#just bad handlers

[valhallasoutlaw]

So I have a thousand son, best thing that has happened to me, but my neighbor has a small pack of space wolves and I’m worried they will eventually fight. Is there any preventative action I can take?

Ooh this one is tricky. I would recommend collaborating with your neighbor on routines and schedules. Take care that your marines spend as little time as possible around each other! Thousand Sons do NOT get along with Space Wolves, and I have rarely seen a meeting that didn't eventually turn violent.

There ARE loopholes though! Space Wolves have an adorably brief short term memory, and very little object permanence. In a span of about three to seven days, those lovely Wolves likely won't remember ever encountering your Thousand Son, and are thus returned to square one!

The opposite is true for the Thousand Son, however. They have a frightening memory, and the trick to avoiding outbursts is--as much as it pains me to say--propaganda. Enforce in your Thousand Son that Space Wolves are beneath them (they aren't!!!) and that by interacting with them at all, even in thought, the Thousand Son are put at risk for corruption and mange.

Combined with coordinated, controlled distance, things should be kept civil. Hope this helps!

[valhallasoutlaw]

@nightbug08 That's true! I own a Blood Angels Successor Chaptermaster (adopted alongside a Second Captain) and a lovely Lamenter I rescued from a Space Hulk! They're among the most difficult to take care of, but once you earn their trust, you'll never find a more loyal space marine.

They're incredibly low maintenance. Soft spoken, emotional, honest, disciplined, clean, organized and startlingly resourceful, these Marines seem like the perfect match for anyone looking for a first time Astartes, but heads up! Your life will irrevocably change. Don't be discouraged by what I'm about to tell you, but I'm an educator first and I wouldn't put you or your Lamenter in a bad situation.

You will have to change everything. Or, there's a very real risk of injury, maybe even death.

There's something in their pedigree that makes them...different. Other Astartes are mistrustful at best, outright hostile at worst. You can't take a Lamenter to the sparring yard, and training cages should be booked beforehand. Lamenters are quite tame, but do keep in mind that they are subject to the same Prion disease as their parent chapter! It's best to keep them calm and happy as often as you can--a Herculean effort sometimes given their abnormally high melancholy!

Of course, I'll admit that their cousins have a good reason, and this is where the death part comes in. Misfortune sticks to them like flour to a wet cat, and this bleeds over to those around them. I make light of this, but had to move to the city after I crashed my car, lost my job and nearly got hit with a falling piano all in the same day! Even now, I take very few risks, though the occasional banana peel appears behind me at the bus stop.

I'm fortunate to have the resources for frequent visits to the Apothecary. My poor baby was was mauled by an unsupervised Minotaur just yesterday--no one got hurt too badly, but I've been reading him John Steinbeck books while he recovers!

I can't tell you how worth it he has been. I've never owned a marine that was so loving and loyal, and he certainly does his part to protect me from the strange bouts of woe that plague me like magpies to my box of french fries!

I'm actually working on getting him registered as a service Marine--for both our benefit. If you feel up to the challenge, your Lamenter will be a marine for life!

Alright I might need some help with this one. I found the scraggliest looking astartes hiding in my shed just now (we've been having a lot of snow so I'm not surprised). I got them in the garage at least and started checking for chaos icons, but I'm not sure I recognize the poor little guy coloring? He's mostly yellow with black and white checkerboards on the pauldrons?

Gotta try and get the lil guy cleaned up and fed, he seems young or underweight or something.

[tricoufamily]

a current day nils and a 90s college student nils who's way too intense about his internship walk into a bar

[kacievvbbbb]

Can't believe this show just said that yeah these broken children that have finally managed to claw some semblance of family out of the train wreck their psychotic father made of them, these children now adults, don't get peace, they don't deserve it. actually the world is so much better without them in it. They are the direct reason why so many people they have met are not living happier lives and the universe would be a much happier safer place with them gone. They were pawns in their father's game and now they are victims of their "mother's" scheme. And this is all they get, there was never any happy ending for them in the cards the universe rebukes their very existence and it is constantly trying to write them out of it.

They doomed the world from the start, the blame is all at their feet and they must pay for the crime of being born "special".

The fucking implications of that my god!

That's the message you ended your show on. That is what you are leaving us with. Why?

[raptorladylover6969]

How you gon be so down bad for The Handler that EVEN I, RAPTORLADYLOVER6969 STARTS GETTING CONCERNED.

[accultant]

WELCOME HOME! aka A FITTING PUNISHMENT aka THE SLAYER FORM AS DIVINE PUNISHMENT. a drabble (just under 2k words) about the aftermath of Iago's one and only attempt at running away from the Bhaal Temple with Puck.

cw blood, death, near-death, violence, evil murder god/dad, forced transformation, attempted fratricide, you know. the works.

Iago held Puck's hand the whole way back to the temple until they reached the front entrance where they awkwardly let go. It was only two days after Iago had murdered their grandmother that they decided to go back. It was hardly a decision. What else could they do? Where else would they go?

Iago felt numb as they fell back into their place, a step behind Puck rather than beside him. They could feel themselves slipping out of their own body, letting the motions take over, dulling their own emotions, going back to the person the temple made them. It came so naturally.

You come crawling back.

Iago was only a second later than Puck to fall to a knee in supplication. “Forgive me, Father,” he said, bowing his head deeply.

Iago rarely spoke in the temple, it felt like their voice bounced off the walls unfamiliarly, “It was my mistake. Forgive me for misleading my bloodtwin.” They hated calling him that. Puck shot them a look. They had discussed who would take the blame, agreed upon splitting it between the two. But it was true. Iago was at fault. They would not let him get hurt for their false hopes.

You speak as though my child has no will of his own. He defied me just as you have.

“Forgive me,” he said again.

Your escape was foolish. Allowed only because I assumed he would wipe you from this earth when you so recklessly swept him away. It is embarrassing to have a spawn so desperate to make a sacrifice of themselves, yet so difficult to kill.

Puck was stone still. He stared at the ground instead of his twin and they took the cue to do the same. Their head ached horribly from the grating voice in their skull.

“I found other victims to satisfy myself and to offer for you, Father. I was not without my bloodshed, neither was my twin. We never forgot the desires you have blessed us with,” Puck spoke.

You speak out of turn.

“Forgive me.”

Iago swallowed and their voice sounded like it was coming out of someone else as they detached themselves further, “We brought a gift of repentance. Never enough to truly atone, but an offering nonetheless.”

Puck got the cue. With a quick glance back at them, he took off his pack and pulled out a bundle of cloth. Iago did the same, staring at a middle distance as they both wordlessly unwrapped a severed hand each. It had been Iago’s idea, but Puck was the one who dismembered their grandmother more than she already had been. Iago felt guilty they couldn’t do more at the time, but they had passed out in a pool of her blood thrice before Puck told them to wait outside. 

It was silent for a blissful second before their skull rang again, I was watching as you took her life, spawn. You never do enjoy yourself enough. You had returned to your sniveling ways before she even drew her last breath. Pathetic.

Iago stopped breathing. At first, they figured it was another seize of panic like they were so prone to, but when they tried to force a breath, it was like a clawed hand gripping their throat.

You manipulated and stole away my most promising spawn. You gave me only one life and not even with a fraction of the fervor I demand. Worst of all, you survived. You are nothing but a lamb who carries themselves as a roach.

Iago's eyes widened in panic as their hands flew to their throat, clawing uselessly. How could they have forgotten? He had their lives on a string, easily cut at any time he so wished.

“Iago?” Puck's voice broke through the voice of their father.

By the bribery you've attempted, you must understand the necessity of punishment in a situation such as this.

They couldn't breathe. They could hardly make a sound except a strangled whimper that Iago could swear earned a snicker from a Bhaalist from the audience.

“Iago!” Puck had forgotten his kneeling, scrambling towards them. “No. You cannot take them. Stop this, please-”

You think you are in a position to make demands. You try to spare a life that I made and am meant to destroy.

Blood started to trickle out of Iago's nose, into their mouth. It felt like their whole body was being crushed, like their ribs were going to cave inward.

Puck looked panicked, terrified. Then his expression went dark and he let go of Iago as they collapsed, “You’re wrong.” Blood pooled in their ears. “I am meant to destroy this one. I am the one who is promised their last breath. I beg you, Father, do not take that from me. They are mine.”

It was difficult to tell how much he believed that and how much was a desperate, clever attempt to save them. Regardless, their vision went black around the edges and they grabbed his pant leg like a child, terrified. They didn't want to die. They didn't want to leave him here alone.

As you wish.

The air rushed forcefully back into their lungs and they hacked violently on the stone floor. Puck was kneeled beside them, his hands hovering over them nervously. “Iago, are you-”

You think yourself unkillable, and he thinks himself your demise. Both of you, traitorous as your actions appeared to be, demand a fitting punishment.

Iago couldn't keep up, they were still reeling, blabbering apologies. They couldn't gather themselves quickly enough before Puck suddenly started to scream, curling in on himself. They cried out and reached out for him just before they heard the crunch of bones snapping, the squelch of flesh ripping, and they were blinded for a moment by a shower of their brother’s blood.

Run.

They had only a second to look at what Bhaal had turned their twin into. It was enough to burn the image into their head permanently, right before the thing swung at them and sliced a gash in their reaching hand.

Iago had never moved faster. They scrambled to their feet, slipping on blood for a terrifying second before their brother- no- the thing their brother had been turned into screeched and they just barely dodged another swipe at them. They stammered out a spell and reappeared a safe distance away, only for that distance to be closed in an instant as they were knocked off of their feet, falling onto stone again hard. It was huge, wretched, and horrifying. It towered over them, radiating hate and bloodlust. They screamed pitifully when a claw pierced their side and a burst of magic tore out of them, lighting the thing on fire and skittering off to the watching Bhaalists, immolating them with more effectiveness than the beast chasing Iago. The spell stunned it for only a moment, but enough for Iago to tear themselves from its claws and obey their father. 

They ran. For hours, they ran. They were caught between mad dashes, lashing out whatever spells they could- which almost all bounced off harmlessly- and crying their brother’s name, begging him to come back. All they could do was run. The entire Bhaal temple turned into a battleground, Iago shoving themselves into the walls and backrooms in fruitless attempts to hide. The exits were blocked by entertained Bhaalists, more fodder for the beast Puck turned into. Bhaal was silent. He was watching, they knew, but he already said his piece and only wished to watch his punishment unfold.

They had no idea how much time had passed when it grew quiet. They had run through the tunnels in the walls, praying they were tight enough that he couldn’t fit. They were limping, covered in gashes, stabs, and bruises. The blood loss was quickly outpacing their waning adrenaline, and Iago collapsed in the tunnel outside their room when they realized they didn’t even have the strength to push the bookshelf out of the way. They had cornered themselves in a musty, blood-stained hole in the wall, terrified of the only person they loved. 

A shuffling came from the other end of the tunnel. Puck emerged in their line of sight, staggering and hardly holding himself against the wall. He was himself, bloodied and exhausted, but himself. It would be a relief, if Iago wasn’t so wracked with fear. When his eyes widened on them and he started to sprint towards them, Iago all but screamed, scrambling away from him out of instinct alone, ignoring their injuries. They didn’t recognize their own voice, “No, no, get away from me, don’t touch me-” 

He dropped to his knees in front of them and ignored that, hands hovering for a moment before he pressed down on one of their injuries, trying to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible. His eyes were wide, terrified.  “Please stop moving. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Iago tried wriggling away, half-convinced he still wanted them dead, but they were losing steam quickly and when Puck muttered a healing spell, their body sagged in relief. He was apologizing again. They didn’t want to be so scared of their brother. They never meant to be. But they hurt all over and cried out again when he readjusted to pick them up, shoving aside the bookshelf with his shoulder like it weighed nothing. They blinked and found themselves in their bed, being tended to frantically. 

Iago didn’t die that night. They were brought back from the brink of painful fratricide and they were barricaded in their room with the person who was almost guilty. He didn’t want anyone else near them, he told them. He was sorry, he said so often that they thought he would go hoarse. Iago could hardly speak, whether it was out of terror or exhaustion, they couldn’t tell. When they were finally, mostly sure they wouldn’t die, they apologized once. It was their fault this happened. They tried to get them both their freedom. They lacked the ability to keep them both safe and sane outside of the temple. They were one who was foolish enough to think they could save him. Stupidly, Iago tried to be brave, tried to get their lives back- but they had nothing to go back to and all they had upon return was punishment for Iago’s pipe dream. Puck wouldn’t hear it- he immediately brushed their apology aside with another one of his own. 

He was exhausted too, Iago knew it even though they could hardly find their voice enough to express their concern. His body was robbed from him, ripped apart, used as a weapon against someone he loved. When Iago was sure he would collapse from taking care of them, blubbering apologies, blocking the door (Sceleritas was on the other side, asking his master if he was coming back out soon, if he had finished off his sibling yet), then Iago tugged on his sleeve wordlessly. At first, he pulled away, shaking his head, muttering something about it being too dangerous, but Iago gathered enough strength to throw a pillow at him and got his attention again, looking rather silly in the process. 

They patted the bed next to them and he relented, crawling in beside them. Their heart raced, gripped with a fear they so stubbornly ignored in favor of resting their head on his chest, their arms around him despite the fact he was stiff as a board, and they both broke, weeping. It was the last time they both cried together in their years at the Bhaal temple and they never spoke of it afterwards. Iago never attempted to escape with him again, never let any false hope cloud their judgment. They were helpless, both of them- the only thing they could do was stay together, ensure they stayed alive and by their brother’s side. 

[ianthedebonair]

I was thinking about Damien being very oblivion npc-pilled when he first got out of Farm, because of the soup comic... do you have any baby Damien headcanons? 🥹✨

Im sorry, this lowkey turned out to be early chargestep headcanon because i'm very normal about their pre-hb dynamic 😫 Incoherent rambling under the cut

Damien initially wore an all black attire with protective sports gear and covered his face with a balaclava and a hockey mask with a bat for his weapon. In his "debut", he wanted to stop a man from mugging a civilian walking through a back alley. He didn't want to draw too much attention so he silently creeped behind while the robber accosts the victim. Unfortunately, the victim saw him and screamed in terror, prompting the man to look behind and got scared-shitless, too. They both ended up running away for their lives. Meanwhile, Damien was like, "🧍‍♂️I'm not sure that's how it's supposed to end, but problem solved, I guess...? 🧍‍♂️."

After that, he read more about current heroes and decided to wear Rangers merch with his gear and noticed that people now reacted more positively towards him.

Now, when the Marshal caught wind of a too-competent, mysterious back-alley vigilante, he wanted to reach out and establish connections... only to find out that the vigilante is -- he assumed, based on the outfit Damien wore that day -- a Charge stan.

In the first few attempts of reaching out, Damien was initially skittish as heck (especially with Ricardo's static), but he eventually relented for a talk.

Ricardo thought Damien was too starstruck to hold a conversation so he laid out his Charm™️ to get him to talk and hoped to glean some useful info, but it just completely bounced off him. It was then when Ricardo surmised that maaaybe Damien wasn't a fan, but that got him more curious about his character. Still, he found it refreshing to find someone unaffected by his presence, so he continued the laid back, vaguely flirty banter because it's fun and he wanted to see if he could elicit a reaction from the mystery vigilante. Damien didn't mind as he enjoyed having someone to talk to and practice actual conversations with. He even ended up matching Ricardo's snark (minus the flirting part, because he didn't understand that... yet).

After teaming up a few times, Ricardo asks about Damien's alias

Ricardo: So, what do you even call yourself? Unless you want "Vigilante Wearing Rangers Merch" to stick, which isn't really good for PR. Damien: Shit. I never thought about needing a name. Gotta think fast *looks around*

Damien: Uhh... Streetwatch? Ricardo: Nice try, but you just got that from signages behind me, didn't you? *laughs and pats Damien's shoulder* Don't worry we'll workshop it.

They eventually settled with Sidestep because it matched his fighting style and also served as an inside joke from that conversation.

This video is very early Damien-coded to me, too. (Also happening in Ric's kitchen).

He "matured" a lot within the year that he got introduced to Themmy and rest of the Rangers because there were actual minds to read and imitate learn from, but the wit he observed from Ricardo made a big impression on his own personality. The feelings and yearning came at him (like a truck) in the time between fighting Psychopathor and allying with the Rangers but that requires a separate rambling, so I digress. After mastering the art of sarcasm, he was able to mask a lot his genuine oblivious moments as jokes and easily deflect questions he doesn't want to answer.

OH, he also does the head tilt thing whenever he encounters something new/he doesn't fully understand! That's his major tell. I'm a big fan of that mannerism 💯😭

[marc--chilton]

where are the fics where adam IS an apprentice but only kind of. he loathes john but has convinced himself that lawrence is safer when he's around. lawrence tries to tell him that he's more of a behind the scenes gear in this clock of bullshit but it doesn't work. the only way john can get adam to do something for him is through lawrence, and adam knows this, he just. doesn't care. lawrence asked, he's gonna do it, after that it's out of his hands. they're so reliant on each other being okay than if one isn't things get messy. just like last time

[fayeandknight]

I don't think agility class is a good option for dogs struggling heavily with reactivity - particularly if they are constantly lunging at other dogs.

That is not to say that I think dogs struggling with that level of reactivity are bad dogs. Nor do I think they should be sequestered away in their homes and never allowed to be out in the world.

Heck I'm not even of the opinion that they shouldn't learn agility. Just that private lessons would benefit the dog more than a class setting while they are working through reactivity.

Because the thing is, agility is super stimulating for most dogs, whether participating or watching. Even more so if it's an intro class where the team is learning to navigate the equipment and handling. Additionally keeping the dog from going after others is stressful for everyone involved. And I just don't see it as a kind or fair setting to be introducing something as complex, and let's be honest - potentially dangerous - as agility.

I also don't think there's any shame in realizing that an agility class may be too much for where the dog currently is in working through reactivity and taking a step back. Dog training in all its flavors isn't always linear. But I do think it's important, for the people both handler and instructor, to ensure the dog is being set up for success even if it doesn't look the way we'd hoped it would.

Much love and compassion for folks working through reactivity with their dogs. Your dog is not a bad dog. You are not a bad handler. Y'all are working through something difficult and I wish you kindness and patience in your journey.

[mothbeasts]

i miss posting and making and engaging with ieytd content but I will be honest sometimes it feels alienating. as a lesbian.

[theadventurek9]

Long rollercoaster of emotions post below.

I think this is it for AKC obedience at this trial.

NQ in utility, first exercise was directed jumping.

She actually got a straight go out for the first send. Which was a win. I was so excited Then anticipated the jump when the judge said 'bar' almost took off. I paused to prove she didn't break her sit, rose my hand up and told her jump...and she took the wrong jump.

I felt so crushed. We get the go out for her to still just fail the exercise. Because of how crushed I felt I reacted poorly, told her no and set her back up again for the second one.

Because I told her no, I undid the success of the go out. She doubted herself and ended up not doing her second go out. She ran to the jump, she just went over. So I opted for the FnG.

She got the go out and the correct jump this time. So I left the ring, frustrated and sad. Aayla could tell.

Ended up in the practice ring to just play and do some very positive go outs and jumps, giving her easy sends and very clear cues. Brought her happiness up, but the damage is done.

I think I feel too stressed and unhappy about utility. I'm letting it affect me in the ring and how I interact with Aayla. Which isn't fair for her, she is doing her best.

I think I need to recognize we are out of time and it's time for her to retire from obedience in AKC and then from ASCA after finals. She hasn't Qed in AKC utility in a long time.

Why can't I just be unconcerned and just enjoy the game? Why can't I sit here and let the errors go? I keep feeling like I'm failing, that if Aayla just had a better trainer she could get this. That she could enjoy this even more. She loves working and once she is dialed in she is good. She is so solid for Open now. She has a 90% Q rate for open. I'm just not good enough to help her get there for utility.

She seems more sound and is moving better this trial. I think the adequan has helped and she seems more happy for obedience in general even if she is struggling with directed jumping. Which was one of the things I wanted to test at this trial, her desire and physical ability to keep competing. Which does seem like it's a green light on that front.

Maybe she could compete for another year but I need to seriously sit down and ask myself if I can handle another year. Now I'm the one with issues. Even as I'm writing this I've had time to cry and walk around and hug Aayla.

Aayla did get a solid go out the first time. She got excited to jump and took the wrong one. Not a big deal. She was EXCITED to jump. I shouldn't be upset about that. She wants to do it. If I had let the wrong jump go she probably would have gotten her second go out and probably had a nice run otherwise. For her the jump issue is an easy fix, she rarely gets that wrong and it's typically because I don't practice the directed jumping portion of the exercise. If I practice she won't mess that up.

Overall it's nothing big. Yet my reaction was big. That's a problem. A big problem. If I was to trial Aayla for another year I need to stop that. Take what happens with a grain of salt. But no more Q goals, just having fun with my favorite girl, my heart dog and enjoying our bind together.

Honestly I need that opinion for Aayla, Ryker and any future dog I have. I want my dogs to be accomplished but getting upset isn't going to get them there. Taking this silly game too seriously isn't going to get them there.

We have one more day and we are just going to go out to have a good time tomorrow and nothing else. I'll keep telling myself she can do no wrong and act accordingly. If it's her last time in the AKC obedience ring, so be it. We will make it a happy one

I have a lot to think through and a lot of self reflection to go over. I'll probably post a lot about it, so feel free to ignore.

[valhallasoutlaw]

hey! i know this is a controversial topic within the community so i apologise but i'd really love some advice; i own two sons of horus and my partner owns a black legion astartes (a terminator specifically) - can you recommend safe ways to introduce them to each other? everywhere i look there seems to be quite a bias against owning chaos legions, the poor things are demonised to the high throne and everyone acts like the terminator will 'corrupt' the sons :/

Ooh another great question with a fascinating answer!

We all know that I believe that there are no bad marines! I hope this helps to shed some positive light on the Black Legion; someone could be missing out on their forever-marine just because of a bad reputation!

Now, since you and your partner have two Legions with pack inclinations and a strong sense of pecking order, the trick is respect! Start with introductions, (names, rank, the whole kit and kaboodle) in a safe place where they all feel like equals! The last thing you want is for your Black Legionnaire to feel outnumbered and nervous, so pick neutral territory. As their handlers, I recommend that you and your partner interact like allies. Stay close to your Marines: the Sons of Horus will look to you for emotional advice! If you are comfortable, eventually they will be. As for your Legionnaire, keep a close watch on him. See if he's a Leader-type Astartes, or a Follower-type. Sons of Horus tend to be Followers, and your Legionary may want to be the Alpha! Put a pin in that for a moment!

On the first session, I wouldn't expect too many results. Both will be wary, but if tension breaks out, stop the introduction immediately and wait. Try again later in a different space and see what happens. A two-versus-one introduction MAY seem counterintuitive, but trust me when I say you want your Legionnaire to know exactly what he's getting into--the poor darlings are expecting betrayal around every corner.

If, after a few sessions, they begin to develop that signature Astartes synergy we all love so much, feel free to let them spar or exercise together! The dynamic will emerge naturally over a period of a few weeks to a few months, and--remember that pin I mentioned?--your Legionnaire will likely integrate into the pack as a Follower-type (submitting to the strongest combatant) or, sometimes as a Leader-type (where your Sons of Horus are subordinate!) Either of these results is your goal, and if your Astartes dig their heels in and simply won't get along, I would consider another relationship. Astartes are a big responsibility! As unfortunate as it is, there are other fish in the sea, and your space marine needs you!

[northern-passage]

I'm in the middle of playing The Northern Passage, and I've noticed that throughout it there are various options to *attempt* to leave Lea. I've never clicked any of them, so I don't know what actually happens if you try... but I'm confused by the sheer quantity of such options that come up, since I was under the impression it's not legal to leave Lea. Especially the ones after meeting Duncan. They give the impression I'm trying to be *friends* with Lea by staying with them, even though I'm pretty sure I legally have to stay with them whether I want to be friends with them or not. Is my impression incorrect?

no, it's not "illegal"!

technically, Duncan (or anyone else for that matter) doesn't really have the power to "arrest" the hunter or anyone in the Order. The Order is self-regulating, and exists as its own political entity. this is why the hunter and Lea are supposed to be politically neutral, and why the Black Iron's interference during the Siege of Blackwater was such a big deal.

however, none of that will necessarily stop people like Duncan. and there are definitely instances where hunters and handlers have been jailed before and had to wait for someone else (like Commander Hadrien) to come bail them out. they can't really arrest them, but they'll put them in a cell to waste their time, and it's best for everyone just to comply to avoid any kind of escalation. if we use Keld as an example, a lot of the people in that town felt that Lea and the hunter had just killed a man, and if they hadn't booked it out of there, there was a high likelihood that they would have been thrown in a cell, and then Commander Hadrien would have had to come out and either argue a really good case or grease some palms, and it would have been a real bureaucratic nightmare. they would have had to let them go eventually, but they'd put them through as much bullshit as possible before then.

there's also a big difference between the Order in the south and the Order up north, which we will learn in the next update; that difference also makes Duncan more comfortable with treating Lea & the hunter however he likes.

when it comes to hunters & handlers, the handlers are actually there moreso for the protection of the hunter. people don't like hunters, and seeing one all alone will freak people out, but it's not illegal or anything for hunters to be out and about without their handlers. it's just better for everyone involved for there to be someone as a "buffer" that keeps the public comfortable and the hunter safe. handlers also tend to be the "leads" during jobs, so Lea will be the one that will engage with the common folk and ask questions, and function as a point of contact between the Order/stronghold and whoever is requesting the Order's services.

[susiequaz12]

Flower Boy 21- Good Work

Here's the next chapter! It's been a while, but I'm glad to be writing a bit more. This is the aftermath of Jeremy's last session from the past few chapters. Chapter 20. Masterlist.

CW: Aftermath of torture, nudity, blood, exhaustion, aftermath of noncon elements, electrocution, bruises, prisoner whumpee, brainwashing.

- - -

Prisoner 326 was deposited less than gracefully onto the floor of his cell by Handler Barrett. The man retrieved a clean pair of shorts and a tshirt from the supply closet and set them on the prisoner’s cot. 326 had earned them. 

“Come on now, we need to get you cleaned up. To the shower, 326.” 

326 let out a breath as he pulled himself up onto his arms. He was fully ready to collapse into the floor and pass out into delightful unconsciousness, but this wasn’t over yet. He scanned over his naked body- eyeing the filth and sweat and blood that scattered across him. 

He knew he couldn’t walk- his handler had basically dragged him here, his legs shaking too much to hold up his weight. His vision was blurry as well, his eyes darting in and out of focus. 

So 326 resorted to crawling across the floor, dragging himself as gracefully as he could, wincing with every movement, collapsing a few times until he finally felt the cold tile, the metal drain underneath him of the shower. 

He let himself collapse again, staring at his blurred reflection in the shower drain. 

Handler Barrett turned on the shower, letting it crash over the man’s body below and stepped away for a few moments so the water could rinse off the filth on the surface. 

When the Handler returned he had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a rag in one hand, and a plain bar of soap in the other. 

Jeremy’s eyes scanned across the bar of soap, then up to his handler’s face. 

“It’s not protocol, I know, but you’ve earned it.” 

326 let out a sigh as the handler wet the rag and began to lather up the sponge. 

“Th-thank you s-s-sir-” Jeremy tried to make the words as clear as possible, but there was a subtle shake to his jaw, a tremor that he couldn’t deny. 

“Here-” he held the items out to 326, and he took them in shaking fingers. 

Jeremy began to lather up his chest, feeling the cold of the soap against his hand, when it slipped out of his fingers and slid to the drain below. The prisoner cursed under his breath and reached for it again but he couldn’t stop shaking long enough to get a good grip on it. 

“Stop- just-” Handler Barrett scooped up the soap and gripped the top of 326’s arm. “Sit up, come on.” He helped the prisoner sit, his back facing the man and began lathering up the soap across his back and shoulders. 326 winced as it passed across the bruises and welts from an earlier beating, and bit back a groan as the Handler began to scrub some blood out from the deeper welts. 

“Hold out your arm.” He ordered. 

Jeremy did as he was told, and let the man scrub him, the rag passing over the crook of his arm where the ropes had rubbed his skin completely raw. Handler Barrett finished the other arm and then tilted his chin up with the back of his hand, turning the rag to his face. 

Dried blood had crusted around his mouth and Barrett was as quick and efficient as needed in scrubbing it off. 

326 breathed out a sigh as his face was washed, it almost- it almost felt nice as the man swiped the rag across his cheek, moving it around to his chin. 

The feeling left as soon as it came as the rag fell with a plop onto the wet tile. Handler Barrett turned the prisoner around, his back pressed against the farthest wall, and began to wash his legs. 

Jeremy hung his head forward as he was washed, the water hitting across the back of his neck, his hair falling limply around his face. 

He glanced up briefly as the Handler paused, and realized where the man was looking. 326 scanned in between his legs, seeing the blood caked between his thighs, other fluids that had made their way onto him… Their eyes met and Barrett glanced away quickly. 

“Clean yourself off and then rinse fully. Give me the soap once your done.”

Barrett plopped the soap and the rag into 326’s lap and then stood up, sliding the shower curtain over and stepping back into the small cell. 

“Yes- yes sir.” 326 mumbled, his mouth heavy and slow. 

Jeremy felt between his legs with his hand, wincing as the sore skin flared up. He choked back a sob as he cleaned himself off best he could with the water, before reaching for the soap. It slipped out of his hands again and he knew he couldn’t hold onto it long enough to thoroughly wash himself of all the filth. So he resorted to lathering up his hands as best he could, feeling the bubbles between his fingers, and with a shaky hand began to clean himself from all the blood and filth. He soon needed to grab the rag, but even being as gentle as he could he had to bite back a cry as he attempted to scrub himself off. 

When he was finished he collapsed back against the wall, letting the water run down his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair and then brought his hands in front of his face. 

He was shaking- the tremble in his hands was unmistakable, but from what, he couldn’t tell. The dehydration? Lack of food? Or all the shocks from the gag- the electricity… 

Shit, what if this was permanent? 

His body wracked with shivers as a rush of cold water splashed over his face. The shower was enough to pull him out of his thoughts and remember his Handler was standing just a few feet away. He couldn’t take too much time. 

He placed a palm against the cold wall, trying desperately to rise to his feet. He managed to get a knee underneath him, his other foot placed firmly on the ground. 326 tried to stand but all the lather and suds from the soap made the tile to slick, and he crashed right back down with a thud at any attempt to stand. 

Jeremy heard Handler Barrett curse under his breath and within a few moments the shower curtain was pulled away and 326 saw the man standing there, arms folded across his chest. The man shook his head and gripped the prisoner at the top of his arm, dragging him up to his feet. He helped him step out of the shower and then deposited him onto the bed, where 326 sat, head hung low on his chest. 

A cup of water was placed in his hands and he trembled as he raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and winced as he swallowed, his throat raw from screaming. Eventually the water began to soothe the aches and he pulled the empty cup away, the remains of his last sip trickling down his chin. 

Handler Barrett took the cup away and 326 was left staring at his trembling hands. 

“326-” 

They were shaking so much… there were bruises across his wrists, his skin dotted with scars…

“326 look at me.” Barrett ordered. 

The prisoner brought his eyes up- his face contorted in a look of- of fear, the Handler realized. 

Handler Barrett paused for a moment, taking in the prisoner’s face. This prisoner, who was just a boy when he was first taken. Who was so defiant, so angry at the world, who now looked up at his Handler with the most fear he’d ever seen written on his face. 

It had been nearly six years, that boy was a full man now. But in this moment, staring up at his handler with shaking hands, why did he look so young?

“326, what are your rules?” Handler Barrett ordered. 

326 blinked, his programming taking over as his brain repeated what had been beaten into him. 

“I do- do not have a, a name-” he paused, trying to push past the tremor in his jaw. “My numb-b-ber is 3-326.” He swallowed, his mouth dry, and took a breath. “I will only speak when- when spoken too- I will not ask f-f-for anything- my- my body is- is not m-m-my own.” He breathed out the last few words as the effort of speaking them became too much to handle. But Handler Barrett nodded, he was correct. 326 closed his eyes tight as his brain washed over with pain- it was so fuzzy- like a piece of paper, crumpled tight into a ball, unable to read the writing on it. 

“Good. Do not forget them, understand?” Handler Barrett asked. 

326 was back to staring at his hands, it took a moment after Barrett spoke for it to register, and 326 glanced up at him. 

“Y-yes sir.” 

“326, I need you to understand. You must never forget your rules. Now, they are planning on doing a 24 hour session. 24 full hours each, of sensory deprivation, and the overstimulation.” 

Prisoner 326 flinched back against his cot as the words registered, his eyes shooting up to his handler. 326’s palms gripped the top of his thighs, digging into his skin as he tried to grasp some sense of control. 

“Listen to me. I am under the impression that a full 48 hours won’t elicit any other effect than it has already had.” Handler Barrett clarified as 326 furrowed his brow in confusion. “It’s unnecessary. At least from my perspective. It is your job to make them agree. What do you suppose that entails 326?” 

“Re-rememb-ber my rules, sir.”

Handler Barrett nodded. “And what else, 326?” 

Jeremy closed his eyes, hearing the words that echoed through the speakers, over and over again, engraving them into his brain. Obedience equals safety.

“Obey.” He said.

“Correct. Under absolutely no circumstances are you to lash out, disobey, or even hesitate with a command.” 

“Y-yes s-sir. Yes sir.” 

“Good.” Handler Barrett turned away from the prisoner, moving to grab the clothes he had set on the cot earlier. “You did well today 326.”

326 was about to utter a feeble thank you, when the door to his cell burst open, and three unfamiliar figures stepped into the room. 

- - -

Taglist: @imagination1reality0@morning-star-whump @deltaxxk @sparrowsage @whumpcereal@gala1981@his-unspoken-words@darkthingshappen@raddyscoops

[allycat75]

If a washed up actor pulls a fake sword from a fake rock and no one cares, does he still get paid?

[ramblinganthropologist]

But really, after the failed kiss scene where Lucanis skedaddles out of there is like...

Cy: did I .. do something wrong?

Cy, looking over their shoulder with a blank expression: wait, why are you laughing weren't you supposed to be taking the screenshots?

Chris the handler, doubled over his screenshot folder laughing: holy shit he has negative game. NEGATIVE GAME. I HAVE MORE GAME.

Cy: yes but I want to fuck him, whereas you do not have anyone meeting that category.

Chris: yeah, you want to fuck him because /I/ think he's hot, but I know he has zero game. If I didn't want to kiss him, you'd be getting pinned against the wall by Taash right now.

Cy: ...

Chris; what, you didn't realize you get shit from me? Projection, baby, it's a thing I heavily subscribe to!