(First little foray into the BBU, so general tws for that. Specific tws for shock collars and yelling/insulting. WC: 1059.)
She hadn’t read the contract, hadn’t asked for details. She had just signed it. The brief synopsis she’d been given- lifetime wages, full-time employment, housing, you’ll love it, -had won her over. Of course it had.
She was a college student with no job, no family, no friends, and five dollars left in her bank account.
The offer had sounded like nirvana.
The alarm bells in her head should have started going off then. But they didn’t, not until she’d been ushered into a van and they’d left the campus.
“No time to waste,” the nice lady had insisted when she’d asked why they wanted her to leave so quickly, she had class in ten minutes, “People like you are in hot demand!”
She’d been handed a clipboard and a pen and asked to fill out a survey about herself on the drive.
It started off incredibly generic with questions, like; What’s your full name? (Catherine Eleanor Hobbs) How old are you? (19) What is your gender? (Female) What is your sexuality? (Bisexual) which continued for nearly a full page.
Then it started asking about things she had no clue about. Have you had any previous experience with WRU? She didn’t know what WRU was, and the lady didn’t answer when she asked, so she checked the box that said No.
Do you have an affiliation (previous or current) with any anti-pet group?
Anti-pet? She vaguely remembered having seen a flyer for a rally a few years ago, but she’d ignored it. Why would anyone be against pets?
She checked the No box again.
Do you agree with anti-pet ideology?
Why would she? Pets were wonderful. Thinking about this was making her miss her cat.
No.
Did you read your contract thoroughly?
She bit her lip, nervous that she might get in trouble if she admitted that she hadn’t even skimmed it. But she’d probably be in even more trouble if she lied...
She answered honestly and told the lady she’d finished filling the survey out.
The van pulled into an alley, and it hit Catherine then that she wasn’t safe. She tried the door, tried to find some way out, but her seatbelt was locked and held her in place.
The lady had climbed into the backseat, told her something that she didn’t hear in her panic, and a needle was plunged into her neck.
The only thing she had to hold onto during that first week of her training was her name. “Catherine. My name is Catherine. My name is Catherine.”
It was her endless mantra, the only thing grounding her. The fact that it annoyed her trainer was a wonderful bonus that brought her a tiny amount of satisfaction.
It was the start of the second week (she assumed, guessing that her trainer would visit her once per day,) that her trainer put a second collar on her, and then left without a word.
“My name is Catherine.” She mumbled to herself.
The collar delivered an excruciating shock. Once it had faded, a robotic voice said, “757283.” The number that had been branded just below her collarbone. The number that her trainer insisted was her only designation.
“Catherine.” She stubbornly repeated.
A stronger shock, one that knocked her onto her hands and knees. “757283.”
“My name- is Cath-”
Bzzz. “757283.”
She was starting to cry for what felt like the billionth time. “My name...”
No shock yet.
“Is Catherine.”
She crumpled to the ground, blacking out for a moment from the electricity coursing through her. “757283.” The synthetic voice sounded so angry despite being so monotone.
She curled into a ball, her entire body aching from the torture. “Please, please, my name is C-“
“Seven. Five. Seven. Two. Eight. Three.”
“Let me keep my name, please, I don’t want to be a pet! I’m-!” Her voice caught in her throat. Her own body betrayed her, refusing to let her say the word responsible for setting off the collar.
There was a small chime and she heard her trainer’s voice over the intercom. “You signed up for this, 757283. Say “I am 757283, and I signed up for this.” Unless you want me to show you some of the more severe training we have, hm?”
“I-I am- I can’t say that! I’m Catherine!”
When she woke up from passing out again, her trainer was once again in the room with her, a whip in hand. “You are one wrong move away from being disposed of, 757283. Now repeat.”
She tried to find the strength to drag her agonized body away. “I am s-s-seven fi-five...” The words hurt more than anything they’d inflicted on her in the past week. “Seven, five, seven... t-two...” Her voice faltered. She looked up at her trainer, wordlessly pleading for mercy.
“You are 757283, and you signed up for this.” Her trainer reminded. “Start over, you useless mutt.”
She choked back a sob. “I- I am, 757, 283, a-and I s-signed up f-f-for th-this.”
“You don’t have a name. Admit it. You’re a nameless pet, 758283.”
“But, I do have one!”
Her trainer sighed in annoyance. “You. Have. A. NUMBER. Not a name. A NUMBER.” With each word, the collars were pulled tighter and tighter, leaving her gasping for air that wouldn’t come. “Maybe if I whipped you seven hundred, fifty-eight thousand, two hundred and eighty-three times, you’d get it through your thick skull! Do you want that?”
She shook her head, her clawing at the collars starting to get weaker and weaker. She needed to breathe, desperately. She tried to say her number, hoping that maybe if she made her trainer happy, the collars would be loosened, but she couldn’t force out anything other than a pitiful wheeze.
She was allowed to breathe again after a painfully long minute. “You wanted to say something? I’m warning you now, if you say that stupid name that you think is yours, I’m going to cut your tongue out.”
“‘M 757283.” She muttered, shaking. “757283. 757283. 757283.”
“Good job, you’ve finally learned. And now that you’ve learned your number,” The second collar was removed, “We can start your training!”
She looked up in horror. If this didn’t qualify as training, then what did?!
“There’s no more Catherine. There won’t be, ever.” Her trainer patted her on the cheek. “It’s time to go wipe your memory!”
If you are not willing to learn, no one can help you. If you are determined to learn, no one can stop you. 🙏🏼✨ #likeaboss @leronem & @bigknuckleboxing Thanks for the great padwork! 😁🥊 • • #noexcuses #positivevibes #positiveenergy #boxing #girlswhobox #padwork #fitnessandspeed #bigknuckleboxing #ironboxing #myfightcampvideo #lmao #jk #forrealtho #motivation #nike #nikewomen #santamonica #california #fitbabe #boxbabe #bishopbriggs #river (at IRON)
Stranger Danger - this is a return of this woman, here named Christie!
The Domestic rescue in this piece is not the same as Maud. It will get easier when she has a name XD
@ashintheairlikesnow
Masterlist
CW: BBU, slut-shaming, BBU attitudes to Romantics with a fun compounding factor of sexism
-
It was a moment of unexpected calm in the safehouse. Christie was their first Romantic, as she’d heard a million times, and the head of the safehouse, Tom, had done his best to accommodate her. Her own room, big clothes which enveloped her, rules against touching others or flirting with anyone, and a strict reminder that she was the same as anyone else. While one of the rescues had stormed out again at her coming into the living room, the others hadn’t cared at this point.
It was nice to be downstairs, not stuck at the top of the stairs hearing everyone else below.
She was curled up on the sofa, watching the colourful cartoon characters on the screen jump around as two of the rescues controlled them. Zihao kept trying not to yell, leaning side to side so Felix, a little Domestic, had to squish against the arm of the couch to not get caught by an enthusiastic elbow. In return, though, Felix kicked at his shins ineffectually whenever the Guard Dog got the lead.
The only other female rescue, nameless so far, had returned from cleaning up the cups on the coffee table to perch on the armchair. “D’you think characters get sad when they die?” she asked.
Christie laughed. “Maybe they just get sad when it isn’t a heroic death.”
Felix turned to Christie with a grin. “Then mine are always hap- fuck.” His character walked off a ledge and he tried to bounce off the side of the hole before his side of the screen went black and Zihao raised his arms.
He stood up, doing a victory tour of the living room. He towered over the rest of them, tall and built like a prizefighter. His sweatshirt was too small at his wrists and short over his stomach, so some of the scars his skin was littered with were visible. “Chaaampion!” he called, quiet enough that it wouldn’t disturb the people upstairs.
The Domestic laughed into her sleeve.
“She distracted me,” Felix whined, setting down the controller with a thud which was a tantrum coming from him. “I was so close.”
Zihao offered him his hand to shake. “Good game. Best of five?” His voice was deep, but very clear. More like a movie bodyguard than a real one.
“...okay, fine.”
The rescue put her hand up. “Um, first, could- could you-” She gestured at Zihao. Names were difficult for her, for some reason Christie couldn’t tell, so under suggestion from Tom she omitted them so she didn’t default to sir and ma’am.
He nodded encouragingly, turning to give her his full attention. She looked down again. “Could you check the top of the bookshelf for dust?”
“Of course.” He only had to go on his tip-toe to look at the top of it. “Yeah, it’s dusty. I’ll get a cloth-”
“Oh-” she pulled a duster from her hoodie pouch. “I have one. But I don’t wanna put my feet on the couch…”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you want, I could lift you to get high enough.”
She leapt to her feet. “Yes! Um, that sounds- sensible.”
It sounded completely impractical. Christie cut Felix a look and he grinned back at her, before they turned identical innocent-pet expressions on Zihao as he looked over at them.
The rescue stood in front of the bookshelf, turning her neck to look back at him.
“I’m going to have to touch you. Where is it okay to? You can say no.” Zihao wasn’t quiet by any means, but it was unusual for him to speak that much all at once.
She hesitated. “Uh, where’s the least you could touch me and still pick me up?”
“Waist.”
“Okay. Waist.” He put his hands around her waist. He waited for her to nod before he lifted her, so her head was higher than his and her feet dangled in the air.
She leaned over, dusting the top of the bookshelf down. Zihao’s arms trembled, but he kept her steady.
She started to lower her down and she squeaked, clinging onto his arms. His whole face went red. He carefully put her down, letting go of her waist and stepping back with a deep breath. He shook his arms out.
Christie grinned. “You look like a tomato. Really exerting, huh?”
He glared at her, but it didn’t have any malice to it.
“You’re so strong!” the rescue said, smiling up at him. “Not many people could do that.”
He went redder.
Felix jumped up. “Piggyback! Piggyback!”
Zihao rolled his eyes, but stood with his back to the sofa. Felix climbed up onto the cushions, then wrapped his eyes around Zihao’s shoulders and jumped on. He walked a circle around the room, before stopping back at the sofa.
Felix tumbled back with a laugh.
Zihao turned to Christie. “I’m resigned to it now,” he said, deadpan.
The no-touch rule was there to help her, she knew. But...it looked fun. And Zihao was safe, as far as she could tell.
She climbed up onto the sofa, throwing her hands in the air. “Beam me up, Scotty!” She had no clue quite what it meant, but it felt right for the moment. “Piggyback, I think.”
He turned around and she jumped on.
She wrapped her legs around him, shocked by the warm solidity of his body against hers.
She waited for it to stir her, or flip some terrible, animalistic switch.
Instead it was just nice. Like the first hug after the first lonely weeks of college, though she didn’t know where the thought came from.
She put her hands around his shoulders, hyper-aware of how her body must feel to him, but he did the exact same thing he had for Felix, walking her around the room.
“About to tear my clothes off in a lustful frenzy?” she teased him, nerves sharp on the edge of her voice.
“No,” he replied seriously.
As he reached the sofa, she patted him on the shoulder like he was a horse. “Faster?” she wheedled. “Please…”
He huffed, then jogged around. She laughed. “Yes!”
“What’s all-” Tom paused in the doorway and Zihao stopped. He let go of Christie’s legs so she could slip back to the ground, tumbling onto her butt.
He turned to her. “Sorry, Christie, didn’t-”
“Hey, Zihao,” Tom said firmly. “No apologising for things which aren’t your fault, okay?” He fixed her with his eyes, brows drawing together. “Christie, you’re not allowed to touch the others, you know that. I’m very disappointed in you.”
She didn’t move from where she had fallen. “But I didn’t do anything. Felix did the same.”
Felix, though, had shrunk back into the couch cushions as if he could disappear into them at the sign of trouble.
Tom crouched down in front of her. “Christie.” She hated how he said her name. “This rule is to protect you.”
She scowled. It wasn’t fair. “What are you going to do? You said no punishments, but now-”
“See,” he said softly. “This is exactly why you’re not ready to touch anyone else yet, Christie. You’re still falling back on company rhetoric. You’re not safe for the others and it’s my job to protect them-”
“But I didn’t do anything!” she yelled. Zihao whined quietly. Shit.
She got to her feet. “I have to be loud so let’s go to another room, we’re scaring the others-”
“No.” He looked around at them all, before looking back at her. “You need to see the impact you have on others, okay? You’re scaring them. And you took advantage of Zihao. Do you think that’s fair?”
“He offered!” She turned to him. “Didn’t you offer?”
He nodded, but he couldn’t meet her eye.
“He isn’t ready to make these decisions for himself. Not with you manipulating him.”
“I didn’t manipulate shit.” She got to her feet and walked past him. “I’m going to my room. Fuck you.”
“Good. You need a time out before you apologise.” He stood up, dusting off his jeans. “Oh, and put on a jumper, okay? That top is too tight on you.” His eyes dipped down to her chest before she hurried back up the stairs.
CW: throwing up, eating a bit of dust, mention of dead bugs, live spider, slap.
-
"Maud," Ms Penthorne called from the master bedroom.
The Domestic folded the duster, laying it neatly over the banister she’d been polishing, and hurried through. Her mistress’ lips were pressed together, and her eyebrows were arched. Sometimes she wondered if the woman practiced her displeasure in the mirror.
"Yes, ma'am?" Maud was neutral. She knew her work was impeccable. The fake plants were dusted and shiny, the carpet was vacuumed in neat lines, and the pillows on the big bed had taken more of a beating than a Guard Dog.
"Why are you here?"
She opted for the safe answer, thinking about how fast she’d come. "You called me here, ma'am."
"Don't play dumb with me," she snapped.
Dread seeped into the air. Usually, Ms Penthorne would be sarcastic and twist her words. This meant something worse. “You found a mistake, ma'am," she tried, ducking her head and lowering her tone. "I made a mistake."
She raised her eyebrows even higher. "Which is?"
"I don't know, ma’am. I'm sorry, ma'am." She dug her fingernails into her palm, still tender from the burn, to keep her voice from shaking.
"I'd rather a stupid pet than a lying one, but either way you're going to learn your lesson, aren't you?"
There was only one answer. "Yes, ma'am." Her pulse was beating too fast against her tight collar.
Ms Penthorne picked up the skirt of the bed to reveal dusty carpet underneath. Oh no, oh no-
She bent and picked up some of the stringy dust from the carpet and walked over to her. "Eat it."
"Eat it?" she repeated faintly. "Ma'am? In my mouth?"
"That is typically how one eats." There was a strangely bright look in her eyes. "Since you left my room this disgusting, I don't think it will offend your taste."
The corners of her eyes pricked with heat as she took it. "Thank you, ma'am." It was what she always said when she was fed. She didn't know what else to say.
She took it, grey and stringy and-
She closed her eyes and shoved it into her mouth. Gagging, she tried to swallow. She spat it out. Ma'am-" she begged hoarsely.
Her mistress folded her arms. "This is your first mistake of this kind. If it happens again you can clean up the entire floor."
"I'm-" She bit back a sob. "I'm grateful to have this chance." She pulled the wet clump apart with her hands.
She swallowed them one by one.
She retched, clamping her hands over her mouth. "May I go to the bathroom, ma'am?" she asked through them.
Her mistress walked out past her. "No. If you vomit what I give you I'm not feeding you for a day."
Maud waited a moment before opening the door to the en suite with shaking hands. She kneeled over the toilet and the air stuck in her throat for a moment-
She tried to stop herself but a wave crested up into her chest and she threw up without a sound.
The pain scoured her throat. Panting, she pressed her reddened hand hot against the cool porcelain. She began to cry, silently and heavily, the salt stinging her dry cheeks. She gasped for breath, then she caught sight of the dust and vomited again.
Once she was done, she set the lid down, and rested her forehead against it.
The pain of punishment was meant to make her clean and good, but her mistress made her disgusting.
Bile stung her throat as she swallowed. Even now, cleaning her insides came with pain-
She was clean, clean, clean, like a dustpan emptied out.
And she was dirty and disobedient and bad. If her mistress said she was disgusting then she must be.
She heaved another sob, turning her head to look over the bottle-green tiles. She had to get out of here, now. But she felt empty of energy, as well as everything else.
A flash of movement caught the corner of her eye. Curious, she raised her head. It was a fat brown spider on spindly legs, making its way across the tile. She grabbed a piece of toilet paper to kill it cleanly.
Ms Penthorne did not tolerate pests. Maud sprayed down the basement with bug killer, sprinkled ant poison on the patio, packed the wardrobes with mothballs. She was used to cleaning up the crispy bodies without emotion.
This was exactly the same, just more direct.
But it was so little.
She sank down, laying her chin on her hands and keeping her legs tucked under her, and watched it move one of its front legs in the air before it walked forward. She wiped the tears from her eyes, so she could watch it properly. It seemed to know exactly where it was going, though all she could see was the smooth white wall ahead of it.
She wondered what it saw.
Already, she had been so bad. And the spider was dirty. Her mistress would hate seeing it against her clean floors.
Maud had failed badly enough for today. She held her breath and hovered her hand over it. It scuttled away and she slowly reached after it as it veered towards the shower. As she scooted across the floor, it slipped into a crack between the ceramic base of the shower and the tile.
She let out her breath, her throat shifting against her collar. It had escaped. It was the same as her killing it, really. It was gone, which was all that mattered. Only now it had gone to the dusty limbo between the walls, through the crumbling brick and mortar, to...wherever it was that free things went. Her chest rose and fell as she stared at the crack. Maybe it even led outside-
The bedroom door creaked. Maud shot to her feet with a squeak, shoving the toilet paper into her back pocket. Footsteps came fast and heavy-
Fuck, her vomit was still in the toilet bowl-
She should confess, now, before it was too late-
But panic propelled her forwards.
Ms Penthorne entered as her hand was on the flush button. “And just what are you doing?”
“There was a spider, ma’am.” Heart thundering in her chest, she looked her mistress in the eye as she flushed the toilet. Her voice was perfectly even, coming from somewhere beyond her. “And now it’s gone.” The rush of water echoed against the tiles, roaring in her ears like blood. She was sure that it was so loud that it gave her away.
She teared up reflexively.
Pain snapped against her cheek as her mistress slapped her. She shook as it stung. Of course she knew. Of course. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Her lip quivered for a moment before she started crying again. “I’m sorry that I-”
“Crying over an insect,” Ms Penthorne rolled her eyes. “Pathetic, Maud. Pull yourself together. Now, out, I have to make myself up for dinner.”
She scurried out immediately, down the hall to get the hoover to clean under the bed.
Something tickled at the back of her mind, tentative like the spider’s leg. She stopped in front of the cupboard to remember what other chore she had forgotten.
All that came into her mind was, it’s an arachnid.
