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bcitisthelight · 10 months

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hey remember when we were discussing how weird the whole cliegg thing is in AOTC. and you had thoughts, feelings and emotions. tell me about those XOXO

(Big TW for this post - I discuss human trafficking, sex trafficking, rape, child abuse, slavery, and PTSD in this post. It's about the realities of slavery and Tatooine and how it involves the Skywalkers.) Something that I almost never see in any discussion on the Lars family is how sharply the fanon headcanons and characterizations of diverge from the ones we get in the moves. Like, particularly Cliegg and the prequel trilogy. Like - I feel like there's this automatic assumption that the Lars loved Shmi and that they cared for Luke out of dedication to her and her family, and it's this huge found family vibe but like can I be real. Can I be super real right now. It’s something that I find kind of baffling, because when I watched Attack of the Clones, and on every rewatch since (and there have been many), it always seems kind of obvious to me that Cliegg bought Shmi as a slave, presumably as a house slave, if not outright as a part of sex trafficking. And I don't mean in one of those "He bought her to free her, he's a good guy, etc etc". I mean, he bought her as a slave with the original intention of keeping her as a slave. And what's really interesting, is you can get pretty much all the clues about that from the exchanges between Anakin has with Watto, his and Shmi's former master.

Again, I want to stress that, because I think it's crucial that we see this for what it is - not an exchange between a former employee and his boss, not an exchange between a kid and a member of his former community. His former slavemaster. The man who won him and his mother in a gambling game like so many fancy necklaces. The source and object of Anakin's childhood enslavement. Watto would have beaten them. He made Anakin, a child of 9 - and I read somewhere once that Anakin started in the races at 6 - ride in a pod race that no human has ever won before, with the full expectation that he would die. This is a being whose entire life has revolved around the certainty that society is not only capable of functioning, but functions best, when sentient beings can be bought and sold like property. And, to be real with you, because this is a thing that happens to people who suffer enslavement, he very likely loaned them out temporarily for sex trafficking purposes for a quick buck - a practice that is noted historically in virtually every society that operated on a system involving slaves.

It's important to recap that, because I do think it's impossible to understand how deeply horrifying the conversation they have is without that context. Like, let's look at how he tells Anakin about Shmi -

This scene is....so telling to me. From the outset, Watto said he sold her as a slave. Like, it was a slave exchange. Watto heard about her freedom later - clearly, Cliegg bought her, and behaved in a way - intentional or not - that Watto believed he was buying her as a slave to own as a slave. That part is not subtext, that's just actual text.

"But Mikhayla" some will say "he freed her the second he bought her - he bought her in order to free her." Except....there is genuinely nothing in the movies, and off the top of my head, the wider narrative, that ever indicates that that's true. In fact it makes no sense in that case, for Watto to have not known that Cliegg was buying her in order to free her. Why would he have to hide that? Watto presumably doesnt care what happens to her, because he's selling her. In the larger materials, its said that his shop fell on hard times, and in the movies, we can see the proof. The script says he's sitting outside his shop, but at that point it resembles more of a kind of beaten down stand. He's still selling junk, but less and of poorer quality - presumably, he's spent all his money on gambling debts. And the thing is, slaves are expensive. He sold her years prior, and I bet he fed himself on that money for a very long time - he was a very motivated seller, as barbaric as that language is to use about a transaction involving a human person. He's not going to be fussy over why the person buying her wants to buy her. There's also the fact that this is a society that vastly runs on slavery, and large plantation owners would often "rent" out slaves to smaller but still profitable farms. And Cliegg is a moisture farmer with presumably a large tract of land for water vaporizers. If anything, I can see Watto having rented Shmi to her, Cliegg taking a liking to her, and then approaching Watto to buy her. I mean, if he's profitable enough to just buy a slave, then he clearly had at least some money. "He spent his whole savings!" Show me that in the text. "He loved her from the start!" Show me that in the text. "But Mikhayla," yet others will say, "he did free her! And then married her! He clearly meant from the start to free her, and only bought her to get her away from Watto. He could have never seen her as property. Who would marry their slave?" Except, in the real world, this is...another thing we see across multiple historical records, masters buying women as slaves and then later freeing them in order to legally marry them. PARTICULARLY in societies that operate so heavily on an entire caste system involving slaves - we can look to the Roman Empire, for example. Countless Roman officials, merchants, and military officials bought women, fell in love with them, and freed them in order to marry them. "But maybe she said yes!" (I know these are not your objections, but as you know, I'm an attorney, which means I constantly have to find an argument to fight against). So, to this imaginary detractor I say: I feel like it should be rather obvious, but I'll say it just in case - it is impossible for a slave to consent to any action they perform at the request of a slave master. It cannot happen. A woman who is enslaved cannot consent to marrying the man who bought her, and who has very likely been raping her up until this point, and wants to now marry her - usually, to make any children he had by her legally his children, and therefore citizens, rather than slaves themselves.

So really, whether or not Cliegg had a change of heart doesn't actually change my mind about his actions towards Shmi. I don't care if Cliegg DID love her - in fact, I'm sure he DID love her. People can and have convinced themselves of all kinds of moral superiority, people can claim to love someone while owning them as property! Shmi could never consent to marrying a man who held her as a slave. Even if he freed her, and she willing chose to stay there for a few years, and then he asked her to marry him. In my head, you can't overcome that power imbalance. Cliegg will never not be a man who once believed Shmi was a thing to be owned. He will never be a man who didn't see her as property. Like, at some point, it actually becomes kind of more and more unlikely that this is a guy who took up this transaction for non-malicious purposes. Because we simply do not see it in the movie. What I see in the movie is a slave owner saying he fell on hard times and sold his slave to a farmer who probably needed help on his land or in his house - he has no wife, so the latter is probably more likely. I see him saying that at the time of the transaction, he had no idea that Cliegg intended to free her. And for all that Cliegg calls Shmi his darling, his love, his wife - not once do we ever hear of any evidence that Shmi saw this as a love match. In fact, the only thing we find out about her daily life with the Lars family is that in the mornings, she wakes up early and goes to pick mushrooms. You know. A task for the house. An unpleasant task, done before everyone else is awake, that she does absolutely alone. I'm just saying. These implications are not good ones. I will say though, for all this, do you know what really sells me on the idea that the relationship between Shmi and Cliegg is is not a consensual one, is Anakin's reaction to it. This is a boy whose entire hopes and dreams have revolved around his mother's freedom. You have more excellent writing than me on this, but the moral injury Anakin suffers leaving his mother behind is. Intense. All he wants is to one day free her. In a way, a part of him is always that tiny boy who couldn't bear the idea of leaving behind his mom, who swore, the last time he saw her, that he would free her. And at this moment, all of his dreams have seemingly come true! His mother is free. According to Watto, she's found love, and married. For all he knows, she's had other children. Maybe that could involve SOME complicated emotions, but mostly you would expect that he would feel, at the very least, relieved. Happy. Interested, curious. Instead, this is his reaction:

He's grim, business like. He is not happy. He is not relieved. He doesn't even seem to acknowledge that she's still alive - the way he reacts is not a man who thinks his mother is out of danger. To Anakin, who grew up enslaved until 9 and knows how this society works, it seems almost immediately apparent that the Lars are just a different kind of danger. There's also this rather interesting detail:

This is a boy who bleeds, every second of every day, longing for a family. He basically begs at obi-wan's feet day and night, to be acknowledged as a son. His reaction to his wife's pregnancy is radiant joy - his reaction to know she could die, profound existential horror. I mean good god, he basically turns Palpatine aka Satan Himself into a father figure, because he's that desperate for one. And here, this man is claiming him as his family. He's talked about being excited to see him. He talks about planning with Shmi to meet him. He calls him "son". And Anakin doesn't give him another moment of his time, the second those words are out of his mouth. It's silence. For a boy who is so starved for intimacy he genuinely falls in love with the very first girl who was ever nice to him, to react to a claim of relationship this way. It's bizarrely out of character for him. Unless it isn't. UNLESS he's disgusted by that claim, instead of relieved by it. If he thinks his mother has been bought and then forced into marriage, of course he hates Cliegg. I remember when we were watching the movie together, and remember I said to you "You can just tell Anakin is thinking, 'Call me son one more fucking time'" And can I be real, I have so much more to say about this. As you know, I actually have essays of opinions and feelings about Shmi Skywalker and her horrible life, and how Anakin was the one bright point she had in that horrible life. I have feelings about how she gave away her only happiness, because she knew he did not deserve the life of a slave. I had ideas about how you could turn this into a way to actually fix AOTC and make it better, a way you could use it as an excuse to get rid of the Tusken arc entirely without losing the tragedy of his mother's death. But this post is already so fucking long and I'm sure you're tired of me talking xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

#star wars #human trafficking tw #abuse tw #csa tw #rape tw #slavery tw #all the trigger warnings #GOD THIS MADE ME REALIZE HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE SHMI SKYWALKER #BECAUSE SHE HAD JUST #THE SHITTIEST LIFE RIGHT #LIKE SHES BORN INTO SLAVERY AND SHE DIES IN SLAVERY SHE LOSES EVERYTHING HER SON IS GONE SHES MARRIED TO HER SLAVE MASTER SHE DIES IN PAIN #BUT HER LOVE FOR ANAKIN WAS SO GOOD #SO INTENSELY AFFECTIONATE AND VALIDATING #EVEN IN ALL THAT HELL #THAT WHEN ITS RIPPED AWAY FROM HIM FOR GOOD ANAKIN BASICALLY LOSES HIMSELF ENTIRELY

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showmethesneer · 3 months

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and by "substance abuse" i mean how Jaskier is constantly ingesting unknown substances

#hazbin hotel #vivziepop #helluva boss #the hunger games #the witcher #twn #fizzarolli #angel dust #finnick odair #jaskier #joey batey #blake roman #alex brightman #sam claflin #michael kovach #human trafficking tw #venn diagram #queer representation

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gothsugarbunnidisco · 1 month

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looking at old bandom stuff on deviantart and this is making me lose my mind

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 year

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Police in York Region have charged seven people with "offences related to a criminal human trafficking organization" after discovering that dozens of Mexican nationals were being abused, mistreated, and exploited for labour at work sites across the Greater Toronto Area.

"They were led to Canada with the promise of opportunity and a better life," said police of the 64 victims on Friday when announcing the results of a joint-investigation dubbed Project Norte.

"But the reality was deplorable living conditions and exploitation."

Police say that the Mexican-born victims were "mistreated, abused and exploited for manual labour" at farms, factories and warehouses across the Greater Toronto Area, though it is not clear for how long. [...]

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #Toronto #Ontario #human trafficking tw #dehumanization tw

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niconebula · 1 year

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I’m fucking obsessed with Greta Thunberg baiting Andrew Tate and directly leading to his arrest (yes he is officially arrested now), thus saving at least multiple women from human trafficking all because his ego was so big he had to come back at her with a video that exposed his location through a goddamn pizza box

#I’m so fucking glad it was her that ultimately took him down #andrew tate #in case anyone is filtering #human trafficking tw #greta thunberg

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badxsshottiexllie · 5 months

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Plotted starter for @spoocys-glade-of-dreams

Ellie, riding her hover bike, was on her way to her rebellion groups hideout which was located outside of Eden. She needed to discuss what had happened to her the night before at the United of Eden. Originally, the woman had gone there to relax. However, there would be a series of events that would occur that said otherwise. The woman not only got to rescue Eden's biggest celebrity, but also got herself involved in trying to help his friend who was in a situation that was beyond her control.

"Whats the password?" A male voice said behind the door.

"Cabbage is perfect to eat in the dry heat." Ellie responded.

"Hey! Hows my favorite isekai protagonist doing?" The door opened to reveal a panda hybrid named Steven. Since he was a big fan of anime, he often referred to her as an isekai protagonist, someone who is randomly sent from one world to another.

"Oh hey Steven, pretty crazy shit happened last night. I wanted to see if mostly everyone was here to talk." The woman replied.

"Yeah, unfortunately, most of us are just doing are own thing today. So its just Cody, the boss, you and I here today." After Steven said who was here, you could see a teenage human named Cody playing a gaming PC. You could also see the boss, a human woman around Ellie's age named Natalie, reading a book.

"Sup Ellie, how did last night go?" Natalie asked, putting her book down.

"Hey boss, uh...well...thats what I wanted to talk to everyone about..." The redhead scratched behind her head.

Natalie got up and gently nudged Codys shoulder so that he could listen too since he was wearing headphones. "Ellie's got something to tell us."

The teenager took off his headphones and looked into Ellie's direction and gave a brief yo in greeting.

"So last night, I went to the United of Eden to relax. Well...I thought that was going to happen. I stopped a fight from happening there. You'll never guess who I saved..." There was a bit of a pause before she revealed who it was due to awkwardness. "It was none other than everyones favorite poster boy himself....Rayman..."

"WHAAAAAAT?!?!" Steven, Natalie, and Cody said in unison. They couldn't believe what they just heard.

"But why? You do know the risks involved in associating with him right?" Natalie told her.

"Like that hasn't been drilled a million times in my brain before. But I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. He needed help. Anyway, theres this other part of it where he asked me to help his friend Mona Lisa, whose in a situation thats beyond her control."

"Mona Lisa as in...the famous painting? That Mona Lisa?" Steven asked confusingly.

"Not to be confused with the painting of the same name." The redhead corrected. "Its her stage name and believe it or not shes a limbless like Rayman. But thats not the important thing right now. Shes in a situation involving Hoyt Volker. Do you guys know who he is?"

The trio had a mixture of pale expressions and disgust. Natalie, however, was the one to speak up between the three.

"Human trafficking." Natalie spoke softly. "Murphy told me about it. Its really gross."

"Murphy? Whose that?"

"Hes someone who works with us but hes from another resistance group like ours. Hoyt Volker offers good paying jobs but its disguised as selling them to Eden for work or other crime bosses."

"No way..." The gingers eyes widened at this new discovery. She needs to tell Rayman this asap! This was huge! "Boss! You are a live saver, thank you!" Ellie gave her boss a big hug and stormed out the door.

The rebel hopped on her hover bike making her way back to Eden. Once she got back safely and into her apartment, she made sure to give Rayman a call. "I wonder if he'll pick up..."

#spoocys-glade-of-dreams #this was extremely long due to multiple npcs but you do not have to match length #human trafficking tw #long post #cut for length #captain laserhawk au #let me know if you want me to change anything!

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aita-blorbos · 8 months

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AITA for almost abandoning my boss to human traffickers?

My (25m) girlfriend (26f) was killed by my boss a few months ago. I can't really talk much about my job as its a pretty secret thing but it's rather dangerous. My girlfriend had been a loyal employee until a big accident rendered her sick, and I cared for her in the basement of my workplace until she eventually started trying to kill me and my coworkers. My boss (35????m) tried to threaten me into killing her, but I didn't, so he killed her himself. I was pretty upset about this but I didn't resign because I actually do believe in what we do.

Yesterday one of my coworkers brought her girlfriend in our office and the latter tried to kill us, so my boss killed her as well. He then proceeded to make a rather insensitive joke about her death.

After work, I went to a pub next to my apartment to talk to a barmaid who's been really nice to me. She promised me she knew a way for me to move away from here for good and made me stay with her until closing to show me. She brought me into the basement of the bar and there was an alien a man there who claimed he could help me move. My boss then barged in and claimed the person was actually a human trafficker. The man attacked my boss, and everyone was yelling around me and it was overwhelming me so I let him do it. I let the man kidnap my boss and left the bar but I came back shortly after when I realised what I'd done. I helped my boss escape so he's fine now but I'm not sure it was right for me to even let him be in this situation. AITA?

EDIT: My boss and I are having an affair now so I guess he's not really mad at me or anything.

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #ableism tw #human trafficking tw

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warren-cold · 11 months

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“When the deal is too good, think twice before embarking on it.” – Joshua Muasa

“Hello gentlemen, may I introduce myself?” asked the FBI agent, not waiting for an answer before proceeding. “I am Agent Neal and this is Agent Parvis. We will be handling the case so any and all information and communication goes through us,” he explained, his facial expressions stern though he waved a hand when he addressed his partner.

Agent Parvis cleared his throat then nodded to Jameson Stanton who was sitting to the right of him. “We also have your lawyer, Mr. Stanton, here on the call,” Parvis added before glancing back at the computer’s video camera.

On the other side of the call, almost 4,000 miles away, sat Warren Cold and Adriel Donovan. The pair were in an undisclosed location, one Ace had set up to ensure their location could not be traced, sitting on metal folding chairs. Warren held the phone so both Adriel and he could both be seen through the camera’s lens.

Warren remained silent, only nodding in acknowledgment that they could hear.

Agent Neal opened the manila file on the table all three men were seated at then looked back at the camera. “What I have here is a contract. Signing this, agreeing to this, would bind you all agreements listed. I won’t read all the legal jargon but your lawyer has combed through it meticulously. I’ll get to the gist of it…” he said, trailing off. “We can help each other. You two have landed yourself in quite the situation. We can help you get out of it and get back on U.S. soil as free men.”

Warren noticed Adriel sitting up straight in his seat. “What’s the catch?” asked Adriel, his tone neutral.

Agent Parvis raised his hands up in defense. “No catch but we do need something in return. I won’t sugarcoat this, boys. It’s not going to be easy, nor will it be safe. You could potentially get yourselves killed through this which the United States Government will not be held liable,” he explained.

Warren shook his head, glancing at Adriel who was listening intently.

“Long story short. There’s a criminal we want more than you two combined. Sources inform us that he’s located in Panama which we do not have jurisdiction in. You capture him, dead or alive, and we’ll handle the rest. If you fail, get killed, or anything other than completing this…then the deal is invalid, and we will be within our rights to continue to pursue you and capture you. If you’re interested, name your terms,” finished Agent Neal.

Warren held his finger up, asking for a short moment. He pressed the mute button on the call and placed the phone face down on the ground. “What are you thinking?” he asked Adriel whose face had paled.

Adriel didn’t look at Warren. He had his hands clasped behind his head, his head tilted up towards the ceiling. “I want to go home. I want to take Cataleya home. She deserves it,” was all he said, sighing heavily then glancing at Warren. “I know you want to get back and actually live.”

Warren chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Alright then. I got your back and you got mine,” he told him before picking up the phone again and unmuting the call.

“Full immunity for Warren Cold and myself. My wife, Cataleya, also comes home with full immunity. If I fail or if I am killed…” Adriel started, swallowing hard though his facial expression was stern. “…she still gets to come home, full immunity. I want my criminal record and my brother’s, August Donovan’s, wiped clean. Not even as much as a parking ticket should be on it. Guarantee me that and I’ll sign.”

In the back, Jameson Stanton was writing down the amendments to the contract. He was writing on the document, highlighting and dating the note then looked at the agents who were speaking amongst themselves.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Agent Neal stated.

Warren hadn’t released he was holding his breath until he could visually see Adriel’s shoulders relax out of the corner of his eye. He nodded then glanced through the phone screen at the agents.

“So who are we after?” Warren asked.

There was a smirk that spread across Agent Parvis’ face. He turned the file so he could see the photo of their target. “This is Allan Esteban Hidalgo Jimenez, wanted for human trafficking. Wanted across seven countries, he’s been known target young girls. They range anywhere from ages 11 to 17. He grooms them for profit. Sexual services in nature and also, mules for transporting drugs, often selling to clients. Take him out and we’ll take care of bringing down the entire operation,” stated Agent Parvis.

Adriel immediately recognized the man but didn’t utter a word. He was sick to his stomach, the rage within him starting to fuel the fire.

Warren didn’t acknowledge any of the information being given until the last photo was shown of known associates. There, right before his eyes, was the picture of Julieta. His stomach immediately knotted up, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Of course,” he said, looking at Adriel. “It’s always the fucked up ones that seem to find me.”

The photo of the beautiful woman was Julieta Jimenez, the same girl he had been dancing with months ago at a bar called Tito’s, the night he went out with Adriel in an attempt to bury his grief.

“Fuck me,” was all Warren could say.

#Tw #Sex trafficking tw #Human trafficking tw

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mysharona1987 · 1 year

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#us politics #matt gaetz #kevin mccarthy #cnn #fox news #gop #house of representatives #human trafficking tw #human trafficking #venmo

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 7 months

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Soulmate scene with Alistair. Everything they see before they find each other is dull, even physical touch doesn't feel vibrant. He could meet her at a "ball" where she's being sold labeled as "pure and untouched" their eyes meet and the rest is history for him. For her she's worried because her soulmate is a buyer

one word: OOF

loved this tho, aaaaaaaa

the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screaming color. ―“Out of the Woods”, Taylor Swift

The fact that every single thing in life feels muted, (Name) thinks, might be her saving grace.

It’s keeping her from fighting back; keeping her alive, at least for the time being. Every touch on her skin is dull, like she can feel she’s being touched but sensation itself is missing. Her captors have bathed her, dressed her, bound and caged her, and she can’t describe their touches as positive or negative. They just are.

It means she doesn’t retaliate to stop them, because nothing about this is causing her pain, is it? On the other side of the coin, however, it also means that in her whole life, she’s never felt anything good. Everything seems grey at best. She’s gone through life feeling absolutely nothing, no spark of joy nor weight of sadness. Although she’s felt the hint of those things, or what they should be, nothing has come close to the way she sees other people live once they’ve found their soulmates.

The chattering of the crowd, clinking of wine glasses, and the auctioneer selling off the other ladies might as well be a low hum.

Her attention is only pulled when the footsteps of low-heeled boots approach her cage, followed by the auctioneer addressing whoever is interested. “I see this one has caught your fancy, my lord! Inspect her closer, please, if you wish. She is the best of the quality we can promise you ― pure as the driven snow, beautiful and untainted, a true pinnacle of our offerings this evening.”

“May I?” The other voice is low and smooth, with an undertone of something playful beneath the darkness of anyone who would intend to purchase another human being.

“Why, yes, of course, of course. Please. Make sure she’s to your liking.”

The man who’s interested in her doesn’t hesitate. (Name) can feel his hands behind her head, untying the black lace cloth which blinded her for the auction. When it falls down, she’s staring into the violet eyes of a man who threatens to take her breath away by his very appearance alone. She’s never seen anyone so gorgeous, dressed all in elegant white with soft blonde hair that gathers around his shoulders like a crown of feathers.

What startles her more is that when he puts his hand on her face, she can feel it. It isn’t the dull pressure of knowing that someone is touching her. It’s the texture of his glove, the gentle way he cradles her cheek, the snap of someone being suddenly awaken after walking around dead.

It’s him. The one her heart has been looking for is right here, breathing life into her world with a single touch of his hand.

Who is he? Why is her intended here? What is he doing in a seedy place like this, seeking to buy a person? If he pays the auctioneer for her, if he leads her out of here, what will the next cage he leads her into be like?

For the first time in her life, her emotions are clawing at her chest to get out, a wonderful and terrible mix of fear and adoration.

Those eyes of his stand out more than anything. They sparkle at her like precious jewels, reflecting the same desire that she can feel. The sensations of her, of the rest of the world, are finally taking form for him too. Incredible and overwhelming and threatening to swallow him whole, just as is happening with her.

He seems to fall for her in a single instant. She thinks she could drag him to his knees right now and he would have no complaint. That makes her feel powerful and wanted, but it also frightens her.

Someone so devoted to her after knowing her for just a moment ― what is a man like that capable of? What will he do with her? What will he do?

His touch travels to her neck, tracing delicate lines. He doesn’t appear to want to hurt her, does he? That doesn’t mean he’s harmless. She arches her head back anyway, exposing her throat for him as if he can be trusted with it.

At last, he utters three words that seal her fate: “I’ll take her.”

In the blur that follows, the auctioneer is paid, (Name)’s new owner finishes his wine, and he holds her delicately as he leads her down the stairs. Even though she’s out of her cage, she doesn’t think she’s actually free.

“Come along, lovebird,” he murmurs into her ear. “I can’t wait to get to know the one who lit up my world.”

She isn’t sure what to think; too many new, fully blossomed emotions make her feel like they’re going to burst her open at the seams.

She leans against him regardless, somehow content in his embrace.

He doesn’t seem cruel, at least toward her.

Maybe that’s enough for her heart to settle.

#human trafficking tw #twilightlover2007 #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Aleister #Aleister Chamber #scenario #romantic #soulmate AU #drama #horror #OOF OOF OOF BUT I LOVE IT #one hell of a queue

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rptsyd · 6 months

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i’m going to be really blunt here and it will ruffles a lot of feather. if you write in groups where the plot is based on cartels, even worst existing one like @tonopahvalley, you are racist and disgusting. i know a lot of you don’t understand the impact of cartels in latine lives so let’s put it in perspective.

you wouldn’t write in a group where the plot is based on 9/11. you wouldn’t write in a group where the plot is based on terrorists. you wouldn’t write in a group where the plot is based on a mass shooting. you wouldn’t write in a group based on january 6th.

but you’re okay writing about an organization that partake in human trafficking. but you’re okay writing about an organization that is mostly responsible for the opioids crisis. you’re okay writing about an organization that recruits children into their ranks. you’re okay writing about an organization that rapes women on a daily basis.

cartels are not fiction. they’re something you see in narcos, queen of the south and others and go ‘oh i like the aesthetic of it’. cartels are real and ravaging latin america.

and you want to go tell people who have lost family and friends to cartels that there’s nothing harmful in them? you look at a plot that is based on latine people coming to a white town and invading it and bringing more crime and violence than that poor little white town has ever seen and you’re attracted to that?

do you understand how sick, racist and privileged that is?

#rpt #rape tw #human trafficking tw #drug tw #you know you can use your little brains and come up with your own things #you want to call it creative writing so go creative #mass shooting tw

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kim-poce · 1 year

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Full House/Pet-verse question: How do people become pets? Eri pretty much immediately clocked Day and Night as guard dogs, so were they born for that purpose (how German Shepherds are bred to be attack dogs) or were they rounded up somehow and, because of their size, designated guard dogs and trained accordingly?

BBU Worldbuilding. Heed the warnings.

CW: BBU (boy box universe), pet whump, institutionalized slavery, human trafficking (including children), kidnapping (including children), child abuse in general just to be sure, talks of sex slavery, racism, classism, ableism, noncon body modification (includes mutilation), food control, near death experience, torture, brainwashing, long term captivity, minor whumpee. If I forgot to tag anything PLEASE let me know.

Officially, pets are people who signed up to the facility. There are laws for it; adult applicants must have a witness, underage applicants as young as 12 years old must have the guardian’s permission and at least three witnesses; after a test, the applicant can choose which, from the given option, kind of pet they wish to be. No children under 12 allowed.

Unofficially, there is a lot of illegal human slavery, the consent papers are often fake or forced, and children really young go to the facility often and the register about it is erased.

The facilities avoid illegal acquisition because there are several people against the BBU system, people who jump at them at any given chance. There are however circumstances that makes them more prone to illegal acquisition:

Children: Easier to train and more moldable to whatever the client wants.

Foreign people: Some clients want specific races that do not always come by so they don’t lose a chance when they get one.

Neurodivergent people: Again, some clients have specific tastes.

Pretty people/People with unique features: For obvious reasons.

Training and Customization

The training is personalized both to the client's tastes and to the pet needs. Touch starved pets are sold to not-touching clients, pets allergic to fur are sold to people with no animals and so on.

In matters of customization, well, as long as the client pays, the facility will make ANY body modification asked: tattoos, piercings, removal of vocal cords/eyes/hands/etc, sewing the mouth and make the alimentation integrally IV, and so on. The more hardcore modification the less it is shown to the public.

Another important point is alimentation: To the underaged pets (the ones who are still growing) the alimentation is controlled. Guard dogs's rations are really nutritious and meant to make them big and strong. Lapdogs are feed enough to survive so they can be small and cute. Domestic and General pets are fed in an irregular way so they can work under any circumstances. Romantic Pets are usually also kept small, but the future owner can "customize" them (feed less if small, more if big, if they want the pet thin or fat, hair length, etc).

Guard dogs: Torture with no regard to scarring. Trained in martial arts and weapon use over stamina and strength training. Kept 24/7 with a shock collar and when the client pays enough they are implanted with a kill switch. During training, the torture often gets them in the brink of death, this happens so whoever owns them after it’s “merciful” in comparison, so the pet will see them as a “savior” and don’t try to fight back.

Lapdogs: Trained to be as touch starved as possible. Torture usually leaves little to no scars. fed and touched as little as possible so their owner may be their only source of comfort. The training is usually about being as still as possible, acting cute, identifying tricks and traps and acting as such, and makeup and hairstyle. Also, they learn to undergo pain in silence unless told otherwise.

Romantic Pets: Torture leaves little to no scars. Trained to be silent until told otherwise. Kept touch starved all the time but during sex, they have stamina training, and acting lessons so they look as if they are really enjoying it. Their interaction with everything and everyone in a non-sexual setting is cut so sex can be their only form of comfort and contact with other people. Training includes long periods of torture with no apparent reason, where the pet is kept in constant pain, the pain only stops during sex training so they make the realtion of “no sex=pain.”

Domestic Pets: Torture with no regard to scarring. Punished for every sound they make. Not allowed to talk until said otherwise, choke collar activated by speech (and it is kept on n moment they are obligated to speak so even allowed words hurt). Training includes cleaning and cooking lessons, made to overwork with little to no food, hours and hours of repetitive tasks.

General pets: Torture with medium scarring. Usually they sign up as adults and aren’t conventionally attractive so they go into basic training for all types of pets and are sold at a cheaper price.

The Full House pets:

If you want to know about other's series pets, please ask.

Beige: He is a Domestic Pet who voluntarily signed up when he was a young adult. He had no family.

Pink: He is a Lapdog who voluntarily signed himself when he was a teen. The money went to his father. One trainer tried to make him into a Romantic Pet but the facility didn’t allow him to.

Purple: He is a Lapdog who was forcibly sold by his uncle when he was a teen, it was so he would protect his brother. Money went to his uncle.

Day: He is a Guard Dog who was kidnapped when he was a really young child. No one got the money. He was meant to be a lapdog at first (he was cute) but he grew up too much so his alimentation and training was changed.

Night: He was kidnapped in his teens for political reasons and made to be a guard dog because they couldn't tame him enough to make him a Romantic pet.

Little One: He is a Lapdog who was sold by his parents as a young child. Training was customized so the “ugly” autistic traits were not shown and the “cute” ones were encouraged. At first they tried to make him touch starved, and since it didn’t work, they made him a dancer. Was meant to be sold to a non-touching owner but his first mistress wanted to “fix him,” she signed a document declaring she was aware that she was buying a touch repulsed pet and took responsibility for any defects about it.

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tired-fandom-ndn · 2 years

Note

Did you just call adoption "trafficking"? Wow. Way to water down the meaning of the word.

Adoption is in fact a very common form of human trafficking, something that is acknowledged by every refutable organization that studies trafficking.

Children, especially children of color from impoverished areas, are stolen from their families (sometimes through legal systems like the American foster system and sometimes through outright kidnapping) and essentially sold to wealthy families (usually white Christians in the West) who want an exotic baby, either for the trophy of it or to "save" a brown child from a "savage" and "uncivilized" life. Taking children from Native families and giving them to white families was a huge part of the early American foster system specifically designed to remove them from their cultures.

Adoption tourism is another form of this, where wealthy white people travel to other countries, mainly in East Asia and Africa, to adopt children. There's also another more recent form of adoption trafficking where refugee and immigrant families are separated at borders and the children are "temporarily" adopted and then their birth families have to fight viciously to get them back.

The global adoption industry is literally built on child trafficking and this isn't new information, it's something that's been discussed for decades, by trafficking organizations and government officials and adoption industry workers and even by adoptees who have no connection to their birth families and cultures.

#human trafficking tw #anonymous

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percywinchester27 · 2 years

Text

The new Mrs. Winchester (4)

Word count: 3.2K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Mentions of death, kidnapping, human trafficking; PTSD, forced marriage, fluff if you squint

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Things are getting interesting ;)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23 you’re the best!

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“My aunt Mabel’s jaw hit the ground. I could hear it from across the yard,” laughed Abby, fluffing up the pillows. “She hasn’t seen silk like that in her life.”

After much persuasion, Abby had borrowed a cocktail dress from your wardrobe for her cousin’s wedding. You had sorely missed her, realising only after her leaving just how dependent you had grown of her unassuming nature, soft humming, and reassuring company.

“I bet you looked great,” you offered, fluffing up your side of the pillows.

Abby tried to pull them out of your reach, fussing about you doing her work, but you jumped up and sat on the pillows. She could not see what lay underneath them.

“You’re too much sometimes,” she admonished, putting the pillows back in their place and moving to the sheets. “What did I miss while I was gone?”

“Nothing really. They held this boring party hosted in the gallery. Bunch of douchebags, donating to what they think is a cause.” A similar pattern had followed. Meeting Sam outside the gallery, placing your hand on his arm and then trying to smile and look pretty among rich people. Sam had barely paid attention. Despite all your anger, you couldn’t stop peeking at him during the event, taking in his collected, calm persona to see if even a flicker had changed since the ballroom… since the dress incident. It hadn’t. And after the bitterness of his steady indifference had faded enough, that evening, you paid attention to his words- to what was actually being said beyond that irresistible voice.

Of one thing you were certain, Sam was exceptionally smart. He knew exactly what to say to whom to get what he wanted. And he was funny… if he wanted to be. One time he’d so subtly taunted a man, without him realising it and a snicker had burst forth from your lips, one you had tried to mask as a cough. That had been the only moment to have elicited any kind of reaction from him. Sam had almost looked at you.

“These rich people think they own the world,” muttered Abby. “But my now jawless aunt Mabel could take them down with half a punch. It’s all pretty, no push.”

Sam had it all but; pretty and push. You chastised yourself for even thinking that way. By now, you had half of his face memorised, the only part visible from your place at his side. And that half was–

“You keep doing that, miss,” Abby interrupted your thought.

You blinked. “Do what?”

She rapped on the table before her. “This tapping.” knock knock knock her knuckles went.

A pinch in your chest.

“It’s morse code. I often end up tapping out loud what I’m thinking.”

Abby was fascinated, her big brown eyes wide with interest as she came to sit by you. “Can you do my name?”

Laughing, you did it for her… knock pat. pat knock knock knock. pat knock knock knock. pat knock pat pat.

She clapped her hands, giggling in wonder. She made you do your name, and the names of her sibling and full sentences. When she asked you what you’d been tapping out right before, you changed the subject, not willing to tell her it was ‘pretty and push.’

“Where did you learn it?”

Leaning back against the fluffed cushions, you reminisced, “My dad taught me. Military man, you know? We used to converse fluently in morse. It’s how he wished me goodnight…”

In the cell, with nothing to keep you entertained in the day, you had made a habit of converting your favourite songs into morse just to keep yourself sane. Tapping out thoughts had become second nature now.

“I see you’ve moved on from drawing in the library to actually picking up books,” said Abby, eyeing the book on your nightstand.

“I love Wordsworth!” You said, ignoring her good-natured jibe. “You don’t love him, Abby?”

She shrugged. “Never went to school, Miss. My mother taught me to read and write out of the Bible.”

“Oh, Abby, you would love poetry! I just know it… but you kinda seem like a Tennyson girl to me… or Shelley. I don’t know… you’re very romantic.”

“Whatever would give you that idea, now?” She mumbled lowering her head to hide her face. “I’d like to understand poetry, but I don’t think I’m smart enough.”

You held out the book to her. “Poetry doesn’t require a brain so much as it requires a heart. You’ll love the twelfth poetry in the collection. It’s called ‘We are seven.”

Abby furrowed her brow, skeptic.

“Just read it will you?”

She tucked the book under her arm and then left you with the promise of seeing you after the big dinner; another event in a long line of events to introduce the new Mrs. Winchester. Jack had mentioned that this one was bound to be much more informal. Just extended family, friends, and such.

Braving a look into the wardrobe, you pulled out the peach cocktail dress Abby had worn for the wedding. With its flowy sleeves and an A-line silhouette, the dress would be perfectly understated for the evening. The lace and skimpy silk at the back of the wardrobe didn’t scare you anymore. For the most part, you forgot that it existed. Without bothering with any make-up or an elaborate hair-do, you pulled a scarf over your shoulders and exited your room. The strike of eight found you standing next to the dining-room door. Sam hadn’t waited for you tonight, he was already seated inside at the head of the wide table. The chair on his left was occupied by Bobby Singer of all people, and they seemed to be in a serious conversation. Bobby was throwing his hands up in exasperation before a resigned look came over his face. Sam simply shook his head, and to your surprise, Bobby thumped his hand on Sam’s shoulder. A singular gesture of informality you had ever seen anyone display towards him.

Then something weirder happened. Ellen walked into the room and both men straightened up immediately. She threw a look of absolute contempt in Sam’s direction and took a seat beside her husband. More people followed her, filling up the chairs- faces you remembered now- but not names. Two seats to Sam’s left were unoccupied and though it was obvious which one you were supposed to fill in, you let the one next to him remain empty and chose the other. If he wanted to dictate where you sat, he could damn well open his own mouth and tell you so himself.

Sam looked up, right at you, for the first time meeting your gaze evenly. You waited for a snapped command to get up and sit next to him, a spat of derision or something. Nothing came. Instead, he held your gaze for a long moment, and captivated, you didn’t break it. His eyes were speckled with a bit of gold, and it fascinated you. No, you stared back at his face, into those eyes, as if the chance might never occur again. He might never glance at you again.

A voice called his attention, and Sam looked away, leaving you with the horrid backlash of whatever had just happened. And God, you hated yourself for letting him have any kind of power over you, especially that kind of power. If he’d had power over your body, you could have lived with that. It would have made you hate him so, so much… but whatever this was that he held over you now? It just made you hate yourself.

The table was already full by then and to your surprise, the last seat was taken up by Castiel. Sam rose up elegantly, a glass of champagne in his hand. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence. We had a rushed wedding and didn’t have the opportunity to invite family, hers or mine,” he said with a tilt in your direction. “I thought it would be best for her to meet the people who are family or as good as one.” He glanced at Bobby and Ellen. The former acknowledged it with a nod, the latter didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Sam proceeded to introduce his cousins, Christian, Gwen, Tyler and Mark Campbell. A few more of the Campbells couldn’t attend. He then gestured at a woman, Pamela Barnes, who worked with Sam, followed by Castiel. Both of them smiled at you. Four more people sat on your side of the table before Sam introduced Bobby and Ellen.

“You all, of course, know my lovely wife,” he said. "The feast is in her honour."

Regarding you once more, he held up the champagne flute. “To you.”

Low murmurs followed all around and you briefly caught the words ‘you’ and ‘Mrs. Winchester’ thrown in the air.

Every bit of you wanted to launch yourself at Sam Winchester and hit him in the chest, claw his face, hurt him any way you could for suffocating you with those words. ‘Whore’ would have hurt less than ‘lovely.’ He knew exactly what you were, and because of that, the pretence of his pleasantries was twisting your insides, making you want to throw up right there on the fancy tablecloth.

“Honey, are you okay?”

Ellen gave you a motherly smile of real concern. You didn’t miss the desperation behind it. “Why don’t you come to the powder room with me and we can touch up that make-up, yeah?”

You couldn’t follow her because she would ask you questions you couldn’t answer. But on the other hand, you could ask her questions that she wouldn’t hesitate to answer the way everyone else around here would. You wanted to ask her why Sam was the way he was, and so much more about the house and the disappearances. But banking on the pain of a grieving mother would make you the low-life creature Sam Winchester treated you to be. And that wouldn’t do.

“Thank you, Mrs. Singer,” you replied, putting as much gratefulness as you could in every word. “But I’m good for now.”

She nodded as if she had expected your reply, no matter how hard she wished it had been different.

The servers came in and loaded the plates with dishes whose names you didn’t know, and conversation flowed around you. You pretended to study the pretty chinaware but noted every word passing around you. Though the banter appeared lively at first glance, a deep-seated sense of animosity lurked just underneath the surface, side-eyes sneaked their way out of superfluous conversations, and the teasing bordered on sharp taunts. Clearly, none of these people liked each other. Sam mostly conversed in a low voice with Bobby, and on occasion with the dark-haired woman, Pamela Barnes, who now sat between you and him, having moved seats with Castiel mid-dinner.

Martha had outdone herself with the food, but you couldn’t swallow more than one bite. Because as the minutes ticked, an invisible rope tightened itself around your neck, choking you, cutting into the windpipe. You wanted to be anywhere but here; out of this brightly lit, beautifully decorated, and lavishly furnished dining room. Looking at the details on the wall or the mouldings on the chair did not help today, and you felt more alone and humiliated here than in your dingy cell in a pimp’s basement.

Sliding your hand under the table, you took a deep breath and began tapping on the underside…

knock pat.

knock knock knock. knock knock. pat pat. knock pat pat knock. knock pat knock knock. knock

pat knock pat knock. knock knock knock knock. knock knock. knock pat knock knock. pat knock knock.

A simple Child,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

The taps were light and easily lost in the clinks of forks and chimes of glasses. If someone had still managed to notice, it could very easily be passed off as a nervous tick, a force of habit. But it eased the noose around your neck, made it possible to breathe without feeling as if you were inhaling sawdust.

Slowly, you made it through the poem, stanza by stanza, adding a rhythm to the beats

“But they are dead; those two are dead!

Their spirits are in heaven!”

’Twas throwing words away; for still

The little Maid would have her will,

And said, “Nay, we are seven!”

Just when you were basking in the sensation, in the ability to draw in air, another tapping caught your attention. You almost missed the first letter in your astonishment, but maybe you didn’t, because the taps clearly spelt out: W-O-R-D-S-W-O-R-T-H-?

Whipping your head from one side of the table to the other, you scanned every face, but none was turned to you, none was out of a conversation. The many hands under the table and on the laps made it practically impossible to figure out who it was.

Cautiously, you tapped back: Y-E-S

Alert now, you paid attention to everyone on the table, Gwen and Tyler sharing an old story, Pamela talking quietly to Castiel, Bobby with Ellen, rest all finishing their desserts. Who on earth could it have been?

You wouldn’t find out, because the next moment Sam cleared his throat, thanking everyone for their presence on both of your behalves. No one expected a word from you… they all probably knew how much of a trophy wife you were.

The guests left at their own pace, with Bobby and Ellen last to leave. Sam reached out to her, but she simply turned and left, only waiting to give you an encouraging, pitying smile. Bobby followed her out with a nod at Sam and then another at you.

That left just you and Sam in the room, for the first time ever. Alone.

Your heart started thudding in your chest as the seconds ticked by. But you refused to meet his gaze, terrified of what could happen if you did, of getting locked in place again by his eyes like before. The way the air itself thickened around you when he was this near had you balling your fists. disgusted at your own self.

It had been a night of too many ‘firsts,’ and none that you were prepared for. Least of all this. Sam didn’t move and he might have been looking at you, but you didn’t raise your head, didn’t take your eyes off his long, graceful fingers resting on the edge of the table. Then, without waiting for him to say a word, you stormed off, breaking into a run when you reached the corridor and up the stairs.

Fully dressed, you threw yourself on the bed, staring up at the canopy and the pretty gold pattern on the crimson fabric. Somewhere out there was something so precious that to protect it, you had allowed yourself to be defiled in every way possible, allowed men to abuse your body and your mind. For that preciousness, you had mustered all your strength and protected your spirit with it. But your very soul was fraying now… in what felt to be a permanent kind of way. Abby knocked on the door later in the evening just as she had promised, but you didn’t reply, didn’t open the door for her.

The tightness in your chest wouldn’t go away.

Laying there, you thought of everything that had happened in your life to lead you to this exact moment– your dad’s love for you and his unwavering love for his job, aunt Ethel’s drunken screaming and her sober reassurances of your bright future, Carmen’s fierce protectiveness and your cursed stupidity for trusting the monster you called your boyfriend. No, those things had led you to be abducted and then sold into prostitution, auctioned off like a piece of meat to the highest bidder and then tied to head-posts of too many beds. But those things didn’t hold you here. Two pairs of soft brown eyes did. Two little kids who deserved to live, who didn’t know they were being held at gunpoint because they were in any way related to you. When Abby had mentioned her siblings, you had longed to tell her that you knew exactly how it felt to be the older one, to feel that kind of protectiveness. You couldn’t because their lives depended on your quiet.

You had managed to run away in that first week, and apart from the pins in your heel and lashes on your back, another gift had been bestowed upon you when you were caught. A picture of your siblings, taken a day prior.

Reaching behind, you pulled it out from under your pillow; two smiling faces, holding each other’s hands as they headed to school. That one square piece of paper had taken all fight out of you. What would be the point? Where was the escape?

You could of course kill yourself, but then who would look after them? You didn’t make any money, but Michael had been clear in between his insults about how his boss was paying for their education. Michael had drilled it in your head that as gratefulness, you should be more inclined to work between the sheets. Besides, one day you would be too old, too hideous to look at, and maybe instead of killing you they might throw you out on the streets and you would get to be with your family again. You were willing to endure for that slim chance. You had to… they had no one else.

And that’s why you were looking up at the golden embroidery, that’s why you tried to find smiles in Abby’s stories and Jack’s chatter, that’s why you had let the man in the woods see you back to the house.

That’s why you endured Sam Winchester.

I do it for you, dad, you thought. I do it for your family and your words.

I do it because of your words.

I-T-S G-O-I-N-G T-O B-E O-K-A-Y. Y-O-U-L-L B-E F-I-N-E you tapped into the wall behind you. I-T-S G-O-I-N-G T-O B-E O-K-A-Y. Y-O-U-L-L B-E F-I-N-E

You closed your eyes and you could almost feel his dry kiss at your temple and the way his fingers knocked the bedpost to wish you good night. Word by word you tapped it on the wall

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S

And then, like a fevered dream, in the silence that followed came another series of taps on the wall from the other side. Just like earlier, at first, you almost missed it. But no forks clinked and no glasses chimed. In the darkness and absolute quiet of the night, the taps from the other side emanated clearly:

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T T-O Y-O-U T-O-O

Two things were abundantly clear. One, the wall in the middle was much, much thinner than you gave it credit for, which meant that all your tapping, all the noises, had been received perfectly and clearly on the other side. Two, he’d understood every single word of it.

*****************************

A/N 2: I told you that things are getting interesting, didn’t I? *wink* *wink*

Also, ya girl is really sick. Like 103 degree fever sick. Please consider leaving a comment to make her feel better? *pleading eyes emoji*

Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

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#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam love club #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester x you #sam x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x y/n #reader x sam winchester #Ana writes Sam #anawrites #anawritesspn #Ana writes tnmw #tnmw4 #kidnapping tw #human trafficking tw #q

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