#dehumanisation tw
She had heard the app described as addicting. And, yeah, sure, sometimes she could lose track of time when on it, but it wasn’t like she was obsessed or anything and she certainly was not addicted. She just liked it.
She enjoyed the community that was ever present. She enjoyed the outspoken anonymity. She had maybe 1000? 2000? Followers on the app. But none of them knew her. She could be an extrovert in silence and she adored it. Not to mention she could project whatever she wished onto the people, the endless faces, she saw scrolling across her screen.
He seems nice she’d think to herself as she sipped warm cider, a book forgotten on her lap and her phone firmly in her hand, thumb moving carefully over the screen. She didn’t know him. Barely seen small pieces of him, but she thought he seemed nice.
God she’s gorgeous she’d blush as a pretty girl smiled at her through her screen. She wasn’t one to date, not normally, but she fell in love with strangers on the internet everyday. And she adored it.
She had things she hated on the app too. She would admit that she was a vain person, selfish, and set in her ways, but that was fine. She could easily cater her own experience to keep the people she found distasteful away from her feed. But the app wasn’t perfect, is anything? And sometimes people who cross her screen and she would sneer. She’d laugh with cruelty, or roll her eyes.
Some unattractive man in his bed, shirtless, complaining about some video game. He was disgusting, she’d decide with no evidence. And she would move on, hoping it would be a while before she would have to see something like that again.
And that was her life. Work, chores, bills, and the app. Sometimes she’d go out, but not often. Sometimes she’d find a new hobby but they quickly got abandoned for the app. And that’s what had happened on that day. She’d been scrolling casually, a cross stitch abandoned on the sofa near her. She was smiling, just slightly, as new faces that she would rapidly forget flashed past her.
Until one didn’t. It didn’t flash past. The next face was the same as the last, and again, and again. She furrowed her eyebrows and groaned. What is this some new trend? Some political thing? It’s stupid. Her thoughts were clear. She didn’t try to hide her disgust at both the repetition and the face itself. It was vile, ugly, and she didn’t want to see it anymore.
She kept scrolling. But it was there. It was getting bigger. It was smiling. It was terrifying. She bristled at it. And it bristled back.
But… no. She must’ve been imagining it. It was static, only existing in her phone. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t see her. It couldn’t see her, right?
Her finger moved towards the off button on her phone, but the thought of turning off her screen, of returning to the boring life outside of the app, filled her with a sense of fear much deeper than it possibly could.
The app was addictive. And she was overdosing.
She was lost. It was everywhere and it was all over her. It’s long tongue snaked it’s way into her ear. It’s sagging skin rubbed against her arms. It’s teeth sunk into her thigh. It’s eyes never left her own. She couldn’t blink and it burned, but she couldn’t turn her eyes away from the app for long enough even to do that. It was everywhere and everything. And it was seeping into her skin. She couldn’t remember anything besides it. What was her name? Surely she had one. Where did she live? Did she have a house? What even was the name of this app? Why had she downloaded it?
She could not remember. All she knew was it. It was around her and it was her. She was it. It was it.
Sometimes she thought that maybe she had turned off her phone and that she was just staring at herself reflected back on the black screen. She looked like it now. She was it now. She figured that soon enough she wouldn’t even be she. She would fully become it. But then something would lurch and she would be staring out at a new face. Not the way she had before. Not from the outside, but this time from the inside. She was stuck in the app, stuck as it, and she was screaming for help.
If someone who’s face looked kind appeared she’d beg them for help. They all scoffed or rolled their eyes, some even screamed in disgust. They hated her. They hated it. And she was trapped, calling for the people whom she knew but didn’t to help her. Knowing they never would.
For@whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 22 - Threats
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, EXPLICIT NONCON, MINORS DNI, NSFWHUMP, derogatory language, dehumanisation, guns, Rhys is his own content warning, lady whump
***
Rhys is on her in a second, slamming her head against the headboard and wrapping his strong hands around her throat. “You fucking bitch,” he hisses. “You stupid fucking animal.”
A bruise is forming on his cheek, sharp and angry and swollen.
Star laughs. “That hurt, bitch?”
She hates his fucking accent, hates how rough it is in her ear as he growls, “Not as bad as you’re going to be hurting.”
“Isn’t the punishment supposed to fit the crime?”
He slams her into the headboard again. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Didn’t…fucking…do anything, you Irish bastard.”
Rhys starts putting pressure, cutting off her air. “Bitches don’t talk. Bitches get fucked, you cunt.”
Star has given up on surviving this, her bonded is safe and she wants this bastard far, far away from her. “Gonna kill you,” she chokes out.
“No. You’re going to take my cock like the fucked up Romantic you are. Understand?” His grip tightens.
She smirks up at him, her face turning red. “The fuck are you going to do if I don’t listen? Fuck me? Hurt me? You’re going to do that anyways.”
“I’ll take your bonded,” he hisses into her ear. “I’ll take him and I’ll ruin him and I’ll give him back once he’s a fucking shell of who he used to be. I’ll make sure when you look into his pretty eyes, there’s nothing there. He’ll just be a walking corpse.”
Star’s mouth goes dry. “Sir wouldn’t…”
“I wouldn’t test that theory. He gave me you for the night, didn’t he?” Rhys lets go of her throat, roughly grabbing her breast. “I think there’s a lot your Sir is willing to do to have my protection.”
“Your protection doesn’t mean shit, seeing how you got punched by a pet.” She makes a pouty face. “Can’t even protect yourself from a whore like me?”
“That’s right. You are a whore. At least you know that much, you stupid bitch.” Rhys takes his hands off her throat to tie her hands to the headboard and pull out a knife. “I’ll take your bonded. I’ll make him mine. Wipe any thought of you out of his head. Because you’re not actually in love. You’ve just got all those stupid programmed thoughts in your head. I’ll wipe them out. I’ll make him love me.”
“You can’t,” she hisses, fear overtaking her senses.
Rhys begins slicing apart her shirt, baring her skin to him. “Pretty tits.”
“Fuck off.”
“Watch your mouth or I’ll give you something good to do with it.” He pulls the shredded pieces of her shirt away and starts teasing her waistband with the knife. “Let’s see if you’re worth all the stress you cause Hunter, hmmm? If you’re a good Romantic slut. Because you’re sure not a worthy one.”
She spits in his face. “Your definition of worthy is fucked.”
Pure rage shoots through his eyes, and he reaches up to wipe the spit off his cheek. “Stick your fucking tongue out, cunt,” he growls. “Or I’ll fuck you with my knife and make your bonded watch.”
Star can barely comprehend the terror rushing through her, but shakily, she sticks her tongue out.
Rhys sets the knife down, pulling out a gun and turning the safety off. “Go ahead. Lick the gun.” He puts it out, rubbing it against Star’s tongue.
The bitter taste of the metal makes her gag, but she gives the gun kitten licks. Her gaze is angry and defiant, and she looks at Rhys, trying to let him see that she won’t break.
Rhys laughs. “Good cunt.” With no warning, he shoves the gun into her mouth. “Hold it. If you drop, your bonded is mine.”
Star gags at the intrusion, but closes her lips around the metal obediently. She doesn’t want to die, and even more, she doesn’t want Sunny to break.
Rhys roughly yanks her panties down, picking his knife back up to trace the crease of her thigh. “Now I see why you’re a Romantic.”
She glares at him. She can take this, it’s what she’s meant for.
Rhys undoes his pants, lining himself up with her entrance. “Don’t drop the gun. Or…”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence.
Rhys thrusts in and Star bites down on the gun, metal scraping her teeth. Fulfilling her purpose for Sir. Like she’s meant for.
***
“Was she good?” Mr. Bianchi asks Rhys.
Rhys shrugs. “Tight. Defiant, but I fixed that.”
“What’d you do?”
“Put a gun in her mouth.”
“That’ll shut the whore up.” Mr. Bianchi finally looks over at the corner of the living room, where Rhys had discarded Star after using her. “Time to go home, puppy. Your bonded is in the car.”
Sunny. Star perks up at that, dragging herself to her feet, her inner thighs still sticky with Rhys’s spend.
Mr. Bianchi clips a leash to her collar. “Call me about our business deal tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Mr. Bianchi nods and pulls Star out the door. “Finally, you didn’t get a bad report.”
“Because he’s fucking terrifying,” she whispers, voice hoarse from the gun.
He slaps her across the face. “Dumb bitch.”
Star is tossed backwards by the hit, and he takes the chance to throw her into the car and climb in after her. He taps on the slide to let the driver to start going.
Star grabs onto Sunny, holding him tightly. “Don’t ever leave me,” she whispers. He’s here. He’s okay. She was good enough to save him this time.
“I, I won’t,” he responds, gently rubbing her back.
She did it. She kept him safe, no matter how ruined it made her. Star tightens her grip, trying to ignore the watchful, lustful gaze of Mr. Bianchi.
They all know what’s going to happen when they get home.
For@whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 21 - Whumper Run-In
Cassiel Belanger belongs to @painful-pooch
Across the Stars and Through the Meadow Masterlist (Cas and Star AU)
Tagging the Star crew: @ashintheairlikesnow@whumpinggrounds@whumptakesthecake@justplainwhump@whumpfessional@winedark-whump
CW: lady whump, BBU, pet whump, burning, dehumanisation
***
Star is on autopilot. There aren’t enough customers for her to stay focused, and her head is throbbing with a dull ache.
Cas has already started cleaning the kitchen for the night. Star listens to him singing while he works, smiling at the sound. That’s it. If she focuses on his voice, maybe the pain will disappear.
She’s so enthralled by his beautiful singing that she doesn’t notice the new customer at the end of the bar until the woman clears her throat.
Star throws her towel over her shoulder and walks over. “What can I get you?”
“728501, right?”
Star freezes. 728501. It’s been…three months, roughly, since she and Cas escaped. Three months isn’t long enough for her body not to react to the numbers. Slowly, she raises her head to meet the woman’s eyes. “Handler Reyes.”
Handler Reyes smirks. “501. Greco’s been so damn angry since you’ve been gone.”
“G-good,” Star stammers out, trying to keep her bearings despite the world crumbling around her. Handler Reyes wasn’t her primary, but the woman had helped Handler Greco with some of her training. Star remembers the pain left in the wake of the woman’s baton, the bruises and welts and shocks and blood, red against the white floors. “Why are you here?”
“Believe it or not, pet, I’m here to get a drink. Seeing you is just an added bonus.” Handler Reyes drums her fingers on the tabletop. “I’ll have an old fashioned.”
Star puts the sugars and bitters into a rocks glass, keeping her eyes on Handler Reyes. She can’t let her know that Cas, another escaped pet, is just in the kitchen, oblivious to what’s happening at the bar. She can suffer, but she won’t let Cas be taken back there. He deserves to be free, he’s not meant to live in captivity.
She’s a mutt. Her freedom doesn’t matter.
“Greco has been…well, right after they found out you escaped, he put a Guard Dog in a coma. Kid wasn’t going to make it out of training anyways, but still. I’ve never seen him that mad.” Handler Reyes looks at Star’s shaking hands. “Trouble?”
“Yeah, I’m having trouble,” Star snaps, adding water to the glass and stirring to dissolve the sugar. “Are we really going to play this game?”
“What game, 501? I just want my drink.” Handler Reyes leans back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. “One of my friends recommended this place to me. Said the bartender wasn’t half bad and the cook was pretty good. Where is he, anyways?”
“Manager sent him home early.” Star can’t breathe, frozen in place with the glass in her hand. “It’s just me tonight.” She has to protect Cas. “And stop playing games with me.”
Handler Reyes shrugs. “I’m not playing games, you dumb mutt. I just got off of work and I want a drink. That’s it. I’d fix that attitude of yours, 501, or I’ll have to punish you.”
Star glares at her. “I’m going to get punished anyways once you bring me back, so fucking do it, you coward.”
There’s a moment of silence before Handler Reyes bursts into laughter. “You’re still a spitfire. Even when you’re not in a white shirt and black shorts with a collar around your neck.”
Star snarls, her heart racing, but she adds large ice cubes to the glass with shaking hands and selects a high proof bourbon. Three months. That’s all she got. Three months of happiness.
It’s not long enough to satisfy her, but it’s long enough that she knows going back is going to hurt so much worse, knowing what she could have instead.
For the first time since she’s seen Handler Reyes, Star looks over at the kitchen, where Cas is cleaning away, still singing.
He doesn’t know. He’s going to walk out once he’s done and find nothing but an empty bar, nothing but an empty space where a mutt used to be. She has to hope, though, that he can move on. That he’ll find something and some reason.
She has to leave some kind of sign, something to let him know that she didn’t just leave him, that she was taken.
The image of Cas thinking she left because of him hurts her more than the idea of going back to WRU.
Is that…tears are building in her eyes. Star brushes them away and pours the bourbon. “So take me back. That’s how this ends, right? Handler Greco gets his spitfire mutt back in a collar and on her knees?”
“No.”
Star’s eyes widen. “What?”
“Keep stirring my drink, 501. My, my. It’s taking you an awful long time to make a simple cocktail.”
“Because you’re a goddamn Handler,” Star retorts, stirring the drink obediently. “I can’t fucking focus because the last time I saw you, you were bashing my face in with an electric baton.”
“Good times, 501. Good times.”
Star adds the orange to the drink and slides it across the bar. “So how do you want this to go? I’d prefer quietly, and I’ll come without a fight.” She has to protect Cas at all costs.
“Please. If I was going to take you back to WRU, I would have already.” Handler Reyes takes a sip of the drink. “Mm. Good job, 501. You make a mean cocktail. Throw a mean punch too. A natural Guard Dog.”
“So then just get this over with!” Star roars, slamming her fist against the counter. “Fucking take me back to Handler Greco already!”
Handler Reyes wrinkles her nose. “See, that’s the problem. The only reason I’m not dragging you back to WRU by that pretty brown hair of yours is because I’ve got a bone to pick with Devin Greco and you back in his arms would bring him far too much pleasure for my liking.”
Star grips the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. That fuck Devin Greco walks around thinking he’s the founder of life as we know it. Getting you back would make him even more smug, somehow, and I couldn’t handle that. Plus, he’d probably just buy you himself so you could never leave.”
Star’s heart skips a beat. “B-buy me?” Not Handler Greco. Not the man who did nothing but drug and beat her and say it was for her own good.
“Oh yeah. He’s obsessed with you.” Handler Reyes takes another sip of her drink. “God, this is good. If you weren’t so feral, I would have put you as a Domestic.”
Star is speechless, her eyes wide and her breath coming quickly.
Handler Reyes chuckles. “You’re terrified, aren’t you? I miss hearing your screams coming from Greco’s training room. And as much as I hate that man, he got the most delicious sounds from you. Do you still know your positions, trainee?”
Star nods, her whole body trembling under Handler Reyes’s cold stare.
“Position six.”
Star’s arms move on their own, extending all the way out with her wrists together, right in front of Handler Reyes.
“Good mutt.” Handler Reyes digs around in her purse. “Do you think I can get a scream out of you?”
Star’s mind immediately shoots to Cas. If he hears her scream, he’ll come running out, and Star doubts that Handler Reyes won’t send him back to Handler Rowan. “No, Handler.”
“We’ll see.” Handler Reyes pulls out a lighter. “This way, I can scar you all I want and not get busted for damaging the merchandise.”
She has to be strong, she has to take this for Cas. “Will you tell Handler Greco you found me?” she asks, fear in her voice.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But first—” Handler Reyes opens the lighter, and a bright flame ignites. “You’re going to burn for me, pretty thing.”
Star bites down on her lip as Handler Reyes brings the lighter closer and closer to the underside of Star’s forearm, watches with building anticipation and a sick feeling in her stomach as she can feel the heat on her skin.
The flame makes contact with her skin, and Star barely manages to contain her whimper. The pain is immediate, searing, and Star wants nothing more than to pull away from the fire. But she holds her position, even as she can smell her own skin burning, mixed with the smell of the bar.
Handler Reyes takes a sip of her drink, tracing the lighter around a small portion of the back of Star’s forearm. “One hell of a bartender, 501.”
Star grits her teeth, tears building in her eyes from the bitter pain. “That’s not my fucking name.”
“It’s what your barcode says. It’s the only thing that matters.”
“Why don’t you do me a favor and burn the barcode off? I’m not a pet. I don’t need it anymore,” Star hisses.
“You’ll need it one day. You’re still just a mutt.” Handler Reyes smirks. “I think you like it, too. The barcode. Belonging somewhere. So no. I won’t burn the barcode off. But I’ll burn the rest of this pretty skin until I get the sound I want.”
“Fuck you.” The pain builds, and Star feels her skin slowly being destroyed. She’s going to be sick. But she can take it, she has to take it.
Handler Reyes doesn’t say another word, Star keeps her screams smothered, and in this silence, she can hear Cas singing away in the kitchen, unaware of how well Star burns. Good. He needs to stay that way at all costs.
The seconds stretch into minutes and the minutes stretch into hours and what must be an eternity of pain passes before Handler Reyes puts the lighter away and goes back to her drink.
Star doesn’t move.
“Impressive. Even the best Guard Dogs I’ve trained would have pulled away, or at least shed a tear.”
Star stares at the far wall, her lip trembling. She’s just a mutt. She’s supposed to take it.
Handler Reyes finishes her drink and slides the empty glass across the counter along with a ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
She didn’t say to release position, so Star stays still as a statue.
Handler Reyes pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of Star’s arms, making sure to get her barcode and numbers in the shot. “Just in case Greco gets on my nerves. Relax, 501.”
Star gingerly brings her arms back to her sides, the pain making her eyes misty.
“Go clean yourself up. Don’t worry. I won’t come back again. You’ve served your purpose.” Handler Reyes stands up, looking Star over. “Not a scream. Damn. You really are a cold and calloused mutt.”
“Yes, Handler,” Star whispers.
“Good mutt.” With that, Handler Reyes walks out the door, leaving the smell of burning skin behind.
Star runs over to the sink, letting cool water rush over the burns. It helps, a little, enough that she’s able to bite back her cry of pain when she puts a jacket on. Cas can’t know what happened here.
There’s things to do. Glasses to wash, liquor to organize and label, drink mix to throw away.
Star stands in place, staring out on the bar.
Something wet runs down her cheek.
She’s crying.
Just like that, Star is crying. From the pain and the humiliation and the knowledge that she’s just a mutt and she’ll never be anything more. Just a mutt. Just a toy.
She twists a towel around her hands until she cuts off her own circulation and silently, she cries, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.
She breaks. She rebuilds. She repeats.
And she pushes it all down the minute she hears Cas call out for her, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. “Coming, Cas,” she says, keeping her voice neutral.
He can’t know how close he was to going back, what Star just let happen to her. He can never know. It’s just the way it is. She has to keep him safe.
She doesn’t know why, but she’s drawn to him like nothing she’s ever felt, so she has to keep him safe.
It’s what good mutts do.
It’s what good people do, too, and Star is a mix of both these days.
Continued from HERE
ReferencesTHIS
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, lady whump, stabbing aftermath, PTSD flashback, self-hatred, dehumanization, memory gaps, complex feelings around trauma and bonded whumpees, idk how to tag this
***
Star had to stitch up her own wound. Unravel the bottom of a towel, thread a needle she’s used one too many times, and weave it around the wound to stop the bleeding before she passed out. She’s done this before, she knows she has. The scar on the other side of her torso that she doesn’t remember getting tells her a story of its own.
She’s done this before.
Push the needle in and out of skin, try to ignore how her nerves feel like they’re on fire, try to ignore the images flashing in her head nonstop. Sunny, coming at her with a knife.
She loves him. She still does.
She loves him even though she can’t stop seeing the way his face looked the moment before he plunged the knife in. Determined, almost. Like he wanted to do it.
But that…it’s pulling up things she’s not supposed to know, false memories that are just a natural part of training. They’re just false memories.
That dark hallway, the glint of a knife as someone approaches her…it’s just false memories. A communal bathroom, blood on her hands and the smell of death in the air…it’s just false memories, false memories, it’s all false memories.
She doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until she feels like she’s running out of oxygen, finds herself on her hands and knees, sweaty forehead pressed to the wooden floor, teeth gritting together.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
How did she get back to the pet room from the bathroom, she doesn’t remember putting a white bandage over the stitches. She’s losing time, losing time, losing time, she’s remembering things that shouldn’t be there.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
Loud music, drums and guitar and someone singing but the drums stop and she’s on her knees and she can’t breathe, she’s not supposed to remember any of this. False memories, false memories for her stupid bad mutt brain.
How can Sunny love her when she’s fucked in the head, you know that?
Does he even love her?
She would have stabbed herself if he had asked. She once was a Guard Dog, she could have done it right, made sure nothing bad happened to her organs, made sure the wound was just enough to stop her stupid mutt paws from hurting Mr. Bianchi but not so bad that Star swears she heard the knife scrape bone.
She’s supposed to think about her bonded to calm herself down. Supposed to focus on her beautiful Sunshine’s face, but now that face is connected to the gleam of a knife and the gleam of a knife is connected to a dark hallway and the rotting stench of infection and blood and sweat and something darker, low throbbing energy that makes her want to stand up and scream. It’s a pulse of violence, the desire to crack her hands against a brick wall, adrenaline coursing through her along with a twisting sense of dread.
She can feel phantom hands pulling her along, phantom hands kicking and clawing and punching at her and the distant, false memory of her own hands pushing back, of her own lips pulling up into a satisfied snarl and she’s lying on her back now, gasping for breath and whining softly.
Phantom pain on her body…not her body, Mr. Bianchi’s body, Sunny’s body, just a vessel for her stupid mutt brain.
What are you what are you what ARE you, girl
I’m your worst goddamn nightmare
“I’m a mutt,” she whispers into the nothingness.
“I, I’m b-back.”
Star props herself up on her elbows and looks at him but his face makes her think of the knife and the knife makes her think of her false memories and this is a bad night, bad pain night with her head splitting itself open.
She turns away and doesn’t say a word because the face that brought her so much light and joy is just sending her down dark hallways and false memories and things that just show how she’s a stupid bad mutt.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
He’s crouching down next to her and whispering something and Star is everywhere and nowhere all at once, the pet room and Hunter’s bedroom and the Facility and dark hallways that are just her false memories.
She whimpers, she’s not angry anymore, she’s in too much pain and too tired.
She does so much to protect him. She tries her hardest and she takes all the punishments she can because she understands how her owner operates beyond just wanting to please him. She knows he’ll hit them anyways but if she can divert his attention and take all the pain no matter what it is, maybe Sunny won’t become a stupid ugly mutt like her.
She has to talk to him, though, she’s bound by chemical need and what WRU made her into. “You hurt me,” she says, her voice hoarse from holding back her screams when she sewed herself up.
“I, I know.”
She keeps her eyes closed, can’t look at his face, can’t look at his face and she can’t explain why the idea of that fills her with fear. Her skin is cold and clammy and it’s like she’s holding onto a ledge that’s crumbling underneath her fingertips.
She’s not allowed to let go.
Falling means death, fists pounding into her face that won’t stop or Handlers with drugs and batons or Hunter with his whip or Sunny with his knife. Falling means failure and failure means death.
“You hurt me,” she repeats.
“Y-you were, were going to h-hurt Sir.”
It’s supposed to be so plain and simple but it’s not, it’s not and the ledge crumbles a little more.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
“Okay,” she whispers. “I fixed my own wound, in case you were wondering. You didn’t ask but I’ll tell you anyways. I sewed my own wound shut.” She tries to hang onto her own words, tries to pull herself off the ledge but her muscles are so weak.
“I h-had to do that,” he whispers.
She doesn’t look at him but she can still feel him tense, she feels his heartbeat and his anxiety like it’s her own.
“Why?”
It’s one word.
One word that seems to such all the life out of the air.
So she repeats it.
“Why?”
One word and it’s a death sentence, one word and Star feels like her ribs are going to cave in.
She’s searching for something that doesn’t exist and they both know it. Looking for a light in a darkness that isn’t there.
“I h-had to.”
“That’s not an answer.” She’ll always be the bad pet, the pet full of hatred and anger, the discount mutt. She knows that won’t change. But he could talk to her. Please. She can’t take all the pain on her own, she needs to be helped up from the ledge even though she’s a stupid mutt who doesn’t deserve it.
“Can, can we just g-go to bed? Sir h-h-hit me.”
Compartmentalize. Push it all down and learn how to deal with it. She doesn’t have another choice. She has to pull herself up the ledge again even though she doesn’t even understand where she is. Her and the world and a foggy pane of glass but leaving her eyes closed feels like safety. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs to him.
“It, it’s okay.” She feels him snuggle up to her and she winces from his bony elbow pressing into her wound.
“You stabbed me,” she reminds him, her heart racing in her chest. Hands on her is bad, she has to fight and win but she can’t. It’s her bonded, she can’t hurt him. “How?”
“Because you, you threatened S-Sir.”
“But I’ve tried to hurt you before and it didn’t work.” Eyes still closed and she’s slipping under again. “Even when Sir told me to, it didn’t work.”
“C-can we go to bed?” Sunny asks, his voice a little more insistent.
“I don’t think the knife hit anything major,” Star responds. “If you were wondering.” It’s almost like he’s forgotten but Star is still dangling from the ledge.
“Oh-okay.”
It’s with her eyes still closed that Star crawls over to the sheets, her wound burning, and falls over, panting.
Sunny’s right there, curling up next to her.
Another brief moment of silence before he speaks again. “I d-did it because you were thinking bad, bad thoughts and I needed to f-fix you before you, before you did something stupid.”
“Right. Because I’m just a stupid mutt.”
Sunny nods and a tiny part of Star shatters.
“N-night, S-Star,” Sunny whispers, holding her to him.
It hurts, but she doesn’t say no. He corrected her behavior once, she doesn’t want him to do it again. Pets can’t say no.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“It, it’s okay. We’re okay now.”
Star doesn’t sleep that night.
She’s still dangling off the ledge.
For@whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 15 - Hidden Injuries
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.”
For@whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 12 - Forced to Watch
Cassiel Belanger belongs to @painful-pooch and is used with permission
Continued HERE (coming soon)
Across the Stars and Through the Meadow Masterlist (Cas and Star AU)
Tagging the Star crew: @ashintheairlikesnow@whumpinggrounds@whumptakesthecake@justplainwhump@whumpfessional@winedark-whump
CW: EXPLICIT NONCON, NSFWHUMP, MINORS DNI, lady whump, BBU, former pet whumpees, dehumanization, derogatory language, degradation, self-hatred, defiant whumpee, this is fairly intense so let me know if I missed anything!
***
“Excuse me.”
Star turns around, one hand on her hip, the other holding an empty glass. Tonight’s been slammed, she’s barely had a minute to breathe, let alone go pop an Advil for the pain creeping into her bones. “Give me one moment, I’m making a drink.”
The man across the bar, the one who interrupted her, sheepishly smiles. He’s not unattractive, in his late twenties. His friends have been by the pool tables for the last thirty minutes, all playing horribly. “I’m afraid it can’t exactly wait. Someone’s in the bathroom, he seems really sick and I don’t know what to do.”
“Fine.” She sets the glass down and wipes her hands off. She looks around for her knife, better safe than sorry, but swears internally when she remembers that Cas took it because he thought she was in a bad mood this morning.
Damn you, Cassiel. She glares over at the kitchen, but all he does is wave eagerly at her.
Star steps out from around the counter. “Alright. Let’s go. The sick dude, he one of your friends?”
There’s a slight pause before the man answers, something off about his voice. “No. I just went in to…you know.” His laughter sounds forced, and Star doesn’t like how close he’s standing. Her fingers twitch, wishing she had her knife.
“Actually, you know what?” She says, stopping in her tracks. “Let me go grab the bouncer, if this guy’s really that drunk, I could use the help.”
The man puts his hand on her upper back. “I’m sure he’s busy. I’ll help you out if he gets too rowdy.”
Star looks over her shoulder, but she can see Andy busy checking people in at the door and watching over the crowd. “Yeah. Okay.”
They make it to the bathroom, and the man opens the door. “After you.”
She nods at him and steps in. The lights are off, and she fumbles for the light switch, but not before she hears the door lock behind her.
Starr finds the light switch, and her heart sinks at what she sees. There’s no sick man in sight. Instead, there are three other men standing there, one holding a switchblade.
“What the fuck!” Star yells, turning around to escape, but the man from before blocks her.
“Not so fast.” He steps forward, crowding her into the center of the room. “Don’t make a sound, little boxie, or Owen will slit your throat.”
They want her to fight. They want to take her back to WRU and make her into a good Guard Dog. They want to get the pretty finder’s fee on runaway pets.
Star stares defiantly at the man, a growl escaping her throat. “Let me out and I won’t shatter your skull.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Star whips around, seeing that each man has stepped even farther forward, boxing her in. Her heart pounds into her chest. Think. Be reasonable. If they want to take her to WRU, they probably have some drugs or something to knock her out. She just has to fight her way out of here.
She was always one hell of a fighting mutt.
Star shakes her head and takes up a defensive stance, slowly stepping around to make eye contact with each of the men. “I’ll kill you before I go back.”
“Go back where?” One of the men asks, a sadistic grin on his face.
Star stares at him. “You know where.” There’s a single beat, one half moment of silence before she lunges forward, aiming a kick at the man’s chest. It lands, and he goes stumbling backwards, but someone is grabbing Star from behind, pinning her arms behind her back.
She snarls, thrashing in the grip and shooting her leg out behind her.
Greco taught her well, she’s lucky for that, lucky she caught onto the training so quickly. She catches her attacker in the sensitive spot just above the knee and wrenches herself from his grasp. She doesn’t wait a moment before she attacks the next person, trying to land a flurry of punches and drive the man away so she can get to the door.
Get to the door. She knows this drill, she’s done it before. Get to the door and protect your owner. She always was such a good fighter, but these days, her body is breaking down.
Pain shoots through her back, and Star winces, her rhythm thrown off by the sudden flash of agony. She stumbles backwards, hitting the far wall, and one of the men takes the chance to jump on her and start punching.
Star’s vision blurs, her ears ring as the blows rain down on her face, blood dripping from her nose and mouth and cheek. She puts her hands up to protect her head, knowing her only option is to try to protect herself
The first man walks up to her, grabbing her by the hair and twisting her head back to look at him. “You fucking bitch.”
One of the other men slams his fist into her stomach, and Star doubles over, gasping for breath. “Who’s she going with first?”
So they’re going to take turns carting her back to WRU, back to the white walls. Star whimpers. She has to get out of here, she can’t go back but her body is being torn apart by pain.
“You take her first,” the man with the switchblade says, gesturing at the first man. “You were the one who got the dumb bitch in here.”
He smirks. “With pleasure.” He twists his hand further into Star’s hair and pushes her forwards.
She kicks and screams and scratches at his arms, but she knows no one can hear her. No one can save her. It’s just her with no chance to say goodbye.
The man bends her over the sink and lets go of her hair, only to grab her hands and roughly zip tie them behind her back. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he hisses into her ear.
What’s that supposed to mean? Star stares down at the sink, still trying to kick her legs to get the man off of her.
“Stop fucking moving,” the man with the switchblade says, grabbing a fistful of Star’s hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror.
Star sees her long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, she sees her green eyes full of pain and fear, she sees her pale skin underneath the bathroom lighting with her hands tied behind her back and she sees her face bloody and bruised and broken. She sees the man behind her run his hands down her back because she doesn’t want to feelit.
Star goes still. “How are you going to take me back without people seeing?” she asks.
“Take you back?” The man with the switchblade laughs and presses the knife to her neck. “Oh, you dumb bitch. You’re not going anywhere.”
“What do you–”
Star is cut off when the first man hooks his fingers in the waistband of her jeans and slowly starts pulling them down.
Aren’t you lucky to be here, 501? Not down the hall with the Romantics?
The pieces click together as soon as the man has pulled Star’s jeans and underwear all the way down. “I’m not a–” She can’t think, she can’t process what’s happening. “I’m not trained for this, Sir.”
“You don’t need to be trained,” the man hisses. “You just need to stay right there and don’t fucking scream.”
Star’s eyes dart to the side, panic clouding her brain, her breath coming in quick pants. This can’t be real, this can’t be happening, she doesn’t know what to do, how to react.
The man with the switchblade digs the knife into her throat, drawing a bead of blood and sharp pain with it. “Look at yourself. Go on. Watch yourself.”
Star looks at the mirror, her heart shattering as she sees her eyes. No longer human and brave and defiant and everything she liked about herself, everything she had gotten back from WRU. Just afraid.
The man runs a finger across her slit, and Star whimpers, sick to her stomach and disgusted with herself. “I’ll go back,” she whispers. “I don’t want this.”
The man hushes her. “You don’t need to talk. Just take it, bitch.”
The other two men walk to stand by the door, both staring at Star, staring between her legs at what’s now bared to them.
Star can’t close her eyes, can’t look away. She can’t do this. Greco might have drugged her and beat her and broke her down but he never did this to her. She’s never had sex before, not even in her false memories. She doesn’t even want to have sex. “Please,” she whispers at her reflection.
Her reflection doesn’t answer.
“Going to prep her?” one of the men asks.
“Nope.”
Star feels something press against her entrance. She’s dry and scared and she doesn’t want this, please, she doesn’t want this. She twists around, trying to free herself.
The man with the switchblade tightens his grip on her hair and presses the knife further into Star’s throat. “Keep moving and you’ll bleed out.”
She doesn’t want to have sex with this man. She doesn’t want to die like this, she wants to die in the hospital like she’s supposed to in a few years.
She stays still and hates herself for it.
“She’s nervous,” the man with the switchblade says, smirking. “I don’t think she’s done this before.”
“Good. She’ll be tight.”
Tight? What does that mean…oh. Oh. No, absolutely not, she can’t, she doesn’t want this, she can’t even think about it.
There’s no fighting this, no way out.
So Star screams, hoping someone, anyone will hear her and come in and save her from this…this thing that Star can’t name, even if it’s just having sex.
Greco had protected her from this for so long.
Maybe it’s not a good thing that she left him, because now…this can happen. Without Greco, she has to have sex.
Her scream is short-lived by the man with the switchblade putting his hand over her mouth and snapping, “Hand me her panties.”
There’s a brief rustle of movement before she sees her gray underwear being passed to the man with the switchblade. He pries her mouth open and shoves the fabric in there. “Finally. Now you can fuck her.”
Star chokes on her underwear, her eyes filling with tears. No. She can’t cry, it has to be fine, it’s just sex, right?
“Hold her head up,” the man behind her says. “I want her to watch herself get used.”
Get used? Maybe that’s what this is. She’s getting used. There’s not a difference between that and sex.
The man with the switchblade yanks Star’s head back up, and she’s forced to confront her dead green eyes again, the underwear distorting her face and making her look disgusting. Worthless. Like a piece of shit, useless bitch who deserves to die.
Maybe it’s a good thing she’s gagged so Cas doesn’t have to see the worthless mutt he rescued being…used like this.
She holds her gaze at her reflection and her reflection stares back as she hears a bottle cap opening and a clumsy hand spreading something gelatinous and cold across her vagina. “Don’t want her to tear, knowing the three of you are going after me?”
There’s *more?*
The man with the switchblade grabs at Star’s thin black t-shirt, and with one strong pull, he rips it off of her and slices her bra off with his knife.
She’s naked and she hates this so much and Handler Greco was supposed to keep her safe from this.
It’s what she gets for leaving him behind.
“Perfect tits.” The man behind her runs the back of his hand down her back, stopping at her bound wrists. “Let me show you how a real man fucks a whore, gentlemen.”
A whore. That’s the word she was looking for, the word to describe what she really is. She’s a whore.
“Gonna fill this useless bitch up with my cock.” The man thrusts in.
More of Star’s hope vanishes.
He pulls out. Thrusts in again.
Any light left in Star’s eyes is gone.
He pulls out again. Thrusts in again.
Star, the whore mutt, doesn’t want to be here anymore.
Pulls out, thrusts in, over and over and over.
All Star can do is look at her bruised, bloody, pathetic face in the mirror and hold back her tears and watch herself shatter. She should have stayed with Handler Greco. She should have done something different.
But instead she takes a stranger’s cock like a good whore with her underwear in her mouth and she’s breaking. The reflection in the mirror moans around the gag. The reflection’s cheeks are streaked with tears, the reflection’s body rocks with each thrust. The reflection reacts, moves like a good pet.
But Star is so far gone.
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Kidnapping
Collab with @painful-pooch! Vasyklo is hers (so blame Izzy for all the mean stuff he does)
Takes place during Star’s “recovery” era
Continued from HERE
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, lady whump, VERY EXPLICIT NSFWHUMP, NONCON, MINORS DNI, dehumanization, derogatory language, restraints, violence, aftermath of noncon, beating, Vasyklo is his own content warning, mentions of organized crime, VERY DEGRADING LANGUAGE, broken bones, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
***
CW: CHARACTER DEATH (NOT A MAIN), VERY MILD GORE, KIDNAPPING, REFERENCED/IMPLIED ABUSE, DEHUMANIZING LANGUAGE, BETRAYAL
@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness: Kidnapping (sorta)
First,Next
Wickham didn’t realize he’d been kidnapped until day four of their vacation when Tyr is forced to put a gun to the head of the man his parents had sent to retrieve him. They’d worked really hard to keep him ignorant and comfortable and satisfied. Suggesting a vacation hadn’t been difficult. Keeping it from Malcolm and Charlotte has been easy. Wickham was more than happy to be out of the hustle of the glittering New York city skyline and away from the noise of its taxis and scam artists. He was even more excited to be out from under his parents’ thumbs.
For@whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 22 - Threats
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, EXPLICIT NONCON, MINORS DNI, NSFWHUMP, derogatory language, dehumanisation, guns, Rhys is his own content warning, lady whump
***
