#728501

[ocean-blue-whump]

728501: Intake Paperwork

Template designed by the lovely @ashintheairlikesnow! Thank you so so much for creating this!

Sunny + Star Masterlist

CW: BBU/pet whump

***

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 11.17.XXXX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: [REDACTED]

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 011, SACRAMENTO, CA, USA

SUBJECT: 728501

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Marlow Lancaster

AGE: 18

DATE OF BIRTH: 01.03.XXXX

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Green

HEIGHT: 5′7″

WEIGHT: 135 lbs

SEXUALITY: Unknown

DESIGNATION: Guard Dog

KNOWN SKILLS: [REDACTED]

HOBBIES: Personal belongings indicated interest in music and reading.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject attempted to attack Handlers upon intake. Other concerns are [REDACTED]

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Unknown

OTHER KNOWN FAILY: Unknown

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: [REDACTED]

ACQUISITION DETAILS: [REDACTED]

ASSIGNED HANDLER: Devin Greco, Senior Handler, Guard Dog Division

CONTRACT SIGNED: [REDACTED]

SIGNATURE [REDACTED]

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: [REDACTED]

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: [REDACTED]

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $350,000 USD

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE: [REDACTED]

ADDED FEES: [REDACTED]

CURRENT LOCATION: [REDACTED]

REQUESTED TRAINING: [REDACTED]

COMMENTS: [REDACTED]

Note from management: Handler Greco, please refrain from making inappropriate comments on intake paperwork. 

Addendum 02.25.XX - see intake paperwork for 690236 and Incident Report 02.25.XX. This paperwork is no longer valid. 728501 is now under the Romantic Division.

[painful-pooch]

Cas and the Lamb: 2

This is a collaboration project with @ocean-blue-whump!!! 501 (Star) is a delight to have Cas meet and she is amazing not to mention so wonderful to whump. This is canon for both Star and Cas' story.

Sunny + Star Masterlist || Cas tag

[Part 1] [Next]

Tagging the Star crew and the Cas crew! @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @marshs-whump-blog @whumper-in-training

CW: pet whump, BBU, facility whump, fluff with a spicy mix of angst, and dehumanisation

~~~~~~

Cas hesitates to keep rubbing her back and holds her softly to him. "Good... I try not to be scary. The scar over me eye is a bit overwhelming at times, aye?” He chuckles a little. "Me biggest fear is to have people scared of me." They tell me no one wants to be around a beast.

“Don’t scar the face,” she murmurs, seemingly in a haze. “People are scared of me. I don’t like it.”

"Shhhh, I won't... never." He feels his heart crack at her words. He can’t bring himself to hurt anyone really. "I'm not scared of ye. Not one bit, ye wee lil lamb."

“Do I look much like a lamb to you?” she says with a casual smirk.

Cas raises a brow and offers her one of his all time best wolfy grins. "The most wee lamb I've ever seen, lassie." I want to see ye smile more, Lass.

“I could…knock you flat on your ass.” She laughs, proud of herself with her joke. He rolls his eyes and laughs, holding her a little tighter and shaking her playfully. "Ye probably damn well could, lamby. I'd still be laughing."

“I’m not that pathetic!”

"No, but I am!" He taps her nose with a gentle touch. "Yer laugh is adorable."

501 smiles. “You don’t act like a Guard Dog. And that’s fucking amazing.”

"Because I'm not a dog. I may be treated like one, aye, but look at me. I'm a scoundrel," he chuckles. "Ye are amazing too. Don't think ye aren't. Ye are smilin' an' laughin'!" He tilts her head up with a finger under her chin. "If you ever get sad, remember ol' Cas and think of this moment, aye?"

“But I’m a dog.” She looks up at Cas, biting her lip. “I’m their pet. Means I’m not amazing. Means I’m not what you think I am.”

"No, ye are human. Ye are yerself and that is what makes ye special." Cas keeps his eyes on her and smiles sadly. "Ye are right. Ye are not what I think ye are. Ye. Are. More. I can't give ye meaning because ye are already so meaningful. And I promise that no matter how much time passes, I won't forget ye, yer laugh, or yer warmth."

“You’ve known me for five minutes,” 501 grumbles. “How can you be so sure?”

"Would you forget me in the five minutes ye’ve known me?" He retorts with a tilt of his head and a grin. "Also I'm sure because I can read people well enough to know ye are greater than even me."

“I’m worried that they’ll make me forget,” she whispers. “You’re the only person to have shown kindness to me since I woke up…here. I’m not better than you. I’m not better than anyone. I don’t matter.” Still, she buries herself further into the blankets and Cas’s arms.

"And I'll be there to remind ye hopefully... to make ye remember that there is good," he breathes out, his eyes softening so much for her. He truly does care for her in the short time he has known her. He holds her tighter and makes sure to keep her warm. "Ye matter. Yer life is precious. One of a kind just like me. And yer soul... is brighter than a supernova."

“I don’t believe you. What—“ She nervously twists around a piece of her hair. “What do you want from me in return for this?”

The question throws him for a spin. "What do ye mean? Like... a price for me kindness?" He is confused but he shakes his head. "I want ye to smile and laugh more. That's all. And if that isn't possible... hope. Hope that life will get better."

“I don’t have a life. I live to serve my owner.” 501 cringes at her own words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s normally…a price.”

"Not for me. Me affection is free and true. Genuine. I'd never sway ye like that for sadistic amusement. Plus, hugs and cuddles are awesome!" He cackles, trying to cheer her up. "Those are their words, not yers. Ye don’t really want to serve anyone."

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I fucked up again, didn’t I?”

"No, ye did what ye were taught. I can't be upset. I'm more saddened by it," he answers her in an even tone. He knows better than to truly be upset. "It's okay. Ye are safe with me."

“You’re too nice to me.” She hums and closes her eyes, leaning fully against Cas.

"And ye are too wonderful not to be nice to." He can protect her if it means fighting a handler. That is what they wanted right? He is non violent until something in his head clicked to protect. He can defend her until he can't. "Ye look tired... go to sleep. If ye want I could sing or hum a lullaby me mother sang to me–- at least I think she did." He can’t remember his mother. He knows he has one, or maybe had one. The song is still there. They can’t take it away from him. He still has his music to keep him company.

“Okay, sounds…sounds nice. I’ll try not to wake up screaming.”

Cas lets her get comfortable in his arms as his eyes finally settle on the door. He won’t let them hurt her... "Shhh, just breathe and let the waves of sleep take ye, lil lamb." He quietly hums a bit before his melodic voice takes over, his thumb rubbing against her shoulder rhythmically.

“Little lamb? I don’t know what she’s told you, but she sure as hell isn’t a little lamb.” A Handler stands in the doorway, arms crossed across his chest. Cas feels a sense of dread overwhelm him but his eyes show his protective nature coming out. He won’t let the Handler hurt her.

[celeboftea]

New Post has been published on Getmybuzzup - http://getmybuzzup.com/real-sports-with-bryant-gumbel-episode-238-topical-promo-hbo-sports/ - Real Sports with Bryant Gumbel: Episode #238 Topical Promo (HBO Sports) - http://getmybuzzup.com/?p=728501 - Please Share

[ocean-blue-whump]

Safehouse, Night One

Follows this

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Tagging - @ashintheairlikesnow @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds @justplainwhump @whumpfessional

CW: BBU/WRU, mention of character death, mention of malnutrition

***

Comet stares down at Star, watching the small, timid Domestic pet finish taping down her IV and scurry out of the room without another word. She looks so…small and frail in the twin sized bed, an IV connected to a clear bag with antibiotics in her arm and her hair still damp from the rain. He sees her, sees how skinny she is, and he hates Hunter even more from taking the girl and breaking her apart. 

Dane clears his throat, setting down a microwave meal on the other twin bed in the room. “That was Lila…she was trained by WRU to assist her owner’s medical needs. I don’t like to use her for that, but she’s been out of the system long enough that she sees it as paying her rent here.” He chuckles a little, sitting in the chair next to Star. His hand reaches out, and Comet doesn’t know he’s snarling until Dane puts his hands up. “Easy, big guy. I was just going to fix the blanket. She’ll get cold otherwise.”

“No men. No touching.” Comet doesn’t feel the need to say much more than that. He kneels beside the bed, reverently folding the sheets up to her shoulders. Already, she’s getting a little color back in her cheeks, and her pulse seems a little stronger. 

“Okay. We can work out dressing her and bandage changes tomorrow.” Dane gestures to the tray. “You should eat something. You can’t do much for her if you’re starving yourself. Eat and we can talk. You didn’t say much in the car.” 

Comet glances over at the food, frowning at it, but his stomach rumbles. Shit. He probably should eat something…he doesn’t get off the floor, but he does grab the tray and starts eating as quickly as he can so no one can take the food from him. 

Dane keeps his hands visible, watching Comet carefully. “Do you two have names?”

Comet swallows his last bite of food and sets the tray down. “156338, Comet, Guard Dog. 728501, Star, Romantic.” He points at both of them respectively as he talks. 

“You don’t…need to use numbers or designations here. And you can call yourself whatever name you’d like. You’re not limited to the choices of your owner here.” Dane’s eyes linger on the scars on Star’s face. “Supposedly, there are laws that stop these awful people from hurting you all too much. It’s illegal to brand or starve or horrifically beat WRU…products over a long period of time, but if you have enough money, you can get away with anything. You two have been through a lot, haven’t you?”

“She’s part of a bonded pair. Our owner killed her bonded. He slammed his head into a wall.” It slips out before Comet can stop it, and he regrets it immediately. This man is a stranger, they can’t trust him. 

Dane sucks in a breath. “Oh. I’m…so sorry. That must have been awful.” 

“I failed. It was my job to control them and prevent them from irritating him, and I failed. Now he’s dead.” Comet still wants to cry, but he can’t. He just sees Sunny lying on the floor, and that kills him. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Comet’s head jerks up, and he stares right at Dane with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“You were all victims of WRU. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your owner was a cruel and vindictive man. And before you argue with me…you’re a runaway. You broke training and ran away for some reason, so I know he didn’t treat you right.”

“I ran because he was killing her too!” Comet shouts, standing up and feeling so defensive all of a sudden. “He was supposed to be doing the right thing for us all, but he killed Sunny and he started torturing Star even worse than he used to! I couldn’t watch her die!”

“Hey. It’s okay. I believe you and you did the right thing.” Dane stands up too, and Comet notices how he favors his left leg. “You ran to save her, which was good, and you didn’t go to a hospital because they would have taken you both back to WRU or to your owner. This is the safest place for you both right now. We can keep a close eye on her, and while she heals, you can think about what you both want to do next. Of course…you don’t have to stay if you’re so insistent on not trusting anyone. I can’t keep you here.”

Comet rests his hand atop Star’s head. “I go where she goes. We are not bondeds, but…”

“You have to take care of her. I get it. That’s why there’s two beds in here, and a change of clothes in the wardrobe. I don’t know what size you are…and you probably don’t either, so when we figure it out, I’ll go to Goodwill and grab you and her some more things to wear.”

“Thank you,” Comet murmurs. “I appreciate it.” 

Dane nods once and heads to the door, lingering in the doorframe. “Tomorrow will be a little crazy. It seems like you don’t enjoy talking much, but you might have to answer some questions. It ain’t just me here running one house of rescued folks like yourself. There’s a whole network of us…and we can give you as much help as you want. I’ll explain it tomorrow. You’re not alone, Comet. Good night.” 

Comet watches the man go before he turns his attention back to Star. He sees her through Dane’s eyes for a moment, sees this awfully injured, scarred up thing, and he doesn’t like it very much. She’s still asleep, but he wants to see her shine again. “And you’re not alone, Star,” he whispers, kissing her head. “Stay alive. I still need you.”

He climbs into the bed next to her, shutting the light and lying there in the dark. What did he get himself into…and he wonders if Hunter is lying in bed too, missing them, or if he’s already moved on and found new pets that are better than they ever were. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

690236: Intake Paperwork

Template by @ashintheairlikesnow! 

Sunny and Star Masterlist

CW: BBU/pet whump, references to Romantics and future noncon

***

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 02.20.XXXX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 3:02 P.M.

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 011, SACRAMENTO, CA, USA

SUBJECT: 690236

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Lorenzo Whitlock

AGE: 21

DATE OF BIRTH: 05.11.XXXX

HAIR: Blonde

EYES: Blue

HEIGHT: 5′11″

WEIGHT: 170 lbs

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

DESIGNATION: Romantic

KNOWN SKILLS: Subject has partial college education. Subject referred to a reasonable history of prior sexual experiences.

HOBBIES: Subject discussed interest in painting and drawing.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject appears to demonstrate signs of clinical depression. Monitor for escalating behavior. 

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Edward Whitlock, father. Fiorella Whitlock, mother.

OTHER KNOWN FAILY: Subject mentioned cousins, but due to emotional distress, was unable to give details. 

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Voluntary. Subject had attended WRU information sessions prior to walk-in. 

ACQUISITION DETAILS: Subject called in advance and showed up at the acquisition office. Subject was well dressed, but appeared tired. Subject had dried paint on his hands. 

ASSIGNED HANDLER: James Hanford, Senior Handler, Romantic Division

CONTRACT SIGNED: 02.20.XXXX

SIGNATURE PROVIDED WITH ASSISTANCE. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELING OF “RELIEF” AFTER SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELINGS OF TIREDNESS AND HUNGER COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELINGS OF FEAR COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS.

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Lorenzo Whitlock

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Handler James Hanford, Badge #1007. Attorney Sarah Beth Lodge, WRU Legal Counsel.

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $300,000 USD

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE: $600,000 USD

ADDED FEES: $50,000 MASOCHISM, [REDACTED]

CURRENT LOCATION: Training Room 004, post-contract signing

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

COMMENTS: He’s pretty. Very pretty. He has this quiet elegance, and his eyes make it look like he’s always begging. He’ll make someone very, very happy. - James Hanford

Addendum 02.25.XX - see Incident Report 02.25.XX and new paperwork on 728501, filed by James Hanford. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

501′s Profiling

For @whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 15 - Hidden Injuries

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Sunny and Star Crew: @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @painful-pooch - let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: pet whump, BBU, facility whump, lady whump, nonsexual partial nudity, dehumanization, possesive whumper

***

“Lift in three…two…one.” Devin Greco lifts up one side of 728501 while another Guard Dog handler, Analyn Reyes, grabs the other side of her. Together, they move the trainee onto a metal table, her pale skin almost sickly in the harsh lighting. Greco looks down at her, smirking. “You’re good, Analyn. I don’t need you anymore.”

“I want to stay,” Analyn says, her voice smooth. She moves to stand by the wall. “You’ve talked so much shit about how you got this trainee, I want to see what’s under the surface.”

“We’re lucky she’s drugged.” Greco starts stripping 501 down to her undergarments. “Since you’re here, grab the clipboard and start taking notes.” 

When he’s got 501 out of her clothes, his eyes go wide. “Holy fuck.” 501’s got some scars on her, some injuries that he didn’t find during intake, hidden by that stupid baggy shirt she was wearing when he grabbed her. She’s only been at WRU for two days, not long enough for all the marks to heal, and certainly not long enough for some of these scars to fade. 

“What?” Analyn asks. 

Greco gives her a long look. “You can come see, but don’t get too handsy.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to get too close to the fucking mutt,” Analyn says, walking back over. “Holy shit.”

Greco smirks. “Told you. Alright, let’s get this started before she wakes up and starts trying to bite. Hands are—”

“Start from the head and work down,” Analyn says. “Head, neck, torso, arms, legs.”

He glares at her. “Fine.” He turns all of his attention back to the pet on the table, reaching out to push her brown hair out of her face with his gloved hands, already planning her next punishment. “Tiny, tiny scar on her right temple. Practically unnoticeable.”

“Got it,” Analyn says. 

“Nose is crooked by…not much. Maybe half a degree. Shouldn’t be noticeable to any perspectives. Hell, I think it gives the kid some character.”

“Leave the personal comments out of it,” Analyn says. 

Greco rolls his eyes. Analyn Reyes is a good Guard Dog Handler, but she’s all protocol, no fun. Doesn’t bend the rules, not even with something like 501. The rules are meant to be broken when it comes to a feral, gorgeous mutt like her. “Faint scar on cheekbone, bruise on jaw,” he calls out. “My girl’s a spitfire.”

“Your girl is going to be a fucking menace, based on what you’ve told me so far.” Analyn taps her pen against the clipboard. “Need me to take the collar off so you can look at her neck?”

“No. I saw it when she came in. There’s nothing there.”

“You mean when you had her tied to a chair for days trying to see to see if she would break.”

“I’m glad she didn’t,” Greco murmurs, tracing his fingers across the trainee’s shoulders, admiring the strong muscles there. “I’m going to make her crumble into a million different pieces so I can be the one to tape her back together.” He pulls his hand away, only to slap her across the face. 

Analyn makes a face, seemingly annoyed. “Next thing?”

“Worried she’s going to wake up?” He shoots her a smug smirk. “I want to see what the kid was hiding from me during intake. All the damage that this body has taken.” He runs his gloved hands down her torso, lingering on a wicked two inch long scar, tiny dots from stitches on either side. “Well, hello there,” he says, running his hand over where the scar divots into her skin. “Kid got stabbed.”

Analyn looks over. “Seems like it.”

Greco’s eyes lock back onto the sleeping face of 501. “What else are you hiding, Marlow?”

“728501,” Analyn corrects. 

“Does it matter? I like knowing her name. Makes it so much better looking at her now.”

“Anything else on the torso?”

“Relax, Analyn.” Greco puts his thumb against 501’s lip, parting them. “I think she’d look amazing with some metal fangs.”

“Greco. Irrelevant.”

Greco shrugs. “Not to me.” He pulls his finger away from her lips, tracing her arms. “Few faint scars on the arms, looks to be shallow knife wounds. Her knuckles are bruised, but I guess I already knew that.”

Analyn makes the notes quickly, and Greco moves onto her legs. “A few various knife wounds on the legs. Nothing much. But damn. She’s muscular.”

“Already knew that.” Analyn frowns. “Flip her over.”

Greco eases his arms underneath the sleeping trainee and rolls her onto her stomach. What he sees makes him stop in his tracks, makes anger cloud his vision, his mind roaring with thunder. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Oh, *shit.*” Analyn keeps tapping her pencil against the clipboard. “How…”

501 has a massive bruise spanning most of her back, a combination of purple and angry red, swollen up from her skin. Greco gingerly reaches his hand to touch it, feeling how warm it is. It’s almost like 501 was attacked by a wild animal, thrown into the wall over and over again. If she hadn’t been walking this morning, Greco would have assumed something was broken. 

“How did this happen?” Analyn asks, her voice hushed. 

Greco’s still trying to figure that himself, running through all possible options in his head. It couldn’t have happened today, he hasn’t left his girl alone—

He went home last night and left her under Handler Robinson’s care. “That *bitch,*” he hisses, pulling out his phone and calling her. 

“What?” She answers in a bored tone. 

“What the fuck did you do to my dog?”

“She jumped at me. So I had one of my trainees teach her a fucking lesson.”

“No. Fuck that. She could beat the shit out of all your trainees.” Greco’s vision is going red at the edges, he can barely breathe. “Tell me the truth, Analyn, or I swear to fuck…” Greco’s got plenty of influence around here, just as much as Willow, but he has more…connections than her. 

“I’m telling you the truth. I had one of my trainees use her back as a punching bag while she was tied up and muzzled.”

“Who gave you permission to do that to her?”

“I have seniority over you, Greco. And she’s fine.” 

The line goes dead, and Greco stares at his phone, seething. “That bitch.”

Analyn snickers. “She had it coming.”

Greco stares at her “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll note this in the injury report.”

“The bitch mutt fucking hid this from me, too.” Greco grabs 501 by the back of her hair and yanks her head back. “Oh, kid. I’m going to teach you one hell of a lesson when you wake up.”

“I’ll forward this information over,” Analyn says. 

“And find out which one of Willow’s mutts did this to my girl.”

She gives him the middle finger. “Do I look like your fucking secretary? Figure it out yourself.” With that, she walks out of the room, leaving Greco alone with 501. 

He begins carefully redressing her. “I didn’t want anyone else to touch you,” he murmurs into her ear, not caring that she can’t hear him. “Those mutts are nothing like you. They’re worthless.”

Marlow Lancaster. 728501. Greco wants to ruin both. 

“I’m going to give you purpose, kid.” Greco grabs a muzzle, fastening it to 501’s face. “And I’m going to show you that you should never fucking lie to me like that. You tell me everything. Even if I don’t ask.”

It’s funny, how innocent she looks in her slumber. Like a true eighteen year old, barely old enough to vote, not even old enough to drink. But she’s not human. She’s a vicious, bloodthirsty mutt. 

“If you’re extra good—“ He runs his hand through her hair. “I’ll let you really fuck up the dog that hurt you. Wish you could hear me right now, kid. You’re mine. Understand? Mine.”

It’s laughable that she thought she could go to college. Something with so much potential shouldn’t bother with that.

“Mine. You’re never going to forget me, not even once we’re apart. Mine, kid. All mine.”

[ocean-blue-whump]

Sunny + Star

Amateur fighter Marlow Lancaster and aspiring artist Lorenzo Whitlock have nothing in common, until they both arrive at WRU and become bonded to each other, more than any force could drive them apart. 

CWs for the series (check each post for individual): pet whump, BBU, box boy universe, lady whump, whumpees in love

Writings under the cut.

Pre-WRU:

Lorenzo Whitlock:

Bahamas (collab with Sara)

Failure of a Whitlock

Marlow Lancaster:

Home Sweet Hell: 1 // 2

There Were More

The First Killing

Not So Proud

Kyle

You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide // Not Enough

690236 and 728501 (Facility Era):

Guard Dog 501:

728501 Intake

501′s Profiling

Cas and the Lamb: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // Masterlist -- collab with @painful-pooch​

Neck Day

Positive Reinforcement

[coming soon!]

Too Late to Beg

Romantics 236 and 501:

690236 Intake 

New Training (just 501)

Dilemma

Set Up to Fail (discussion about the whumpees)

Not Today, Satan

Decision (NSFW) // The Rookie

Leo Finch’s Failure: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4

Sunny + Star:

Year One:

Special Delivery // Hunter’s House Rules

Regardless

Good Pet. Bad Pet. 

Star Tries to Hurt Sunny // The Pairing Knife // The Ledge

Yours, Sir (NSFW)

Losing the Game

On the Altar (NSFW) // After the Altar

Breathe, Sunny

Flu Season

Christmas Lights // Interlude // Sugar and Spice and Nothing Nice (NSFW)

Christmas Eve

You Are Home // Let Me See

Year Two:

Fetch

Open (NSFW)

She Said She’s Sorry

Not Worthy, But Good Enough for Now

Storage

She Can Take It // Nurse Carson (NSFW)

Disgrace

Light My Fire

Wishes

Falling Star // Pieces of Star // Walking on Hind Legs

Year Three:

Introductions

The Pet Left Alone

Weak

All Alone

Just A Dream (NSFW)

All the Light is Gone

Lost in the Dark

Goodbye For Now

Escape:

Rain

Safehouse, Night One

To Dream

Recovery AU:

Stress Reliever (NSFW) // Once a Romantic, Always a Romantic (NSFW)

Asks:

Sunny disobeys Sir // 501′s Romantic Training (NSFW) // Sunny and Star take a Bath // Sunny and Sir in Bed (NSFW) // Star and the Pillory (NSFW) // Star’s Feelings on Escaping // Ideas on What Would Break the Pets // Hunter’s Secret // Sunny Breaks a Rule (Quietly) (NSFW) // Sunny Stands Up to Sir // Star Stands in the Rain

Picrews:

Marlow vs. Star

Rescue Era Sunny and Star

[ocean-blue-whump]

New Training

For @amonthofwhump Twelve Days of Whumpmas! Day Four-Muzzled

This is Star/501 just after she got her designation switched over to Romantic, but from Handler Hanford’s POV. It’s a little rough and heavy on the dehumanization. Its also a look at how she became a trainee and there are a lot of messed-up implications with that. Heed the CW. 

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump (I love and appreciate all of you)

CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, facility whump, dehumanization, lots of dehumanization, muzzle, whumper POV, discussion of masochism, vaguely implied future noncon, noncon kissing (nonsexual)

***

“Yeah, she’s a rowdy one, but look at her. All sweet and dolled up for me.” James Hanford is standing in the doorway of his training room, arms crossed against his chest, leaning against the doorframe. Patrick Dennison stands on the other side, looking mildly bemused. 

“So she’s taking to the new training well?”

James laughs. “Oh, fuck no. She bit someone’s hand so hard she severed one of their tendons. I got to give her one hell of a beating, though.”

“How are you even doing this? Guard Dog to Romantic? When she already had three months of specialized training?” Dennison taps his fingers against his clipboard. 

James shrugs. “We’re trying a few different things. Right now, though, she’s got to stay muzzled. Which is a shame. Could have really gotten somewhere with that mouth of hers. That’s the problem with bad dogs. They bite and ruin everything.”

From somewhere behind the two men, inside the confines of the training room, there’s a low whimper. All of James’s trainees have nightmares about that room. All of them, without exception. He prides himself on it. Makes the pets better for their future owners, if they’re that scared of him. 

Dennison ignores the sound. “When are you introducing the bonded?”

James’s grin grows. “When she’s desperate. When she’s willing to do anything for interaction. 236 is already primed. He’s a natural Romantic, I don’t have to do that much extra work with him. 501, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “She’s a fucking Guard Dog. Nothing else. Fucking feral, too. Maybe, if I had gotten to her before she started intensive Guard Dog training, we would have had a chance, but not like this. Not this bloodthirsty.”

“Well, at least Greco’s doing his job,” Dennison says. 

James frowns and looks down at his shoes, noticing a bright smear of red blood across the polished leather. “You can kiss his ass while he’s getting Employee of the Month. I’m over here trying to make sure 501 doesn’t kill me.”

“Stop bitching. You know what she needs? To be thrown around. Show her that she’s not as tough as she thinks. We’ve been treating her like she gets all this extra shit because she’s oh-so cool and tough. Kick her around.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past week?”

“Try harder.”

James waves his hand at Dennison. “Go fuck off to vanilla Romantic land and enjoy your trainees who don’t actively try to kill you.”

With Dennison gone, James steps back inside the training room and locks the door. He turns to look at the girl kneeling on her floor. 

There’s a pole in the center of the room. Her arms are tied behind it, her torso is lashed to the metal with thick rope. Her calves are tied to her thighs, and each ankle is tied to the pole, forcing them to spread slightly. A thick leather muzzle covers the bottom half of her face, and the bit is cutting into her gums and making small drops of blood slip out from under the muzzle. She growls at James as he approaches. 

James laughs. “Can’t say you don’t deserve this. Don’t try to talk, it’s useless.” He crosses the room and sits down in a chair across from the pet. “You’re a Romantic now. Not a Guard Dog. Nod if you understand that.”

501 pauses for a minute, then jerkily dips her head down. 

“Good.” James leans forward. His phone buzzes in his pants pocket, a reminder to call his mom and thank her for sending over the photo album of their recent beach trip. But for now, all his attention is on the girl in front of him. 

Not really a girl, more of a mutt. An animal. Soon, a pet. She won’t be calling her mom tonight. The only photos taken of her will be from her owner, if he wants. James hopes they’re humiliating. He hopes 501 suffers. 

501 snaps at him, lurching against her restraints. 

It dawns on him all of a sudden, fast and overwhelming and delicious. “Oh, wow.” James taps his fingers against the arm of the chair and smiles. “What’s going on with you, 501?”

She makes a pathetic, muffled noise and lurches forward again. 

“You want me to touch you, pretty thing?” he asks. “Want me to hurt you? Cause that’s what you’re made to do, right? Take punches for your owner? Like a Guard Dog.” This revelation is life changing. She’s a natural, a natural masochist. Wonderful. 

501 nods, trying to yank herself free. 

“Yeah, no. Here’s what’s going to happen instead: I’m gonna leave you here, just like this. I’m not going to hurt you, 501. I’m not going to do anything. I’m just going to walk away.”

The pet’s eyes widen with shock. Her fear is palpable in the room and James drinks it up. He loves his job, man. He loves his fucking job. He stands up from his chair, circling the girl. Each attempt to free herself only makes the ropes tighter. He squats down, studying 501’s green eyes, brown hair. “Hunter was right. You are a pretty one. Guess I understand why he wanted you as a Romantic.”

501 takes a deep breath, as much as she can with the muzzle. Her head tilts to the side like she’s sizing James up. 

James chuckles. “Little natural masochist. That’s so cute.” He gets closer to 501, a mere inch from her face, and 501’s breathing is hitching and growling. “Good thing that’s what your prospective wants. But I can tell, you know. You like it, pretty thing. You like when me or Greco beats the shit out of you, don’t you? Maybe it’s cause you were a Guard Dog, it was your job. Or you’re just my little masochist.”

501 shakes her head. 

James pushes down his anger to study the trainee again. He likes to find out what his trainees are really thinking and use it against them. 501, she’s not the easiest to read, but James is good at his job. She’s confused. She’s scared. And she really, really doesn’t want to be here.

Not all trainees come of their own free will. 

And she only wants to be hit if it’s in a real fight, if she can hit back and go home afterwards. 

She’s never going home. She doesn’t even remember her home. 

James leans forward and kisses her, right on the muzzle. His lips leaves a wet spot on the matte leather. 

501 makes a horrible, strangled sound and thrashes her head back. Her skull makes a hollow sound as it strikes the pole she’s tied to. 

“You’re a Romantic,” James says, standing up. “You’ll need to get used to much worse than that.”

A single tear slides down 501’s face, melting into the muzzle. 

“You can try and be tough as much as you want.” James sits back down at his desk. “But it’s not gonna work. You’ll break for me. I’ll take all that useless anger rattling around in that empty head and turn it into something productive. Only one thing that you’re useful for, pet.” James delights in the shudder that rolls over 501. “You’re gonna sit there until you’re good and ready for me. And then we’ll start.”

James turns his chair to his desk. He likes having a trainee whimpering in the background, no matter how quiet. It helps him focus. He takes one last look at the wet spot on 501’s muzzle before opening his laptop. Fucking perfect. The feral ones are fun to break, 

He opens his laptop to an email reminding him about the confidentiality of 728501’s contract. 

Not all trainees come of their own free will.

And Greco said 501 was dragged in kicking and screaming. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

Too Late to Beg

For @amonthofwhump Twelve Days of Whumpmas! Day Eleven-Sensory Deprivation

Guard Dog Era 501. :)

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump

CW: pet whump, BBU, facility whump, lady whump, dehumanization, sensory deprivation

***

501 is knocked onto her knees, the wire loop around her neck pulling uncomfortably, digging into the sensitive skin below her shock collar. She works her jaw around the bit gag, trying to stop drool from running down her chin. 

Handler Greco gives another harsh yank at the animal control pole and 501 chokes as the wire cuts off her air. “You arrogant fucking mutt,” he hisses. “Think you’re better than this? Huh?”

501 glares up at him. I know I’m better than this. I know I don’t want this, too. I’m not a mutt or a pet. I’m a person. I’m alive. 

Handler Greco grabs her face. “You need to stop fucking attacking handlers. Got it?”

501 makes a muffled, angry noise. 

Handler Greco rolls his eyes and roughly yanks the gag off. “Got it?”

“Let me go,” 501 rasps out, her voice subdued but her eyes blazing. “Let me go home.” She had a home once, she remembers, and it was…red? Maybe? It was in a building, two bedrooms, she can’t remember the word for it, and there were people there with her, but she can’t remember their faces. 

“You don’t have a home until a prospective buys you. You know that, 501, stop being such an idiot.” Handler Greco leans down to pull the animal control pole off 501’s neck. 

501’s hands are already restrained behind her back with rough leather cuffs, Handler Greco grabs onto the chain connecting them and uses it to throw 501 into a cage in the corner. “You’re going in sensory dep for a long time, mutt. That’s what happens to bad pets.”

“Not a bad pet,” 501 says, taking deep breaths. “I’m a person. I’m a person.”

“No. You’re not. You’re a Guard Dog. You’re an object for your owner. You’re the one in a cage right now. And you’re about to be locked away in a cage with no sight, sound, taste, nothing. I think I can see which one of us is the person here.” Handler Greco squats next to her, running his hand through 501’s hair. “Don’t get me wrong, 501, you’re a good Guard Dog.”

Traitorous pride surges through 501. 

“I’m serious. You’re talented. You’re good at telling how people are going to move, how they’ll attack. And you can use that against them. But you need to learn who you’re supposed to hurt. It’s not me, baby girl. It’s not me, or any of the other handlers.”

501 is completely tense, all of her muscles locked as Handler Greco pats her. 

“You don’t understand,” 501 whispers, a tear building in her eye. 

“What don’t I understand?”

“I have these…these things in my head, memories, and I wanna go back to them.” 501 sniffles. She’s tense.

“It’s false memories from the training. There’s nothing for you to go back to.”

Using the built up tension, 501 springs forward, slamming her head against Handler Greco’s face. I don’t have fake fucking memories. I had a real life. This can’t be fake. His nose cracks, blood spills into 501’s hair. She slides back, but Handler Greco doesn’t wait a second to hit 501 in the face with his baton. 

501 grunts with the blow and falls to her side, back in the cage. 

“You fucking bitch!” Handler Greco yells. “That’s it! I’m gonna put you in the fucking hood and leave you until you’re a fucking corpse. You’re gonna die from the silence! Jesus!”

501’s eyes go wide with panic when she sees Greco coming at her with the hood. “No, no, please, please don’t do it, please don’t let me die—” I can’t, it can’t go this way, I want to live, I have to, I have to get out of here.

“It’s too fucking late, 501. Stay still.”

501 would fight back if she could, but paralyzing fear keeps her still for Handler Greco to put the hood on.

There’s nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, even her mouth is devoid of taste. Hands are on her, maybe the last she’ll ever feel, putting a gag back on.

501 cries and it’s soaked up into the hood, she doesn’t even get to feel that. 

There’s nothing. 

She’s going to die like this, alone and trapped and a useless fucking Guard Dog. This is worse than physical pain, she’d take that over this any day. She would rather be whipped than sit here with her stupid broken head. 

Her memories are fake. There wasn’t a before. It’s just 501, and eventually, whatever her owner wants to call her. 

She wanted this. 

She’s good at this. 

It’s too late to beg. 

She’s going to die here. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

Positive Reinforcement

For @febuwhump Day 7: Used as an Experiment.

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Sunny and Star Crew: @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @painful-pooch - let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: pet whump, BBU, facility whump, lady whump, Guard Dog, creepy whumper, drugged whumpee, aftermath of beating

***

Greco scans his keycard and steps into the hospital room. “Hey, trainee,” he calls into the dark, searching for the light switch. “Hey, 501. It’s, um, it’s Handler Greco.”

A faint growl echoes through the room. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, girl. Settle. Settle.” He finds the lightswitch and flicks it on. “There’s my girl. There’s my good little fighter.”

501 looks a nightmare. Her entire body is a purple bruise, her limbs are so bruised and ruined and look inhuman sticking out of her hospital gown. Her face is so swollen that she’s barely recognizable as herself. Leather straps encircle her wrists, ankles, calves, thighs, waist, biceps, neck, and forehead, keeping her pinned to the bed. A wire muzzle is tightly strapped over her face so she doesn’t bite. 

Greco sits down next to her, stroking her hair out of her face. “They told me you still have at least a week before you’re out of here.”

501 whines. 

“I know, kid. But I’m proud of you, you know?” He gently scratches behind her ear, and she leans into the touch. “You did a good job. You protected me.”

That feral Guard Dog that came at him during combat training cold have killed him. Instead, 501 jumped out in front of the dog, shielding Greco. He almost beat her to death until his primary was able to shock him into unconsciousness. 501 saved Greco, whether she meant to or not.

Their peace and quiet, Greco carefully petting 501 and her humming underneath his hand, only lasts a moment before 501 goes rigid, watching Greco like a cornered animal. 

Greco sighs. “Yeah, you’re too smart for this. Sorry, 501. It’s nothing personal.”

She cries out, a pained, pathetic yelp, and thrashes in her restraints. The heart monitor starts beating faster. 

“Settle,” Greco says. “I’ve just got one thing to test. Then you don’t have to see me for a week.” He likes her better like this, he likes 501 better than the girl that used to occupy that body. Still a feral little shit, though.

He places his hand over her bandaged one. “You were so good for me today. Really, 501. You’re going to be so good for your owner. Pretty little Guard Dog.”

She stops moving, the heart monitor slows, and she looks up at him weakly, begging with her eyes. 

Greco squeezes her hand in an attempt to reassure her. “Yeah. You’re good, kid. You’re good.” Some days he’s softer with her, he calls her kid, he doesn’t leave her in a puddle of her own blood but cleans her off in the shower and makes sure the other handlers don’t stare at her lustfully. He’s finally able to take all of her anger and hone it, she’s finally being good. 

She fights back, she swears, she bites, but at the same time, she’s his favorite trainee. Out of everyone he’s had, she’s his favorite. And he doesn’t know how to feel about that, considering how she got here. 

“Stay still, trainee,” Greco says, pulling a syringe out. The murky liquid shimmers under the harsh lights. 

501 whimpers, her hands clenching into fists. 

“Don’t make me get a full team in here, 501. They’ll make you still for me in ways you won’t like.” Greco takes the cap off and flicks the syringe to dispel any air bubbles. He can’t quite remember the contents. A paralytic, a hallucinogenic, maybe some pain inducers, definitely the fever inducers, something else that he can’t remember. Regardless, there’s a lot of potent drugs in there. 501 is going to be fucked up for a while.

This doesn’t go on the record. He’s made enough friends that everyone will look away when they see that drugs were taken with no supporting documentation. The nurses will keep 501 sequestered while she comes off it. All because Greco really wants to see what it’ll do, if he can threaten her with that again. .

For a brief second, Greco thinks, no wonder she’s so fucked up, if this is what she gets for good behavior. He’ll make a note in his records, though: positive reinforcement provided through verbal affirmations. 

Not using positive reinforcement can really mess a trainee up, and any handlers who don’t document positive reinforcement for good behavior can get investigated by internal affairs. 

But 501 can handle it, she’s a tough girl. 

She looks so scared and sad like this, her eyes wide, Greco could almost forget she’s a trained killer. 

If it wasn’t for the bite marks on his forearm. 

“You’re good,” he says again, grabbing her elbow and turning it over. “You’re good, 501.”

Positive reinforcement paired with punishments or negative reinforcement is proven to be detrimental to the wellbeing of a trainee and further success of training. Trainees who demonstrate good behavior should be given only positive reinforcement in the form of verbal affirmations, food, sleep, physical touch, and breaks from intensive training. Under no circumstances should a trainee be punished during the first twelve hours after good behavior. If a punishment is delivered, the trainee will begin to see good behavior and bad behavior as having the same result, so the trainee will act out more. 

Straight out of the fucking handbook. 

501 doesn’t cry when Greco stabs the needle into her arm and pushes the plunger down. He’s only seen her cry twice: when she wasn’t 501, but the girl before, tied to a chair in an interrogation room, and the sixth night of her training when she was resting. He peeked his head into her room and there she was, muzzled and curled up on a mat, tears silently streaming down her face. He never found out why.

Greco discards the syringe in a biohazard box and steps back from her. A small drop of blood wells up from the injection sight, he doesn’t bother wiping it away. Greco dists in the corner of the room. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” Only for an hour or just enough to get a good video of 501’s suffering. It won’t be very interesting watching her scream for hours and hours. 

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to sink in.” Greco chuckles. “Hell, I don’t even know half the shit I just gave you.”

501 makes a soft noise of fear and desperation. 

“No. The muzzle stays on, you know this, 501.”

Already the girl has stopped moving, stopped shifting around. 

“Paralytic kicked in first,” Greco notes. “Interesting.” 

501 makes another sad noise. 

“I’m sorry, 501, I told you that it’s not personal.” 

After another ten minutes, the heart monitor picks up again and a sheen of sweat is covering her body. “Are you in pain?” Greco asks as he scrolls through his phone. 

He gets a high-pitched whine in response. 

“Yeah, well, it’s only going to get worse,” he mutters. 

And it does, and 501 is left screaming into her muzzle so hard it leaves bruises for weeks. 

Positive reinforcement paired with punishments or negative reinforcement is proven to be detrimental to the wellbeing of a trainee and further success of training.

Greco doesn’t need the fucking handbook when he’s got a lie for every situation. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

Not Enough

For @febuwhump Day 10: “How long has it been?”

Continued from HERE

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Chris (referenced) belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow and is used with permission!

Sunny and Star Crew: @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @painful-pooch - let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: pet whump, BBU, dehumanization, kidnapped, lady whump, lady whumpee, beating, interrogation, failed escape attempt

***

“Wake up.”

Marlow gasps as a bucket of cold water is dumped over her. She thrashes around, but her movements are painfully halted. 

She’s been zip tied to a metal chair in a cold white room. In front of her is a metal table with her backpack on it, and standing behind that, the man called Handler Greco is holding an empty bucket. “Rise and shine.”

“Fuck you,” she says, pulling at the restraints until the zip ties start cutting into her skin. They took her fucking shoes and socks, but left her in her t-shirt and boxing shorts. She can’t tell them shit, can’t tell them where she hid the USB. She knows the drill. They rough her up a little bit, scare her, ask some questions, and she goes home. In and out. 

“Feisty.” Greco throws the bucket in the corner and picks up a file folder. “Name: Marlow Lancaster. Age: 18, almost 19. Happy early birthday. Occupation: college student and amateur fighter. Lives with Bea Fitzgerald. Only known associates include Fitzgerald and Finn Kapoor. About to fail out of college. Damn.” He closes the file. “You’ve got quite the story to tell.”

“Why am I here?” Marlow asks. Her voice is—remarkably—calm. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. We didn’t kidnap you. We just have a few questions, that’s all.” Greco leans against the wall. “You act like we—” “What, drugged me? Put me in a white van? Tied me to a chair and dumped water on me?” Marlow rolls her neck. “If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise. It’ll be like it never happened.”

Greco ignores her, pacing the room. “Ms. Lancaster, we have reason to believe that you acquired confidential WRU materials last night. However, upon an inspection of your bag, we weren’t able to find what we were looking for.” “That’s because it’s not in there,” Marlow snaps, lurching forward. “Whatever you want, I don’t have it! I just want to go home! Fuck!”

“Settle down there,” Greco says, pulling his baton from his belt. “You’re acting awfully defensive for someone who’s innocent.”

“Because you drugged me!” Marlow slumps back against the wall. “You fucking drugged me.”

“Well, you are, apparently, a very talented fighter, according to Bo. You wouldn’t have come on your own.” Greco approaches her, circling like a tiger stalking his prey. 

Shit. They know about Bo. “Because I shouldn’t be here.” Marlow’s voice cracks. “Please. You have the wrong person.”

Greco raises his arm and slams the baton into Marlow’s stomach. 

She doubles over, coughing, but keeps her noise of pain stifled. “You’re…you’re going to have to try harder than that,” she huffs out. 

Greco tilts his head, analyzing her. “You took that better than I thought. But I haven’t even turned the power on. I’ll give you, oh, four more warning strikes before I take this to the next level.”

Marlow stares at the back wall. She’s not giving anything up, not to this bastard, not when that redhead kid is on the line. 

Greco brings the baton down again, this time on her thighs. Marlow grits her teeth and breathes out through her nose. She’s taken worse hits before, she can handle this. 

“I don’t think you understand the depths of the mess you’re in,” Greco says. “I know you have it.”

“I don’t have your stupid fucking USB!” Marlow screams. 

Greco grins. “I never said it was a USB.”

Shit. Fuck. She messed up, she’s in for it now. “N-no, you said it was a USB.”

“Bullshit. You have it. That means you have it.”

“Fine,” Marlow growls. “I don’t have it. I never had it. I saw the drive. Not what’s on it. Just the drive with the WRU logo.”

“We’ve talked to people. Rico at the ring. Yeah, Lancaster, don’t look so surprised. I did my fucking research. And your Professor. He’s terribly worried about you, by the way. It would be a shame if I gave him good reason to worry.”

Her mouth goes dry, she shifts around. “If you hurt him, I swear to god, I’ll kill you. I’ve killed before, don’t think I can’t do it.”

“I know. That’s why you’re tied up.” Greco gently rests the baton on the girl’s shoulder. “I didn’t hurt your precious professor. Three hits left, Marlow, be wise about this.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she spits. 

The baton swings across, striking horizontally across her shoulderblades. She lets it knock her forward a little bit, testing the strength of her restraints. She won’t be able to break free, not with her arms twisted behind her so unnaturally. 

“Two,” Greco says. “You’re taking this well. You won’t when I start shocking the shit out of you. Just tell me where the USB is. And this all ends.”

“Holy…” She winces. “Holy shit, dude, I knew handlers were stupid, but I didn’t think you would be this dumb. I don’t have the fucking USB. I didn’t even see what was on it.”

Handler Greco hits her in the face. Her cheek is on fire, she jerks in the restraints as blood trickles down onto her shirt. “One left. This is an exercise in futility, Lancaster. You and I both know that.”

“I’m not telling you shit.” There’s a redhead kid somewhere, maybe with some horrible owner. She needs to stop this. Hell, that could have been her. “Hit me, you dumb motherfucker. Fucking hit me!”

The baton slams into her abdomen again. All she does is close her eyes and shake her head slightly. She can make it through this. She has to make it through this. 

“That was your last chance. Come on, kid. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me turn this on.”

“I’m not making you…” Marlow pauses to catch her breath. “I’m not making you do anything. Please, believe me. I don’t have your USB. I just want to go home.”

Greco sighs. “I’m going to find it eventually. If I spend more than ten minutes going through your bag, I’ll find wherever you’ve hidden it. I think you and I both know that, too, so I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“You’re not going to win. I don’t have your USB.” And I’m not letting you hurt anyone else.

Greco flips a switch on the handle of the baton and it cracks to life. “Fine.”

The baton cracks down on her body, sending shocks through her entire nervous system, and she holds on as long as she can, but trying to keep her screams deep inside is exhausting work, and Marlow passes out. 

***

Time isn’t marked in this room. The lights don’t change, she’s being starved. Marlow’s only gotten two breaks from sitting in this chair, to go to the bathroom and to have Greco force her to drink a bottle of water. She tried to refuse, at first. She couldn’t when he gagged her with a large metal ring for the process. 

How long has it been, since she was brought here? Days? Weeks? Hours? 

And the beatings. Oh, the beatings.

Her body is one giant bruise. She can barely move without something hurting, without opening up a wound and dripping blood on the white tile. 

Greco is standing in front of her holding a lighter and a hammer, with a container of gasoline by the door. Lined up on the table are the contents of her backpack: a pencil case, a very expensive chemistry textbook, a Chuck Palahniuk novel, a container of Vaseline (untampered with), rubbing alcohol, bandaids, and a pair of wooden drumsticks. 

He lights the textbook on fire, which has Marlow trying to rip herself from her restraints. The skin around the zip ties is perpetually leaking blood, rubbed beyond raw. “You bastard.” Her voice comes out hoarse and quiet. She’s hungry. She’s thirsty. She’s tired. “You have no idea how much I paid for that.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Greco snaps. “I want my USB. Now.” The novel goes next, pages curling up. He’s burning her life away, and she’s helpless to stop him. 

“I just want to go home!” She hasn’t cried, not yet. She wants to. 

“I don’t care.” He sets the drumsticks on fire. “There’s no life for you. Not after what you’ve done.”

What’s going to kill her first? The hunger, the dehydration? The beatings? The loneliness and stress of this room? An infection from her wounds? Is Greco going to watch her as she goes?

The pencil case goes next, releasing a horrible, acidic smell in the room. Marlow’s surprised her nose still works after it’s been hit so many times. 

The bottle of rubbing alcohol is smashed by the hammer, the bandaids are burned. The smell makes Marlow gag. 

There’s nothing in her stomach to throw up. 

Oh. He’s on the last thing. He’s looking at the container of Vaseline with venom in his eyes. 

It takes every bit of energy Marlow has left in her shell of a body not to scream when he smashes it open. 

The USB glistens underneath the artificial lights, along with Greco’s eyes. “Finally,” he breathes. 

He picks it up, examines it, and brings the hammer down hard. 

Marlow screams as it’s destroyed. She’s held on for so long, too long to lose like this, to lose from something beyond her control. 

“There’s a girl!” Greco yells. “Finally! A real noise! And god, you’re a pretty screamer, too.”

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!” She’s crying now, tears cutting through the blood on her cheeks. 

Greco sweeps the remains of Marlow’s life off the table and into the trash can. “Do you want food?”

“I want to go home.” She doesn’t know if she can, not with the hollow pit forming in her stomach. She failed. She failed the kid and the thousands like him, she failed all the people that are used like toys by the handlers. 

Greco walks to the door. “Do you want food?”

“I want to go home.”

He leaves, and Marlow is all alone again.

***

Time’s stretching on and on here. She’s so hungry, she’s so tired. Greco’s given her ten bathroom breaks. She took the water bottle the first seven times, drank it all. 

She gave up on the eighth. 

He hasn’t touched her since. Not to beat her, not to do anything. She’s just been sitting, still bloody and bruised and smelling of sweat. 

The door creaks open. Marlow can’t even lift her head. There’s no point. She already knows who it is. “How long has it been?” she croaks out, her voice weary from dehydration. 

She doesn’t receive an answer. 

Something slides across the table, stopping in front of her. A contract. Signed at the bottom by Greco, with the note:

728501 proved to be uncooperative throughout the process. Signature provided by Handler Greco. 

“What is this, Greco?” Marlow asks. Her head is swimming. “What…”

He lifts her chin up with two fingers. His eyes are stern, her eyes are clouded and nervous. “Welcome to the pound, Guard Dog.”

Four handlers, dressed to the nines in riot gear, push into the room. 

“N-no, I didn’t sign your contract, you can’t do this!” Her blood runs cold. Fear gives her a strange burst of energy and has her pulling at her restraints, opening up the sores on her wrists and ankles. 

Greco’s responding grin sends a shiver down her spine. “You watched the video, Marlow. You know what happens here. And we just can’t have that information out in the open. You’re a ticking time bomb, and there’s enough anti-WRU sentiment out there. You’re a liability.” Greco lunges forward, curling his hand around her throat. “And, hell. You’re also an incredible fighter. You’re a natural, you’re made for this. You could never be happy in the real world. We’d be doing you a favor, wouldn’t we?”

Marlow sobs, her body shaking with the effort. “N-no, I want to go home!” She has two good friends and a professor who cares about her and a tiny dorm room with posters on the walls and sure she fights but she likes it, and sure it’s small but it’s all hers. It’s more than she ever thought she could have. 

It’s her home. 

“You’re not going home. You don’t have a home.” Greco squats down in front of her. “Hey, look at me.” When she doesn’t, he grabs the sides of her face and forces her. “Hey. Kid. It’s going to be okay.”

Marlow thrashes around. “Let me go! You bastard!”

“You shouldn’t have touched that USB. You should have turned around and left it alone. The only person you have to blame is yourself.”

Blood is streaming freely from her wrists. Marlow doesn’t feel the pain or the hunger or the exhaustion now. All she feels is fear. 

She named herself. She worked hard for it. They’re going to take her a name and her life and make her an empty shell. She’s going to be bought and traded and used as a human shield—not a human. A pet. Marlow cries and fights her restraints as hard as she can. 

The other handlers are on her, using sharp knives to cut off the zip ties. 

There’s one second of reprieve, one second where the ties are off and no one’s touching her and Marlow takes off running, pushing out the door and sprinting into the white hallway. 

Her body has been worn ragged. She’s lost weight from not eating for days, her muscles are stiff from sitting still in the chair for so long. 

Marlow can barely run. She does anyways. 

The handlers are clamoring behind her, their feet are heavy on the floor. Marlow makes a sharp right turn, then a left, another left. The walls all look the same, the doors stretch on and on with no break in the pattern and the handlers are closing in on her and Marlow’s legs are seconds away from giving out on her.

Marlow stops, takes a deep breath. 

She’s not making it out of here. 

She tilts her head up to the ceiling and sends an apology up. To Bea, to Finn, to Professor Green, to whatever can listen. She’s sorry for all this, for being stubborn and proud and so fucking angry, for the fighting and the screaming. For everything. She’s sorry. 

Marlow Lancaster turns around, dropping into a fighting stance. She won’t go down easily, she won’t let them just take her. 

She fights like hell. 

But the trainers have batons and armor and helmets and they’ve eaten recently. Marlow’s broken and bloody and weak. 

She fights anyways, and manages to take one down with a hook kick before being knocked onto her knees, then forced face-first onto the ground. 

“I wonder if you’ll keep all that wonderful anger, or if it’ll go away when we wipe everything else out of your head,” Greco says. 

Marlow twists around. She can’t get free, she’s just fighting because she feels like she could. Marlow’s never been one to sit and take it. She fights. She’ll keep fighting until she can’t anymore. “My name is Marlow Lancaster,” she hisses. “My name is Marlow fucking Lancaster and I’m not your goddamn pet. I’m not anyone’s anything. I’m my own person. I didn’t sign your stupid fucking contract and I’m not done here. My life isn’t over.”

“Yes. It is.” Greco smiles. “Well, this has been one hell of an introduction. I can’t wait to meet you, 501. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

A needle plunges into her neck and the world goes dark. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

Leo Finch’s Failure: 1

This is the first of a 4-part series! Each part has different CWs, so heed those. Thank you to @shapeshiftersandfire for beta reading this, and to the Whump a Woman discord server for throwing around ideas with me!

NEXT

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @painful-pooch

CW: pet whump, BBU, facility whump, lady whump, noncon drugging, shock torture, whumpee fights back, biting, concussion, dehumanization, handlers finally get what they deserve

***

Leo carefully buckles the restraints around 501’s hands, leaving them just a notch loose. “You okay?” he asks.

501 growls from behind the ring gag forcing her jaw open, saliva coating her chin. 

Leo blushes. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He reaches around the girl’s head and undoes the leather straps, pulling the gag away.

501 coughs, cracking her jaw. “Why…why do you care?”

“Because...” He doesn’t have a good answer for her. Because he shouldn’t. Because he does anyways.

Leo steps down to where her ankles need to be fastened to the end of the dental chair, leaned back slightly. The girl’s legs are exposed in her black shorts: welts from James Hanford’s baton, a grotesquely swollen left knee, and bright red chafe marks from the metal restraints normally locked around her ankles. Leo winces at the sight, and buckles the leather straps more than a few notches loose. 

James stepped out of the room to grab Patrick Dennison from his lunch break to see this display with 501. Leo’s been put in charge of prepping the trainee for today’s test. 

She flexes her hands into fists, the only movement. Sometimes, he thinks she’s dead, how she barely moves. 501 just watches and waits for the right time to fight back. 

Leo doesn’t blame her. Not with the way James treats her. 

He slides his tray over to her and picks up a needle. “Okay. I’m going to start looking for a good injection site, alright?”

She stares stonily at him. With James, she’s a little more of a spitfire, but being away from her bonded puts her on edge. 

Leo puts on purple latex gloves before feeling around her hand. She’s been under the needle a few too many times this week, and her hands are showing it. He frowns when he can’t find a good, unblemished spot. He tries the other hand. Nothing. Both elbows and feet. Nothing. He would call the medical team, but they’re not allowed to interact with 501 unless she’s heavily sedated, and that would disrupt today’s training plans. 

Leo pulls out his keycard and holds it to the sensor on 501’s collar. With a faint beep, it comes undone, and Leo puts it on the table. 501 shudders at the loss, turning her head side to side.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Leo says, putting a hand on her cheek. “I took your collar off, so you won’t get in trouble. It was my decision. I’m going to do the injection in your neck, okay?” His throat locks. “If you stay still, I won’t have to get Handler Hanford.”

He hates himself more every day he does this job. Every time he has to say pets instead of people. When he has a girl who’s two months younger than him, just barely nineteen, tied to a dental chair to be hurt. 

The girl narrows her eyes at him but goes still, baring her neck. Leo presses around with two fingers before finding a vein. “There we go. Stay still.” He cleans the site up with a cold antiseptic before pressing the needle in. 

She doesn’t flinch. He thinks it’d be better if she flinched, or cried, or did something to show that she didn’t like it. 

Leo tapes it down and makes sure her restraints are still comfortable, just as the door swings open. 

James and Dennison walk in. Dennison is almost half a foot taller than James, and a lot more muscular, but Leo supposes that James makes up for it in fury. 

“I’m sorry, I had to do the injection in her neck,” Leo explains. “She’s had too many IVs and drugs recently. And I ungagged her too, she was drooling so much the electrodes wouldn’t stick.” The second one is a lie, but James is never going to know. 

“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t have forgotten position 13 four days ago.” James leaves the door unlocked. “Greco might come by later when she’s out of it. Scare the shit out of her.”

Dennison walks over to the dental chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“We’re not doing much today,” James says. He rolls a machine out from the corner and starts untangling the electrode wires. “Put some of these on her head. Leo, push twenty milligrams of the green stuff.”

The hypersensitivity drug. It’s still in the testing phases, no one has any idea of the long term affects. But 501 hasn’t had any adverse reactions to it yet, so she takes a full dose. It’s supposed to make every single feeling the trainees experience even more powerful, pain, pleasure, the clothes against their skin. Makes 501 half-crazy.

Dennison sticks electrodes onto the girl’s forehead while James puts them on her stomach. 

501 is already sweating, shifting around in her restraints as her pupils blow wide. 

“I should try this on my boy,” Dennison says with a faint smile. 

“Yeah, see, but you’re boring. You’d be all soft and cuddly and shit. We’re just gonna shock her until she cries.”

“My boy’s a masterpiece. 501 is…”

James laughs. “Yeah. You don’t need to tell me that she’s a fucking disaster.”

Leo shifts around, torn between saying something to defend the girl or staying quiet. Either way, she’s still getting shocked. He’s already on thin ice with James after being caught giving 236 extra scraps of bread from the employee lounge and giving 501 painkillers and letting both of them catch a thirty minute nap while James was at lunch and…

He sees the point. 

James puts more electrodes on 501’s arms while Dennison works on her legs. She’s whining when the men touch her. It must feel like fire on her skin, the way she’s sweating and squirming. 

Leo is glad he left the restraints loose, otherwise the leather on her chafed skin would be hell.

The last of the electrodes go on, followed by her sharp whine from James pinching the girl’s skin. 

Dennison laughs. “Shit. Now you’re really making me want to try the green stuff on 479. He’d sound gorgeous.”

James moves to stand by the source of the electrodes, his jaw clenched. There’s a dangerous look in his eye, spitting fire down at the weak trainee. “I don’t care about her sounding pretty. I wanna hear her fucking scream.”

Leo takes a step backwards, colliding with the table. Isn’t there supposed to be a clear reason to hurt them? The trainees, the pets, whatever Leo is supposed to call them? And shouldn’t there be a system to make sure that the handlers don’t get to take the…the pets on a joyride? 

Not for Senior Handlers Dennison and Hanford, both with spotless records and friends among the higher-ups. 

“Charging,” James says, switching on the machine. “We’ll start at five and work our way to ten.”

The green stuff doesn’t take away a trainee’s lucidity, so 501 whimpers as she registers their words. Leo is shaking and desperately wishing he brought earplugs so he didn’t have to hear her scream. 

“Five more seconds,” James mutters.

Trainee 501 bolts up, knocking her head against Dennison’s. The man stumbles back, blood gushing from his mouth. “Fuck!” he yells. 

501 slipped her restraints. 

501 slipped her restraints because Leo didn’t tighten them enough.

The electrodes rip from her skin as she stands up, shaking herself out of her ankle restraints. She jumps on Dennison’s back, clawing at his neck. 

“Shock her!” James roars at Leo. 

His heart is pounding, he’s terrified of 501 and James and what happens after. “I can’t! I took her collar off!”

When 501 only manages to draw a little blood from her short nails, she bites down on the man’s neck while kneeing him in the spine.

Leo took the gag off 501. 

Dennison makes a strangled noise, sounding more animal than human. 501 pulls her head back and spits something on the floor. 

501 bit a chunk off Dennison’s neck because Leo took her gag off. 

She jumps off his back, but maintains her grip on his shoulders to kick him hard in the back. Dennison folds like a card, his head slamming against the floor. 

“Dennison.” James says softly. 

He doesn’t answer. 

501 retrieves his shock baton from his belt and starts approaching James. 

Leo wants to go invisible, he wants to pretend this isn’t happening. 

James pulls out his baton. “Stand down, puppy,” he says with a nervous glance back at Dennison.

The man isn’t getting up. 

“Not…your…fucking…puppy!” 501 yells, launching forward with a strike. 

Hypersensitivity is hell. 501 must be dying, all those feelings on her skin, a single bead of sweat could be short-circuiting her brain. But it’s also making her more alert. 

James should be able to take her down with one strike. He does taekwondo on the weekends and he’s widely known for being able to subdue even the unruliest of Guard Dogs. But somehow, each of his attempts to stop 501 is blocked easily by the girl. She pushes forward with an extra surge, swinging from a block to hit James in the side with the baton at full power. 

James screams like his throat is being ripped out and falls over. 501 kicks him in the groin, and at that, he sobs and curls up, giving 501 the chance to strike him in the head so he’s too dazed to move. 

There’s a split second pause while 501 catches her breath until she turns to Leo. She walks forward, and Leo’s heart is hammering into his ribs, she’s going to kill him—

She swings the baton down on the machine over and over and over until it’s just a mess of parts and cracked plastic. 

She’s moving again, closer and closer. 

Just to slam the baton on the remaining vial of the green stuff, spilling the liquid everywhere. 

501 drops the baton. It clatters to the floor amidst the chorus of safe safe safe safe in Leo’s brain. 

He’s going to be okay.

501 reaches out to him, and Leo smiles reassuringly.

Her hands wrap around his throat and his eyes fly open. She has to reach up to get to his neck, but she’s choking him, her grip strong and unyielding. 

It doesn’t matter what he does. He’s always going to be a handler to her. 

Her pupils are blown out, almost completely obscuring her irises. She must be suffering so much in there, Leo can tell from how much she’s trembling and breathing heavily. 

“Stop,” he croaks out. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She puts more pressure on his neck in response. 

It takes longer for him to go limp than he thought. They stare at each other for several minutes as Leo’s vision starts to go and he loses feeling in his limbs.

501 drops him when his vision is completely grayed out and he can’t move. From his sideways, blurry angle on the floor, he sees 501 pick back up the baton and start walking out the door. 

He has to get up.

Dennison is unconscious and James won’t be moving for a while and it’s up to him to go get 501 back. They’re both fucked. This never would have happened if James did the restraints. He’s going to be reprimanded severely. He might even get reassigned. 

Nothing compared to the pain 501 is going to get for escaping. Good trainees sit there and take it. 

Leo takes deep breaths. Bruises are already forming on his pale, freckled skin, almost like a collar.

He should have left the collar on. He should have left the gag on. He should have tightened the restraints all the way and even added some. 

Slowly, Leo manages to drag himself to his feet, bent over, and he holds onto the wall and makes his way into the hallway. 

There’s a loud commotion going on down the hall. Leo makes his way to the source of the noise, wheezing pathetically. 

501 is being held in the air by five different Guard Dog handlers. Four of them have one of her limbs each and Handler Greco is holding her head, fitting a thick leather muzzle over her face as she thrashes and screams. Once the muzzle’s on and she’s quiet, Greco reaches in his pocket to get a syringe of powerful sedatives, enough to knock out a Guard Dog twice 501’s size. He pops off the cap and jams it into 501’s neck. 

The handlers relax, and one picks up 501’s limp body and slings her over his shoulder. 

Greco lays eyes on Leo and his nostrils flare. “What the fuck did you do, kid?”

Leo’s face is bright red, not just from being strangled. 

“Shit. James and Dennison.” He takes off down the hallway towards the training room. Leo limps behind to follow him, but he’s farther behind. When he gets back to the training room, Greco is on his knees next to Dennison, talking on the radio. 

“We need medical. Two stretchers, and I’ll be sending someone else down. Three handlers injured, two in pretty bad condition. The trainee was fine. She’s in solitary now.”

“On our way.”

“10-4.” Greco sets his radio down and looks up at Leo. “You fucked up, didn’t you?”

Leo nods. 

Greco sighs. “Alright. Walk your ass down to medical. You’re going to stay there until you’re cleared and we put together the Committee to review this. And, you know. When James comes to.”

“I’m sorry,” Leo whispers, running his hand over his throat. 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, kid. I have two knocked-out handlers here, and 501 is being strapped up in solitary. Trainees need structure. I don’t know what you did, and I don’t want you to tell me now, but the responsibility falls on you, not 501 or James or Dennison.” Greco makes a shooing gesture. “Get the fuck out of here. Go.”

[ocean-blue-whump]

Not Today, Satan

For @amonthofwhump Twelve Days of Whumpmas! Day Two--Human Shield

Trainee era 501 and 236.

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow

CW: drugging, pet whump, BBU, facility whump, lady whump, beating, shock collar, muzzle, Romantic whumpees, 1 use of derogatory language, bonded whumpees, referenced bootlicking, starvation

501 watches from the corner, her head a cloud of drugs. Handler Hanford is circling 236 with his baton fully extended. The small boy is hunched over on the ground, his ribs visible through his white t-shirt. 501 snarls behind the muzzle, and Handler-in-Training Finch grabs onto her shoulder. She whips her head around, trying to snap at his hand, but is stopped by the muzzle digging into her skin. 

“Cool it, 501,” Finch whispers into her ear. “Don’t make this worse.” He’s not threatening her, he sounds almost...sad. 

501 snorts into her muzzle. 

Handler Hanford’s perfectly polished shoes click against the floor. She would know that they’re perfect, he made her and 236 clean them with their tongues. He rolls his wrist, swinging the baton around. “236. Submit for punishment. Position two.”

236 pulls himself onto his knees, his blonde curls flopping in his face. 501’s heart is pounding, it’s the only thing she can think of.

Handler Hanford nods, the only appreciation he has for the boy’s perfectly straight posture. “What am I punishing you for?” he asks. 

236 keeps his blue eyes on the ground. Pets don’t get to look at their superiors when they’re punished. They’re not worthy of that. “I’m sorry, Handler Hanford.” His voice wavers. 

Handler Hanford cracks his baton against his baton, and both pets flinch simultaneously at the sharp noise. “That’s not what I asked you, 236. I’ll make you sorry, but right now, I want you to tell me what you did. Keep your fucking eyes down, slut. Use your words. I didn’t wipe those out of you.”

236 shifts uncomfortably, and the baton cracks down right next to him, barely missing the shaking boy. 236 yelps, and 501 presses against Finch. She can’t watch him suffer.

“Don’t move. Answer my fucking question.”

236’s eyes dart around. He runs his tongue over his pink lips, searching for the right words to use to please Handler Hanford. “I tried to take off 501’s collar while she slept.”

Slept. Too kind a word. Handler Hanford sedated 501 after a training session, she was unconscious when 236 tried to take her shock collar off. 

Handler Hanford clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “And why would you do that, 236? You’re supposed to be the good one. Why would you break the rules?”

Sunny’s perfectly jeweled eyes glisten with tears. “I wanted to help her. She’s--she’s been shaking from the shocks.”

Hander Hanford looks down at him, cold, unemotional. “No. She hasn’t. You’re imagining things. You’re fucking crazy.” He spins the baton around, drawing both pets’ attention to it. “You’re pets, both of you. You don’t take off the collar. So it’s time to be punished.”

501 is moving before she understands, just as Handler Hanford brings the baton towards 236, just as 236 whimpers and braces himself for the blow. She’s moving and despite how much skinnier she’s gotten since she was pulled from the Guard Dog program, she’s still strong and scary and just a feral mutt and she can move fast and strong. She can throw herself in front of the blow and take it, take it across her sore ribs. 

236 wails, watching 501’s body shudder under the force of the baton. It doesn’t keep her down for long. She jumps up onto her feet, legs bent, still crouched over. 501 snarls from underneath the muzzle. 

She doesn’t think to take it off, she’s used to it now. 

236 is softly crying behind her, but 501 tunes him out, looking up at Handler Hanford like he’s a god. 

No. The devil. 

Why else would he exist in her nightmares? 

There’s a fraction of a second of pure silence, no sound in the room except for the air conditioning pumping into the training room and 236’s small cries. No sound, no movement. 

501 strikes out, swinging wildly at Handler Hanford’s legs. 

He retaliates by kicking up, the steel toe of his boot smashing into 501’s jaw. 501 falls back, all thoughts leaving her head. Blood drips from her mouth, running into the muzzle and choking her. 

She can’t fight Handler Hanford, they both know that. Can’t save both of them. 501 clenches her teeth and positions herself in front of 236, her back to him. 

If she can’t fight back, she’s going to sit here and take the pain.

Fury crackles over Handler Hanford’s face and with no care for which of the pets he hits, swings the baton down. Once. Twice. Over and over again, right on 501’s torso, back, and arms. 

They don’t hit the face here, don’t scar the face, don’t cause too much brain damage so no false memories come up. 501 takes the pain and doesn’t complain, just grunts with each impact. If Handler Hanford keeps going like this, he could break 501’s ribs. 

501 thinks her ears are going to break, though, from 236’s wailing as the baton misses him, time and time again. 

But 501 doesn’t care. 236 is pretty. 236 is good. He’s meant to be a Romantic. She’s supposed to be a Guard Dog, and even though she’s not anymore, she’s still just a shield. 

501 goes still as the pain overwhelms her senses, as she can feel her body going numb. 

Thunk. 

Baton on skin on bones, ribs slightly visible through the white t-shirt. 

Thunk. 

Bruises, purple, green, blue, yellow, exploding across her back and side like miniature supernovas in her skin. 

Thunk. 

Eyes going glossy, too much pain and not the right kind to be pleasure. 

Thunk. 

The boy behind her screaming, his hands on her shoulder, even when the baton hits his knuckles and he sucks in a breath. 

Thunk. 

Finch is screaming now, too, screaming at Handler Hanford to stop this, he’s going too far with the pet.

Thunk. 

501’s skin is splitting from the blunt force now, and she’s trying to work around the muzzle so much that it’s chafing her skin.

Thunk. 

She’s going now.

Thunk. 

At least she could save him, at least she could save her love from this horrible violence. 

Thunk. 

Why would she want this? What drove her to sign up for nothing but pain, pain, pain every day for the rest of her life? 

Thunk. 

She’s going now. 

Thunk. 

She kept 236 safe for as long as she could. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

Neck Day

@brutal-nemesis all the necks...

Enjoy some Guard Dog era 501/Star being a disaster. Happens one week into her Guard Dog training. 

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: neck whump, defiant whumpee, neck biting, ummm eating blood???, strangulation

“Calm down, 501. Calm down. Put the baton down.”

501 whirls around, her brown hair flying around. She grips the baton tighter and growls, gripping the baton tighter. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. 

Handler Greco steps forward, holding his hand out. “Come on. You don’t want to make this worse for you.”

501’s voice shakes. Her hands are steady, always steady. But her voice always shakes. “You don’t--I broke the remote. You can’t, can’t shock me. Can’t do it.”

“You have nowhere to go. Stand down. Drop the baton. Get on your knees. You don’t want to see what’s going to happen to you if you keep doing this.”

Two other handlers come into the room, each holding a baton, each ready to strike. 501 sizes up their body language before turning back to Handler Greco. “I-I want to g-go home.”

There’s no sympathy in his black eyes. “You don’t have a home, 501. That’s why you’re here. You’re too dangerous to have a home. No one wants to be near something so feral.”

501 shakes her head, her heart hammering against her bruised ribs. Life started a week ago and it’s been nothing but pain and misery and Handler Greco making her better. “Home, I want to go, go home.”

“Get it through your thick skull, 501!” Greco yells. “No one wants you. No one gives a shit about you. Drop the baton or I’m going to make you regret breathing.”

501 is good, she’s so good. There must have been something before this week, because she moves like a viper, she moves like a wildcat to strike. One week of training alone couldn’t have made her this good. Each step is deliberate and strong and quick, each movement is carefully placed, and in a few quick strides that take her less than half a second, she has her arms wrapped, constricting Handler Greco’s chest, the baton still gripped in one of her hands. Before he can react, she sinks her teeth into his neck. 

He howls and thrashes underneath her, trying to escape, but 501 is relentless. He wants to call her a mutt, he can be her chew toy. The blood is coppery and metallic and makes 501’s stomach turn, but she bites down tighter, feeling skin and blood vessels give underneath her teeth, feeling Handler Greco’s breathing quicken. 

501’s stomach rumbles, and she finds herself sucking onto Handler Greco’s neck, letting the blood slide down her throat. Better than nothing, and she’s had nothing for two days now. 

A blow falls heavy across her back, 501 grunts but keeps on biting. A second blow rains down against her temple, and it’s enough to make 501 stumble back, releasing her grip on Greco. 

She takes one of the handlers down with blows to his face and chest, swinging the baton with ease. Just as she’s about to take down the second, a wire is wrapped around her neck, wound tight, and pulled. 

501’s eyes flare open, she opens her mouth in a silent plead and claws at where the wire digs into her skin. 

Handler Greco presses his chest into 501’s back just as the girl’s legs begin to weaken. He keeps her suspended up, even as her legs fall and she’s scrambling to get back on her feet, to save herself—

“You’re in for it now,” he hisses into her ear, except she can’t, the wire’s cutting off her throat. “I’m gonna make you hurt, you feral mutt. Reason they call you trainees dogs.”

Spots appear in 501’s vision, her movements slow and stop. The last thing 501 sees before she blacks out is her reflection in the window of the training room. Mouth, smeared with blood. Legs, twisted unnaturally. Wire around her neck. Handler Greco’s cold eyes, staring down at her. 

[ocean-blue-whump]

Special Delivery

Time to officially meet 236′s bonded...

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: pet whump, general BBU warning, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon drugging, muzzle, defiant whumpee, shock collar, bonded whumpees, vaguely (very very vague) implied noncon

Package should have been delivered. 728501 was high as a kite, probably still is. But 690236 should be awake and ready for you. Also--email WRU’s customer service back. Things are heating up over here and I don’t want to get fired.

Hunter Bianchi slides his phone in his pocket, resisting the urge to tell James Hanford that he’ll email customer service when he actually sees his products. When he makes sure they’re alive. 

He heads down the spiral staircase. Hunter bought this mansion five years ago. Finally, he has something to do with all the rooms. 

He smooths his black hair in the mirror, almost as if he’s expecting a guest, and laughs at himself. Not guests. Not people.

There are two wooden boxes at his front door, plain amidst the iron wrought pots filled with foliage and the decorative glass making up the grand double doors. He wheels them into the foyer, setting them up on the mosaic rose on the floor. 

Each box has a clipboard on top of it. WRU doesn’t use standard shipping, they have trucks that deliver the pets with the utmost care. Hunter picks up the first clipboard and flips through it. It’s the order form for 690236, signed by James Hanford. It’s just a reprint of everything Hunter requested.

He knows the other papers won’t say the same. 

The top page of 728501’s papers bears a note in red ink about how 501 is dangerous and not fully trained and recommended to be sent to an intense refurbishment center. Would have been a waste. He picked her because she’s hot. It’s better that she fights. Hunter likes to break people apart. 

There are red ink notes all over the paperwork, about why specific things failed, about the scars on her body from the Handlers. 

Hunter asked for limited scars, not none. 

James wrote a few sentences for him at the end of the paper, next to his signature. She’s a fucking handful. There’s a few restraints in the box with her, heavy duty ones. I know you bought your own but USE THE ONES WE GAVE YOU. SHE WILL HURT YOU. 501 is dangerous. You have my phone number if you need help.

“Thanks, man, but you already had your chance. Now I want her,” Hunter murmurs to himself.

He steps up to the first box again, running his hands over the wood. It takes some effort, but he pries the lid off. 

Hunter smiles sweetly. “Oh, you’re gorgeous, aren’t you?”

690236 looks up at Hunter, slowly blinking with angelic blue eyes at him through long, thick eyelashes as he adjusts to the light. He comes dressed in a white shirt and black shorts. Ungagged, but he keeps his mouth shut and whimpers through his full lips anyways. His curly blond hair catches the beams of light coming in from the large windows in the mansion, illuminating gold. He’s tan and tiny, thin and delicately built. A baby bird in a padded box. His paperwork says he’s twenty-three, he looks twenty. His hands are restrained in front of him with black rope, a thick collar encircles his neck. Inside the box with him is a remote. The trembling boy picks it up with his thin fingers, struggling with the rope encircling his wrists, cups it in his palms, and holds it out to Hunter. “Hello, sir. I am 690236. You may call me whatever you wish. I am your Romantic companion, here to serve you however you may please. This is the remote to my collar, so you may correct me if I fail to please you.” The boy finishes talking and tilts his head to the side. His hair falls with him, not too long, but long enough for Hunter to have a nice handhold. 

Hunter grabs the remote and puts it in his pocket. “You’re pretty as shit, darling. I’m sure we won’t need to use this.”

236’s voice is the perfect mix of high-pitched and sweet. “Thank you, sir. You are very benevolent.”

“Climb out of the box for me and get into position two.” Hunter steps back and watches 236 unfold himself from the box, gangly limbs stiff from the journey, and folds himself neatly to his knees, looking up at Hunter. 

“How are you feeling?” Hunter asks, knowing Boxies are often hungry, dehydrated, and disoriented after travelling to their owners. He also knows 236 won’t give them an honest answer.

“I am good, sir.” 236 shifts a little bit, looking at the other box. 

Hunter chuckles. “We’ll work on the “sir” thing later. You’ll learn a few different names for me. Are you missing your bonded?”

236 pouts his lips slightly. “Y-yes, sir, I need, need to be around her, please. I can’t go this long, I need her.”

“Fine.” Hunter has to grab his crowbar to get the lid of the box open. There’s no padding in this box, the walls are steel. The girl sitting in it is tracing circles on the wall with her bound hands. Her hazel eyes are unfocused; she doesn’t register the lid of the box being taken off initially. Her brown hair, down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, is tangled up by the wire muzzle fastened to her face, cutting into her face. Her arms are bound in front of her in thick leather straps, padlocked on. Her legs are bound at her ankles and above her knees with the same style leather straps. She’s in the same outfit as 236, but her back is bleeding through her shirt. She’s lean, but muscular, left over from her brief training as a Guard Dog. 501 is not delicate, but she’s stunning, pale, high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. 

Hunter grins as she finally realizes she’s not alone. 501 scrambles to push herself against the wall of her box, snarling under the muzzle. 

Fucking feral. 

Fucking gorgeous. 

“Can you hear me?” he asks her, not sure if she’s too far gone to understand him. 

Slowly, the girl nods, her hands up by her face. Her nails have been ripped to bloody shreds. 

“236,” Hunter says sharply, turning to the boy. “Get her out of the box and into position two. There will be consequences if you don’t comply.”

“Yes, sir.” 236 rises to his feet, bending over the box. “501. Please, come out. I know it’s hard. I know, your vision is blurry. I’ll help you, okay? You can hold onto me.”

Hunter watches quietly, like a predator waiting to strike. It’s remarkable, how well they can communicate when one of them can’t talk. Remarkable, that 236 seems to turn 501 docile.

236 keeps 501 steady as she rises to her feet, lurching around. She can’t step over the box with her legs tightly bound together, and 236 isn’t strong enough to pick her up, so she flops over the side and he slides her onto the floor. Both of 236’s hands stay on her back as she gets on her knees. 

Hunter peeks inside of her box. There’s a remote, which he pockets, several restraints and gags, and a package of drugs, all labeled neatly. 

For later. 

For now, Hunter wants to try something. He steps forward, aware of how 501 tenses up as his boots thud against the marble and mosaic floor. His hand, tangling itself in 236’s soft hair, has her snapping at him and 236 pleading with her, trying to stop her. 

“The owner is good,” he says in a light voice. “The handlers are bad. The owner is good. Don’t attack him, please, I don’t want to be hurt.”

Hunter tugs 236’s hair, hard enough to make the boy whimper. He doesn’t bring his hands up to defend himself, though. Perfect. 

501 growls, pulling away from 236, and launches herself forward, but she’s high off her ass and forgets that she’s fully bound. 501 collapses to the floor on her side, shaking her head blearily. 

236’s eyes tear up.

Hunter lets go of the boy’s hair and pulls the remote out of his pocket, the one for 728501. But neither of them have to know that. “See? Look what you’ve done. Now I have to hurt him.”

236 wails. “No, please, sir, I’ll be good for you.”

Hunter did ask for a boy that begged. But he also wanted one who would take his punishments. “Quiet, 236. For that, I’m putting this on high. See how that feels.”

501 wriggles around on the floor, making noises behind the muzzle, trying to get herself together enough to fight. 

Hunter smiles. And he pushes the button. 

501 screams into the muzzle as her whole body seizes up, back forming a perfect arch as she suffers so beautifully, the shocks overtaking her. The sounds are muffled, but still there. 

236 wails like he was shocked too and slides himself to her side, placing his bound hands on her shoulders as she screams and whimpers and writhes around. 

Fear in the air is delectable to Hunter, he drinks it up. “Should we go again?”

236’s eyes widen. “Sir, please, show mercy, I can, I can make you feel good, please don’t hurt her. 

501, still twitching from shocks, shakes her head.

Hunter pockets the remote. “Fine.” He turns around, going to the closet by the front doors. He was prepared for this. Inside the closet are two gauzy slip dresses, one in baby blue and one in mint green. Blue for 236, green for 501. He throws them down at the pets. “Strip.” Hunter says. 

236 holds up his hands.

Hunter rolls his eyes, untying the boy. “Make it quick.”

“Sir, how will I get the dress on 501?” he asks. 

“The straps detach. Rip her clothes off and get the dress on. I know you’re brainless but this isn’t that hard.”

236’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, and he gets to work. 

Hunter watches 236 move, examining their bodies. 236 has a few scars on his ribs that Hunter can’t remember what they’re from, he’ll have to look it up in his paperwork. They’re both beautiful, even with the scars. 

236 moves quickly, talking softly to 501 to get her calmed down. 

Gorgeous. Two pets in cute little dresses. Now, they just need names. 

“236,” Hunter says. “You will answer to Sunny from now. And 501, your new name is Star. My little pets.” 

He pauses. 

“I can’t wait to see you scream.”