#And is not a natural feature of most dungeons

[zandraxofnebulon]

A dungeon meshi rpg-style video game adaptation wouldn't work unless it had extremely dedicated systems for cooking the monsters you slay. I'm talking the ability to cut apart the monster in any way you want, any part of the monster that could conceivably be edible can be cooked if you find the right way to do it, with every part having pre assigned ideal cooking methods to give the best flavor and nutrition. (The cutting apart and cooking would have actual physics and gameplay, no simple cooking animation/minigame.) The better you cook the food, the better your stats are for the next part of your journey.

The actual rpg combat could be fleshed out or barebones, but the meat (lol) of the experience HAS to be in the cooking. Maybe you start out only knowing a few very basic cooking methods and learn more as you go through the game (if you come back to earlier areas after getting far into the dungeon, you can cook parts of monsters you couldnt before, create new recipes, etc.)

Maybe there could be a whole bespoke system for keeping track of/labeling each recipe you make (breath of the wild style), with records on the nutritional values (the stat octagon) for each. The nutrition would generally be enhanced by how good the flavor is, with penalties if things are burnt/cooked incorrectly/etc.

Story wise, maybe you wouldnt play as laios' party during the events of dunmesh, but as a group of adventurers post-epilogue who're exploring a dungeon at king laios' behest, and, taking inspiration from his adventure, decide to survive by eating monsters. Maybe laios would gift them a copy of the Dungeon Gourmet Guide, with notes and corrections from senshi here and there. As the party progresses into the dungeon, they unlock more entries in the guide, adding their own notes as they go. Idk where the story would end up going but if ryoko kui is involved it would probably be pretty sick

[prokopetz]

You've talked before about how "generic" ttrpg systems still contain hidden assumptions about genre, story, playstyle, etc. (e.g. gurps and military scifi/fantasy) how do you figure out what those assumptions are? what should you look for in the rules to find them?

That's a fairly involved question for which a full answer is beyond the scope of a Tumblr post (even my notoriously long-winded ones!), but I find that a good place to start is with the "who gives a shit?" principle.

For example, suppose that the first piece of mechanically significant information on a game's character sheet is a statistic called "Strength", rated on a scale from one to ten.

Who gives a shit?

That is, why do we care how strong player characters are? Why do we care about having a definite, codified answer at our fingertips to the question of which characters are stronger than other characters, to a fair degree of precision? Why does any of this matter? What assumptions are we making about the nature of the conflicts that will be present within the game's narrative?

That's a fairly trivial case, but the principle can be extended to more fundamental features of a game's rules. Let's consider the classic Dungeons & Dragons style skill check, for example: roll a die, add a stat, compare to a target number, pass or fail. What assumptions are we encoding about the nature of conflict in this game?

Well, for a start, these assumptions might include:

The assumption that generating binary pass/fail outcomes for performing discrete physical, mental and social tasks is how most conflicts will be resolved;

The assumption that your game will benefit from these outcomes having a high degree of player-facing uncertainty;

The assumption that your game will benefit from this uncertainty containing a relatively high likelihood of complete failure;

The assumption that your game will benefit from the principal determinant of that likelihood of failure being some intrinsic and objectively measurable attribute of the acting character;

... and so forth.

If you're only familiar with Dungeons & Dragons and its very close imitators, these may seem like things you have to assume in order to have a functioning game, but there are a fairly specific set of conventions being expressed here. Why do we care about any of these things? Who gives a shit?

Even the first bullet point can easily be knocked down: one can imagine, for example, a game which simply assumes players can always choose to have their characters succeed at anything it's within the realm of possibility for them to do, and whose rules instead focus on providing a codified game-mechanical answer to the question of what that success will cost them, with the only uncertainty being whether the player is willing to pay that cost.

It's clear that a game which approaches conflict resolution in this way is expressing a strong set of genre assumptions. The trick is recognising that the industry-standard alternative (i.e., the D&D-style skill check) is equally laser-focused on a specific set of genre assumptions, in a way that's often rendered invisible by how common it is.

All of which is a very long-winded way of saying there isn't a simple checklist you can go down to identify a game's genre assumptions. But then, I warned you way up in the opening sentence that this would be the case – I hope I've at least given you a place to start!

[vintagerpg]

Henry Justice Ford is a curiously under-remembered artist of the golden age. He is most known today, if he is known at all, for his work illustrating all twelve volumes of Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books (fun fact: despite being known as “Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books,” Lang’s wife Leonora Blanche Lang selected and translated all but the first in the series, The Blue Fairy Book).

This is a fairly thorough collection of Ford’s work from Dover Books: Maidens, Monsters & Heroes (2010). Ford’s ink work is bold and intricate, his color work luminous and often combining surprising colors (perhaps a side-effect of the reproduction process). I tend to gravitate more toward his inks, perhaps because there are more monsters there (though that Chimera is pretty fab). Ford, of all of these artists, seems to have delighted in monsters. Especially reptilian ones, though he has talent for grinning demons and goblins, too. So many of his monsters are downright strange, too — look at that Scylla! WTF?! He has quite an array of giants, as well. Longtime readers may recall my enthusiasm for his Arabian cyclops, which featured on the cover of A Natural History of Unnatural Things.

Unlike the other artists I’m looking at this week, Ford has a direct influence on Dungeons & Dragons. That affable looking giant with the club is the clear inspiration for Trampier’s cloud giant illustration in the Monster Manual and I think generally you can see a lot of resonance between the two artists, particularly in terms of framing and posing. Tramp’s pseudodragon seems to have a lot of Ford in it.

A tremendous artist, flipping through any of his collections is like looking through a Victorian Monster Manual.

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

The Wandavision Double Feature Show (Agatha Harkness x f!reader)

Part I: And … Action!

Part II: Slice Of Life

In this Episode it is the 60s and the more you settle into the idyllic housewife lifestyle, the more tension between you and Agatha rises. You finally get a taste of what you crave.

Content/Warnings: Imbalanced power dynamic, Agatha has a dubious moral compass, Alcohol consumption, Smut, Hair Pulling, Mommy kink, Praise kink, Corruption Kink low key, Oral fixation, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Dom!Agatha (for now), does the Hex count as Housewife Roleplay? This whole thing is housewife roleplay.

Tags: @chiar4anna <3

I was gonna give you angst this week, but then the Big Sad slapped me across the face, so you’re getting soft lovely smutty fantasies first and angst when I stop being a sensitive baby! Until then, enjoy your stay at Sin City! Once again big big big smooch to @msharkness who beta reads for me without complaining, you speed my process up so much you have no idea!

To both yours and Agatha’s delight, you turned out to be quite the natural around the house. Within just a few days, you’d settled into a comfortable routine.

Breakfast always was on Agatha, who was always up before you, slipping past the guest room quietly so as to not wake you up.

When you came downstairs an hour later, hair curled and lips painted what you assumed to be red, the exact way she’d taught you, there were always eggs and bacon, slices of toast and coffee steaming hot already waiting for you. Agatha scrunched her nose up at the amount of sweetener you put into your coffee, and you rolled her eyes at her every time. And maybe you started putting even more sweetener into your coffee just to watch her do that face again, little wrinkles around her eyes as she squinted, upper lips curling as she shook her head. But that was a secret you’d take to the grave.

After you ate, you brought a plate of breakfast down into the dungeon.

It was still … odd to know Ralph was just down there, and if you thought about it too long, a cold shudder went down your spine. But, you brought him fresh food twice a day, and every time you came downstairs you could hear his Xbox running. You never lingered around too long, always rushed back upstairs, where the place smelled of lavender, roses and something simmering on the stove. Wanda had a whole town under mind control, including everyone you knew. A single guy in Agatha’s basement really wasn’t that bad in comparison. Right?

Next off, you fed the bunny. Señor Scratchy seemed to just move around the house freely, although his favourite room was the one deep down in the dungeon, where the Darkhold levitated in the middle of the seven-cornered room with its sculptures of creatures, people and abstract shapes on the walls. And, most days at least, the little furball was munching on kale or carrots in one corner or another. You could only assume the rabbit was also some type of magick, or maybe it was just oblivious to the unsettling energy surrounding the book levitating right in the same room.

By the time you had fed the bunny, Agatha had either left the house to show up wherever Wanda was that day, or she sat in the living room, nose buried in one of her heavy, centuries old books. You shuffled around the house, kept the place clean, made tea for the two of you, and sometimes you tried to focus on one of the books she’d assigned you to read. However, especially when you were in the living room together, focusing on old, handwritten letters on yellow paper proved quite difficult. And it had less to do with the difficulties of outdated language and everything with the entire situation: Agatha lounging on the couch with her feet kicked up on the coffee table, wide skirts pooling around her, dark hair pinned back behind her ears, brows always slightly furrowed when she was focussing.

Why read about ages old legends when you could be looking at her instead?

There hadn’t been a conversation about the other night, but … something was different ever since you returned from your first little stake out. She kept you on your toes, made you jump when she suddenly brushed up against you, let her hands linger on your hip, or your lower back, and sometimes even your cheek or neck.

When she left the house she always called „See you later, honey!“, towards wherever in the house you were bustling around. And every night when she returned, she announced herself with a wholehearted „Honey, I‘m home!“

While the housewife role wasn’t something you had ever planned for in your future, you proved to be quite the natural. Or at least, Agatha made you feel like you were. She never missed a chance to comment on how nice it was that someone kept the place clean, how much she enjoyed dinner, how lovely it was to see your face when Wanda had dragged her to meet with the other wives again. That one almost made you drop the fork of food halfway to your mouth already, and you quickly feigned a coughing fit, face burning hot as you stared down at your plate, anywhere but right at her. In hindsight, you couldn’t tell whether the foot grazing up your calf was real or pure imagination.

You quickly learned that Agatha had a sweet tooth. Whenever you had the time to bake, whole trays of cookies or pies would disappear at a rapid pace, never surviving much more than three days. On Saturday night, after Wanda had kept her busy especially late with some dinner plans Agatha refused to explain to you, you came downstairs to find Agatha sat on the floor in front of the open fridge, rollers in her hair, a silk robe over her nightdress, eating a plum pie you‘d made right from the tray. There was an open bottle of red wine behind her on the kitchen counter.

„I was saving that for tomorrow you know“, you commented, and her head shot up in surprise, eyes wide for a millisecond before she realized it was just you, and her signature smirk returned to her lips.

„I guess you’ll have to make more tomorrow then“, her bottom lip pushed forward in a mocking pout, „That’s too bad!“ For a moment you just held her eye contact, watching the act slowly leave her face, until she was smirking

With a roll of your eyes you walked over, sitting down cross legged on the cool kitchen floor beside her.

„Good girl“, she hummed, and it was fleeting, rolling off her tongue as casually as a greeting. But you felt your heart do a leap in your chest, biting down on your bottom lip hard.

Agatha handed you the wine bottle, her thigh brushing up against yours, and as you took a large sip, she filled her fork up with whipped cream and pie crust. When she turned to you instead of eating it herself, you almost choked on the bitter liquor on your tongue. Pressing your lips together to suppress a cough, you swallowed, wide eyes staring at the fork in front of you and then at her.

Her brows wandered up, tilting her head to the sight ever so slightly. „Come on, honey“, she purred, and you felt her voice echo through your entire body, „Open up.“

For a moment, you just stared at her, wide eyed, your heart fluttering in your chest. You‘d never been more grateful that your thoughts were completely unavailable to her, because the ideas flashing through your mind were way too intimate, way too inappropriate. But then again, you were far from normal circumstances.

Your lips parted and she pushed the fork past them, never once tearing her eyes from your lips as you closed them around the metal, tasting cream and cinnamon and plum on your tongue. She pulled the fork out of your mouth way slower than necessary, watching every inch of it, her own lips parting. You felt her breath on your face, surprised by how hot the gentle gush of air hit your cheek. And when you swallowed, you felt her eyes on your throat, watching the exposed skin move, dipping lower to where nothing but flimsy fabric covered you up.

„A-“

“Shhh“, a hand on your cheek, fingers hooking underneath your chin to force you to look up at her. As if you wanted to look anywhere else right now.

„Silence, honey“, she breathed, tilting your head to one side, and then to the other. You weren’t sure if she was actually scanning your face or just seeing if you would let her. Which, of course, you did. You melted like soft butter under her touch, letting her shape you in any way she pleased. The realisation almost scared you.

A soft little sound left Agatha’s lips, a hum so quiet, if you hadn’t felt it against your skin, you probably would have missed it. She was so, so close, her face almost blurred before you. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was a little twinkle in her gaze, the idea of something wicked. If only you‘d lean in one more inch—

Her lips were on yours. She was soft, so endlessly soft, and she fit perfectly against the curve of your own lips. A surprised gasp left your mouth, slipping right into hers. The world was spinning, one blur of black, white and endless shades of grey. If it wasn’t for your hand finding her shoulder, you would have lost any sense of direction. Up, down, left, right, none of it mattered. Not right now. Not with her lips on yours, with the taste of plum on your tongue, your fingers digging into the thin fabric of her nightgown, pulling her closer.

A low moan left her lips, you felt the sound vibrate against your lips. You gasped, and Agatha took the opportunity to slide her tongue between your lips, prodding gently, as if asking for permission. Your hand tightened on her shoulders, lips parting wider. The whine that left your throat when her tongue licked over yours was high and came from deep inside your stomach. Her hand found your chest, and before you knew it, she pushed you down firmly. Your back hit the cool tiled floor and you squeaked at the feeling. Her lips broke from yours, leaning away enough to look at you through heavy lashes. Agatha was on top of you, one hand pinning you firmly to the ground, the other supporting herself, propped up just beside your head. A few strands of hair had freed themselves from her rollers, falling around her face like a picture frame and her eyes, oh her eyes. They were dark with lust, glinting in the half darkness of the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, you could tell even in the color drained world you were caught in. Whether it was from the wine or the kiss, you couldn’t tell. But God, you hoped it was the latter.

„Agatha“, you gasped. The hand that wasn’t fisting the silk of her nightgown found her arm, and you ran your fingers down her bare skin, delighted to feel goosebumps on your trail. You reached her wrist, fingers curling around it. „Agatha“, you repeated, holding eye contact as you dragged her hand slowly up your chest, past your collarbones, toward your throat. „I .. I want you-“

She was gone just as fast as she’d been on you. Her absence left a longing so much more urgent than before. You suddenly felt very cold on the floor. The silk of her nightgown slipped from your grip, and before you knew it she was back on her feet, snagging the half empty wine bottle from the kitchen island. She stared at it for a moment, and you caught a shake of her head as you wrapped your gown around you tighter. Suddenly, you felt very naked in the flimsy fabric.

„Agatha!“, you pushed yourself up, right behind her as she paced the tiled floor towards the door.

To your surprise, she turned around immediately. And to your relief, there was a smile on her face, even if it was small. But it was better than anything else.

Her free hand came up to cup your face, and you leaned into her touch before you even realised it.

„You should try to get some sleep, honey“, she said, her voice low and raw, none of the melodic singsong she put on when she talked to Wanda. This was Agatha, a centuries old witch with powers beyond your comprehension. Who had just made out with you on the kitchen floor.

„You work so hard around the house, you need some rest. And I have to prepare for the stupid meeting tomorrow. I‘ll see you for dinner tomorrow.“ In the half dark it was hard to tell, but you swore you saw her wink at you, before turning around on her heel, nightgown swishing through the air. You stood in the dark kitchen for a moment longer, fingers rubbing over the spot where her palm had pinned you down, still feeling the ghost of her touch lingering.

Something had changed tonight, and you knew there was no going back from this now. It was exhilarating.

…

Not even 24 hours later you were putting away freshly cleaned dishes. You’d made falafel bowls for dinner, and while Agatha had scolded you for not sticking to era accurate food, she had dug in and hummed with content, pointing out how much she missed the bigger variety of food the present day offered.

You did too. And music, you missed listening to something that wasn’t the same ten songs on the one single vinyl you’d found in the house.

While stacking freshly dried plates over each other, you couldn’t help but hum a tune that definitely wasn’t from the 60s. Neither of you had mentioned the prior night, and Agatha had left even earlier than usual this morning. In her absence, you had made another, identical pie like she‘d requested, that was cooling down on the kitchen island as you cleaned up. A part, no, every part of you hoped she’d comment on it, and then you could talk about it, and maybe you could kiss her again, longer this time, and maybe —

Suddenly, you felt a hand sneak around your waist. A palm came to rest on your stomach, pulling you back into the warm body behind you just slightly. The plates you held clinked together dangerously, and you put them down quickly, before you could drop them. On your heel, you spun around, and now the two of you were flush against each other, front to front, the kitchen counter pressed into your back. She’d been quiet all day, still frustrated with Wanda randomly changing the era of TV you were in, but you knew better than to ask too many questions. Now, you could basically feel the frustration cling to her, tension in the body pressed up against yours. It was exhilarating.

„Go sit“, Agatha told you, voice low while glancing from your wide eyes to your slightly parted lips and back. There was that twinkle in her eyes again, the same one from last night, when you two ate pie on the kitchen floor at 2 am. „I'll clean up tonight.“

„I don’t mind…“ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat when suddenly, a single index finger brushed over your bottom lip. Goosebumps rose on your arms, your neck, your entire skin. Agatha tilted her head, her other hand running over your exposed arm, chuckling at the goose skin.

„Just sit down," she repeated, more firmly. There was a smirk on her painted lips, eyes unreadable. „You deserve it.“

„But-“, this time, she shut your protest down by pushing her finger right past your lips the moment you parted them.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening, a high pitched sound leaving you from the back of your throat.

Agatha’s other hand slid around to the small of your back, tightening its grip, fabric of your dress creasing under her touch. Her stare never left yours, tip of her finger pressing down on your tongue, brows raised in silent expectation. A flash of heat shot up your spine, and if it wasn’t for the furniture right behind you, you might have melted into a puddle on the ground right now.

Once your initial surprise had worn off, your lips closed around her finger, tongue licking up against the pad of her finger. Agatha’s bright eyes were focused on your mouth, watching every microscopic movement, pupils wide and dark as you slowly, shakily began to suck her finger.

You couldn’t breathe, too scared to change even the smallest thing about the moment to do so. You could feel yourself trembling, and knew she could too, as another little whine left your throat, starting to bob your head back and forth, once, twice, settling into a rhythm.

Agatha watched you the entire time, her body pressed flush against you, hips pinning you to the kitchen counter. Her own lips were parted slightly, her breath hot on your face. She pulled her finger away, the curve of her mouth forming a subtle smirk as you gasped, sucking in a deep breath.

„You forgot to breathe“, she pointed out, a low chuckle before her finger came up, gently tapping the tip of your nose.

Your shoulders slumped, leaning against the counter to stay upright. You could feel the little wet spot of your own saliva on the tip of your nose. With the back of your hand, you wiped it off.

„Agatha-“

The witch let out a groan, her hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you. She was leaning against the surface, so close to you without touching, and her forehead was wrinkled when her eyes found you after a long, exasperated sigh.

„Do you ever turn that pretty head of yours off for one second?“ Her lips quirked up into a knowing little smile, and she leaned forwards, her lips so close to yours, you could feel her breath ghost over your skin. Memories of how they felt against yours flooded your mind, her tongue dragging over yours, the taste of plums and jam. You swallowed hard, and Agatha watched your throat move without shame. Her pupils were dark, dragging up your neck, over your lips before holding eye contact again. The familiar twinkle in her bright eyes was a clear challenge.

„Do I make you nervous?“, she drawled and you felt one of her hands find the fabric of your dress, running over the little buttons holding it together in the front. Her index and middle finger ran up your front, all the way to the first open button right over your cleavage, where they hooked underneath the cotton. You gasped.

Agatha smirked as her eyes never left your heaving chest, watching the goosebumps on your skin rise.

„I bet you’ve done a lot of thinking today, huh?“ Her nail dug underneath the next button on your dress. Just one flick of her finger, and it came undone, the top of your bra peeking out. Delicate lace, one of the most revealing ones you‘d found in your period accurate closet. The wire was incredibly uncomfortable, but the way her lips parted just the smallest bit, tip of her tongue darting out as she undid another button, revealing more of the undergarment was worth the discomfort at least ten times.

„Naughty“, she commented, head tilting to the side. „Last night really hasn’t left your mind.“

All you could do was shake your head.

„Good.“ With a swift motion, she’d grabbed your undone collar with both hands, tugging the dress open and down your shoulders. Cold air touched your skin, skin that you desperately wanted her hands on. The high, breathy moan that left your mouth told her as much.

One of Agatha‘s brows raised in amusement. She was looking at you like a lioness ready to pounce. God, you hoped she would.

Her hands found your shoulders, palms running over your skin, smirk widening at your eyes fluttering shut as you sucked in the air sharply.

„So responsive“, Agatha purred, fingers running over your collarbones. Your chest pushed forward into her touch as if on instinct and she complied without hesitation. Her palms cupped the swell of your breasts, fingertips pressing into the silky fabric covering them, thumbs running over where your nipples hardened against lace.

You wanted to say something, tell her to just shut up and kiss you, beg her to touch you, to tear the last pieces of fabric off your body and take everything from you right now on the counter. But the words wouldn’t travel from your brain to your lips, so instead, you reached behind yourself, finding the clasps holding your bra together. A few moments of fumbling and then you had done it, the straps on your shoulders loosening, the fabric falling away from your body like a shell you‘d outgrown.

Agatha’s mouth fell open in a surprised „Oh!“, and the sound made your heart attempt to leap out of your chest. Her fingers pulled the fabric away from you, exposing bare skin, and the piece dropped to the ground somewhere besides you carelessly. Dark pupils were fixed on your bare chest and her hands returned to their original position, squeezing the soft flesh. Her thumbs running in featherlight circles over your bare nipples had your head roll back, and you let the low moan escape your throat without holding back. Agatha caught your gaze holding eye contact as she leaned down.

„Hold yourself up“, she purred, and you had just enough time to grasp the counter behind you with both hands before her lips were on you.

She planted a soft kiss to the rounded flesh of your breast, and then grazed her teeth over the same spot dragging just a little lower. Soft, wet lips closed around your nipple, sucking the sensitive skin in, where she then ran her tongue around it in little circles.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut and one of your hands found her dark hair, nails grazing over her scalp as she snickered against your nipple, the vibrations shooting right through your spine.

„Ag- Ah!“, your voice was weaved with desire and she was right, if you weren’t holding yourself up with your other arm, your knees would have given out.

Agatha released your nipple with a wet pop, saliva coating your breast and her lips, a sight that made your stomach curl into a tight, burning hot knot. Bright eyes found yours and she held eye contact as her teeth slowly sank into the soft skin just above your nipple. The pain was sharp and hot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to fuel the fire she‘d started within you. Your hand in her hair gripped tighter, pulling her up towards you. She chuckled against your skin, not letting your urgency rush her in the slightest.

Instead, she placed a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses from your chest over your collarbone all the way up your neck. Her tongue darted out right at the spot just underneath your earlobe, and you mewled at the feeling. One hand came up to cup your jaw and she held you in place, taking her sweet time as her lips continued their journey along your jawline, up your chin. When she finally reached your lips, you leaned forwards expectantly, but her hold tightened, keeping you just out of reach.

„Agathaaa“, you whined, and genuinely had to resist the urge to stomp your foot. Of course, that only made her laugh, brows raised as she held you less than an inch away from her lips.

„You can have what you want“, she murmured, tongue darting out to wet her own bottom lip. And, you were sure of that, to taunt you further. It worked. „If you can tell me exactly what that is.“

A long, exasperated sigh left your mouth, fingers running through her dark curls.

„I‘ve wanted you to kiss me for the past ten minutes“, you mumbled, but that wasn’t quite true. You took a deep breath. „I‘ve wanted you to kiss me since the moment I stepped into this house.“

„That‘s my good girl“, she purred, finger running along your jaw, „I knew you had it in you.“

Finally, instead of keeping you just out of reach, she pulled you in. Your lips crashed together and it was nothing like last night.

Last night was too careful, almost anxious. You’d dipped a single finger into the waters to test the temperature, and if you weren’t in the position you were in right now, a part of you would have wondered if it had all just been a dream.

But now you were on fire. You‘d tested the waters, and now you were jumping right in. Agatha pushed her tongue past your lips with intent, and a moan slipped out as you granted her entry. Her arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you flush against her as your fingers dug into her hair, no care for the pins holding her curls in place.

Teeth clashed against teeth and you felt her groan against you, kicking your legs open before slotting a knee up between them.

You squealed, stomach twisting with desire, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. They were tainted with pure, unadulterated lust.

„Take me“, you panted against her lips, barely breaking contact enough to speak properly. „Take me now, Agatha. Please."

Her hands found your hips, giving the dress that had gathered there one last firm tug. It all fell to the ground, fabric pooling around your feet, easy to step out of.

„Such a quick learner“, she murmured, eyes raking down your body, over the garters holding your stockings up, the thin nylon covering your legs, the ruffles of your underwear. „You really are quite something, honey.“

Her forehead rested against yours for a moment, hot skin against skin as her fingers dug into the soft flesh right over your hips. „Turn around“, she commanded, voice low and heavy, more of a groan than anything else, a movement right against your own lips that left you breathless.

With one swift motion, you were flipped around, her hips pinning yours against the marble counter. A hand ran up your bare back, fingertips teasingly tracing the edge of your garterbelt before trailing up your spine, until her palm was right between your shoulder blades, pressing you down against the cool marble. You sucked in a sharp breath, and the sound made her chuckle. She enjoyed the power she had over you. Always had, since the moment she offered you a deal. But back then, you hadn’t realised just how much you wanted her in control, how much you craved it.

And yet here you were, her hand holding you firmly in place, knees pushed apart as her fingers slowly traced over the edges of your undergarments. Since you‘d moved on from the 50s style to a decade later, you had been able to drop the corset from your everyday wear, but still, as her nails dragged over the curve of your ass, digging underneath the elastic just to let it snap back against your skin, you wished there was still a little less fabric keeping you from her.

Hell, you‘d probably have to throw this pair of underwear out after this anyway. You were absolutely drenched.

Agatha’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Simultaneously, you felt her lips ghost over your ear, her body leaning over yours, pushing you further into the countertop. Her nails poked into your skin, leaving little crescent marks in their place.

„A part of me wants to spank that pretty ass of yours raw“, her voice dripped with sweetness, you swallowed hard.

„But how could I, when you’ve been nothing but good for me since you got here.“

She let go of your butt, gently rubbing over the little marks her nails left behind before dipping lower. Her tongue darted out, running over the shell of your ear. You whined, pushing back into her touch. You could feel her gentle hum vibrate against your ear. Her fingers found your clothed core, three fingers dragging slowly up and down the soaked fabric. You felt her breath hitch.

„So, so good“, Agatha purred, poking just over where nothing but white ruffles kept her from sliding right inside your drenched cunt.

„Tell me you want me.“

Your head was spinning, legs shaking, and the tight knot that had formed on your stomach wanted nothing more but to finally explode, so you almost didn’t catch her words. When you responded, your voice was weak, a mere whimper, and under any other circumstances you would have been embarrassed. But the more pathetic you sounded, the more you melted under her, the more Agatha seemed to delight in you. And right now, the only thing you could ever want was to please her, to hear her purr sweet praises in your ear, to finally have her way with you. Good God.

„I need you“, you rasped, and your needy plea was rewarded with a lingering kiss on your shoulder. Her fingers ran over your clothed centre one more time, and feeling her graze over your clit made your entire body shudder.

„I need you so bad“, you mewled, „Agatha please, I- Please just fuck me already.“

„Hm, mouthy“, she chuckled, teeth grazing over your skin one more time before she leaned back up. Her absence over you left your shoulders cold, but it was worth it when you felt her hand guide yours to the edge of the counter besides you.

„Hold tight honey. Yes, exactly like that.“ Two fingers hooked under the elastic of your underwear and you gasped.

„You‘re doing so well for me“, Agatha purred. Her free hand ran up your spine again, this time she wandered over the back of your neck, right to where her fingers could dig into your hair, that hadn’t been the intricate style you‘d pinned it into that morning for a hot minute then.

Her fist closed around the strands, twisting them in her grip until you felt a tug, back arching in response. You heard Agatha moan at the sight and you instinctively pushed your shoulders back even further back arched, ass pushed back, her fingers ghosting over the soft skin on your thigh.

„Gorgeous“, she hummed, grip on your roots tightening, „So good for Mommy, aren’t you?“

And then, at last, her fingers pushed past the fabric of your underwear, right between your folds, slick with arousal. She slid right through you, fingertips pressing down right onto your swollen clit. Desire pulsated through your veins.

„Agatha!“, you cried out, knuckles white as you held onto the countertop for dear life.

„What was that?“, she lulled, teasing, fingers staying right where they were. Your hips stuttered, trying to push down into the touch, but her grip on your hair kept you in position.

„Ah!“, your breath hitched, your mind was mush. „M.. Mommy please!“

Her fingers circled around the bundle of nerves they were pushing up against and you moaned with relief. That was exactly what you needed right now.

„You didn’t think I missed the way that makes you tick, did you honey?“ The low laugh behind you sounded almost evil, and it shot through your body right to your core. You were sure she could feel your pulse through your throbbing clit, swollen under her circular motions.

“You’re so easy“, she purred right by your ear, giving your clit one more swirl of her fingertips, „You‘re an open book to me honey.“

Her index finger slowly wandered downwards, collecting your liquid arousal on its way. Her lips found the back of your neck, pulling you up into her by your hair.

„And this is a spell I can do with the flick of a finger.“

Her finger slipped into you with no warning. You gasped, eyes pressed shut at the sudden intrusion.

Agatha hummed, holding her finger still for a moment, giving you the chance to adjust. „You‘re doing so well honey.“ Slowly, she dragged it back out, before pushing right back inside, all the way to the knuckle. „Taking it so well for Mommy.“

Her thumb grazed over your clit, and if she hadn’t such a tight grip in your hair, your head would have fallen forward.

Again, she thrust her finger, settling for a gentle, slow rhythm. You pushed back into her touch on instinct. You needed more. More of her inside of you, more sweet words dripping down your back like honey, more of her lips on your skin.

The latter was granted without even having to say anything. Agatha pressed her lips to the spot just behind your earlobe and the moan you let out in response was guttural.

„That‘s right“, you could feel her lips move against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. „Let me hear you.“

Her hand slowed down and you almost let out a frustrated mewl. But then, you felt a second finger prodding at your entrance, and the stretch made you hiss instead.

Slowly, she began to pick up a rhythm with two fingers this time, her back pressed to yours as she held you tight in place. The slight pain of her tugging on your hair mixed beautifully with the slow, steady motion of her fingers thrusting in and out of you, until all you felt was hot, white pleasure like stars dancing before your eyes.

Agatha’s lips trailed a line of kisses down your neck, her fingers speeding up with every time her lips met your bare skin.

Heat pooled in your stomach, the knot tightening. You were on a rollercoaster, rapidly approaching the very top of the ride, bracing yourself for the fall.

„Agatha“, you gasped, and then immediately corrected, „Mommy.“

She stopped her trail of kisses on your shoulder. „Let go honey“, she hummed, tongue running over the little mark she’d sucked into your skin, „Let yourself go for Mommy.“

Again, her thumb found your clit, fingers twisting inside of you. Her rhythm picked up, tips of her fingers grazing over your insides with every thrust. You felt every muscle in your body tighten, cunt clenching down on her hand,your knuckles white as they were gripping the countertop in a vice like grip. .

„Just like that“, Agatha’s voice was low, merely a whisper. And then her teeth found your skin, brushing over your shoulder for a moment before sinking into the flesh. You cried out, head falling back into the fist that held your hair tight.

The knot in your stomach exploded. A shiver ran down your spine, over your back and arms and your entire body as release washed over you like a cool tidal wave, drowning out everything else in its way.

Your hips bucked into her once, twice, and then it was over, and suddenly you felt drained, exhaustion tugging on every part of your body.

Agatha‘s fingers pulled out in one smooth motion, and when you dropped forward onto the counter, her hand gently untangled from your hair.

„Fuck“, you whispered, chest heaving, legs feeling jelly.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards. „Come here“, Agatha’s voice was very soft all of a sudden, steadying your shaky stance against her. You noticed a wet stench on the counter but chose to ignore it for now, instead using your energy to turn around in her grasp.

„Can you stand?“, she asked when your weight leaned into her, arms wrapped around you almost protectively. It felt nice.

Ignoring her question, you leaned forward after turning around and caught her lips in a quick kiss, tasting the salty stench of sweat and sex on her lips.

„I‘m fine, Agatha“, you promised, unable to stop laughing at your own words. „I‘m fucking fantastic, actually.“

Still, she held you at just an arms length, eyeing you up and down.

There were bruises already blooming where your hips had pushed into the hard edge of the counter over and over. Agatha‘s fingers ran over the irritated skin.

„See, we could have done this on the couch if you’d just listen to me.“ Agatha panted, arms wrapped tightly around your shivering form, holding you close. You felt her lips ghost over the crown of your head, placing a featherlight kiss there.

„We could have done this last night in your bed like normal people if you’d just made up your mind then“, you teased back, arms wrapping around her neck as you leaned against her. If it wasn’t for her support, there was no way you‘d still be standing up straight.

Agatha‘s eyes hardened. „If you don’t watch your manners you’re not seeing that bed at all.“

But the kiss she caught your lips in gave her empty threat away immediately. You smiled against her lips, tugging her closer by her neck. A quick peck was placed at the corner of her mouth. Pulling away just enough to catch her eyes, you smirked.

„I don‘t have to be able to read your mind to know that’s not true. But alright“, your hands found hers, tugging her with you as you took a step towards the living room. Your dress lay forgotten on the floor. That was a task for tomorrow, like sanitising the entire kitchen counter.

Right now, you were too busy feeling delighted when Agatha let you tug her towards the living room, unable to tear her eyes off you even for a moment.

„We can have a turn on the couch before we go to bed!“ You chuckled, grabbing her face with both hands, kissing her firmly as you fell backwards onto the couch, pulling Agatha down with you.

[circeyoru]

Foreign Reality

[Sung Jinwoo x Memory intact!Reader - Academy Arc]

As weird as it sounds, you recall a world that was the same as this one but different. There were things known as ‘Gates’ and inside them are ‘Dungeons’ filled with all types of beasts and monsters that bring mankind harm. To counter that, there are awakened individuals known as ‘Hunters’ that would go into these Dungeons to defeat the boss and prevent an outbreak. That was the gist of it.

Now there was nothing. When you told your parents about it, they told you that you were dreaming too hard and that you needed to wake up. 

So how could you not feel the chill when the newly transferred student entered the classroom? Somehow you were able to recognize him. In your dream, he was the strongest Hunter, from the bottom to the top, he was famed for his strength and will to protect. Yet most remember him as the one-man army because of his ability to command shadow beasts and monsters. 

While the class teacher gave the former strongest Hunter the time to introduce himself, you already recalled his name like an echo to his introduction. “Sung Jinwoo.”

Over the next few days, Jinwoo was the topic of discussion for many people, both students and teachers. The girls were fonding over his coolness and smart nature, as he was top of his class like you were though you relied on your former knowledge and mentality. The boys were envious of the attention he was getting and his seemingly handsome appearance. The teachers praised him for his academic results and athletic talent. There seemed to be no flaws or faults with him.

Well, almost. It seemed like he was a bit on the dense and serious side. 

You recall the first day when a group of boys taunted him for wearing a single black glove over his hand, only to end up backing down when Jinwoo showed them a nasty scar. At the time, you were just passing by to leave the classroom, but you swore that scar couldn’t be made by normal means. Then again, you never knew what Jinwoo went through in his upbringing, so you kept it to yourself.

Then there were the constant confessions. You lost count of the library or rooftop confessions that you happened to stumble upon during your breaks. The library and rooftop were your go-to places to relax, yet somehow, Jinwoo’s love confessions were always there and sometimes in the hallways. You’d always see girls crying their hearts out and running away, when you looked over, Jinwoo smiled and waved at you. 

Though you nodded your head with a neutral expression before you left. You really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, by then you were sure he rejected and made a bunch of girls cry. If he weren’t the former strongest Hunter and praised and admired by you, you would have given Jinwoo the cold shoulders. You wondered if he had always been like this even before the timeline repeated itself.

But there were times when you wondered if he knew that time repeated like you did. You hoped that there was someone you could connect with. There was so many times that you felt so foreign in your place. Like everything was a lie. Maybe it was because you were used to the you and world in that former timeline, maybe it was because everything felt so real there and to be denied that reality was breaking to you.

So that might have led you to what you did then.

It was any other day after school was done and it was time for the extracurriculars. Jinwoo was in track and field while you were in a literature club. Yours ended earlier than his, and when you left, you’d catch him on his breaks. Like always, he’d be under that tree, sitting at the base of it and holding onto his water bottle while he napped a bit. 

Your legs brought you over to him and you squat down to stare at his features. Your eyes blinked as you waited for any form of reaction from him. If he were like you, he’d still have his Hunter senses, but there was none. Your face crunched together a bit as you tested another method. You slowly and gently took his bottle from his hand, still he didn’t seem to be conscious. So you sat down by him and set his bottle between you two.

“Hey, do you remember something like a portal to dungeons? Like in those games or movies? Haha, it’s silly huh? But I remember a world like that. There were brave Hunters who protected normal people with their powers and strength every day, they risked their lives to protect humanity. No matter their rank.” You stared at the sky as you talked your mind out. For some reason, you felt comfortable saying all this to him, even when he was sleeping.

Of course, you never saw the twitch in his fingers and the various eyes that stared at your form from the shadows. You continued your ranting.

“There was once the weakest Hunter who tried his best just to get by, then he was suddenly the strongest. Despite everything he went through, he never hated others or the world, nor did he take revenge. He was so selfishly selfless.” You clenched your hands as you looked down, “I’m sure, in the end, he did something, but it wasn’t just for himself. I can’t tell, but he was so stupid to just suffer the weight of it all alone.”

You failed to notice how his jaws clenched tightly.

“Haha. Well, I’m just being silly.” You got up and patted your clothes to remove any dirt or grass stuck to your fabric. You looked down to see if his form had changed, only to notice nothing out of the ordinary. You chuckled, picking out a leaf from his hair and blowing it away so that it could follow the breeze. You turned your attention back to him and bowed your head saying, “Thank you, Hunter Sung Jinwoo, for all you’ve done.” You straightened up and smiled before turning away from him. “I wish you the happiest lifetime for your efforts and suffering.”

Not even a few steps in, your eyes widened as your smile fell straight from shock. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist as your head tilted to see who it was. Jinwoo.

“Always. You always have a way with words. You know that?” Jinwoo’s voice cracked. 

You flinched, figuring he heard you, “Uh, um, I was just referencing to a novel the literature club had its members read! Nothing too serious! I, really…”

The way Jinwoo’s eyes glowed purple made your words fall short. “Don’t lie. You remember. You remember it all. Please.”

Your heart ached for some reason you can’t explain. In your memories, you were nothing special to the S-Rank Hunter Sung Jinwoo. You were one of the bystanders who cheered him on. You were only something to him when he visited his mother at the hospital, you as the doctor in charge of his mother’s treatment and stay. After his mother was discharged, there was no reason for him to return or visit the hospital because he had no need for it. 

Once, you witnessed his soldiers when his sister was brought to you to check due to some dungeon break in her school. You were so busy calming her down that you ignored the soldiers’ stare. When the Hunter appeared in the room, you professionally relayed his sister’s condition to him and he, in such a troubled state, didn’t spare you greetings of the like. 

After then, you’ve been keeping an eye out on the news for his good work for humanity. Just silently cheering him on from the sidelines because you knew you wouldn’t be able to help him. When you saw him with other S-Ranked Hunters, you felt content and proud, sometimes you can’t believe that was the same small frail E-Rank Hunter that would try to pay his mother’s medical bills with wounds and injuries all over his body. 

You reached your hand to the top of his head as best you could. Perhaps it was a good thing. In this world, he doesn’t need to throw himself into the dangerous dungeons with monsters that want to tear him apart. “Yes, I lied. I remember it all. But aren’t you going to go look for your other friends?”

His grip on you tightened. “I... I’ve wanted to stay by your side for a long time, but it was either you were too busy with your work or I was. There never was a time. When I reversed time, I thought I could correct things. But this time, there were other obstacles.”

“You could have just come talk to me.” You chuckled at his words. “Instead, I got a look good at how you’ve always made girls cry. Can’t you let them down gently?”

“But I was being honest.”

“Brutally honest…” You sighed. 

Jinwoo loosened up a bit, turning you so that he’d meet your eyes and you’d meet his, “What does this make us?”

You poked your finger at the middle of his chest, pushing him away from you, “Nothing serious. We’re starting from rock bottom. As friends.”

Jinwoo smiled, nodding at your words. “Well, we both have the time.”

“Right.” You huffed, content with this result until you recalled something. “Wait, you reversed time!?”

That day, under the tree and with the breeze of the wind, your surprised rambles gave the Shadow Monarch his solace back. For so long, he has dreamed of meeting you again and staying by your side. You were so diligent and caring that he never stood a chance, even when he became an S-Rank Hunter. 

Jinwoo laughed while you continued to speak at the speed of light over what he said. His eyes curled to crescent moons as he watched you stress over what insane thing he had done for the world again. All the while, within his Realm of Eternal Slumber, his Shadows cheered for their reunion, certain few plotting ways to move the relationship faster and deeper. 

With your distracted mind, Jinwoo plopped his form on top of yours while you tried to balance yourself. “It’s so good to have you back.”

“I’ve been here the entire time…” You pouted while you grounded yourself from the sandbag over your head. Still, you can’t help but chuckle, messing up Jinwoo’s hair. “I’ll be in your care this time.”

Note: Another Solo Leveling work! Hope you guys enjoy this one too!

*edited note: I'm opening the request for Solo Leveling request only. Check my masterlist for the rules. Thanks~!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

[julesinsummer]

like a moth to a flame - theodore nott

theodore nott x fem!reader | angst | in which theodore is everything he wishes he wasn't and wants the one thing he knows he cannot have

cold. subdued. emotionless. complex.

theodore was nothing if he was not written off as a loner, a nobody in a crowd of dazzling faces. he didn't amaze crowds with his beauty, or even particularly stand out among the people he'd been raised with.

theodore was nothing if he was not a disappointment to his father.

nott sr. was an impatient man, insolent and violent at times. he was fiercely loyal to his master, his lord above all else. when his master ordered his wife, a bride taken from another land to wed at an age far too apart from his to die, he did it. he did it without hesitation, without mercy, and without the thought of doing it away from his young son's eyes.

theodore was nothing after he watched his father brutally slaughter his mother in their drawing room. he was ten at the time.

it was that moment, he thinks, that he became who he was.

cold. subdued. emotionless. complex.

nott sr. ensured no emotion was shown from his boy. his heir, his only living relation, and his only chance at continuing the hate he'd been bred to feel.

it was in his bones, that hate. and it simmered and boiled over when he realized that hate did not grow in his young son's.

theodore was born to be sensitive. he was born to be an academic, with a wit like no other and a knack for knowing just what to do. he was born to be a good person, a person with solid morals and a fond eye for adventure.

but he never could be any of those things, could he? voldemort didn't like academics. he didn't like people who were smarter, witter, and brighter than him. he didn't like restless children who always wanted to know more.

and true to his nature, nott sr. began to hate everything that theodore truly was. he was determined to kill it and burn it to the ground, determined to shape him into a near mirror image of himself.

and once he was beaten down enough, mentally and physically, theodore began to relent. his father wanted cold, subdued, emotionless, and complex.

theodore became all he was meant to be in his father's eyes.

hogwarts became his only reprieve from the monstrous horrors that awaited him at nott manor. he felt comfort in the cold, stone walls of the slytherin dungeon. he would sit and watch the black lake on occasion, lounging lazily in an armchair moved to the precise position to catch the best view.

he felt a deep connection to the feelings of the giant squid that inhabited the lake. he too was trapped in a body of water, unable to move very far or do very much without being watched or being scrutinized. he felt that they were very alike.

sometimes his friends would join him to watch the window. draco took the most interest of all of them, much preferring theo's company to anyone else's. he'd known him since his birth, after all. they were as good as brothers, if you'd believe it.

theo was quiet while draco was loud. theo was meticulous and analytical while draco felt and felt and felt some more. they balanced and complimented each other nearly perfectly.

draco often wished he could save theo one day. save him from his father, from the life he'd been forced into. it was impossible of course, with nott sr. and lucius malfoy being brothers in a purely fraternal organization with the same goal in mind.

theo was grateful for draco's constant presence. he appreciated his thoughts and how he was comfortable just existing alongside theo.

draco began being interested in girls around fourth year. he could have any girl he fancied. he was an attractive boy, with sharp features and piercing grey eyes. theo wished many times he could understand what it was like to like someone, anyone, in a way more than just friendship.

it was hard for theo to even maintain his friendships most times. he was often afraid that his father would use them as leverage against him, or even worse, that the dark lord would make a point to have them killed in front of his eyes.

it was the yule ball that gave theodore even more reason to be terrified. even more reason to be a cold, subdued, emotionless, complex human.

he wore his finest, sent over from italy at the request of his father. he knew he was a handsome boy and knew why girls wanted him to be their date. he also knew why he couldn't and why he wouldn't let himself feel anything other than apathy towards them.

at least, he did. until he saw her.

she was dressed in the finest gown he'd ever seen, silk and shining under the enchanted lights in the great hall. her hair was styled perfectly, shaping her face in a way that had to be considered art. her makeup was complimentary to her face, not cakey and overdone like pansy's, or little to nothing like astoria's.

she was perfection personified, and he didn't even know her name.

"what are you looking at, mate?" draco asked with a slight laugh, trying to trace the line of sight theodore had locked onto.

"she's beautiful," theo breathed out timidly, his brain nothing but static as he stared at her. she gracefully spoke to her friends, a glass of punch in her hand as if she'd been raised to be the center of society.

draco eyed her meticulously, studying the human figure theodore was so entranced by. "y/n?"

theo looked at draco, shrugging, suddenly missing the sight that he'd been so focused on moments before.

"she's quite beautiful," draco agreed, sipping from the glass in his hand. he tipped it towards her direction, "a pureblood, too, i assume. she's too graceful to not have practiced this."

theo once again turned his attention to her figure. he was completely and utterly entranced by her, a feeling like none he'd ever felt before at the sight of a stranger. she turned around at that moment, her eyes sweeping the great hall before landing on his. she studied him for a moment, a small smile on her lips. she gave a polite and small wave of her fingers in his direction, her eyes never leaving his.

"oh god," theo breathed out, feeling as though all the air from his lungs had disappeared. she turned back around to her friends, seemingly laughing and joking around.

draco chuckled, putting a hand on theo's shoulder. "she didn't come with a date," he informed him, "so the option is there for you."

theo shook his head rapidly. "you know why i can't do that."

"i know," draco conceded, his expression falling as the weight of theodore's position settled in his heart.

theo spent the rest of the night sneaking subtle stares her way, eyeing her as she danced happily and laughed with her friends. he felt pangs of jealousy strike his chest when other boys asked her to dance. at the same time, he felt immensely relieved when she turned them all down.

it was the best night he'd ever had, in his mind.

it was fifth year before he saw her again. this time he spotted her in arithmancy sitting at the table beside his own. she sat with astoria and daphne, a slytherin green tie adorned around her neck. theodore wondered how he'd never seen her before the ball or after.

maybe it was better that way. if he didn't see anything he wanted, he could still be cold and subdued and emotionless and complex.

he was lost in thought during the lesson, his mind everywhere but in the classroom when he caught her looking at him. he locked eyes with her in an instant, almost out of instinct.

her eyes could draw him in and push him out like the tides, he thought. he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

she looked away as professor vector gazed upon the class once more. theodore felt the loss.

it went on like that for a few more weeks, with her catching his eyes during class, staring at each other with more intensity than theodore ever thought possible, and then turning away before they were caught. theodore didn't like it one bit.

he wanted more. he needed more.

he was like a moth to a flame just from her glances, wanting so badly to be close to her, to be close to something he could not have.

it was near all hallow's eve when he heard her speak for the first time.

she walked up to him in the library where he sat alone in a corner that was so unused that dust and cobwebs had taken over all flat surfaces and corners. he felt safe there, away from the rest of humanity. from the rest of his life.

"i like your eyes," she said to him, quietly but with a strength and fierceness that could not be more evident. she stood lengths away from him, her arms crossed lazily over her chest and her head cocked to the side. her hair fell around her face perfectly, enhancing the already ethereal beauty she contained in her body.

theo stared at her for a few moments, probably more than he should've. he considered going mute at that moment and saving him the trouble of what even speaking to her would start.

"i like yours, too," he finally told her, quiet and low as his tone usually was. he was a monotonous creature, something he was reminded of daily.

she smiled and theo felt his world crumble around him. he was falling down a pit he'd sworn never to fall down, the one that showed who he really was. the pit full of sensitivity, feeling, and everything he truly was made to be. the pit reminded him of his mother and all the ways she'd imprinted her very soul upon his.

she nodded and pushed her hair away from her eyes where it had fallen. she stood silent for a moment after that. when she did speak, theo knew it was full of quiet contemplation and consideration.

"i don't think you are who you try to be," she stated with finality. "and i would like to get to know the real you. not the cold and closed off bullshit persona you put on."

theodore nott was nothing if he wasn't acting. but in that moment, all of her words struck him in his proverbial achilles heel. in that moment, theo didn't feel like a failure. he didn't feel like a disgrace or a disappointment to his father. he didn't feel like the theodore nott he'd played for so long.

he felt seen.

theo took many deep breaths before he answered. he figured at that moment that y/n could be the most patient person he'd ever encountered. she held his eyes with a ferocity that would rival even the most courageous of lions and a determination that put all snakes to shame.

"you don't want that responsibility," he finally spoke, his words full of emotions he couldn't quite name, but ones he felt in the very depths of his soul. his hands had begun to shake.

y/n sat next to him in a dusty, ancient armchair. "i don't shy away from a challenge," she laughed timidly, "and i find that i'm drawn to you like a moth to a flame."

"moths will die if they touch the flame," he responded immediately, his face devoid of any named emotion.

y/n chuckled and touched theo's hand gently. "only if they're stupid enough to run into it."

theodore only bared his very soul to one person in his life. y/n was true to her word and refused to back down from his challenge. eventually, she was rewarded with theodore nott. he was sensitive and an academic, a witty, bright, intelligent boy who felt everything and loved fiercely and without a second thought. he was adventurous and fun and y/n loved him with a determination that was almost impossible.

theodore nott was once again cold, subdued, emotionless, and complex after the battle of hogwarts. his side had lost and the mark he'd taken on his left forearm to appease his father and protect the love he wanted and needed forever was fading.

he vowed to be everything his father wanted him to be after the battle. after he'd seen his only remaining family slaughtered at what he thought to be his safe haven. after he saw her, beautifully effervescent and ethereal, laid on the ground in a way that was so poetically tragic.

she'd died at the hands of his father and quickly thereafter, nott sr. was dead at the hands of his own son.

it wasn't long after the battle that theodore himself lost himself completely.

draco had found him, cold and lifeless in nott manor with only the bottles of firewhisky around him to blame.

draco knew in his heart that he could never have saved theodore from the end he was sure to meet. it didn't make it any easier.

-

this is my first piece of writing on here and i hope you enjoy it! i swear i can write happier things, but this has been on my mind for a while so i decided to get it out!

reblogs and notes very much appreciated!!!

[room-surprise]

PSA: Mana doesn't exist in Dungeon Meshi

Some translations of Dungeon Meshi (specifically the English anime and Yen Press manga) have used the word mana to describe magic, when the original Japanese simply said magic (mahou, 魔法) or magical power (maryoku, 魔力).

Ryoko Kui does not appear to use the word mana (マナ) at any point in the manga, the published extra materials, or her blog, so calling magic “mana” is an addition made only in some translations.

For example, the French translation does not use "mana." If you know of other translations that do or don't use mana, let me know!

The use of the word mana in English comes from Maori and its earlier Proto-Oceanic ancestor language.

It describes a form of supernatural power tied to social status, respect and strength. Mana is a religious concept for many Austronesian cultures, and is not really "magic" in the way pop culture has defined it.

As best as I can understand it from an outsider's perspective, mana is more like attributing a supernatural quality to a person's charisma, or the awe one feels when faced with a natural wonder like a mountain or the ocean, or the intimidation one feels when facing a powerful group.

The use of the word mana as a generic term to refer to magical power has been criticized as being cultural appropriation of a real religious term, still used by living people, to describe fictional magic.

In addition to this, using an Austronesian word at random in Dungeon Meshi for one of the most important and fundamental forces of the universe (magic) is inorganic to the world that Kui has constructed, which is rooted primarily in Greco-Roman, Hindu/Buddhist Indian, Middle Eastern, and Germanic cultures.

Using mana to refer to magic would suggest that the Ancient culture from before the cataclysm was Austronesian, but the rest of the manga does not support such an idea at all.

There are references to Austronesian and Oceanic cultures in Dungeon Meshi, but they are mostly tied to the orcs, who don't appear to use magic, and whose culture clearly doesn't, and has never had, the social power to define what word the rest of the world uses to refer to "magical power."

How did a Maori word get so popular in English?

The concept of mana was introduced in Europe by missionary Robert Henry Codrington in 1891 after he wrote a book about his time in Polynesia. The concept was then popularized further in America in the 1950s by Mircea Eliade, an extremely influential religious history scholar at the University of Chicago.

Mana was first introduced as a magical fuel used to cast spells in the 1969 short story, "Not Long Before the End", by Larry Niven. Around this time it also became popular with new-age religious groups.

It has since become a common staple in fantasy fiction and games.

So why translate it as mana?

The choice to translate "magic" and "magical power" as mana was probably made to try and make Dungeon Meshi sound more like a video game/RPG, since so many Japanese fantasy manga feature video game or RPG mechanics, and translators working on Dungeon Meshi would have no reason to assume it would be any different, especially at the very start of the manga.

However, Dungeon Meshi is much closer to High/Epic Fantasy, like Lord of the Rings, and throwing random gaming terminology into the translation when it wasn't in the original text ("mana", "newbs" and "inventory" instead of "magical power", "newcomers" and "supplies") feels out of place.

I think adding the term mana is a disservice to the hard work that Kui has done with her careful attention to linguistic detail and culture.

In the process of working on my Dungeon Meshi research paper on real world cultural references, I have studied over 100 names and words used by Kui, and I have found that she is remarkably thoughtful and consistent in what real world cultures and languages she pulls from, and what fictional cultures she pairs them with.

Obviously I don't blame the translators for not knowing this, they had to make translation decisions before the entire manga was complete, and most likely they were doing work for hire, with no idea what Dungeon Meshi was about.

They had no way of knowing Dungeon Meshi wasn't a video game fantasy comic, and were just trying to rush through their work as fast as possible in order to get paid, and move onto their next project.

Once it became apparent that Dungeon Meshi was High Fantasy and not a world that functions like a video game, they'd already used the word mana, so there was no going back.

In an ideal world, if the translators had known the type of story Dungeon Meshi would become from the beginning, if they really wanted a single word to translate "magical energy" into, they could have picked a word that belongs to one of the language families I mentioned before, rather than using mana just because "everybody uses mana, so readers will know what it means."

What should I call magic power then?

If reading all of this has made you want to stop calling it mana, hooray! Thanks for listening to me rant. You could just call it magical power, if you wanted. Nothing wrong with that!

But if you want something a little less clunky, here's an incomplete list of possibilities in some of the languages most commonly referenced in Dungeon Meshi. Please note I have not done due diligence on every one of these, I believe none of them are exclusively religious terms still in use, but just words that could mean magic (both fictional and real) in various languages. If I'm wrong about any of them, let me know.

INDIAN: Maya, prana. MIDDLE EASTERN: Sihr, kiisum/kesem. GRECO-ROMAN: Ergon (as a euphemism), goteia, physis, numen/numina, mageia. GERMANIC: Seidr, galdr.

(This post is an excerpt from my Dungeon Meshi essay with additional elaborations.)

[feyascorner]

4 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Astarion, if anything, you are sure is a liar. It’s impossible to tell what he’s truly thinking and whether his words hold an ounce of truth. You just wish you’d been an exception.

With lidded eyes locked with your own in a trance you can’t break ahold of, he sinks his teeth into her neck.

You’re at a complete loss of words, and you feel nothing but shame knowing that rather than the distaste you should feel, you feel something else.

Bitter. Not jealous, no, not quite, but really damn bitter.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 7.6k words,,, but have a bit of Astarion POV somewhere in here featuring Gale!!

You’re dying again.

But rather than the usual nightmare consisting of him pinning you to the ground with his hands on your throat, he’s standing above you. In that dark alleyway a week ago, where the spawn had nearly taken your life. The ground feels muddy again, and despite there being nothing at your neck, you still can’t breathe.

And then, you’re alive again, lurching up from your mattress with sweaty skin sticking your nightwear to your body. After your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight flooding into your room through the window, you sigh.

You want to ask if he’d been real. If he’d truly been there that night, saving your life against the spawn despite his words just the other night. Despite the stomach-churning way, he looks at you.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready. When you clamber out your door, your eyes glaze over his own, standing still as a rock just beside yours. Even though you know he’s right there, just a wooden door away, it doesn’t feel like it at all. He feels like an illusion—perhaps a ghost to haunt you for what you’d done to him. He’s been here for days now, and somehow, you feel further from him than you did when he was just a shadow of your past. Lingering. Driving you mad.

In some ways, this is worse.

Especially with the way your last interaction concluded, you’d expect yourself to feel nothing but negative turmoil for him. Yet, with the dreams haunting you every night and the endless afternoons you spend wallowing in your experiences with him in the past, it’s hard to do so.

Even more so when the terrifying force of hope grabs hold of you like a shackle to the heart.

You’re not sure if what you saw that night as an angel was really him or if you were simply hallucinating as a last-ditch attempt to console your imminent death. You hope���no, you question if he’d been the one to save you and fetch the Fist. Unfortunately, you have nobody to ask, as none of your other companions seem aware that you’d “seen” Astarion at death’s doorstep and the embarrassment that floods you intends to keep it that way.

It had to be him, surely. Why else would he have been at Elfsong Tavern that same exact day? Why else had Petras seen him the night before that, murdering that blond elf seconds after you’d been there?

Astarion, if anything, you are sure is a liar. He’s like this by nature, like an instinct resulting from the centuries spent under Cazador’s dreadful rule. It’s impossible to tell what he’s truly thinking and whether his words hold an ounce of truth. You just wish you’d been an exception.

‘Did you save me? Why?’ you want to ask desperately. You curse your past self for ending your last conversation that way. You’d hoped it would’ve at least gone a bit better.

“Perhaps we should throw him back in the Duke’s dungeon,” Lae’zel grumbles, tearing at her piece of bread as she sits on the armchair in the living space downstairs. Why she prefers such stale food is beyond you. “That istik is clearly not helping.”

“Give him time,” you mumble, thankful that at this time of morning, most of the house is still asleep. Only you or Lae’zel seem to be awake at the break of dawn. “We don’t have much of a choice anyway, given nobody else we know is a vampire spawn.”

“I’ve already given him tenfold the time I wish to give him. If it were up to me, he’d already be dead.”

“He is dead.”

She doesn’t laugh. You snort and reach to the cabinet, where instead of your usual supplies, you find a bottle. The crimson liquid at the bottom is scarce, but there’s just enough for a few more sips if you ration it right, which is what you assume he’s been doing, considering he hasn’t asked once to go hunting.

You wonder if he’s feasted on the necks of poor beautiful maidens in the city, captured by his charm and lured to an untimely end. You imagine their long, silky hair falling across their face as they bare their necks for his teeth, wincing the first few moments they sink down. But afterward, it would feel intimate—close, even—as he lets their blood sully his own. And once he finally pulls away with a piece of their lifeline, he’d grin down at them with stained lips painting them like lipstick…

Your brows furrow, but not for them. You seriously hope he just fed on goblins, or something along those lines. You’d even look past gnomes.

“T’chaki. Whatever disgusting thoughts you’re having, I suggest you stop,” Lae’zel snaps, and you blink. “And put that bottle away. You look like you want to devour it yourself.”

You do so sheepishly. “Please tell Gale to take Astarion to the forest to gather more blood. He’ll starve to death at this rate.”

“That would be ideal. Though I wouldn’t have the pleasure of putting my own sword through his chest.”

Your frown is visibly apparent, and it deepens her own. “Such a declaration shouldn’t displease you. My people believe an attempt at murder is enough to declare war. You should be trying to kill him, should you not? He is hshar’lak.”

“For the last time, I’m not going to-”

“She’s right, you know. As rare as that is,” you nearly jump at the cleric’s voice, though Lae’zel only glares. She’s leaning on the doorway, chewing on a half-eaten apple. “I won’t force him to leave, but I do hope you seriously reconsider your decision to harbor a vampire spawn. We trusted him once, and it didn’t end so well. I’d prefer avoiding making the same mistake again.”

He saved me, you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue before you reel them back, sealing them into your own heart. “Why are you awake so early?”

“We’re out of supplies,” she says. “I’m going to the market. Care to tag along? I wouldn’t hate the company.”

Your eyes flicker to the stairs as if expecting something, but you force yourself back to your companions and nod. “Alright.”

He was a magistrate.

At least, that’s what he remembers. His memories of the days before his heart stopped beating are fuzzy, like they’re muffled by water as he drowns in the unending 200 years of torture. Even without Cazador, even after stabbing through his corpse a dozen times, it doesn’t feel enough. It will never be enough.

He hears the front door open downstairs and finds himself lowering his book a tad to peer down outside the window his bed is pressed up against. You clamber out, stumbling over yourself as you tie your boots halfway through the door. He can hear you calling into the house through the thin glass panes. “Apples, pork loin, what else?”

“Bread and cheese!” another shout downstairs. It’s the cleric, he deems from the tone of her voice.

“Right, right,” you snort, waiting for her to catch up with you.

His eyes don’t leave you as you make your way down the street, eventually vanishing as you round a corner leading to the main marketplace of the city. And when you’re finally gone, his attention flits back to his book, rereading the page for what feels like the millionth time.

He likes reading—as much as he can, anyway—when he’s not hunting or running from the sun as if it’ll chase him down even in the shadows. He has three books. And if someone were to ask, he’d be able to recite them all by memory.

He had a fourth one, once. One you’d gifted him, but no longer does he want it. It sits under the bed, gathering dust for what he hopes to be forever.

He hasn’t spoken to you in days, and he expects nothing less. He hasn’t spoken to anyone, really, only receiving glares from Shadowheart, ignored by Lae’zel, and—well, Gale, he supposes, offers conversation, but Astarion’s the one to avoid those particular interactions. The wizard’s absence is not the only one he’s grateful for. 

Yours, for one, after how your last conversation ended, is not one he wants to risk another of. Yet, the past few days, despite never daring to approach him, he’s seen you looking from afar with the eyes of a kicked pup. But the second he comes too close, your guard is up again, your words curt, and sentences abruptly ending in his presence. Only when you think he doesn’t notice do your true feelings surface in this pathetic display. He almost pities you.

Unfortunately, in all the realms of words he’s described himself as he has never considered himself a sympathetic person.

He revels in your obsession with him. One that he will no longer reciprocate.

He glances at the empty jar of blood on the bedside table and clenches his jaw.

A hefty bit of time later, when he’s sure most have left the home, he climbs down the stairs where the first floor is still overtaken with darkness. The curtains have been put up in a clumsy manner, but they do their job efficiently enough, as he’s allowed to pace across the wooden floors and reaches for a drawer beside the sink. There’s a glass bottle of animal blood inside–it’s running dangerously low.

“You look awfully drained.”

Astarion fights the urge to groan at Gale’s voice.

“If that’s your attempt at vampiric humor, I hope you’re aware it would only have hungry spawns lunging for your neck,” he shoots back, snatching the bottle and popping it open with a swift move of his thumb and lifting it to his lips. He drinks, gulping down whatever’s left. While on any other occasion, he’d feel appalled at not even using a goblet, his hunger has been itching at him for days, now. If he didn’t know how foul Gale’s blood tasted, he might’ve even considered the damned wizard.

“I’m warning you, I taste positively terrible.” Ah, he must have been staring.

“I assure you, I’d more likely scout the city for rats before drinking another drop of your blood,” Astarion retorts back, setting down the glass bottle. “Now, please hurry and tell me what in the hells you want before I escape for those aforementioned rats.”

“Adjusting well to your life here, I presume?”

Astarion stares at him like he grew a second head.

“I was jesting.”

“You do a poor job at it.”

Gale sighs irritably. “You haven’t come downstairs in days; we’d thought you were dead already…again.”

“I’d rather not be in the presence of multiple people who appear ready to lop off my head at any moment,” Astarion snaps. “As much as I’d love decapitation for my cause of death, now is not the right time for such events.”

Neither of them laugh.

“The others…” Gale takes his time talking as if he’s searching for words that aren’t there, and it makes Astarion’s eye twitch. “You understand why they’re apprehensive about you being here. In all honesty, I am too.”

The spawn’s brows knit together, and he rolls his eyes. “Whether or not they want me here, it was their choice to keep me trapped in this bloody house. Even when I insisted I didn’t know a damned thing about what my dear siblings were up to, your leader chose to “take responsibility” for me...whatever that means. So by all means, Gale, just open the door for me, let them know I won’t be returning, and you’ll never see me again.”

Astarion expects him to yell at him, snap at him, maybe even cast a spell, but he expects him to do something with the words that spill out of his mouth like vomit. But instead, the wizard opens his mouth, shuts it again, and seems to be in thought. “I haven’t heard you talk for so long in ages. Nice to know your endlessly running mouth is still there.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He snorts, his eyes flitting to the curtains messily nailed onto the wood surrounding the windows, and Astarion can see his face fall. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you go, for I’ve made a promise with Tav to check in on you in place of themselves…and the others, of course. And I may be a man of many words, but I am not a man of lies.”

Astarion almost laughs at the irony. “Is that what hiding the bomb in your chest was? Honesty?”

“Oh, please,” he waves him off. “That was eons ago! And besides, I’ve got that all sorted now, so no more eating magical pairs of shoes…thank the Gods. Though the magical enhanced gems weren’t so bad-”

“Please tell me someone other than yourself will be hovering over me like a parasite.”

“I’m afraid not,” Gale smiles. “Lae’zel wouldn’t hesitate for a vampire head hanging over the fireplace, Shadowheart would most likely place a curse on you, and Tav rarely comes home at all. So, unfortunately, and also most fortunately, you are stuck with yours truly.”

Astarion groans. And though he’s about to shoot him with another quip, the front door swings open, and Shadowheart steps into the house. When she notices him standing beside the kitchen, her body visibly tenses.

“You’re supposed to stay in your room.”

“I’m also not supposed to starve to death in that room, as much as I’m sure you’d approve of that.”

Her gaze flickers to the empty bottle of blood, and immediately, her face hardens. She narrows her eyes, and Gale, as usual, steps forward. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not get too hasty-”

“If you are ever starving to death,” she glares. “You best hope not Tav is the only person around. If you ever even ask them for their blood again, I’ll show you just how much blood you have stored up.”

Astarion scoffs, grinning. “Such a terrifying foe you are. But there truly is no need to worry so much. I don’t need their blood, and I never intend to ask them for a single drop again. Not anymore.”

Shadowheart looks only half convinced, but after a moment of contemplation, the atmosphere turns less rigid, and she sighs, stepping backward. “I really did not miss having a vampire in our home.”

He’s about to let out another condescending laugh when he hears a shift in the dirt outside the open door. Neither of the others seems to notice. “And for the record, if you ask me for blood, you’ll end up even worse.”

Right then, he watches you step into the house, arms stuffed with paper bags filled to the brim with fruits, meat, and bread, and you nearly stumble on your own legs as you try to guide yourself to the kitchen counter. “Did we really need this much for just a week?”

“Of course we did. My famed stew is not made so haphazardly, you know. It requires skills, talents, and lots and lots of patience-”

You finally set down the groceries and notice Astarion’s presence in the room. He knows you do because of the way your posture straightens, becoming more guarded. It makes the corner of his lips lift in a way that’s sure to make you uneasy. 

But when your gazes finally meet briefly, you turn away as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

His eyes widen. Did you just ignore him?

He shifts, just enough to catch your attention, but all you do is listen to Gale’s ramble about his bloody stew. He’s sure nobody on Faerun gives a damn about his soup at this very moment, and you're no exception. Yet you’re clearly preferring his words over Astarion’s glares in such a blatant display.

You are ignoring him.

“Moving on,” Shadowheart groans. “We’re going to investigate the families of the spawn victims. We’ll let you know if we find anything. Oh, and tell Lae’zel she needs to move her weapons out of the living room before I throw them into the sewers myself.”

Gale shudders. “I’ll tell her, but certainly not those exact words.”

Astarion’s eyes follow you the whole time as you wait for Shadowheart at the door, hand holding a sheet of paper which he assumes to be the list of victim families. And the entire time, you refuse to even look in his direction.

It evokes something in him. He’s not sure what, but it does. Annoyance, he supposes.

Gale finally turns to him when you and Shadowheart shut the door closed behind you. “Now you and I can get groceries for you…as long as it’s only animals, of course.”

Another hour with the wizard might drain him of what remains of his life force (which is very little considering that he’s dead), and he thinks a few hours might just be the cause of his perishing.

There are too many bodies. Too much blood that reminds you of the evil that you believed was dealt with. Their families weep, and you can do nothing but stand to the side, watching as they claw at the Fist’s uniforms, begging to know what could be done. Begging to see their loved ones again.

You feel selfish, almost. Having finally seen your own former beloved, you only allow yourself to watch from afar, afraid of getting any closer.

So you’d escaped the town square, fleeing to the roofs where you could properly assess any potential victims’ families and determine if they were even worth approaching in the emotional wreck they were in. The list of bodies nearly crumples under the crushing weight of your own hands. The silence looming across the rooftop patio is far more relaxing than the chaos below.

Well, save for the company perched beside you.

“So what’s with your lyre?” Alfira blinks. “Where is it?”

“Sold it.”

“Why? That’s such a waste!” she frowns, rubbing at a smudge on her own instrument. “It was made of such fine wood too…I do hope you didn’t undersell that beauty.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe I should’ve sold it to you at a higher price.”

“If not your lyre…” she tilts her head, scooching her stool closer to yours. “Then what are you playing nowadays?”

“I don’t play anything.”

Her eyes widen. “You don’t play anything? What does that mean?”

“I quit, Alfira,” you sigh, finally turning to look at her. “I’m not technically a bard anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Once you’re a bard, there’s no backing out of it. It’s in your very blood,” she explains, lifting her own lyre to you. “Go on, play something. I know you have it somewhere in you.”

Your face falls at her offer, but she remains firm, urging you to go on. It’s only when you realize she has no intentions of ignoring your words that you finally take the lyre into your own hands. It feels too foreign. It’s not your own instrument, but it’s a different kind of familiarity than that. While your fingers used to itch to sing their tales, you now feel nothing, just an empty husk of what once burst with inspiration.

Still, you try, even if just for show. Your finger tugs at one of the strings, letting it snap and vibrate its hum. You try another and another, but they’re all disjointed, barely managing to hold on to one another before your brows furrow, and you drop your hand. It just doesn’t feel right.

You hold it back to her. “I told you.”

“Well,” she looks down at her lyre. “I’m sure even the greatest bards have struggled with their music from time to time. It’s just a bump in the road.”

No, you want to tell her. It’s the end of the road, and there’s nothing you could possibly do to solve it, because you’ve already tried it all.

“Here, I started a new song,” she smiles hopefully. “Maybe it might spark your own musical talents. Care to listen?”

While a part of you is hesitant, the way she excitedly clutches onto the lyre makes you relent. “Sure.”

She begins to sing, and even if it’s better than it had been when you last saw her in the grove, it’s shaky. You suppose she must always be like this when producing a new song, at least until she grows accustomed to it. Still, it fills the air with a calm melody and drowns out the sounds coming from below on the streets, which you’re grateful for.

The breeze feels nice on your skin. You let your shoulders drop, closing your eyes as you drink in the notes produced by her lyre.

“I don’t need their blood, and I never intend to ask them for a single drop. Not anymore.”

The words echo in your head. It shouldn’t hurt you, really, you didn’t intend on giving it to him anyway, but a sick part of you wishes he could’ve at least asked, and you could’ve been the one to reject him. Not the other way around.

It feels like getting rejected for a confession you never made.

You blame yourself for eavesdropping.

“So? What do you think so far?”

You barely register that her song has ended, forcing you to focus back on the bustling city below. With a clear of your throat, you nod. “It’s good, it’s just…”

Her eyes seem to glow as she leans towards you, curious to hear your next words. Why she has so much faith in your advice is beyond you. You’d helped her with her last song, but it’d just been a stroke of luck that you managed to capture the emotions she wanted to convey through its notes. It certainly did not help that you hadn’t touched an instrument in months. “...Nevermind. I’m not sure what I was trying to say there.”

Her smile drops, and she holds her lute closer to her chest, nodding. “I see. It’s a shame.”

What she’s referring to, you’re not sure.

She digs through her pocket, managing to scrape out a crumpled sheet of paper which she puts on your lap. You do your best to make out the words messily scribbled on the sheet, which you determine to be the unfinished song. While you shoot her a wary look, she pushes the paper back to you when you attempt to offer it back.

“I have faith in you. More than anyone else, for a song like this,” she smiles. “You don’t have to help me finish the song like last time. Just absorb it. At least read the lyrics for me, will you?”

You want to say no, but you end up pocketing the sheet instead.

After you say your farewells, leaving her to continue humming to herself, you regroup with Shadowheart. Your own spirit falls when judging from her expression, she’s had even less success than you.

“We’re going around in circles,” Shadowheart sighs beside you. “None of the families know anything, and as much I’d love to stay an hour at each house to console them, at this rate, we’ll die of old age before finding these spawn…are you listening?”

You blink, snapping back into attention as you turn to her. “Did you say something?”

She raises a brow at you. “And what are you so distracted for?”

Mourning something that hasn’t happened, but you don’t tell her that. “It’s nothing.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, but neither does she pry. You’ve always had a mutual understanding with her when it came to one another’s secrets—don’t push. And even when either of you want to, you stay true to your silent agreement. You’re grateful for it at times like these.

Suddenly, there’s a bump to the left of you, not enough to make you stumble, but enough to make you glance back. They’re small, and you assume they’re a halfling or dwarf, despite their shoulders seeming too narrow. However, you forget about the details when your eyes hone in on their bare feet, absent of any shoes, much less socks. Something is wrong. Very wrong. When you look back up, you barely catch the way their hand slips back into their cloak, and immediately, your own flies into your pocket, where you’re now missing your dagger.

Shit.

You break into a sprint, forced to ignore Shadowheart, who calls out for you from behind, as you try to chase the hooded figure who swerves through the crowd of people on the street. Despite the people who curse and hiss as you shove through them, you’re only barely managing to tail the small cloaked figure, and in no such world are you willing to lose that dagger under circumstances that are not your own.

It’s pathetic, you know, to hold on to such a small part of him for so long. You’re sure he’s thrown away all of your own belongings, so why hold onto the dagger he kept strapped to his chest for months, holding it near his heart? You reckon this may be a blessing brought upon the gods who pity you, and you ponder if they’re watching you now, laughing at your pathetic display of desperation.

Still, you refuse to let it go like this.

The figure turns an alley, and your feet pick up. It’s a dead end.

You screech to a halt, slipping out a smaller blade that glints in the light allowed to seep into the isolated corner, eyes narrowed. The figure stands with its back to the wall, and you gawk at the way their shoulders shake as if they’re laughing to themselves. “Give it back, thief.”

They don’t budge, only continuing to tremble, and eventually, you’ve had enough. You march toward them, yanking back their hood with your knife, readied to retaliate if they dare, but immediately, your face pales. At the same time, Shadowheart finally manages to catch up to you.

“Hells, this crowd is a disaster,” she hisses, dusting off her shoulders. Then she shoots you a frown, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the supposed thief. “Whose child is that?”

You realize she hadn’t been laughing but shaking from fear.

She’s tiny. Unnaturally frail for her age which you guess to be around 9 or 10, which you note before letting her go from the grasp you have on her cloak. And from up close, you see that her bottom lip has been gnawed raw, still red from the last time it bled. She’s grasping onto your dagger for dear life, looking up at you with wary wide eyes, and you find your face relaxing. You bend down on one knee so you’re not just staring down at her, sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, really.”

Her trembling eases a bit, but her grip around your dagger tightens. In her hands, it almost looks like a sword. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you angry. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

Shadowheart steps to stand beside you. “Please tell me this child isn’t yours?”

“No, of course not!” you snap, and she snickers. You roll your eyes and turn back to the girl. “I won’t hurt you; I swear my life on it. But I need that dagger you’re holding.”

She hesitates, her eyes desperately searching for honesty in yours.

“It’s—important to me,” you mumble sheepishly. “Please.”

You watch her glance between you and the blade in her hands multiple times, then slowly reach it out to you. You offer her a smile, sheathing it beside your hip once more. You feel whole again. “Thank you. Now, I won’t tell your parents this time, but you really can’t go around stealing people’s things–”

“Berry!” she blurts.

You blink, and she picks at her own hands. “I live with Miss Cora.”

The puzzle pieces click in place.

“You’re the one Cora has to lull to sleep.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you regret them with how her cheeks puff and paint her face a light shade of pink.

“You’re one of the orphans, then, I presume,” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “Any reason why you’re lurking in the city—without shoes, might I add—and robbing people of their belongings?”

“I wasn’t trying to steal,” she insists, then meets your eyes. “I didn’t know how else to talk to you alone.”

“Alone? With me? Why?”

“I know where Roger—I mean, Miss Cora’s husband went that night,” she looks down. “I didn’t know who else to tell. I wasn’t supposed to be out…but I needed fresh air. And…And I saw…”

You hold your breath. “Where did he go?”

“It was the Blushing Mermaid,” she splutters. “He went and never came back. I-I can’t tell Miss Cora…If I do, she’ll hate me and kick me out. I can’t leave, so please, don’t tell her.”

Shadowheart leans to your ear. “That’s not possible. He couldn’t have been there.”

No, you think. You’d been there. You’d been at the Blushing Mermaid that night, and while you weren’t exactly in the best state of mind, you surely couldn’t have missed a literal murder taking place. Regardless, you shake away your lingering doubts and take her shoulders.

“We won’t,” you assure her. “For now, I need you to go back to Miss Cora. It’s not safe in the city by yourself right now.”

She wipes at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes with her arm and nods firmly, readjusting her hood and cloak so that her entire body is covered once more. You place a hand on her head.

“Thanks for telling me, Berry. I’ll find out who did this to Roger, and you’ll be the first person to know,” You manage the best smile you can at the moment. “And please, next time, just tap my shoulder.”

Her lips purse, and she flees to the Highberry residence.

“Well,” Shadowheart finally uncrosses her arms. “At least we have a lead now. It was starting to feel hopeless—though I’m not sure if this is a lead at all.”

Regardless of your own doubts, time is running out. Every night you spend with no progress is another waste of nearly a dozen lives in the city. So you shove aside your skepticism and sigh. “It can’t hurt to try.”

“What do you mean he just left?” Lae’zel seems just about ready to stab her sword through Gale’s chest, and you can’t bring yourself to blame her.

“I’m telling you, he just vanished! Into the thin air, nearly,” Gale groans in exasperation, throwing up his arms. “We were returning from the forest after his hunt, and I didn’t even look away. One second he was there, and the next-”

“He’s a rogue, you foolish wizard,” the githyanki hisses, and you cross your arms beside her, offering Gale no sympathy. “We must go search for him, drag him back, and keep him pinned to a wall with a spear.”

At this, you balk. “Well, no, we’re not going to-”

“And you,” she spins around to you. “You must stop defending the spawn over your unreciprocated feelings. Your urges to make love may remain, but his does not.”

Your face flares, and you hear Gale nearly drop the book he’d been holding. 

“I am not—”

“It’s painfully obvious to the rest of us. It’s been days since he joined us, and all of us must deal with your imploring eyes while he seems promptly set on ruining every conversation any of us have with one another,” she continues, and as such, in Lae’zel fashion, she does not hold back the sting of her words. “I am indebted to what you’ve done for me, and for that, I cannot stand aside and watch you reduce yourself to this lovesick mutt over a bloodsucking leech.”

Gale clears his throat. “Lae’zel, now I believe that’s more than enough to-”

“Seal that mouth of yours, wizard, before I rid of it for good.”

He does so immediately.

You stare at her, appalled at her words. Imploring eyes? Lovesick mutt? You don’t even want to mention the bloodsucking leech comment. All you can do is keep yourself from opening your mouth, in fear that something that sounds dangerously close to defending Astarion might escape against your will. 

A smart choice, as Lae’zel sighs, her patience wearing thin.

“You are a warrior. One of the most formidable I’ve come across,” she scowls. “Do not disappoint me this way. You do not owe him anything. That kainyank is the one who nearly took your life.”

A part of your heart cracks. You ignore the stinging in your palms as your nails dig into them, unsure what you’re even supposed to say at this point, and you fumble over your own words dying to escape your throat. Because you do owe him something. Because if your suspicions are true, you do owe him for the night you encountered the spawn, and the night before that, when you came across Petras. Being indebted to him feels like another battle in itself, and you’re not sure if you want it to be true or not. You don’t have the heart to tell her that.

So instead, you snatch your dagger from where you’d last placed it down and march for the door.

“Tav, please, don’t leave like this,” Gale reaches for your arm, but you yank it away.

“I’m going to bring him back,” you say, but it’s more of a demand. A tone you rarely use toward your own companions, but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

Lae’zel hisses as you’re halfway out the door. “You are a fool to be unable to see that he does not care for you.”

He had saved you. A person who does not care about you does not bother to save you.

You clutch the dagger close to your heart, and you ignore how cold it feels in your hand.

By the time you’ve run through most places he could possibly be, you finally arrive at the Sharess’ Caress, panting as you stare up at the taunting aura of the building. You don’t know how many hours have passed since you left the house–-perhaps days, or even minutes, but every second feels like a million more than it should. You push through the door, barely managing to catch your breath, as you’re immediately greeted with the aroma of a thousand different perfumes.

The fumes make you scrunch your nose, and you’re quickly slammed into the last memory of entering this place. The woman at the front desk, the windows draped with curtains to prevent most if not all the light spilling into its halls, the music echoing from the more private rooms for personal viewing…

You hate it all.

“Ah, savior, you’re back!” a voice says, and you flinch at it. One of the drow twins, Nym, waves you toward her, but you don’t budge. “It’s been months since you last rejected my advances, hasn’t it? I suppose you couldn’t resist yourself and came back-”

“Where is he,” you spit, your voice wavering. You don’t mean to be rude to her, truly, but your patience is close to nothing, and you don’t know how much longer you can go before you have to take a rest and return to the house in shame. At the very least, you have to drag Astarion back with you.

She pauses, then motions upstairs. It seems she understands the urgency in your tone because she steps out of the way, urging you forward. So with a nod of acknowledgment, you march up the stairs towards one of the more luxurious private rooms. 

Door after door, you’re greeted with an empty room. Only when you come to the final room do you hold your breath, fist nearly shaking from merely knowing he’s on the other side. Lae’zel’s words echo in your head like an insistent tadpole, unable to force it to leave or quiet down. You opt to overrule it with the sound of the door swinging open.

There’s a woman.

Though you manage to release your breath when you see that she’s fully clothed, the collar of her shirt is pulled back, revealing her neck for the spawn who has his fangs bared inches from her skin. She doesn’t seem to notice you despite the ruckus you made entering the room, too lost in the man in front of her, but he does. His attention flickers to you and stays there, not showing an ounce of surprise as if he expected you here.

With lidded eyes locked with your own in a trance you can’t break ahold of, he sinks his teeth into her neck.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he drinks and all you can do is stare in disgust, eyes wide but your legs unwilling to unplant themselves from the wooden floors. Your sandwich from earlier threatens to hurl the other way, and your nails dig into the skin of your palms, nearly breaking the skin. You’re at a complete loss of words, and you feel nothing but shame knowing that rather than the distaste you should feel, you feel something else.

Bitter. Not jealous, no, not quite, but really damn bitter.

He tears away from her neck, blood staining his lips as you remain planted in the ground. The woman gasps, and her hands fly up to her neck. Even now, he’s only staring at you.

“Thank you, dear customer,” she rasps gratefully, despite how pale she looks. He doesn’t even acknowledge her until he wants her out.

“You can leave now.”

She looks back and forth between you and him, surely noticing how he doesn’t seem remotely fazed at how you’re glaring daggers at him and nods, scrambling to leave.

The door shuts with a loud thud.

You watch him reach to wipe at his mouth, your voice hollow and cold. “Are you done?”

“Clearly, seeing as I made her leave.”

“We agreed that you wouldn’t drink from people.”

“We agreed I wouldn’t drink from people in the house,” he corrects, pacing toward the window where the moonlight had illuminated him as he drank from the woman’s neck. “I kept my word.”

He leans against the windowsill, and you take a step toward him, still keeping a hefty distance. “She’ll report you to the Duke. My word won’t be much help if he insists to throw you in a cell.”

“This is a house of pleasure, my dear. Nothing gets out of here if you have enough gold,” he laughs, throwing his head back. “How else do you think I’ve been getting my share of blood if I hadn’t gone around murdering the innocent?”

Your teeth grit together, eyes narrowed as you scan the state he’s in. Despite appearing nearly dead just hours earlier, his skin now seems to glow against the moon, the bags under his eyes having gone missing and leaving a wide grin on his face instead. If this was a few months ago, you’d admire him, but not now. You want to punch it off.

“You don’t look happy, darling,” he fakes a frown and makes his way closer to you. You swear your heart stops for a moment when he brushes his knuckles against your cheek. “Is it that woman? Are you jealous?”

You slap his hand away.

“Gods, is this all a game to you?” you blurt in exasperation. “I’m trying to understand you, Astarion, I really am. And all you keep doing is–”

“There is nothing to understand. This is just who I am.”

“I’m not a fool. Will you, for once in your life, please drop this mask and just talk to me?”

“What in the hells makes you so sure I’m lying? I must have made quite the impression on you when we still considered ourselves allies.”

You try not to flinch at that.

“You were there that night,” you say, but it comes out like a question. “When I was attacked by the other spawn. And the night before that with that guy from the tavern. You killed him without even drinking his blood.”

At this, the tone of your conversation shifts, at least from his end. His eyes darken as you take a step back. “Who told you that?”

“Petras.”

He seems taken aback for a moment but quickly recovers. You wish you could do the same. And the laugh that escapes his throat sounds like he pities you. “My dear, I didn’t realize you were so naive.”

You blink.

“He’s deceived you, I’m afraid. Probably covering for his own arse to stay on your good side. What spawn would want to risk pissing off an adventurer capable of killing a vampire lord? In the time we were apart, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid you at all costs. You can see why, can’t you?” he gestures to the air between you. “I mean, look at us, darling. We’re no good around each other.”

It hurts more than you’d like to admit, but your stubborn streak forces you to keep going. “That night with the spawn-”

“I must say that I’m rather flattered that I was the last thing you saw at the hands of death,” he laughs, and it sends shivers down your spine. “But I’m afraid that too was a gift from death. I, myself, had no part in it.”

“But why were you there then?” you’re starting to sound desperate. You want to slap your hand over your mouth but something tells you that would be even more humiliating. “Why were you with the Duke in the morning?”

“I was captured by the Duke days before he brought me to you. He spent the time interrogating me, and in the end, I gave him nothing, as I will do with you. I only found out about your—predicament when he did, and he decided you’d fare better in gathering information I do not have.”

You would’ve preferred to die in battle than to feel the crushing feeling of your own chest. You want to curl up in a hole and never crawl out. 

“Now, is that all?” he asks, drinking in your defeat like a trophy he wished he could place on the top shelf of a glass cabinet. “Any other accusations you have to throw at me?”

Lae’zel had been right. Shadowheart had been right. All of them had been right, except for you. This was far more than you could handle, and you had been foolish to think otherwise. The hope you held onto now dwindles into a small flame that can easily be blown out by a few selective words--those of which he has full authority over.

“Have you always been this cruel?” Tears threaten to well in your eyes, but you force them back, veiling them with all the strength left in your voice. Now, you just sound angrier. “You’ve never been a good man, but you weren’t a heartless one either.” You wonder if maybe that was a lie as well. The loving words, the soft touches, the gentle eyes. That perhaps the guise you’d thought you’d seen through was not a guise at all.

“Is that what it was then?” his face falls. “Did you stop the ritual to keep a feeble man by your side?”

Feeling is not weakness, you want to scream at him, but you know it'll do no good.

“Ascension would have changed you, and it’s not for the better. You know what Raphael said. I just did what I had to for the sake of your safety.”

“Power would have made me safe. From the world, from the sun, from people like you. Now I rot away in this destroyed city with nothing to feed on but stolen cattle and rats.”

“You’re not listening to me. You would’ve lost your soul, and become like Cazador–”

His composure cracks at that. “Don’t you dare speak of that devil.”

“Don’t give me reasons to.”

The air is thick enough to slice with your dagger. With squinted eyes, he scans your face before continuing slowly.

“Darling,” despite the term of endearment, it doesn’t sound endearing at all. “You are searching for sympathy from a man who does not have any left to give.”

“You did have sympathy,” you hiss. “With Yenna, with Shadowheart, with the owlbear, with Lae’zel, Karlach, and the rest of the damn city, you did. It wasn’t obvious, but you felt for them.”

“Perhaps once. For a fleeting moment. That moment is not now.”

There’s nothing that you can say to that, really. All you can do is stare at him, eyes wide and unable to choke out words, crying, screaming, anything. But now, the dagger you carry everywhere feels twice as heavy and twice as cold. You want to search his face for any signs of deception, but you’re too afraid of what you might find, so you force your eyes to the ground.

Silence hangs in the air like a chain tightening its hold around your lifeline.

“I was fine,” you whisper, face burning. “I was getting better. I was getting over you, and you came back.”

His hands limply fall to his sides. “You are the one who refuses to let me go.”

When you don’t respond, afraid your voice will crack and give out the last of the thin thread that holds you together, he steps toward you again, now a mere feet away. All you can see, and what you’re willing to see, is his chest as he breathes out his words. “Do you hate me?”

You have no idea, truly.

“You should.”

Lifting your head, you focus on his eyelashes rather than his eyes. Doing otherwise might provoke you to do something you’ll regret. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Hate me.”

The pause feels like another lifetime as your heart pounds rapidly, your palms feeling too clammy, and your throat too dry. He blinks, slowly.

“Yes. More than anyone."

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[dept-of-monster-affairs]

Part of the Family

Note: previously posted under nicsnort but Tumblr decided to shadowban then terminate the account without warning. (this will be my monster blog from now on, even if the other is reinstated)

m!Orc (Sehbuv) x f!reader

Word Count: 4945

Contains: Public sex, exhibitionism, implied impregnation, groping, fingering, Orcs using 1920s slang

Orcs came to defend your town when demons invaded. Now they've settled in, and after years of teasing them, they've finally had enough. It was time to make you part of the family.

If you want to ignore my self-indulgent worldbuilding lore skip the indented text

Press Release The Curious Case of Orcs As we discover more about the world beyond the Rift, many monsters and creatures thought only to be myths appear to be real. Additionally, many creatures not based on myth but more modern fantasy works also appear to be real. The most notable of these is the Orc.  Orcs were initially thought to have been the creation of J. R. R. Tolkien for his seminal work The Hobbit. While Tolkien was known for basing the creatures of his world on the tales of Scandinavian folklore, the existence of Orcs in this folklore was tenuous at best. Etymologists and mythists linked terms similar to Orc/s (Orcus, Orke, Orcneas, etc.) as other names for goblins, orges, or evil spirits. No matter the origin, Orcs became a part of mainstream fantasy and appeared in other works such as Dungeon and Dragons, Warhammer, and World of Warcraft. Despite our cultural myths' lack of longevity for them, Orcs are real, and parts of our fantasy stories are true regarding them. Orcs are often tribal and historically nomadic, have a penchant for war, are larger than humans, and are green to grey in coloration. However, most Orcs are not the evil raiders of our stories. While perhaps they were at some point, given the tales they tell of their history, we must remember that humans had plenty of cultures that raided others to survive. In fact, like many raiding human societies, Orcs are very happy to settle in areas they deem their territory and adopt parts of the regional culture. However, the former practice has put them in conflict with human governments, who often treat Orc tribes as gangs as they care little about human laws and bureaucratic measures, preferring to demand tribute from human villages in exchange for protection from greater threats such as demons. With their cultural flexibility, Orcs also have flexibility in what they consider an Orc. True-blood Orcs are eight feet tall or taller, have enormous muscle mass, an almost non-existent nose, red eyes, sharp tusks, and are without the ability to grow hair. No true-blooded Orc has been found in this world, and they live in extremely remote areas across the Rift. Due to their raiding and nomadic nature, most Orcs have bloodlines that include other species - mostly elvish and human. These Orcs range in appearance, but they are shorter and less bulky than their true-blooded relatives. They have smaller tusks, can grow hair, have a slightly more human-normative facial appearance, and are less likely to immediately turn to violence to solve their problems. Whether due to magic or genetic dominance, Orc features (large size, green/grey skin, and tusks) will be present in any offspring of an Orc and is considered an Orc, no matter the genetic heritage, by other Orcs. Orc tribes also contain Orc-kin. Orc-kin are those who are brought into Orc tribes but are not Orcs themselves. Orc-kin are typically the favored mates of Orcs or adopted orphans but may include those who prove themselves worthy in battle. Orc-kin are treated as full members of the tribe and recognized by other Orcs as members of that tribe. The Division of Monster Research will continue to study Orcs and all monsters to provide accurate information and help protect humanity.

Your sleepy little town had never expected an Orc tribe to move in a few years ago. Granted, you never expected the world to be invaded by demons, either. You remembered the moment that the Orcs rode into town well. They had been riding massive black horses the size of Clydesdales but with fire around their hooves and sharp meat-eating teeth. The Orcs had worn their traditional war paints and openly carried their weapons. Everyone had been terrified. Would they slaughter you all? Enslave the town?

They had called for the “ruler” of the town to speak with them. You vividly remember watching the town mayor approaching, trying to hide his fear. The tribe leader, Chief Gorim - a battle-scared, dark green, seven-foot-tall beast of a humanoid - slid off his horse, towering over the mayor, staring him down.

“You are afraid, human,” the chieftain commented in a low growl. “No need to be afraid. We have come as protection.”

The chief handed the mayor an official-looking parchment—a work contract. The Orcs were aware that rural regions of the human world lacked protection against the demonic hordes as the governments focused on protecting cities. So many of the Orc tribes, well-practiced in fighting demons and monsters, crossed the rift to provide protection. All the Orcs asked for in return were places to set up camp, provisions they could not gather from the land itself, and access to this world’s weapons and healing knowledge. A reasonable offer for people seeing the logic of their world changing rapidly and no way to fight against the demons otherwise.

True to their word, the Orcs protected your town and several others in the area. Unfortunately, their protection came with many more strings attached than originally stated. It was, for lack of a better phrase - a protection racket. Little did the towns know that Orc tribes were similar in structure and philosophy to the Italian Mafia. A rather ironic twist of fate, given that your little town had been the center of some Mafia activity over a century ago during the Prohibition Era. The small museum in town was a historically preserved speakeasy that told the story about the gambling den, a whiskey smuggling route, and a good old-fashioned shoot-out between the Feds and the gangsters along Main Street.

It was even more ironic that your Orcs - attempting to adapt to this “new human world” - decided to forgo their traditional dress and begin copying the Mafia’s style. The 1920s to 1950s Mafia was their preference. Their bows and arrows were replaced with machine guns. Their leather skirts and vests were replaced with cotton suits and fedoras. They began picking up the slang by watching documentaries and old films. The chief insisted that everyone call him “Godfather” and would tell everyone how the lead actor in that famous film looked like an Orc without the tusks. 

Sometimes, their obsession was more silly than scary. You overheard an Orc contemplating whether to call her future son the short Orc-like Tony or Al’capone after the “great warrior chief.” And seeing a non-warrior Orc in a flapper dress with the warriors wolf-whistling at the “sight of his gams” was certainly something. Who would have ever guessed that Orcs were into cross-dressing? However, given how Orcish genders seemed to be warrior and non-warrior regardless of sex, maybe it wasn’t cross-dressing. The Orcs had decided that warriors wore suits and non-warriors wore flapper or swing dresses.

Even with the Orcs running this protection racket, the town benefited more than it lost. You had all heard the horror stories of the areas first hit by the demons - towns annihilated, mass slaughter, people forced into slavery - compared to that prospect, paying a tribe of Orcs in tomato sauce, pasta, and historically accurate clothing was nothing. Not to mention that just like the Mafia they modeled themselves after, the Orcs started smuggling goods to and from their home dimension. The state and federal governments did not want any trade of materials that could “corrupt” humans (whatever that meant), but if they wouldn’t protect your town from demons, why bother listening to their ban? Magic potions were amazing.

But that all wrapped around to you. The person running the local speakeasy museum that the warrior Orcs claimed as their primary hangout spot. You were a historian and preservationist. While you had always sold alcohol at the museum’s speakeasy bar for those wanting to try moonshine or the local whiskey, it was never supposed to be a real bar. Yet, you had transformed the speakeasy museum into a functional bar at their large, weapon-carrying insistence. Your job had become more bar tender than museum worker, but to be honest, before the demons, your museum hadn’t ever gotten much business. Luckily, the “person in control of the alcohol” was a position that Orcs respected, and as you were the human who ran the “shrine” to the human “warrior tribes,” that respect was doubled.

“Here we go, boys,” you announced, setting five glasses of whiskey in front of the Orc warriors who had just come in from patrol.

“Ah, you're the bee’s knees, doll,” they replied with relief. You had long overcome the bristle you felt at being called “doll.” The Orcs were copying more of the language of the period they idolized. You had asked them once what they thought it meant - a pretty non-warrior - at least they were calling you pretty.

You headed into the backroom to gather more whiskey. Each Orc typically drank half a bottle when they came here after patrol, so you had to grab a few more to satisfy this group. As you were in the back, you could hear the chatter and laughter of the patrol join that of those already a couple of cups deep.

“Shrine maiden,” an Orc called out before swearing in Orcish, “ raudt, doll! Bring another round of Oakengleam!”

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Some older Orcs struggled with the new slang when drunk and still fell into their old terms. They swore whenever it happened, but the translator spell refused to translate anything inappropriate, meaning you knew lots of Orcish swears. With your arms full of four bottles of whiskey, you returned to the front. The Orc that had called out to you leaned against the bar, putting full weight on the old polished wood.

“I told you, Ozoch, that was the last of it. You’ll have to wait until the runners return from the Rift.”

“Come on, it’s the chief’s - I mean - the don’s favorite. I know you have to have some.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You are suggesting that I use Godfather’s private supply to satiate your already drunk stomach?”

“Don’t try to use the Don to threaten me, weakling.”

Silence began to fall among the Orcs as they listened in. You lifted your head defiantly. The Orcs valued strength. Not just physical but mental. Backing down now would lose much of the respect they held for you. “I’m in charge of the alcohol. Even if I had Oakengleam, I wouldn’t give it to you for that. Get out and dry out.”

Ozoch slammed his fist on the counter, cracking the wood. “Don’t tell me what to do! You ain’t tribe!”

“That don’t mean she ain’t correct,” a low growling voice said behind Ozoch. The older Orc stiffened. Godfather had just walked in the door.

“Chie--Don Gorim,” Ozoch started as he turned around unsteadily. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Godfather looked to the capo at his side and jerked his head. “Escort Ozoch out, Taugh. Take a walk, old friend, and consider how I said the dame was to be respected. Don’t make me force you to find that respect in concrete shoes.”

Properly cowed, Ozoch let Taugh escort him out. The old Orc likely would have a ground-down tusk the next time you saw him. It was a common mark of shame.

Godfather approached the bar. He silently examined the damage Ozoch did. A scowl crossed his face before he looked at you with a small smile. Reaching across the bar, he put a hand on your shoulder. “I will see this fixed, doll.”

Your heart rate was returning to normal, but you didn’t trust yourself enough to speak, so you nodded. He squeezed your shoulder lightly before releasing you. “Now, a mug of Oakengleam at my table, please.”

You breathed out slowly and returned his smile. “Of course, Godfather.”

Disappearing into the back where you kept Godfather’s private stash, you heard the conversation in the main room slowly return to normal. Alone among the alcohol, you took a moment to gather yourself. This wasn’t the first time you had to assert yourself, but it was the first time that an Orc had been violent towards you. Seeing them rip the wings off an imp with their bare hands was one thing, but knowing that fist would have cracked your head open was another. Allowing a couple of tears to escape your eyes, you quickly dried them. The don was waiting for his drink.

With a smile on your face, you brought Godfather his drink. While you were in the back, Taugh had returned, new abrasions on his knuckles. Godfather also had his advisor, Kormor, at his table. She was speaking quietly to him, ignoring your presence. 

The night went on as normal for an hour or so. More and more Orcs came into the speakeasy, nearly all of the warriors. You noticed that Kormor began walking around to the tables, speaking with the Orcs quietly. She would speak, they would take a moment, and then some would put up two fingers. It became apparent they were voting on something. You wondered what was so big of a decision that it required the warriors' input instead of the don's unilateral decision. It was none of your business, though.

 The bar's heat rose as the seats and stools reached capacity. It was not a big building, and the speakeasy area could only hold 60 humans or half as many Orcs. Your body was forced to brush against them as you served drinks. As you cleared mugs and glasses, bending over the table, their thick hands reached to steady you. Occasionally, an unknown hand was brave enough to sneak a grope in. Their earthy musk slowly began to make your head swim.

Godfather called for another drink. You ducked into the back, happy for the reprieve. Leaning against the cold brick wall, you felt your pussy throbbing. It was a secret you kept hidden from all those around you. You found the Orcs super hot. 

Before the invasion of demons, when all monsters were considered fantasy, monsters had been the subject of your fantasies. When it turned out that all sorts of monsters were real, when the Orcs came to your town, it was a terrifying but exciting moment. Unfortunately, the Orcs didn’t seem interested in humans sexually. Sure, they would occasionally grope you, but it seemed more like a game to them as they never did anything more. You had even started wearing the swing dresses they liked and brushing against them on purpose, trying to encourage them.

There were many times that after a long night of working, you had gone upstairs to your apartment above the museum with your panties soaked. You would take out your monster dildos and fuck yourself, yearning for it to be the Orcs you had just seen.

But now wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t have time to touch yourself. The don needed another mug of his favorite ale. As always, you would suffer through the arousal. As you set down a second mug of Oakengleam for Godfather, the underboss, Sehbuv, arrived. Sehbuv winked at you as he sat down. A faint blush came to your cheeks. He had always been one of the nicest to you and slipped you treats from the smuggled goods. It didn’t hurt that he was definitely one of the most handsome Orcs with forest green skin and alluring magenta eyes.

“Double whiskey, doll,” he ordered, “oh and, for you.” 

Sehbuv grabbed your hand and pressed something long, hard, and wet at the bottom into it. Looking down, you saw it was a tusk. An Orc tusk, yellowed with old age and very recently removed. To grind down a tusk of an orc was a mark of shame, to remove one was saying you did not recognize them as an Orc anymore. You looked back up at him, and he gave you another wink. Clenching your hand around the gift, you stuttered a thank you before running off for his drink.

“Stay a moment, have a seat,” Godfather told you when you returned. “We must have words.”

“Of-of course,” you replied, shocked and a bit worried. Your eyes darted around, looking for a chair. Suddenly, Sehbuv pulled you into his lap. You gasped, but along with sounding surprised, there was a clear undertone of sensuality in it. The Orc chuckled but didn’t say anything. You gave Godfather your attention, trying to ignore how your arousal spiked by merely sitting on Sehbuv’s lap. It did not help that one of his hands rested on your lower back to steady you.

“Doll, you’ve been a good associate of ours for a while now. What has it been four years?”

“Nearly, yes.” The Orcs had been here for a little over five years but didn’t discover their obsession until a year after they arrived; the museum became their hang-out a few months later. Come to think of it, Shebuv had been the first Orc to visit the museum.

Godfather nodded. “And even before then, I remember you. You were the only human brave enough to bring the tribute to our camp by yourself. You were the only one interested in learning about us.”

“I am sure I wasn’t the only--”

“You were. The only one to genuinely be interested, at least.” Godfather leaned back in his chair, taking a long sip of ale. As you waited for him to continue, Sehbuv set his drink on the table, his hand going to rest on his lap but finding your thigh instead. You glanced at him, but his attention was on the don.

“Anyway, what I am getting at is that you, doll, have contributed a lot to this family. Big things like this speakeasy and spreading the knowledge of your past warrior families. And little things like adding our favorites to the tap and our images to the shrine of your warriors.” He gestured to the small section where you had put some photos of the Orcs in action and a group photo of the tribe after they had donned their “human” clothing for the first time.

“You have done all of this for us. In some ways, you are already part of the family. But as Ozoch pointed out, you are not family.”

Sehbuv’s fingers found the hem of your skirt and began inching up your thigh. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the don. “Given all that and what happened with Ozoch, I think it is time to give you an Orc.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I need a guard. Unless you are suggesting someone to help out around here lifting barrels and…” It was hard to speak coherently. Your head was swimming from the Orc musk and Sehbuv’s playful touch. 

Godfather’s eyes connected with Sehbuv’s. Instantly, the younger Orc’s roaming hand was on the table holding his drink. The older Orc’s attention turned back on you. “I don’t think you’re following. I mean uvna Orciani tullu --blasted bluenose witch, censoring the translation spell.”

Kormor touched his shoulder to calm him. “Why don’t you leave that for Sehbuv? Explain how things are changing.”

Godfather sighed and nodded. “Long and short of it. The demons in this area have been pushed back, and the Rift is secured. There is no need for the family to be here to protect your town and the others in this territory. My family is going back to our world.”

Your heart sank. All this time was wasted, and now your chance was lost completely.

“We cannot maintain our territory here and the Old World. The non-warriors, on the other side, need us warriors to return. But we do not want to leave behind the luxuries of your world. My family is leaving, but the Orcs staying behind will form a new family with Sehbuv as the don. We will each work a side of the Rift, streamlining our operation.”

From the depths, your heart soared. There was still a chance. You glanced at Sehbuv; he grinned. “Congratulations. I would have gotten some bubbly for you if I’d known.”

“Thanks, doll, I am sure we can find a way to celebrate.” The hand that had been supporting your back slid down and cupped your ass.

Godfather cleared his throat, forcing your attention back to him. “As I was sayin’, Sehbuv will be the head of the family here. This new family will need to put down roots to grow. Find humans in this world to bring into the family as Orc-kin.”

“And I want the first Orc-kin of my family to be you, doll,” Sehbuv revealed. 

Shocked was a tame term for what you felt. There weren’t any Orc-kin the tribe had brought with them, but you had heard of them. You knew becoming Orc-kin, an official member of an Orc tribe, was a massive honor and something not to be taken lightly. They only allowed those who they saw as worthy into the tribe. “I…I am honored…I--sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Kormor suggested dryly.

“Yes!” The entire speakeasy, which you just realized had been intensely listening in, cheered.

Godfather let them cheer for a full minute before raising a hand for silence. He was smiling. “Excellent. Usually, we would have a dedicated area for the induction, but I believe this sacred space works…and I don’t think Sehbuv can wait much longer. Let the ceremony begin!”

Another round of cheers. Chairs scrapped on the ground as the Orcs stood. They began moving the furniture to clear space. Sehbuv scooped you up and began carrying you over his shoulder. The Orcs began to separate into two groups: those who would stay with Sehbuv’s new tribe and those who would return to the other world with Godfather.

They spoke in Orcish to each other and began to circle around you. Sehbuv’s hand was solidly on your ass, his thick fingers squeezing your rump. Your arousal was spiking once more. You had to take care of yourself soon, or else you’d be begging an Orc to fuck you, but it wasn’t like you could leave in the middle of something like this.

Suddenly, you were on your back, splayed across a table, with Sehbuv pressing his clothed but very substantial erection between your legs. Through the haze of arousal, it clicked. “Oh, give me an Orc as in--”

“Knock you up, doll,” Sehbuv finished. Not quite what you had thought, but the result was the same. You were finally getting the Orc cock you longed for. Sehbuv slid his hand between your legs. His thick, calloused fingers pushed aside your sodden panties, gliding along your slick pussy. A wanton moan escaped your lips, and your hips tilted up needily.

“ Hratz kaara-en olumno ,” he said with pleasured surprise. The Orcs around you hooted and stomped their feet in celebration. His fingers began to stroke you slowly as his huge body leaned over yours. “I am going riteh kaar Orciani kaara-en juublern. ”

“I have no idea what you just said, but whatever it was - yes! Please!” You rolled your hips, grinding against his fingers. Now that your dreams had become possible, you couldn’t wait any longer. He slipped a thick finger into you. A low moan escaped you; his finger felt as thick as two of yours. 

“How long have you wanted this, doll,” he asked, slowly pumping his finger in and out.

“Ever since you rode into town,” you confessed breathlessly.

“That is a long time.” He slipped another finger into your dripping hole and sped up fucking you with his hand. “Is that why you’ve been teasing us? You’ve been trying to get us to fuk you.”

“Yes! Please! I’m going to…” You gripped Sehbuv’s forearms as a powerful orgasm rocked your body. As you rode out the orgasm, he slowed the pumping of his fingers. Chest heaving, you stared up into his lustful eyes. You wanted more. 

Seeing your determination, a grin came to his face. “Undress, doll, before we tear that dress off you.”

He pulled back, allowing you to sit up. As his hand removed itself from inside of you, he grabbed your panties and, with a smooth tug, tore them from you. You stared at him with surprise. Lifting your sodden panties up, he sniffed deeply, then gave you a wink. Tucking the panties in his suit pocket, he slipped the jacket off and removed his suspenders. 

You kicked off your flats and sat up on the table. Sehbuv’s magenta eyes burned as they stared at you while he unbuttoned his shirt. You stared back, soaking in each inch of dark green skin he revealed. Reaching behind your back, you unzipped your dress. You couldn’t wear a bra with this low cut-off-the-shoulder dress; pulling the dress over your head, you were naked. The Orcs around you grunted and whooped as your body was bared to them.

Sehbuv was only halfway undressed. Your eyes were on him as you ran your hand over your body. Cupping your breasts, you began playing with your nipples. Twisting and tugging at them, releasing little moans as you did. Sehbuv nearly tore his pants in his hurry to remove them. His Orcish member sprang free, causing your pussy to clench at the sight. It was just as you had dreamed. Bright pink glands dripping with precum were proudly framed by the dark green foreskin of his long bulging cock. 

He batted your hands away from your breasts, and his hands took their place. His calloused fingers felt even better against your sensitive skin. Your free hands pulled his head down into a kiss. His tusks pressed against your flesh, his large mouth and tongue quickly overwhelming you.

Pulling back, he was handed a cup. “Drink up, doll.”

Taking the potion, you, without hesitation, drank the vivid green contents. It was a bit sour but had no immediate effect. “What was that?”

Sehbuv grinned. “Mostly an endurance potion.”

You had no time to wonder what he meant by mostly. He grabbed your head this time and gave you another dominating kiss. Pressing you down against the table, you felt his bare erection between your legs. He was about the same size as the largest toy you could fit in you, but the heat of it against your flesh had already surpassed your room-temperature silicone replicas.

“Please fuck me,” you gasped as he pressed kisses down your neck. “I need your cock in me.”

Pulling back slightly, Sehbuv held his cock against your slit, running his glands along it. “Mmm, fuck is same word in Orcish. I learned a little English for this. Doll, I am going to fuck your cunt with my cock now.”

The wide head of his cock pressed against your needy hole. You could feel him stretching you. God, this was so much better than silicone. Your hands clung to his shoulders as he slowly slid himself inside of you. “You feel good. Look at you taking me so well.”

You could feel every inch of his hot, hard cock as it entered you. You needed more, though. You needed all of him. “Move, please,” you begged.

“Whatever you say, doll.” Sehbuv began to thrust. You screamed in pleasure as his shaft hilted and hit every sensitive spot within you. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with each thrust. After a few thrusts, you were already approaching another orgasm.

“Fuck, Sehbuv! I’m already…I’m…”

“Tonight is about you, doll, don’t hold back.”

Another orgasm rocked your body, but Sehbuv didn’t lose pace. He kept thrusting into you, extending your pleasure. As your orgasm ended, he began to thrust faster. Each powerful thrust shook your body. Your legs locked around his waist in an attempt to hold on. Sehbuv began to grunt, and his grip on your flesh tightened. He was getting close.

“Are ya ready for me? I’m gonna fill you up,” he announced with a low growl.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted as yet a third orgasm approached. You needed something else to push you over the edge. You need him to cum in you.

Sehbuv’s thrusts became erratic. Then with a roar, you felt his thick cock swell within you. A scream tore from your throat as his hot sticky cum poured into your womb. Your nails dragged across his back as your body writhed from the pleasure. You swore you knew you were pregnant that instant. Fuck, given the magic potion, maybe you were.

“You good, doll,” Sehbuv asked as your straining muscles slowly released him.

“Yes…” You replied. Actually, you were better than fine. As Sehbuv pulled out of you, your body was already buzzing to go again. That was some endurance potion.

“Good. Cause the next part of the ceremony is about to begin.” Sehbuv stepped away from you. You sat up to see where he was gone and saw that all the other Orcs who had joined his side of the family were now naked and aroused as well. They stared at you with lustful eyes.

“Now that the seed of our new family has taken root, it needs fertilizer, doll,” Sehbev explained, “Orcs believe that power from all those who fuck the mother is given to a child. And you’ve been teasing us for years. You’ll make sure we’re satisfied, right?”

Your body buzzed with energy from the endurance potion. You looked around at the variety of Orc cocks and cunts around you. A grin came to your face. “I’ve been waiting five years for this; you all better make sure I am satisfied.”

Read about the Orc orgy here: Family Welcome

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Find more stories in my Masterlist

More Sehbuv (and the Family): NSFW Boyfriend Alphabet The Scars [SFW]

[styrmwb]

References to Previous Final Fantasies in Dawntrail

Or, how 9 + 11 + 6 = 14, somehow. (SPOILERS, OBVIOUSLY)

I've played every mainline FF, plus a few others, so one of my favorite things about playing XIV is seeing what they do with previous FFs, and how they incorporate it into the world/story. Dawntrail very very much did this, to the point that I could literally predict plot points before they happened. (THIS IS NOT A COMPLAINT I LOVED THIS)

So I figured I would put down my fanboying in text form, for people to read the insanity of a madman who has played too many JRPGs from a single series.

Note: I have not completed every single side quest, but I have done the entire MSQ, every dungeon, and 3/5 of the role quests. This isn't a complete collection, just what I noticed :)

V

Krile's "real name" is Maya. The original Krile in FFV was Krile Meyer Baldesion. (XIV might also have the middle name but I don't remember! I'm gonna put it here regardless!)

VI

Valigarmanda is the first Esper you encounter in VI, right at the start of the game. Its summon attack is Tri-Disaster. I really liked how they kept it frozen in ice, just like the original, and because Tri-Disaster is a SMN ability, they changed it to Tulidisaster to fit the Tural location.

Pictomancer was first in VI as well, being Relm's job. She even got to be in XIV as well, being credited as the Archon who created the art (HA). Shoutouts to the Relm reborn joke it needed to happen

IX

One of the two most important games in this expansion. There is A Lot here.

The preorder bonus/deluxe edition had a Wind-Up Zidane and Garnet, the two main protagonists of FFIX.

Alexandria is lifted directly from IX. The name, the style of the buildings, and even the castle with the crystal popping out of the top, shown in the dungeon and in Yesterland in Living Memory.

(This is the Dissidia NT version, but I wanted a picture that showed the castle and the roof architecture)

Solution Nine is named after one of Zidane's Dyne abilities. While not direct, Living Memory, the final zone, is very reminiscent of Memoria, the final dungeon of IX. I wonder if you can get a special sword by completing the entire MSQ in under 2 hours?

Living Memory also features quite a few locations from IX. The Canal Town looks very similar to Treno, and features a location called the Daguerreo Medical Collection, named after the city as well. Underneath Proto Alexandria in Yesterland, where the data terminal lies, looks very similar to the part of Alexandria Castle where Steiner can grind to level 99 (I don't know how else to describe it if you know you know). In the Windspath Gardens lies the Cleyra Museum of Nature, also named after the IX city.

Some quest text in Living Memory tells you about other locations in the Unlost World. Lindblum, the city that holds hunts and is very technologically advanced; Conde Petie, where the Dwarves are from (mentioned by a Milalla who said he was from there), and the Iifa Tree. There might even be more here, that I either missed or haven't done yet.

Another quest has you go on a treasure hunt for a password. This password? "I Want to Be Your Canary", the play from FFIX.

Solution Nine has a couple buildings with monsters from IX as signs. One building features a Mu (Which is also mentioned in Living Memory), and another building features Yans, both friendly and not friendly.

Another monster that I noticed a reference to was the Gimme Cat, which is featured on the popcorn in Living Memory. It's also mentioned as an energy drink, but called a "Gimme Bat" instead? I guess it does have bat wings.

While XIV doesn't have any direct plot important characters from IX, the ones we do have are very reminiscent of its cast, and clearly are done like that on purpose.

Otis is Steiner (with maybe a little tiny bit of Beatrix depending on how you look at it). Captain of the Knights of Alexandria, he speaks in an older fashion, similar to Steiner, and is very loyal to his princess.

Sphene is an interesting mix. The most obvious one is Garnet, both being Queens of Alexandria, being named after stones, and loving their people. The other one, which might be argued isn't intended, is Garland.

(No, not those guys. The other one.)

Garland in IX is an artificial being whose purpose is to continue his world's life. To do this, he would try to fuse Terra (his planet), with Gaia (the main planet), and control Gaian souls for Terra instead. What did Sphene do? Try to fuse her reflection with the Source, to use their souls for her own people. I personally think this is a very clear similarity.

In general, because of this similarity, the latter half of Dawntrail shares very similar themes with IX's plots, dealing with death and souls. I also think it's pretty funny that both start out pretty happy and cartoony, and end fairly depressing and existential.

Another plot point used in the MSQ is the play sequence. While IX's is based off love, and XIV's is the history of Alexandria, both feature a sword fight scene. (99 out of 100 nobles approve).

Finally, several songs from IX are used in Dawntrail. In the above mentioned play, Swords of Fury plays, just like the original. And a few scenes later, Vamo'alla Flamenco (previously used for the DNC quests) plays, though it should have been during the sword fight!! Prima Vista Orchestra and Fleeting Life are used in several scenes, usually involving Sphene. Something to Protect also appears, but in a scene I can't recall. Finally, the Court Jesters' theme gets a remix as the main song in the Strayborough Deadwalk.

X

There is a singular joke in Heritage Found made about dodging lightning bolts right before the flash so they don't hit you. The person who wrote this line wanted to induce PTSD in as many people as they could with only a single line of dialogue.

XI

The other most important game in the expansion. In a way, Dawntrail FEELS like it could have been an XI expansion in another lifetime. I might be looking too much into it, but I feel as though this was foreshadowed back in the first patch of Endwalker, as Dawntrail takes A LOT from the Treasures of Aht Urhgan expansion.

In Endwalker, the Alzadaal's Legacy dungeon was based off of the Alzadaal Underwater Ruins in Aht Urhgan. The dungeon used many models from XI, such as the Rampart, the Xzomit (hell yes!), and the Acrolith. The dungeon had a visual similarity, as well as the areas in the dungeon being named after zones in Aht Urhgan (Bhaflau Thickets, Arrapago Reef, and Mount Zhayolm). I know this is Endwalker and not Dawntrail but trust me it's important for the foreshadowing.

Gulool Ja Ja was a boss in the Besieged mode of ToAU, leading the Mamool Ja Savages to assault Al Zahbi. Both incarnations of this character are VERY different from each other.

Similarly, Gurfurlur was also a boss in Besieged, leading the Troll Mercenaries. It's very funny to me that both of these warmongers became such nice people in Tural.

The Yok Huy as a whole are actually Trolls from XI. The different name I assume coming from the fact that Trolls are already an enemy in XIV, in Labyrinthos.

While this isn't direct, and is probably unintentional, the fact that the final boss in Vanguard was a naga/lamia like entity only makes me wonder if it was somehow a callback to Medusa and the Undead Swarm, the last remaining Besieged invaders.

Zoraal Ja is a Notorious Monster in the areas around Aht Urhgan.

To continue on with Mamool Ja facts, Mamook is an area in ToAU. They don't look very similar, but they do both share the title of Autarch as their ruler. Mamool Ja in general come from XI, so it's no surprise that in the expansion that well, expands on them, it uses XI for inspiration.

This next one might be a little insane. The general plot of Treasures of Aht Urhgan, is that after killing Promathia, a god that wishes to end all life, the Adventurer goes to a completely different area to have a relatively calmer adventure. Here, they meet a female member of royalty named Aphmau. Her brother, Razfahd, unable to rule over the country, has a conquering nature, and uses an Automaton body to control Alexander for his goals. This... can't be a coincidence, right?? We kill the Endsinger, who wanted to end all life, go to a completely different area to have a relatively calmer adventure with our female member of royalty, Wuk Lamat, and we fight against Zoraal Ja, her war hungry brother that is unable to rule, so he uses the power of Alexandria (a mech suit) for his goals. You... you see what I'm cooking here right??? RIGHT!?!?!

To piggyback off of this, Wuk Lamat very much fits the role of the XI heroine. A girl who is very clearly the main character of the story, and hangs around you more than anyone else.

Edit: one last thing that I forgot to put down before posting, one of the hunts uses the Magic Pot model from XI. We love Magic Pot.

I THINK that should be everything I found? I know for a fact we're going to get more since the Alliance Raids are based of off XI (I'm so excited)

XIII

A couple enemy models were used from XIII.

The Silver Lobos in Urqopacha use the XIII model. I'm fairly sure they've never been used in XIV yet, but I could be wrong.

Similarly, the Strayborough Deadwalk uses the Gremlin/Ahriman enemies. I do not think they've been used before this, feel free to yell at me if I'm wrong :)

Type-0

While not like, direct, the concept of erasing the memories of anyone who has died (especially seen as a blessing) was a major plot point of Type-0's world.

I think that's everything? My memory isn't the greatest, so I'm sure there's something I noticed that I missed, and again; I haven't done everything, so there might be even more out there that I've yet to find!

Please, feel free to comment anything else that you may have noticed, and hopefully you enjoyed reading :)

[duckprintspress]

新年快乐! Celebrate Chinese New Year with Our Favorite Queer Books with Snakes!

Happy Chinese New Year! According to the Chinese calendar, we’re entering the Year of the Snake. To celebrate it, we asked our contributors to tell us about their favorite queer books that feature snakes and snake-like creatures. Contributors to the list are: boneturtle, D.V. Morse, Nina Waters, Neo Scarlett, Linnea Peterson, Tris Lawrence, E. C. and an anonymous contributor.

The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Half-demon Luo Binghe rose from humble beginnings and a tortured past to become unrivaled in strength and beauty. With his dominion over both the Human and Demon Realms and his hundreds-strong harem, he is truly the most powerful protagonist…in a trashy webnovel series!

At least, that’s what Shen Yuan believes as he finishes reading the final chapter in Proud Immortal Demon Way. But when a bout of rage leads to his sudden death, Shen Yuan is reborn into the world of the novel in the body of Shen Qingqiu–the beautiful but cruel teacher of a young Luo Binghe. While Shen Qingqiu may have the incredible power of a cultivator, he is destined to be horrifically punished for crimes against the protagonist.

The new Shen Qingqiu now has only one course of action: get into Luo Binghe’s good graces before the young man’s rise to power or suffer the awful fate of a true scum villain!

A Snake Falls to Earth by Darcie Little Badger

Nina is a Lipan girl in our world. She’s always felt there was something more out there. She still believes in the old stories.

Oli is a cottonmouth kid, from the land of spirits and monsters. Like all cottonmouths, he’s been cast from home. He’s found a new one on the banks of the bottomless lake.

Nina and Oli have no idea the other exists. But a catastrophic event on Earth, and a strange sickness that befalls Oli’s best friend, will drive their worlds together in ways they haven’t been in centuries.

And there are some who will kill to keep them apart.

Dungeon Critters by Sara Goetter & Natalie Riess

Join the Dungeon Critters–a tight-knit squad of animal companions–on a wild adventure investigating a sinister botanical conspiracy among the furry nobility. As they risk their lives traveling through haunted dungeons, swamps, and high society balls–they also come closer together as friends.

Motivated by rivalries, ideals, and a lust for adventure, these critters navigate not only perils and dangers of the natural world, but also perils and dangers…of the heart.

Devil Venerable Also Wants To Know by Cyan Wings

In a Mary-Sue novel, the readers all liked the Devil Venerable, the second male lead who devoted himself whole-heartedly to the female lead. However the female lead only loved the male lead who abused her physically and mentally.

Readers: Why doesn’t the female lead like the Devil Venerable?!

Devil Venerable: This Venerable also wants to know. But what I really want to know is why I even like the female lead at all.

In order to understand why the female lead wasn’t attracted to him, the self-conscious Devil Venerable brutally interrogated the entire cast of characters from the novel.

Background characters: I have so many things I want to say but I don’t dare to say it to his face!

After obtaining the book, the Devil Venerable discovered that the book described the world he lived in. This book said that after he sacrificed himself for the female lead, the fourth male lead, his silent and loyal subordinate Yin Hanjiang, blackened and attempted to kill her as a sacrificial offering for his lord.

Devil Venerable Wenren E: Yin Hanjiang, this Venerable wants to know why you wanted to kill the female lead.

Yin Hanjiang was silent.

Wenren E: If you refuse to speak, this Venerable will cut out your tongue and drink it with alcohol!

Yin Hanjiang: …

Wenren E: What the hell are you blushing for?!

Guardian by Priest

Zhao Yunlan heads up a covert division of the Ministry of Public Security that deals with the strange and unusual, blurring the line between the mortal realm and the Netherworld. His cocky, casual attitude conceals both a sharp mind and an arsenal of mystical tools and arcane knowledge.

While investigating a gruesome death at a local university, Zhao Yunlan crosses paths with the reserved Professor Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan is immediately intrigued by Shen Wei’s good looks and intense gaze, and the attraction between them is immediate and powerful, even as Shen Wei tries to keep his distance. Shen Wei and his secrets are a puzzle Zhao Yunlan feels compelled to solve as mysterious circumstances throw them together, and their connection becomes impossible to deny.

The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzi Lee

A year after an accidentally whirlwind grand tour with her brother Monty, Felicity Montague has returned to England with two goals in mind–avoid the marriage proposal of a lovestruck suitor from Edinburgh and enroll in medical school. However, her intellect and passion will never be enough in the eyes of the administrators, who see men as the sole guardians of science.

But then a window of opportunity opens–a doctor she idolizes is marrying an old friend of hers in Germany. Felicity believes if she could meet this man he could change her future, but she has no money of her own to make the trip. Luckily, a mysterious young woman is willing to pay Felicity’s way, so long as she’s allowed to travel with Felicity disguised as her maid.

In spite of her suspicions, Felicity agrees, but once the girl’s true motives are revealed, Felicity becomes part of a perilous quest that leads them from the German countryside to the promenades of Zurich to secrets lurking beneath the Atlantic.

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

Rae is a bookworm who prefers fictional men over real life boyfriends. But her life takes a strange turn when she is trapped by magic inside her favourite fantasy series, and she finds herself pitted against her suddenly living and breathing crush, the ‘Once and Forever Emperor’.

In a palace on the brink of war, she has become the villainess in his tale, and she needs to take control of the narrative before it, and the Emperor, take control of her… fatally.

Heaven Official’s Blessing by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Born the crown prince of a prosperous kingdom, Xie Lian was renowned for his beauty, strength, and purity. His years of dedicated study and noble deeds allowed him to ascend to godhood. But those who rise may also fall, and fall he does–cast from the heavens and banished to the world below.

Eight hundred years after his mortal life, Xie Lian has ascended to godhood for the third time, angering most of the gods in the process. To repay his debts, he is sent to the Mortal Realm to hunt down violent ghosts and troublemaking spirits who prey on the living. Along his travels, he meets the fascinating and brilliant San Lang, a young man with whom he feels an instant connection. Yet San Lang is clearly more than he appears… What mysteries lie behind that carefree smile?

Siege and Storm by Leigh Bardugo

Soldier. Summoner. Saint. Alina Starkov’s power has grown, but not without a price. She is the Sun Summoner–hunted across the True Sea, haunted by the lives she took on the Shadow Fold. But she and Mal can’t outrun their enemies for long.

The Darkling is more determined than ever to claim Alina’s magic and use it to take the Ravkan throne. With nowhere else to turn, Alina enlists the help of an infamous privateer and sets out to lead the Grisha army.

But as the truth of Alina’s destiny unfolds, she slips deeper into the Darkling’s deadly game of forbidden magic, and further away from her humanity. To save her country, Alina will have to choose between her power and the love she thought would always be her shelter. No victory can come without sacrifice–and only she can face the oncoming storm.

What queer books with snakes did we miss? Let us know!

Need a place to chat about books? Join our Book Lover’s Discord server!

You can check out this list as a shelf on Goodreads – and you can also peek at the list we did for last year’s Chinese New Year, books with dragons! If you see something on this list you’d like to buy, we encourage you to facilitate doing so by checking out our Affiliate shop rec list on Bookshop.org.

[maximumzombiecreator]

Do you often use random dungeon layout generators for your megadungeons? If so, how do you make those randomly generated layouts make sense as a space? I find that the eclectic nature of how the dungeon ends up looking makes it feel weird to consider the area as a real space instead of as the output to a random generator.

I use a lot of random generation when I make megadungeons, but I pretty much never use a layout generator. That's a solution to a different problem from the one that I have. Creating an assortment of rooms connected in random ways is pretty easy for me. The problem, as you note, is making the space engaging, making it make sense, making the connections logical but also interesting, etc.

But I do think random generation is a great way to juice your creativity! Getting external input that you then have to fit your ideas into often produces better results than just trying to create on a blank slate.

My most common random tools are roll tables for generating dungeon rooms and features. Worlds Without Number is the first book I reach for for most random tables, and it has some pretty solid tables for generating rooms, features in the rooms, connections, etc. I also have a bunch of tables saved from OSR blogs for generating interesting traps or dungeon features. Honestly just rolling for the number of exits a space has is one of the simplest ways to force myself to think creatively. When the dice tell me a bedroom has six exits, it means I need to re-evaluate what that bedroom is doing and I probably need to create some unusual exits.

I will use geomorphs sometimes. These are basically bespoke little fragments of dungeon created to be shuffled and combined randomly. Dyson Logos has a bunch of these, and I know @imsobadatnicknames2 has a bunch as well. These are good for creating a bunch of interesting connections and clever tiny bits that are great for finding interesting uses for. I've never used these to generate a whole dungeon, but for small fragments I really like them. I also have a set of them handy when I run a sandbox campaign in case the players somehow end up in a dungeon I didn't prep for at all.

Now, if you do want to use a randomly generated layout, whether from some tool, a dice generator, geomorphs, whatever, I have some advice for making sense of it: embrace the second occupant effect.

It's very common in dungeons that the people who built the dungeon and the current occupants are not the same group. It's an orcish ruin occupied by dwarves, it's an ancient temple being used as a bandit hideout, it's a wizard's keep overrun by demons, etc. The question that a random layout is going to have you asking is, "Why is this constructed this way?" and it's perfectly okay for the answer to be, "there's nobody left who knows." What was this big room with seven entrances built for? Well, nobody knows, but the goblins living there are using it as a dining hall.

If you're designing using this approach, you don't need an answer for every space. You can instead approach it the same way its new occupants did. Take it for granted that this is the space that exists, how would the new occupants use it? That weird room off to the side that's a pain to access? Well, who knows what it was built for, but it's cold storage now. This weird thoroughfare makes a perfectly good guard checkpoint. This big hole in the floor might have been used for casting spells at some point, but now it's a garbage dump. In this way, it's easy to come up with what rooms are now that doesn't require you to answer what a room was built for.

Using this approach, you still want to have good answers for what a room's original purpose was some of the time. If the space just never makes sense, players will stop trying to engage with it logically, and that's a big loss. Plus, using this effect most effectively, you get a lot of value out of knowing the previous purpose of a room. It can be easy for every kitchen to feel similar, but a kitchen that's been built on what used to be a foundry is instantly more interesting and easier to get creative with. But you get to pick and choose the parts of a random layout that look interesting, or that you have an easy time answering for, and make those the parts where the original purpose shines through. And then in the spaces where you're left saying, "What is with this snarl of hallways?" you can just have the answer be, "it's a mystery. Scholars theorize it served a ritual purpose."

[bluevaractyl]

Woooo LU update! "Entrance"

Looks like we were right, the dungeon is the same one Twilight chased the Shadow through. Even in this earlier time, it's apparently a ruin. I have lots of questions about the nature and origin of the dungeons in LoZ. Warriors calls them "old tombs," and Legend echoes this with "Hyrule's tombs." Was that the original purpose of most of them? Or are they just referring to the way many dungeons are dark, dank, underground, and/or haunted by undead creatures? Interesting word choice.

I am very curious about what Hyrule is referring to. Is he aware that some of the items he has found belonged to the hero before him (Legend)? Which ones? The handy/power glove? Power bracelet? Red and blue rings? Is the headcanon that Legend made Hyrule's dolls going to be made canon?? (Also I love their expressions, especially Wind's.)

Love the mention of monsters unique to dungeons! I am so excited to see more. Hyrule is absolutely correct, wallmasters are gross and very annoying. The skulltula was very creepy. Good job, Jojo.

Their reactions here are interesting. Legend is unfazed, shield out but holding steady. Wild, on the other hand, is stumbling out of the way with an expression I cannot put words to, but which appears on my face when I find a spider on the ceiling at 2 am. He has not encountered giant man-eating spiders in his travels and it shows. Also, the return of Time's bow! He is a pretty good shot for missing an eye. I wonder if he had to learn to adjust his aim. Shooting down skulltulas in dungeons is probably taking him back to his own adventures. Maybe not so good memories.

Legend's little prank with the scarf is cementing my realization that he and Warriors really do like to mess with each other. It is also making me wonder if monsters are ever going to do the same. @w1lmuttart made an art pointing out how the Links' attire could be used against them. Yikes!

Twilight is very much on Time's mind. He's worried. I like the detail of Wind in that panel too, since Time has been growing closer to him as they've discovered their connection. It's also easy to see the family resemblance in Time and Twilight's expressions and features here. Warriors makes a good call, but Time knows "it's dangerous to go alone." I wonder how they will end up splitting up.

All images from @linkeduniverse "Entrance"

[holybibly]

Bunnies, I'm in a good mood today, so I'm going to give you a little teaser of my upcoming work with Hwa. I'm going to raise the bar for fanfic writing by creating the most gothic and decadent universe possible. It's a vicious mix of Interview with the Vampire and Dracula, so if you don't like bloody luxury, I feel so sorry for you.

It has always been like this, and it will always be like this—people avoid the village that stands beside the sinister Gothic castle where, according to legend, a beautiful midnight somnambulist holds the guilty legacy of his bloodthirsty ancestors. Dressed in an ancient coronation robe, the magnificent prince of vampires sits alone in his dark, vast house, under the watchful eye of his mad and terrible ancestors, who stare at him from faded portraits, each of them prolonging their dreary posthumous existence through him. He spreads the tarot cards, tirelessly constructing endless constellations of indeterminate possibilities, as if a chance fall of cards on a regal, bloody velvet tablecloth could take him out of this cold, shuttered room and into a land of eternal summer and human warmth, erasing his heart's ancient sadness and allowing him to feel the love for the one who embodies both life and death simultaneously.

His voice is full of the distant echoes of long-forgotten love poems, like an echo that has resounded beneath the layers of the earth: "You have traveled to a place from which there is no return; you have traveled to a place from which there is no return. And he himself is like a dark dungeon filled with lonely echoes—a system of repetition, a closed circle. He is so handsome that his beauty appears unnatural; his beauty is an anomaly, a perfect defect, for in none of his hypnotic features is there even a suggestion of the poignant imperfection manifested in the imperfection of human existence. His beauty is the sign of a fatal disease; his blood is full of poison; and his black tears are the sign of the absence of a soul in him. 

The elegant hands of the beautiful denizens of darkness are the guides of the hand of fate. The nails on his hands are long and sharpened like steel daggers. These nails and teeth—beautiful, glistening in the darkness like snow under the light of the moon—are visible signs of his inescapable fate, which he so desperately tries to escape with magical powers. His claws and teeth have been honed by centuries of brutal wars and bloody orgies; he is the last descendant of a poisonous, barren tree that took root in a time when men worshipped blind gods and the forces of nature. 

As soon as the flaming sun sets, he rises from his luxurious bed and goes to the table, and sitting at that table, he plays his patient game until hunger awakens in him—an insatiable, scorching hunger that burns his whole being. 

[kimberbohwrites]

Rolan Headcanons

How Old is Rolan? (SFW)

Inspired by a conversation between the amazing and wonderful @darkurgetrash and I the other day that made me want to compile my thoughts in one place.

I believe that Rolan is anywhere between 27-35 years old. Why?

Thanks for asking! (lol)

-As someone who is (nearly) 36 years old and went through a traumatic upbringing, I have a lot of experience in this subject and I’m here to shed my weird expertise and light on this. (Also, as a side-note I believe that Rolan would have the most fire skincare routine if he was in a modern au situation)

-Let’s just start with the physical signs of aging. Like the dark circles under his eyes, people who are older get worsened dark circles under their eyes from stress, lack of sleep, etc. Now there are such a thing as hereditary dark circles in humans (I have them) but again, they worsen with age.

-His face shape is another very distinct sign of aging and a real difference to help you spot people in their 20s vs people in their 30s. While your face shape doesn’t necessarily change as you age, your features do become broader as your skin loses elasticity and that natural youthful glow.

-Rolan’s face looks to me like a more mature adult face in that respect and when you compare him to younger and older tieflings it seems to be consistent.

-I know the big topic of debate is the wrinkles, could he be prematurely aged by the stress he’s gone through? Absolutely, he does have some signs of premature aging around his eyes from a hard and stressful life (I also have these lines). I agree here.

-But take a look at Cal and Lia, they have also had hard lives but appear much younger than Rolan. However, they both seem to be adults, not youths, which makes me put them in their early to mid twenties. (In my mind: Cal is 23, Lia is 27, and Rolan is 32-33)

-Going into the less physical subject of debate that goes with this topic: The apprenticeship. I don’t think his apprenticeship necessarily means he’s young you can start an apprenticeship at any age and what we do know about Rolan’s background makes it all the more likely he got a late start in life. I sincerely think Rolan wouldn’t have wanted to leave Cal, Lia, and their mother before the Descent of Elturel and their mother’s subsequent death.

- I actually believe that her death was likely a catalyst for him wanting to 1. Get stronger to protect them and 2. Need to leave Elturel for it to actually make that happen.

-Furthermore, I think some of his prickly exterior and facade of bravado are a sign of age as well, not immaturity. Those both come from a place of shame, shame that he has likely felt over a long time which could be worsened by the perception that he hasn’t achieved more in life. (But I could just be yapping on this one lmao)

These are just my thoughts on this subject, let me know what you think as well. At the end of the day, we are all just making sh*t up, which is the true spirit of Dungeons and Dragons lmao (also falling deeply in love with a background NPC with no last name).

[cambion-companion]

Inferna Victoria

Dining with the devil and having to answer for your breaking and entering...and sleeping with his personal incubus.

This was fun to write, most likely will follow it up with a part 2! But I needed to get this out of my system.

PLUS their banter is SO fun to write. I just love the way Raphael speaks.

Raphael x Reader | Victory dinner that was promised but we never got | OH he KNOWS about the Haarlep incident | light smut towards the end

“What an unexpected pleasure.”

You turned, the heels of your shoes sliding easily on the dark marble.  Your nose almost brushed against his, the scent of musk and cherries causing your head to spin for a moment before you could regather your senses.  From the tone of his greeting, there was nothing “unexpected” about your visit.

You raised a coy brow. “Do most devils not have a sense of personal space?”

Raphael didn’t return your smirk. His usually playful expression had become sharp almost tense. Warm whiskey eyes drank in your features, your face turned up as he towered over you, your chests almost touching.

When next he spoke, his lilting cadence had deepened into something akin to primal. A dark timbre sweetened by a fondness the cambion only seemed to harbor for you.

“You have served your purpose to the letter of our contract.  Why are you here?”

So enraptured were you by his hypnotic gaze you didn’t initially feel his hands skimming up the outside of your arms, tracing the curve of your body as they moved down to your hips.

Playful words spilled unbidden from your eager mouth. “You promised me a dinner.”  Your breath caught in your throat, taken aback by his soft touch before his fingers sharpened their grip on your soft flesh. “I came quite ready to partake.”

“So I gathered.”  Your ill-disguised flirtations clearly pleased Raphael.  With one hand remaining low at your waist, he guided you into the dining hall.  His heavy gaze continued to burn into you, try as you might to act oblivious.  You could practically feel the trails his eyes were scorching into every facet of your visage. “Always such an eager little thing. An excellent client and an even better co-conspirator.”

You snorted a laugh, watching him as he sank down languidly against a rather gaudy mahogany chair and stretched his long limbs, placing one booted foot atop the table. “You are pleased with my success, I take it?”

“I cannot sing your praises enough.”  Now Raphael smiled, easing the unexplained tension between you two as he picked idly at his nails. “The souls I tend to in my dungeon especially are regaled by the tale of your saving a world they can never return to.”

“Prolonging their suffering?”  You rolled your eyes, expecting nothing less, never forgetting his true nature. “How appropriate.”

“Enhancing.”  Raphael corrected, his foot shifting off the table as he rose to his feet and met your gaze squarely. “You are more familiar with me than most who enter my home, little hero.” The endearment rang with irony. “I am glad you came. However uninvited. Which…”  He tapped long fingers against polished wood, his smile gaining an edge. “Brings up a breach of contract I’ve wished to address after you won me the crown.” 

You felt a pit open in your stomach, knowing very well what Raphael was referring to. You opened your mouth to quickly defend yourself, but he interrupted, gesturing to the large table. “Sit.”

As you obeyed, sitting upon a plush seat and tensing as Raphael circled behind.  His large hands gripped the back of your chair, and you felt the stirrings of your hair beneath his breath. “If you wished me to entertain you in my Boudoir, you had but to ask nicely.”

“I…”  You had no excuse. “I apologize.”

“A sweet sentiment, but I do not accept it.”  Raphael’s presence shifted and he walked slowly to the grant mahogany seat opposite yours, taking a moment to look down upon you before he sat.

“Enlighten me as to the innerworkings of your mind.”  Raphael continued speaking slowly, his elegant brow arching imperiously. “What gives a small speck of a mortal the right to enter the home of a devil uninvited?”  He leaned forward, observing your silence with an air of condemnation. “Speak, ere I exact penance and take your leaden tongue for insolence.”

Your heart stuttered, this was not how you expected your victory dinner to go. “Gale was quite insistent we find a way into your home to, uh, destroy our contract.”

“Here I thought wizards had a modicum of intelligence.”  Raphael didn’t look pleased, nor did he appear as livid as you expected. He leaned back and gestured for you to continue.

“Upon entry, your house was a mess by the way, I had second thoughts.  Betraying your trust would pitch me into inevitable conflict with you…and I don’t want that.”

“Do go on.”  Raphael wore a smirk, halfway between mocking and amused. “You are at the cusp of this story’s climax.”

You felt the heat of the room intensify as your face flushed. “Yes, well…upon gaining entry to your room, your Boudoir, I met someone who gave me very little choice to walk away freely without giving something of myself first.”

“Thus, like a good mouse you wriggled and squeaked atop my bed before turning tail and running back to your little hole.” Raphael finished and nodded, seeming satisfied.

“I didn’t take anything…or disturb anything.”  You defended yourself.

“You took pleasure from my incubus.”  Like the changing tides, Raphael’s mood darkened yet again. He raised a finger and tilted his head. “Yet, you left something behind that balances the scales somewhat.”

“I’m not sure it balances the scales. They still seem quite tipped against my favor.”  You said, a little testily.

Raphael smiled shrewdly in response, his gaze drifting over your form. “I returned to my home to find Haarlep in your form, lounging naked in my pool.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed.”

You wracked your brains, trying to remember if you’d felt anything like the sensual tingle Haarlep had hinted at when he made love in your form. You hadn’t felt it yet…which meant Raphael hadn’t taken advantage of Haarlep’s conquest.  Yet.

“I am ever the gentleman.”  Raphael’s honeyed voice dripped irony, seeming to read your thoughts. “And in that vein, I indeed promised you a dinner to celebrate our victory.”

You rallied quickly, tucking into the food with the eagerness of one who is famished. “Speaking of veins, wait until you hear what happened with Astarion.”

Raphael listened, intent and focused as he always was whenever you spoke with him. The topic of your exchange with Haarlep seemed momentarily shelved, though you knew there was no chance of it being forgotten.

Raphael chortled in his familiar way, close-mouthed and smug, as you finished regaling him with the latest events. “What a quaint image. You revel at last in the success of your intrepid adventures, some more fruitful than others.”

“I’m satisfied.” You took another small bite of the roasted meat and sipped the wine.

Raphael peered at you, evidently not interested in eating. “Truly?  How unlike you.”

“You presume to know me?”  

“Better than most.”  Raphael answered, that damnable smile back on his face. “To illustrate this fact…Haarlep, join us.”

Slinking out from the shadows of a marble column walked Haarlep, you felt a jolt of dread at seeing the incubus wearing your naked form brazenly. Haarlep caught your eye, smiled widely, and did a little twirl to show off all your assets.

You sank down into your chair, mortified.

“Come.”  Raphael beckoned for Haarlep to straddle his lap and the incubus hopped merrily aboard.

“I can feel our little hero’s lust from here.”  Haarlep purred, taking Raphael’s ear between their teeth as they looked at you through your own eyes. “Delicious, and oh so familiar.”  Haarlep maintained teasing eye contact with you as their hands drifted down, giving you a torturous show.

You saw Raphael’s movements, saw Haarlep throw their head back in exaggerated pleasure, Raphael’s teeth scraping across the exposed throat that should be yours.

“I was in the middle of quite serious negotiations, pet, when you decided to take advantage of my body.”  Raphael gripped the soft flesh of Haarlep’s bottom, and you felt the corresponding touch echo ghostlike across your own skin. “I experienced everything.”

A rush of heated arousal awakened in the pit of your stomach; you squeezed your thighs together. Raphael’s eyes were drawn to the movement. He smiled. “Yes, I was quite aware, though I could only guess as to who soiled my bed.  It was irksome, a distraction from my business.”

Raphael slowly turned more of his attention to Haarlep and left you feeling frustrated and cold.  You felt only a hint, not nearly enough to gain release, and you didn’t dare touch yourself.

Haarlep cooed and giggled in your voice, your ears burned to hear such lewd sounds.

Only when Haarlep began riding Raphael in earnest did your resolve finally break. “Raphael, please.”

Large hands gripped Haarlep’s hips and stilled their movement. “Please what, pet?”

Your pride stilled your tongue.  Raphael chuckled and groaned as Haarlep resumed their bouncing movements. “Such a lovely, supple thing you are.”

“Surely, you don’t want simply a cheap imitation of me.”  You were becoming desperate, and keenly aware he could read right through you.

Haarlep let loose with a particularly loud moan and then placed their fingers to their lips, grinning wickedly at you.

Raphael’s hips began moving in rhythm, his breathing audible. “I could turn the same petulant quip…” He took a deep breath. “…back to you, my dear.”

Damn him.

“I want you.  That’s why I came to your house. I want you, the real you.”

Raphael stilled Haarlep, using his hands to quell their eager movements.  The incubus looked momentarily taken aback, giving Raphael a pout you hoped to never see again upon your face.

Raphael paid them no mind, his hooded gaze finally finding yours. He sat in silence for a long moment then rose to his feet, easily displacing the incubus.

Raphael extended a hand.

“Come to me then.”