rowan had to tell himself now. Grey was on his side, and the weight of the PLF was behind him. They were going to give this boy a fighting chance at life, a second chance to live as a man, and not as someone’s pet.

It would be Rowan’s greatest challenge yet.

---

The third cup of coffee had just finished brewing in Rowan’s coffee pot when there was a knock at the door. It was half-past eleven, and despite knowing that this moment had been coming, the tightness in Rowan’s chest suddenly became as heavy as a stone. There was hardly a breath left in his lungs as he stumbled in a daze to the door.

He peered through the peephole and, sure enough, there were two men in WRU-branded coveralls waiting on his welcome mat.

A final deep breath in, heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings, and Rowan threw the door open.

“Good morning, Mr. Bailey. We’re here to complete your delivery.” The man’s voice was monotonous, droning, almost exhausted. It was like he was going door-to-door selling gym memberships rather than delivering a human being to a stranger’s home. And just as a salesman would, he shoved a clipboard with a thick stack of papers in Rowan’s direction.

“I need to scan your ID and have you fill out this confirmation paperwork. Once that’s done, my colleague and I will go get your delivery from the truck. As soon as it’s in your possession, you’ll have a final release paper to sign to effectuate the property transfer.”

Property. That’s all the boy was in the eyes of the law. In Rowan’s care he would be so much more, but for now, Rowan had to play into the charade for a few minutes longer. He grabbed the clipboard with sweating palms.

“Yeah, sure. Let me see those.” He scribbled something resembling his signature on any line he could find, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, and slammed the pen down as he reached the final page. “There, I think I’ve got it all. Here’s my driver’s license, that alright?”

The man looked over Rowan’s ID, apparently blasé as he matched the birth date on the plastic to the one Rowan had scrawled on the paper, then handed it back to Rowan with a grunt.

“Looks like everything’s in order here. We’ll be back in about ten minutes with your purchase. Does this building have a freight elevator? Tends to be a bit easier to maneuver for us.”

“Yeah, down the hall and to the left past the fire doors. Can’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks. We’ll be right back.”

And to their credit, they were. After only seven minutes of Rowan pacing his recently-cleaned hallway, all of his shoes tucked in the shoe rack rather than strewn across the tiles, a second knock came at the door. This time, when Rowan opened it, there was a large pine box on dollies between the two WRU personnel. The first thought that crossed Rowan’s mind was how much it looked like a coffin.

“Alright, here’s your delivery. Is the hallway fine, or do you have a room set aside?”

Rowan did have a room, but he didn’t want anyone associated with WRU in his home a moment longer than they had to be.

“Hallway is fine.”

“Great. Then we’ll go ahead and put your box there, and once we’ve got it off the dollies, we’ll require your signature right here.” Another paper on yet another clipboard was thrust into his hands, and Rowan’s mouth was dry as the box was rolled into his hall and heaved off the dolly and onto the floor. There wasn’t a sound except for the slight scrape of pine across the floor, and then the scratching of a half-dead ballpoint pen across paper, and then the shuffling of even more paper.

The WRU delivery staff gave a final look over where Rowan had signed before a forced smile came over their faces. The tall one spoke in a tired service voice, just like a cashier who was pitching a club card.

“Congratulations, Mr. Bailey, the transaction is complete and the property has been fully transferred into your ownership. The rest of the documentation for your purchase and otherwise accompanying the product are contained in the box, including an additional copy of the sales contract and the property’s medical and training records. Further information, if necessary, can be obtained from WRU directly, as can additional copies or digital copies of the necessary documentation. When putting any inquiry in with WRU, please use both your purchase number and the product’s WRU-issued identification number. If you’ve been satisfied with today’s service and delivery, please fill out the survey that will be sent to the email we have on file for you. While the cost of delivery was included with your purchase price, at the conclusion of the survey, you will have the option to leave a cash tip if you were particularly satisfied with today’s delivery service. Thank you for choosing WRU.”

The words bounced off Rowan’s consciousness as his attention turned to the box. The boy was in that box, waiting for him. All he could bring himself to do was wave off the delivery personnel with an open hand.

“Got it, I’ll look for the survey and all that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to tend to my… purchase.”

Before they could respond Rowan shut the door on them. They would receive no additional praises or compensation for their role in facilitating this abuse. What mattered now was that Rowan was, legally, the boy’s owner. And the boy was here now in his possession.

Rare courage overcame Rowan. Perhaps it was the fear driving him, perhaps it was the anticipation, or perhaps it was delirium from the all-nighter. Whatever it was, Rowan didn’t spare a single spare moment before undoing the deadbolts on the top of the box and heaving the lid open.

And there, laying motionless in a bed of straw, naked but for the black leather collar around his neck, was the boy.

---

Light pierced the pet’s eyes like a bolt of lightning. Its ears had been ringing, and although it couldn’t hear what had transpired beyond the walls of its box aside from the slight murmur of voices, it had prepared for the lid of the box to be opened.

You’re lucky, Handler Green had said with his hand wrapped around the pet’s throat, moments before it was thrown into the box and the lid cut off any light. You’re not going to die today. This is your last chance, so don’t fuck it up.

The last few hours – had it been hours, or had it been longer? – in the box had been filled with little more than abject terror. No amount of breathing exercises or attempts at sleep had soothed its nerves. All it could think of was the future ahead, the new master that would await it once the box was finally opened, how it would make its first impression to the person that held its life in their hands. If it failed here and now, it would surely die.

All it wanted now, and all it had ever wanted, was to be a good pet who served its masters well. It rehearsed its positions between waves of panic attacks, it silently recited its old master’s favorite recipes step-by-step until the ingredients sounded like poetry in its mind, and it stretched each morning to keep itself flexible and pliable. It tried its best to listen in training, no matter how hard the ringing had made it. And when it received punishments or corrections, no matter how severe, it remained silent.

Now, with light streaming into its box, it had a final chance to prove that it was good. The pet was certain that it could be good, be useful, be the perfect pet its new master wanted. Though fear was sticky on its parched tongue, it knew from training that fear would lend itself to its determination and would likewise reduce its error rates. Today, on this very first date, that fear would serve it well.

Fear meant that it was still alive.

The pet had been specifically trained for this moment, and it was well-practiced in this first essential maneuver. Handler Green had gone over the routine with it again last night after it had been brought back to the training facility from the warehouse. For once, Handler Green hadn’t administered any additional punishments as they rehearsed the motions. Perhaps that meant the pet had done something right.

In those same fluid movements it had practiced just some hours ago, the pet sat up from where it had been nestled in the straw, heaved a leg over the side of the box, then another, and threw itself to the floor and onto its knees. Its legs tucked comfortably beneath it in the kneeling position, the same one it had been taught to assume from those earliest days in training. Its joints ached from the time in the box, but pain wouldn’t stop the pet now, it never did. The pet did many things wrong, but not this one small thing – it could kneel as long as its master needed.

And though the pet didn’t dare raise its eyes, the flash of movement from its hurried scramble to the floor confirmed its fearful suspicions. That same man that had stood outside its cage at the warehouse, the same one it had accidentally made eye contact with, was its master now.

Hands on its lap, the pet bowed its head, kept its gaze low and fixed on the dark wood floors. Although its ears rang, and although it couldn’t quite hear if Master was speaking, it strained for the relief and release of a command all the same. All it wanted was the chance to prove, once and for all, that it was good.

---

Taglist:

@honey-is-messi @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @squishablesunbeam @tragedyinblue

@clairelsonao3 @den-of-evil @cepheusgalaxy @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@honeycollectswhump @rekiroyalstraightprincemaru @whumpzone @peachy-panic @whumplr-reader

@dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast

@dokidokisadness @anonfromcanada @starfields08000 @bloodredfountainpen @pumpkin-spice-whump

[sapphicwhumpblog]

Intake papers for Jennifer Vale (Peaches)

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 10.25.20XX 

LOCATION ASSIGNED: Facility 044

SUBJECT: 552357

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Vale, Jennifer

AGE: 23

DATE OF BIRTH: 07.11.20XX

HAIR: Brown (Dyed purple)

EYES: Brown

HEIGHT: 5’4"

WEIGHT: 120lbs

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

DESIGNATION: Romantic

KNOWN SKILLS: Two years of experience bartending. Amateur soccer player and swimmer. Undergraduate major in art history. Enjoys painting and drawing.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject's parents are estranged—no known communication with them since Subject moved cities in 2019. However, Subject is still in contact with her sister and grandmother, and has a large circle of friends. Social circle should be monitored closely to prevent any missing person claims/social media disinformation.

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Emily Vale (sister), Margaret Vale (mother), John Vale (Father) 

OTHER KNOWN FAMILY:  Jessica Vale (paternal grandmother) 

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Assisted Walk-In

ASSIGNED HANDLER: Handler Marie Wells, Romantic high-security wing. Handler Rob Jones, Domestic division, secondary. 

SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED EXHAUSTION, HUNGER, AND CONFUSION COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS.

CONTRACT SIGNED: 10.29.20XX, 1:19 am. PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: John Conway, WRU Legal Counsel; Marie Wells, WRU Handler; Director Kayla Lee, head of Facility 044 Acquisitions Coordination.

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $200,000; ANTICIPATED PRICE POINT: $305,000 ADDED FEES: TBD AT TIME OF SELECTION BY PROSPECTIVE.

CURRENT LOCATION: Facility 044, Romantic division.

REQUESTED TRAINING: All standard positions. Literacy removal.

Additional Romantic Training: All standard Romantic positions. Additional masochism and pain training. Additional training in flexibility; dancing; hair styling and makeup application requested. Tattoo removal also requested.

Additional Domestic Training: Cooking and drink preparation, with a focus on Italian and Japanese cuisine and specialty cocktails.

COMMENTS:

Director Kayla Lee: Prospect is a close friend of mine, and also a frequent donor to WRU. I would prefer that training goes as swimmingly as possible for that reason. Expect bonuses if it goes well, termination if not.

Handler Wells: She’s a pretty one, I can see how she’d catch someone’s eye. Fought like hell before getting on the Drip, I’m guessing she’ll need a firm hand in training, but that’s my speciality. She’ll be real sweet once I’m done with her.

Handler Jones: Cocktail making should be a cakewalk, I mostly just need to sand off the rough edges. Cooking could take a little more work but overall I think this should be manageable.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can we see Nova’s intake papers?

CW: Dehumanization, implied future pet whump, implied future noncon, drugging

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 07.21.20XX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 6:34 AM

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 001, BERRAS, [REDACTED], USA

SUBJECT: 445097

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Nava Elise Kahn

AGE: 21

DATE OF BIRTH: 02.14.19XX

HAIR: Very Dark Brown

EYES: Brown

HEIGHT: 5′5"

WEIGHT: 120 lbs

SEXUALITY: Unknown

DESIGNATION: Romantic

KNOWN SKILLS: Subject plays piano, flute, and clarinet fluently. Subject speaks four languages - English (native speaker), Russian, Polish, and German. Subject has no known sexual history.

HOBBIES: Subject enjoys reading nonfiction and training for marathons.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject has already attempted to leave without permission three times. Twice was prevented from escape, once made it to the Accounting department before she was stopped. WRU Employee Carl Mavis received minor injuries.

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Deborah Kahn, mother, and Elias Kahn, father. Subject is biological niece, adopted at age two.

SIBLINGS: Asher Michael Kahn, brother, three years younger, and Leah Marie Kahn, five years younger. Both are Deborah and Elias's biological children.

OTHER KNOWN FAILY: Unknown.

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Assisted walk-in.

ACQUISITION DETAILS: Subject was located by handlers inebriated outside Trusty Tuna's Taco Bar and Grill in Red Bend, California at 1:45 AM on date of acquisition. Subject was separated from social group and safely secured within vehicle. Subject arrived at Facility 001, Female Division at 6:15 AM and was recognized as new trainee at 6:35 AM.

ASSIGNED HANDLERS:

PRIMARY: Patricia Abernathy, Senior Handler and Processor, Romantic Specialization SECONDARY: Gregory Lance, Senior Handler and Processor, Specialization Romantic

CONTRACT SIGNED: 7.29..20XX 1:15 PM

SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT SHOWED MINOR SIGNS OF INJURY AT TIME OF SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELINGS OF FATIGUE AND ABDOMINAL PAIN. SUBJECT REPORTED EXTREME FEAR. SUBJECT ALSO REPORTED FEELINGS OF CONFUSION COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS.

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Nava Kahn, aka 445097

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Handler Patricia Abernathy, Badge #2234, WRU Attorney Nathaniel Lewis.

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $100,000 USD

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE: $600,000 USD

ADDED FEES: $25,000 for special requests.

CURRENT LOCATION: Room 019, post-signing contract. Subject to remain sedated until Drip is finalized.

REQUESTED TRAINING: ALL Positions 1-35, Flexibility, Sensitivity, Endurance

SPECIAL REQUEST: Enforced agoraphobia, retain musical skills if possible

COMMENTS:

She's a beauty. I can see why they picked her up. I've already spent some time with her. She allowed me to brush her hair without protest, but she kicked up a fuss when I touched her directly, and I've got a busted lip to prove it. I won that little tiff, but it's an irritation to keep in mind.

We'll want to keep this one nice and drugged up until she's a little further into the process.

I'm looking forward to the agoraphobia challenge. I think I'm up to it! I have a really good feeling about this one, I think she's going to net me that performance bonus at my annual review this year. Once I've got that in the bank, time for house-shopping. - P. Abernathy

[sadistgalore]

just a little uh, something something that I may or may not do in the future as an AU but has been on my mind for days. i copied the format of the lovely @ocean-blue-whump , hope you don’t mind!

——

140121’s Acquisition Papers

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 11-14-XXXX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 12:11 AM

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 009, PHILADELPHIA, PA, USA

SUBJECT: 140121

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Harper Winston

AGE: 22

DATE OF BIRTH: 06-18-XXXX

HAIR: Black

EYES: Blue

HEIGHT: 5’4”

WEIGHT: 110 lbs

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

DESIGNATION: Platonic (PREVIOUS) Romantic/Domestic (CURRENT)

KNOWN SKILLS: Subject demonstrates self-defense skills along with sexual skills. Subject was reported and fined for prostitution multiple times by the local police.

KNOWN HOBBIES: Subject showed great care in taking care of her younger brother, along with being a server at a nightclub where she previously lived. Subject also enjoys sports, and was known to be part of a recreational soccer team.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject has reports of harassing clients when they do not agree to her terms, and have sent anonymous calls to the local police about client’s personal information. Subject is an average fighter and can handle herself well against opponents.

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Stella Winston, biological mother (DECEASED) Bruce Winston, biological father (DECEASED) Harrison Winston, biological brother (ALIVE)

OTHER KNOWN FAMILY: Paternal grandparents (REDACTED) Maternal uncles (NO LONGER IN CONTACT)

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: FIRST ACQUISITION: Involuntary. Subject was taken as revenge from one of her clients to be put inside the WRU system. SECOND ACQUISITION: Returned by owner. Owner reported the subject attacked him and decided to part ways.

ACQUISITION DETAILS: FIRST ACQUISITION: Subject was taken while serving another client working for the WRU. Client drugged her and transferred her to a WRU pickup, where she was later dropped off at the facility. SECOND ACQUISITION: Subject was unwillingly returned to the facility, bound with a hastily tied rope and a muzzle. Her owner had deep and still bleeding scratch marks on his face.

ASSIGNED HANDLER: William Hanks, Senior Handler, Platonic Division (PREVIOUS) Jackson Kennedy, Senior Handler, Romantic Division (CURRENT) Elizabeth Carrien, Handler-In-Training, Domestic Division (CURRENT)

CONTRACT SIGNED: 12-23-XXXX

SIGNATURE PROVIDED WITH ASSISTANCE. SUBJECT SIGNED IN METHOD OF A FINGERPRINT SINCE TRAINING HAD ALREADY STARTED. SUBJECT WAS NOT ABLE TO DIRECTLY VOICE VOLUNTARY AGREEMENT COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS IN PLATONIC TRAINING. WRU ASSURES THAT THE SUBJECT VOLUNTARY SIGNED THE CONTRACT.

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Harper Winston, AKA 140121 (SIGNED BY HANDLER) Subject’s fingerprint (GIVEN BY SUBJECT)

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Senior Handler William Hanks, Badge #1209. Attorney Janet Picketts, WRU Legal Counsel. Director Noah Ryan, head of Facility 009.

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $450,000 USD (PREVIOUS) $1.3 Million USD (CURRENT)

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE(S): $600,000 USD (PREVIOUS) $1.5 Million USD (CURRENT)

ADDED FEES: $25,000 No scarring, $35,000 Fanged teeth implants, $50,000 Removable paralyzer, $10,000 Sharp and long nails, $50,000 Voice modifier (PREVIOUS) $25,000 No scarring, $100,000 Removal of all previous modifications, $25,000 Knowledge of the 1950’s culture (CURRENT)

CURRENT LOCATION: Platonic Room 078, post-contract signing (PREVIOUS) Surgery Room 005, (CURRENT)

REQUESTED TRAINING: Feline mannerisms, ALL Positions 1-35, Bonded relationship with Subject 259675 (PREVIOUS) Cooking and cleaning skills, Flexibilty, Endurance, Flexibity, Oral Techniqies, standard housewife mannerisms (CURRENT)

COMMENTS:

God, where do I start? Bitch was already a pain in the ass to begin with, now her prospective wants all of these modifications on her. Keeps on complaining about her precious brother, too, but the Drip will get that out of her soon enough. Hasn’t stopped fighting me since Day 1, and these “cat claws” that’s gonna be on her ain’t gonna help with that. Luckily, that voice box started working, so she can’t curse at me anymore, only pathetic “meows.” Haha, and I can’t wait until we get that paralyzing chip in her spine, too, bitch won’t be able to fucking walk.— William Hanks, Senior Handler.

Why in the absolute fuck did her previous prospective put all these modifications on her? Even better question, why is her new prospective removing all of them?! Thank god he has the money for it, but it’s going to take months to get this slut out of her “kitty cat” headspace. Somehow have to turn this feral into a needy 1950’s whore, but I think she’s had practice in that already.—Jackson Kennedy, Senior Handler.

This poor girl is so confused, her prospectives are making her learn two completely separate things. You can’t turn a cat into a housewife that can cook and clean perfectly, but…I’ll have to try. She’s scared, and very defiant, which is common to acquisitions who have been abandoned by their owners. Hopefully, she can trust me enough to help her learn how to be a great domestic. She is my first trainee, so if she doesn’t come out perfect, I’ll get fired.— Elizabeth Carrien, Handler-In-Training.

——

so yeah, brief summary of this AU:

Harper’s parents are still dead, but she has her brother. She makes money for them by servicing herself to clients, but respects herself enough that she will attack them if they do not follow her boundaries. She also anonymously tips one of her acquaintances at the police station certain personal information about her clients for money, and unfortunately, that came back to stab her in the butt. One of the clients got pissed and paid the WRU to take her, and she was later bought by Luther (our sadistic boi) to be a literal cat for him and her bonded (guess who) Killian. She had a paralyzing chip that prevented her from standing up fully, and a voice modifier was injected into her that made it so her voice came out as literal cat sounds. Her name was Raven and her bonded’s name was Goldie, who was a Guard Dog. One day, Luther was punishing Goldie and Raven attacked him, which led her to being returned and bought by someone else. Her new prospective was (guess who again….) Edward Darmine, who bought her to become an exact replica of his deceased wife. Problem is, she’s so far gone in her cat headspace that it’s nearly impossible for her to become Edward’s perfect housewife. And if you didn’t notice, her domestic trainer is Beth so, that’ll be fun for them. I might do Killian’s papers, too, but let me know if anyone would actually like to see a few pieces of this AU!!

[justplainwhump]

Making Angel

Masterpost

In a skiing resort for the wealthy, a rich young bastard man hits it off with a confident young woman - and gets told no.

Almost half a year later, that young woman ends up at a secret WRU facility, along with a decent advance payment and clear instructions never to let her say no again.

That's where this story begins...

Contains: BBU, lady whump / box babe, facility whump, whumper POVs, bad people with mundane problems, conditioning, guilt, overtones of noncon (mostly due to the setting, sometimes explicit). Each piece will be tagged individually, too.

Please mind that I'd like to keep my writing 18+, including the pieces that aren't marked nsfw.

(Special shout out to Vee, @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump , who created this AU/spin off with me and is a constant source of inspiration, and to @ashintheairlikesnow for all the rich worldbuilding that I could draw on while building my own part of the BBU sandbox.)

Characters

002238 / "Angel" (she/her) - WRU romantic trainee. Did not sign up for this, but has always been good at pretending.

Handler Alan Nguyen (he/him) - One of WRU's best romantic handlers. Doesn't believe in physical violence in training. Finds beauty in creating devotion. Very arrogant, very successful.

Handler Tyler Parker (he/him) - Junior handler on one of his first assignments. As much of a himbo as one can be when earning money as a professional torturer. Has his own spinoff, [here].

Thane Barlow (he/him) - @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump s character. Mean bastard man. Prospective owner of 238.

Alex Nadler (they/he/she) - Client Relations officer at WRU, specialised in involuntary acquisitions. Would do anything for client satisfaction.

Writing (chronological, sadly that is not the order of posting because I'm a mess // will be updated regularly) * means new

Dany (before)

No (Thane and Dany's first meeting)

Deal (ask reply, before 238)

Big sister (written by Vee)

Over * (abduction pt 1)

Red * (abduction pt 2)

Arrival * (abduction pt 3)

238 (facility)

Truth

Assignment

Match 

Not fair

Dimple

Good Girl

Finishing touch

Sound

>>> [Tyler’s spin-off] * starts here

Season's Greetings *

~

Angel (with her owner)

Good / Unboxing *

Rule one *

Deserved *

Left Behind *

The Driver (explicit noncon)

Hot tub (written by Vee)

~

Angelina (with a predatory and gaslighting "boyfriend", this arc is big on the domestic abuse vibes)

Stalker

Want

Angelina

Brownstone

Impressions

Barcode

Good girl (drabble; Sloane at Angelina and Tim's wedding)

[in progress]

~

Angel (in freedom)

No. * (Angel meeting Tyler again)

Comfort * (with Lourdes)

Headaches (drabble; free!Angel facing her past)

Cemetery *

Knowing (drabble; free!Angel talking about her fate)

~

Angelina (with pet lib) -- probably not canon any longer

Not products

Circles -- definitely not canon

~

Other scenes (drabbles and 'before')

Intake Papers

Before and After

Why (written by Vee)

Jingles (Sloane and Rosa) >> that family led to a whole distant spin-off, Pet Safety, following Rosa's fate

Documentary (a bit of a meta thing - the beginning of the documentary Tara will do about the case)

~

Free!Angel with Lourdes (created with @wildfae-afterdark ; Lourdes is their OC from this BBU story)

Grateful (explicit dubcon, written by Vic)

Waiting Up (angsty fluff, written by Vic)

Comfort * (also canon, see above)

Acting *

Bad Pets *

Freckles * (just a snippet)

Bath (written by Vic) *

Shifting *

[peachy-panic]

The Rise & Fall of Jaime Quinn: Act 5

The final act! Major thanks to those of you who have stuck with/enjoyed/said kind things about this little mini-series that meant so much to me. You keep me going. 

We have now reached the dumpster fire portion of our journey. Enjoy.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, use of electric shock, food/water deprivation, withdrawal, gaslighting/manipulation, vomit mention, beating, kidnapping/human trafficking, drug/alcohol mention, addiction mention, talk of the foster system. All around rock bottom. 

[see accompanying artwork here!]

ACT 1 | ACT 2 | ACT 3 | ACT 4

ACT 5

THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS INTENDED FOR INTERNAL WRU PURPOSES ONLY. EXECUTIVE CLEARANCE IS REQUIRED TO VIEW THIS TRANSCRIPT. IF YOU HAVE ACCESSED THIS FILE IN ERROR, PLEASE INFORM YOUR SUPERVISOR IMMEDIATELY. IP TRACING WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY COMPLETED UPON OPENING.

VIDEO SURVEILLANCE - CELL 34A

SUBJECT: J.R.QUINN - 110750

DOB: 12/13/XX

ACQUISITION: VOLUNTARY; REHABILITATION

INTAKE: 02/17/XX

PRIMARY HANDLER: ROWAN SMITH

DAY 4 - 02/21/XX, 07:31 AM

SMITH: Morning, sunshine. You ready to play nice?

[UNINTELLIGIBLE]

SMITH: What was that?

110750: Please. I --water. Please.

SMITH: Come on. That’s not the greeting we practiced, ‘750.

110750: My name is-- my name is Ja--

[FAINT BUZZING]

SMITH: I’m feeling nice today, so I’m going to let you try that one more time.

110750: Please--

[FAINT BUZZING]

SMITH: Gonna be another one of those days, huh? You have one more chance, ‘750. The next one isn’t going to feel good.

[SOBBING][UNINTELLIGIBLE]

SMITH: Speak up when you’re talking to me.

110750: Good… [COUGHING] Good morning, Handler Smith.

SMITH: There he is. Good boy. How about that water, huh? Come here.

[SHUFFLING]

SMITH: [LAUGHTER] Thirsty? Yeah, I bet you are. There we go. Drink up. You’re on one hell of a comedown, my friend.

110750: What… what did you give me?

SMITH: I didn’t give you shit. You came in here strung out all on your own, sweetheart.

110750: No. No, I didn’t-- I don’t do drugs.

SMITH: Oh, don’t start that now. You’ve made your bed.

110750: Please. How long have I been here?

SMITH: Not long enough, apparently. You’re still soaked and fucking shaking. Those cold sweats are a bitch, huh? How long you been using?

110750: I told you, I don’t—-

[FAINT BUZZING]

110750: [UNINTELLIGIBLE] FUCK, wait, please wait, I just-- I think there has been some kind of mis--

[FAINT BUZZING]

110750: Ah, fuck, Please! Stop!

SMITH: What’s the last thing you remember?

110750: What?

SMITH: It wasn’t a hard question.

110750: I was, um. I was at a bar?

SMITH: You’re asking me?

110750: N-No, I… T-There was a man? Rick… Richard something? He bought me something to drink. A coffee? He must have… He must have put some-- WAIT, wait, no please, wait, I don’t know what you want me to say!

SMITH: This friend of yours, Richard. He’s a friend of mine, too. He told me a lot about you. Apparently you get a little chatty when you drink.

110750: I… I don’t remember…

SMITH: Yeah, five vodka sodas will do that to you. Should I refresh your memory?

110750: Please, just tell me what I’m doing here.

SMITH: Well, you might not remember it this way, but you walked in here yourself. And the file we pulled on you actually explains a lot. Let’s take a look here.

[PAPER RUSTLING]

SMITH: Says here you recently dropped out of college. That true?

110750: It wasn’t--

SMITH: Yes or no, ‘750? If I have to ask you twice again, I’ll strap that fucking shock clip in your mouth. Don’t think I won’t.

110750: Y-Yes. Yes. I left school.

SMITH: You were a scholarship kid. But it got revoked, right? Due to… oh, would you look at that? Drug related issues.

110750: I… Yes, but--

SMITH: And you have no living relatives? No current employment obligations?

110750: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

SMITH: Stop with the crying shit and answer me.

110750: N-No. I mean, yes. You’re... that’s correct.

SMITH: [WHISTLING] Jesus, kid, you’re a fucking jackpot find. Dawson is going to be able to retire off this bonus you earned him.

[MUFFLED CRYING]

SMITH: Okay, see, here’s how this story sounds to me: You’re a young guy, fresh out of the fucked-up foster system, and you’ve made some poor choices. Who can blame you? Started with the soft stuff in college, got carried away with a couple substances until you wound up with a needle in your arm. Living on the streets. So you, like the other fourteen-point-five or whatever-the-fuck percent of junkies who end up here, came looking for a way out of an early grave. And here we are, willing to offer you that.

110750: I’m-- Wait. Please, no, I’m not an addict. I’ve never-- I did not come here willingly--

[FAINT BUZZING]

110750: Please, please I’m not lying--AGH.

[FAINT BUZZING]

SMITH: Okay, so what you’re not seeming to get here is that when I said that’s how the story sounds, I really mean that is the story. You do understand that, right?

[MUFFLED CRYING]

SMITH: You want a visual aid? Is that what will get this through your thick fucking head? Here.

[PAPER RUSTLING]

SMITH: Toxicology report, run by our own attending physician. You walked in here with a blood-alcohol level off the charts and a near-lethal amount of diacetylmorphine in your system.

110750: You… you gave me heroin?

SMITH: [LAUGHTER] Oh, he’s a smart one, huh? Yeah, those pretty little track marks didn’t put themselves there, did they?

110750: Oh my god. [UNINTELLIGIBLE] No, no no--

[FAINT BUZZING]

SMITH: Yeah, you’re gonna need to unlearn that word real quick.

[SOBBING]

SMITH: Look, you were probably going to wind up here eventually, if it helps. Kids like you are always the prime candidates. Nobody to support you, nobody to come looking... It was either this or the prison pipeline. You just sped up the process by giving us this drug history on a silver platter. One of the most fucking bulletproof acquisitions I’ve ever seen.

110750: I’m gonna be sick.

SMITH: Better make it over the fucking drain this time, unless you want to lick it up.

[GAGGING]

SMITH: So, let’s try this again. I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to stick to the story this time. Got it?

110750: Please--

SMITH: Are you a drug addict?

110750: No.

[FAINT BUZZING]

SMITH: Did you willingly sign over your rights as a lifesaving rehabilitative measure?

110750: No!

[LOUD BUZZING]

SMITH: Did you or did you not--

110750: Fuck you! Let me out of here! [POUNDING, RUSTLING] Help! Let go of me, help me-!

[LOUD BUZZING]

[IMPACT]

[UNINTELLIGIBLE, CHOKING SOUNDS]

SMITH: Oh, we’re gonna have fun together, ‘750. I can just tell.

110750: Don’t touch me! No--

[IMPACT]

[LOUD BUZZING]

[SCREAMING]

[LOUD BUZZING]

[LOUD BUZZING]

[LOUD BUZZING]

[PAGES 5-11 REDACTED FROM RECORD]

VIDEO SURVEILLANCE - CELL 34A

SUBJECT: J.R.QUINN - 110750

DOB: 12/13/XX

ACQUISITION: VOLUNTARY; REHABILITATION

INTAKE: 02/17/XX

PRIMARY HANDLER: ROWAN SMITH

DAY 11 - 03/04/XX - 09:41 AM

SMITH: Good morning, 110750.

110750: Good m-morning, Handler Smith.

SMITH: Are you ready to have a conversation?

110750: Yes, Sir.

SMITH: I bet you’re hungry. It’s been a couple of days, hasn’t it?

110750: Yes, Sir. P-Please.

SMITH: Alright. Let’s make this quick and easy then, huh? Then we can get you something to eat. How does that sound?

110750: [SOBBING, UNINTELLIGIBLE]

SMITH: Ah, ah. None of that. You were doing so good, ‘750. You’re so close. This part can all be over, you just have to cooperate. And you already know the answers I’m looking for, right, so it should be easy.

110750: Y-Yes, Sir.

SMITH: There we go. We’re going to start with a basic one, okay? Are you here of your own volition, having given fully informed and free consent?

110750: I… Yes, Sir.

SMITH: Are you, or were you previously, a drug addict?

110750: Yes, Sir.

SMITH: Did you willingly sign over your rights as a lifesaving rehabilitative measure?

[UNINTELLIGIBLE]

SMITH: Come on…

110750: Yes, S-Sir.

SMITH: One more, sweetheart. Then you get to eat. What is your name?

110750: I--

[SOBBING]

SMITH: This is your last chance. And then I walk out of this room.

110750: Okay. O-okay. I’m sorry. My… my l-legal name is… is among the rights I have w--... willingly forfeited as a show of my dedication to s-service. My designation is Domestic. My service i--...identification is 110750. Sir.

SMITH: Beautiful. [RUSTLING] Fucking beautiful, kid. I knew you had it in you.

[SOFT CRYING]

SMITH: Let’s go sign some paperwork.

[END OF TRANSCRIPT]

***

TAG LIST: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump  @melancholy-in-the-morning @also-finder-of-rings @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world

[boxboysandotherwhump]

ACQUISITION PAPERS DEE

Sooo I have a new guard dog whumpee who I'm going to do wonderful things to during whumptober >:3

Shout out to @ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio and @thefancydoughnut for listening to my rambles about him and falling in love with my sweet guard dog.

Warning for general boxboy universe themes, heavy injury

His picture in bigger format and the transcript of the papers (in case they are hard to read or won't load for our mobile users) are under the cut:

WRU FACILITY 005📷

312 Spring Street

Springfield, AL 08831

(+49) 174 – 0001

NEW ACQUISITION

MERCHANDISE INFORMATION

MERCHANDISE NUMBER: #230422

DESIGNATION: Guard Dog

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Daniel Kellner

AGE: 23

DATE OF BIRTH: October. 31. 19XX

HAIR COLOR: Red

EYE COLOR: right eye: brown/ left eye: clouded

HIGHT: 2,18 meter / 7 feet 2

WEIGHT: 305 lbs

KNOWN SKILLS: Acquisition team reported proficiency in krav maga and handling of firearms. Subject was an important player in smuggling pets illegally over the border to Canada. Related skills are to be assumed, as the subject remained silent since the time of acquisition and has refused to cooperate.

KNOWN HOBBIES: None/No Response [Handler Comment: Not when playing the hero for pitiful little pets is out of the count. Geez those pet lib fanatics are such a pest. Can’t wait to break this one in.]

CONCERNS: Left eye sustained irreparable damage during an escalating conflict at the border. Bionic prosthetic may be necessary to ensure adequate functionality. [Handler Comment: Kinda like the look of it though, absolutely nasty, perfect for a guard dog. The prosthetics team should keep it that way. Only make it functional, not pretty.]

ACQUISITION DETAILS

DATE OF ACQUISITION: September 24. 20XX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 05:30 AM

METHOD OF ACQUISITION : Assisted walk-in. Subject was impaired by use of heavy prescription painkillers prescribed by nonaffiliated hospital that had discharged him two days prior to acquisition. He was therefore easy to handle. No incidents during the walk-in process reported.

DATE OF CONTRACT SIGNING: September 30. 20XX

SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELING OF TIREDNESS AND HUNGER COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Daniel Kellner aka #230422

PRESENT AT TIME OF CONTRACT SIGNING: Handler Frederick Ratched; Guard Dog Division , Badge #6732. WRU Attorney Louise Bowlin. (Note: Karen Renford, Director of Client Success and Satisfaction, reviewed contract on 09.31 and approved.)

ASSIGNED HANDLER

PRIMARY HANDLER: Frederick Ratched

SECONDARY HANDLER: Paul Miller

COMMENTS: This one’s gonna be a handful, but those stubborn stoic types are the most fun to break. He'll eat out of my hand in no time. As soon as the Drip takes all that savior complex bullshit out of his head, I can fill him up with adoration for his future prospective. Can’t wait for this to leak into the pet lib circles and make the rounds in their silly little papers. That article ends up on my wall for sure.

[shapeshiftersandfire]

interview (ii)

cw: bbu general warning, child neglect mention 

taglist: @eatyourdamnpears​ @writingbyjillian​ @the-inkwell-variable​ @mackerelgray​

masterlist

“Name.”

The man across from her is in a brown tweed suit and a blue bowtie. A pair of black-rimmed glasses sits on his nose, a black and gold pen sits in his hand, the tip just touching the notepad in front of him. He doesn’t look up at Sarah, either because he doesn’t want to or he can’t, but the dryness of his voice says he’s used to this, and he’s not interested in seeing what the newest WRU acquisition looks like.

Sarah hugs herself, worries the ends of her sleeves, looks between the disinterested man and the handler who fetched her from the cold, white room and brought her to an equally cold and equally white room, the only differences being the furniture and the occupants. The handler spares her only a glance that’s laced with something gentler than what she’s seen in the other handlers. This one hasn’t hit her or yelled at her—yet—and instead has treated her with a kind of gentle but firm resolve. But now, in this moment, there’s no comfort from the handler.

“Sarah Bellows,” she says softly.

But there’s no scratch of the pen on paper. “Full name.”

“Oh…” Sarah finds that the man raises his eyes from the paper to her, impatiently awaiting her answer. “Sarah Elysia Bellows.”

He writes it down.

“Family.”

Sarah swallows her tears. “M-my mother, Delanie. My fath-father, Deodat. Two brothers, Harold a-and Ephraim. Grandmother, um, Gertrude. A-and-and—” And the one family member she wanted more than any of them, the one she should have called first before she ever left the house, the one who loved her and took care of her and now she was gone— “m-my Aunt Verna.” A small whine escapes her; she bites her lip to keep any more noises from coming out, ones that might finally push the kindness of the handler over the edge.

I want Aunt Verna.

But it seems neither the handler nor the interviewer care very much about Sarah’s whimpering, or at least, that’s as far as she can tell through her tears. And once she starts quietly crying, she can’t stop. The rest of her answers come out shaky and sniffly, everything from her height to her weight, her sexuality—and she doesn’t know that, not when she’d never gotten the chance to interact with others her own age—and even if she did, she wouldn’t tell them, that’s not their business—her hobbies, her skills—and really she had none, because what skills could she possibly develop living in a dark basement all her life? That answer manages to get something akin to surprise on the interviewer’s face, but he doesn’t press, and that’s fine with Sarah.

“Birthday?”

Sarah wipes her eyes. “April twenty-fourth, 1880.”

The scratch of pen on paper comes to a halt. The metal chair in the interviewer sits in creaks as he sits up. Sarah looks from him, at the confusion and uncertainty and…fear?…in his face, then at the handler, who’s expression is much the same. They share a few glances, with each other and with Sarah, who doesn’t understand why anything she’s said has caused this much confusion, and then the interviewer stands and beckons the handler into the hallway.

Sarah’s tears are dried now, replaced with confusion. What had she said? All she’d done was given them her birthday, that’s what he’d asked for. She tries to listen in on the conversation, but she can only make out the tones of their voices, low and hushed and undeniably worried. It’s a moment before it sounds like they come to some kind of consensus, before they return to the room, giving Sarah sidelong glances filled with concern.

“Sarah,” the interviewer says, the first and only time thus far he’s used her name or addressed her directly in any manner at all, “are you positive you were born in 1880?”

“I—Yes, sir.” Sarah blinks slowly. “My parents helped found Mill Valley, my father owns the mill. And m-my mother says he was almost drafted into the Civil War.” She swears the interviewer’s face pales, his forehead grows shiny with a thin layer of sweat.

His next question sends her reeling.

“Are you human, Sarah?”

This time Sarah leans back, staring wide-eyed at the interviewer. Is she human? What would ever prompt such a quest—

Gertie, I’m old enough to be your great-great-grandmother twice over.

Aunt Verna was old. Aunt Verna also wasn’t human. Aunt Verna was a shapeshifter.

But why does that matter?

Does he think I’m a shapeshifter?

It might explain his need to verify her birth year, but it doesn’t explain the look of sheer panic on his face.

She doesn’t ask why, thinking it better not to. Things might get worse for her if she starts asking questions about the shapeshifters; the handler is already eying her with a look of suspicion.

“Yes,” she says slowly, and not without confusion. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“How old are you?”

“Eight…teen, sir.”

“Good,” the man mutters to himself, a little color returning to his face. He jots something down on the paper. “Good, good.” He packs his things, almost too quickly, looking to leave the room as soon as possible.

The handler ushers Sarah up out of the chair and toward the door, and that deep feeling of terror sinks back into her stomach and her tears begin to well again, but before she and the handler can exit the room, she hears the interviewer whisper to the handler, “If I were you, I would get that one on the drip as soon as possible.”

[liliability]

Box Boy Auden- Eavesdropping

Learning a bit more about Daniel Cortes and Sara Bittencourt, a complicated couple with questionable motives behind the purchase of a Domestic/Romantic Box Boy.

First Chapter

CW: Box Boy Universe, briefly references to pet whump, dehumanizating mindset, argument, Sexy and Unedited. The Box Boy in question is 17. No direct whump in this piece, just an inside of Sir and Ma’ams minds.

Daniel Cortes thought his life would settle, once he moved with his wife to the mountains. Stay in his father-in-law's old mansion, leave the leadership of the company to his oldest son, avoid the press after one absurd and yet intrusive polemic with some self-righteous bastard CEO involved with the pet lib movement or whatever performative shit they called themselves.

Instead, he found himself in a new stressful routine, meeting with his lawyer - the boy can't be taken away, the acquisition was legal, it's all just in case, he reassures himself-, trying in vain to talk to his children and tensing, watching attentively as those damned names appeared now and then in the journal or TV- the list was once short, but now there are so many names and colorless faces disturbing his mind.

The Box Boy, needless to say, was a concern on his own, but every time Daniel could relieve his interminable stress in the kid, in many different ways, were a remind of how worthy the purchase was. But still, he couldn't trust the half-trained Boxie the same way his wife did.

When he got up in that morning to pick up his ringing cellphone, early and impossibly loud, Sara was already sitting in the living room's sofa, dressed in a bright red cardigan, waiting for him. She turned off the phone before he could enter the room.

"Who was in the phone?" His voice was still tired from the night before.

"Oh, nothing, just an alarm". Daniel lowered himsef to kiss her forehead. "Slept well, I think. Are you going to stay for breakfast? Auden's in the kitchen making tapioca. They have coconut and condensed milk, just how you like".

"You like. If one of us have a sweet tooth, it would certainly be you". He couldn't keep the smile out of his face. "But unfortunately I can’t. Have to go to the city. Today's Davi's day off and he wanted to talk to me in person."

Sara was suddenly irritated, as she always got when Daniel talked about his kids from an old marriage, the only people in the world that could compete with her for his attention.

"Don't worry honey, I'll be back in the afternoon".

"Some of my clients wants to meet me in the afternoon. The Art Deco bride, the one with the flower wall and the vintage bar carts. I'll be at her home by 3 pm, I think".

Daniel frowned at her answer.

"Wait, her house? Are you planning to leave Auden here, alone?"

"I mean...yes?" Sara didn't seem so bothered. "She lives nearly, I won’t be gone for that long. The doors will be locked, no domestic chores, he won't hurt himself and is not like he would ever try to run".

Daniel snorted. "I'm not so sure of that".

"Oh, don’t start it now. We can always find him with the tracking chip. And why would he even do it? Last night, he kneeled and tilted his head for me just to be able to use a towel. That's how he was taught to ask for something, and you’d  want to see how thankful he got because I didn’t force him to go downstairs and cook stark naked, although that would be an interesting scene to watch." She grinned maliciously, but her features were sweet and harmless again within a few seconds. "He's a pet with benefits now, and I doubt he has enough braincells in that pretty little skull to even think about running away".

“Naive” Daniel spat out.

Sara raised from the sofa, visibly astonished. “What did you said?”

"That's very naive, to see the kid as brainless for not speaking his mind when this option was taken away from him, in the first place. The truth is that no one could tell what's going on in his head." The man leaned against the wall and muttered the rest to himself, slightly wishing she could hear him anyway. "From all the people, you should be the one to know better".

Sara's face was almost red, not from embarrassment but from being contradicted, like a spoiled child being denied a toy. An irony, as Sara got exactly the toy that she wanted.

"What makes you suspicious about Auden?"

"When we're asleep, he walks around the house and thinks I don't know it. Last week, I caught him awake past his bedtime, staring at the windows, watching th- no, let me finish it- watching the backyard where the cars come and go. The kid almost passed out when he saw me in the room and started his nonsense shit to beg without words". Daniel's eyes suddenly darkened. "It's usually fun to see him do it but I had no patience for that in the moment. I just put him back to bed, but caught him doing the same thing the next day. Your handler friend said he could probably still know how to read, and I have no doubt that he had been messing with my office shelves and taking my books behind our backs".

Sara sighed audibly, crossing her arms.

"So, that's it? What do you even want me to do?"

"I wish you would discipline better your pet, as he had always been more yours than mine, and maybe do your part of the deal."

"My part of the deal?" The woman nearly laughed with disbelief. "You're not expecting that I will stay home all the time, are you? I got my helpful, gorgeous boy to fill the gap that my friends and my husband left in my life and you got your sadistic vengeance at a cost way lower than you expected. That, that was the deal!"

Daniel opened his mouth to argue but his wife interrupted him, a little less emotive this time.

"I miss meeting my clients in person, ok? I miss my former life. This city, it was your idea to move to the mountains. Not mine. Do you think I was excited to move to my father's former house? I went along with it, for you. But I was clear with him and I'll be very clear with you, too. I won't be the one to compromise anymore".

~

Auden never speaks unless he's told to, but he hear and watches his surroundings like a skittish stray that never grow out of the fear that it's going to be kicked at any time.

The boy thought he was the first to hear the phone ringing, but was surprised to find Ma'am already in the living room, touching Sir's phone with a cold, unreadable face. Then the older man appeared too, and the two started talking.

Neither of them noticed the boy in the nearest room.

It was tempting to listen their conversation, especially when he could hear his name. Sir said he was going to the city again, and Auden wished Ma'am could make him change his mind, keep the three of them safe and cozy under the soft blankets like the night before, but she seemed to have her own plans, too.

Auden would be alone. Again.

It's not the same, he has a name and his own collar now, a black piece of leather soothingly buckled around his pale neck, and that means he's safe. He's wanted.

"Are you planning to leave Auden here, alone?"

Sir was always disappointed when Auden had to learn a new thing in the mansion, and he and Ma’am were the only ones that could instruct him. Usually some specific cuisine, or an unusual domestic duty, that he hadn't been taught in the Facility. Interrupted training, he heard at more than one point.

But Sir and Ma'am had unconsciously taught him how to read a room, too, just by some people's face or a shift of voice. He used that knowledge to know when his owners were upset or stressed. He knew when he had to be good enough to lighten their mood.

He could also tell that their conversation would soon turn into an argument but he could do nothing to stop it. He wasn’t supposed to listen, for a start.

"...And is not like he would ever try to run". Ma'am was right. Auden could never and the simple thought of it made him tremble and lower his head. He was grateful for having owners so nice. A kind Sir that pets his hair and lets him help with the woodcraft and a gentle Ma'am that pampers him and show him pictures of her beautiful flowers.

"We can always find him with the tracking chip". Does he have... a tracking chip? Auden didn't know that. Where could it possibly be?

"That's very naive, to see the kid as brainless for not speaking his mind when this option was taken away from him, in the first place. The truth is that no one could tell what's going on in his head." Sir words were harsh and hurtful for Auden. He had been made for the couple. A perfect custom pet, an enviable combination built to fulfill his owners desire.

But still, standing in an empty lounge listening to his owner's conversation, despite the throbbing headache telling him it was wrong, Auden couldn't help but wonder if Sir was right, if something had slipped between his training and his arrival making him defective. Untrustworthy. Maybe it was something that was never a part of him, in the first place.

And he wondered, silently, what he could do to make up for that.

~~

-Tagging: @albino-whumpee @eatyourdamnpears @whumpfigure @orchidscript @cubeswhump @more-miserables @whatwasmyprevioususername @castielamigos-whump-side-blog . Ask/Comment to be added or removed from the taglist!

[Question]: Is anyone interested in Auden’s WRU Intake Papers? Thinking about dropping some hints of Auden’s backstory in it.

[cubeswhump]

I feel really bad for not posting a story today so I filled out Sweetie’s intake papers. Also if Facility 006 is already taken, let me know and I'll change the number.

Taglist: @haro-whumps @albino-whumpee @broken-horn @whumpsblog

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, whumper mocking whumpee's intelligence, implied whumping of a minor, implied noncon, implied lots of shit.

[WRU’S CONFIDENTIAL ARCHIVES] [UPDATED VERSION] [SUBJECT: 183736]

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 07.10.20XX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 13:09:47

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY (#006), INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, USA

SUBJECT: 183736

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Raber, Hannah

AGE: [REDACTED]

DATE OF BIRTH: 08.11.20XX

HAIR: Light brown

EYES: Dark brown

HEIGHT: 5′10″

WEIGHT: 142 lbs [Updated 02.07.20XX] 130 lbs

SEXUALITY: Unknown at time of acquisition. Legal guardian suggests heterosexual but homosexuality is hardly known in subject’s community.

DESIGNATION: Romantic. [Updated 02.07.20XX] Reassigned Domestic.

KNOWN SKILLS: Culinary, housekeeping

HOBBIES: Culinary. Guardian reports subject is very imaginative.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Legal guardian notes defiance, stubbornness, aggression toward handlers, lack of desire for what legal guardian calls “suitable lifestyle”. Daydreams during chores and training. Subject engages in self-soothing behavior including undesirable movements, trichophagia, and onychophagia. Facial expressions are reported as being unappealing. [Updated 02.07.20XX] Returned by owner to be refurbished. Would not settle into routines, failed escape from owner’s home.

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Barbara Raber (mother), Noah Raber (father), Isaiah Raber (older brother)

OTHER KNOWN FAMILY: Unknown

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Voluntary. Mister Noah Raber placed a call on 07.07.20XX at 16:47:22. Made call to schedule bringing subject into WRU building on 07.10.20XX at 13:09:47.

ACQUISITION DETAILS: Subject sedated upon showing aggression when removed from legal guardian. Handler received minor injury during acquisition. Subject Housed in Isolation Room 002. Vocal capabilities reduced due to nature of acquisition.

ASSIGNED HANDLER: Brooke Sampson, #2763A, Handler and Processor, Romantic Division. [Updated 02.07.20XX] Seth Miller, #5767C, Senior Handler and Processor.

SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT SHOWED NO VISIBLE SIGNS OF INJURY AT TIME OF SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELINGS OF EXHAUSTION, HUNGER, AND CONFUSION COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS.

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Hannah Raber AKA 183736

CONTRACT SIGNED: 08.16.20XX, 18:22

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Handler Brooke Sampson, Badge #2763A. Attorney Blanche Roberts, WRU Legal Council. Attorney Addison Delaney, WRU Assistant Legal Council. Kyle Trey, Prospective Owner.

SUBJECT UNAWARE OF PROSPECTIVE OWNER’S PRESENCE. PROSPECTIVE REQUESTS SEMI-REGULAR VISITATION THROUGHOUT TRAINING PROCESS.

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $400,000 USD

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE: $700,000 USD [Updated 02.07.20XX] Refunded [REDACTED], Second prospective paid $15,000 USD in compensation

ADDED FEES: $25,000 USD NO SCARRING, $300,000 USD SURGERIES (LATERAL CANTHOPLASTY, TEETH REPOSITIONING + WHITENING, RHINOPLASTY), $100,000 USD TRAINING [FAILED PROSPECTIVE WAS NOT REFUND FOR ADDED FEES]

COMPENSATION PAID TO LEGAL GUARDIAN: $80,000 USD

CURRENT LOCATION: Trainee room #015

REQUESTED TRAINING: ALL Positions 1-35, Mixology, Literacy Reduction, Light Domestic Duties, Sensitivity [Updated 02.07.20XX] Standard Domestic Training, World Cuisine, Clothing and Accessory Care

COMMENTS:

We got a special one here. From bumfuck middle of nowhere Amish country. I don’t know how those people even heard of us. Can barely spell her own name. This one will be easy. She’s got nothing going in that little head of hers. She has some annoying habits and restraint of hands is encouraged. She’s still got some fight in her. Well, the stupidest people are the angriest. Responds best to older women using sweet voices. (chuckle) She’s got another thing coming. She was basically raised to be a trophy wife to some hillbilly so we think she’ll be good as a Romantic. Could use some work on fuckin’ manners. Maintaining removal of vocal abilities via muzzle until she stops crying for her fuckin’ mommy. Not the prettiest flower but she’s got a nice body and potential the medical team will tap into.

-Brooke Sampson, Handler, initial report

[Update 02.10.2020] How do you fuck up so bad as a Romantic? All you’ve gotta do is spread your legs. The director says she’s not fit for Romantic duties. Well, she’s in for a world of fun as a Domestic. Shows defiance at times, mostly remorse. She is eager to obey most of the time. A bit too eager, but I suppose that’s a good thing. It’s more fun when they fight. Just kidding, don’t write that, Steve.

-Seth Miller, Sr. Handler, reported shortly after return by owner

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Please please please can we see Joanne reacting to the Chris saves himself au???

The Chris Saves Himself AU: One | Two | Three

CW: Whumper POV, abusive family member, ableist, ableism, pet whump universe

Jo's sitting at an outdoor cafe, sipping a hot cup of fresh coffee while the ocean beats against the Hawaiian sand. She's waiting on her breakfast and has a book open in front of her she has yet to read.

The sky and the water are nearly the same blue. It's dazzling. She can't take her eyes off it.

She's here for work, helping with getting a newly-opened WRU Facility off the ground. There have been protests, of course - Hawaiians have protested WRU making inroads pretty viciously, and Jo is glad for the secret employee entrance she uses so that the residents of this place don't know who she works for. Still, WRU is paying for the extended-stay hotel and three meals a day, and her nephew's inheritance pays for the drinks.

She cuts the thought before his face can enter her mind.

She dreams about him slumped over, mumbling about how tired he was, sometimes. Once the sedatives kicked in, anyway. She'd been irritated the first round didn't seem to work, and then worried she'd accidentally overdosed him after the second.

But no. No, the Acquisitions team had assured her he would be considered in perfect condition. And her finder's fee and bonus had really emphasized that he was.

Whatever. That problem is solved.

Joanne sighs, wistful. There are already people in the water, even at dawn. She can hear laughter filtering up from the beach.

It's beautiful.

Ronnie would have loved Hawaii. They had always planned to go together, before their falling-out.

Too bad her fucking husband and stupid brat dragged her down with them. Too bad the husband was a shitheel Irish mob asshole, too bad Ronnie's son was a piece of fucking work, too bad the stupid bastard couldn't stay hidden the one time it counted...

Joanne sniffs and wipes at the corner of her eye. Grief is hard - it comes and goes. But at least Tristan isn't her problem any longer.

He's probably happy as a clam doing someone's fucking gardening somewhere. Joanne simply refuses to admit that isn't at all what he is likely to be used for. It doesn't matter.

What she doesn't know, she isn't legally responsible for.

Lost in her thoughts, Joanne doesn't notice the uniformed officers who enter the cafe behind her. She takes a photo of the morning sun as an officer holds up a photocopied piece of paper to the server behind the counter. She posts the phot to her Instagram with #islandliving is the life for me! as the server points her direction and the officer nods and thanks them for their help.

She has missed calls and texts on her phone, but she'll check those later. Jo never looks at her phone before 8 am anymore. It makes everything much more peaceful.

She sees the first couple likes trickle in as the officer speaks to his partner and the two of them head her direction.

"Joanne Botham?"

She's startled out of her thoughts by the officer's voice and looks up to blink at the woman, her straight black hair in a low ponytail and expression stern. Jo feels an instinctive beat of apprehension. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you, officer?"

The officer has an odd look to her. Not hostile, but... not friendly. "Joanne Botham, resides at 435 Janus Way, in Berras, California? Employed by WRU?"

Her heart beats faster and Jo sets her phone down. Then picks up her coffee. "Yes. Is something wrong with my house?"

"No. Do you recognize this individual?"

The officer holds up another printed out photo and Jo's stomach falls to her knees and firmly lodges there. She drops her coffee, mug shattering on the floor, ceramics and liquid everywhere. The officer doesn't even flinch.

It's her fucking nephew.

It's Tristan in a hospital bed, looks like, staring at the camera with wide uncomprehending eyes. His hair is shorter than it used to be, and there is a ring of bruising around his neck, more bruises littered over his collarbone and shoulders.

She has a sudden wild urge to say she's never seen him before. Instead, she swallows and repeats the story she's practiced over and over until she's sure she can pass any lie detector test. "Yes. That's my late sister's son, Tristan. He ran away after their deaths. I thought he was dead."

The officer doesn't argue, just nods. "I see. Well, Ms. Botham, what would you say if I told you that your nephew is alive?"

Jo looks carefully, believably surprised. "He is? Where did you find him? I looked everywhere I could think of!"

"Did you?" The way the officer asks the question tells Jo there is a piece of the puzzle she hasn't seen yet... and it won't be something she likes. "Well, you'll be relieved to hear he was found alive."

"Yes... yes, I am. Relieved."

She's furious.

That little shit is going to ruin her life all over again, isn't he? She'll set his inheritance on fire before she lets him see a dollar. WRU was supposed to make it so she never saw him again.

She should have kept him locked in his room and left him there.

"I'll fly back home right away to see him," She says, a distant ringing filling her mind. "Where is he?"

"Your nephew is receiving medical care. Let's head down to the station. I'll fill you in on the details when we get there."

"Well-... Of course, officer, but I need to call my workplace-"

"We are already in contact with WRU, Ms. Botham. They are aware that you will not be in to work today. A WRU representative will be at the station."

Joanne takes in a breath and slowly lets it out. "I... I need a lawyer, don't I?"

"That's up to you, ma'am. All we want to do is talk. Please come with me." The officer steps back and gestures. Joanne stands, and the beauty of the day is suddenly lost on her entirely.

"Am I being charged with something?" Her voice is faint, suddenly. She swallows hard. "Am I being-"

"The only charged so far are laid against Governor Oliver Branch, ma'am."

"Against who?"

"Ma'am. Please come with me." There's a hand on her elbow and Joanne stumbles along. At the counter, the server is taping this, streaming it live. Jo glances up at the television over in the corner ceiling to see a news anchor talking about a WRU-branded human pet falling out of a balcony at the California governor's mansion and the resulting scandal.

Joanne thinks of all those missed calls on her phone.

"They're blaming me, aren't they?" She asks, coming to a sudden stop on the sidewalk outside. "They're blaming me! I'm going to be the fall guy, right?"

"Get in the car, Ms. Botham," The officer says firmly. One hand moves to her hip. "We can discuss this at the station."

Joanne sees the server with their phone out, following. The stupid little ass is smiling. They think this is funny.

It occurs to Jo they knew who she worked for all along.

She turns and with wild eyes yells, "WRU knew! I did nothing wrong! They knew!"

She's going to need one hell of a lawyer.

She's going to need a miracle.

She suddenly wishes she hadn't spent so much of Tristan's money. She could've used it for her legal fees.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @what-a-whump @whumptywhumpdump @downriver914 @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @whumpfessional

[whimpers-and-whumpers]

982910

(Author's note: this story is based off of the box boy concept by @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and a conversation about masochist box boys between me, @straight-to-the-pain, and @ashintheairlikesnow)

[REDACTED] quietly got out of the Uber and tugged her shirt down self-consciously. She grabbed the folder and closed the door. The car immediately sped off. The entire car ride had been silent after she told the driver the address. It took her a moment to find the place, in a strip mall with a sad-looking convenience store and a long-defunct surplus store. In between, in big, bold letters, declared ‘WRU RECRUITMENT & ACQUISITIONS OFFICE’. The door was wide open, showing a plushly-carpeted waiting room beyond. [REDACTED] took a deep breath and walked in.

A woman at the front desk smiled at her with a brightly lipsticked mouth. She must have been in her mid-thirties, going by the garishly bright sweater she wore and the faint lines beneath her makeup.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She looked [REDACTED] up and down appraisingly.

[REDACTED] fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Um, is this the WRU office?”

“It is. I’m representative Monica.” She tapped her nametag three times. “How can I help you?”

“Oh. Um. I, uh… I’d like to sign up.”

“As an acquisition, or a client?”

[REDACTED] laughed. “Oh, an acquisition. I don’t have enough money for that.”

Monica smiled. “I’ll need you to fill out these forms—” She handed her a paper-filled clipboard and a fake-flower pen. “—and all necessary documentation outlined here, here, and here.” She tapped each with a manicured nail.

[REDACTED] took the clipboard with a shaky smile. “Thanks.”

She walked back to a chair, sat down, and got to work. Only fifteen minutes later, she was back at the desk. Monica raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve read all the documents?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve signed and dated everything?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve got all of the required documents?”

“Yes.” She passed her the manila folder. It had the originals of everything— birth certificate, ID, insurance card, everything. She took a shaky, relieved breath as she let go of all of it. Of her. “It’s all in here.”

Monica smiled. “Good. Wait here until you are called for your interview.”

[REDACTED] nodded and sat back down.

. . .

The door to the rest of the building opened and a middle-aged man poked his head out. “[REDACTED]?” [REDACTED] looked up. “Come on back.”

[REDACTED] stood, smoothed out her shirt, and followed him through the door, down the hall, and into a room that was empty save for two chairs and a table.

He pointed to one of the chairs with his pen. “Sit.”

She did. He sat on the opposite side of the table and smiled.

“Now, before we begin, is your named [REDACTED]?”

“Yes.”

He checked off a box on his stack of papers. “And are you over the age of eighteen?”

“Yes.”

He checked off another. “And is your date of birth [REDACTED]?”

“Yes.”

He checked off yet another. “Good, good. Now that that’s all taken care of, we can get to the real question: Why do you want to become an acquisition of WRU?”

“Well, uh, I’ve heard a lot about the company. And I understand that it won’t be easy, but, well, I want it.”

“And what is ‘it’?”

“Well…” [REDACTED] shifted in her seat. “I want to be someone’s. Completely. I mean… you know, S & M stuff… uh…” [REDACTED] looked down, face red.

The man seemed unbothered. “So, you would rather be a Romantic type?”

“Uh… yeah. Or Combination. Or anything, really. My preference isn’t supposed to matter, right?” She looked up to see a smile spread across his face.

“Right. You’re ahead of the curve on training, aren’t you?”

Her face flooded with relief. “I hope so…”

He wrote something down, then looked back up. “So, why else?”

“Oh, well, I know I could go other places but WRU is a really good company. I actually interned for you guys in college, in advertising. I guess it worked, huh?”

The man returned her small smile with one of his own. “I guess so.” He pulled out a thick ream of papers from his folder. “Unless you have any questions for me, you can go ahead and sign. After you sign and date, you will officially become property of WRU to be sold to our select client list. Do you understand?”

[REDACTED] nodded, skimmed the contract, and signed her name. The man took it back, skimmed through, and signed as well.

“Excellent. Follow me, 982910.”

982910 stood and followed.

[justplainwhump]

Job satisfaction

Tyler struggles to keep a facade in front of his colleagues and learns the whereabouts of Tara's informant.

Written for @whumptober 2022. Will be continued soon.

This is for Day 16, "no way out" and day 19, knees buckling.

A part of Tyler's arc.

Cw for BBU, institutionalised whump, facility whump, a bunch of professionally horrible people (WRU handlers and managers), referenced dehumanisation, (newly) reluctant whumper pov, shortly referenced noncon/dubcon (WRU romantic training), referenced torture

Tyler took the bus to work. He'd drunk too much vodka last night to be able to drive safely. He pressed his forehead to the window, greenish suburbs passing by the windows in a blur until the gray buildings of the industrial zone took over. Facility 002 was located far outside the city.

Hard to reach. Easy to control.

In his pocket, his fingers fiddled with his access card. It didn't say his name, didn't even say the company name, just a plain number, but still he had always kept it hidden. Odd, he realized. He'd told himself over and over again that he just did a job. People in his generation did what earned them money, and tried to be good at it. Nobody identified with what they did, or their employer, he was just like them, right?

Then why had he never told anyone? Even when it had all technically been legal, when he'd been working with voluntary acquisitions. Security, that's what he'd said when asked about his job. Corporate security for some high tech lab. Nobody had ever waited to know more.

The bus' doors opened with a hiss. "Industry Park South Entrance," the automated voice announced. "Last stop. This bus terminates here."

Tyler started, needed a second to find orientation, before he grabbed his backpack and got off. There were just a handful of other passengers left. All here for the same destination. A janitor, a receptionist. Did they tell others where they worked, he wondered.

Did it matter? They didn't do what he did. They weren't handlers. He remembered 238's screams last night, played to her over and over by him. He remembered the countless times he'd slept with her. He remembered her brown eyes, serious and solemn, when she'd told him 'I don't think I signed up for this'.

He'd taught her to never say it again.

Tyler wanted to scream. Instead, he put on an easy smile, nodded to the security officer at the entry, as he swiped his card. It hurt. The edges of the plastic card had cut into his palm, after clutching it too tightly. The pain felt oddly comforting.

"You're late."

Tyler looked up, meeting the gaze of Alex from Client Relations. Squinted dark eyes took him in critically, no doubt noticing the rings underneath Tyler's eyes, the slight trembling of his hands.

"Had a long shift yesterday," he mumbled. "Didn't sleep well."

"I know. Log out at 12.37 am," Alex said without even looking somewhere to check. They weirded him out. "No idea what you did that long, nor do I want to know, honestly. Anyway. Senior Handler Nguyen wants a word before you go in. He's in his office."

Shit.

Tyler nodded numbly. "Yeah. Uh. Thanks."

When he turned towards the office floor, Alex' hand stopped him. "I really don't care," they said. "But he didn't seem like he'd care much, either."

Tyler frowned at them, but they'd already pulled back their hand and were staring at their tablet.

"Oh. Important call. First product specification with Judge Nicholls." They rolled their eyes. "It's her fourth pet, and she's always such a diva. Anyway." Alex' looked Tyler down once again. "If you're sick, don't stay too close to me. There's a cabinet full of prescription drugs at Doctor Wood's office. She'll get you up to peak performance in no time."

"I'm goo-"

"Shhh." Alex was on the phone already, gesturing for him to shut up and pointing impatiently at Alan's office.

*

"238's a mess today," Alan said, without any preface. He didn't even look up from his papers. It felt odd, standing here still in civilian clothes and waiting for a uniformed handler to judge him. "You deviated from protocol, Parker. Why?"

Because it was easier to beat her and cause her pain than to fuck her while she pretended to enjoy it. Because like that, at least, they'd both known it was fucking wrong what was happening.

"Protocol for her current training phase is to simulate a domestic environment, Sir." Tyler crossed his hands in front of him and looked at the tips of his sneakers, hoping Alan wouldn't watch him too closely. His boss was insanely good at spotting a lie. Tyler could just hope that right now, he wasn't looking for one. "I've read her file and that on her prospective owner's other pet. He'd use pain in a domestic environment. So I prepared her for that."

"Huh." The rustling of paper indicated that Alan had put the file down. He hadn't been reading it anyway, Tyler wagered. Alan was playing mind games, always. And even though Tyler saw it happening, he usually got caught in them anyway. Alan was a master on his playing field.

He remembered, that on their first meeting, he had aspired to be like Alan one day. It felt ages ago. "I appreciate the initiative. Bold move though, to not discuss it with me beforehand." He paused. "Bold move especially, coming from you, Parker."

"I… I like to do things right. This, um. This didn't seem bold to me. It was within my scope of decision. I thought."

Alan chuckled quietly. "Well that does sound more like you for sure. Next time, write that reasoning down in your report, too."

Tyler nodded, trying to hide the relief in his voice. "Of course."

"I ordered solitary for her for two days or three. The uncomfortable kind. I think your intuition was right. She needs to take any attention her owner gives her as affection. So we lock her up, let her crave any human touch, and you'll get back to her the day after tomorrow and give her both. Fuck her and hurt her. Fuck her hard. And if she doesn't get it, she'll get one more day of solitary, and we'll try again."

Tyler felt a hard knot in his stomach. Fuck her and hurt her. Again and again and again. That was his job. In contrast to her, he had signed up for it.

Alan didn't seem to register his discomfort. "We have all the time, her prospective is overseas for the next six weeks."

"Good."

It wasn't enough, it seemed, because Alan paused for a moment. "Everything alright, Parker? I'm giving you praise, and a break for today. You're unusually passive about it."

Tyler cleared his throat. "Bad night. Personal, Sir."

"Huh. Don't let it interfere with your work." Alan tilted his head. "I was thinking about filling you in on one of my other cases today. But in that case, let's postpone it. You can go ask Handler Thompson if she's got some work for you while 238 is on hold. Heard her bragging about some special assignment."

Carly. Tyler had to hold back not to grimace. He'd tried to befriend her, in the beginning. Always important to be on good terms with the colleagues, after all. But she was… something else. Something he never wanted to be. He should've understood back then, already.

"Sir, maybe I should-"

"Her methods are very different from mine. I don't think highly of her. But you can learn from her nonetheless."

Tyler swallowed. "I… Sir, I thought I might just call in sick for the day."

"Huh." Alan raised an eyebrow. "Well. If it's that bad, I guess there's no better day than today either. Good work, in any case." Something fell on his shoulder, and Tyler flinched before he realized it was Alan's hand, in a rare gesture of reassurance. "You're on a good path, Parker. Keep that private life separate from work and vice versa, look closely at how things work in this facility, and your next career move won't take long to come. You have a lot of potential. Use it."

Tyler didn't feel like it.

*

He managed to pull himself together as he left the office. Still in his civilian clothes, he felt the weight of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. He'd go home and call Tara. He'd meet her and come clean with her and he'd convince her to be safe.

"Hey, T!"

Tyler almost flinched when he heard Carly's voice. She was sitting in Alex' office, lounging in the visitor chair with her feet on their desk, pointedly ignoring their eye roll. "Short day, or have you pulled an all nighter with that raunchy trainee of yours? She as flexible as she looks?"

"Very," Tyler said.

Carly grinned. "Too bad your boss doesn't let me touch her. I'd love to give her some... specialty training." She put two fingers to her mouth and finished the gesture with a slow flick of her tongue. As if they wouldn't have understood before.

"Not on her training plan," Alex' voice was flat, almost a little bored, but Tyler still noted some annoyance. "She's in the box today anyway. Tyler is off duty. In contrast to you."

Tyler raised his eyebrows, but didn't inquire, how the hell Alex managed to get their hands on information that quickly.

"Oh, I have plenty time." Carly smirked. "Got my pet lib bitch strung up in a nice little stress position. She's going to be soft as a kitten when I get back with her."

"Technically, she's not pet lib," Alex corrected coldly. "These potential sign-ups she made trouble about, they weren't pets. She's anti WRU. There's a distinction."

"She messed with our business. And she is working with pet lib, I'm sure about that. Two or three hours more with her, and I promise she'll spit out some names."

Tyler leaned to the door frame as casually as he could. He feared his legs would give out. "Who -?"

"002242. Our latest acquisition. Social worker. Seriously interfered with recruitment down town."

'My informant was arrested', Tara's voice echoed in his head. 'WRU recruiters all but hunting homeless kids. Tried to do something about it. Now she's gone.'

He didn't feel well.

"We...," Tyler cleared his throat. "I thought involuntary acquisitions meant custom orders."

"It is a custom order. Internal one. Director Fisher's. He's unhappy with pet lib and anti WRU sentiment in this town. Need to smother some voices, re-educate some others. Luckily, it's just a small number compared to the ones that actually bring us money. Financially, each of these trainees is a disaster. Can't offer them via our website, can't give them to anyone who keeps their pets in public - at least nobody local, and shipping pets overseas is such a hassle."

"Your perspective is so cold, Al." Carly rolled her eyes, ignoring Alex' quiet correction, "Alex."

"Talking like they're objects, not people, with real feelings." She swung her legs off the table to lean in. "Feelings, Al. Pain. Despair. Fucking bleak and hopeless sadness. And that little, devastating moment when they understand that this is it." She all but moaned. "Fuck, I could drink that in with a straw."

She checked her watch and got to her feet. "Time to work on that, I guess. Cheers, Al. T, you coming? I could need a hand."

"Actually, Tyler has signed o-"

"Sure." Tyler talked over Alex, feigning a grin of his own. "Yeah. I'm in."

Carly bumped her fist into his shoulder. "Great, buddy. I promise, working with these assholes before the Drip, it's even better than fucking them later." She let out a chuckle. "And doing it both? Man, that's the real thing. Fuck, I love my job."

I don't, Tyler thought, with the dawning realisation it was far too late for that.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Intake: Jameson

CW: Dehumanization, implied future pet whump, implied future noncon, discussion of masochism, drug use, honestly all kinds of fucked up implications happening here

SUBJECT: 334235M

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 10.31.20XX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 11:45 PM

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 001, BERRAS, [REDACTED], USA

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Jonathan Bartow Willowtree

AGE: 21

DATE OF BIRTH: 07.07.20XX

HAIR: Dark Brown

EYES: Brown

HEIGHT: 5′9″

WEIGHT: 150 lbs 

SEXUALITY: Pansexual 

DESIGNATION: Romantic

KNOWN SKILLS: Subject reports regular workouts with weight-lifting and cardiovascular exercise being of particular focus. Subject reports average if uneventful sex life. Subject’s school transcripts showcase a 3.78 GPA through high school. No college education.

HOBBIES: Subject, when asked about hobbies, asked if ‘tripping’ counts. No other reported hobbies. 

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject is aggressive and curious, demanding detailed answers after reading enrollment brochures and meeting with WRU Acquisition Representatives. Subject insistent on Domestic or Platonic placement, but his temperament is not suitable for either. Subject could be a physical danger to more submissive trainees if not kept separate from them. 

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Lucy Bartow Willowtree, maiden name Weitch, mother. Robert Willowtree, father. Both alive and residing in Klamath Falls, Oregon. 

SIBLINGS: Henry Willowtree, brother, two years older, deceased. COD: homicide. Yolanda Willowtree, sister, four years younger, alive and residing in Klamath Falls, Oregon. Brendan Willowtree, brother, six years younger, alive and residing in Klamath Falls, Oregon. 

Note: Henry Willowtree went missing 10.15.20XX in Bend, Oregon after night out with Jonathan Willowtree. The two argued prior to disappearance. Henry’s remains were discovered three weeks later. Local news article about the murder for reference is copied and attached to file. Keep in mind during early memory loss in case of hallucinations common to trainees.

OTHER KNOWN FAMILY: Joseph and Marjorie Weitch, maternal grandparents, both alive and residing in Klamath Falls, Oregon. Paternal grandparents: Subject would say only, “Fuck them.” Any other relatives: subject refused to elaborate.

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Voluntary. Subject placed call to WRU Acquisition Hotline and requested to speak with one of our Acquisition Representatives. Meghan Planterson spoke to subject multiple times over three weeks prior to voluntary acquisition. Planterson reported acting more as “grief counselor” than is usual for new potential trainees. Planterson currently on medical leave and can be reached at home. (Planterson resigned effective 01.05.20XX) 

ACQUISITION DETAILS: Subject initially arrived on 10.30.20XX having ingested controlled substances prior to arrival, and was turned away until the next day. Subject returned on 10.31 and insisted on signing contract “as soon as possible”. Subject did not require any time to consider options, insisting, “I’ve been considering my fucking options since Hank died, give me the fucking papers and take it all away.”

ASSIGNED HANDLERS: 

CONTRACT SIGNED: 11.01..20XX 2:15 AM

           PRIMARY: Hogan Danforth, Senior Handler and Processor, Specialization Special Requests, Romantic Division - Masochist Training

           SECONDARY: Connor Manning, Senior Handler and Processor, Specialization Special Requests, Romantic Division - Masochist Training Support

SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT SHOWED NO VISIBLE SIGNS OF INJURY AT TIME OF SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELINGS OF TIREDNESS DUE TO TIME OF DAY. SUBJECT DID NOT REPORT FEAR OR UNCERTAINTY.  

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Jonathan Willowtree, aka 334235M

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Handler Connor Manning, Badge #5689, WRU Attorney Nathaniel Lewis. (Note: Karen Renford, Director of Client Success and Satisfaction, reviewed contract on 11.01 and approved.)

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $100,000 USD

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE:  $500,000 USD 

ADDED FEES: $50,000 MASOCHISM TRAINING FEE, $50,000 ADDED CONFIDENTIALITY POST-PURCHASE

AMOUNT PLACED IN TRUST FOR SIBLINGS AT SUBJECT’S REQUEST: $100,000 USD 

CURRENT LOCATION: Special Requests Room 014, post-signing contract

REQUESTED TRAINING: ALL Positions 1-35, Flexibility, Sensitivity, Endurance, Masochism, Self-Defense, Pet Play

COMMENTS:

This one’s going to be a fucking handful, I can tell you that right now. He’s voluntary, but as soon as we wipe all the bullshit out of his head, he’s going to fight us like a rabid dog. I can tell, he’s got that look. Says he’s here because he can’t live with his brother’s death anymore. Big deal, people get murdered every day. I guess maybe getting murdered by a serial killer is a little unusual. I should stick to the facts. He’s going to be trouble. So we need to focus right off the bat on taking trouble and making it beg. He’ll take well to masochism, though. I’m going to get him talking before he’s on the Drip and see what I can learn about what Jonathan Willowtree likes in bed. I bet I find something real useful for Connor and I moving forward. Honestly, after this long on the job… I can just tell. - Hogan Danforth, Sr. Handler, initial report

I concur with Hogan. I’ve had a short visit with 334235M and he’s going to spit fire all over us once he doesn’t just sit around moping about that brother. I for one plan to make the most of everything this hot little number has to offer. - Connor Manning, Sr. Handler

Yeah, or you’ll cuddle and show him your cat like you did the last guy. - HD

Just jealous that we both know the masochists always like me best - CM

Handler comments are meant to be only for official business related to processing the subject. Any further personal elaborations will result in unpleasant consequences. Consider this a verbal warning. - Karen Renford

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

[ashintheairlikesnow]

do you have any sneak peeks on what akio is going to do? I NEED TO KNOW

I keep jumping all over the place writing like two paragraphs here and four paragraphs there so NOTHING is going to get done/posted until I can focus on any one thing, but I DO have this little tidbit:

“Dex, turn on the news,” She says quickly, and he blinks at her before nodding, reaching over to pick up the remote. None of his motions are fast enough and the CEO is still shouting in her ear. “Dex, I said-”

The screen flickers on as the CEO abruptly hangs up on her.

“-routine post-event press conference has erupted into chaos today as athletes from seven nations have joined Akio Nakamura, medalist from the U.S. Gymnastics team, in speaking out on what they claim is a systematic pattern of legal violations and horrific abuse and violence perpetuated in each of their countries by billion-dollar, globally-respected leading human pet provider WRU.”

On screen, sitting at a table, is a young man whose face she vaguely recognizes from a folder she kept for a while, a long time ago. A potential acquisition they’d decided against, maybe? Karen’s memory is good but it’s not photographic.

Flanking him on either side are others - a young woman in a hijab sits to his left, her hands folded, chin raised high. On his other side, a young man with white-blond hair. Each of them wears the flag of their nation, and her eyes skim over them. Canada, Sweden, Iran, the UK, Kenya...

They sit along the long table. More stand behind him. There have to be twenty of them, maybe thirty.

Whatever the news anchor says, Karen sees more than seven flags here.

Reporters shout questions, but the athletes only sit, or stand. They shift nervously. Whatever they are going to do, they haven’t done it yet. 

Every athlete is holding a piece of paper, flat white facing the camera, or lying on the table. Every athlete is breathing fast, nerves alight. Every athlete is ready to speak. 

“Oh, fuck,” Karen whispers.

It occurs to her that what she feels, the constriction in her chest and her rapid pulse, is fear.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

so what do you think is the youngest age WRU could pull off for an underage (like illegally bringing kids in)

I mean, there’s an element of plausible deniability involved. They have to be able to deny that they take in anyone under 18 or anyone unwilling, so there definitely has to be an element of CYA happening with their choices on who is acquired. 

I don’t know, really! That line of thought hits too many wibbly areas for me to want to go too deeply into it. But they definitely have to be able to uphold their polite fictions to paper over the fact that 10-15% of pets are outright abductions and something like 3-5% may or may not be under 18 at the time of acquisition.