#cw human trafficking

[cepheusgalaxy]

We all love the "whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master" trope, right? Let's go a little further

Whumpee is whumper's pet. We know this

Whumper also has this friend, Whumper 2

Whumper really wants to impress their friend, or whatever, so they give whumpee to whumper 2

Whumpee is prepared beforehand. Whumper dress them up; They tell them to obey whumper 2. Tell them that they'll be their new master.

While that, Caretaker and Team find this out. Whumpee will be transported from Whumper's to Whumper 2's house

It's the perfect chance for rescuing them.

Ok, now, for the aesthetic, maybe whumpee is in a truck. No windows. No sounds. Whumpee is locked inside during the way, they're only allowed to move or get out once they reach their destiny

The team works fast

They capture the truck and manage to drive it to their base

While that, whumpee is bracing themselves for the terror they know whumper 2 will be.

Imagine the scene when the team unlock whumpee on the truck, and they are obedient, terrifird, they think Caretaker is whumper 2

They do not manage to think they're finally free

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #whumper #multiple whumpers #caretaker #pet whumpee #whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master and we love it #cw deshumanization #cw pet whump #deshumanization #cw slavery #i guess #cw human trafficking #i just noticed i should have put content warninf on the post XD #if i missed anything please let me know

[rez-urrection]

tired of people saying that evil morty is just a morty who snapped, and he doesn't have some good villian origin story. like !! yes he does !! he's implied to be a product of and is canonly a witness of the morty industry.

tw for human trafficking mentions under the more

which, because people in this fandom kind of sugarcoat that or don't see it for what it is, is human trafficking. evil morty isn't just some morty who got tired of a rick, hes a human trafficking victim who was likely passed between more ricks than he can remember. he's witnessed so many deaths and so much systemic morty torture that he's desensitized. the way he scanned all of those rick's brains mimicked the fucking dead morty disposal line.

so, no, evil morty isn't just "some morty who got sick of a rick," he literally apologizes for being such a high maintenence morty to make his rick shut up. that isn't something a regular grandson says that's something a grandson who has been trafficked and used by vile versions of his grandpa in such amounts that his life is unrecognizable without it.

for the love of fuck, r&m fans, please understand complex characters with complex trauma

#cw human trafficking #cw child trafficking #cw ht #cw ct #cw tbmc #cw torture based mind control #cw torture #idk maybe its because i went through something similar but i literally take personal offence to this LMAO #please stop watering him down #he went through unimaginable trauma just to be called some morty who got sick of a rick #hes so me #im so him #evil morty my love

[handsomeamoeba]

#ghosts #paranormal #this is stupid #cw human trafficking #sorry for the repost i wanted to make this a week long poll

[peridot-tears]

I'm actually FASCINATED by the role of New York gangs in AC: Rogue. To me, a born-and-raised NYer, gangs are a recent development going back to the 1850s because frankly, that's as far as our oral histories usually trace; that's the earliest major wave of immigration. Most old New York families don't go further back.

The gangs weren't completely wiped out until the 90s, and by "wiped out," I mean they still exist, but the end result of government crackdown was that they no longer operate in the open the way they used to, and their methods of operation have changed. In the 1950s-80s, they extorted money via racketeering (what you see in movies when a gang member comes to a business and offers "protection" in exchange for money; reject it, and the member and his goons destroy your business or threaten your life) and had shootouts on the streets. Nowadays, it's more likely to be money laundering.

Needless to say, we can say with full confidence and a sense of black-and-white morality, that gangs are Bad, because of how much violence they encourage within the community.

BUT, there are certain things that aren't as black-and-white, because gangs usually exist to fill the needs of a society that the "legal" methods cannot meet. You feel powerless? You band together and intimidate other people, even if it becomes violent. Isn't that how Jacob formed the Rooks?

I want to sidebar about a great example of gangs filling unmet needs in what are shitty, harmful methods that would not be met at all otherwise: Human trafficking.

I'm not defending human trafficking by any means, but I would like to examine the conditions under which people are trafficked, their role in NYC, and the deeper implications in AC Rogue.

We know that smugglers are exploitative. The smugglers who lead North Koreans across the border into China and Mexicans into the United States demand huge sums of money from migrants (let's use "migrants" in this case since we're covering a lot of different groups who leave their homes for different reasons). These migrants pay this exorbitant amount to take a journey that they might not even live to see the end of.

However, we can understand that people who decide to take such a journey usually feel that this chance for a different life is better than staying in their current conditions. And that they are so desperate or at the end of their rope that this may be the best and only option. There is no other way to guarantee leaving for a better place.

The most glaring example of this in my mind is Sister Ping, who smuggled people into New York from her native province in China for years. She ran one of the biggest operations in the city; people died under her charge after paying basically what would have been a year's salary in the US. And yet, when Sister Ping passed, people flooded the streets of Chinatown to pay their respects. Because she granted them passage to the United States.

So yes. These things are bad, but people do end up using gang "services" because they could not acquire what they need otherwise.

But enough about Old New York. What about Old, Old New York? Like 1750s New York?

AC Rogue is not about the nuances of gang culture, so Hope Jensen's operations in New York outside of smuggling and experimenting on poison are pretty nebulous. Shay is supposed to be the complicated "hero" -- I would generously say anti-hero -- of Rogue who seeks to right the wrongs committed by Assassins. So he's presented as being in the right for crippling her supposed (we never get an actual confirmation, and Shay at this point only expects the worst out of the Assassins after their fuck-ups) plan to release poison gas on New York.

Poison gas aside, because of Shay's perspective, we are introduced to the gangs as criminals who extorted the Finnegans, but I wonder what other operations they ran? Were they also smuggling people into the city? Was Hope extorting businesses? Did she put money back into the city in other ways, ways we didn't see because we're looking at it through Shay's perspective? What were the needs that Old Old New York society that the gangs needed to fill?

We're arguably the hero for putting down criminals because of Shay and Monro, but I wonder if the formation of the Rooks in Syndicate would have looked very different if I were playing as a bystander or Assassin defector.

And morality debate aside, I'm very, very excited to look deeper into the Old Old New York gangs. They're like. The Grandfather of the Grandfather of the Godfather of the Modern NYC.

#long post #cw human trafficking #ac rogue #shay patrick cormac #shay cormac #shay #ac shay #assassins creed #assassin's creed #hope jensen #tears falling like peridots

[acerdime]

BNHA x Encanto Crossover

Villain Madrigal Family. Quirkless Vigilante Mirabel.

The Encanto is a cult owned by All For One and led by Alma, used as a breeding ground for AFO’s test subjects and child soldiers.

Alma agreed to lead AFO’s cult, allow use of her kids as soldiers, and her citizens as test subjects in exchange for giving her kids the power to protect themselves and each other, ensuring none of her family would be killed like Pedro ever again.

Colombia has a very low Quirkless population, even less than Japan.

Eventually the Colombian decided Quirkless were “impeding evolution” and tried to kill them all.

Quirkless Pedro’s death activated his & Alma’s latent quirk factors to create the Encanto & Casita.

When 5 y/o Mirabel discovers Alma’s deal with AFO and her abuse of everyone in the Encanto, she runs away before her Gift Ceremony (AFO gives the Quirks) and spends the next 10 years traveling with Bruno to Japan to stop AFO.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #encanto #alma madrigal #pedro madrigal #julieta madrigal #pepa madrigal #all for one #mirabel madrigal #tw attempted genocide #cw attempted genocide #tw attempted eugenics #cw attempted eugenics #cw referenced human experimentation #tw referenced human experimentation #cw human trafficking #tw human trafficking #fic ideas #fic prompt #fic inspo #fic inspiration

[ruohosta-nauttija]

Tumblr i am not good with memes and i'm also detached from the Tumblr Culture™ and i'm sorry if this is not memeworthy news

But let me say FUCKING FINALLY GET FUCKED IDIOT

#destiel #supernatural #andrew tate #cw rape #cw human trafficking

[guardianreadersofthegalaxy]

#not saying i 100% agree #it just raises some good points #kate maltby #gary lineker #tw human trafficking #cw human trafficking

[skiplo-wave]

I don't know if you are aware but I thought this need a boost because it quite serious. This might be a new human/sex trafficking tactic. There was a Alabama woman named Carlee Russell that disappeared after calling 911 to report a toddler walking alone on the side of the interstate. After she called 911, she stopped to check on the child and called a family member who lost contact with her. Carlee's family member heard her ask the child if they was okay but they did not hear the child respond. Next thing they know, they heard Carlee scream and that was it. When officers arrived at the scene they found Carlee's vehicle and some of her belongings, her phone and wig. There was no sign of her or the child. The family said her hair will be down to her neck in braids. She was last seen wearing a black t-shirt, black pants and white Nike shoes.

Awful

I heard one way is use bait but fact these monster are using children is terrible

Hope they find her and that child

#asks #signal boost #cw human trafficking

[chaosnojutsu]

i think a lot about my old youth pastor’s wife. in the ways that mattered she always seemed very down to earth. her big Thing— if you don’t know, clergy members often have a Thing they “feel called” toward, an area of ministry or a hot button topic they care passionately about, very similar to a political platform— was human trafficking. i don’t know why; she never really went into detail that i heard of personally, though contrary to popular belief many church adults tend to get very uncomfortable when discussing anything remotely sexual, much less with children. (it’s the purity culture. sex literally is not discussed beyond “don’t do it until you get married to someone of the opposite sex.”)

but everyone knew that this lady Did Not Mess Around with anything even resembling trafficking and she was vigilant about speaking to the girls in our group on matters of personal health and safety. she was a mom and a seasoned nurse and a mentor to teenage girls and she’d have rather died than found out the worst had happened to any of us.

i wonder how she’s doing. i wonder what she’s doing, if she ever did anything beyond talk to us and worry. i wonder if i’d stayed home and reconnected with her, we could have made tangible strides in and around our community. i wonder if her definition of “human trafficking” is so conservative that it includes consensual sex work. i wonder if that was her agenda all along; if it was less about keeping us out of a liam neeson movie and more about keeping us off of onlyfans. i wonder if she cared so much because she survived. i wonder if she really cared at all.

i hope she’s doing well.

#char chats #cw human trafficking #cw religion #purity culture #deconstructing religion

[sparksinthenight]

So we talked about Wattpad today. I used to go on Wattpad a lot as a lil girl. Let me tell you a story. I never published this story. Thank all the gods that ever have existed or will exist that I never published this story. Because if I did publish it, then, looking back on my actions at an older age I would unironically die of cringe. But despite not having published this, I did write it. Because I was a middle school girl and middle school girls are just like that.

So in the story there’s this 15 year old girl. She’s very pretty but she doesn’t think so. She’s a rebellious teen and she goes into the woods to do rebellious things with her friends. One day the police catch her and they sell her to a very handsome 26 year old billionaire. So he’s mean to her at first and horrible in general but she knows that he has a heart deep down. She knows that he’s secretly good deep down, he just doesn’t know how to be good, but she can change him. He is so off-put, and then amazed, by her rebellious spirit that he falls in love with her and turns nice and good. So then the two of them run away to the secret group of rebels living in the forest. Oh he also forces her to get an abortion against her will at one point before he turns good. Man of the year everyone.

You know, I didn’t even publish this but I think I’m going to unironically die of cringe anyways. I think the Google doc that the story is on still exists. But thank the gods that it’s on my old account that I don’t use anymore so I don’t have to see it.

Anyways. Listen. If a guy literally bought you, don’t try to change him, just fucking run.

#i'm cringing #so cringy #this is cringy #cringe #this is embarassing #wattpad tropes #abortion mention #tw abortion #cw abortion #tw human trafficking #cw human trafficking #don’t read this #i won’t let you #I own the only copy of this book #And that’s how it’s going to stay #shitty writing #terrible writing #bad writing #old writing #childhood memories #embarassed #i don’t know why #I’m telling y’all this

[rlp-out-the-wlngs-of-a-butterfly]

❤️❤️‍🩹💝💙

Headcanon Ask Game: Heart Edition

[ Vaggie ]

❤️: What little thing their partner does makes them fall even deeper in love every time they do it?

Bringing her food, drinks, or tucking her into bed when she overworks herself. Any little things to do that helps her take care of herself makes her so weak.

❤️‍🩹: What normal or innocuous thing has their past ruined for them? Are they attempting to remedy this?

Clubs. She hates going to them and would rather go to a bar if she had to go out like that. The music is never her taste and they make her nervous after what happened to her in one when she was alive. Vaggie was abducted from a club in the United States during a vacation and trafficked back to Mexico. She was killed for fighting back.

💝: What’s the best physical gift they’ve ever been given?

The ribbon she keeps in her hair. It was a gift from Charlie along with the previously mentioned bracelet shortly after she fell.

💙: How do they show love when they’re busy, drained, or otherwise unable to show it to the degree they usually do?

Already answered here

#It’s Best To Keep Me Pleased (Answered Asks) #HEADCANONS ➽➽➽ #Eyes Closed But I Stay Making Mistakes (ναggιє) #cw death #cw abduction #cw human trafficking

[makiruz]

I know it's in bad taste to accuse Hillary Clinton of being complicit in child sex trafficking given Pizzagate, but she and her husband were friends with child sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein, she was 100% complicit in Epstein's child sex trafficking

#Hillary Clinton #rants #Jeffrey Epstein #cw sex trafficking #cw child sex abuse #cw human trafficking

[txttletale]

Okay so I agree calling cops on people doing drugs is extremely fucked but what should we do about domestic abuse or human trafficking or people doing generally fucked highly illegal shit like, obligatory cops probably won't help but genuinely what should I or anyone else do in these situations because I'm not like batman

And while obviously obligatory communism fixes most of my concerns here but like, what can I do as an individual seeing these individual problems ? Not to say society wide analysis wouldn't be helpful here but again the point of the question is what can I do if I see people doing fucked up shit

Thank you and I hope I didn't sound aggressive!!!!!! Ur rlly bright!

i mean the answer is that if you witness domestic abuse or 'human trafficking' (a term i dislike because it is mostly used to position illegal immigration as equivalent to sexual slavery)--calling the cops will make things worse in 99% of cases.

if you involve law enforcement in a case where someone is being "trafficked" the most likely option (after, nothing happens because law enforcement are fundamentally incompetent at their alleged role)--is that the person who was forced into this circumstance by desperation will get deported back to the country they were desperate to leave in the first place. people who are forced into overseas slavery (sexual or otherwise) are in fact often kept in line by the people coercing them using the threat of immigration police.

similarly, calling law enforcement on a domestic abuse situation is basically unilaterally a bad idea unless the victim has specifically asked you to. the police will often harass victims and side with abusers. i cannot emphasize enough do not call the cops on a domestic violence situation. even in the best case scenario where the cops are theoretically willing to help--abuse victims very often, for various reasons, will lie to protect their abuser & then be the victim of retaliation from that abusers.

in either of those situations the best thing you as an individual can do is directly offer (offer, and do not expect that this offer will be taken up!) financial assistance, a place to crash overnight, or just (as is more likely within most people's capabilities) make it clear that you're a person who can be confided in who can keep their mouth shut.

but yes, obviously, more broadly the answer is--as you have in fact identified--that these are problems that you need to let go of the idea that you as an individual need to be intervening in or solving. like. the real best thing you can do is go start or join a mutual aid or community action group working to protect abuse/trafficking victims. another pair of hands at a women's shelter is infinitely more useful than anything you could do for anyone on your own.

#ask #importantangeldefendor #human trafficking #domestic abuse cw

[stheresya]

Daenerys' storyline in ADWD is a good way to complexify heroic narratives without invalidating the idealism of the savior. What is in question isn't the morality of freeing slaves (because that's already indisputable), but how to integrate them in society in a effective way when that goes against ancient traditions of subjugation. It offers an honest portrayal of power struggle, how the oppressing class does not give up their power easily, and in order to make a revolution stick you must give the oppressed the necessary tools to keep themselves empowered, the oppressed must be able and willing to reign fire on those who seek to put them in chains again. With heroic narratives there's always an extraordinary someone saving people from certain doom and everyone is happy. the end. But with Dany there's an exploration of the aftermath. Her storyline explores her struggle of wanting to do good, on trying to keep her people safe while dealing with powerful people who seek to maintain their hierarchies. It's an exploration of what power can mean to different groups. Power can be about subjugation but it can also be a way to prevent yourself from being subjugated. The great masters would not have behaved differently if Dany had proposed gradual and peaceful reforms on slavery, because they cared first and foremost about their status as a ruling class, and that status was only possible through the exploitation of other people, because for a group to be above requires all others to be below, stepped on by those above.

#last semester i studied about the process of slavery abolishment in my country during the 19th century #which was a process done mostly through gradual and peaceful reforms #and yet the slave owners still did ALL they could (increasing violence against enslaved ppl + human trafficking) to maintain the system #people who truly believe in slaving others are vile in any scenario. because slavery is vile. there's no way around it. #daenerys targaryen #a dance with dragons #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #cw slavery

[theremina]

Adoption causes way more intergenerational trauma and collective health crises than I think many "kept" people realize.

If you bother to read it, the science is clear: adoption is violently traumatic, causing devastating, irreversible health issues for millions of human beings. Yet I'd have more luck conveying the severity and longevity of my own trauma to most non-adoptees with "I was dropped on my head as a baby."

Heck, I didn't begin to contend with the horrors of my own situation until my mid forties. Being yeeted directly after birth into foster care and eventually adopted by lovely, well-intentioned folks who were not prepared *at all* to help me deal with the lifelong neurodevelopmental disorders and physical health problems directly caused by my abandonment at birth has permanently damaged me. I'm saying so as one of the "lucky ones".

I adore my adoptive family. They're incredible parents. We love each other dearly. This doesn't change the fact, not for one second, that I wouldn't wish adoption on ANYBODY. Thankfully, my folks understand this. I wish more adoptive parents did.

The modern adoption industry* is, by design, deeply misogynistic, racist, transactional, ableist, imperialist, colonial. Ignorance and hate and apathy and coercion and subjugation and dehumanization and capitalism keep the machine running.

We're already seeing the beginning of Baby Scoop Too: Electric Boogaloo on Facebook. On Twitter. On Instagram. On other social media platforms owned and controlled by obscenely wealthy white men who don't consider private adoptions to be unethical.

You may *think* that legalized human trafficking doesn't really effect you, but soon, if the Christofascists continue their cultural blitzkrieg, the amount of infants and children who end up in the foster care system, adopted by unqualified people, in devastating private "rehoming" situations like the one shared above, or worse, is gonna SKYROCKET.

So...I'm barely on Facebook anymore for a few different reasons. One of them is that I couldn't handle watching a whole bunch of ignorant self-proclaimed feminists making shitty adoption jokes after Roe was overturned.

Another reason is that Facebook is LITERALLY A BABY MARKET.

ADOPTIVE PARENTS ARE BUYING AND SELLING CHILDREN ON FACEBOOK. WHAT THE ACTUAL UNFORTUNATE FUCK.

Nearly 100 million American families are in the adoption triad, with a majority of adoptees' needs and voices being considered last instead of first. It's so backwards.

Non-kinship adoption is a systemic violence that cannot help but touch the lives of billions. That is so very, very bad for ALL of us, not just abandoned infants and children or their struggling parents.

Some straightforward response questions for every person who has ever asked me about about my adoption:

Are you a feminist? Are you antiracist? Are you a humanitarian? Anti-ableist? Do you consider yourself lefty, liberal, or otherwise progressive? Do you respect science? Then please reevaluate your perceptions of adoption.

For every adoptive or bio parent you listen to, listen to three or more adoptees. For every shitty adoption "joke" you've ever told, check in with an adoptee (or first mom) in a kind and caring way. For every ignorant question you've ever asked an adoptee about our "real parents", crack a book!

Please. Do some research. Learn. Please. Center transracial adoptees, international adoptees, disabled adoptees, queer adoptees. Please. This stuff impacts all of us just as surely as countless other aspects of systemic rape culture do. Try to understand. Please.

I'm more certain than ever that we must abolish before we can rebuild.

Please give a shit. Please.

*The fact that adoption is an industry at all should shock and horrify us all, and yet... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[image description: a screenshot of a Facebook post with a black border and caption reading, “Welcome to America, where people try to regime adopted children on Facebook Marketplace.” The Facebook post itself reads, “So basically they either want him to come back home, or have CPS place him in a foster home. Or I can find someone willing to take him in, and ‘under the table’ pay them the stipend, we get. If CPS places him they will have to have an open case against me. In doing that I will lose my job. I cannot work at a daycare, school, group home etc. if I have an open active CPS case against me. How the hell do I go about ‘re-homing’ my child? Should I create a post in market place? Through no fault of our own, we are being forced to re-home our thirteen year old son. He can be the most loving, helpful young man. He does suffer some learning difficulties. He comes with a complete wardrobe and a monthly allotment. Only serious inquiries please.” End id]

#karpoozy #adoptee #adoption is violence #adoption is annihilation #adoption is racist #adoption is sexist #adoption = imperialism #adoptee voices #adoption is legal human trafficking #cw rape culture

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 5, Royally Caught

While tied down in a cartel interrogation room, König is forced to his mental breaking point when a certain sniper makes an appearance. Is she a rat, or here to chew him free...?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care, graphic mentions of sex trafficking victims, abusive language, mentions of sexual violence.

Author's note: Please notice that warning have indeed changed for this chapter! Nothing happens in the story, but many hard themes come up as intrusive thoughts. Please be weary of these and feel no obligation in reading if doing so would make you uncomfortable!

Ahhh, well well well... it's finally here. Originally the concept of this chapter came from this YouTube Video as inspiration, specifically Labyrinth by OOMPH! And it sort of... wrote itself? The title is supposed to be a play on the phrase "Royally Fucked" because I did not feel like using a swear as a title. Anyways, you'll notice from my headcanons on König that I believe working as an insertions specialist for human trafficking seriously fucked him up. I also believe that he typically does not act out violently against women. So... what happens when he thinks Mouse is doing the very thing he hates so much? Well, you will have to see!

This chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, but the inspo was taken from the El Sin Nombre mission in MWii. Mouse is in the cartel house, undercover at a party and in an attempt to take out her target she saw an interesting video feed....

I must admit, this chapter has my favorite single or one off lines. I am really proud of it, please enjoy! But be warned, this is unabashedly horny/desperate/angsty/and the pining goes fucking nuclear. Have fun!

Also, if youre into the fake interrogation thing, then next chapter stays good for you, especially if you want mouse in the hot seat...

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀 PREV | Pt. 5, Royally Caught | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT (coming soon!)

König did not expect his Friday night to end up with him locked in a storage container turned jail cell in Mexico. 

Yet here he is. 

At some point while raiding the Cartel Mansion in Las Almas, or more appropriately, trying to open an exterior wall so that KorTac could raid it, he had been shot with a tranquilizer gun. The shot didn’t knock him out entirely, the dosage was probably not completely calibrated to his weight, but it was enough to slow his escape down. He got about two miles out before men in an armored Jeep jumped him. 

And he woke up, here, about three hours ago. 

Two hours ago he broke his thumbs in an effort to get out of his cuffs, but someone must’ve caught his plan because immediately afterward two masked cartel members came into his cell and stuck a syringe into his arm. When he awoke for the second time, there was a durable cord keeping his wrists together instead. Feeling around he could tell that the rope had been burned into itself, creating a lack of weak spots for him to abuse in escape efforts. 

His legs were in a similar position, chorded down thick and heavy to the legs of the rusty metal chair he was in. He was still in most of his combat outfit, save his vest, weapons, and any tools he had on him when he was captured. 

They’d kept the hood on his face and they hadn’t removed his helmet. This, to König, showed an extraordinarily eerie amount of understanding for his position within KorTac. None of his comrades would recognize him by his face, and judging by the multitude of cameras in the room, he was intended to be… recognizable. 

At first, anyways. 

This cell was, unfortunately, familiar to him. The layout of the cot, the chair, the metal table, the haphazardly soldered-in door and door frame, the holes drilled into the sides of the metal container, and even the rudimentary sink and toilet combo was something he’d become viscerally acquainted with. 

This was a typical Al Qatala human trafficking cell, specifically designed so that multiple humans could be chained up in one space without sacrificing the capacity for good camera angles. Typically, these were set up in storage containers twice the size of this one, but he doesn’t really have any room to be complaining about getting put into a non-standard torture chamber. 

His specialty was cracking these when he was with the Austrian Special Forces. His real calling in life, his one true hatred. 

Fall on the sword you forge, he thinks. The understanding of what will become of him in short order is horrifying. He’s one of the few people on the face of the planet who’s seen this exact routine played out for other prisoners of war, usually at the behest of desperate governments seeking his expertise in getting their soldiers out of such dire confines. He wrote the book on what happens in these situations, when it happens, and where the person ends up. 

They never end up alive. Prisoners of war are different from sex trafficking victims. In some terrible way, it’s almost better to be the prior because at least then you don’t have to live the rest of your life after what’s happened to you. Death is a shitty kind of freedom, but it’s freedom nonetheless. 

Of his 86 consults, only seven were successfully rescued. 

Two of those died in trauma surgery. 

The last five had been in custody for less than 24 hours, he had personally rescued that group. To his knowledge, they’d all recovered decently well. Their mental health, however, could be a different story. Not like he was allowed to ask.

He’s going over every possible route of escape when he’s shocked out of his plans. 

The door directly in front of him opens, and his dark cell erupts with sickeningly bright, white light. His eyes strain trying to adjust to the intrusion as he takes in the form. 

A silhouette stands in front of him, all soft edges of black, arms braced on either side of the door frame. The backlighting gives the figure an almost angelic quality, a soft and fuzzy etherealness blends outlines and light. It’s the telltale curves of a woman, of soft thighs, of ample hips, of a woman’s bust. Little strands of fluorescence peek through a crown of hair on her head. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, meine majestät.” The cruel Angel hums, voice like forbidden fruit any man could be forgiven for falling for. 

“Maus?” He calls out, desperate and confused and ready to shatter. 

“Quiet as a.” She calls back, composed as if entrenched in amber and equally as unmoved by his predicament. 

He’s always wanted to get his teeth around her pretty neck. He’s always desired to have his hands around her waist. He’s always hoped to be able to pound down into her quaking form. He’s been desperate to have her underneath him since their very first chance encounter. These feelings have been constant since he heard her beautiful voice, but suddenly they’re not the same. 

Now he wants all those things, but instead of their motivation being love, it is bloodlust. 

And intense bloodlust at that. 

He’s never wanted to kill a woman, he finds it despicable that women more or less get turned into cattle during war. He’s sure that Freud would have something to say about his neurotic insistence on not harming the fairer sex even with his typical caliber of violence, but he’s never once cared to self-examine that. His entire military career, in fact, was dedicated to saving women and children from the horrors of a very male, very sexual world. Insertions specialist, yes, but specifically for human trafficking situations. 

Looking into his wartime paramour's eyes, the intensity of hellfire overcomes him. His entire world crashes around him. He’s breathing in debris and dust as comes to the terrible conclusion that this entire time, it’s been her that has been perpetuating the injustice he so hates. That it’s been the thing he’s romanticized that’s been the fall of Rome. That it’s his savior that’s really been the perpetrator all along. 

Perhaps the devil was once an angel, but to see his Angel for the demon she is? It breaks his heart into gory chunks of splintered bitterness and hacked arteries where once love pumped. 

Never in his life has he ever wanted to kill a woman, never in his life he had loved a woman so completely either. 

Those two ‘never’s die loudly and crudely in his chest as he recounts how to kill her most painfully in his own mind. 

For her now obvious position perpetuating his most loathed evil? For tricking him into loving her? For both and neither? He doesn’t know. He’s about two seconds away from frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal that’ll break its bones escaping a trap. He’s got nothing in his brain, just white-hot anger from the tips of his combat boots to the tips of his ears. 

Not even the outfit, or more appropriately the lack thereof, that she’s wearing can dissuade his anger. In any other circumstance, to see her in a black draped silk dress with hip-high slits on both sides and a full set of harness garters holding up sheer pantyhose would make him go feral. It would make him kneel, it would give him all the power to break out of these bindings on his own with no help and slam her down into the metal floor and have her right here. He has the desire to do all these things right now, but for all the wrong reasons. 

She’s taking something out from beneath her left breast as he recounts every thought he’s ever had about her and how foolish they’ve all been. He thinks that the only consolation he may ever receive for this betrayal is if he can crush her windpipe in between his teeth. 

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” He remembers her saying to him in one of her flirtations during their secret radio romances. 

The phrase echoes rough and screeching in his head as he thrashes against the metal chair and restraints. He doesn’t formulate any words, he can’t, she doesn’t even deserve them, as she takes the lighter and cigarette she’s produced from her brassiere to her mouth. Her expression is unconcerned when she takes the flip-top lighter (that has a fucking crown carved into it, the audacity, his teeth clench and voice roars at the implication she’s been planning this for a long time) and its little flicker of brimstone to the end of the cancer stick. 

She takes a short drag and holds it between two perfectly manicured fingers. She’s gotten a little lipstick on the filter. 

“You don’t smoke.” That is all he manages to spit out. The only thought he can think of. Nothing makes sense and he’s liable to maul her to death over it. Her tongue darts quickly and sinfully across the filter, her eyes never leaving his. She tosses her stare towards him playfully, her hips swing wide as she waltzes closer to him. 

“No,” she says, as she takes another step towards him. Even in those ridiculously tall, faux leather heels meeting the tips of his combat boots, she doesn’t particularly dwarf his size. She's got the tips of her shoes to the tips of his, her stance is wide to accommodate the positioning. The edges of the stockings on her legs disrupt in wave-like patterns where they collide with the rough edges of his tac pants. He looks and thinks about how if his clothes were a little thinner he may be able to feel her warmth. He wonders just how long it would take her corpse to go ice cold, because she clearly does not deserve to be alive. He forces himself to look up at her and he thinks about clawing out her eyes. 

“But you do.” 

She reaches her hand towards his hood and strokes his cheek through the fabric. He snarls and snaps his head away from her, reeling from the touch he’s so deplorably yearned for. Her placid expression drops entirely as she sees his reaction. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that his perfect little Mouse looked heartbroken over his refusal of her blandishments. 

He wants to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest for the sheer nerve to display that sort of emotiveness to him. That she acted like there was something there when there very clearly wasn’t. That she lied so thoroughly to him. 

That she made him love her when now he can see she never loved him back. 

She takes a shuddering breath in and makes a concerted effort to put her expression back into place, to impose some sort of divine rule back over her features. It’s strange to see her trying so hard when she’s obviously been such a good actor for so very long. 

“I just need some information, darling. No need to be so skittish, I brought you creature comforts for your cooperation.” She purrs, flicking some ash from the cigarette. “I know you could use a smoke right now, handsome.” 

The bile in his stomach flips at the pet names he would usually kill for. Pet names he’s never had until this moment. His two addictions lay in front of him, together, wrapped up in black silk, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to tear it all to shreds. 

Her hand follows his cheek to where it’s escaped her grasp. He is powerless to stop her as she rolls up his mask. 

To his surprise, she stops rolling it up just high enough to expose his mouth and leaves the bunched cloth on the bridge of his nose. He wants to scream at the tenderness of the action, she’s giving him as much of his well-loved privacy and solitude as she can while bringing him, an active prisoner of war, a fucking cigarette while wearing the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

The cruelty of it all had found the border of divinity and reality and ripped it open like C4 explodes plywood doors. There must be a God, and he must be in hell. 

She gets dangerously close, close enough for him to bite, and her hand with the cigarette makes contact with his jaw. Her sharp, black, fake nails trail from close to his ear, down to his mouth at a tantalizingly languid pace. She bends down and puts her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear and he is about to actually bite her neck to kill-

“I’m trying to get you out. Play along.” She whispers and flips the cigarette into his mouth. 

He takes a long drag. 

He feels the relief of nicotine in his lungs. 

He closes his eyes. 

He thinks about what she said. 

He doesn’t quite believe her as she takes the cigarette out of his mouth before he has to fumble to exhale around it. Her thumb traces the outline of his thin, scarred lips. Her eyes bore into his from above. 

She puts it back into his mouth. 

He takes a long drag. 

She takes it out of his mouth and puts it into hers. She takes a shorter drag. He doesn’t miss the way that she keeps all the smoke in her cheeks, not actually smoking it at all. A little taste of non flavored-wax sticks to his mouth from the lipstick and he wonders if she can taste his mouth too…

The takes the lipstick-stained tube out of her lips, taps it clean, and puts it back into his. 

He takes a long drag. 

She takes it back out of his mouth and wipes at his lips with the pad of her thumb. His brain is too busy switching between wanting to bite her thumb off and wanting to suck on it like a dog for him to decide what to do before the obtrusive digit has been taken away. 

“Sorry, big guy. Got some lipstick on you.” 

She retreats from his form and goes to sit on the metal table slightly adjacent to the chair he’s strapped to. She puts the still-lit cigarette to rest in an ashtray next to her hip. She also puts the flip-top lighter down. On the bottom of the lighter, he sees some engraving, but he can’t make it out from how far away it is. 

She crosses her legs on the edge of the table and the black silk she’s wearing all but flees off of the expanse of her now exposed thigh. She taps her fingers slowly on the metal, the pitter patter of plastic-press-on-nails on metal goes in time with his heartbeat. 

“Who are you with?” She asks, and he laughs. She knows. 

“Nein.” He responds. Is he refusing her, or this little game? He doesn’t know. She seems to understand, though, when she leans into his personal space and he has to fight the urge to look down her lack of dress and perfect tits-

“That’s no way to act after I got you a present, now is it?” She hums at the pulse point between utter cruelty and complete levity. He tests the restraints keeping his hands tied and sighs at the realization that they are still tighter than he can manage to worm out of effectively.

“I will not repeat what you already know.” He bites out. 

“Clever boy,” she smiles and he can’t help but think and hope that maybe this cruel Angel is being genuine, maybe she really does want to get him out of here. He murders the hope in his brain the second he recognizes what it is. “So tell me, what were you doing here?”

“You know.” 

“I’m afraid I do.” Her lips tense into a thin line and she looks down at her watch. She begins to swing the foot of her raised leg idly and-

She puts her foot onto the back of his chair right on his shoulder and oh my god her cunt is right next to my mou-

“Audio just cut out. I’m undercover here. Site goes dark for 2 minutes or less in 30 seconds. I’m going to pretend to interrogate you for a little while after we come back online to sell it. And then I’m out.” She warns, voice low and quick. 

Once again, he has to fight every electric cell in his body to not lunge at her and rip her clothes to tatters (and maybe her, the jury’s still out on her trustworthiness) as he breathes in the smell of fresh nylons and her cunt like a fucking dog. Not making eye contact with her panties is also a losing game, and it’s one he seriously wishes he had decided against playing because it’s a sheer black lacy pair, because of course it is, and he can very nearly make out the curves of her sex through it. 

“How do I know how to trust you?” He spits and blood flows out of his brain when he sees a tiny, minuscule amount of his saliva landing on her clothed cunt. He snaps his gaze back to her face. She looks rather smug and pleased with herself, he scolds his inner monologue when he dares to notice just how hungry her beautiful eyes look... He wants to wipe the smile off her face, through a kiss or through slicing it off with a knife, he’s not sure yet. 

“You don’t.” She shrugs and somehow scoots even the littlest bit closer to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, if I was I’d have brought a little more stopping power.” Stopping power? What is she talking about? Her beautiful features soothe themselves into a giggle and Gott, she’s very pretty with eyeliner and lipstick on, the little vixen. I want to ruin it. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it. Put your cheek against my thigh.” She laughs. 

Even if it’s a trick, König decides that if he’s going to die anywhere, it might as well be in between Mouse’s thighs in mere milliseconds. The throbbing in his pants also suggests that he’s probably forgiven her by now as well. He leans his cheek and feels cool metal hit it. He whips his head to look and tucked into her garter is a sizable knife. 

When he looks back to her eyes he notices dumbly that she must be able to tell how desperately he’s in love with her because she’s smiling something wicked down at him. Angels aren’t supposed to be cruel, but he’s forgiven anything and everything she’d ever done wrong in exchange for the expanse of her thigh and the promise of a knife. 

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” She says with a smile like absolution. His mind alights with a terrible test of faith for her, with a truly awful proving method to try her loyalty to his rescue. He turns his mouth to the knife, and instead of taking it in his teeth, he takes her flesh in his teeth. 

She whimpers as he teeth attempt to gain purchase through the nylon of her stockings. He gnaws at them until he makes a little opening, and through it, he punches down his teeth until he’s sure he will leave a mark, but not draw blood. 

“Does that include you, mein Mäuschen?” He purrs into her now-exposed flesh. He peers up at her and he revels in the shock on her face. She shudders at his words and attention and something worse than pride finds a home in his hollow but newly hopeful chest. 

She doesn’t move her leg away and he hums in satisfaction at the gesture. Instead, she looks worryingly down at her watch. 

“You have 1 minute. Take the knife, keep it in your mouth under your hood, and give me 30 minutes to get out of here before you escape.” She says instead of responding. 

While realistically he knows that she doesn’t really have an option in leaving him, that it would be too dangerous to leave together, that they are still technically enemies even on neutral ground- he can’t help but be disappointed that his Angel intends on leaving without him. Even more so that she doesn’t seem to want to answer him when she made the rules in the first place. 

“Why are you helping me?” He asks, hoping for some clarity, for some tell-tale sign that this isn’t some weird horny fever dream he’s made up in his own little hell, worried that she will drag him back down from heaven and reveal that this, too, was part of the ploy to destroy whatever of him remained. 

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.” 

She says it without question but instead questions the motive. She says it like someone prays, like believing in the possibility of salvation but not quite sure how to get there. She says it like a guardian angel takes missions, unsure of her exact purpose but faithful in her understanding that there is one. 

The deep cavern of his obsession temporarily closed and covered by the implication of her treachery, widens and deepens impossibly as he smiles into the knife on her thigh. It’s just a knife, but she believes in him enough to offer her only protection to him, and she believes that it is all he will need to make it back to her on the field. 

He plucks the knife from her garter with his teeth. He tries to memorize her smell, her taste, the feel of her soft and plush skin on his cheek. It’s an intoxicating experience he isn’t quick to squander, but the implied hope that when not if he can get out of this she will be there waiting for him? That makes ending this warm-up worth it if it means he can get to the game and maybe, finally, win the prize. 

She retracts her foot from his shoulder and lets down his hood from his face. She leans in terribly close and whispers, “After 20 yards, take your first left outside the second retaining wall. There’s only two guards there, it’s your best shot.” He hums in affirmation and adoration and she sits back into her position on the table. She looks at her watch and gives a curt nod: the game is back on. 

She takes the cigarette back and draws the smoke into her cheeks and lets it flow out like a deadman’s soul floats to heaven, somehow rushed and languid all at once.

“We’ve been having quite the time trying to figure out your-“ he completely zones out whatever she’s saying in favor of watching the mark his mouth gifted her turn darker as the seconds draw on. It’s not like he could respond even if he wanted to, that would risk the knife she’s so lovingly gifted him into his lap and ruining the whole escape (and worse, endangering her.)

So, instead, he stares at her like the goddess she is. He burns the curve of her stomach between her hips behind his eyelids, he imagines resting his head there and kissing the smooth skin. He savors the way her ass flattens ever-so-slightly where it meets the metal table she’s sitting on, he thinks about holding her up by her ass alone and the plush yet firm give of her flesh. He drinks in the sight of her cleavage heaving when she emotes after a particularly loud question, he hopes what little he can’t see is the same type of perfect as the rest of it. Every once in a while he lets out a quiet huff around the blade in his mouth, in a vague response to something she’s said. Mouse gets “angry” in response, she even slaps him once or twice. 

He doesn’t mind. It’s all a waiting game, after all. 

König is many things, and a competitor is first and foremost. 

If Mouse knows where he’s staring for the duration of their play date of an interrogation, she doesn’t mention anything. With one last stinging (and dizzying…) strike to the cheek, she all but yells “Fine! Let’s see if you’re so tough after 8 hours alone in this hell hole.”

When she turns to walk out of the door she came in, König feels a part of his heart leave with her. He breathes harshly over the outline of the metal in his teeth as he admires the confident sway of her hips. He bites harder on the metal when she tosses a sympathetic look back to him and blows a fucking kiss. 

Sitting, alone in the dark of the converted storage container, he spends the most excruciating thirty minutes of his life occupied only with her phantom touch and his depraved fantasies. 

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.” Echoes in his head in time with his heartbeat, in time with his imaginary minstrations on her form, in time with what he is sure will be the death of him. 

That and so much more, he thinks when he finally, finally, manages to rid himself of his binds with the knife his Engel so graciously snuck him, 27 minutes after she leaves when some cartel member comes to check up on him.

König loses himself in the beautiful catharsis of stabbing the man who comes to fetch him so violently, that the blade to the knife literally snaps off somewhere in his bowels. He loots the cadaver for his gun and ammunition as well as another knife. He feels awful to leave one of her gifts discarded in the abdomen of some filthy cretin of a man, but he recognizes he really does not have much of a say in the matter when he hears the footfalls of his fellow cartel members rushing towards his location.

With one last sigh and a wayward glance to assure himself that he really did get his mouth around her and this wasn’t some dream, he prays in the form of bullets as he guns down anyone stupid enough to get in his way to escape. 

Be safe, my darling Maus. I will be back for you. 

I promise.

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