#boxboy multiverse

[highwaywhump]

Would you be up for writing a little piece about kill shelters, from the pet’s POV? I saw that you said you wouldn’t write about pets actually being PTS - completely understandable! - what if someone were to come in at the last second with the news that the pet’s original owner had been found? I’m so curious on what the process would be for the shelter handling this- since it would technically be murder, how would it be done in a way to remain ‘legal’? And what would the pet be told? Would they tell them what was going to happen, or just ‘get on with it’? :o

TW/CW: A CHARACTER THAT IDEALIZES DEATH/HAS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. to be clear, he doesn't die, but another character does (this comes through very vaguely - never voiced outright). brief and vague mention of a gun, talk of scars, low self image, talk of collars and chains and cages/kennels, description of a hit and run victim (still alive), brief description of a dislocated hip, talk of restraints, talk of syringes and needles.

i know our community has suffered these past few days, and i was seriously debating whether i should post this piece or not. in the end, i figure that writing has been my way of overcoming difficult feelings for many years now, and i have been dealing with a lot of them lately, including intense stress and depression. if anyone feels i am doing something wrong in posting this piece, please let me know and i'll see what i'll do about it.

i am also painfully aware this ask was sent over a month ago (in reference to this ask), but i had to sit down and think about how i wanted to go about it. BE AWARE that the following piece features a character that idealizes/wishes for death - please sit this one out if you are struggling with such thoughts. i'm putting everything under a read more so that you can avoid reading a single word if you don't feel comfortable. my dm’s are always open if you want to talk about anything. <3

this character might seem familiar to some. spoiler, this is how poker from this piece ended up. he was about 35 when joey met him and he’s a few years older in this piece. and i'm sorry but there’s just something about men in cages… (also, let’s ignore that i add a bunch of details here that weren’t present in the first piece with him. also also, i don’t know what happened to the verb tenses in this one. it’s the middle of the night. roll with the punches i guess)

-

It might’ve been months since the guard dog saw his owner last. He doesn’t know. He’s stopped counting. 

Well. 

He never really started. 

He doesn’t remember much about him. He’d lost another fight, the last one in a long row of losses. He’d been pulled into the back of a car by his thick collar afterwards, dazed and hot and sputtering blood all over the leather seats. They’d hit him in the ribs for it and he knew he’d deserved it. 

Whoever was driving had been given orders in his owner’s rough voice. 

“Go down to the docks. Get rid of him.” 

He knew there was a lethal piece of metal stuck down the waistband of the driver’s jeans. 

He’d been taken a few hours outside the city instead, deposited on the wet asphalt outside of a brick building and chained to a drainpipe. The driver had gotten back in the car and sped off. 

The guard dog had leaned against the hard brick, watching as the brake lights disappeared. He didn’t think much, other than okay. As if he had anything else to say about his situation. 

His surroundings turned into a shapeless blur from there. Hands touching him, cold and unfeeling and clad in blue rubber. A couple were soft and took their time to stroke his hair, scratch the hard to reach place between his shoulder blades. He savored those moments, and tried to remember the hands and the face they belonged to, but none of it lasted. 

Nothing ever lasted around him, it seemed. He couldn’t keep an owner for more than a few months, never more than a year. Couldn’t keep winning. Couldn’t keep anyone safe, even though that was the thing he was made for. The only thing that kept, were the scars. 

And the fucking tattoo on his wrist. Not even the facility that had made him, wanted him back when the shelter called them about him. Too old. They had no prospects who would want someone like him. 

That was what the visitors said too, few and far between as they were. Too old. Too big, too many scars, too scary, too ugly, too old, too dumb, too old again. They talked about him as if he wasn’t even there, huddled up in a corner just on the other side of the chain link. 

He knew it was his fault. He should be, or at least seem, happier to see them. Smile. Wait at the kennel gate, like all the others did whenever somebody stopped by. 

But to what end? Another owner who would put him in the ring again, just to be angry at him when he loses? Or someone he can take bullets for again, even though he isn’t quick and bright enough to anticipate them anymore? 

He doesn’t dare hope that anyone else would want him, not in his condition. It’s true, what they say. He’s old. Scarred, slow. There are sunshine stories of even the most unwanted of pets, expenses in every way, who somehow end up on the couches of kind people who just want a companion, their head resting in their laps, petted by soft fingers.

Those people get platonics, though. Domestics. Even the occasional romantic can adapt to such a lifestyle. 

But not an old ex guard dog, like him. 

He’s no use to anyone, not anymore. 

They remove him from the kennel one day. For a moment, his heart beats a little faster. He can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement, but it turns out neither is warranted. He’s taken to another room, a chain attached to his collar, the other end pin shackled to a ring in the wall. Another pet, younger and prettier, is put in his kennel. He can see them through the frosted glass on the door. 

He turns away. 

He doesn’t cry. 

Visitors don’t come through this room, he realizes, and for the first few days he’s happy for it. Nobody talks about him now. It’s quiet and the cold linoleum floor is almost comfortable on his joints. The only bad thing about this room is the other pet, chained to the wall opposite of him. The man is curled up, breathing shallowly through dried blood in his nostrils, and the sound is annoying. He’s younger than him, and he was probably very pretty once, but now his face is bruised and swollen, and bloody in the crevices even though they washed him with a damp cloth when he came in. Hit and run, somebody had said in passing.

That was four days ago. The guard dog watches him, mostly because there isn’t much else to look at in here. His leg is in a weird position, he’s noticed. It’s as if the thigh has rotated where it attaches to the hip. He wonders if it’s supposed to be that way. It doesn’t look very comfortable. His stomach is weirdly distended, too. It looks out of place on a body that is otherwise slim and smooth. 

Two workers descend on him one day, kneeling down beside the misshapen figure. They talk to him, sweetly, as they gently lift him over on a gurney and start wheeling him through another door. “You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up,” one of the workers say, a vinyl clad hand patting his shoulder. The one part of him that isn’t broken. 

The guard dog catches the faint smile visible through a swollen cheek as they pass him. The other pet is happy they’re coming for him, making him feel better. Finally. 

Maybe twenty minutes have passed when the workers come back. One of them wipes their hands on their worn jeans. “Glad that’s over,” he mutters. "Should have been done when he came in," the other says. The guard dog meets his gaze as they pass. Neither of them say anything. 

They’d come for him a few days later. They wear the same smiles and the same gloves as they did with the other pet, but he doesn’t need the sweet talking. He goes with them willingly. He’d stopped eating a while back and his muscle tone had disappeared a long time ago, so it was easy for them to help him up to his feet. He’s taller than them, still, and keeps his head down the way he’s always done. 

He’s known cold. Heat, pain, pleasure even, in small stints. Grief, fear. Rage. As he places one bare foot in front of the other on the beige linoleum, obediently following the worker in front, he knows he will soon know death. 

And he isn’t afraid. 

“You won’t feel a thing,” one of them says as they help him sit on the steel table in the next room, as if anyone has ever cared about how he’s feeling. 

“You’ll feel much better after,” the other worker says, without specifying exactly what was supposed to be better, as they gently lay him down. The table has leather straps hanging down the sides, ready to restrain its more unwilling cases, but he doesn’t move and they don’t use the straps. In the corner of his eye he can see two syringes on the counter. One of them is skinny and filled with clear fluid. The needle is small and will slip into him easily. He’s had many needles before. This won’t feel any different, he decides. The other syringe is larger, the needle too big to be used on somebody who was awake feel it. 

It doesn’t matter. He’ll feel better after. The guard dog refocuses his gaze on the bright light overhead. He closes his eyes. 

“Small pinch, now,” one worker says, and he can feel a pinprick at the crook of his elbow, the cold liquid fanning up his arm as it is being pushed in. His heart beats a few more times before the serum reaches it. He can feel his pulse, docile to begin with, calm down even more. He feels sleepy, his body heavy, as if he’s being pushed into the table from above. The hard metal digging into his joints doesn’t matter anymore. He knows he won’t even notice the other syringe. He knows he’ll feel better soon. 

A grating ringtone interrupts his silent mind. One of the workers picks up, speaking in a low voice. Sleep tugs at the edges of his mind, and he wants to follow. Right before he goes under, the sound of hard plastic hitting metal and a few words make it through the fuzzy walls inside his head. 

“No trouble at all. You’re just in time, sir.” 

--

to answer your other questions, anon: in the legal sense it wouldn't be murder, as the pets aren't people anymore, they're only human at the biological level (again, in a legal sense). it's necessary :) and humane :) euthanasia :). the pets aren't told anything/they're gently reassured and told they're going on for surgery, or something similar. i think "you'll feel better when you wake up," is a classic in these circles. i'm sure some understand what is about to happen (hence the restraints on the table), but the majority goes quick and silent. i have no idea what happens to them after though so don't ask me about that :)

#cw idealization of death #cw suicidal thoughts #cw gun mention #cw scar mention #cw low self image #cw collars #cw cage #cw dislocated joint #cw restraints #cw syringes #cw needles #whump #whump story #whump fic #bbu multiverse #boxboy whump #wru boxboy #boxboy #feel free to unfollow/block me if you don't like this type of content #it's new to me too #i don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable #but writing whump makes me feel better and gives me a handle on difficult feelings #and this piece is the first thing (in general) that i've produced in months that i actually like #so i'm posting it #give me a gentle nudge in the dms if you want me to archive it

[cuteangsty]

Okay I love your interactive pet shelter thingy, just found your page and I love it I have a quick question, why are they pets in the first place? (Is this animals are humans and humans are animals type thing or something else?)

Love the art keep up the good work!

hii! I'm glad you like it!

about the pets:

well,I wrote the story i n the boxboy universe( I'm also new to it lol )

basically, these shelters are places where ppl who want to become pets wilingly sign up to be purchased as pets (they have to be over 18 or even in some stories 21 ). then they are trained (and basically brainwashed) to be bought and treated as animals, so yeah, they are human. some stories mention the existence of animal-human hybrids also existing, but I'm trying to keep this on a little more realistic (just a little lmao)

there are isntitutions who protect the pets, and make sure they have a good life, they need to have check ups regularly, and you need to be well of with money to have one. basically society has found a way to keep this ok and legal in a way.

Now, those are the rules of the system, but I think a good angsty sad boy story lies in breaking them >:3

there are ppl, or well pets, who may fall through the cracks: being kidnaped, abandoned, harassed, mistreated, maybe they were forced to sign up Idk...

there are a lot of blogs dedicated to this (kinda nonsensical) universe.

here are some links to some explanations:

Oh and, about the animal-human thing too. I was thinking about writing smth like that in a near future, I just need to get a hold on what would it be exactly. but I'm working on a little drabble about it so come back soon :3

#whumplr #box boy au #box boy universe #bbu community #bbu #box boy interactive #shelter pet (interactive) asks #asks

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Paxton and Amal 10

CW: Scars, a hint of sadomasochism (from a firm back massage to back scratching) nsfw-ish (nothing explicit happens)

Chapter 10 in which two touch starved boys forget themselves a little, after Amal offers to sooth Paxtons aching shoulders with a massage.

taglist: @haro-whumps @finder-of-rings @albino-whumpee @orchidscript @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight​ @morelikepainsley​

read the full chapter under the cut

#boxboys #boxboy #box boy whump #whump #hurt and comfort #scars #whump art #whump comic #boxboy comic #box boy #box boys #paxton the boxboy #paxton and amal #negotiating consent #BBU #bbu whump #WRU #boxboy universe #boxboy multiverse #I know Pax is beautiful but get it together Amal!! #Paxton does not understand why amal stopped #probably because he is so scared and ugly #jup no way there could be any other reason #definetly his fault

[mostlyjustwhump]

Super Bowl ad

My attempt at a short addition to the boxboy universe! Karen Renford belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow. Also, Sparrow is meant to be autistic, so let me know if I described anything badly there!

Tw for: abuse justifications, manipulation, modern slavery

(Image: The Whumpees-R-Us logo in the middle of a plain white screen.)

Speaker: Why is our logo orange?

(Image: An animation of an orange phoenix rising from flames.)

Speaker: The phoenix, which rises from ashes to greatness.

(Image: A dirty looking young man in rags sits in a fetal position on the side of the street, looking sad.)

Speaker: Just like we help people rise from poverty

(Image: A close up of the man’s face.)

Speaker: And squalor

(Image: Same young man, now clean and dressed nicely, happily cooks in a beautiful kitchen.)

Speaker: To a role where they can assist others

(Image: The young man sitting on a couch in a well-decorated room and watching tv, snuggled up against a somewhat older, protective man)

Speaker: While living in comfort.

(Image: Whumpees-R-Us headquarters) Speaker: Here at Whumpees-R-Us, we are proud to be

(Image: The founders of Whumpees-R-Us sitting at a table, talking seriously to each other)

Speaker: The innovators (Image: Director Renford directing a meeting)

Speaker: The designers

(Image: Three handlers on a lunch break, talking and laughing)

Speaker: And the builders

(Image: The Whumpees-R-Us logo in the middle of a plain white screen.)

Speaker: Of the phoenix.

(Image: Orange bold text on a plain white screen. Reads: Whumpees-R-Us: We box ‘em, you buy ‘em.)

Speaker: We box ‘em, you buy ‘em.

Ivy finished reading aloud and put her papers down on the coffee table. She looked at Sparrow, hazel eyes sparkling. “What do you think, my bird?”

Sparrow hesitated, rubbing his fingers together nervously. He thought the ad oversimplified a lot of things, but he supposed there was only so much his master could do with thirty seconds to a minute of airtime. And he was lucky to have this opportunity, after all. There couldn’t be many owners who would want someone like him. A question might be the safest reply. “Do you think Miss Renford will be available for filming? She is usually quite busy.”

Ivy smiled slightly. “I’m sure she’ll make time. This is a Super Bowl ad. And she is the Director of Client Success, after all. But did you think it was convincing? Creative?”

Sparrow nodded. “Oh, yes… I never could have thought of the phoenix comparison.”

Ivy’s grin widened. “I know, that was the best idea I’ve had for a while! I thought of it during our fantasy movie marathon last weekend.”

His mouth inched towards a smile at her enthusiasm. “Oh, really?”

“Yep! It reminds me of you. I know how much you like birds.”

Sparrow’s smile widened. He had developed quite the interest in them since she named him after one. They reminded him of himself, fragile, small creatures. The only difference was that they could fly away whenever they liked.

Each morning, he looked outside his window and watched the birds. When he had nothing better to do, he thought about all the kinds of birds he had seen so far. Whenever he was upset or frightened, he looked outside the nearest window, searching for birds.

He was sure that if he didn’t have a master to control him, he’d have filled the house with more birds than he could afford or care for. It was likely he had those kinds of habits before he signed himself over. Otherwise, why else wouldn’t he have been able to care for himself?

“Thanks… I’m glad you noticed.”

“Of course! And of course, you’ll act in this for me, right? As the young man?”

Sparrow’s smile faded. His mind raced with confusion. Why was she asking for his opinion? Wasn’t he not allowed to say no anyway? “Don’t I have to?”

Ivy’s face grew suddenly serious. She leaned forward. “Just say yes.”

Sparrow squeezed his arms. Why did he have to screw that up? Would she punish him for it? He hoped he was responding right this time. “Oh… okay. Yes.”

She beamed again. “Good!” Ivy put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. The pressure felt bruising to him, even though her touch was light. He tensed, barely keeping himself from wincing and pulling away.

“Will… I have to be on set at the same time as Director Renford?” He rubbed his fingers together more, desperately hoping for her to say no.

Ivy shrugged. “Possibly. Possibly not. Why does it matter?”

“Oh… it’s just… my training of what to do around her is deeply ingrained. It may be hard to act if she’s there.” He rambles, hoping his explanation makes sense. It’s technically true— when she’s there, he has no power to resist the urge to go still and look at the floor until specifically instructed otherwise. He imagined it would be quite the challenge to do anything happily with her there, even cook. And he loved cooking, just about as much as he loved birds.

“Good to know. Then, she won’t be there when we’re filming your section. I make no guarantees for if I’ll take you with me when we’re filming her section. And this is all assuming she approves this draft.”

He looked down and sighed quietly. He didn’t want to see her again at all. But at least there was no risk for him to be punished for poor acting. “Thank you, miss. I am extremely grateful.”

“No problem. Would you be a darling and start dinner?”

He stood up, the worries already starting to fade from his mind. Cooking was the perfect distraction. His fears barely existed when he was preparing a meal. “Of course. What would you like?”

“The completion of the Super Bowl ad draft deserves celebration, doesn’t it, bird?”

Sparrow nodded.

Ivy grinned. “A steak with garlic butter. And mashed potatoes with gravy. And cheesy garlic asparagus.” Sparrow started to leave for the kitchen. Ivy continued. “Oh! And you can make those amazing chocolate-filled beignets! I’ll bring the extras into work to celebrate!”

“Sure thing, miss.” He said as he mentally calculated the needed ingredients.

“Aw! Aren’t I the luckiest to have a boy as good at cooking as you?” She ruffled his hair. He resisted flinching away and forced a smile.

“As lucky as I am to be here, miss.”

He wasn’t sure if he was lucky. But he had to be. There was no other choice.

#it will get worse later #:) #whump #pet whump #box boy #boxboy #box boy universe #boxboy universe #box boy multiverse #boxboy multiverse #Ivy Blake #Sparrow #karen renford #abuse justifications #manipulation #modern day slavery

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Tagging Info | Follows and Likes from@tavecincertum | Tagging Reminder

Requests/Ask box: Open

The Mayors Reading Archive: Recommended stories and authors.

[Return To Main Master List]

★ Forever Meals (imagine-prompt, slavery, dehumanization, pet-play, pet whump, referenced abuse, dismemberment)

★ Well Fed (imagine-prompt, blood-drinking, feeding, starvation, force-feeding, dehumanization)

★ Sweet Humans (info-dump prompt, multi prompt, fluffy, caretaking, pet whump, pet prompt, answered ask)

★Good for Something (imagine-prompt, blood-drinking, dehumanization, rejection mention, sadness mention, dehumanization, pet whump, pet prompt, slavery)

★ Contrast + Contrast (Extended Edition) (imagine-prompt, slavery, dehumanization, blood-drinking, fear programming, pet whump, pet prompt, abuse, torture)

★ Songbird (1) (dubcon intimacy/touching, psychological reconditioning, implied past abuse, implied/referenced non-con, collar whump, gagging, choking, bruises, referenced broken bones, collar training, female whumpee, pet breaking, pet whump, answered ask, story prompt)

★ Kidnapped (2) (collar whump, female whumpee, kidnapping, stalking, choking, hanging, broken bones, referenced/implied noncon, hot/cold whumper, hair pulling, drugging, cursing/strong language, answered ask, story prompt)

★ Shes Mine (3) (kidnapping, forced captivity,, Implied/referenced noncon, blood play, cutting, mild gore (detailed description of blood), dehumanization, bondage, degradation, female whumpee, story prompt, answered ask)

★ Show and Tell (implied non-con, two whumpers, captive caretaker, voyeurism, threatening, name-calling, degradation, pet whump, story prompt)

★ That Damn Dog (dubious pet-play, degradation, humiliation, female!whumper, foot kissing/light-worship, lady whump, light cursing, nondescript violence, pet whump, story prompt, answered ask)

★ All that Glitters (physical violence (hitting/slapping), mild sexual themes, heavily implied/referenced sexual abuse, forced identity, forced relationship, famous whump, known whumpee, intimate!female!whumper, male!whumpee, answered ask)

★ Pretty, Like a Doll (pet whump, abuse, cigarette burns, smoking, restraints, bondage, humiliation, begging, injury, violence, genderless!whumpee, male whumper, intimate whumper/creepy whumper)

★ Helping Hand (pet whump, vampire caretaker, slavery, genderless human, female whumpee turned caretaker, death mention, chronically ill whumpee)

★ Helping Hand pt. 2 (slavery, chronic illness, filthy environment, nondescript bathing scene, blood-drinking (from glass), domestic whump, female!vampire!caretaker, genderfluid!whumpee)

★ A Fresh Start (slavery, implied abuse, implied bondage, mentions of burns, blood-drinking, captivity, starvation, dehumanization, mental reconditioning, post whump recovery, medical whump, royal whump ish

★ Baby, please come Home (NSFWHUMP, intimate caretaker, consensual sexual content, traffic light system, caretaker x whumpee, fluffy domestic setting, romanticized whump, explicit content, NSFT)

#pet whump prompts #whump #pet whump #whump prompts #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump writing #whump prompt #pet universe #human pet #master and pet #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #boxboy universe #boxboy au #box boy whump #whump masterpost #whump master list

[whumpingwithclara-alt]

Drunk

15 weeks into Jack’s captivity

taglist ~ @nonsensical-whump @myst-in-the-mirror @thelaughingstag

tw: drugs implied, alcohol mention, cigarettes' mention, noncon- nothing explicit, minor drinking, minor taking drugs, light swearing, conditioning trauma, implied torture, bbu, hunger, starvation, boxboys, this short bit has a lot of implied stuff

Previous // ~ Jack Masterlist ~

Jack found himself awake, listening to the sounds of Victoria coming back home at 2 am. He had to look out Lily’s bedroom when he heard her walk inside because she was giggling… like a physical laugh? It didn’t sound like her but it was her. He’d heard her laugh before, and of course, he’d heard her cursing like a sailor, but it wasn’t like this. She was never like this. She smelled like cigarettes, smoke, alcohol, and everything awful all wrapped up in one beautiful package. Beautiful of course because it was her- What h a p p e n e d? He shrunk back when a guy came in after her. “Sssh. Vicky~ be quiet.” He covered her mouth while laughing softly. She waved her arm around. “Ssss fine. No one’s ‘wake Tony.” She gave him a look before bursting into giggles. Victoria laughing was weird, her giggling was unheard of. “Still.” Tony smiled kindly at her. She drowsily directed him to her room. Jack frowned heavily. She looked high as hell and he knew her policy. She didn’t want to sleep with anyone. She said it all the time. And this guy, “Tony,” was grinning too much for him to just be helping her get back home safely. Not your problem- Jack. But what if she needs help… He held his head, shaking a little as fear crept into his bones. “Nonono.” He whimpered before running to Lily’s room. Sitting down on his ‘bed’ and hugging his knees. Rocking back and forth while listening. The door to Victoria’s room closed. It sounded like furniture was slowly and quietly being moved. Tell her father… You wanna talk to him again? Do you want to be with him again? No. Anything but that- Good boys DON’T say no. At the end of the inward torment of yes and no, he found himself walking to Al's room. Not realizing it until he was in front of their door. He froze like a deer in headlights. When did I get here… Before he could think anything else his hand was already knocking on the door. Al answered with a near growl. “What-?” Jack swallowed while taking a breath. “I… I’m s-sorry Sir. I-I j-just… just wanted to um… tell you, t-tell yu-you-” “Tell. Me. What.” His eyes seemed to glow with anger, though when Jack blinked they were perfectly normal. He took his best option, avoiding eye contact at all, staring at the ground instead. “S-Sir V-Vic… Victoria… a-and a guy…” He whimpered. “I-In her ro-room… I-I’m so sorry.” He whispered an apology. He stared at him for a beat before knowing he wasn’t lying. After all, Jack was a horrible liar. When his words really took effect Al’s face twisted in fury. Jack quietly crept back to Lily’s room as Al went off. Listening to the boy screaming a minute later. He closed his eyes while curling up against the wall and holding his legs. It took hours to fall asleep, and when he woke he was terrified to go out of the room. Lily was already gone to school and after a while, he knew he couldn’t keep hiding forever. He crept out of the room, being silent as he snuck off to the kitchen, hoping he could get some food. He noticed most of the others staring at him, not only the maids and such but the pets as well. He lightly waved at Annie and Kendall. When he saw a plate of untouched food on the table it sent a short spark of fear through him. “Uhm… M-Maka? D-did on-one of them, uh, f-forget breakf-” Maka glanced over. “Na. I think it’s for you. Masters said.” “F-for me?” He blinked at him slowly. “You sure?” “Well, Sir said so.” He shrugged while putting the other dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Trap. It has to be a trap. But Jack didn’t know where the trap began or ended, and his stomach told him to stop caring and to- Just eat... please? So with shaky, gingerly hands he slowly took the plate before sitting on the ground and quietly eating. He had noticed the silverware but he wasn’t allowed it, and maybe that’s where the trap would close in on him? He didn’t dare touch them. When he was done he gave the plate to Maka who cleaned it up, giving a shy smile to the older boxboy. Maybe he had done the right thing after all?

Next // ~ Jack Series ~

#implied torture #implied noncon #implied alcohol #implied drug use #implied violence #bbu #box boy multiverse #box boy au #box boy whump #pet whump #Jack hates his voice #Maka the boxboy #Al Richardson the sadistic whumper #Victoria is a horrible sister #Victoria whump #teenage dreams gone wrong #drunk obviously

[lecherous-lollipop]

"Fido"

MasterList:

#boxboy #whump #bbu #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #box boy whump #captivity whump #revenge whump #why am i like this #whumpees r us #whump writing #pet whump #sadistic whumper #whump fic #whump scenario #implied dubcon #nerd whumper #size difference #masterlist #fido

[cubeswhump]

Box Boy/Babe Info Guide: Worldbuilding Compilation

This universe (multiverse) can be intimidating at a glance. So many writers, so many stories, so much lore. You might not know where to start. First thing us to remember that it's a multiverse and you can change things as you please, but you might want to follow some guidelines. I'm compiling worldbuilding posts from various writers to help new BBU writers get started.

Big thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @albino-whumpee @moose-teeth @the-host-and-colton @slaintetowhump @sweetwhumpandhellacomf for all their contributions and concepts created by them. A for writing some rad stories.

Warning for kidnapping, abuse (emotional, psychological, physical, sexual), violence, institutionalized slavery, brainwashing, etc.

I'll begin with a brief overview: Whumpees R Us is a multinational corporation with headquarters in five out of seven continents. They sell human pets who are forced into servitude under the guise of these pets being willing participants. In actuality, a large percentage is coerced or manipulated into signing away their human rights, and a smaller percentage even forced. It's said that all pets are over the age of eighteen but WRU has been known to kidnap and sell minors, especially those who can pass as adults. Peopke who sign up voluntarily are often desperate. They're poor and can hardly get by, they're isolated and lonely and the WRU promises to give them a happy home, they're mentally ill and the WRU promises to cure them.

These people are rigorously trained, brainwashed with a cocktail of drugs and abuse into forgetting their names and old lives. They are tattooed with barcodes and six-digit identification numbers. Once their training is complete they enter the market. Customized boxies and firsthands sell for much higher prices but those who are returned and refurbished are often sold for as cheap as a used car. They are often abused by owners and have few to no protections as they are considered property and what owners do to property is their own agenda. The WRU sends the message that boxies are happy but in actuality they're trained to convey happiness and not recognize feelings of displeasure, and they can't give consent.

There are liberation groups but these are few and far between. These liberation groups are considered crazy abd making a big deal out of nothing, pets are happy and cared for and it's an owner's right to have a pet!!! All these abuse allegations are LiES!!!! They're frowned upon and rescuing boxies is considered kidnapping and a felony so these organizationsmust operate in secrecy. Members of liberation groups have been known to disappear from society and end up on the markets as a boxie with their memories wiped.

Here is an overall FAQ.

The fairly new CEO of the entire multinational corporation WRU is Timothy Rahm. You can learn about him here.

The Director of Sustomer Success and Satisfaction at the North American branch of WRU is called Karen Renford. For info on her, check here.

The confidential documentation WRU keeps on trainees/boxies. I believe it was first made by ashintheairlikesnow for her character Chris, template made blank and posted ny albino-whumpee.

BBU Training: Common training phrases, all designations, disciplinary measures, rules held by company.

Common discipline by owners shown within a story, includes items shipped with boxies

Psychology of Torture in the BBU: Specifically WRU training techniques and effects

Training for bonded pairs

Injectable drugs used on trainees

What trainees are fed at WRU facilities

Cost of a boxie: new versus refurbished

Housing/rooms for trainees

History of BBU, tracing its origins and rise

Most or all boxies are taught various positions.

WRU propaganda is everywgere and takes various shapes and forms, including films.

WRU job advertisement and recruiting

Pet trade and social medua/Public viewpoints

How the pet trade may affect the working class and jobs (sorry to use my own post)

Affection felt by Platonics versus affection felt by Romantics

Pet libration and rescue resources

Therapy for rescues/stigma towards Romantics

Pet trade in various countries

Influence of sexual orientation

On escaped boxies picking a new name versus keeping their pet name: building a new identity as part of recovery

What if a boxie has a baby?

If a pet commits a crime

Rescues finding jobs

Ashintheairlikesnow's overall worldbuilding tag

Tag for BBU-related questions sent to the-host-and-colton

Interview of four popular BBU writers

Additional info: I can't find a post supporting it but in various stories I've observed that trainees are given the same uniform, loose white T-shirts and black shorts. They are often desperate for clothes that properly cover them after leaving the facility.

And the most important thing I'll say is this: You write what you want. The fun is seeing other people's interpretations and creativity. You do you and make yourself happy. Don't you worry about pleasing everyone else (of course, you better respect other writers or I'll give you a firm talking to. I'll warn you, I'm a teaching major and the oldest sibling, I can give some boring lectures).

If I missed anything that belongs on this list let me know!

#bbu #wru #whumpees r us #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #boxboy #box babe #worldbuilding #pet whump #tw violence #tw abuse #abuse tw

[mistywhump]

Content warning for boxboy universe (multiverse? idk) stuff, so you’ve got the usual dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, etc. There’s a big emphasis on comparing boxboys to animals.

I’m working on stuff with Cass and Zoe, and I’ve seen people talking about how complicated it is for owners to free their boxboys if they want to, and all of this is getting me thinking about, like, how they have animal shelters for runaway or stray pets while they try to adopt them out. Is there a Humane Society for boxboys? Like a combination secondhand shop/animal shelter?

Maybe they take in the runaway/abandoned/stray boxboys whose identification is too badly damaged to figure out who owns them? Maybe they handle intake when regular civilians find boxboys without their owners and try to reunite them with their owners? If they’re off-brand and the company doesn’t have a good refurb program, maybe they adopt them out? 

(Read more bc it’s getting long)

I don’t know, Zoe’s kind of running away from me, and originally I wanted her to steal Cass from the professor with the intention of getting Cass out of the pet system altogether, but she’s turning out to be more of a “I’m chill w boxboys being a thing, but I’m a future psychologist, I care about the ethics of scientific research and you can’t use boxboys for test subjects in experiments, they can’t give informed consent” person. So she’s more interested in getting Cass into the ownership of a “responsible” owner rather than freeing them. Like... she probably sees the professor as an abusive pet owner, rather than seeing anything wrong with the professor for owning literal humans.

But I’m stumped as to how she could even go about that. She’d try to damage the barcode identifying Cass, and if she knew about chips she would try to get it out (ooh, that’ll be fun to write yep we’re writing that...) but she would have to get Cass away from campus or anyone would look at them and realize they’re the professor’s stolen property.

So like, I’m imagining a sort of animal shelter type place, with the cages and shit, where they routinely show up for work in the morning and find abandoned boxboys that people wanted to get rid of quickly, in less time than the official return procedure would take place, or they don’t want to deal with the hassle of returning them for refurb, or they’re too damaged for refurb but they can’t just be returned to society. They get drop-offs from the cops when they find runaways and need a place to keep them while they identify them. Maybe smaller off-brand companies don’t take returns, and they have shelters full of off-brands that people bought, realized they didn’t actually want, and dumped?

If the big companies are like the “designer pet breeders” do they have shelters full of “mutts” from off-brand companies or people thinking they can start their own operations like puppy mills, so those get sent to shelters because they’re too broken for “proper” training?

Are there groups trying to encourage people to “adopt” from shelters instead of getting new boxboys, because there are so many in shelters that need real homes? They probably aren’t the prettiest, so adopting them out would be a struggle unless someone really wanted a rescue or couldn’t afford a brand-new name-brand boxboy. 

Maybe Zoe is an “activist” in the sense that she doesn’t oppose boxboys like people don’t oppose pets, she just wants to make sure that there are proper regulations in place to keep owners from abusing their boxboys too badly. Like, the kind of person who points to animal abuse laws and asks why boxboys don’t have similar protections.

idk this went all over the place, but my brain is all over the place right now so maybe I’ll organize/elaborate later.

#mistyrambles #oc: cass #oc: zoe #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #idk this is just me rambling a bit tbh i hope it makes some sense

[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

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Paxton being cute.

#paxton #paxton the box boy #paxton and amal series #boxboy #boxboys #whump #whump art #pet whump #tied up #tied up whumpee #scars #scarred whumpee #boxboy whump #boxboy universe #boxboy multiverse #bbu

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Jong-soo, selfish ethereal immortal tries to use WRU’s boxboy system as a free new-identity-provider stocked full with delicious Boxies and the occasional handler, when he grows accidentally attached to a scaredy good little boxboy bean.

Emotions? Disgusting! He didn’t sign up for this shit.

Well actually he did sign. They all do, don’t they?

#whump #vampire whump #boxboy whump #whump art #vampire #vampire whumper #vampire whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #boxboys #boxboy #boxboy multiverse #magic realism #guys i know I said I do only my nano project but #look at hiiiim #Imma just write a short drabble and get my shit back together I promise

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Penny and Scamp chapter 1

The newly appointed head of the Tormadosa family, Adelaide Tormadosa decided it was time for a change in her territory. The first step towards her ambitious goals was the acquisition of a Boxboy pair that had been deemed unsellable by the company. One romantic maimed beyond repair and a guard dog nearly feral with rage. A more than perfect combination for her plans.

The guard dog concept belongs to @moose-teeth and mooses amazing guard dog series heavily inspired me. Go and check it out if you haven’t already ;)

CW: dehumanization, modern institutionalized slavery typical for the Boxboy universe,  

 „You should have taken them off your website if they’re not available anymore.”

A painted-red fingernail clicked against Adelaide’s cognac glass in an unsteady rhythm. The receptionist from the other side of the line sounded increasingly unsettled, voice pitching higher as she frantically tried to supply an explanation, mentioning some sort of complication. Adelaide silenced her with a click of her tongue.

“And what kind of complications are we talking about, exactly?”

Her foot stilled. The tapping sound of her polished brown Oxford against the hardwood floor ceased, leaving the room silent except for the secretary’s nervous excuses cracking through the phone. Adelaide’s carefully painted lips curled into a smile that grew wider with every word the secretary stammered out.

This was better than she had thought. Perfect even.

“I want them. Yes, both of them.”

Adelaide’s smile froze, sharp edged like an ice shard.

“No,” she snapped, clearly fed up with the other woman’s audacity to question her like this.   “I won’t wait until a new guard dog finished its training.”

Those WRU people had nerves.

“Then, darling, better go and find someone who has the authority to make this decision,” Adelaide hissed, narrowing her eyes as she studied a small chip in her red nail polish with growing displeasure while she waited.

Finally the secretary supplied her with a satisfying answer. It was a small inconvenience, but one Adelaide could certainly understand considering what she had just been told.  

“If your boss insists. I will be there to survey the products state tomorrow. 3 pm, sharp.”

This whole operation started out better than she had expected. 

chapter2

#boxboy #boxboys #penny and scamp #box boys #box boy #boxboy universe #boxboy multiverse #boxboy whump #box boy whump #pet whump #lady whumper #box boy guard dog #guard dog concept #guard dog #tw: modern slavery #tw dehumanization #dehumanization

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Masterlist Penny and Scamp

The newly appointed head of the Tormadosa family, Adelaide Tormadosa decided it was time for a change in her territory. The first step towards her ambitious goals was the acquisition of a Boxboy pair that had been deemed unsellable by the company. One romantic maimed by the facility management  and a guard dog nearly feral with rage. A more than perfect combination for her plans.

The guard dog concept belongs to @moose-teeth and mooses amazing guard dog series heavily inspired me.

Chapter 1 (online shopping)

Chapter 2 (Miss Adelaide picks Scamp up from the facility)

Chapter 3 (hospital visit)

Chapter 4 (insomnia interlude)

..

#boxboy #boxboys #boxboy whump #pet whump #guard dog box boy #guard dog #penny and scamp #whump #whump writing #whump series #bonded pair #bbu #box boy universe #boxboy universe #boxboy multiverse #box boy #box boys #WRU #wru the series #tw modern slavery

[lecherous-lollipop]

"The First Walk"

***CW/TW: revenge, bullying, dubcon, abuse, noncon drug use, noncon touching, dehumanization, implied slavery, abusive thoughts, general mean old whump***

~This is my fifth? attempt at writing something specific for the BoxBoy Universe, which I'm a *diehard* fan for since learning of it, so please, avoid this for your own good if you need to, or enjoy it for your own detriment; just please be kind!! ALSO I don't know how to do the whole 'continue reading' thing mobile so if anyone can explain I would appreciate it, this is a long one~

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month since Lucas had gotten his pet. Time did prove to to heal, and Fido's initial injuries disappeared along with most of Lucas' doubt in the WRU's process. To test the progress that he and Fido had made together, Lucas decided that this weekend would be the perfect time to take the next step as owner and pet.

By now, Fido had earned enough trust that Lucas finally started allowing him to fulfill his Domestic duties around the apartment, even when he was away at work. At first, Fido seemed enthusiastic for the opportunity to work. He took every chore as a chance to show off his impressive diligence. After all, anything was preferable to slowly suffocating inside the stuffy crate all hours of the day, even if he did have to wear strange, girly costumes that Lucas had customized for him while he did his various duties.

After a little while, Fido became accustomed enough to prefer the muscle work to small, detailed jobs, and Lucas noticed. Somehow, Lucas started finding more and more elaborate, tiny tasks for him, much to his growing vexation. Give him dishes, laundry, or even a stress position, anything that didn't involve working with small parts, and Fido was fine. It was hard to for him to focus his eyes on close objects sometimes, and his fingers felt swollen and uncoordinated, fumbling uselessly. Fido's frustration would grow into inevitable fat tears, making the entire process so much more difficult, and Lucas would take water away again if he was caught crying.

With his hair hooked behind his ears and his collar pressed against the under side of his chin, Fido squinted down at the leather boot in his lap, struggling to pass a lace through its designated hole. Maintaining Lucas' impressive collection of gothic boots was one of his newer requests, and definitely not one of Fido's favorites. He released the breath he had been holding with a half smile, ('Point!', he thought absently to himself,) as it successfully slipped through. Now to for the next... However many more laces. Fido didn't dwell on numbers, it would just make his head hurt and feel heavy. He just knew that with the polishing done, he was already over halfway done with this arduous assignment.

He looked up, his private smile fading to be replaced by the shy simper that was trained to appear as his Master approached. At first he didn't notice the box in Lucas' hands, assuming that he was there to inspect his work, and he bowed his head a little.

"M-master, I am so sorry it's taking so long, I will be done soon--"

"Tsk, Fido, baby, I've told you not to speak unless I command you, haven't I?"

Lucas cocked his hip to the side, the mysterious box suddenly becoming apparent. Fido's dark, thick brows pinched together with worry, his grip just slightly tightening on the leather boot in his clutches.

"Oh, don't stress, little one!! You *better* finish that soon, because it's going to be an exciting day!"

Lucas bent at the waist to set the box down at Fido's brightly painted toes, and then leaned back, studying his pet's reaction with steely grey eyes.

Fido's black caterpillar brows rose even higher into his forehead, and he set his Master's boot gingerly aside, his dark eyes darting upwards one more time for reassurance as he lifted the lid away from the rectangular box. He wasn't sure what he'd find inside, his dilapidated mind conjuring up the image of a miniature version of himself folded deep within the tissue paper, another person shrunk down to a plaything.

Instead, inside was a pair of boots. They were identical the ones he had been so hard at work at, except significantly larger. Fido lifted one out of the box, meeting Lucas' eyes and searching for an explanation as if his puny brain just simply couldn't come up with it.

Lucas had been squirming with eagerness, but he wasn't surprised that his dumb little boy couldn't put two and two together.

"They are for you, silly!! We're going for a walk today!!" He clapped his hands together with delight, smiling from ear to ear. Fido's shoulders sunk, his eyes focusing in at somewhere far in the distance.

"Are you excited for walkies? You're getting walkies for being such a good, good boy, Fido! Such a stupid, big, *good,* dumb boy!"

He ruffled Fido's long tresses, his stomach tingling pleasantly as he saw the color flush from his pet's face. The poor dog couldn't help but lean into Lucas' touch, even as he tensed with apprehension. Lucas didn't let him enjoy the comfort for long though, pulling away and winking.

"Hurry with my boots. I want them on my feet in five minutes. Then we'll get you ready."

That was hardly enough time for Fido to finish lacing up one boot, let alone both, especially with how horribly his hands had started shaking. Ungainly fingers tangled into laces and each other as he chewed at his scarred bottom lip, trying to will his inner monologue away. His training was screaming in his ears like the roar of an ocean

*never go outside, never go outside, never go outside, home is safe, safe is with your owner, you'll die outside, never go outside, outside is pain, outside is fear, never go outside*

"Oh dear, you're fuckin useless sometimes," Lucas chuckled as he pulled the boots away, the five minutes long past. It was always fun to watch his darling pet get flustered. He could punish him later for that if he really wanted, but for now, Lucas just wanted to get the both of them out the door before he lost the courage himself. He rarely left the place on his own in the first place, and anyways, research showed that doing something like this came with a lot of risk.

The reward would be so worth it, though, Lucas thought to himself as he instructed Fido to change into a set of street clothes he had purchased for this occasion. The dark, layered top covered his neck and his wrists, his Doc Martens fit perfectly, and Lucas found himself swooning over the intimidating shadow of a man that stood before him. He may have been gloriously cute and embarrassed in the cosplays Lucas so adored, but there was something of Fido's original beauty that was shone through, although he probably never would've worn anything like this in his former life. Perhaps it was how the open jacket complimented his broad shoulders, or maybe it was the glint of pride that returned to his eyes, as if he knew just how good he looked.

Wallet, keys, phone, human pet. Finally all prepared for their adventure, Lucas attached the leash to Fido's collar and they exited the apartment, locking it behind him and holding back a squeal of elation. Lucas' insides were a flurry of butterflies as the pair made their way through the hall and to the elevator lounge. He pressed the down arrow button, and let the leash hang loosely between them, looking over at his companion with a conspiratorial smile as they waited for their ride down.

Fido stood tall, dark, and handsome, but he stared off far away. A single bead of sweat gleamed on his forehead, but Lucas wiped it away with the end of his sleeve.

"Pull yourself together, man. We're not even outside yet. This is good for you, you've been needing to stretch your legs!"

His tone was sweet and concerned, and his smile had softened in that special way that made Fido's chest cinch painfully. The bell rang, and Fido shuffled uncomfortably into the tiny space of the elevator behind his Master. As the doors slid close, so did the distance between them as Lucas pulled looped the leash several times around his knuckle, reeling his pet in.

Lips and bodies pressed together inside the falling cubicle. Lucas pushed Fido backwards against the wall as his tongue wove into Fido's warm mouth. He pulled away to look up at his pet with a devious grin, having just delivered a pill that melted away quicker then Fido could register. Giggling, he returned to nuzzling into his neck to steal more kisses and nibbles before Fido could catch his breath.

The doors opened to another empty lounge, and Lucas laughed dryly as he stepped out and tugged at the leash.

"Come, Fido, walkies!"

Even as he said it, he lowered his voice and narrowed his shoulders, casting his eyes around to take account of their surroundings as they left the building. It was an overcast day, and Lucas' apartments were in a better-off part of downtown. He had a route planned, just around the block of the complex and home again, as long as it all went smoothly.

He went to cross the sidewalk, but was pulled to a halt by the length of the leash. Fido was frozen in his steps, his head hunched between his shoulders and his arms wrapped around himself. He shuddered as if there was a chill in the air, and his eyes went anyways but meeting his Master's. Lucas pursed his lips, snapping the leash and waving his hand in front of the dazed box boy.

"You alright there, boy? Oh dear, we haven't even gone anywhere yet."

He reached to grab Fido's chin between his thumb and forefinger, jerking his head down to face him. The boy was clammy and trembling, but Lucas was finally able to get his attention. His big, puppy dog eyes latched unto his, pleading and rimmed red.

"Ah-ah, little puppy, no crying, or you-know-what! It's not so bad, you're with me! Come, Fido."

He smiled warmly at Fido, wiping away the would-be tears and cupped his cheek.

"Walkies are good for you!"

He lightly patted Fido's cheek, and spun around on his heels to continue, pulling the leash tightly. Fido stumbled after him, his breath hitched and his hands balled into fists at his side. He could only assume that whatever pill Lucas had slipped him was doing it's job, as the world around him became distorted and more over-whelming. The sky was a cement colored fish bowl, trapping him wherever he stood, trees became elongated claws, and the rush of cars turned into deafening roars. Fido tried desperately to listen to his master, his only anchor in the growing confusion, but sound was becoming strange and fuzzy, as if it were filtered through a heavy, thick cloth before reaching his ears. Somehow, he swallowed back the lump in his throat and managed to keep his feet beneath him as Lucas pulled him along.

The odd pair had crossed the parking lot and made it to the sidewalk, appearing as innocuous as two men dressed all in black could be. The sun had begun to trickle through the thick webbing of clouds and cast a dull yellow glow across their path. Droplets glimmered like hidden gems along the rims of every leaf, and the smell of ozone tickled Fido's nose. A breeze lifted his mop of dark hair up and around his jaw, and he lifted his head with it, breathing the fresh air in deeply. He was finding his steps easier, and the lazy fog that settled around him was easing the alarm of being somewhere he shouldn't be.

"Isn't this nice? Just you and me, on a pleasant walk together."

Lucas' voice broke the peaceful quiet. Fido hurried his step a little, lowering his head back down and picking at the ends of his shirt. He tried not to think too hard about how much he hated rhetorical questions. The ground was swimming near his feet (shiny black boots, like beetle shells,) but he was alright as long as he could focus on Lucas' narrow back. The leash swayed between them, back and forth, his very life line. The leash was safe, the leash was good.

Nausea threatened him, a dizzying sway in his stomach, but Fido continued marching forward after his Master. The colors and shapes around him began to lurch and warp, but he kept his head down and found himself clinging to the leash itself. Lucas eventually noticed, casting a dubious look back at his pet.

"You ok?"

Another car decided to roll on through, a mass of metal and electricity just casually blasting past. Several more followed, giant machines of power and speed, just feet away from where they walked. It took every ounce of self control left within Fido to keep from dashing into the nearby bushes. His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as he stared daggers into Lucas' back.

"No matter, love. It's a nice day, no need to rush things."

They continued, quiet for the most part, until Fido's whining became hard to ignore.

Lucas turned, after several cars had passed, and glared at him. "What *is* your fucking problem? You're making it worse for yourself when we get home." He raised an eyebrow and frowned up at his teary eyed pet.

"Y-y-you don't understand, Master, I-i-i don't like the.. the cars.." Fido's voice evaporated into an airy squeal as Lucas stepped closer, the collar pulling down harder and harder against his throat.

"You don't?" Lucas adopted a sarcastically sympathetic tone. "Oh, poor dear, little guy, scared of cars."

The air cracked with the sound of a slap. Fido didn't even feel it, at least until a few seconds afterwards.

"Get the fuck over it. I had to, just like a lot of things. Come on already."

Tag list: @darkapatheticwriter @whumpocalypse @delightful-dreadful

#boxboy #whump #bbu #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #box boy whump #captivity whump #implied dubcon #revenge whump #whumpees r us #whump writing #whump fic #whumpee #creepy whumper #emotional whump

[lecherous-lollipop]

"Awkward"

***CW/TW: revenge, bullying, dubcon, abuse, pain, assault, torture, broken bones, PTSD, trauma, trauma bonding, referenced past abuse, noncon touching, dehumanization, implied slavery, brainwashing, abusive thoughts, loss of breath, asthma, general mean old whump***

~This is my third shot at writing something specific for the BBU, which I'm a *diehard* fan for since learning of it, so please, avoid this for your own good if you need to, or enjoy it for your own detriment; just please be kind!!~

It was hard to tell how much time had passed, with the drapes drawn over the windows and the looping playlist that kept pulsating in the background. The bass throbbed in and out time with Lucas' pummeling fists, which had started to flail and bend at the wrist against '742's exposed torso. He grunted and wheezed with the effort, but wouldn't let up for as long as his scarred heart would allow it.

He no longer had the breath or awareness for insults or laughter. Pure, relentless waves of rage and relief crashed inside and around him, fueling his ruthless assault. Adrenaline and endorphins stole his pain away like thieves in the night, leaving Lucas sweating like he had never before in his sedentary life as he *finally* got to beat down the monster that had tormented him for so long.

Therapy had been fucking joke all along. No amount of porn, drugs, or other forms of escapism had been good enough to wipe clean the filthy cancerous rot that grew inside. His few years out of high school had been a reprieve, yes, but there was something forever broken, damaged, wrong with him now. Lucas had spent his adult years finally indulging in all of his repressed hobbies and interests, and had even sunk the job of his dreams, but he had no friends. He wasted countless dollars and hours on self-help books, counseling, group meetings, and everything else that was recommended by society. Lucas was left to play make-believe, grasping at dreams that there was never any chance for to begin with. He had been mislead like most of everyone else was to think that if you do what is right, and what you are expected to do, you will find happiness. Lucas had to learn, the hard way, that if you wanted to be happy, you had to grab it, no matter what it cost.

Ironically enough, it had all come full circle; 970742 was the very one who had taught him this harsh life lesson.

After an indeterminate time passed, he weakly sunk against the box boy's chest, leaning heavily against him. Sensation began to saturate back into Lucas' arms and legs like blazing fire. Muscles unused to exercise screamed in protest, and Lucas looked down as the brass knuckles slipped from crooked, purple fingers. Sobs wracked his ribs, snot dripped down into his heaving mouth, and his dampened hair fell in clumps across his forehead. He became suddenly very dizzy, and his chest stitched together with fear as he labored to catch a breath.

Alarms and regret began to ring in his mind. Lucas was asthmatic.

He began to cough in spasms, unable to get his feet beneath him as he clung to the ever-steady box boy. The pet blinked at him stupidly, but held him up even as Lucas' nails dug desperately into the flesh of his forearms. His lungs burned with the need for air, and his diaphragm ached with convulsions.

Just as his knees began to give way, the only stability that was holding Lucas up abruptly pulled away. He fell forward, barely catching himself before slamming his head into the glass-top coffee table. Pushing into it caused the cup of water to topple to the floor. The exertion caused his lungs to strain even harder, the edges of his vision beginning to crumble away into bright kaleidoscopic shapes and colors.

Where was the fucking box boy? Panic rushed like ice through him as he realized he had been abandoned to die, coughing into his own spit and mucus, by his mortal enemy. In the end, Austin still won. It was his own fault, really, it was stupid and ballsy to bring the beast himself into his own home, brainwashed or not. Of course no one could break or destroy the monster that Austin was, no mysterious company, no bloodthirsty handler. It was all so very stupid. He'd laugh and gloat over his body, and probably even do that horrible thing to his face--

Without warning, something small and plastic was shoved into his clutching fingers. They burned and ached as they closed around the shape, but he realized with lurching hope that it was his inhaler. With the aid of the stronger, more capable hands, the inhaler was brought to his mouth and the little canister pushed down. It puffed the nasty, powdery medicine into the back of Lucas' throat, almost immediately providing alleviation for the crippling coughing fit.

It took a few seconds for his vision to clear and he focused his eyes on his feet. With his mangled hands down in his lap, leaning against his askew coffee table and half sitting in wet carpet, he felt an uneasy gratefulness for the box boy.

970742, not knowing what else to do to help, was sitting back on his ankles, watching his master with dark, mournful eyes. Undeterred by the giant map of bruises that covered him, the box boy seemed more worried for his master's well being then his own.

Lucas scooted himself weakly closer to the box boy, past the wrinkled balls of newspaper, past the inhaler and fallen knuckleduster, past the wooden Whumpees-R-Us box. At long last, exhausted from the bottom of his lungs, to the tips of his pulsating fingers, Lucas laid his pounding head into his pet's lap.

Lucas angled his head up to smile abashedly at his battered box boy.

"Well this is a little awkward... Isn't it?"

Tag list: @whumpocalypse @darkapatheticwriter

#boxboy #box boy whump #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #bbu #box boy au #revenge whump #whumpees r us #captivity whump #whump writing #whump #whump fic #implied dubcon #tw abuse #tw violence #tw loss of breath #tw broken bones #whumpee #sadistic whumper