#bbu fic

[ilasknives]

INK BLACK AND BLUE (A whump fic introduction).

hello and welcome to my newest whumpee! I swear I'm writing my other stories but for now you can have him :)

CW for: BBU/BBU Adjacent, pet whump, brief mentions of non-con touch, non-consensual drugging.

1: Hand to Hand to Hand

Pet practically belonged to the casino by now. He was here more often than not, these days, tucked uncomfortably under some table in the back corner with his head down and his knees underneath himself, hands bound tightly together and chained to a table leg. It was a small place compared to most, low-lit in the yellow wash of the dying lights on the ceiling, hidden in some back alley somewhere. The kind of place people went when they didn’t want much competition, or when they’d been kicked out of every bigger casino in the area. Pet could find his way here from any corner of the town in his sleep.

Most days he’d be dragged in the doorway to a handful of pills shoved down his throat and a hand - or several - blocking off his breathing until he swallowed, then he’d be shoved down to his knees on the moth-eaten carpet to wait.

Today was no different. He couldn’t see much beyond the shoes of the players and the table legs around him, but by the force of the poker chips being dropped on the table and the anxious shifting of the pair of legs beside him, it was going to be… a long night. It had already been a long night. His owner - current owner, anyway - was losing, and badly.

A hand dropped down to rough up his hair and Pet gritted his teeth, curling his fingers into the carpet fibres and hunching down lower. Every muscle in his body drew tense, the urge to bite swelling in his chest, raging and painful, dulled only by the drugs in his system. Somewhere else, he would thrash and turn and sink his teeth in. But he didn't bite here. He'd learned that lesson well and truly by now. He worked his teeth into his bottom lip instead, and the hand drew away to throw another card down on the table.

The game dragged on. Poker chips slammed on the table above him, a kick to his side, yelling from the men who were losing, yelling from the men who were winning. A hand in his hair, more chips on the table, more yelling. Cards, chips, hand, yell. Teeth into lip. Cards, hands, yelling. Nausea, climbing his throat. Drugs and swimming vision. The urge to fight, stuffed somewhere back behind his teeth. He didn't bite here.

The table cleared slowly as time wore on, players running slowly out of cash as it piled in the centre or finally deciding to escape with their winnings before they lost them again. His owner kept reaching down to pet his head – something that only this owner did, really, and Pet didn’t know if it was a nervous habit or if he thought it was some odd form of good luck. Pet had never asked, too focused on keeping his teeth in his mouth and ignoring the way it made his skin crawl. He’d never be seen like that, anyway. At worst he was bad luck, at best he was nothing to them at all.

He gritted his teeth together under the table and dug his fingers into the carpet. It was worn, here, from how often he did this. His table, his spot. Casino property, or whatever. He didn’t want to mean anything to them.

It was some time before the sound of the door opening drew his attention and he lifted his head to see a new pair of shoes stepping across to the table.  

“You have time for another round?”

The newcomer’s voice was not one that Pet had heard before. He stilled, listening. The men here were all violent and mean, slurred voices, rough hands. Pet knew them all personally. Intimately. He’d been to each house, each bed, each basement floor many times over but this man – he didn’t recognise him. There hadn’t been a newcomer to this casino in months.

“Just packing up,” said his owner, but there was an edge to it, like he was hesitating. The newcomer shifted his feet.

“Are you sure?”

“… You play cards?”

“I’m quite good at cards, yes.”

His owner sat up straighter and laughed. None of them could resist a challenge. This was going to drag out into another few rounds of back and forth, and his legs were already numb. It was a goddamned miracle his owner had kept him this long as it was, but he was quickly running out of money and Pet knew he didn’t know when to stop. This owner was always more hesitant to give him up, for whatever reason, but he’d done it many times before. He’d do it many times again.

There were three of them at the table now – his owner, another regular, and the newcomer. The cards shuffled, and someone started tossing them out. One fell, fluttering down to the floor, and the newcomer leaned down to pick it up. He glanced up when he did, face-to-face with Pet as he reached for it. The man blinked at him, picked the card off the floor and straightened. That was fine. He’d prefer to be ignored, anyway. Above him, the conversation continued.

“You have a pet here?” asked the newcomer.

His owner huffed out a laugh. “He’s not worth much, if that’s what you’re wondering. A pain in the ass, more than anything. Aren’t you, pest?” He reached down to rough up Pet’s hair again. He gritted his teeth together and refused to respond, which earned him a smack up the back of the head. “See what I mean?”

“I didn’t know they were allowed this close to the tables.”

A scoff. “You think this place cares? You’re not in a big city anymore, mate.”

The newcomer hummed in agreement. “Guess not.”

Pet glared at the floor, tearing carpet threads up with his fingers, bottom lip worked painfully between his teeth. He’d bitten it raw, but no one cared, least of all himself. It’d just be a point of mockery later, of wow, pest, had to try real hard to keep your teeth to yourself back there, huh? and rough hands holding his face still so someone could lick the blood away. He told himself he’d smash his face into theirs.

Bad pet. Pest. Fucking menace. He revelled in it.

Just not here, he reminded himself when his owner shifted his leg to press it against his side. The contact made his stomach turn.

The game went on.

“Not as good as you said, huh?” Someone said, late into the game, late into the night. “Bet that hand you got dealt isn’t looking as good as you thought.”

A laugh. A shuffle of cards. “I guess not. You’re doing well, though.”

“You’re too fuckin’ polite for this place, mate,” his owner laughed. More chips dragged over to his side, piled so dangerously close to the edge that if Pet craned his neck, or shifted just a little too much, he’d be able to make them fall. Somehow they didn’t when his owner leaned across the table. “Got another round in you? Or are you gonna tuck your tail between your legs and run home? Easy winnings from someone who claimed to be good at this.”

The newcomer sighed and shifted, a hand coming down to pat at his pockets. Pet had been here long enough that he understood what was happening, the desperate search for something else to put up, the draw to the game even when he’d done nothing but lose.

“… I’ll put my car in.”

The owner laughed heartily and accepted. The other regular had left, by now, and it was these two alone, nothing but Pet and the casino staff behind the bar to watch them. This game, another. The tide turned, and his owner started losing, the newcomer’s skills seeming to come through for him.

His owner was scrambling, now, the wins he’d been gloating about ripped right from underneath him.

Pet felt the tug on his leash before he heard the words.

“Throw him in, too.”

“Your pet?”

“His attitude isn’t worth shit, but a pet’s worth a lot of money, you know that.”

“… Sure,” shrugged the newcomer. “My dad could use another pet.”

If his owner had been any decent kind of person, he might have mentioned that Pet was not the kind of pet that anyone would want. He was disobedient and angry. He didn’t get passed around the casino because he was good. They all just wanted their shot at breaking him – it’s all he was good for, anyway. A bargaining chip, a game piece, something to be taken and given up. Just a monetary value and a source of bragging rights.

But his owner was a bitter, arrogant kind of man, just like the rest of them. He was a desperate one, too. So Pet became part of the betting pool once again, and the cards were shuffled above him.

In the end, no matter how hard his owner had tried, no matter what cards he played, it hadn’t mattered. He lost the money. He gave up Pet.

At some ungodly hour of the morning, after a scuffle between the men - over one claiming the other had cheated, or scammed him, or something like that - that the casino staff had to break up, Pet’s chains were taken off his wrists. He heard one of the staff mutter a recommendation for a muzzle.

The newcomer wrapped Pet’s leash around his fist and dragged him outside.

The world swam, and his legs barely had feeling back, and he didn’t fight when he was pushed into the back of a car, still too close to the casino.

He didn’t bite here.

But almost. Soon. When the drugs weren’t making him so tired, when he wasn’t trying to figure out what this new owner would be like and how hard he’d have to fight.

He didn’t answer when the man asked for his name. He’d stopped keeping track of those a long time ago.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinthepot

#whump #whump fic #bbu #bbu fic #box boy universe #pet whump #whump series #whump series introduction #box boy universe fic #whump writing #whump oc #tagging things on tumblr my beloathed #writing: ink black and blue #writing: ib&b

[highwaywhump]

A sickfic because I’m weak

This is a series, masterlist here!

Joey has a nasty fever and Aaron doesn’t know what to do. His last resort poses a new problem for him. 

This isn’t particularly good but my writing juices are running short. As usual, I’m not a medical professional so just roll with the flow on this one

CW/TW: Fever, fever aches, slight hallucination but like in passing not in detail, talk/description of scars, bruises, and broken bones, pet whumpee/conditioned whumpee. Tell me if I missed any! 

-

Joey knew what pain was. He wasn’t trained for it, but over the months he’d learned to expect it, to handle it, to get over it. But this… this was nothing like anything he’d ever felt before. 

Every single part of his body was aching, right into his bones. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Opening his eyes and looking around the room hurt. Thinking hurt.

As a result he lay still as stone, trying to will his muscles to relax. 

He was hot too, so hot that his face and back was wet with sweat, but even still he was shivering. The friction the bed sheets created against his skin stung. Was he sick? He couldn’t be, not with how Sir always made sure the heat was on, always fed him, always checked his injuries and gave him the pain pills. 

He’d woken up early that morning and since then he had floated between a state of semi-consciousness and total black outs brought on by the extreme fatigue he felt. There were hazy memories of full-body pain in the back of his mind. The stinging end of a leather belt. The inconceivable full body spasm from a shock collar set too high. The white-hot headache brought on by a strap around his neck being pulled. Barrages of hitting and kicking hands and feet. And yet none of it was like this. He wanted to cry, and tears ran silently from his eyes, but there was nothing cathartic about it. He was too weak to even cry properly. 

A sharp knife cut through the blissful darkness that finally had overtaken his brain. He winced, and winced again, because wincing hurt. 

It was the phone that Sir had given to him, ringing. Joey was still reserved towards it. Holding it in his hand and feeling the weight of it felt familiar, but distant, like he had been used to holding one in a previous life. And it was the matter of not being able to read, too. Sir’s contact was saved with two little picture icons, a mild smiley face and a cat. 

So you know it’s me who’s calling, Sir had said. Smiley face because I’m always  happy to talk to you. And Dolly’s there too. 

Joey sucked in a breath and fought his own body screaming at him to stay still so that he could reach out and grasp the phone from the bedside table. Just stretching his arm out was a battle against himself. At last he could feel the slick glass and metal thing between his fingers. It felt like pulling on a boulder as he retrieved his arm, fingers spasmodically holding on.

He glanced at its bright screen and immediately regretted it when a sharp pain shot up between his eyes. Still, he managed to register the smiley face and the cat - as if anyone else had this number - and clicked the green button, pushing the phone against his ear. He produced a hoarse sound he hoped resembled “Good morning, Sir,” and suppressed a cough right after, the muscles in his chest constricting painfully.

“Afternoon, more like,” Sir answered, sounding chipper as always. 

Joey licked his chapped lips. It took more time and effort than he thought it would. “Yes, Sir,” he finally muttered.

“You okay, Joey?” Sir asked, his voice turning concerned. “You don’t sound too good.”

Joey knit his brows together, which didn’t help his headache. He didn’t want Sir to worry. He was sure he could sleep this off, whatever this was, before Sir got off work and went home. If his body could just decide whether it was too hot or too cold, and if the pain in his muscles could pull back a little bit, and maybe if he’d had a glass of water for his dry throat…

“Joey? Please answer me. Are you okay?”

Joey blinked. He’d taken too long to answer. 

“I-” he started, not sure what he wanted to say. He wasn’t okay, far from it, but he much less wanted to bother Sir. 

“Joey-”

“No,” he whispered. He didn’t mean to break Sir off, that was practically a mortal sin, but the word had just slipped out of him. 

“No, you’re not okay?” Sir asked to clarify. His voice was serious. 

Joey nodded, winced, and then remembered that Sir couldn’t see him. “‘m not okay,” he whispered hoarsely. One part of him couldn’t believe his own insolence, the other part was somehow grateful he crossed the line.

“Okay, Joey. Thank you for telling me. I’ll come home.”

“No, no, d-don’t-” he started, and he wanted to add don’t inconvenience yourself for me, but the words jumbled together in his cotton dry mouth. 

“You’re in bed, I hope? Please stay there. I’ll be home in 30 minutes.” 

Joey realized he couldn’t say anything to stop Sir from interrupting his important work just to come home to him. “Okay, Sir,” he whimpered instead. And deep inside, he was happy that he wouldn’t be alone in this horrible pain anymore. 

-

Aaron lightly knocked on the door to Joey’s bedroom. Nobody answered. “Joey?” he ventured softly as he carefully pushed the door open. 

The room was mostly dark, only lit up by a strip of sunlight shining through the half-closed curtains. The bed was illuminated by a golden glow that highlighted the ruffled sheets, the bunched up pillows, and the curled up shape with a mop of dark hair that made up Aarons ward.

He looked fast asleep, maybe dreaming. His skin was paler than before, if that was even possible, and covered with a light film of sweat. His forehead and dark brows furrowed and his lips twitched slightly like he was about to say something. Aaron didn’t have to feel his forehead to make a diagnosis, but did so anyway. His skin was scorching hot to the touch. 

“Hey, Joey,” he said softly and sat down on the edge of the bed. He carefully took his hand, intending to wake him slowly, but the boy whimpered and grasped at Aaron’s hand like his life depended on it. And maybe it did, in his mind. 

“I should have checked on you before I left for work,” he muttered as he took Joey’s frail, clammy hand in both of his and held it in his lap. The barcode tattoo on his wrist stood out like ugly pavement shining through snow, surrounded by little, circular scars. Aaron hid it with his fingers, refocusing his gaze on Joey’s face. “How are you feeling, Joey?”

“Hurts,” the boy whimpered miserably, his eyes still tightly closed. Aaron reminded himself to close the curtains after. 

“What hurts?” he asked, trying to get a look at the boy’s collar bone. It looked like it always had - swollen, bruised and red, but the skin unbroken - but still Aaron worried it somehow had gotten infected and brought up the boy’s temperature. 

“Everything,” Joey whispered weakly. His chest moved up and down quickly, but shallowly.

“I think you have a fever, sweetheart,” Aaron said softly, rubbing a circle with his thumb into the back of Joey’s hand. “A pretty high one, at that. Do you think you can get down some water and Tylenol?”

He whimpered again, more urgently this time. Aaron didn’t know whether to interpret it as confirmation or refusal. Still, he gently placed Joey’s hand back where it had lay on the bed and got up to leave. “I’ll go get some.”

Just as he passed through the doorway he heard the weak, hoarse whisper behind him. 

“Yes, master.”

Through gritted teeth Aaron told himself it was fever dreams, hallucinations, some awful trick the boy’s imagination had played him and went downstairs to find the medicine cabinet. 

-

Aaron called in sick the next day and spent the long hours hovering near Joey’s room. 

At noon he had read every single health blog he could find and all of them had different advice on what to do. Cool him down, heat him up, let him sweat it out - they only agreed on rest and hydration. So Aaron did exactly that; Stopped by his room every hour or so to hold a glass of water to his chapped lips, otherwise leaving him alone as best he could. 

As he sat on the floor in the hall outside Joey’s room, Dolly neatly perched beside him, he hoped the fever would go away on its own. Still, at the back of his mind, he churned over who he’d call if it didn’t break soon. 

A regular hospital wouldn’t take him in unless he could somehow convince them he was a brother or nephew or family friend. It was a challenge Aaron could pull off easily, but Joey was in no condition to lie like that. And it was the issue of his injuries, the broken bones and bruises, the tattoo… any self respecting nurse would call the police the second they stepped foot inside the door, no matter how convincing the brother-act was. 

They had clinics for pets, but he didn’t trust them if the treatment Joey had gotten at the shelter was anything to go by. He went as far as researching high-end private options, which he suspected would be more lenient with the painkillers and the like, but promptly crossed out the window when he came to the Guidelines-part of the page. 

All pets - patients and visiting - must be collared and leashed at all times. First-time patients at our clinic must be muzzled during the entirety of their stay. No patients are entitled to time outside unless permitted by one of our medical professionals. And the list went on. 

Aaron shut his laptop and sighed. Dolly chirped. 

“Yeah?” he muttered, reaching out and scratching her behind the ear. “You think Simmons would take this on?” 

She purred loudly in reply. 

He wasn’t entirely out of options yet, it was just that it wasn’t that tempting to risk any of his clients’ loyalty or his own reputation. But Simmons seemed like the most likely to not hang up and sever all personal and professional ties immediately. 

“Can’t hurt to try,” Aaron muttered as he pulled out his phone, one hand still scratching Dolly’s ears.

-

As it turned out, Simmons didn’t mind at all. 

When speaking with him on the phone, Aaron felt a little foolish, making all this fuss over just a fever. But it was a high one, and Joey’s poor body already had enough to deal with. 

“You should know, he is, officially, a pet. A rescue, of sorts. I don’t- I don’t support it. But he needed help, and now he’s sick.” Aaron’s confession came quickly. Simmons wasn’t the type to dwell over things. He was a man of facts - yes or no, and nothing in between. 

“I never much liked that pet industry anyways. I’ll come by this evening,” he said, matter of factly, after a short pause. Aaron thanked him as heartfelt as he could while still trying to sound professional.

-

Simmons was a small man, with a great mind and great abilities - and great properties, which Aaron regularly helped valuate. Simmons didn’t owe him anything, and still, here he was, patiently waiting for the thermometer in Joey’s mouth to beep. 

He hadn’t even budged at the sight of the scars and bruises and the blatantly broken collarbone. He just set down his bag and pulled out the instruments he needed, as if sick, battered men was something he saw everyday. 

Well, he was a doctor. Maybe he did see it everyday. 

“No coughing? No vomit?” 

Joey, slightly sat up against his pillows, looked over at Aaron with hazy eyes. He was looking for permission. Aaron nodded, trying to smooth out the wrinkle that had made itself at home between his eyebrows since yesterday. 

“No, sir,” he whispered around the thermometer, looking back up at the doctor. 

“Okay.” The thermometer beeped. The doctor gently picked it out of his mouth and read it off. “102.8. It’s not dangerously high, but I don’t want it any higher.” He turned to his bag again to find something else, talking as he went. “You should be just fine, Joey, but I want Murphy here to check your fever three times a day. I can give you something to try and take it down,” he pulled out a packet of pills and placed it on the nightstand. “Thrice a day, with food.” 

“No antibiotics?” Aaron ventured. He was sitting on the other side of Joey’s bed, holding his frail hand in both of his. The younger man was almost out of it, eyes glazed over, but trying his hardest to look attentive for the doctor. Aaron rubbed circles into the back of his hand with his thumb. He felt so helpless, unable to do anything but watch as his ward tried to sweat it out. 

Simmons shook his head. “Not unless it’s a bacterial infection.”

“So it’s not an infection?” 

Simmons shut his bag. “Hard to say. No open wounds, right?” Aaron shook his head. Simmons nodded. “No numbness, no stomach aches, no rashes. There are no clear answers here. He could be fighting off a cold and his body is just…” he made a vague gesture with his hand, trying to formulate it in layman’s terms. “... overreacting. Judging from, well, his general condition, he’s not had an easy go of it for a while. It will take a little while for his body to function normally again after such a…” he paused, eyeing the bruises that hadn’t faded entirely from the pale skin just yet, and the many scars littering the younger man’s wrists. The long, thin lines licking up his sides from his back, evidence of something long and flexible hitting him with immense power, over and over again. The red chafing skin around his neck that marked where a collar had once been buckled, and below it, the ugly, red and bruised splatch of skin covering his abused collar bone. 

“Trauma,” Aaron continued for him. 

“Yes. A trauma. That is the word for it.” Simmons nodded and got up. “There is really nothing more I can do for him. Call me if the fever gets any higher, if he develops a rash anywhere, or neck pain, or stomach aches. Make sure he stays hydrated, and sleeps.”

Aaron turned to Joey again. His eyes had slid shut, exhausted only from this little encounter. His poor boy. He pulled the blanket up to cover him properly again, all the way up to his chin, tucking it in as he went. Joey whimpered and pressed his cheek into Aaron’s hand. 

“You can sleep now, sweetheart,” he muttered softly, gently rubbing his cheekbone, lulling him to sleep. His breathing slowly evened out. 

“Has this ankle been broken recently?” Simmons asked abruptly. 

“What?” Aaron asked, turning to look. 

The doctor was at the foot of the bed, studying Joey’s left ankle, the one he’d been limping around on all this time. Aaron had caused the blanket to slide up and now the doctor pushed it up further. 

“This ankle. It’s healed wrong.” He picked the foot up sliding his fingers over a visible bump on the outside where bone was protruding, manipulating the joint this way and that. Aaron glanced up at Joey’s face to gauge his reaction, but he seemed to be sound asleep. Tylenol for the fever in addition to his usual painkillers probably knocked him out cold. 

“Whoever set it should have their license revoked. This is horrible work,” Simmons muttered and gently laid the foot down again. 

“Nothing to revoke yet, I’m afraid,” Aaron said dryly. Simmons looked up. “What? Murphy, who set this?” 

“I’m not sure it was ever set,” Aaron said honestly. “The doctor at the shelter said it was sprained-” 

“Sprained-!” Simmons exclaimed, at a loss for words. 

“So it’s not sprained?” Aaron ventured, and the doctor almost laughed. “Clearly, it is not sprained!” he said and pointed to the bump on the outside of the ankle. “I suppose this happened not too long ago? This is the beginning of a malunion of the malleolus. If it isn’t set properly, and soon, he will experience pain when walking for the rest of his life.”

Aaron didn’t know what to say. Part of him wasn’t surprised at all that Mike had no idea what he was doing and had no business being the medical supervisor of a pet shelter. Another part was already trying to figure out a way to fix it. No pet clinic, that much was certain. Maybe, when Joey was finished with this fever, he could somehow take him to be treated at a hospital…

“Listen, Murphy,” Simmons said, pulling him out of his thoughts, as he picked up his bag and exited the room, Aaron following. “I know an orthopedic surgeon who might be willing to take it on. The ankle and that nasty clavicle. Good woman, shares my - our - beliefs, as far as I know. I’ll send you her contact info. Alright?” 

“What-” Aaron started, as they descended the stairs, but the doctor broke him off. 

“Don’t worry about it, Murphy. The important thing is that we get that ankle of yours under control again. I’ll send you an invoice with the supplies and services for today’s visit. We need to do everything above board in this industry, you know.” Simmons flashed a smile and quick wink as he pulled his coat on and opened the door, a surge of cold wind and snow pushing into the house. 

Returning the smile was a mere reflex on Aaron’s behalf. “Sure thing, Dr. Simmons,” he said as he stepped out on the porch with him and shook his hand. The doctor got into his car and disappeared down the driveway.

Aaron stood on the porch until a particularly strong gust of wind shook him back to life. His fingertips were cold all the way through, he realized as he stepped back inside and locked the door behind him. 

Did he just agree to professional misconduct? 

Yes, he thought to himself as he went into the kitchen to prepare a simple meal for Joey to consume along with the medication for his fever. 

And was he upset about it? 

No, he thought. Fight fire with fire, or something along those lines. 

-

Tags <3 

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump

#cw fever #cw fever aches #cw hallucinations #cw scars #cw bruises #cw broken bones #pet whump #pet whumpee #caretaker #cw conditioning #cw dehumanization #bbu multiverse #bbu fic #boxboy universe #boxboy

[sunyandmony]

IT'S DONE IT'S DONE DONE DON-

The fic is done..... Took long enough with all the tests and things that came up😭

Now just gotta transfer all the words here.... Delete the messes within and be done.... It changed so drastically ever since I started it, trust me. I am insane...

Give me about an hour and I'll queue the post for about two hours later. Alright? Adios

🚶‍♀️

#bbu fic #bbu barnaby #Y'ALL KNOW WHAT IT MEANS- #i am insane #don't try me #I am getting the bonk #and also #I will be crying by the time this will be posting #just so you're aware that I was half sick and had a stomach ache plus a big headache #these past two weeks while writing this with all them tests #....yeah #and it contains a cliffhanger like many other things I made-

[cepheusgalaxy]

so with whump

as a group? fandom? or any other word syebsj

usually it's fictional character and fics right but if you were to interact with other whumpees (that the term) like as roleplay or i dunno

would you or

okay maybe that's a confusing way of putting my question suwnsj

uh just tell me about your own experiences :3 if you wanna

Ok my experiences with whump? I'm not big on roleplaying (although it looks fun. just maybe not for me) so i'll talk about the community

They're awesome or at least the bubble I'm in like

There's one guy who got his acount deleted like a thousand times but he always swings back and he draws super well I like to reference from him and he's super nice

Then there this person who makes comics and they have so many I can't keep up

Then there's this uh lady? Woman? What's like a casual way to say it in english. Like guy but for girls. Anyway, she has a series that's so fun

And there's this person with such nice caracters I kinda picked my name from there.......

Oh, oh there's one thing that's like super nice and that's BBU

Its like a community worldbuilding like. Its premise is that there is a modern kind of world where humans are kept as slaves called "boxies" (because if people "order" them they arrive in packages)—thats why we call it the Box Boy Universe—and there's this organization called WRU (no idea what this name means i think its we r umpers or smth) that "trains" them and there are Safehouses for runaways and theres also The Pet Lib Movement

And it's a fun universe because everyone can use it! And so there's a lot of collaboration like, there's some part of the worldbuilding you don't wanna flesh out? This person here already did it. There is so much lore made by so many people and the fun is that you get to decide what is canom in your bbu

Also theres this person who took such a turn on it they (i dont remember their pronouns rn) imagined how it would be a bbu world but like in the black and white tv era. They did the origins of WRU (the evil slavery organization) and its like i haven't read it yet but it's such a fun concept

I also like the prompts. There's always some crazy thing I haven't thought about and it's lots of fun

There's also the community events (like febuwhump—one of the only i participed in lmao—where we get prompts for each day of february and write or draw something) idk they're fun people

#whump #asks #edgedajesterr #yea its usually fics #bbu whump #rambling a bit here but yea #also im still figuring out how to answer your other ask 🤔

[maracujatangerine]

The Gift Exchange, part 1

CW: institutionalised slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation

“Miss Lydia, Miss Lydia, what do you think about this?.”

Coriander jogged into the kitchen, brandishing a roll of wrapping paper patterned with abstract swirls in silver and dark green. The silver accents glittered in the pale winter morning sunlight falling in through the windows.

“It is really pretty!” Miss Lydia smiled, brown eyes warm. “Good choice, Cory!”

The blonde pet ducked his head, but smiled back from underneath his bangs. He wore a soft, green sweater with leather patches on the elbows that matched his chestnut trousers.

Lydia was dressed in a dark grey, knitted dress with red leggings. She leaned over the table to move the pot with the red and white amaryllis out of the way.

“Should we wrap everything into one present, or should we wrap each gift separately, do you think?”

“T-this pet thinks we should w-wrap one gift for Colton and one for Linden, b-but that all their gifts can be wrapped together.”

“That’s a good idea, let’s do that.”

Coriander spread out several seed packages on the table and studied them thoughtfully. Closest to Lydia was a packet with a picture of lush, green sugar snap peas labelled: ‘Mangetout, pea seeds 'Norli' ORGANIC’. Then, there were two packets both marked ‘Thunbergia alata, Black-eyed Susan’, the first one called ‘African Sunset’ in shades of red and apricot, the second one ‘Alba Oculata’ in brilliant white. The final was a handwritten envelope simply marked in Cory’s neat handwriting: ‘Chili, mix’.

“Are you happy with those seeds?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia. C-Colton will be able to grow them on the balcony, and i-it will be fun that we both can try to grow the same seeds. P-perhaps we can compare notes.”

Cory gathered the seed packets and tied them together with a neat red bow. Meanwhile, Lydia grabbed a hardback book. The blue dust jacket had brightly coloured leaves scattered all over the cover. The title stood out in bright white: When we were birds, by Ayanna Lloyd Banwo.

Opening the book, she wrote on the inside of the cover. ‘To Linden. Merry Christmas and best wishes for the new year.’ Signing it, she handed it over to Coriander to add his name too.

“‘It is a bit of a risky gift,” she admitted to Cory, “since I haven’t read the book yet, but it seems so good. I got a copy for myself too, and I hope I will get the chance to read it over the holidays.”

They added two bags of homemade butterscotch candy in green paper cups, and two reused milk cartoons filled with gingerbread cookies, the result of last night’s baking spree.

Lydia and Cory put their joint efforts into wrapping the gifts into two neat packages. The dark, red ribbon a nice contrast to the green and silver wrapping paper.

“Let’s go for a walk and send it off this afternoon.” Coriander nodded.

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

*

Linden wiggled the pen between his thumb and index finger, deep in thought. Leaning back in his kitchen chair, he looked over at Colton, who was working diligently at the end of the table. With wholly unbroken concentration, he was pulling strips of sellotape from the dispenser and sticking them in a neat row along the table’s wooden edge. When Linden had done the altogether far more fiddly task of wrapping a gift up, Col could pluck a pre-cut piece of tape and stick it in place. It was, as Linden had said about fifty times, excellent teamwork.

“Hey, Col, have you ever seen this before?” Linden asked, lifting his hand for Col to see. With the pen held right in its middle, Linden wiggled it gently, until it looked as if the pen was bending at the edges.

Col’s eyebrows twitched, and for a beautiful second Linden thought he was going to burst out laughing. Instead, his mouth curved upwards into a tiny smile. “Yes, Sir. I have.”

“Ah, not too impressive then. Haha, no matter.”

“Do you need any tape for the envelope, Sir?” Col asked, eyeing the Christmas card laid out in front of Linden.

“In a second… I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“Ah, okay, Sir.”

Col took another breath, as if to speak, then stopped himself. Linden prided himself on reading Col well enough by now to know that it was because he wanted to ask a question. Probably what are you trying to figure out?

“I’ve written my part of Lydia and Cory’s card, but I’m not sure how to do yours. I’m not going to make you try and hold a pen. I was thinking - do you want to just dictate it? It doesn’t have to be much, just a little festive greeting sort of thing. I can be your text-to-speech robot.”

Linden was always cheery around Christmas time. Something about winter setting in, dark and long and rainy, and then being cut through by glittering lights, gifts and music. Today, he felt like he was on a veritable warpath to make Col smile.

“That sounds good, Sir… I can do that.”

“Great!” Linden said, overjoyed that Colton hadn’t taken issue with the idea of ‘dictating’ something to his owner, hadn’t overthought any possible rule-breaking that could come with speaking and forcing his Master to write it all down. “And instead of you signing the card the normal way, I thought you could do a fingerprint?”

“That’s a good idea, Sir, thank you for c-”

“Wait, no!” Linden said, making Col flinch. “Sorry, I’m sorry love. I just realised. We’ll both do our fingerprints. That’ll be nice. Then we’re the same.”

There it was again, the coveted half-smile. Col’s cheeks glowed. “Thank you, Sir, that’s really kind. I think- I, uh…”

“Go on,” Linden said warmly. “I want to hear what you think.”

“I think Lydia and Cory will like that, Sir.”

“I agree. Now, here’s what I’ve written.”

Linden pushed the card over. He’d written a short message making light of the strange way they first crossed paths, saying how glad he now was to know the both of them, wishing them a peaceful and happy holiday. He waited patiently as Colton gave his message some thought, then wrote it down exactly as dictated on the left hand side of the card.

Linden found some stamp ink in the back of a drawer, and the two of them rolled their index fingers in it until they could leave two bold prints, one below each message.

Once the card was sealed, it was time for the gifts. Lydia’s gift was a specially-made book embosser, which had EX LIBRIS - LYDIA WINTERTHORPE printed onto it. The embosser itself was a satisfying, weighty thing, and Linden hoped she’d get great pleasure out of stamping all of her most beloved books.

Cory’s gift was also a bespoke item: a brass door sign with his name, Coriander, printed on it. It had ornate rounded corners which gave the thing a rustic, rather stately look, and although Linden had never seen Lydia’s house he guessed it would fit right in. He had run the gift idea past Col first - would a pet such as Cory be okay with claiming the bedroom as his in this way? Col had given it a fair share of thought, ultimately telling Linden, in a way that sounded more like a sinful confession, that Cory would like it very much.

The two men performed their well-honed wrapping ritual, with Col sticking down the final piece of tape with a flourish.

*

This is a collaboration between @whumpzone and @maracujatangerine.

We would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lydia and linden #lydia and coriander #linden and colton #whump fic #pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #writers on tumblr #original writing #christmas whump #chirstmas

[snakebites-and-ink]

Positions - Part 1

Yes, I skipped chapter 8 for now because it was giving me trouble. It was basically a filler chapter so it’s fine to skip and come back to later. All you really need to know is Asher went on another casual outing with some coworkers, so he’s been having some somewhat-positive interactions that aren’t just work.

I was gonna add more leadup at the beginning of the scene, but…I got a little stuck. So I’m just gonna drop you right into it. You’ll figure out what’s going on, it’s pretty straightforward if you have any familiarity with the BBU.

CW: BBU, pet whump, bullying

“Position 12.”

The command was all too familiar, even though it was coming from someone who had no right to give it. Asher’s training was so ingrained into him that he started to move into position automatically. His knees bent and he started to slightly lower himself towards the ground before he caught himself and straightened.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Asher shot him an angry frown. “You’re not my owner.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not a pet and you are.” The man smirked.

“You don’t have the authority to give me orders like that without my master’s permission,” Asher asserted.

“Then why did you start getting into position?”

“That was out of habit, not obedience.”

“‘Not obedience?’ Sounds like someone isn’t a very good pet.” The man stepped closer and placed a threatening hand on Asher’s shoulder, then shoved him down. “Position 8.”

Asher’s knees hit the floor as the shove sent him towards the ground faster than he could react, but before he actually assumed the position, he twisted and stood back up. He glared at the other man.

“You really should do as you’re told, Asher.” He stepped closer and flicked the metal tag dangling from Asher’s collar.

Asher took a step back but resisted the ever-present automatic urge to placate. That was often the best strategy, but in this case it would just encourage this kind of behavior, which had already gone on long enough. “You really should mind your own business. I already told you, you don’t have the authority for this.”

“Come on, pet, don’t you want to be good?”

That was unfair. Asher scowled at him. “I am good. Just not for anyone like you.”

Asher tried to walk away, only to have his path blocked. He stopped, wary of being pushed towards the floor again, or possibly even risking worse violence.

“Let me go. Please.” The please just slipped out automatically, but it drew an almost vindicated smirk from the other man.

That didn’t last long, though. The drama had drawn the attention of a few other people, a couple of whom were properly within earshot by now. One of them stepped closer and grabbed onto the guy’s arm before he could make another move. “Just let him go, seriously. You’re being a jerk.”

Asher watched quietly, with a hint of nervousness. His attacker looked angry but didn’t seem to have a retort. Probably because his “justification” for what he was doing would just make him sound like the jerk he was accused of being.

“Come on, aren’t you both supposed to be working?” Another chimed in.

“Yeah. You should get back to work,” the jerk said, looking at Asher, perhaps in an attempt to take back control of the situation. Asher didn’t say anything back; he would be more than happy to do so, but he worried that agreement would make the guy feel like he’d won Asher’s obedience. Let him feel like he had the last word, but not vindicate his perceived entitlement to Asher’s submission. That was probably the safest way to deescalate this.

The man was turned and gently led away before he could get worked up over the lack of response. Asher watched them leave, giving a small, thankful smile to his rescuers when one glanced back.

Once he was alone again, Asher let out a long, shuddering breath. Trying to breathe out the tension and fear still buzzing within him. He ran a hand over his collar. He was a good pet. He was okay.

#Asher gets a defiant whumpee moment 🎉 #I am not entirely fond of how this turned out but eh. posting anyways and maybe I'll revise it later. #I think it was because I avoided naming all the side characters that it turned out sounding a little weird in places #pet whump #box boy universe #BBU #whump #whump writing #original fic #writing #fiction #oc #my writing #my posts #Asher #Asher series

[justplainwhump]

So I came up with the idea to talk about some BBU stories of the year 2023 for @bbu-on-the-side , and then was too sick to follow up on.

It's 2024 now, but anyway.

Here's my 2023 top favourites:

Single pieces (that work at standalones):

Safety (Bliss) by @caramelis (warning for nsfwhump though); perfectly executed built up, amazing pov choice, and f/f smut that left me speechless, my favourite piece of the entire year.

Routine (Xiu) by @pigeonwhumps ; hauntingly well written day in the life of a BBU pet, I'm not over it and never will be

"They don't care about you" (Matti) by @wildfaewhump ; grief and carelessly horrible people

Series

A Girl named Spider by @just-horrible-things got even more fun this year by her owner buying her former handler as a pet for her, and reading Cosmo Rayce getting whumped was just a pleasure in every second.

Old friends by @gottawhump added even another layer of complex, relatable characters to their rich world, and it hurt my heart but also felt very cathartic.

Overall

Of course there's also more amazing BBU writers that just keep on giving, whose writing I will always enjoy but am just too ill right now to find my 2023 fave by : @ashintheairlikesnow (I think there was a story of Kauri stuck in an elevator that haunted me for weeks but I didn't find it... *edit Ash did and it's here), @winedark-whump who sadly finished writing BBU stories last year, but many of them still live rent free in my head, @angst-after-dark who doesn't only write amazing BBU stuff but is also such an amazing enabler of everyone else, and @flowersarefreetherapy whose Cameron I fell in love with this year; and also the writers mentioned above have a lot more amazing series and stand alones and snippets, so yeah, check them all out, please!

My own BBU stuff

I started Pet Safety, and I am proud to think that Blanca is a beautiful piece that also works as a standalone.

I also got Tyler's story to the point all its readers had been waiting for (noncon, yes, that's what it is).

My favourite piece of myself in a very personal way, however, is No of Angel's recovery arc, because it has Angel and it has Tyler and I just love how far she has come.

#bbu #bbu community #whump community #fic recs

[sleepyone232]

||Fantoccio x s/o reader|| (hc)

-Fantoccio would love you so much. -Always give you flowers, hold your hands and just be very sweet and gentle. -He'd give you....6-10 kisses in one day. Sometimes, he gives you like 20. -Fanto would of course, be a bit embarrassed when you'd give him some cute nicknames. ''Hun.'' ''Babe'' and all that. -Your the only, i repeat the ONLY person that he'll share the spotlight with. -Talking about spotlight, the two of you always put on a show. -You guys comfort each other, a lot. Whenever you have a panic attack or Fantoccio has a existential crisis , ya'll are there for each other. -YA'LL ARE A POWER COUPLE!!! -He shares his shark facts with you. -You share your awesome (insert your hyperfixation) facts. -You and Fantoccio get so happy talking with each other, ya'll just talk at the same time. Rambling on and on. -U STIM TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!111

----------------------------------------------- Hope you enjoyed ig

#bbu #billie bust up #fantoccio #fantoccio x reader #x reader #no gender reader <33 #bbu fantoccio #hc #headcannons #my fics #yippie #autism #stim

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

Since BBU is rising in popularity, I wanted to boost my BBU fan fics on AO3, so new fans can read them too. Hope you like them. ^^

I understand your pain: Billie hopes to find her father's spirit in Barnaby's mansion, and in the process the young goat realizes that she may relate to the ghost owl more than she initially thought.

Life long friendship: Howard is an old rabbit who, despite his frail condition and quiet demeanor, has met a friend in the energetic spirit that is Barnaby. So, when he fears his time is near, is their friendship going to survive?

Loneliness, then love: After another great party, Barnaby has gone to sleep, while Oliver cools down by helping with tidying up. But unbeknowst to him, said slumber is not going to be so serene…

Peaceful slumber: Another party ended with a bang, and while Oliver wants to help cleaning everything up, Barnaby insists that his beloved bat goes to have some rest. But maybe Oliver is not the one who's going to end up sleeping soundly…

A deadly poem: A short poem from Barnaby's P.O.V.

#Billie Bust Up #BBU Barnaby #Barnaby #BBU Billie #Billie #Comfort Character #Fave Character #Fan Fics #My Fan Fics #Personal Rambles

[comfy-whumpee]

Flightless 1

The people voted for Boo! Thank you voters!!

@neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread​, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump, @noirineverysense (sorry, I forgot to add you way back when! let me know if you're not interested anymore)

CN: injury/hospital mention, BBU, dehumanisation.

“Hello?”

 “Hi, I’m calling about the ad you placed about refurbishing pets?”

 “Ah, hello. Yes, I can take them off your hands, no charge.”

 “Amazing. Can you collect? We’re at Warrington Drive.”

 “One moment please. I’ll just look you up… Yes, I can collect. What’s the designation and company of origin?”

 “Security designation, from Euroboxies. HXUF8.”

 “And your reason for having them moved on?”

 “It failed. The primary is injured in hospital.”

 “I’m sorry to hear that. I can collect as soon as tomorrow, if you need.”

 “God, yes. As soon as possible, please. Every time I look at them…”

 “I understand. I’ll fully wipe and retrain them. You’ll never have to see them again.”

 “Thank you. Thank you so much. Let me give you the proper address…”

Kacie was standing with her arms tightly folded as she spoke into the phone resting on the dresser. She was framed in the bay window over the coastal view, sun pouring in from all sides to light her in a dazzling silhouette. Her hair crested her head like a wave, her mouth moved quickly, and she kept her gaze outward, eyes flicking across the scenery as she thought and responded.

 She was beautiful even now, fierce and bold with her head held high. Her father’s injuries meant nothing to her in this moment but another task to organise, analyse and overcome. The treatment was one stage. The payment was another. The legal proceedings, a third. Finally, a distant fourth, was dealing with the sorry creature who had failed them.

 HXUF8 sat with their knees pulled to their chest and their arms around their ankles. They were used to the cage by now, after so many nights with Kacie since the incident, but being in it during the day always made them restless. She wasn’t supposed to lock them up. They were meant to be out and active, patrolling her grounds or shadowing her around. She didn’t have any security of her own within her property. Everyone was at the gates. One person slipping by would be all it took, but her guard was locked up because…

 The yawning abyss of grief never opened slowly. It was like a pitfall. The ground fell out from under them suddenly and violently.

 Kacie thought it was their failure, their fault, because it went against everything they were. But HXUF8 knew there was nothing they could have done. A pet, no matter how well they were trained, couldn’t stop a bullet. Not even with their body. It had torn straight through them and nearly killed the primary anyway. Still could.

 It was as if they weren’t there. It was luck that kept them from bleeding out before someone attended to them. But they’d lain on the grass, body flooded with adrenaline that made everything magnified a thousand times, and they’d remembered that they weren’t meant to be like this. They’d once had a name, a family and a life. They’d once had dreams.

 Everything had vanished after, in a haze of bloody red and empty, empty white. But the feeling had remained. They had done everything right. They’d taken the bullet, but the bullet hadn’t cared. They were nothing.

 So they didn’t mind the cage, except for the instincts. They had to patrol. They had to protect. But most importantly, they had to remember why they were grieving.

 Not for the primary, the rich man who’d never once looked at them directly, much less spoken to them. They grieved for that moment where they’d been whole again. Just about to die, just about to remember, but it was forever out of their grasp.

 And now Kacie was going to resell them, and they’d never remember again.

 HXUF8 closed their eyes and rested their head on their still-bloodied knees. They would never be whole. They could never, ever be whole again.

 -

Tara had once been someone who went on missions. She had worked doing the hunting and the retrievals. But even though she had excelled, there were always losses. There were always runaways she couldn't catch, simply because of who she was. She was tall, powerful and in control. She had to be. But some pets, especially the kind that had absconded, would see her and run.

 That was why she had developed the plan for a new operative. She already worked with Refurbs. Why not use one herself? She needed defective pets to fix to keep her business going, and owners needed their losses recouped. She could purchase one and repurpose it, and it would be more flexible than she was capable of, because it would be a traitor to its kind.

 The perfect candidate fell into her lap. The company of origin was dubious quality: Euroboxies were often poorly trained, as the market wasn't well-established and remained unofficial in many places, downright illegal in others. But fiddling with legal loopholes and border crossings allowed her to operate wherever her services were needed. Her hunter would be the same.

 It would have to be disciplined and obedient, and trained for pressure and pain to a high degree. It needed perfect recall and flawless dedication. The guard pet that came onto her radar was a sorry sight, by the time she was arrived to collect, but the potential was there.

 It had been trained for a guard, but not a guard dog, thankfully. It had restraint and could pass as a normal human, with training. The original principal had been failed, but such things happened and it was less of a disaster in her work. A dead pet was cheaper than a missing one.

 She had memorised its designation before arriving. When the seller unlocked the cage, it didn't emerge. It was filthy, a miserable ball of hunched back and bunched limbs, with dirty, mousy hair and sunken eyes. There was intelligence in there, she could see at a glance. It knew its fate would be unpleasant.

 "Out," she told it.

 It barely had the room to push itself forward by the heels, scraping out of the wires. She watched its muscular body move with a critical eye. It should have had no difficulty in escaping from a dog cage. It showed a promising disposition that it hadn't.

 "Stand," she ordered next.

 This took an extra moment, the pet's face tight with pain, but it unbent its folded legs one at a time, and then came onto its heels to rise. The seller scoffed quietly and turned away. Tara ignored her.

 "Follow," she said finally to HXUF8. She watched it glance to the seller, who turned her head away. When Tara walked to the door, it looked back, and moved in small, wincing steps to shadow her.

 She had to let it sit in the car instead of putting it in the boot. She didn't want to risk pet cruelty crusaders snapping her licence plate. She strapped it in and drove, with the windows cracked open to dissipate the smell of the thing.

 It was silent and stock-still for the entire drive, but for restless eyes that swept back and forth over their surroundings, assuming the role of bodyguard even without instruction.

 Initiative. Another good sign.

 The first order of business on their arrival was a cold shower. She worked from an old animal shelter, so it was well equipped to dispense a blast of freezing water. She didn't bother removing the clothes. It would stay in them until she had need to it dress differently.

 It entered the wet room without hesitation. Perhaps it knew this part. She blasted it with the jet, and it held still, braced against the pressure. The only sign it recognised what was happening was that it closed its eyes. No cringing, begging or fawning strategies were deployed. Perhaps Euroboxies and their inadequate training would work in her favour on this blank slate of a creature.

 One question did need answering, though, so after she was satisfied the thing was clean, she turned off the tap and said, "Do you speak?"

 It answered readily enough, voice quiet and hoarse. "If required, ma'am."

 "Mistress Tara," she corrected it sharply.

 That, and that alone, prompted a wince. It didn't look genuine, more of a nonverbal show of regret. "My apologies, Mistress Tara."

 "The first mistake will be corrected. Further mistakes are not tolerated. You are to be retrained and deployed. You will be of use or you will be wiped in your entirety and returned to your company."

 She laid out each law with conviction. This part was the same process as always. New pet, new world, and she wanted it firmly controlled without ambiguity. Too many pets thought a new owner meant they could show their personality. She would have no such thing.

 "Unless told to stay, you follow. Unless told to speak, you are silent. You follow every order you are given by me, and ignore the rest. You are my property."

 It nodded once. No attempt to speak. It was listening.

 "I will now test the quality of your training. This begins immediately."

 It barely had time to process warning before she was running for it, fist clenched and ready to break it in two. It was fast enough to twist out of the way, but did not return blows. Extremely interesting, and not what a guard should be trained to do.

 For a moment they were evenly matched, but the pet was tired and sore, and before long one of her blows caught it in the gut, after which it was child's play to have it winded on the floor. She continued the beating for half a minute after her victory, and then stepped back.

 It rose to its knees immediately, face red with exertion. Tentatively, it set its hands atop its thighs neatly. Again, there was no wince of pain, only its slow movements giving away the bruises she had given it.

 "Tell me why you did not fight back."

 "I was not ordered to."

 She turned and crossed the room. There were clothes here, but they could stay in their wet rags for now. It needed to be tougher than just one beating. Cold conditions, discomfort and exhaustion would be added on top. She would put them through the worst she could before allowing them the luxury of a mission.

 Instead, she selected a new collar. Returning to her purchase with it in hand, she again noted its lack of expression. The presence of a collar should be reassuring to almost any pet, especially after its last one had been removed, presumably due to their failure. The collar was a conditioned reassurance of ownership and belonging. It should want the collar.

 Instead, she saw nothing on its bland features. It waited placidly. She was going to have to hurt it badly, perhaps with the whip. She relished the challenge.

 When she leaned down, its only movement was a slight, instinctual lift of the chin, so that she could easily secure the metal band around its neck. This close, she could see the slight tension of its neck and back. Was it simply from her proximity, or was there an old injury there? She would test that too.

 She had a lot of work to do. But the early signs were promising, and she was confident she could turn it into something of use.

#bbu #pet whump #bodyguard whump #dehumanisation #my fic #grief #it as a pronoun #cage #collar #reconditioning #boo #tara #the birdhouse #backstory time backstory timeee

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Swipe Right Masterlist

Set in the BBU, Swipe Right tells the story of Charlie, a young man who is scouted out via a dating app to be an acceptable candidate for a pet (also known as box boy).

Part 1

Part 2

Taglist: @deerheaded44 @sparrowsage

#bbu adjacent #bbu whump #bbu drip #noncon drugging #whump fics #whump community #medical whump #swipe right series

[ilasknives]

THE LONG WAY HOME. (A fic introduction).

Next ->

CW: BBU/BBU Adjacent, restraints, confusion.

It had just been a game. A stupid, stupid dare they'd pulled. It wasn't meant to get this far.

They were all meant to make it home.

(Hey, psst, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, your son is here)

0: Rabbit In A Snare.

“Wait!”

The hand on his shoulder grips tighter, five points of pressure digging into his skin. On his other side, the second employee stills, hand tight around his elbow, arm still suspended in the air from where he’d been struggling to get free. His heart rabbits painfully against his ribcage and his chest heaves with the exertion.

The woman looks up from where she’d been stacking the papers and frowns, her gaze piercing right through him. The men jostle him, just a little. He scrambles for purchase – his feet barely touch the floor like this, strung up like a marionette in front of her.

Her head tilts slightly to the side. “Wait for what? Is something the matter?”

Somehow, he takes a breath, and the words tumble out of him. “Yes. Yes. I wasn’t – I wasn’t meant to be here. It was – it was just a stupid game.”

“A game?”

He nods frantically, desperate to be believed. He’s not meant to be here. He needs to get home, to get back to - “It was stupid, it was so stupid, I’m so sorry for wasting your time, I just – I need to go. I need to - please. It was just stupid. It wasn’t meant to get this far.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her frown deepening. Paper rustles as she flicks through the pages of the contract, searching for – something. There’s nothing. There should be nothing. He didn’t sign, he barely even picked up the pen. “- but our contracts are binding. You should have been told this.”

“What? No, I didn’t sign! I didn’t sign!” Panic claws at him and he struggles again, pulling against the employees’ hold, only succeeding in being yanked back to where he was standing by a bruising grip on his arm.

She sighs, and steps around the desk to approach him. For a brief, wild moment, he thinks she’s going to hit him, but she only holds up the final page of the contract – the signature line. “This is your signature on the page, is it not?”

No. No, no, no. He didn’t sign. He didn’t. The pen hadn’t even had a chance to warm to his hand with how quickly he’d put it down, he’d – it hadn’t touched the paper. That’s his signature, but he didn’t do it.

The employees tighten their hold and hoist him a little higher when he struggles and he cries out.

He remembers… he remembers talking about it. He remembers picking up the pen. And then he remembers being dragged from the chair. A sob forces its way up his throat as the men start to pull him backward again. “It – how – I didn’t do that! I didn’t – just wait!”

“Your signature on our contract means that you’ve legally forfeited your rights.” The woman slips the pages together in the pile again and straightens her shirt. All his panicking hasn’t even ruffled her. He wants to argue, wants to scream, but the sound doesn’t reach his mouth. All he can do is watch her helplessly. “As unfortunate as this… situation is, there is nothing we can do. As I said, our contracts are binding.”

He’s shaking now, tear-tracks on his cheeks, fighting the sobs as they crawl up his throat. He can’t figure out where it went wrong, how it got this far, how to make it go back. “Stop, please, stop, I wasn’t supposed to-“

“- to do this, yes, I heard you. I do apologise, but there is nothing more we can do for you.” She hums, a soft and haunting sound. “Don’t worry. If you comply, things will go smoothly. You won’t have any issues.”

It went wrong at the beginning, he tells himself, but he barely hears it over the rush of blood and his heartbeat in his ears. Rabbit in a snare. You got too close.

He tries to throw himself forward when the men start walking again, digging his heels into the floor, trying to twist his arms to claw at their hands. “No! Let go of me! Stop!”

“We thank you for your donation to our program,” says the woman, the picture of stillness in the centre of the room as he’s dragged away.

“Please. Please,” he sobs, his throat raw. One of the men pushes open the door.

The woman only smiles. “We will begin the induction process shortly.”

THE LONG WAY HOME. Coming soon.

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed!): @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpinthepot

#whump fic #whump fic introduction #whump #whump writing #whump oc #bbu #bbu fic #box boy universe #pet whump #or it will be soon #box boy universe fic #whump series #whump series introduction #whump wip #my tags are all over the place but its fine #writing: the long way home #writing: tlwh

[forget-me-not-automaton]

Guys I’m THIS CLOSE 🤏 to making a Bbu au based on a singular, somewhat obscure Vocaloid song,, I’LL FUCKING DO IT!!!

#Me after planning an AU fic before the game is even out 💀 #btw the song is Master Of Puppets by uhh #Death Ohagi and Yurahonya-P 💕 #And the theme is Steampunk #I bet you already know #Bbu #bbucommunity #bbu au #billie bust up #fantoccio bbu #bbu fantoccio #barnaby bbu #bbu barnaby #billie bust up fantoccio #fantoccio billie bust up #barnaby billie bust up #billie bust up barnaby #fantoccio #barntoccio #barnaby x fantoccio #au idea #fanfic idea

[sunyandmony]

Update on BBU fic: Just finishing it, updating some of it as I get more inspiration and might or might not, depends, post it tonight at about 20:00 (8 PM) to probs 22:00 (10 PM) Eastern Europe time🧍‍♀️

Edit: I've finished the optional event I've been saying I won't do, was it worth it? Probably.

Don't be hyped, this is gonna be trash🥲

#update #BBU fic #I AM SO DONE OF SCHOOL ISTG- #Got me on a chokehold- #dying very slowly #BARNABY COME PICK ME UP I'M SCARED😭😭

[highwaywhump]

Surgery, part 1

This is a series! Masterlist here.

another panic attack? you bet. also hurr durr i’m not a medical professional. 

this was originally 3.6k so i cut it on half. watch out for the other part

CW/TW: text not proofread. doctors, talk of surgery, struggling pet/dehumanized whumpee. not much honestly, next part is worse

--

The orthopedic surgeon works at a private medical center on the southside, too small to be a hospital but too big for a clinic. They’d been there one time already, to get x-rays, so the parking lot felt familiar to Aaron as the car rolled in.

“You okay?” he asks, looking over at Joey in the passenger seat. 

Joey just nods, a stunted, staccato movement. His hands are tightly wound in his lap, partially disguised by the sweater he’s wearing. He’s good at hiding his feelings, but Aaron can tell. He’s not okay. 

“I understand that it can be scary, Joey,” Aaron says softly, even though he doesn’t really understand. Can’t understand. The regulations for medical care at the WRU training facilities aren’t exactly open to the public, not to mention the sketchy care he’d been given by his previous owner - if he’d been given any at all. 

Joey had been shaking like a leaf during the entirety of the previous visit, so much so that Aaron had been given one of those heavy aprons and had sat with him, holding his hand, while the x-ray technicians had set up the machine and taken the pictures. He hadn’t said a word during the whole visit, not for the car ride home either. When they entered the house he’d asked to be excused (which Aaron obliged to, of course) and he’d moved up the stairs with unusual velocity and been in his room for the rest of the day. Aaron took it to mean he wanted to be alone, so he had come up with a tray of dinner, lightly knocked and left it outside the door for him. 

He pretended not to hear the stifled sobs behind the door as he went downstairs again. 

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would help you. You’ll walk normally again in a few weeks, and your collarbone will stop hurting.” 

Joey nods again, not looking Aaron in the eye. Not that he did much of that anyways, but today he seems extra careful to keep his gaze on his hands. 

“Look,” Aaron starts, turning towards him. He offers up hand, laying it to rest on the center console. “If it becomes too much in there, you just tell me and we’ll go home. Come back another day.”

Joey turns his head, carefully testing the waters as he movs his gaze up, first looking at Aaron’s open hand and then onwards, upwards, meeting his eyes. His look is unwavering, but wide and clearly terrified. 

“I’ll be a good boy,” he whispers, and puts his own hand in Aaron’s open one, as if to stress the sentiment.

Aaron smiles, if only to hide the slight melancholy that blooms in his chest. 

Of course you’ll be a good boy, he thinks halfheartedly. It seems like a survival technique, to retreat into that pet-mentality which admittedly was supposed to keep him safe. Pets had guidelines to follow, and were promised an easy go of it if they just adhered to them. 

“But remember, you can’t call me Sir in there, okay? Just Aaron. Or nothing at all.” He adds the last part when he saw how Joey’s jaw tightened. He nodded again. Aaron squeezed his hand. 

They had been offered a late appointment. Sunday night, which meant no other scheduled surgeries and probably no emergencies that needed attention. Dr. Perez had assured Aaron over the phone that she only trusted a select few of her nurses with patients such as Joey - who evidently wasn’t the first ex-pet she’d treated. They’d get a private room at the end of a hallway, which meant no reason whatsoever for anybody who didn’t belong there to come in. 

The x-ray appointment, which had been an in-and-out in 30 minutes kind of situation, had been the same; outside normal office hours and with only two or three nurses who knew exactly what they were dealing with. They had an in-house accountant to handle the payment. It still meant insurance fraud, but it wasn’t Aaron’s fraud, and that made him feel marginally less worried about it all. 

Aaron had carefully proposed the idea of a surgery on the last day of Joey’s sickness. They were both on the couch, Joey in Aaron’s arms with a thick blanket wrapped around himself. He hadn’t slept properly for days, except for short and fitful bouts here and there whenever the fever finally let him rest well. Aaron wasn’t much better off, worrying so much for his ward he’d probably developed gray hairs from it.

“Dr. Simmons gave me the contact info of a surgeon who could take a look at your leg. And your collarbone. Do you think you’d be up for that?”

Maybe it was unfair to ask him while he was so tired and out of it. Aaron knew he’d go along with any mere suggestion he’d come with - that was the nature of his training. But the bloodshot eyes that looked up at him from the bundle of blankets in his lap, told another story. Pain and fear, sure - but also relief, for the first time in days. Joey nodded, too tired to say anything. Tired from the pain, the fever, and probably from having to hobble along when walking, and from a throbbing clavicle that kept him from using his arm for anything other than scratching his nose.

Aaron had accepted the answer with a reassuring hand in his hair. He’d held the little one close, kept him warm and safe, and lulled him gently to sleep with a few fingers rubbing soothing circles on his temple. 

But that was then and this was now. Gone was all the relief and the warm safety. Joey was stiff as Aaron helped him out of the car. Yes, they’d been here once before - but that time Joey had only been laying on his back on a table for a bit and then they’d gone home again. 

Aaron supposed he could understand. Today, they’d cut into him. 

–

Dr. Perez has a great bedside manner. She speaks directly to Joey in a tone without any condescension or disdain, Aaron notes, as she points to different parts of the x-ray picture on the screen of her tablet, explaining the procedure.

“What I’ll do is that I’ll make a tiny cut here, and then put the bone back together so that the angle is right, and put in a couple of screws to make sure it stays. And in six to eight weeks, you’ll be walking like it’d never been broken at all. Sounds good?” 

Joey is timid and still almost petrified with fear, but he manages a slight stiff nod, a dip of his head, up and down. “Yes, doctor,” he whispers. His eyes even flit up to meet hers for a fraction of a second. 

“You will be asleep during the whole procedure. You won’t feel anything at all. Okay? You’ll get all the pain medication you need after, as well. We will make this as comfortable for you as possible.” She leans forward and reaches out a hand. Joey stares at it, and for a few long seconds Aaron thinks he won’t do anything. But then he carefully unwinds his own hand from where it is gripping his other wrist, and gingerly places it in Dr. Perez’. 

“Do you believe me when I say that, Joey?” she asks, and he nods again. 

She smiles warmly at him, and it’s a true smile that shows off the crow’s feet around her eyes. She really means what she says next. “It’s important to me that you feel safe here, Joey. I want to help you. That’s why Aaron brought you here.” Aaron nods, even though Joey can’t see it, with the way he so stubbornly studies the toes of his winter boots, neatly placed by the edge of the hospital bed. He’s seated on it, already dressed in a patient gown, his bony shoulders protruding more than ever. His feet hang off the edge, slightly swinging.

Not for the first time, Aaron is struck by how young and fragile he looks.

“Okay,” Dr. Perez says as she checks her watch. “Becca will come by in a bit to prepare you. She’ll give you some medicine you need before we give you the anesthesia. In an hour, I’ll come get you and we’ll operate.” She guides Joey’s hand back into his lap and lets go. “You will be all good, Joey. I promise.” 

Aaron has seen enough medical dramas to know that doctors can never promise anything, lest they’ll be sued. Dr. Perez means it. 

Then again, they’re operating outside the law tonight. This surgery is officially not being performed, especially not on a person that officially doesn’t exist anymore. 

Dr. Perez meets his gaze on the way out. Her brown eyes are genuine and solemn, an expression born of many years of soothing worried patients. They manage to calm even his pulse a little, even though he is not the one being cut open. She closes the door as she exits, leaving him and Joey alone. 

“You doing okay?” he asks as he rounds the bed and sits down on the chair next to it, facing Joey. He takes the glass of water from the bedside table and offers it to Joey, who plucks it out of his hands and drinks - judging from the look on his face as he swallows, not because he’s thirsty. Just because Aaron asked him to. 

“Yes, Sir,” he whispers weakly, and squeezes his eyes shut as he catches his mistake. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just… try not to, when there are other people.” Even with all the precautions that have been taken, Aaron still can’t be entirely sure. They can’t risk any uninitiated understanding the full extent of their relationship. It’s better if they see him as a concerned friend or brother or uncle, not as… well. As Joey’s owner. He has seen the occasional headline of a pet who has been caught in situations they’re not allowed to be in by law. Usually, the punishment is a hefty fine. Sometimes it’s prison and forced removal. 

Aaron has naturally read up on the legislation. If caught, tonight’s activities would result in the latter. 

“Hey,” he mutters and reaches out, brushing Joey’s dark locks out of his face and behind his ears. 

He seems to have a conflicted relationship to touch. Only a few short weeks ago, Aaron moving his hand towards his head would have resulted in Joey in a hysteria of apologies and groveling, afraid of being hit. But at the same time, he’d always chase after it when Aaron would remove his hand. All the hugs they’d shared in the time they’d had together had built a tiny pillar of trust, and now he leans into the palm of Aaron’s hand, turning his face towards it. For a moment he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath - as deep as he can, with how taut his muscles are wound.

“You’re going to be alright, Joey,” Aaron says and allows himself to lightly scratch him behind one ear. 

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it probably reinforces all the boundaries he’s working to break, and he knows all sorts of different thoughts will awaken in Joey’s head. But right now, maybe there could be an exception. Just to make him feel a little bit safer, given the circumstances.

And he does. Joey nearly melts into his hand, his eyebrows turning up. He bites his lip and Aaron can nearly see the stress running off his shoulders. He counts to three in his head, thinking he’ll retract his hand when he gets there, but changes his mind and counts to five, and then to ten. If Joey had been on his feet, his knees would have buckled.

At last, he lighty pulls back. Joey blinks his eyes open as he straightens his back, sitting back up. 

“I think I saw a vending machine down the hall. Think you’ll be okay alone for a few minutes?” 

Joey looks up at him, looking marginally less worried now. “Yes,” he says, his voice meek. Aaron isn’t sure if he agrees because he thinks he will, or if it’s to appease him. Nevertheless, he smiles at him as he moves towards the door. 

“Okay. I’ll pick something up for you. Salted caramel, right?” 

Joey nods quickly. Aaron thinks he can even see a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. 

–

The vending machine turns out to be on the floor below, of course, and it jams, of course, and several more minutes than Aaron would have liked have gone by before he finally reaches the hallway where Joey’s room is. Only… the door is open. 

It hadn’t been when he left. He’d closed it, he’s certain. 

A nurse rushes past him and dashes into the room before he can react. Something’s wrong, he figures. 

Terribly wrong, judging from Joey’s frantic voice inside, begging for mercy.

--

Tags <3

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps

#cw doctors #cw talk of surgery #cw pet whump #cw conditioning #pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu #box boy whump #box boy universe #whump #whump fic #medical whump #<- not really but its a hospital so i guess

[maracujatangerine]

I woke up thinking about this so I'm asking! How would Cory fair if, for some unimaginable reason, Lydia had no choice but to have Wayland watch him for the weekend??

84. Unfortunate Circumstances

CW: NSFW, non-con, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

“Of course, dearest. You and Lydia should enjoy your girls’ weekend together and I’ll keep an eye on the pets.”

“Are you sure you are all right with looking after Cory-boy, too?”

“No problem, Ceci. It isn’t more than right considering your friend took care of Brutus for our trip. We should help her in return.”

Mistress Cecilia pouted prettily.

”But that sounds so boring and full of drudgery, dear. Perhaps I should stay to keep you company?”

Wayland gave Cecilia an affectionate kiss. “Don’t you worry! I’ll have some fun too. I might have a few friends over tonight.”

“That sounds better.” She wrapped him in a quick hug. “See you in a couple of days!” Looking at Absalom, Brutus and Coriander all kneeling in line, she added. “Be good, pets.”

And then she was out of the door.

*

Handcuffs clinked as Wayland locked Cory’s hands behind the pet’s back. Then, he pushed him down to kneel on the cold floor. Brutus watched helplessly as Coriander, naked, lowered his head. His scarred back, the vulnerable arc of his spine, the blonde hair falling freely around his face. The fair-haired pet looked… broken.

Wayland rubbed his hands together, grinning.

”Don’t worry your sweet little head, pet. We are going to have fun together. First, Absalom is going to make you feel so good. He is a wizard with that mouth of his. He knows exactly what to do.” He smiled languidly. “And then, Brutus here, will take you from behind.”

Wayland reached up and patted Brutus’ upper arm a couple of times. Just like you would pat your horse or your hunting dog. For once, Brutus didn’t feel the elation that praise from his Master usually gave. Instead, he felt a sick, cold dread roiling in his stomach.

“You’re going to pop some pills, boy.” Wayland said. “So that you can stay nice and hard for a long, long time.” He chuckled to himself. “This will be a show for me and the lads to enjoy. I have heard from Cecilia that your dear Mistress Lydia doesn’t even play with her boy toy.” He spat. “Just what you could expect from that fridgid bitch, am I right?”

He reached out to smooth over Coriander’s hair in a mock caress, only to violently fist his hand into the silken, blonde tresses and force the shivering pet’s head up. Tears glimmered in Cory’s grey eyes, catching the lamplight, but the pet did not let them fall.

“Hmm.” Wayland almost purred at the sight. “But that should mean that you are nice and tight.” He laughed. “Perhaps too nice a treat for a simple guard dog, maybe all of us should have you? Brutus can get his chance when we are all done.”

He looked up, behind Brutus’ shoulder. “What do you think, Absalom? You little whore. I’m sure you have all the experience in the world when it comes to these matters, don’t you?”

The romantic gracefully sidestepped Brutus’ hulking form and sashayed into the room. When he passed the guard dog, he turned his head and locked eyes with Brutus. The eye contact somehow electrifying, meaningful, as if he wanted to share a message. But Brutus had no idea what Absalom meant to convey, and the moment passed.

“That’s right, Master.” Absalom stepped close to Wayland, let his hand glide lightly down the bigger man’s chest. He looked up at him through his eyelashes. “But..” Absalom said slowly. “Why would you bother with these… amateurs?” The pet tilted his head upwards, as if inviting a kiss. “I can give you and your friends all the entertainment you need.”

He turned his head slowly towards the door. Again, that meaningful glance towards Brutus. An expression of urgency flickering over his face, only to be completely erased when Absalom looked up towards Wayland again. “You can send them away.” He suggested, coyly. “We can have some privacy to enjoy ourselves before your friends arrive.”

“Aha, I know what you want.” Wayland said. “You just want to have the chance to curry some extra favour for yourself.” He laughed. “That’s kind of sly. Smart for a pet, at least.” He grabbed Absalom’s chin, forcing the pet’s head further upwards. “It will be fun playing with you. But me and the lads, we probably want some novelty as well.”

He looked over all the three pets with a calculating expression that chilled Brutus’ blood.

”Maybe..” he said, and the glint in his eyes held no hint of clemency or compassion. “Maybe I’ll just take all three of you at once.”

Brutus awoke, heart still beating fast with fear. The familiarity of the sparse room. The shapes of his weights on the rack at the end of his bed, each of them glistening silver in the light from the street lamps. The hard cot beneath him. It all brought him back to reality.

Coriander was safe, at home, with his owner. Absalom probably asleep upstairs.

It had all just been a dream. But the uneasy feeling stayed with Brutus for a long time.

*

The ‘it was just a dream’-trope is a bit of a cheap cop-out, I agree. Sorry about that. ☺️

I don’t think Lydia would ever leave Coriander with Wayland. She would rather leave him to stay home alone.

Thank you for the fun ‘what-if’-inspiration, Anon! ✨💖✨ (I love getting asks, but I am very slow in responding to them.)

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #bbu #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #pet whumpee #whump fic #writeblr #writers on tumblr #lydia and coriander #original writing