18+ MDNI -||- (She/Her) -||- DMs always open
Willing Hound named Luna (or Mae). All Handlers welcome. Also hyper obsessed with werewolves. Pan/Trans. Currently writing fics and painting models.
The Hound knows that it should despise what it is being made to do, and despise everything that has been done to it.
The Hound should cry tears every time she annihilates her fellow countrymen in battle. But she doesn't.
The Hound should turn her guns on her captors, use the firepower they bestowed upon her to reduce them to ash. But she doesn't.
The Hound should be afraid, terrified, scared, disgusted, filled with regret and self-loathing. It is not.
The Hound could so easily kill her Handler. There have been countless opportunities to do so. She will not.
The Hound could've ran away, returned to her old life, the old routines, the old comforts and familiarity. She does not want to.
Nobody asks her why, not anymore. Only one person other than it understands the reason, that one singular reason. Its Handler understood intimately. Everyone else, they refute the answer. Deny its very possibility. But she knows they're wrong.
Because when the Hound first looked at herself and saw what she has become, it smiled for the first time in years.
You are mine.
My food.
My food to season, tenderize and abuse.
Don't let yourself forget that.
You can be other people's toys, you can be other people's plaything. But they don't get to fold your mind like I do, to turn your thoughts and senses onto themselves and wrap your very essence around my fingers.
I lodged myself deep in your mind long ago.
There is no escape.
You are my food, and I am hungry.
thinking about how genetic modifications could be used to control a hound. Like, yeah sure, they don't need super strength, amazing dexterity or crazy endurance because their mechs are doing all the heavy lifting.
But when you alter their body, without their consent or their knowledge, you have fundamentally changed them in a way they dont understand, but their handler does. They know what makes that body tick, how to control it, how to manipulate it, but the hound doesn't even know herself anymore. How is she supposed to resist the instincts they engineered in her if she can't even comprehend them? How can she fight her handler when she's too busy struggling against her own body?
They already took her her mind, her personality, but that wasn't enough. They will take more. Always more. They will replace every part of her until she is their perfect weapon.
Add into the mix some DNA splicing? Good luck overcoming your newfound sense of canine loyalty, mutt.
Fight it all you want, you'll thank them for it by the end.
No, mutt. We stop when u say we stop. You break when I tell you to break. You cum when I let you cum, and if you can’t cum when I tell you to, you get edged and punished.
When I hit you, you thank me. When I kiss you, you worship at my feet. There’s no such thing as a double standard. If you can’t meet my requirements, I’ll punish you and shape and mold you into my perfect instrument, and you will thank me for it because I told you to.
100 pages into my Handler/Hound story?? Holy shit??
As a little treat to mark the occasion, I thought I'd post an excerpt from the story that I particularly enjoyed writing. I hope you all find it just as interesting!
(Context - The Hound, November, is having a panic attack because she is remembering too much of her old life and she doesn't know how to handle it. Also I write in british english, sorry, blame them for colonising me.)
What I am now? November had no idea how she could possibly answer that question. When she tried to conceptualise herself, so many conflicting thoughts came to mind: Soldier, dog, officer, hound, woman, animal, weapon, mutt, prisoner, pet, victim, perpetrator. How could she be all of them? It didn’t make sense. She felt like she was going to be sick.
“W-what am I...?” she said, so quiet that August barely heard her. November couldn’t get her breathing under control. She was hyperventilating and couldn’t stop. Everything was wrong. She was wrong. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks because she was beginning to realise that she deserved this. That was a memory that refused to allow itself to be blocked out. Everything that had come before lead up to this moment. The shame, the guilt, yes, it all belonged to her. It was so all consuming that the outside world bled away into nothing, leaving her entirely alone. There in that endless void, she stayed for as long as she could, eager to blot it all out, but inevitably a terrible, brilliant light pierced through the umbra and dragged her kicking and screaming back to the here and now.
Not you.
Please not you.
Anything but you.
“November...”
Go away, just go away.
“You’re hurting, November.”
No no no no no no no.
“I can save you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
November didn’t want to. Everything would break apart if she did. There was only doom and despair being offered to her, a pantomime of fulfilment that would kill her every single day, again and again, brutal and unrelenting. And yet, it was as if she had been bewitched by a siren and was now unable to resist drowning herself as she strove to reach the source of the call. No, that wasn’t quite right. November wasn’t the one trying to drown, it was the wretched thing that shared her soul. It was what she would become if she looked. She had to clamp down on it before it destroyed them both, she had to crush it and lock it away, she needed to-
I do so enjoy the Hounds that, on some level, know what they are, what was done to them, and remember who they were. Maybe not all of it, but enough for cracks in the mask to show from time to time.
And when someone comes along to help them, someone who they used to rely on and trust, the Hound turns them away.
Because it sees what it is.
And it loves it.
It revels in what it has become. All of its shame has turned to pride. All of its fear into determination. It was an empty, broken thing before and its Handler poured life and purpose into that emptiness and it is eternally grateful for that, even if it still knows what she did to it was wrong. It will never go back.
(on an unrelated note I might just be 95 pages into a warhound inspired story of my own based on this exact thing whoops)
Being a Hound and being a masochist at the same time is such a dream combination.
Handler's gonna punish me for being a badly behaved mutt? Oh how terrible for me.
Handler's gonna make my punishment even worse because they think I'm enjoying it too much? Oh, that's so cruel. I can't wait to discover all the beautiful bruises later.
Handler has to get very creative to keep the Hound in line. And honestly? That's enrichment for them both, too. Hounds have to take care of their Handlers, as well. Handler had a bad day? Take it out on your loyal Hound. Pull on her leash hard enough that she chokes. Shove her hard against the wall and remind her why you're the one who determines when the muzzle comes off. She won't complain. She'll smile and say 'thank you, Handler.'
I was training in the AC training module, and even though there was an error in the camera, I managed to beat the boss. I was so filled with adrenaline I wanted to push someone down and bite them. But I was all alone, so I just chewed on a clotheshanger.
I've always personally maintained that we need chew toys for humans and not just for dogs. The intrinsic need to bite and bite and bite and bite is so real and has never left me.
Pens were good fodder for that urge when I was in school. Alas, what am I to bite now?
Hey guys remember when the only place to find the Xenoblade 3 artbook was a sketchy hentai website that had the images all separated on individual webpages and doesn't let you download entire thing at once unless you spend their specific made up currency/points that you can only earn by posting hentai ?
well I grabbed all 455 pages one at a time programmatically and then repackaged them into a single PDF and then manually organized it with bookmarks
