Chiaroxoscuro

Happy birthday to Lyudmila Pavlichenko (born July 12, 1916), Soviet sniper in World War II, with 309 confirmed kills.

>felt horny >opened a mechsplo smut fic >they started talking about engines >hmmm,,,, engines...... >started daydreaming, wondered how you make an engine >started watching videos of people making engines in their homes >engines started buzzing >got horny again >back to mechsplo with some newly acquired knowledge

At one point, I started making suggestions about how he could play better, and doing call-outs for him. And, you know what? He listened.

I had an intrusive thought after that, one that sent a shiver down my spine: He might make a good Hound.

a couple weeks in I decided that enough is enough. if this was allowed to continue, some idiot might decide to put her out of her misery. I beat up the first fucker who suggested that, but ever since I was constantly afraid I wouldn’t catch the next dumbass who gets the bright idea. don’t they all see she’s still alive, even if she changed forever?

so I went and bought her a dog collar and a bowl. at first she didn’t understand what was going on, but when I forced her on a leash and told her to shut up and listen, her face changed. you had to be there to see it. her eyes lit up, she looked up at me and practically drooled. I told her she’s now my tool to maul the imperial mechs. I told her she’s going to sleep at my feet, eat on the ground and follow my every order. she looked at me like I hung the stars in the sky.

it took them all some time to adjust, of course. I was accused of being just as bad as the Empire a couple times, and some rebels are still clearly uncomfortable with the idea. my reputation ensures they’re at least quiet about that, though, and that’ll have to do.

she’s now sitting near my feet at our campfire, her head resting on my lap while I pet her hair. she was a menace in the last battle, so I attached a little medal to her collar, so everyone knows she’s been a very good hound. she was on the moon when I told her that. some more open-minded comrades are feeding her treats, which she picks up with her mouth. life is good.

So, I'm asking for help again. If you can kick anything in to help it'd be much appreciated.

You can donate here: http://paypal.me/tormentedartifacts

Or: https://kofi.com/tormentedartifacts

But that's a lie, and it's killing you. Sooner or later, you break. The mask can't go back on. Your true self has been ripped from your core for all to see.

"That's okay," says Handler. "You're better off like this, anyway."