#really tried to make the half orcs look similar but different

[metaphoricallyrose]

Adventuring academy gang’s all here!

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Worth The Eternity: Dark! Bucky x Reader (Vampire AU + Mob AU + Soulmate AU)

This is for @cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge. Congratulations, keep slaying! I wrote this instead of studying, so pray for my paper please lmao.

A/N: This tired girl tried. 

WARNINGS: something between dubcon and noncon present. Triggering, darkish themes.

Summary of sorts: Ever seen Hotel Transylvania 1/2/3? In this AU, mythical creatures exist and have soulmates and you feel a zing if you are blessed enough to encounter them.

"Boss, we narrowed it down to these core three suspects.” A husky voice, slightly muffled by the sack on your head, entered your ears and you had a hard time being calm.

You had been picked up from your office, specifically the basement of Oscorp Industries while entering your sleek silver car. A pinch in your neck and everything comically blurred. Next thing you know, you are waking up with your entire body sore, your muscles and joints screaming and begging for freedom from tight restraints. Your vision is black, as if you are staring into an abyss and your vision is filled with white and red dancing spots forming patterns, maybe from the hours of inactivity.

Muffled noises of protest and scraping of metal against the concrete floor entered your ears and you realized you are not the only one here held captive. You racked your mind for possible explanations but couldn’t come up with one.

You lived a very simple life, even as the vice president of Oscorp industries. No messing around, no rivalries with other employees, no butting heads with the seniors on the Director’s board. Was this a ploy against the company? Or a domination statement against the weaker species, the humans?

Lucky enough for you, you realized you would soon find out as the sound of a shutter opening and metal clanking noisily filled your ears.

“Took you long enough, Scott. Fill me in.” Another brooding voice reprimanded jokingly and a million goosebumps traveled the path of your skin as you involuntarily shuddered.

“Yes Boss. We tracked the missing sum to the account of this man on the left. He has fourteen other accounts under different names and nationalities, pretty hard to trace but not impossible luckily. This proved he is shady so he’s most definitely involved.”

“This ginger on the right, he made the suspicious call with weird words so we believe he pretty much passed the verdict, calling the shots with the codewords. He has had several surgeries, his face is fucking silicon at this point but his DNA showed us his true identity, Mr. Rumlow here is the Consigliere of The Midnight Moon.”

You sat and listened, piecing together whatever you understood. The pack/mob name more than rung a bell, it scared you shitless. You were quick to catch on, realising that you were caught in an inter species scruffle.

“This shit just got interesting folks. Alright, where does Miss Sexy Legs fit in all this?”

The pencil skirt you wore wasn’t the most modest piece of clothing to exist and the spaghetti straps blouse was a bad choice considering the sheer coldness in this warehouse, the temperature only seemed to go down with the entry of your kidnappers but it’s not like you knew this was going to happen.

You could only assume with your legs on display that you were the one being sexualised and talked about.

“We are not sure about her though, that’s why I said suspects. We have proof the call was made from her phone but the videos show her lending it to a creepy stranger at a café. It might be really good acting but it’s highly unlikely. We brought her in because in the transfer of the stolen cash, her account was an intermediary but it’s a good chance that she was tricked when her phone was borrowed by Mr. Rumlow. Also, she’s a human, you see?”

If it was you being talked about, you felt a jot of relief, just a smudge because at least they were aware you weren’t involved in whatever game they were playing. That didn’t necessarily ensure your freedom, but hey, you were willing to take anything at that point.

“That’s the sweet fucking scent I keep on smelling!” The leader exclaimed as if he made a great discovery, a cure for a pandemic or cancer you’d think. His gruff voice almost had a light, cheery undertone to it, too unlike of a man who was wronged and cheated and was close to murdering someone no doubt. These mobsters are always maniacs like The Joker.

“It sucks that you brought her here. She might not be guilty, but now she knows too much. She’d make a good blood bag though. Maybe I’ll just have a taste, who knows?” The ‘boss’ made a disturbing slurping noise and your heart stopped at his words, a tear almost escaping your eye.

Discussion about drinking blood? You were most definitely in The Vamps territory, your assumption about the inter-species conflict true. You had no doubt you were the weakest in this creepy space, the frailest here, most probably the only human.

“Show me the bastards’ faces.” Like the flip of a switch, the joking man swapped his personality and all but growled. You heard the ripping of cloth and a man gagging, his shrieks muffled. Another flurry of movements and another man retching on the fabric could be heard.

“Well, hello Mr. Rumlow. I must say, brown suited you better.” A horde of chuckles made you widen your eyes, even though only black still filled your vision, as you realised there were at least a dozen twisted, sick men in the room. The fact that they were silent as fuck till now only showed you how disciplined and regimented these soldiers were.

“This one has a pretty face, boss.” You felt the sack ripped off you, and your eyes closed with the sudden flooding of the lights. Your eyes sealed due to hours of inactivity and you kept them shut, afraid to face your tormenter.

A cold hand cupped your cheek and straightened your face that was trying to hide itself in your silky locks by curling in your own neck, the cool metal of rings and insanely icy fingers chilling you literally.

“Open your eyes sweetheart.” A voice called out behind you and you gathered enough courage to face your impending doom, the air as silent as the calm before a storm.

Your orbs opened and gazed into piercing sapphire blue eyes and everything behind this chiseled face blurred. You could swear a ring of pink and red passed over his eyes and you shuddered again, getting overwhelmed due to the eye contact yourself. This wasn’t the usual anxiety you felt while meeting new people, it was somehow both a pull and a push. An inviting comforting pull and a terrifying, ‘stay cautious' push.

You, a self-sufficient woman, who had been independent for as long as you could remember, suddenly felt half; incomplete in a way that you couldn’t fathom. You felt an attraction, a tug towards the man in front of you, and the absurdity of the thoughts and emotions that popped in your brain made you heave on the gag.

Your intellect couldn’t find a reason, your view on love and romance until now completely conflicted. You believed soulmates to be separate pieces of art that complemented each other when together; then what was this broken jigsaw puzzle sentiment you were having now?

Your wide eyes somehow managed to break free of his stare, panicking and looking around to observe, which wasn’t comforting in the least as men with guns and gadgets filled your vision. You were relatively unharmed in comparison to the beaten lads beside you, one with a bruised face and the other with a bloody one.

The handsome man, the Boss’s stare didn’t leave you through the entirety of your searching around, you were sure they saw you as a scared little rabbit, waiting out its inevitable death.

“Lost in her eyes, Boss?” The sideman cracked what he believed to be the funniest joke in existence, earning laughs of the horde of the soldiers around.

 Your eyes went to the Boss’s face, surprisingly when his left your face to glare a nasty stare on his trusted man. His muscular form raised the forelimb, his hand signaling to stop, that effectively quietened the room to a pin drop silence.

With gentle fingers, the man took off your gag and yours lips quivered, throat too dry to make a noise though. You greedily gulped the air through your mouth for whatever reason, maybe just to move your jaw after hours of inactivity.

Maintaining eye contact was challenging, arduous to say the least. It seemed as if he could read you, find everything about you there is to find by studying the flecks in your orbs. His delicate hands, loosened the ties and you were now more so confused, along with the trepidation.

Just what the fuck was going on?

Bucky had almost lost hope, centuries on this planet and no one to love and cherish, no personal confidante, no soulmate. But good things take time, right? And in his opinion, best things take an eternity. He knows this now.

Expect the unexpected was the truest phrase, idiom whatever it was, in this moment. He had spent countless nights wondering about his soulmate, was she pretty? Ugly? Was she even a she or not? Dumb or witty? He made a lot of scenarios of how they’d meet, the kids, reigning together. He entertained the idea of her being from a different species, a nymph, an orc, maybe a werewolf?

And now that he found her, it was a revelation, a surprise honestly. After all optimism got evaporated, after traveling the dark tunnel for centuries literally, there she was, his beacon of light. Finding her was a wonder, and her being a human was astonishing, a possibility he somehow failed to consider, but he was over the moon cause there she was, right in front of him now. A beautiful, stunning lady in flesh and blood, human flesh and blood, with the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. His zing.

He always liked humans, apart from the similar appearances the vampires shared with them, they were always docile and accommodating. In the last few millenniums, after the mythical creatures showed themselves to the world, the humans understood their place and tier pretty early.

They were smart to surrender and be peaceful as all the species came to light, clever to know that even with less numbers they could be overpowered and bloodshed was detrimental to all involved.

He knew he would convert you soon though, your lifespan far too short for his liking, and obviously, now that he found you, you were to rule together. For Centuries.

His happiness was over taken by the realisation that you were not in the most hospitable settings, you were tied and strapped, being preyed on by his men. He made quick work of the restraints, allowing you to breathe by loosening them first. Your scared, trembling form plucked his unbeating heart’s strings, but strangely enough, his brain found amusement and he felt smug. Seeing you tied up and trembling was definitely a turn on for him, noted.

After commanding his foolish men to stop giggling, he leaned closer to you, your aura comforting and intoxicating as he smelled your hair. A divine scent, an addictive one for sure. The goosebumps on your skin confirmed the reciprocation of his connection.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you.” His husky voice, calming but imposing resonated in your ears, his hand tapping your cheek on the other side. Even though the private statement was whispered for you, the deafening silence made every person witness it.

He leaned back, his hands behind his back as he grinned, tone again light like earlier and commanded, “Get her out of here and cleaned up, tell Nat and Wanda, they’ll know what I mean. Then we’ll deal with these guys here, after the lady leaves of course. No scratch on her from this point forward or you’ll lose a limb. Proceed.”  

All three of you, the hostages were going to get ‘taken care of’ but in different ways.

It had been over twenty hours for sure, you were abducted in the early hours of the morning and now the moon was out again, like one endless night. You remember being escorted to a sleek black car; your limbs ached but you managed to keep up. You tried to keep up with the car’s turns, trying to memorize the streets but your head was pounding and eyes were blurry.

You remembered being led to a suite in an expensive hotel like ones where your conferences were held, being taken to room and given towels to clean up. You didn’t change the dress when given another, the attire being a summer dress even shorter.  A woman came a while later named Wanda who checked the forming light contusions and scuffed skin with hands so delicate, as if you were precious cargo. You were, you just didn’t know.

You didn’t eat anything they provided and after hours of conspiring and overthinking, you heard sturdy footsteps. Since your arrival, only women bothered with you, probably the ones the leader sent. But these were heavier, harder.

The door opened and you glanced up to find the leader who demanded your locking up in this fancy place, his eyes travelling on your form sat up on bed, as you mindfully pulled your skirt down. You were anxious the entire day, dreading your future but nothing was like the restlessness that ran through you in this person’s presence.

Maybe it was the fact he was a vampire, or the leader of a Mob or maybe both, but whatever it was he intimidated you, alarmed you, even though you’ve had only two encounters including the present one. You were smart to be scared, he looked at you like, like you were something to eat, your mind told you.

“Hey.” His raspy voice caught you off guard, not having heard a single syllable out of the women the entire day, your questions being ignored the entire time.

You stared at him warily. Your mind having a myriad of emotions and thoughts. You didn’t want to trigger him, besides the place being armed well, he was a vampire, a beefy one at that and you would be stupid to try anything. Shouting and making a scene was no good either, your best option being the lamest one: to talk it out. You refused to become a willing blood bag.

You let out a long sigh, surprising him somehow, “Look, I have money, resources in the business sphere, information, what do you want? I know I got caught in this by accident, but I’m willing to do a lot of things to get out. Name it and I’ll do my best.” You said with your ‘business deal’ voice, the wise, guiding leader voice from your office.

For some reason though, the man found it hilarious. He slapped his hand on his chest, his boisterous laugh echoing. It wasn’t that good a joke if he believed it to be one. Men, ever so condescending.

“Humans, ever so gluttonous. I don’t want your money, precious.” His term of endearment didn’t fall short to your ears, but you had larger things in play here than a sweet nothing.  

“I have other things to offer, name it.” Within your moral sphere, of course.

“You still don’t get it, do you? And you humans boast you have everything figured about us.”

He neared you and you leaned to the inner area of the bed, refusing to get cornered to the wall if things escalate and wanting to have the option of running away, probably in vain though. With each step he took, a new shudder ran through you because of the closing distance between your bodies, it getting triggered in unexplainable ways.

You didn’t need to say words to prompt him to explain, your scrunched eyebrows already doing that mission. “You should feel it too, you know? The goosebumps, the bewilderment in your insides, you’re intoxicated by my very presence too, aren’t you?”

The more he neared, your breaths quickened visibly, his words becoming truer. Your skin heating, mind losing a bit of consciousness. His presence didn’t affect you to this extent in the warehouse, but now? You were putty, almost incapable to think. You tried to roll over to the other side but your plan failed because he caged you with his bulky hands on your shoulder, body diagonal across yours. With how slow and out of it you were, he didn’t even need his heightened speed to trap you.

“Oh, it’s kicking in, isn’t it? The realization, the surge of love and lust? To be held and cherished and be full of me?” He smirked at your trembling form, your chest heaving and weak arms trying to push him off.

“I’ve read humans feel flushed, hot, so let’s get you out of these scraps, yes?” He slid off the thin straps while you mumbled a very unconvincing ‘stop’. Both actions were pretty pointless because he wouldn’t stop, you both knew that and also, he ended up taking the top off over your torso the normal way.

Your hands barely managed to land themselves on his wrist to pull them off, but the foolish limbs ravished in the feel of his cold skin instead. It was like a high you had never experienced and your body wanted more. It was already addicted to the feel of this stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

He unzipped the skirt, your pathetic body no longer even fighting him as he rambled on. “Among us vampires, well not much to tell but we’re all freezing cold when we find our ‘zing’. Like every normal day. Except for the inability to think and the need for their mate’s blood, of course.”

He came back up to kiss you, his body now in line with yours as one hand held your cheek and the other groped your breast. You had an out of body experience, feeling disgusted for reciprocating the kiss but also wanting more of that, more of him.

He trailed down your neck to your collarbone and you gasped for air, your thoughts incoherent. He kissed between the valley of your breasts, removing the bra sometime in between as you heaved. He wanted nothing more than to rest in those swells for an eternity.

As soon as cold air hit your nipples, one was being sucked while other was being pinched. The nameless stranger alternated between licking like a kitten and sucking like a baby on the breasts. Your rational part felt gross but the dominating side was the one experiencing delight.

He kissed down the sternum, to your bellybutton and then hovered above the thin, flimsy underwear. His hands slid down your sides, down the curve of your waist and hooked themselves at the cloth’s side, pulling them down in a swift motion.

Your legs quaked, trying to close themselves but one muscular arm on your thigh was able to hold them off, throw one away from the other. He leaned down and you were pathetically still under his muscles, your lower limbs either not daring to move or not wanting to.

You wrapped your hands around your torso to hide a bit of yourself, but did that really matter in the larger picture of the events unfolding right now?

You closed your eyes, tears already escaping since minutes ago as you tried to accept the reality of what was happening. A cold sensation on your little button caught you off guard; an infinitesimal fraction of time later, an inhale reached your ears.

You looked down, opening your eyes to find the man smelling you, his Grecian nose poking through your folds and taking in sniffs of your intimate part.

“Please sto-”      

“The scent at its source, so fucking divine. I want a taste.” With that, your sentence got interrupted by his words and then by his action as his tongue licked away. It sucked on the bead, delving in the cavity there pretty fucking deep and he slurped away like he pretended to do when you were blindfolded.

Your back arched like a gymnast, hands that were folded across your chest clawing at your own skin, leaving marks behind. His hands were hooked around your thighs and they threw your legs on his shoulder some point in between. When he thrusted three fingers at once, an audible wheeze left your lips, your noiseless gasps now hoarse ‘Aah’s and you could feel him smirk.

There a also a lot of teeth involved with his razor sharp canines that appeared out of nowhere during this and when he thrusted his fingers particularly hard with his teeth nibbling on your sensitive bud, you shamelessly let go of the inside flow.

It felt humiliating and mortifying, your body glowing with the aftereffects of descending into bliss while your mind wanted to cry. Your soul was surprisingly content with what unfolded, at peace. You hated the diversity of emotions you felt, revolted to find even a bit of positive sentiment at your assaulter’s actions.

While your inner monologue happened, the man got up and out of his clothes painfully quick. You tried to sit your up, feebly trying to escape but ineffectively so. Your eyes couldn’t meet the handsome stranger’s nor did you want to see him naked and removed him form your eyeline, making you get caught off guard when his hands wrapped around your ankles and pulled you down, finishing the small distance you managed to crawl up.

His hands left their place as he kissed his way back up your flushed skin, from the swell of your ankle to the swell of your stomach. He licked away the drops of blood around the crescent scratches left by your nails under the intense ecstasy he forced upon you. Then he continued his journey from the swells of your chest to the swell of your cheek, taking you in a fiery, needy yet affectionate kiss.

Your surroundings blurred a second into the kiss, mouth and skin hungry for his touch alike. A thrust had you painfully gasp as you were stretched unlike ever before, impaled to a depth unlike ever before. He kissed away your tears that continued to spill on command of your ashamed mind and leaned back to look into your eyes, a pretty pink passing over them for a fleeting second.

His blue orbs bore into yours and you almost believed he loved you by the intensity of his gaze. At this moment in time, nothing but you two mattered, connected and finally together. How you got here didn’t matter, how unwilling you were didn’t matter. This felt right, felt necessary and was worthy of everything you went through. The rational part seemed to die the instant you two physically connected and somehow, everything and nothing made sense.

But you felt complete.

Your lips captured his of their own accord, and you both smiled into the caress of your lips while he began thrusting, one hand on your waist, the other supporting his weight. Out of breath, he leaned back, still thrusting though, and gazed at you. “Scott back there, he called you pretty, that’s practically an insult. The way you look right now, you’re much more than beautiful. You’re ethereal, my Zing, the loveliest in existence.”

His genuine words tugged at your heart. For some reason you believed him, had confidence in his feelings. Your foreheads connected as he quickened, his hand caressing your skin, the cool against your warm skin soothing. It didn’t take long for you to let go again this time; your previous resolution already dissolved. He neared your ears and whispered, “I want you to scream my name. It’s Bucky.” You nodded absentmindedly, chasing the high.

One particular thrust paired with his canines piercing your skin made you cry out “Bucky!” and you felt him smirking in your neck, lapping the blood. You wilted in bliss and your eyes closed, warmth filling you minutes after. Your eyes were dazed and you felt ‘Bucky’ shift, removing his towering frame from you, a goofy smile on the chiseled face.

With mind free of the aforementioned disapproving thoughts, you checked out his handsome face. It was like you saw him in an entirely different light now.

He gave you a quick peck, his hands cradling your face and he spoke with the utmost sincerity. “You are worth the wait, precious. No measure of time with you will be long enough. But we’ll start with forever to compensate. I’m never letting you go.”

[saphirered]

I Don’t Hate You (Vagrant pt3.)

The lady at the front desk gives you a dirty look as you come straggling in, leaving a wet trail behind you, boots sopping with an equally disgruntled expression on your face. You toss her a coin, if only to be done with it all and go back up the stairs. There you see, Fjord is no longer sitting in the hallway and probably either has gotten himself a room of his own or Molly’s taken mercy upon the half-orc and let him sleep peacefully and undisturbed in their shared room. A sense of dread still lingers as you approach your door and you take a sip from the opened bottle in your hand, hoping to find some courage to push you over the edge and just get it over with. You can see the hint of orange light bleeding through the small gap. 

When the door opens Caleb looks up from his book, or well, your book. You look like an absolute mess and he knows you know you do. It’s an unspoken agreement to not comment on this fact made in that brief moment of eye contact, for both of your sakes. 

“Do not question my terrible life’s choices, Widogast.” You grumble as you let yourself fall backwards on your bed. You don’t even have the energy to magic away the remainders of the rain that kept you company from your soaked person. Well, that or the fact that the droplets rolling down your skin hid the tears from the panic attack and brief existential crisis you had on that rooftop before you came down. 

Caleb puts down the book, gets up from the bed and slowly and carefully inches over to your side of the room. He hesitantly sits down on the edge. You have half the mind to kick him off just because but can’t find the energy to do so. Despite your distaste for magic users like him, being alone after your mental breakdown you just experienced, really sucks. Caleb pats your knee awkwardly in an attempt to comfort but not wanting to cross any boundaries. It’s pathetic, he knows because one can hardly fix a stab wound by slapping on a bandaid. His own past experiences have left him a tad bit at a loss when it comes to comforting a person in pain, especially one so stubborn and crass as you have been towards him. 

Still, Caleb has figured out your hatred isn’t directed at him personally. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s people with abilities like him that have played a part in your past causing you pain and suffering and the wound is still very fresh, hence your trauma being reflected onto him, despite his complete lack of involvement in your before the moment you met. It may not have helped that your hostility towards him hasn’t exactly encouraged him to try and build a proper relationship with you. He hardly even knows you yet still he feels as if he knows your tells, the things you go through and why you act like you do. He may not know the details of your life but he feels safe to say he knows you better than any of the others. 

It’s not his lack of knowledge and insight into your life beyond what’s surface and what he can read off you that holds him back. It’s the fear of what he might find within you that will tear open wounds of his own he’s worked so hard to cover up. It’s the fear you might be one step ahead of him in a similar story and there is no hope for people like you and him after all. It’s the fear those you run from are the same people he has tried so hard to escape. It’s the fear of you, that you might be each others’ salvation, or undoing because he knows what he has the capability to become, what you could become. 

But here you lie, upon your bed curled up, traces of tears long since fallen, possibly even ran out, tightness in your throat, indents of your nails in your palms from clenching too much, frustration and anger in your eyes is still overwhelmed by pain and hopelessness and a wish the void would just come and claim you, where you no longer fear the consequences of running and will be able to obliterate those who caused you so much hurt, or die trying in the process. Caleb is reminded of himself in that cell of his own, for years, a broken mind piecing itself together from the shambles it was left in, barely a shell of what it used to be. 

When he promised himself he would do anything and everything in his power to take down these tormentors and their accomplices so no one would ever have to suffer like he had, still is suffering, Caleb didn’t expect to find you. He still remembers himself begging, praying, screaming just to not be alone, to have someone tell him there is still hope and not all is lost. There’s still good in this wretched world and if the world turns bleak, it’s up to you to be that good despite everything. Those were the pretty words and empty promises of a dreamer but does that make them a lie? 

“Don’t patronise me. I’m not some fragile broken child in need of mothering.” Caleb retreats his hand, clasping them together in his lap as he studies your face. Your eyes are cold, your expression matching. A mask, he knows. A way to protect yourself. 

“Good. Because I have no intention of doing so. I want you to be blunt and truthful and I don’t want you to hold back. I want you to humour me and answer some questions.” You raise an eyebrow expecting there to be something behind Caleb’s request but his stare is unreadable, like a practiced mask of his own. 

“You want me to be blunt and give you a peace of my mind?” You humour. You’ll tell the asshole okay. You’ll bicker and fight and quarrel if that’s what he wants no problem. Maybe a battle of wits and words will get you back into your groove. 

Little do you know that is in fact not what Caleb is looking for. Not exactly. He isn’t looking for a fight. He’s looking for answers, how to help you despite your differences because no one deserves to go through this, especially not alone. So because of that, he will not humour you in turn with his usual reply to your attempts to push him. He doesn’t intend this to end in another futile empty argument. Not now. So he’ll drop the game and go straight for the jugular. 

“Why do you hate me?” You freeze at the abrupt and sudden question. Caleb knows you don’t really hate him personally but coddling you won’t work and some things you’ll have to realise by yourself first. Finding the strength to lean up on your elbows you tilt your head at him as a half smirk creeps upon your lips.

“Because you’re an egotistical self-serving bastard who cares for nothing but himself and the people useful to him, until they outlive their usefulness.” The words are meant to cut like knives and usually you’d get a rise out of Caleb by such a statement but when you don’t see any response to your words, nothing but those blue eyes staring into yours so… unbothered, it feels as if those knives are turned onto you instead. You’re not quick enough to get rid of that tiny hint of guilt slithering across your features. 

“Why do you hate me?” Caleb asks again, voice still calm like it’s the most unremarkable question ever. He could have asked you about the weather with that tone. 

“Because you’re an asshole.” 

“Why do you hate me?” 

“Seriously? I already gave you an answer. Was I not clear the first time?” That guilt in your stomach starts growing, festering. There’s something in your mind pushing through but you try to fight it off, not liking the thought of being faced with those emotions. You’ve worked too hard to push them away. 

“Just answer the question. Why do you hate me?” Caleb sees you struggle. Your first answers where in the blink of an eye, a defence mechanism slipping into place. That works, for a while, until it doesn’t, until you start questioning it and give yourself a moment to think.

“Because…” Because you’re a coward. Because you run from your problems. Because you leave other people to swipe up the mess for you. Because you’re a monster to blame for the pain of others. Because you’re to blame for your own pain. Because you couldn’t save them. Because. Because. Because. Those are not reasons you hate Caleb. You take in a sharp breath, clenching your jaw in anger, nose scrunching holding at bay the curses from passing your lips and the threat of all your emotions from spilling out like a breaking dam. 

“Why do you hate me?” The words now, do not sound void of emotion, but instead are filled with a warmth and pity. Damn him! Damn him to the hells and abyss! When you don’t answer he repeats it again. Caleb gives you amicable time to answer, leaving a long silence to give your mind the time and space to think for itself, analyse and process and you hate every second of it because you can’t stop it. The cracks in the walls you’ve tried to hard to build become more apparent by the second. He asks again. 

“I don’t bloody hate you!” You shout, pretty sure you may just have woken up the entire floor. The silence after the words leave your lips is deafening. 

“Then what do you hate about me that causes you to act the way you do?” Your hands clench back into fists, your nails pressing down again in the still tender skin from but minutes ago. You don’t want to say it. You really don’t but that pain raging through your body wants to get out and you feel the floodgates opening inch by inch despite your efforts to fight it. Then there’s that voice in the back of your mind; maybe speaking the unspoken will give you some peace. 

“I don’t hate you! I just hate what your remind me of. It’s like you’re here to personally torture me so please just leave me alone to suffer, get over it and move on.” You don’t want to remember the last time you pleaded for something, and had hoped to never plead for anything again yet here you are. 

“I am going to give you a choice and I’ll only offer it once, so listen very carefully.” You’ve never seen Caleb look so intense, so genuine, and so determined. You can’t do anything but listen so you nod, signalling him to continue and that you’re paying attention to his every word and not to twist them for your own amusement for once. Whatever previous relation, or rather lack thereof you’ve had is gone now. There’s only you two, in a place of vulnerability and without judgement. 

“You’ve got two options. One; you tell me to piss off, like you usually do. I’ll go back to bed, back to sleep and leave you alone. We will never speak of this again, never mention this and go our separate ways. We will remain cordial when interacting and won’t let our own grievances get in the way of the others.” You take in the words, nodding to confirm you understand. 

“Or two; you and I are going to talk. You are going to tell me what you wish, and can tell me provided it’s the truth and I will listen. If you wish to tell me your life story I will listen. If you wish to tell me all your troubles I will listen. If you wish to share your pain, I will listen. And know that I will help you if you’ll allow me to. Because if you keep doing this on your own, let the guilt and grief and pain swallow you whole, I know exactly where it will lead. Do not allow it to be your undoing, or turn you into a person beyond your recognition.” Midway through his offer your eyes have closed and your brow furrows. You bit your lip and that combined with the movement of your eyes behind your eyelids are the only indication to Caleb you’re still listening to him. 

Caleb gives you time. He doesn’t expect an answer right away. That’s not how this works but he does study you, attempting to get an inkling of what’s going through your mind. He feels warmth wrap around his wrist, glancing down to notice your fingers have wrapped around it and hold on tightly. You’re holding onto a lifeline and he knows it. 

“Why?” Your, words a pained choke, you don’t dare open your eyes, don’t trust the look in Caleb’s eyes to tear down what last defences you had up and turning you into even more of a broken mess. 

“Because despite what people might have you believe, there is still good in this world.” You’re unable to stifle a sob, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. 

“I’ve not known much kindness in my life but I feel confident in saying this is the kindest thing anyone has ever offered me. It’s why my pervious actions and words towards you make me feel like an absolute ass even more. I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me.” You release Caleb’s wrist, feeling grounded once more despite the buzzing in your head and twiddle with your fingers awaiting a response, the tense air slowly lifting as you sit in peace and silence. 

You nod, wiping at the corners of your eyes before you open them, a bit more red and puffy than they were before you entered the room. You finally look at the wizard and take in a deep breath before nodding again. If it were anyone else, any other moment you might have said no. You’d even have laughed at whoever tried this emotional shit on you. But it’s time. You’re not getting any better nor can you repress everything forever. It’s time to face some of these troubles head on. Luckily you won’t have to do it on your own. It will take time and effort and it’s going to hurt like hell but it has to be done. You have to move on and learn how to live. You owe it to yourself, if not the people you’ve left behind. 

“Now this doesn’t mean we’re going to be best friends from now on. You’re still an asshole and so am I so don’t think I’ll let you off easy for your comments and the trouble you cause.” The corner of Caleb’s lips turns up slightly as he speaks and you mimic his expression.

“I don’t think anyone else could handle it, so I’m sorry to disappoint but you’re definitely stuck with me, Widogast.” You muster a smile, exhausted. It’s mutually understood the conversation as per your agreement won’t happen right here, right now but instead when you’re both ready. For now, at least you won’t pretend to hate each other anymore and start over. 

“Hey, Caleb?” You ask.

“Yes?” He answers but before he knows it your arms wrap around him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb’s form goes rigid shocked by not only the gesture but by the physical touch itself. After a good few moments he finds himself ease just a little, enough to return the embrace lightly.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

[midearthwritings]

The Beauty behind the Beast

You think it is a shame to neglect such beautiful hair.

Words Count : 1,745

Pairing : Kíli & Reader

Warning : Nudity? Blink and you'll miss it really.

Author's Note : A little Kíli one shot because who wouldn't want to sit and care for his hair? Also I labelled this as platonic but there are a few romantic undertones. I don't know. Hope you like it.

What evil creatures were hiding in the dark, stalking and waiting to attack? You did not know. Perhaps none for the night was quiet, beautiful even. The sky was clear, filled with stars. And the moon looked stunning, even as only half of it was visible.

The snoring of your companions sounded like a lullaby. They could have made you fall asleep if you had been willing to surrender. Thankfully, you were in good company.

As he was quietly rambling to you about whatever subject, you studied him. The way he worked on that little piece of wood. The way his eyes would lit up when he got to an interesting part. And the disaster that was his hair.

Absentmindedly, you raised your hand to touch them. They were soft, but very thick due to their current state. You even tried to brush them a little with your hand, your fingertips getting stucked immediately.

"I thought hair were important to dwarves." You said, letting the strand slip from your fingers to fall back on his shoulder. Your eyes travelled up his mane, spotting every knot tangling them.

"Aye, they are." The agressive sound of his knife on the piece of wood he was carving was regular, almost soothing. His brows were furrowed, and all his focus was on his task. You smiled. It was a rare thing to see the prince this serious. It almost felt like an honor.

Scooting closer, you reached out again to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Why is it that you do not care for them, then?"

The words seemed to pique his interest as he turned his face to you. The object he was crafting now forgotten, dangling from his hand. And you were sure that it would fall to the ground at any given moment. Slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The gentle night wind blew, making his bangs wiggle a little. Perhaps the only part of his mane that was not a complete mess.

"I care for them." With that, he faced away from you so you were able to see the back of his head. He reached out and tapped on the clasp stuck in there, his blade too close to the area for your liking. "See, this is proof of what I say."

Shaking your head, you batted his hand away. "You can put a dress on an Orc if you desire so, but it will remain an Orc. This, is a bird's nest." You explained, gently grabbing a fistful of hair to prove your point. "And I am being very polite here because I have seen nests that looked way much better."

The shrug he gave you was very unusual, you thought. You had been expecting a comment, a snarl in the very least. But surely not silence as he went back to work, the dark locks freeing themselves from your grip.

The case was not lost. Really, all he needed was to comb his hair, and perhaps shorten it a little to get rid of the tougher knots. After that, they would look perfect, very flattering around his pretty face. Maybe he would even be able to wear braids too, like the others.

"I could help, you know." You offered with a smile. "Get them nice again."

"No, you cannot."

The words were sharp, almost as sharp as the knife he was holding. They could have upset you, had you been a few weeks back. Thankfully, you knew better than to get yourself worked up because of a simple no. Before you could question his negative response, he carried on. "Dwarves do not let anyone touch their hair besides their family, or their One. Anyone else is not allowed."

Dwarven customs. You had heard of those before. Not in details, and you would not be able to write a book on the matter. They were very different from those of humans and this was something new. For a moment, you thought to a few minutes back, of the offense you might have done to him. But you brushed the idea away. He would have told you if he had been offended in any way.

Biting your bottom lip, a grin curved your mouth upwards.

"But we are family. You are my brother in arms, aren't you? And a brother means family, doesn't it? Besides, if you keep neglecting them, you will have to chop all of it to get rid of the knots. You should accept my help."

Quiet, you watched as his brows furrowed again as he considered your words. You noticed how the gesture was slightly different from when he was focused.

When he looked back up at you, you were certain he was going to say no again. If he did so, you would drop the subject, for now. Yet, his nod surprised you.

"Aye, I accept. Only because if it is not you who does it, it will be Fíli. And he is not gentle with me when he combs my hair. Always hurts me and tells me to stop being a whiny dwarfling. This little piece of-"

With an exasperated sigh, you brought your palm to his mouth, silencing the curse that was to come.

Siblings.

It had been agreed that you would get to it when the company would stop to bathe and rest. It took you all a few days to find a nice place to allow yourselves such luxury. The camp was set in no time, as it was now a habit, and you watched as the dwarves, and your burglar friend, departed to get into the water.

Kíli, like the child he was, began to follow them nonchalantly, in an almost too innocent way. Quickly grabbing what you needed, for your own cleaning and his hair's, you caught up to him and hooked your arm with his.

"Now, do not run away from me. We are going to find a spot and get to work."

A long groan escaped his lips, making you chuckle. It reminded you of home, of your younger siblings, and for a short moment, you allowed yourself to miss it. To miss the comfort of your bed, and the play times with the children. You missed your mother greatly as well, and you wondered if, perhaps, you would be lucky enough to see her ever again.

You shook your head, chasing the pain away before it could reach your heart. Looking around, you noticed you had walked far enough from the others.

"Alright, this will do. Undress and get into the water. It will be easier." You commanded, getting rid of your own garments.

"Oy, you could at least offer me a nice meal first!" His laugh echoed around you, and despite the glare you shot him, you found yourself laughing as well.

The water felt nice against your skin. It was a bit cold at first but very pleasant once your body was used to it. You turned around and moved to get behind the prince.

"I am going to wash them first, all right?" You warned. When he nodded, you opened the small bottle that you were holding securely in your hand and poured some of the sweet scented oil into his hair. Now that they were wet, the knots felt rough under your fingers as you rubbed the entirety of his mane with the oil. You started from the top of his head, massaging a scalp with your fingers. The satisfied moan coming from him indicating that the experience was not that painful so far. You went to rub the hair behind his ears, and under them at the base of his neck. And finally, you spread the liquid on the rest of it.

"Get under the surface to rinse it." You ordered. While he did so, you swapped the tiny, and now half empty, bottle with a fancy looking comb.

"Why did you pack such things to travel?"

"I did not." You answered, getting back behind him. He was fairly tall for a dwarf, you thought, but it was not a bad thing. Not to you. You had heard the mockeries and teasing of others regarding his height and lack of beard. He was not fitting dwarves standards, that was a fact. But he was not unattractive. Fools were those who rejected the prince, in your opinion.

Stirring out of your reveries, you added "I took them before we left Rivendell. They had many of those. They will not miss the ones I kept." You brought the comb up, starting with the end of his hair. Carefully, not to hurt him, you worked on the knots.

"That is theft." He pointed out. While you were busy in his back, Kíli was rubbing his forearms with a bar of soap. You raised your eyebrow.

"And where do you think that thing you are using comes from?" You asked, working your way up with the comb. "Besides, Bilbo is a burglar and no one says a thing about it."

The dwarf reached behind him to tap your hip gently and you stepped back a little, allowing him to go under the water again to rinse the soap from his body. Soon enough, you were both back into place.

"It is not the same." He started again. "Bilbo is going to help us regain Erebor with his burglarities."

"Kíli, burglarities is not a word.". You had been right. With his hair being wet, it was easier to get them untangled. The comb was now sliding freely in his strands. Only the top remained and you would be done with the task.

"Aye, but it could be."

Shaking your head, you did not reply, focusing rather on not tugging too hard rather than his nonsense.

The last knot was a tough one and it took you a bit longer to win your fight against it. But you managed, and in the end, the finished result was stunning. His hair looked darker, glistening with water, and they looked even longer now.

"Here, I'm done."

With a soft smile, you watched your friend as he ran he fingers into his now really soft locks. He turned to face you, a smile similar to yours painted on his lips. When he held his hand out, you tilted your head, questioningly. The request that followed was soft, and innocent, yet, you felt your heart swelling.

"Now, may I take care of yours?"

[felassan]

Dragon Age development insights from David Gaider - PART 1

This information came from DG on a recent SummerfallStudios Twitch stream where he gave developer commentary while Liam Esler played DAO, specifically the mage Origin. I transcribed it in case there’s anyone who can’t watch the stream (for example due to connection/tech limitations, data, time constraints, or personal accessibility reasons). A lot of it is centered on DAO, but there’s also insights into DA2 and DAI. Some of it is info which is known having been out there already, some of it is new, and all of it imo was really interesting! It leaps from topic to topic as it’s a transcript of a conversational format. It’s under a cut due to length.

Note on how future streams in this series are going to work: The streams are going to be every Friday night. Most likely, every week, they’re going to play DAO. Every second week it will be Liam and DG and they’ll be doing more of this developer commentary style/way of doing things, talking about how the game was made as they play through, covering quirks and quibbles etc. Every other week, it will be Liam and a guest playing a different campaign in DAO, and Liam will be talking with them about how DA changed their lives or led them into game development, to get other peoples’ thoughts on the series (as it’s now been like 10 years). Some of these guests we may know, some we won’t. When other DA devs are brought on, it’ll be in the DG sessions. They hope to have PW and Karin Weekes on at some point. Sometime they hope to have an episode where they spend the whole time going through the lore.

(Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6)

[wording and opinions DG’s, occasionally LE’s; paraphrased]

DAO’s development actually finished up around April 2009. They then put it on ice for around six months before release. Human Noble is DG’s favorite Origin. It’s one of the ones he wrote. He also wrote the Dalish Origin as well (Tamlen is his doing ;__;). DAO’s temp name during development was Chronicles. DG has never played any of the DA games after they were released. He played them pre-release loads of times, when they were half-broken or incomplete etc. This stream is his first time seeing everything played after completion.

NWN: Hordes of the Underdark was the first game where DG was a/the lead writer, in charge of other writers, as opposed to a senior writer. It was pretty well-received. In the fall of 2003, BW were just finishing up HotU when James Ohlen came to DG to talk. BW had been having issues during the development of NWN with the IP holder for D&D Wizards of the Coast, so they were interested in starting their own IPs that they would have ownership over (and also for financial reasons). JO said to DG that one of these new IPs would be fantasy and one would be sci-fi. He knew that DG was more fantasy-oriented, and so asked DG if he wanted to take this on. DG was down, and the first thing to figure out was what that fantasy IP was going to be.

JO gave DG an atlas of European history, which he still has, and said that he wanted him to make a fantasy world that is reminiscent of medieval Europe and reminiscent of D&D - “make it like D&D but not, file off the serial numbers really well”. This worked for DG because he was pretty familiar with D&D and there were also lots of things that he didn’t like about it and wanted to change. So DG went off and for the next six months worked on creating a setting, beginning with documentation and the map. This was kinda strange because they had no idea at that time what their story would be. JO was very interested in having a “genetically evil” enemy in the setting (like an equivalent to orcs). DG wasn’t a big fan of this and his initial go at the setting omitted this (i.e. darkspawn were not a thing) and was a lot more realistic. JO insisted on adding them later on.

This period of development wasn’t actually a good process. There were other people who were working on the project who were designing the combat side. Looking back, DG feels that they should have put their heads together a lot sooner. The combat designers had various ideas for various prestige classes and subclasses, and DG would be like “these are nowhere in the setting [lore]”. He tried his best to add a few of them after the fact, which is why we see things like DA’s version of the bard archetype. The combat designers and artists originally had a vision in mind of a game that was much more along the lines of the type of fantasy you’d find in the Conan the Barbarian world - bare-chested barbarians, sorceresses that show a lot of skin, a grimdark world with barbarian hordes. They were just assuming that’s what it was going to be. At this point in time DG had never thought, “Oh, maybe I’m responsible for communicating my ideas to them” - he’d never done this role before and was just told to go create the world. He created world-building documentation and would send out emails saying “I’m making this documentation, please go ahead and take a look”, not learning until later on that nobody outside of the writing team really likes reading such documentation. He learned tricks later on like making the docs more accessible, less dense and wordy, and overall easier to peruse.

There was no real ‘vision holder’ for DA. Mass Effect did a much better job of that. Casey Hudson was the project director and the vision holder for ME, and he had the power to enforce a set vision of what was and was not ME. ME therefore ended up having a bit more of a coherent vision. DG was in essence the vision holder for DA, but he didn’t really have the authority to enforce it on the artists. The DA teams ended up spending a good 3.5 - 4 years of the ~6 years of DAO dev time going in circles, not exactly sure what they were going to make, the various people working on it having different ideas of what ‘kind’ of fantasy they were going to make. The writing team were leaning towards LoTR; the artists were leaning towards Conan; at one point one of the project directors was leaning towards a point-and-click Diablo-style action adventure; and nobody was overriding anybody else.

The fans who hang out on the forums and in similar places have a very different idea about what kind of game they like and want to play versus the telemetry BW get from the public in general. As an example, fans on the forums tend towards playing non-humans and feeling that playing as a human is boring. Forum-polls reflected that, but BW’s general public-telemetry shows that around 75-80% of the playerbase played a human in DAO. Elves were at 15% and dwarves 5%. In contrast, in the core/forum-based fanbase, the human figure dropped down to 30%.

DG originally wanted Zevran to be a gay romance (he has talked about this before). He asked JO if he could do that pretty early on, thinking of Jade Empire which had same-gender romance options which were really popular. BW were surprised about that, and DG had no idea that the JE team were going to do this. For DAO, he had an idea for an assassin character. He had been reading about how the CIA and KGB would often recruit gay men to be their assassins, as they didn’t tend to have family ties. DG thought this was really interesting. JO was cool with the idea on a conceptual level, but thought that the work that would end up going into it would be better served if those characters could be romanced by both male and female PCs. Zevran and Leliana weren’t intended to be bi, they were “bi out of convenience”, but at the time these sorts of things (representation and such) didn’t enter into the equation as much as it does today. DG wrote Zevran in his head as being romanceable by men.

DG would ask the hair artists, “Why all the mullets?”, because he never understood that, and he’d get “a sort of shrug response”, and an indication that “it’s easier to model, I guess?” Having hair which is loose, in the face, in locks, coming over the shoulders etc wasn’t really supported at this point by the tech or the engine. Hence, they ended up with like five different versions of mullets. On the subject of the engine, for the first half of development they were using an upgraded version of the Aurora engine from NWN, and it was not good. Several years in they decided to switch. Trent Oster was in charge at the time of making a new proprietary BW engine. At the time it wasn’t ready yet, but the DA team decided to grab it, use it and hammer it into the DA engine. That engine had “so many little weird quirks”, like lighting on skin not working properly and looking bad, and one of the issues was hair. It was supposed to be BW’s proprietary engine but it really wasn’t optimized for RPGs and didn’t include a dialogue system. They had to custom-build the conversation system. (At the time Trent didn’t think BW should be doing RPGs anymore, which is a whole other story of its own). DG recalls programmers complaining about things in the engine that weren’t ready for ‘prime-time’. Even compared to games released concurrently, DAO’s graphics were a bit dated.

For the worldbuilding, they had an internal wiki and they kept everything on there. They ended up with a lot of legacy documentation on there very quickly. Eventually they solved this by hiring an editor whose sole job it was to wrangle the documentation. DG started work on the setting in the same manner in which he’d embark on starting a homebrew - ‘so like, first, here’s a map, oh, I like this name, vague ideas, a paragraph on each major nation, a rough timeline of the history, expanding, and it just growing from there’. After about six months, they brought on other writers, and by then he had around 50 pages of documentation. This 50 pages was a minute amount compared to the amount they had generated at the time of release. Originally, they weren’t sure where in the world specifically the story would take place, so DG made sure to seed potential and brewing conflicts throughout Thedas. They settled quite quickly on the new Blight starting in Ferelden. Once they established that, the writers went to town on taking Ferelden specifically and blowing it up detail-wise. Jennifer Hepler was in charge of the dwarves and Orzammar. Mary Kirby was on Fereldan customs and traditions.

The first version of the setting was more grounded in realism, almost like a post-fantasy. The dragons and griffons were extinct and a lot of the things that were thought to be fantastical were thought to be over with. During development, they started clawing these things back. They brought back dragons because the game was named Dragon Age (lol). DG was approached like, “Hey, we named the game DA, can you bring back dragons and weave them into the story more powerfully?” Wynne’s writer Sheryl Chee had a bit of an obsession with griffons and was often like ‘omg, griffons :D’, and this is the origin of Wynne’s dialogue with the Warden about griffons.

KotOR was the first time BW had tried to do a game that was fully voiced-over. For KotOR, BW sent the work of casting, direction and so on down to another studio in California called Technicolor. BW had little say in the process then and when they got it back, “it was what it was”. By the time they got to DA and the first ME, BW had a good system down for recording and VO had become an important thing in games at the time. BW are really one of the premieres for this, a lot of actors really like acting on BW games as they get a lot of space to act where they wouldn’t normally be able to do so otherwise. DG has learned a lot from Caroline Livingstone on how to encourage the best performance out of an actor. For DAO, DG worked together with the various lead designers and Caroline to decide on the auditions, casting etc. This was one of DG’s favorite things to do.

Gideon Emery as Fenris, GDL as Solas and Eve Myles as Merrill were times where DG had written the character and then went to Caroline and said “I have an actor in mind for them, can you check it out?” These were specific times where he was able to secure the actor he wanted. This didn’t always work out, for example there are times when actors aren’t interested or have no time due to scheduling conflicts or were too expensive etc. Eve and GDL were DG’s roommate Cori’s idea. Cori was a big fan of Torchwood/the actors from Torchwood, and worked as an editor at BW for a long time. Gideon was DG’s idea after playing FF12. For DAO, DG didn’t have any specific ideas in terms of actors. Casting Morrigan was the longest, most drawn out process.

The Circle went through a whooole process during worldbuilding. Initially, mages in the game weren’t supposed to have any “fighting magic”. The restrictions were originally such that in the lore, they didn’t teach mages that. Mages weren’t taught any magic that could kill people, only ‘indirect’ forms of magic that could support others. However, [during what sounds like] playtesting it was asked “Why can’t I cast a fireball? I just want to cast a fireball”, so the writers had to go back and rework how magic in the lore worked completely.

Flemeth was originally going to be voiced by Shohreh Aghdashloo, and she was totally on-board, but unfortunately because of DAO’s development delays, she was unable to attend the new recording time as she had a conflict in her schedule (she was filming House of Sand and Fog). Shoreh was quite disappointed about this and her family had been so excited that she was going to be in a video game. When the movie was finished, Shoreh came back to BW and let them know that she was still available, and this is how she ended up in ME2. For a while they were trying to find an actress with an accent that authentically mirrored Shoreh’s. Out of the blue around this time, Claudia Black’s agent sent BW an audition tape of her. At the time Claudia hadn’t done any games but wanted to get into it. The tape was of Claudia doing a beat poet rendition of Baby Got Back. DG still has this tape. DG was a big fan of Farscape and on listening to the tape, it clicked right away in his head that Claudia would be perfect for Morrigan.

The Fade ended up being a big irritation for the writers. They wanted the PC to be able to assume different forms and such while in there. A lot of this stuff proved too difficult for the combat designers to work out, and so it ended up getting changed a lot. They had a hard time coming up with gameplay that could work in the Fade. The mage Origin is DG’s least favorite of the Origin stories, as he’s really dubious about the Fade section in it. It didn’t work out like how they had pictured it in their heads. By the time they got to DAI, that’s when the Fade really looks like how the writers first described/envisioned it. By this point the artists were more keen to give it a more specific feel. DAO was made at a time when ‘brown is realistic’ was a prevailing thing in games dev.

The experience of a mage in the world isn’t represented or conveyed very well to the player when the player is a mage. The experience of the player when they’re playing a mage or have a mage in their party doesn’t really match up with how the world lore tells them how dangerous mages can be - for example, how they can lose control and so on, we never really have an example of a PC mage struggling with being taken over by a demon. This was originally supposed to be a subplot in DA2 for mage Hawkes, in one of the last cuts. In Act 2, mage Hawke was originally slowly being tricked by a demon in their head that they thought was real, only to realize at the last minute. Mouse the Pride demon in the mage Origin is the only time in the entire series that they really ever properly demonstrated how demons can fuck with [PC] mages. Also, PC templars were originally supposed to have a permanent lyrium addiction that they needed to ‘feed’, but this was scrapped as the system designers weren’t keen on it and felt that it was essentially handicapping the player. 

Mages were originally also not supposed to be able to deal with pure lyrium (it would ‘overload’ them). There is a plot where mage PCs run around touching lyrium nodes to refill their mana bars. On this DG was like “Wtf is this?” The designers said that it works, and DG said “but it flies in the face of the lore”. This instance is an example of how the DA team was working where the various departments (writers, artists, designers etc) all had their own ideas about how the game and its world would work and never overrode each other (see above). DG feels that DAO is a little contradictory in that way. It’s only after the game came out that a lot of the people on the team really “bought into” what they’d put forward. This got easier as they went on, with people involved buying then into the things that make Dragon Age, Dragon Age. At one point, not everyone on the team was even aware of those things.

DG relates that originally, they would ask the artists, “Ok, can we get a village?” and said village once created would be quite generic and non-specific to DA. The writers would try to relate how things are in the DA world and list things that would be found in a village like this specific to the DA world, and the artists either didn’t read it or had their own ideas (DG isn’t sure which), and nobody was around to tell them not to do that and that they should do it differently. Everyone having their own ideas like this is why we ended up getting something that is this sort of “cobbled together half-Conan half-LotR mish-mash”, and after a while this sort of became DA’s “thing”.

Initially, BW had concepts drawn up for a lot more different creatures. After they went in circles for those years and consequently ran out of time to do all the models, they had to cut these concepts down more and more. Demons were among the ones that were the first to go (this is why we have situations like a bereskarn as the Sloth Demon in the mage Origin). The original concepts for things like spirits of Valor and Sloth demons were really good. Early on, JO made a list of D&D creatures that he liked. He picked the ones that they were thinking of doing, sent them to DG and said to make a “DA version of this”. For example, D&D succubi essentially became Desire Demons. Desire Demons were originally patterned off Sandman, neither male nor female yet really alluring, acting more like a genie and trying to ferret out mortals’ inner desires (which are not necessarily sexual in nature), without being overtly sexual. The artists’ version came back and that was basically the model seen in-game. The writers were like “What is this, this is nothing like the description?” and the artists responded that on the list from JO, it was included, in that you had to click on “succubus” to get to the Desire Demon description, so they had just read “succubus” and done their version of a succubus. The artists did loads of great work, but this was one of the instances were DG was like “???” By then, it was too late to change it. The writers were able to encourage them to make Desire Demons a little more fearsome, so that made it in at least.

The mage Origin was one of the more contentious Origin stories. It had like 4 different versions written of it over time. It was often the case that BW would hire someone, and writing an Origin story was their first test. Three different writers came in and wrote a version of the mage Origin and those versions just didn’t work. Finally they passed it to Sheryl Chee and she wrote it. The Origins were the parts of the game in general that were written/rewritten the most often. There were several others that got written that they discarded. 

Duncan was slated for death from Day 1. When DG writes a story, the thing he does first is pick out the big emotional beats that he wants, such as deaths. He decides these ahead of time and the stuff in-between comes later and is more often changed. Oghren was also originally supposed to die, but this ended up getting cut. DG related a story of how Oghren came to be: At the time, there was a phase JO went through when he thought everything had a formula that it could be done by. One of these ‘creative forumulas’ was that all such IPs had a two-word name that they’re known by, such as Star Wars, Star Trek, Dragonlance (being Dragon-Lance). This is how ‘DA’ and ‘ME’ came to be. One of the formulas he wanted to implement was how to distill the ‘comedy character’, like Minsc or HK-47. These characters were very popular with the fans and JO was certain that there was a way to figure this out to create one for DA. At the time, DG argued with him a lot about this. JO insisted it could be done. DG was originally supposed to write this character but ended up not doing so. JO came up with a list of comedic archetypes and had DG write a blurb about what kind of character each could be. These were then sent out to the team who voted on which was their favorite. This process eventually resulted in an archetype basically called ‘The Buffoon’ (think Homer Simpson or Peter Griffin, the kind of guy people laugh at because he’s such an oaf).

At this point ‘The Buffoon’ wasn’t named or made a dwarf yet. JO came to DG to write him, but DG said there was a problem which is that he hates this archetype. Homer and Peter are characters that he despises. DG is a professional writer, but this was comedy (outside of his areas of strength), and he felt the best he would be able to do is write a character who makes fun of this archetype and lampshade that. Comedy is something that has to come from within the writer. Oghren was given to someone else, and he ended up getting rewritten again anyway. By the time they were working on Awakening, DAO had not yet come out, and the assumption prior to the game going out was that Oghren was still going to be the most popular character from among the followers. The comedic character that ended up being the most popular along these lines was Alistair, which was interesting as he wasn’t intended as a comedic character, “so shows what we know”. DG was dubious that Oghren was going to be popular, because “he was kind of pathetic, honestly”, but that was the thinking at the time. Thinking he would be well-loved is why he was in Awakening.

On Alistair, any character DG writes is going to be sarcastic. At the time DG had made it a sort of personal challenge to recreate Joss Whedon’s dialogue patterns in his characters. Alistair was a sort of mish-mash of Xander from Buffy and maybe Mal from Firefly. DG wanted to see if he could do it, so Alistair was kind of quippy and self-deprecating. DG never really considered this to be Alistair’s main personality feature, but when other writers wrote him, they often had him doing this, as they liked the trait so much, and so this is how Alistair ended up as he did.

On dwarves, the dwarves being cut off from the Fade is very much baked into who the dwarves are as a race. There’s a specific reason why. This has been hinted at so far and it’s likely to come up in the future. DG had various ideas for some things that he wanted to include with the races or the way the world works etc. Some of them ended up never happening or some are mentioned only as part of the lore (templar lyrium addiction never coming up in gameplay is an example of this). Dwarven history and the nature of the dwarves is one of the things that survived pretty well though. DG calls Jennifer Hepler “mistress of the dwarves” and says that she did a really detailed, amazing breakdown of their history. After Jennifer left it was Mary Kirby, and DG feels that they did a good job of maintaining how dwarves were, in terms of both how they’re often presented in fantasy and yet also quite different in DA. Orzammar is one of DG’s favorite plots all together. You can really tell that Jennifer Hepler really enjoyed the dwarves and brought a lot of love to that plot.

DG draws a distinction between DA fans and the unpleasant people who harassed Jennifer Hepler.

They managed to keep the Tranquil in. There was a while there where they were going to be cut. At the same time, DG regrets that they couldn’t solve the making of the player more aware of how mages are dangerous, thing. Players could make a cogent argument like “they’re not that dangerous, look at me [mage PC]” and the writers were like “well... yeah, that is fair”. It was a case of showing one thing and the player experience of it being another. DG feels that this made the templars come off worse than they are. DG feels that they are being massively unfair and too extreme in their approach to the problem, but the problem itself is a real thing. He feels that there’s some merit/truth in the argument that mages are oppressed, but he looks at it more like an issue like gun control rather than as treatment of oppressed people, saying that we don’t have an example in real life of oppressed people who can explode into demons and cast fireballs and so on.

There are some funny pronunciations that worked their way into DA, and the reason for a lot of them is as follows: the writers had to create a pronunciation guide for VO, because otherwise you end up with a lot of inconsistencies. (Some did still slip through). The guide was online, and if you clicked on a word, an audio file for it would play. Jennifer Hepler was in charge of this and did a great job, but has a really strong NY accent, and in some cases the ‘NY-ness’ of her pronunciation endearingly worked itself into things (the way Arlathan is sometimes said is an example of where this happened sometimes).

Sometimes the writers trying to communicate the “hotness” of a character to the artists didn’t go smoothly. The writers would sometimes say things like, ok, this character is a romance, they need to be hot, and the designs would come back looking “like Burt Reynolds”, and the writers would be like “???” And then a character that wasn’t particularly intended to be hot, as in that wasn’t mentioned at all in the descriptions of them, would come back “accidentally hot”, and the writers would be like “Why couldn’t you have done this when we were asking for a character that was meant to be hot”, and the artists would be like “What?? He’s not hot”. And this became a thing (lmao - this discussion was prompted by DG being asked “Was Duncan meant to be that hot?”, for context). Some of the artists were so paranoid about their [in]ability to judge actually-hot characters that when it was time to pick an appearance, like for Alistair, they gathered up all the women at BioWare, and DG (“resident gay”) into a room to show them an array of faces and bodies like “Is this hot? Is this hot?” DG and co would sit there like, “How can you not tell? Is this a straight man thing?!” Anyways, this is why oftentimes we ended up with characters who are accidentally hot.

Over time, the writers realized that the way they communicated to artists needed to be managed better. The words they would use would have different connotations to them the writers, than what they did to the artists. For example, for Anders’ design in DA2, he was supposed to be “a little haggard”. When DG thinks of haggard, he thinks ‘a little tired, mussed hair, looking like you’ve been through some shit’. But the artists based on that produced concepts with super sunken cheeks, looking like he’d been terribly starved. The writers needed to develop a specific vocabulary for communicating with the artists, as artists think in terms of how something looks, but writers are thinking in terms of what the character “is”. Anders’ description talked about his history a lot, and the one visual-type word that jumped out was “haggard” due to its visual connotations. “A lot it came down to the writers being up their/our own asses.”

When they got to DAI, they had figured out that the way to get best results on this front was /not/ to have the writer go off and develop a long description and pre-conceived notion of what the character looked like in their head. In such scenarios artists don’t feel that they have much to contribute to the process or an ability to put their own stamp on who this character is and make them interesting to them (the best, most interesting characters are when people at all stages of the pipeline properly get to feed into it). They learned that the better solution was to bring the artists in earlier, and to give them little blurbs, and not name the character but give them an ‘archetype’-sort of ‘name’. For example, Dorian was “the rockstar mage”, “cool”, “Freddie Mercury”. The writers wouldn’t be sure that a particular concept would ‘hit’, so at this stage they would offer an array of options and sit the artist down and walk them through the concepts. The artists would then provide a bunch of sketches and it would go back and forth, with both taking part in the character creation process together. For the first two games, the writers were “really hogging” this process to themselves. They got better at not doing this and better at communicating with the artists by DAI.

There were a lot of arguments about how mages in DAO had a lot of specific lore words like “Harrowing”, “phylactery”, “Rite of Tranquility” etc. There was concern that this would be too confusing for players to understand and that it was too complicated. DG says that thankfully he put his foot down and pushed for this stuff to be kept. A lot of fans assume that as lead writer DG had all this influence, way more influence than he could possibly exert on a team. He wasn’t even a lead, he was a sub-lead, under a lead designer. He only had so much say. If the lead designer or lead artist wanted to do something differently, often there was not much he could do. Hence he had to pick his battles carefully, choose the important ones to fight. The mage vocabulary thing was one of these.

Templar Greagoir’s name is pronounced “Gregor” and it comes from a place in Alberta near where DG lived.

Codex entries are usually one of the last things that get done in a project like this, and so all of that kind of textual lore comes in super late and is super punchy as by then the writers have written so much and are exhausted. They had to find a way to make this process cute or interesting or fun for themselves, which is why a lot of entries are quite fun to read. Sometimes a writer would make a joke for banter [irl], and it would end up making it into an entry.

Only Morrigan and Duncan got unique body models in DAO. The companions all have custom-morphed heads but not custom-morphed bodies (Morrigan not included here). This is why every model has a necklace or a collar right at the point where they had to be attached to be a body. These sometimes used assets that couldn’t be used by the PC but were not unique to that character. Duncan probably got a unique model because he was in a lot of marketing/promotional material. Qunari were originally conceived as having horns.

Most people didn’t even finish DAO once (public telemetry again here), only approximately 20-25% actually did. The devs try not to read too much into this kind of thing, but the telemetry does tell them where a lot of people stop playing the game permanently (they call these “drop-off points”). One of these points in DAO is the Fade during Broken Circle. Sometimes when people interpret this data they involve self-serving biases, but it was generally accepted that the Fade there was too long, too complex, not interesting enough, etc. [source]

[Part 2]

[Part 3]

[Part 4]

[Part 5]

[Part 6]

[‘Insights into DA dev from the Gamers For Groceries stream’ transcript]

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Let the Stars Witness

Okay okay holy— omg I did it! My first request and from an admired writer of mine no less!

From @kim-monsterlings : Hi and welcome!! Really looking forward to seeing your work! ~ If you would, could I request some form of friends to lovers with an orc? (Prompts maybe like, "you deserve better.") Thank you! <3

Since it wasn't specified on what their genders are, I hope your okay with what I went with! And I kinda trailed off from the prompt (or rather it's different but similar)

Anyways you'll know when you read!

•

Pairing: Male Orc (Duruk) x Human Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: None.

•

"You know, I never thought I would be friends with anyone here, especially with someone other than my, well, species," you tell your companion, your eyes not leaving the cloudless night sky as you lied on your back on the roof of his house. The stars were out tonight.

If you told your younger self that you'd be having great escapades (if running away and getting into a series of trouble fall under that) with an orc, you would most definitely cry your eyes out because you thought were being teased, taking it as a hurtful comment. You were sensitive like that. Part of the reason why no one would even go near you, afraid they might hurt you with a pat on the shoulder or with one word alone. You became the prime target of bullies, finding twisted amusement at your pathetic reactions. A crybaby, they called you. But it wasn't your fault you didn't have much control over your emotions. You were weird, asocial, timid, maybe even depressed. Having a neglectful family didn't help either, it just worsened.

•

The morning you met Duruk was after the orientation. And it was not so good for a first impression.

Long story short, you cried.

But since you're perhaps curious as to what happened exactly, let's elaborate.

You had your headphones on, the melodic sound of gentle rain played in a 3-hour loop and blocked out other noises, your eyes glued to the path you were on. You took long and hurried steps, wishing you could teleport to your classroom and hide in the back, disappear or become invisible.

You were distracted, or should we say, focused on the ground and expecting everyone to step aside and let you through.

Well, except for the one who had his back on you.

You crashed—not an exaggeration— into something- someone massive. You stumbled back and landed on your bum, wincing from the impact. Luckily, your headphones were safe (ah yes, priorities), detaching from your ears and landing on your shoulders. When you looked up to see who it was, you thought your eyes were gonna fall off, grow little legs, and scamper away.

Before you stood an orc, halfway turned to glance at whoever it was that tried to push him, his sharp tusks jutting out from his maw. His brows were furrowed as he looked down on you. Sure, he wasn't as tall as the orcs you've seen around the city and campus but still was over 6 feet, with muscles thicker than your thighs, easily hulking you.

You tried to get out an apology and run as far as you could go, but you just sat there, frozen as you strained your neck to meet his gaze, you couldn't look away. Your heart was trying to claw its way out into the surface.

Then you felt the tears swell up.

They cascaded down your face before you even could stop them.

The orc's eyes widened at your reaction and crouched down to your level in an instant that he almost fell over. His hands hovered, not sure what to do.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry. Please don't—"

"I-I-I'm re..really s-sorry p-please don't hurt m-me..." You managed to choke out pathetically, hiccuping in every word.

"Shhh now hey, it's okay. It was an accident— what? No! Why would I do that?" he replied. The orc peeked over his shoulder and to the sides. "Let's get you to somewhere, uh, less crowded," he added. You turned your head and saw that you had an audience, whispers went around as they sent pitiful and disgusted glances in your direction, only making you cry even more.

He proceeded to unceremoniously lift you into his arms, bridal style, and dashed away. You gripped the front of his shirt and shut your eyes. You were trembling now, scared of what he might do to you. How could you even fight back with your small stature?

It wasn't long until you felt him slow down and placed you carefully on a bench. The orc knelt in front of you, brows scrunched up as he studied your face.

"You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You didn't reply, only staring at him through your glassy eyes as you heaved.

You flinched when his hand started rubbing your back, his other hand placed on the side of the bench to balance himself.

He continued to caress your back and murmured soothing words in hopes of calming you down.

Your tears didn't stop falling until moments later when you came down from your initial fear, the warmth of his palm leaving your back once you did. All the while the orc remained where he was, at a loss of what to do next.

You rubbed your sticky face with the collar of your pale and blotchy crimson sweater, sniffing and taking slow, deep breaths before you spoke.

"I... I'm sorry for causing you trouble. E-Even going as far as to take me somewhere quiet. I...appreciate that." You thought you'd pass out with the way people gathered around you, it was suffocating. "Thank you..."

"I panicked," he started, "Sorry—I mean, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I get that a lot of people run away from the sight of me, but you didn't, and just froze there on the ground so..." he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

You shook your head. He was such an imposing figure to many, their first thought was most likely to get away or scream at him.

"You looked angry... When I bumped into you." You slammed into him actually, but he didn't budge an inch. Guess it was one-sided.

"Oh, that? Well, my brother scolds me a lot for having such a grumpy face, scaring humans away. Like he was the one to talk when he's taller and bigger than me! People would faint on the spot when they see him, I bet!"

The image your mind conjured up tore a laugh out of your body, two orcs arguing about how not to terrify people at sight was damn hilarious. When was the last time someone made you laugh like this?

The orc grinned, your reaction a contrast to that of earlier.

You opened your mouth to say something but the ringing of the great bell resounded, cutting you off. The two of you stood up as you realized you were late for your first class of the school year.

"So, uh, what now?" you asked.

"How about we go to our class, then maybe meet up later? Oh, fu— my mother will gut me— I haven't introduced myself!" He blurted out, his voice making you yelp with the sudden outburst.

Clearing his throat, he reached out, "I'm Duruk."

In turn, you gave him your name, taking his hand and smiled. "Hello, Duruk."

•

True to his word, you met again later when lunch came. The cafeteria was packed so you settled on getting the convenience food they offered and eat somewhere quiet.

Your conversation that day spiraled when you found out the two of you had a lot in common. From your favorite rock band to your favorite flavor of ice cream.

You both strongly agreed that vanilla ice cream was superior.

You agreed to meet up during breaks, always having something to chat about.

Eventually, you became inseparable.

He even changed and transferred to your class just so the two of you could be together at the start of the day rather than walk half of the campus to see each other every time.

You became best friends, sharing each moment in school, may it be helping the other stay awake in a boring class, or copying homework when one of you forgot to do it. Soon enough, Duruk started inviting you to his house to hang out. He did mention he had four other siblings, but he lived alone. You came by almost every night and on whole weekends to escape from home, only a few miles in between. No one would notice you gone anyways, but you returned around midnight, not wanting to impose on Duruk no matter what he says, so he walks you back instead.

You basked in each other's company. The odd and scrutinizing glares didn't go unnoticed when you two were together, but you shrugged them all off.

It didn't take long before you started having feelings for the orc, a little wishful thinking that you could be more than friends. You noted lately that his touches would linger seconds longer than usual, hugs and even a hand on your shoulder and back seem to be warmer and —you dare say— affectionate. It weighed heavily on your heart, your simple crush turned into something else, and it only grew with each passing day, and every laugh you shared.

But of course, you swatted those away, buried them deep inside every damn time they climb back up. Who could even love you? Yes, you have Duruk, he likes you, you think. But that's the end of it. Just close buddies. You can't take the risk of ruining your friendship with him and make things awkward with the only one you had! What if he stops talking to you, weirded out by your confession? You don't want to go back to being alone again, your heart can't take the rejection that came with it.

So you endured.

•

A little over five months ever since the embarrassing accident, here you are now, stargazing with your best friend.

"Well, good thing you didn't watch where you were going that time then," he says, chuckling beside you. His hands cushioned his head against the hard surface. "I wouldn't have..." he trails off.

"Hm, what?" you ask. Duruk went silent and didn't answer you for a time. You were about to let it slide but then he breathes in audibly.

"I wouldn't have met an angel if you did. Should've caught you in my arms, but sadly I didn't move fast enough." He replies, his voice deep and mellow.

You straighten up and turn to face him, your brows shot up, incredulous to what he just implied.

"W-Wait. What?" you squeak, your heart thumping hard in your chest, your skin warming up even in the chilled night air.

Is he—

"You're so cute, y'know that? Fuck it, it's all or nothing," he whispers under his breath as he sits up to face you. His expression was unreadable, but you see in his mahogany eyes a familiar glint of determination. "I'm not good with long-ass speeches so I'll make this short," he breathes in before he continues, "I feel something for you, for a while now, more than a best friend does, like...in a romantic sense. I want to cherish you and hold you in my arms every time I see you, I- ah fuck- damn it I just—" he growls, "I love you, so much and if you don't love me back then please re—"

You shut him off with your lips against his, Duruk's tusks pressing against your cheeks as you held his face in your hands. He was stunned for two solid seconds before returning the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you close and into his lap.

You feel something wet roll down your hand and you immediately jerked back to see his face. The orc was crying.

Did you do it wrong? Were you so terrible at it—

"I don't deserve you... A monster like me doesn't deserve an angel like you."

Where was this coming from??

"Say that again, I dare you."

"I don't de—"

This idiot!

You pecked his lips to cut him off.

"You big dummy," you begin, "I love you too, idiot. You may be a monster but not what everyone else defines you as. I love you as you are. You're my best friend, and dare I say my l-lover now. Is that right...?"

Duruk gives you a small, gentle smile, "If you'll have me, then yes, for as long as you want me to be." He says, sniffling a sob as a couple more tears tumbled down his rugged face.

You never thought you'd see him like this. He was the one who kept making you laugh with his stories and terrible jokes. Before you, in your hands was someone vulnerable, his eyes soft and fond as he gazed into yours.

It made your heart pound and it hurt.

You leaned in and he met you halfway, kissing once again, deeper and more intimate this time. Real. You brought your arms around his neck, your tears spilling out and he tightened his grip around you. It felt like a dream, too good to be true, but the way he hugged you like you were the only thing that anchored him in this world made you believe it wasn't. All of this was real and you couldn't be anymore happier.

From above, the glittering stars, the light gentle as they shone, bear witness to two freed hearts, bottled up feelings gushing out like a broken dam as you embraced one another and lost yourselves in the moment of bliss, cheeks stained and clothes lightly damp from the tiny rivulets of liquid that dropped down.

It's a lovely night, isn't it?

[dmsden]

A History Lesson - Looking back at D&D’s history

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Well, this is the 5th Monday in March, and that means I get to write about anything I want! It’s also my birth month, which means it’s my anniversary of getting into D&D (42 years!), and that has me feeling nostalgic. Coupled with a discussion I had recently with some friends, I thought it would be fun to look back at the various editions of D&D and give you all a bit of history. I’m not going to get into Gygax vs Arneson or any of that. I’m only talking about the published game itself, not its creators or its storied origins.

The original D&D (or OD&D as it’s sometimes called) came in a small box. It had three booklets inside - Men & Magic, Monsters & Treasure, and The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures - along with reference sheets and dice. Each was softcover and roughly the same dimensions as a DVD/BluRay case. The game was pretty rudimentary - for one thing, it assumed you already had a copy of Chainmail, D&D’s direct wargame predecessor. It also recommended you have a game called Outdoor Survival for purposes of traveling through the wilderness. It had only three classes - fighting man, magic-user, and cleric - and nothing about playing other races. It did have the insane charts that 1st edition would ultimately known for, and it was possible to play a pretty fun game of D&D with it, as its popularity would come to show.

The game expanded through similar chapbooks - Greyhawk, Blackmoor, Eldritch Wizardry, Gods Demigods & Heroes, Swords & Spells. With the exception of the last one, each brought new facets to the game - new classes like Thief and Monk, new spells, new threats. It was clear the game was going to need an overhaul, and it got one.

I consider this overhaul to yield the real “1st Edition”, as so much of the game didn’t exist in those original games. The game split into a “Basic” game, just called Dungeons & Dragons and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons.

The basic game was a boxed set that included a rulebook, a full adventure module, and dice...or, well, it was supposed to contain dice. The game was so popular and new in those days that demand for dice outstripped production. My copy of D&D came with a coupon for dice when they became available and a sheet of “chits” - laminated numbers meant to be put into cups (we used Dixie Cups with the name of the die written on it), shaken, and a random number pulled out without looking. It was meant to introduce new players to the game, so it was a trimmed down version. Races were human, elf, dwarf, and halfling, and classes were fighter, cleric, magic-user, and thief. The box only included rules for going up to 3rd level, with the intention that players would then graduate into AD&D. This is where I joined, with the old blue cover box set and In Search of the Unknown, before Keep on the Borderlands even existed.

AD&D was the game in its full glory. Along with the races I mention above, we got half-elves, half-orcs, and gnomes. The four basic classes also had sub-classes, like paladin and ranger for the fighter, druid for the cleric, illusionist for the wizard, and assassin for the thief. There were rules for multi-classing, as well as “Dual-classing”, a sort of multi-class variation for humans only, which, when done in the correct combination, could yield the infamous bard...which didn’t actually yield any bard abilities until around level 13 or so.

This edition had 5 different saving throws for things like “Death Magic”, “Petrification & Polymorph”, “Spells”, and so on. It had the infamous Armor Class system that started at 10 and went down, so that having a -3 AC was very good!  It also had specific attack matricies for each class; you would literally look on a table to determine the number you needed to roll on a D20 based on your class, your level, and your opponent’s armor class. It was fun, but it was very complicated.

It also had some, frankly, shitty rules. There was gender disparity in terms of attributes, which my group totally ignored. Because the game designers wanted humans to be a competitive the game, and because non-humans had so many abilities and could multiclass, non-humans were severely limited in the levels they could achieve in most classes. In fact, some classes, such as monk and paladin, were restricted only to humans.

As the years went on, things got a bit muddled. It probably didn’t help that the rules in Basic D&D and AD&D didn’t perfectly line up. In D&D, the worst armor class was a 9. In AD&D, the worst armor class was a 10. All of this led to an overhaul, but not one considered a separate edition. AD&D mostly got new covers and new books, like the Wilderness Survival Guide and Dungeon Survival Guide, Monster Manual 2, and the Manual of the Planes. It got a number of new settings, too. In addition to the default Greyhawk setting, we got the Forgotten Realms setting for the first time, details of which had been appearing in Dragon Magazine for years, thanks to the prolific Ed Greenwood. We also, eventually, got the whole Dragonlance saga, which yielded the setting of Krynn.

In this new version, Basic D&D broke off into its own game system to some degree. Elf, Dwarf, and Halfling started being treated like classes rather than races, with specific abilities at different levels. Higher level characters could be created using progressive boxes - Expert, Companion, Master, and Immortal, each with its own boxed set and supported by Mystara, a completely different setting that got its own updates over the years. It was odd, because D&D essentially was competing for players with AD&D, and I remember arguments with friends over which version was better (I was firmly in the AD&D camp.)

In 1989, when I was in college, they finally brought forth 2nd edition D&D. This streamlined things a little. Armor Class still went down, but now attack rolls boiled into a single number called To Hit Armor Class 0, or THAC0. It made the whole process of figuring out what you needed to roll a bit less cumbersome, but it was still a bit awkward. The classes got a lot of overhaul, including making Bard its own core class. But what I remember best about 2nd edition was the boom in settings. This was the age of settings, and many beloved ones got started, including Dark Sun, Planescape, Ravenloft, and Spelljammer.

It was also the age of the “Complete Handbooks”. They brought out splatbooks about every class and race in the game, as well as books expanding several concepts for the DM, such as the Arms & Equipment Guide, the Castle Guide, and the Complete Book of Villains. There were also splatbooks about running D&D in historic periods, such as Ancient Rome, among the ancient Celts, or during the time of the Musketeers. The game got new covers for the rule books again, and a bunch of books about options started coming out. It was a boom time for books, but many people complained there was too much.

Without going too deep, TSR ended up in severe financial troubles. They declared bankruptcy, and there was real fear of the game going away. And then Wizards of the Coast (WotC) stepped in. They helped TSR get back onto its feet, and they helped produce some modules specifically engineered to help DM’s bring an end to their campaign...possibly even their whole campaign world...because something big was coming.

That something big was, of course, 3rd edition D&D. The game got majorly streamlined, and many sacred cows ended up as hamburger. AC finally started going up instead of down. Everything was refined to the “D20″ system we’ve been playing ever since. Races could be any class. There were no level or stat limits for anyone. After years of the game being forced into tight little boxes, it really felt like we could breathe. I had stopped playing D&D, but 3rd edition brought me back into the fold. I often say that 3E was made for the players who’d felt constricted and wanted more flexibility.

The trouble with 3E, and its successor 3.5, is that it was still a dense and difficult game for newcomers to get into. It’s been acknowledged that D&D essentially created many of the systems we see and know in other games - experience points, leveling up, hit points, etc. But trying to break into the experience for the first time was difficult. The look of 3E was gorgeous, but I understood that it must seem awfully daunting to someone who’d never played.

4E and its follow-up, Essentials, was an attempt to course correct that. They tried to make this edition incredibly friendly to new DMs, and, frankly, they succeeded. By creating player classes and monsters and magic-items that were all very plug and play, they did a great job of creating a game that someone who had never DMed before could dive into with no experience or mentor and start a game pretty easily. Encounter design was given a lot of ease, and there were promises of a robust online tool system that would help out with many of the more tedious aspects of playing.

There was also a lot of shake up in terms of choices. Suddenly, new classes and races were proliferating like crazy. We got the dragonborn, the tiefling, and the eladrin right in the core book, but we said good-bye to the gnome and half-orc at first. Suddenly the warlock was the new class everyone wanted to try. We got paragon paths and epic destinies that would really shape a character as time went on. The game went very tactical, as well, which some of us loved. The concept of rituals came into the game. Later books like the Player’s Handbook 2 and 3 gave us back gnomes and half-orcs, and also gave us minotaurs, wilden, shardminds, and githzerai. We got new psionic classes, brand new class concepts like the Runeknight and the Seeker...

But there was a tremendous backlash. People felt that, in making the game so very plug and play, they’d taken a ton of choice away from the players. Without the tools (which were never that robust, frankly), it was almost impossible to navigate the massive panoply of options. And, worse, it was harder and harder to develop encounters without those tools. People complained that the game had gone more tactical in order to sell miniatures and battlemats. Given that I have never played the game without miniatures and battlemats (since I started in the days when D&D was still half-wargame), I found this odd, but I also understand my style of play isn’t everyone’s.

The one argument I will never understand is that it didn’t “feel” like D&D, or it was somehow ONLY a tactical game and not a role-playing game any more. Again, given that the original game didn’t even call itself a role-playing game, this felt odd. Personally, I roleplay no matter what game I’m playing. If I’m playing Monopoly, I’m roleplaying, doing voices, and pretending to be something I’m not. I honestly enjoyed 4E, and I know a lot of folks who did, too. A lot of it may simply come down to style of play. But I also enjoyed all the games that came before, including Pathfinder. To paraphrase the YouTube content creator The Dungeon Bastard, “Does your game have dungeons? Does it have dragons? Great. I wanna play.”

As a sidenote, in the months leading up to 4E’s release, a lot of internet videos were released by WotC emphasizing the nature of change and talking about differences in the rules. They also released some preview books showing the direction they were heading. WotC must have anticipated that people were going to find this edition very different indeed. They also cleverly brought in some very funny folks - Scott Kurtz from PVPOnline and Jerry Holkins & Mike Krahulik from Penny Arcade - and got them to play D&D for podcasting purposes. Looking back, this must’ve brought in a lot of listeners who might never have played D&D and given them a reason to try it out.

After its release, WotC clearly noted that missteps had been made, as this edition of the game was losing them players. They began work on what they referred to as D&D Next, and, this time, they did massive amounts of playtesting, some of which I participated in.

I don’t feel like I have to describe 5E to any of you, Dear Readers, as you could go to virtually any store and pick it up. I am a big fan of 5E’s simplicity and elegance, and I suspect this is the edition of D&D we’re going to have for some time to come, especially given its popularity. Given the effect of podcasts like Critical Role (and I might save an article on Critical Role’s importance to D&D until my next Freestyle article), D&D is likely more popular now than it’s ever been, with a much wider and more diverse audience than ever before.

I know I’m painting with broad strokes here, but I hope this was, at least, entertaining, and maybe you learned something, Gentle Readers. Until we next meet, may all your 20s be natural.

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part-Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Oviposition, Egg Laying, Birth, Surgery, Male Infertility Words: 4029

Dr. Halvorg learns what could be causing his infertility and makes arrangements to try and correct it. He and the reader become closer, and the reader attempts to do something to help him feel less lonely and unfulfilled. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Halvorg went in for the tests that same week, returning afterwards subdued and blushing slightly. You assumed he’d never given a… sample… before.

“How’d it go?” You asked him.

He rubbed his neck bashfully. “It was… thorough.”

You snickered. “At least it wasn’t a biopsy after an abnormal pap smear. Those are traumatic.”

He looked aghast. “I can only imagine.”

“Did they say when the results would be in?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re supposed to call me when they come back. Could be a week or so.”

You patted his arm softly. “How are you feeling?”

He sighed heavily. “Worried. This could change my life or confirm my worst fear. Either way, I’m… well, to be honest, I’m a little scared.”

“I understand,” You replied. “Well, no, I don’t. My family is disgustingly fertile. If I ever tried to get pregnant, I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long.” You looked up at him with sympathy. “But I do feel for you.”

“I appreciate that,” He said solemnly. He looked at you curiously. “If I might ask, how old are you?”

“I’ll be one hundred and seventy four years in August,” You said.

“And you’ve never considered having children in that time?” He asked.

“Not really. I figured I had enough nieces and nephews that I didn’t think it was necessary. I mean, I’m not against the idea of having children, I’ve just been career oriented for most of my life and never really settled down in any place for very long. I’ve never been married, never had any serious relationships, never dating with the intent on finding ‘the one.’ I figured if I wanted that, it would come in time and I would let it happen naturally and there was no need to rush it. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” He said. “That’s how I used to be for a good three centuries. It wasn’t until I did marry and tried to make a family and failed, again and again, that I sort of became… obsessed.”

“How many times have you been married?”

“Thirty times, I believe.”

“Were they all human?”

“Most of them were,” He said. “There were a couple of tieflings, a half-orc woman, a faun, a selkie, and a dryad. I stayed with them all until the end of their lives, except the last one who left me. I’m nothing if not devoted.” He cocked his head. “Well, I divorced the dryad. She wasn’t happy that I couldn’t conceive children and berated me for it.”

“Oh, jeez, what a bitch,” You said, frowning.

He snorted. “I may have used similar language at the time.”

“I can’t imagine you calling someone a bitch,” You said, side-eyeing him.

“I was a different man in my youth,” He said, smiling. “I’ve got some papers to file. I’ll see you later.”

You waved him off, watching him walk briskly and frowned. He’d lost so much, been disappointed so often, given up on the things he wanted for himself to help others. He was using what he had to give others what he wanted, and as noble a pursuit as that was, it was also rather sad. And what if he got the news he was dreading the most. He’d be devastated.

Was there anything you could do to make him feel better? Was there something you could give him that would make him feel less… incomplete? The only time he seemed genuinely happy was when he was with the children. What else could give him the same joy?

The boy. It came to you suddenly. What about the boy he thought was his son? The one he raised until his mother left with him? Could you find him? Was he alive?

At lunchtime, you sat down with Amai in the cafeteria.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” You asked.

“Sure, what is it?” She responded, sipping her coffee. She always craved coffee when she was incubating and downed gallons of it after laying.

“The boy Halvorg raised, what was his name?”

“Robert, I think?” She said. “I can ask Yenuno, he knows.”

“What year was he born?”

“Uhhh… 1901 or around there.”

“What was his mother’s name?”

“Martha--why are you asking about this?”

You sighed. “I want to find Halvorg’s son. He may be dead now, but I have to try. Halvorg is so unhappy, he’s just gotten really good at hiding it. I want to give him some kind of closure.”

Amai winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Spending all these years around him, I can see how much he’s hurting, even if he tries to mask it.” She sighed. “I have some contacts at the census archives and I can make some inquiries. I’ll check the lineages websites and find as many records as I can.” Amai snorted. “Maybe he’ll be less uptight.”

“Amai!” You retorted.

“Sorry, sorry!” Amai held her hands up. “I’m sorry, it’s a reflex by now, sorry. This is serious. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” You said with a warning tone. “This is serious.”

“I know,” Amai said, her face more solemn. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” You repeated. “I’m sorry to put more work on you, though.”

She tsked at you. “Please, I always take maternity leave during Yenuno’s time incubating. I generally have nothing to do but keep the big guy company while he’s stuck in one place. It’ll give me something to do.”

Halvorg got the call a few days later and informed you of the appointment time. You offered to drive him, and he gratefully accepted.

“Are you alright?” You asked him.

He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I don’t know. This is either a new beginning or the end of the road. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I’ll be with you, no matter what,” You told him.

He grimaced in a failed attempt to smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat in the waiting room for a moment before being called back into an exam room. He sat there in his chair and fidgeted nervously. You put your hand on his and held it. He looked up at you with fear in his eyes and didn’t shake you off.

The doctor knocked on the door and let himself in. Halvorg straightened up, releasing your hand.

“Alright, Dr. Halvorg,” He said, sitting at the table. “We Have your results back. Blood and urine came back normal, and there’s nothing abnormal on your x-rays.” He flipped on the computer screen on the desk in front of him and pulled up Halvorg’s file. “However, there was abnormalities in your sperm sample and the MRI.”

“What type of abnormalities?”

“Well, first of all, your semen sample didn’t have any sperm in it.”

Halvorg looked confused. “What?”

“It’s a condition known as Azoospermia. It’s basically when there’s a blockage somewhere that’s trapping the sperm, which is why there weren’t any little swimmers in your sample.” The doctor clicked on one of the tabs and opened an MRI of Halvorg’s pelvic area and pointed out the anomalies. “The MRI confirms it. There doesn’t appear to be a connection between your epididymus and your vas diferens, and without that connection, the sperm is completely blocked. There’s also a blockage from your testes to the urethra. You appear to have been born with all of these blockages.”

“How does that happen?”

“As to that,” The doctor said, looking at the paperwork he came in with. “Your genetics test came back, and it appears that you have a mutation of Cystic Fibrosis. Thankfully, with this mutation, there are no other typical symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis besides the infertility.”

“Can it be corrected?” Halvorg asked anxiously.

“Yes, microsurgery can correct it. Before we do that, we’ll need to take a sample directly from the testicle with a needle to see if you’re producing sperm at all and look at the count. If we determine that the general sperm production is not the problem, then we’ll proceed with surgery.”

Halvorg sat in a stunned silence, gripping his knees tightly.

“So… it’s possible that I could have children?” He asked.

“There is a possibility,” The doctor said. “We would have to wait until after the surgery and take another sample. I don’t want to get your hopes up too soon, the sperm count could be low, they could be abnormal. There are a bunch of things that could go wrong.”

“But there’s a chance?” Halvorg asked, his eyes as wide and vulnerable as a puppy.

“There’s a chance,” The doctor replied.

As the two of you left the clinic and headed to your car, before you could get to your door, Halvorg gently took your arm, swung you around, took your face in his hands, and kissed you full on the mouth. You made a sound of surprise, but you didn’t push him away.

He lingered for a moment or two before breaking away and saying, “I’m sorry, I know that was extremely unprofessional and probably unwanted, but I don’t know how to thank you. I owe you so much, I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.” He gulped and looked at you earnestly, breathing out a shaky breath. “Do you remember when you asked me to dinner?”

“Yeah?” You asked, confused but intrigued by the sudden softening of his prickly exterior.

“Does the offer still stand?”

You smiled at him slowly and took his hands. They were trembling. This was the first time in a century he’d asked a woman out, after all.

“Yeah,” You replied, stepping closer so that your body lightly brushed his. “Yeah, it does.”

He smiled wide and kissed you again.

Maël went in the next day to have a sample taken, and was thrilled to learn that he did have a decent amount of sperm production. He scheduled the surgery immediately. The recovery time would be at least six weeks, and it was advised that he didn’t try to have sexual relations for another two weeks after that. Plenty of time to feel out your new blooming relationship and get more comfortable with each other.

Thankfully, you had a week to actually go on a few dates before he went under the knife. He took you to Dunmountain on a weekend trip to the museum and the opera. It was the first time you’d done anything like this recreationally in a really long time, and you loved every second of it.

Even though you were sharing a hotel room and a bed, he didn’t attempt to be intimate with you, and you didn’t push him. It had been a century since he last took a woman to bed, and you imagined he felt a little nervous about it.

You didn’t go out of your way to tell people that you were together, but it wasn’t a big secret either. Yenuno and Amai were overjoyed for the two of you. Maël had told Yenuno and Amai about the surgery, but he claimed it was a hernia. You weren’t sure if he would tell them the whole truth. Not unless he got the results he wanted.

By the time he healed completely, it would be about time for the eggs to hatch. Yenuno was already restless and it had only been a month.

You drove Maël to the surgical clinic on the day of his surgery, sat with him in pre-op while he waited nervously and just talked him through his anxiety, holding his hand when they put the IV in. They gave him some medicine to help calm his nerves, and he began to grow sleepy. You stroked his head and watched his eyes fluttered closed. They wheeled him into surgery while he was still snoozing.

The procedure didn’t take very long, only about an hour, and you waited to be called back. A nurse came to retrieve you and took you to his room.

He lay there in bed, drifting in and out.

“Hey, sweetie,” You said, rubbing his arm. “How are we feeling?”

“Sore and thirsty,” He croaked.

You picked up the cup with water in it the nurse had provided and helped him take a sip.

“I’m not surprised you’re sore,” You remarked, setting the cup back down. “A whole bunch of people fondled your balls for an hour.”

He wheezed a laugh. You loved it when he laughed. It changed his whole face. “Did they say when they’d release me?”

“As soon as you can pee on your own, they’ll let you out of here. They said there would be swelling so it might be a while before you’re able to do it, though. I’ll wait.”

He held his hand out for yours and you took it.

“I feel like all I do these days is thank you,” He said. “I wish I could do as much for you as you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” You said. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. But I’ll keep you around. You’re cute.”

He breathed another laugh through his nose. “I’m glad. I’ve become rather fond of you.”

You kissed his knuckles. “Likewise.”

He managed to relieve himself right after dinnertime, and was declared clear to go home. You drove him back to the facility and helped him to bed. He was asleep before you left his apartment.

Heading back into your own apartment for the night and sat heavily on your couch. God, you needed to do laundry. It had been a chaotic few weeks.

You started picking up clothes that were strewn haphazardly over furniture, and while picking up a pair of jeans, a small book fell out.

Oh. Right. Maël’s research notes. You’d meant to give it back. Well, Maël was going to be recovering in bed for a few days and likely sleeping most of that time. You could give it back when he was back on his feet. You placed it in the drawer of your nightstand, stared at it for a minute, and went on to start laundry.

And promptly forgot about it for a second time.

Maël slowly healed, though he walked a little stiffly for a few weeks and was careful when sitting. He was a little more irritable than normal, but you imagined he was trying to adjust and was also still worried about whether or not the surgery had worked. He wouldn’t know for another several weeks.

The children kept bringing him flowers they found in the forest to cheer him up, which always seemed to lift his spirits. You spent the evenings with him, talking and cuddling and kissing. You felt like a teenager again, and you hadn’t been a teenager in over one hundred and fifty years.

You were starting to regret the timing of the surgery, though. Sometimes the making out would get pretty hot and heavy, and you had to force yourselves to stop for fear of injuring him.

One night after you’d been dating for just under two months, he was kissing your neck and began to unbutton your shirt. You stopped him.

“You haven’t been cleared for intercourse, have you?” You asked him.

“No, not yet,” He said, breathing heavily and biting his lip. His white-blonde hair was out of it’s normal clean braid and falling around his face. “But I can do something for you.” His hand drifted down your abdomen and between your thighs.

“Oh,” You said, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”

He slipped his hand into your panties and stroked you, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I haven’t done it in a while,” He said, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. “But I think I still know how to do this.”

He got up from the couch and pulled you by your legs gently so that you were laying flat, pushing up your skirt and pulling off your panties. He knelt back down on the couch, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He slowly spread your legs and pushed your knees upward. He started kissing and sucking the inside of your thigh while circling your bud with his thumb. You moaned and lay back into the cushions, giving over to the sensations.

As he kissed his way toward the apex, he slipped his middle finger inside you and thrust it gently in and out. You whimpered and gripped the couch, your hips grinding against his hand.

“Maël, please,” You breathed.

He growled low in his throat, sending a shockwave through your spine.

“Since you said please,” He whispered teasingly, and pressed his tongue to your clit. Your toes curled at the contact and you grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Oh god,” You whispered. “Maël.”

He placed his whole mouth over you, licking and sucking, adding another finger inside you. He certainly did remember how to do this.

“Fuck!” You said through gritted teeth, followed up by a shuddering moan, raising your head to watch him. He looked up at you through his long lashes and doubled his efforts, sucking your labia into his mouth and pulling, adding a third finger. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Still sucking, he grinned up at you and quirked an eyebrow. He withdrew his fingers and used his hands to push your knees into your chest to open you up wider. You grabbed his head with both hands and rocked your clit against his tongue.

You came as though hit by a bus, loud and violent. Your butt lifted off of the couch as you pulsed in ecstasy, screaming. You hoped the walls of his apartment were soundproof. You couldn’t believe that he’d made you come in under a minute.

“How? How did you do that?” You wheezed.

He chuckled darkly. “I was married thirty times, darling. If I don’t know what I’m doing by now, I shouldn’t be dating at all.”

You just sort of laid there like a starfish while you got your breath back and cooled down. Maël went to fetch you some water and a snack. Eventually, you found your underwear and put it back on. Once your heart rate had slowed, he pulled you into his lap and kissed you slowly until you fell asleep. The next morning, you woke up next to him in his bed. You were tucked up under his arm and he was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, both of your cellphones buzzed at once. Maël snorted awake and untangled himself from you, picking up his phone, looking at it, and jumping out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“The eggs are hatching!” He exclaimed hastily, pulling clothes out of drawers and putting them on hurriedly. You threw your clothes on and joined Maël’s mad dash for the door.

When you got to the receiving area, the kids were milling around inside, instructed to stay away from the cottage until the babies were born, but they were craning their necks to see what was happening.

Amai was in the shelter with Yenuno and several members of the hatching team, looking into the circle of his tail. She looked up and saw the two of you running up and shouted: “Hurry! They’re almost out!”

You and Maël darted up the ramp and looked down into the coil. All three of the eggs were cracked open and little arms and tails were poking out.

“Vitals?” Maël asked, donning a surgeon’s paper outfit and instructing you to do the same.

“Vitals are elevated but within acceptable range,” One of the nurses said.

“Good,” Maël said. “Alright, we just have to stand back. They’ll do most of the work.

Amai and Yenuno were watching the eggs hatch with awe on their faces. You supposed watching this never got old for them. You wondered if they would miss this now that they decided to stop laying.

Slowly, the little wiggling figures freed themselves from their shells and were crawling around on their hands, looking up at their parents. Maël used that distraction to examine them.

“No way…” He said in a hushed tone. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Amai asked a little shrilly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Maël said, grinning up at her. “They’re all girls.”

“What?!” Yenuno and Amai said in unison, looking at their new little ones.

From what Maël had told you, the ratio of male to female births of Blue Gill Nagas was disproportionately skewed in favor of males. One in twenty eggs contained a female. Having an entire clutch of females was extremely rare.

Yenuno and Amai cried with joy and excitement. They’d been hoping to have at least one more little girl. To get three in one go was overwhelming.

Maël supervised the clean up process, and when they were ready, Yenuno and Amai brought the three baby girls out and introduced them to their siblings. You watched on the ramp with Maël, smiling, and took his hand. He squeezed yours in return. Looking up at his face, you could see he was crying, too.

This is what Maël wanted. He wanted to be the first to say hello to his own child, to be the first to hold them, to be the first to tell them he loved them. He wanted to kiss their brow and dance with them when they were crying and sing them to sleep at night. To get on the floor and play with them and put bandaids on their knees when they scraped them. He was desperate to experience that again, like he had with his son.

After the hatching, Maël went to file the new birth paperwork and Amai and Yenuno and their children were spending the next few days together. That left you with nothing to do.

Back in your apartment, you lay in your bed, thinking about that morning over and over. The babies busting out of their shells, the look of joy on their parents’ faces, the mix of happiness and pain on Maël’s.

You sat up to get your lip balm from your night table, and again found the book. You really ought to give it back. You’d been absent-minded about this for too long.

You opened it, flipping through pages until you landed on the date you first arrived at the facility. Intrigued, you read it.

“Amai’s friend finally made it today. It was exciting to meet her; I’ve been following her career for so long. She’s done so much for the non-human community. Amai didn’t tell me how breathtakingly beautiful she was. My heart stopped when I saw her out of the window. I haven’t felt attraction like this in centuries.”

Oh. Oh god. This was his personal diary. You knew you should stop reading it, but couldn’t. You had no idea he’d felt this way.

“I think I’m flirting with her, but I’m not trying to. I can’t help it. She’s funny and intelligent and everything I love in a woman. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying so hard to stay professional, but I can seem to stop smiling around her.”

The next entry was the day you asked him to dinner.

“She asked me out on a date tonight. It was so hard to say no, but there’s no point, is there? She won’t want me if she knows I can’t have children. She’ll either leave me or mock me. There’s no point. I’ll avoid her. That’s all I can do. It’s best if I don’t get closer to her. Even friendship is dangerous. I’m already half in love with her, and I don’t think I could take it if we started a relationship and she ended up pitying me or disgusted. I can’t do it again.”

There were no more mentions of you in the book after that. You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears hit the page.

It was then that you made a decision.

You took out your phone and dialed your gynecologist’s office. “Hi, Grace, I’d like to schedule a consultation with the doctor about canceling my next birth control injection.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[soft-for-them]

frumpkin ♡ caleb widogast x reader

Annon🪐: Hey!! I saw your post about writing for critical role and got so excited, always happy to have more writers! I'd love to see a Caleb x reader where he comforts the reader during a panic attack. I don't really have a preference as to headcanons vs one-shots, so whichever you’d prefer. Hope I didn't miss anything, thanks!

Anyone can read this, can be platonic or romantic, it’s based on my own panic attacks so sorry if it’s a bit specific, not proof read like usual.

Panic attacks have always plagued your life, it’s a thing you have unfortunately learnt to live with.

You know all the breathing exercises and mind tricks to get you out of an attack but really all you ever want when you feel the nervous feeling of panic rile up in you is a friend to talk to. For trying to stop a panic attack by yourself never truly works. You always find that stopping a panic attack by yourself makes you feel down for the rest of the day.

When you were a teenager you had ran away from your home to the circus, taken in by the half elf Gustav Fletching. For the first couple of years you helped the circus folk set up tents and decorate, then you found your love for art (no matter how good or bad you are at it).

Many years later you still helped out with the big top but you had become a portrait artist getting extra money from the patrons that came to the shows.

When you were around twenty or so you had met Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin.

The blood hunter and barbarian had always had their own ways of calming you down before you could have a full on panic attack but neither of them have ever seen you have a proper one.

Molly is always the type of person who would tell you stories to try to get you to calm down and Yasha would always try and stay near you becoming a shoulder to cry on if need be. However, none of them have ever seen you pace up and down whilst tears stream down your face and your hands shake in absolute discomfort.

No, they have never seen you fully break down.

Your panic attacks have almost disappeared since joining the Mighty Nein, since your found family has grown bigger. Yeah, you miss the carnival but you now feel like you’re doing something with your life now that you’re on this journey.

The Nein and you have all be travelling, in between quests, the canopy of the forest lighting the squiggly path to the next town. Right now you are setting up you tent that looks like a mini high top, the happy memories of your carnival days flooding your brain.

The tent is big enough for three or four people, depending on how bulky someone is. Normally it’s you, Mollymauk and Yasha snuggled in the tent much like you’re used to.

With a good meal in you and the sun setting you take the first watch, watching the orange sun blending in with purple that the night sky brings.

Soon enough Fjord taps you on your shoulder telling you softly that you watch is up.

With a soft smile you give him a small hug and a hearty goodnight, wishing him a peaceful sleep. The tall half orc only splutters out a ‘You too, goodnight (y/n).’

You have developed a soft spot for the half orc. You hug him once more him now sitting down and you bending down to do so you say your finale goodnight.

It’s a short walk to your tent, it’s very hard to miss, the patched up striped reds and pokkadot patterns stand out even in the dimming lights of the night. With a long stretch, your arms raised above your head, you walk into the tent Molly already in his corner of the tent.

‘To bed this early?’ you muse as you take off your boots and light armour.

‘Need my beauty sleep.’ He jokes sipping on a little flask presumably of some strong alcohol.

‘Well sleeping does help with beauty sleep.’ You joke back as you like down in the middle of the tent, leaving a gap to you over side for Yasha or any other person who feels like sleeping inside your tent (though it’s always been you, Molly and Yasha inside the colourful tent.)

For a while the two of you talk, mostly on the subject of setting up Yasha and Beau up like the good friends you both are but soon the talk turns to who Molly might want to set you up with.

‘You fancy someone don’t you?’ he teases knowing full well that you do have a thing for someone in the Mighty Nein.

‘Shut up Molly!’ you mutter turning away from him and snuggling into your covers.

Your try to sleep but he keeps on talking.

‘Is it… Caleb, you two share a similar quiet and shy nature, though you actually wash.’

You ignore him.

‘Or Fjord? I think he likes you and your hugs?’

You cover you head with your blanket.

‘Oh, are you into one of the lovely women of the group, Jester has been spending a lot of time around you lately?’

‘Mollymauk Tealeaf I will smother you if you don’t let me sleep!’

The purple tiefling chuckles but drops the questing, allowing you to fall asleep.

.

.

You wake up in fear, cold sweat dripping down your neck and back, the white of your shirt surly soaked. Your eyes shift around quickly to the people sleeping soundly in your tent. Molly is were he was before, deep in his beauty sleep. However, you are now sandwiched in between him and Yasha.

She must have fished her shift for she is fast asleep stealing part of your blanket.

 Your breathing is laboured and you feel weak.

‘It was only a dream (y/n).’ you try to reason with yourself, sitting up and throwing the rest of your blanket onto Yasha.

Surely you can’t wake them up now, right?

The feeling you have is panic but you aren’t in a full blow panic attack yet, Molly and Yasha know what to do to calm you down. But they are asleep and you fear that if you wake any of them that they’d be angry with you.

They certainly won’t be angry with you but your brain says untrue things to you when your panicky.

First you try some breathing exercises.

They do not work.

You then try and search around for your sketchbook. Jester had drawn a cartoon of you and her in it that automatically makes you feel happy.

You can’t find the book in the dark.

You truly don’t want to wake up Molly or Yasha, you really don’t.

So, you scramble out of your tent, no shoes or coat, you just need to get out.

The cold early morning air hits you, the sun not even up yet but the moon low in the sky.

 When you had first met the Nein you had tried to get to know everyone, despite your more introverted nature compared to the more colourful characters of the group. One night you had helped Nott pick pocket a rich man, not your greatest moment but it was very fun.

Out on that little stealing adventure Nott had said something that has stuck with you.

‘Sometimes just walking about outside calms me down, stealing helps as well.’ The stealing part might not help you but the walking part might.

With socked feet and hands stimming you begin to walk towards where you were earlier taking watch.

Molly, Yasha or Fjord won’t be there but there must be someone there to talk to before your start to cry.

The short walk towards the watch area seems like you’re walking a mile and your breaths start to become even more infrequent, you forgetting to breath out when you inhale a large breath. Tears begin to rim your eyes and your hands carry on shaking.

You’re not going to make it to whoever is on watch, you are going to break.

You stop and drop to the floor, legs crossed and hands going to you face, wiping away the now falling tears that don’t seem to stop. In this sitting down position you begin to slowly rock back and forward, tiny sobs escaping your lips.

Unknown to you the place you have decided to sit down and cry in is near enough to the person on watch that they can hear your sobs.

 Caleb stands up, looking over the camp, seeing you breaking down on the forest floor.

He has no clue what to properly do.

Normally he is alone when he had any kind of panic attack but then he realises something. The last couple of attacks he has personally had Nott was actually around to help him. Nott was always there to calm him down with cuddles and calm words.

Could he go and get Nott?

No, that would get more attention on the panicked you.

Who else helps him?

Frumpkin!

Caleb quickly summons the cat familiar and he points over to you.

‘Go over to (y/n), ya?’ the Bengal cat nudges his head into Caleb’s legs then pounces off to the crying you.

As soft lump steps into your lap and nudges to hand covered face with its soft fur.

You nervously take down a hand to see Frumpkin nudging you in the way only cats do. He pauses for a moment but proceeds to carry on nudging you when he still sees tears dripping down your face.

Your breathing hitches but there is some kind of clarity as the cat nuzzles the wetness of your cheeks almost like he’s purposely wiping away your tears.

‘…Frumpkin…’ tears well up again but not in sadness per say, it’s a combination of still being panicky but also happiness that the ginger cat is trying to calm you down.

Your arms snake around the slim cat in a small cuddle, you still rocking just a bit.

‘D-did Caleb send you?’ you whisper to the cat in your arms, knowing the answer to the question.

Once your wobbly words are spoken you look up to see a nervous looking Caleb standing near. He fidgets a bit, not looking you in the eyes, though you aren’t looking at him directly either.

‘May I sit down meine liebste?‘ he asks. All you do is nod your head.

He sits down about a body away from you but you automatically nudge up to him so your legs are touching, Frumpkin purring at the two of you.

Your breathing is still a bit funny, a breath being held in. Caleb pauses as he, his hand stops pats Frumpkin’s head.

‘Let your breath out, breath.’ you look at Caleb and try to match his breathing.

‘Thank you, Caleb.’you eventually say.

Your body is still hunched over but you have calmed down, the panic attack has passed, which is very different to normal.

‘Not need to thank me (y/n), no need to thank me.’ He takes his had off of Frumpkin’s head and pats your knee, albeit a bit awkwardly but it gets you both looking up to each other.

You give him a small smile which makes his ear turn red in a blush.

‘C-can I take watch with you for a while?’ you ask.

‘Ya, we can watch the sun rise together.’

.

.

.

i had a bit of a hard time formatting it so sorry if it looks odd.

also, please send in some more critical role requests! (do mind that i’m new to listening to campaign two.)

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

(Gen Start-Up) Not Worth It pt. 1

{Reader gets sent from our world to middle earth and falls in love with either Fili/Kili/Thoron or heck maybe all three, I'll leave that up to you, and upon coming to middle earth they get the healing powers. All they gotta do is put their hands on the person and concentrate. BUT these healing abilities have a cost if the injury is severe. Maybe they either transfer the injury to themselves until it evens out between the two? Or it takes a lot of energy from them and if they use it too much they will die. Then Reader tries to heal Thorin/Kili/Fili at the end." --- Britishfajita}

Fluff and Slight Angst

Authors Note: This is the beginning of a wonderful three (or maybe more) part connected series! Same reader for all three of the Durin's who I plan to make this for. There may be multiple parts for them, idk yet. We'll just see what happens :D!

The Durins/Reader

----

You could have been so extraordinary in your past life.

Special, wanted, powerful.

And, to some extent, you were wanted and desired, but you could never deliver on those expectations and hopes.

Your special ability to heal, ease pain, and help others was never anything special where you lived. Many people had healing abilities similar to and better than yours, and most, if none, had the drawbacks that yours did.

Where normal healers can use their powerful auras to mend and strengthen others to accelerate the healing process, yours is much more of a give and take, parasitic relationship between 'doctor' and patient. Instead of your aura enhancing the healing ability of others, it instead participates in a transfer that can leave you wounded yourself.

You retain your ability to heal and, essentially, switch auras in a wound transferral. You do not always inherit the wounds of those you heal, however.

Depending on the severity of an injury, you may be left winded, tired, or extremely hungry, but in more serious instances, the damages completely transfer to you instead.

The best way to exemplify this would be to explain how you found out about this horrible symbiotic relationship in the first place.

Your parents knew you were a healer from a young age, for there are individuals who test all children in schools to determine what classes they will need to hone their abilities, and they figured out your ameliorative nature rather easily.

The fatigue and pain you sometimes felt during training and classes was just chalked up to your control and aura being weaker, for your parasitic power was something very uncommon at the time.

It happened during your first ever shift at the local hospital.

Up to this point you've only ever dealt with smaller wounds because of your easy fatigue and exhaustion, but this day was different.

A disaster struck a nearby bank that left 40 people, and counting, injured, and it was all hands on deck. Every person on staff had somethings to do, and when a young woman with debris sticking out of her abdomen came rolling in, you were the only one free to help at the time.

You took up the assignment without hesitation, but as soon as you began to heal her, something felt different.

There was no weakness at first, something very alien to you, and you were able to heal her in record time for even one of the most skilled (and normal) healers, only, you eventually realized that something wasn't right.

The pain you felt that day was horrible and unimaginable, and you went down in a matter of moments.

It wasn't until 5 minutes later that someone found you unconscious on the ground, pale and barely breathing. If it weren't for your current location, you certainly would've died that day.

That young woman had been saved and, somehow, her power had been enhanced as well after your treatment, but it left your aura damaged and practically sucking the life out of you following her miraculous recovery.

The whole premise of your power is the nature of give and take. You give a piece of your aura to someone else to heal and enhance them (be it their power, strength, wakefulness, or anything else), and in return you take a part of theirs and become weakened depending on how much you give, needing to rest and regenerate what you gave away in that moment. You can also heal yourself of your own, personally received wounds without incident, which is rather strange.

For most, there is a finite amount of their aura that they can ever have throughout the duration of their lives, but your supply is nearly endless. However, the more you spend healing or helping, the more you lose. You can regenerate your aura forever, but if you keep going without ceasing, then your life will eventually begin to drain too, to compensate for your loss.

It isn't an instant process, though, for it takes time for your body to catch up to how much of your power you spend, so you had to train really hard from that moment on to ensure that you never spend more than you've earned.

If it weren't for this fateful vice of yours, you'd probably be one of the most powerful healers in your world; the only limit to the wounds you may heal is your own aura and life force, and the amount of time it takes all depends on your concentration and intent.

Because of this, you became unwanted.

Unwanted in a sense that, people did want you to help them become stronger, but no organization or job wanted to hire such a liability, and those with such horrible vices are always subject to horrible criticism and scrutiny, so you eventually just stopped using your ability altogether.

It isn't until you fall into Middle Earth that you start to habitually use your powers again, and it's because of the life-threatening journey you're forced to join.

Here in Middle Earth, however, you're one of a kind.

There is healing magic and those gifted with the knowledge of higher level healing, but your ability to heal simply using your hands and mind is something totally unheard of.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield were the poor unfortunate souls that you scared half to death on the day you arrived in Middle Earth.

You came, quite literally, out of nowhere.

One second you were washing the dishes in your house and the next you were unconscious in another world.

From their perspective you came falling out of a tall tree, nothing to break your fall other than the cold, unforgiving dirt below, and it successfully gave everyone a huge scare.

Your right arm seemed to have broken and you were horribly battered and bruised, and the dwarfs, hobbit, and lone wizard couldn't just leave you there.

They made camp for the night and made you as comfortable as possible, hoping above all else that you'll wake up at some point, and you eventually do. Though, it isn't a nice or very calm occurrence.

When you finally woke up to a new hat and 4 thick wool blankets smothering you, you freaked out.

At first, you thought someone had kidnapped you or something, but the calm, old wizard named 'Gandalf' managed to calm you and explain that you're not healthy enough to be thrashing and panicking so frantically.

That's when you shocked them all.

You managed to kick off those pesky blankets and shake off that too-warm, but also soft hat, and get a look at yourself, and you were dismayed to see so much of your skin marred with bruises, cuts, scrapes, welts, etc, and your broken arm was unsightly enough to make you nearly sick.

"I-I'll fix it then, I guess." You grumbled nervously, laying back down in the heaping pile of blankets to focus on mending your broken and shattered bones, re-weaving your muscles together, and accelerating the healing of the more superficial wounds.

By the time you were nearly completely healed you were too tired to finish fixing the cuts, scrapes, and other lacerations, so they were left as week-old injuries that had been scabbed over and mostly fixed.

When your eyes fluttered open again you were, once again, shocked to see multiple people leaning over you with awestruck expressions, and you realized in that moment that things were even less right than you initially feared.

Rather quickly did you realize and accept that you were no longer in the same place or time as you were before, but the news was actually fairly easy to accept because of the nature of your past life.

You were probably accidentally sent here by someone with power over the space-time continuum, and it's impossible to come back from one of those accidents. You didn't trouble yourself with coming up with a way to go back home, because you knew for a fact that it was over. You'll be here until the day you die.

You made fast friends with the two younger Durin brothers, for they were always full of questions and curiosity for you and your abilities. Many times have you had to heal them as well, for they're quite prone to trouble.

Small things were always easy to heal, so your powers proved to make you not only a very desired part of the group, but the subject of heavy praise and kind words; it's wonderful and new, for you were neither wanted nor praised in your old home once your crippling vice made itself present.

Night after night you helped them to sleep, gave them the strength to carry on, rid them of discomforts and small, painful wounds, and, essentially, made the original healer of the group, Oin, obsolete (in a good way for him, of course). Oin taught you some things about natural medicine and was, ultimately, allowed to focus on rest and fighting (which you assume is good for a dwarf of his age).

Being needed and relied on feels like heaven, and for the first time in 5 years, you have a purpose.

The true nature of your healing powers didn't become apparent to them until the fight following the Goblin Tunnels, for Thorin Oakenshield is nearly fatally wounded in his fight against Azog the Defiler, and he's left weak and dying.

The group runs as fast as their feet can carry them as those wargs and nasty orcs draw near, chasing all of you to a cliffside with plentiful trees and nowhere to go.

It's a dead end, and those foul creatures know as much.

You aren't much of a fighter so Bofur and Fili keep you ahead of them, urging you to climb the far tree with Gandalf and some of the others, and you do so without hesitation.

Fear drives your frantic climbing and trembling muscles, and, with great effort, you manage to climb far enough that those horrible dog beasts cannot reach you.

Everyone manages to climb a tree and avoid a violent death that would leave them in pieces, and you're relieved to see that there isn't much the enemy can do in this moment; that is, until they begin to uproot the trees and push everyone further back into the barely hanging on tree you already reside in.

There is absolutely no way this flimsy tree will hold all of you for long if the wargs loosen the soil around the roots, and it seems that you're not the only one to notice this.

Gandalf prepares the perfect pinecone ammo that serves as an excellent enemy deterrent, for the flames burning within the heart of the pinecones spread easily and set the cliffside alight.

The wargs retreat to escape a fiery death, but the triumph doesn't last long, for the tree begins to creak and groan as it dips beneath the weight of all 15 of you.

"T-The tree's going to fall!" You cry hopelessly, unsure what to do.

A fall from this height would kill everyone before you even had a chance to try and heal them, and this knowledge leaves an empty, useless hole in your heart.

"Everything will work out the way it's supposed to, Master Healer." The grey wizard tells you, though you can hear the unease and slight panic in his voice as well.

You open your mouth to say more, but movement catches in your peripherals and you turn your head to see what it is.

There stands Thorin Oakenshield on the thick trunk of the tree, facing the white orc with murder and hate shining in his blue-gray eyes, and your heart drops all the way down to the violent deaths below you when you realize what it is he plans to do.

The to-be King Under the Mountain abandons the tree and meets the orc in a battle, albeit short, and he loses.

Just by looking at the way that albino dog uses him like a chew toy is enough to fill you with dread, and when another orc goes in for the dying blow, you're fully prepared to experience this horrible tragedy, only it never happens.

That brave little hobbit, Bilbo, challenges the rest of the goblins one on one, and his bravery encourages everyone able to get back up and fight.

Only, this secondary fight doesn't last for terribly long, for these huge, magnificent birds come soaring out of seemingly nowhere, and they scoop up each and every one of you.

Cue a short, but also liberating, journey to the nearest, safe area (which just so happened to be a secluded and inaccessible mountain top).

As soon as your feet touch the ground you're being scooped up into a strong pair of arms, and the perpetrator breathes your name with relief on their lips.

"Are you alright?" It's Kili, the taller of the two Durin brothers.

You nod your head once and hug him in response, winding your toned healer arms tightly around his shoulders for a few beats before you pull away.

A quick glance around shows you that some of the others still have yet to touchdown on the peak with all of you, so you instead move to Fili, who had rode to his brother, and hug him next.

The blond heir firmly locks his thick arms around your middle and holds you to him for a moment, but his arms disappear as soon as Thorin is gently dropped to the ground, bloodied and broken.

Gandalf rushes over to the heavily wounded dwarf and kneels down next to his unmoving form, and Bilbo runs up behind him with wide, stunned eyes.

You pull away from Fili and rush to Thorin's side without hesitation, falling to your knees beside him as you immediately hover your palms over his body to find the biggest issues ailing him.

The internal bleeding catches your attention right away, caused by the bone crushing bite from the white warg, and you start working on healing that without hesitation.

You know that a wound such as this will hurt you, but it doesn't halt your frantic healing for even a second.

The mountain peak is dead silent while you work your magic on the unconscious Thorin, the knowledge that they would be lost without him spurring you on, and in a matter of 5 minutes he's groaning and his eyes are opening.

You feel nothing at first which tells you that soon his damaged aura will begin affecting you, so you slowly rise to your feet and move away from the still grounded Thorin to avoid falling on him if you do go down.

Pats on the back and praises are thrown your way as you separate yourself from the king, but they cease the moment Fili worriedly asks, "Wait- What... what's wrong?" He seemed to have noticed your shaky movements right away as your health begins to deplete.

You step up to Gandalf and place your hand gently onto his shoulder, mumbling with slurred words, "Gandalf, I should've told you before..."

The old man looks up at you with worried eyes, and he rises to his feet so he can grasp your trembling arms with gentle hands, "You should have 'told me before'? Told me what?"

"I..." You begin to speak, but you're unable to form another coherent thought as your legs suddenly give out from beneath you, and you slump forward into the cloaked wizard.

Gandalf releases your arm at light speed and catches you around the waist, slowly lowering you down to the ground before your eyes slide shut and your consciousness fades in place of Thorin's.

---

Gandalf the Gray was not too happy with you when you woke up sometime later, having had to save you after you saved Thorin with no prior knowledge regarding the truth about your ability.

He scolded you first, calling your actions foolish and scaring you with information on how you could have died had it been any worse and had he been any worse at his job, and then he thanked you.

"But even so, still must I say with the utmost gratitude; thank you. The service you provided was well beyond what we asked for, and much more than we deserved. After all you've been through and done for us, you would have been right to keep to yourself and not heal him. You are a very good person, Y/N, and I should like to see you survive this journey."

Is he telling you not to heal people anymore, or is he telling you to be more careful, you wonder.

Apparently this situation scared everyone shitless, because as soon as Gandalf was done getting on your case, you received countless apologies for having you heal small, meaningless wounds and for the other things you've done for them.

Of course, you tried to explain that the smaller boosts and injuries are nothing for you, but you were still apologized to a whole bunch anyways.

Fili and Kili's apologies stuck out to you the most, however.

When everyone felt better knowing that they'd informed you that you no longer need to waste your power healing them and the excitement died down, the two brothers approached with sad expressions darkening their handsome faces.

"You should have told us that we were hurting you." The dark-haired dwarf informed you sadly, taking up one of your hands in his carefully.

"We wouldn't have bothered you so much if we knew." The blond-haired brother agrees, swiping up your other hand in one of his.

Their words make you grimace, and you try to console them. "No, the smaller things don't hurt at all! I don't 'get hurt' because I heal you, I only suffer when it's a major wound that needs to heal more than just the body."

Their expressions don't change and they don't seem to fully believe you, so you try to explain in simpler terms.

You squeeze both their hands weakly, still needing rest to regenerate your own aura, then reiterate, "Think of it this way. You've got a huge jug of water about this big," you make a big circle with your arms, " and it's completely full. Now, if you take a sip of the water when you get a little thirsty and look inside again, it will look the exact same, and you can refill it super quickly... now, if you and a few others are super thirsty, dehydrated, and you need to take big drinks then it drains even more, and very soon it's almost a quarter empty. It takes longer to fill it up then, because there's way less because of how thirsty you were."

They both look at you and nod their heads slowly in understanding, but you simplify it a little more after that.

"So, what I'm trying to say is that if I do something small like help you sleep or heal a cut, maybe mend a headache, I'll only feel a little tired if that, but if it's something horrible like Thorin's wound, then it affects me more severely. It almost transfers to me, but not the physical injury, just the effect of it while my 'power' heals yours."

Everyone is listening at this point, and it seems that they all gain a better understanding of what you can do.

It seems Gandalf figured it out, though, judging by his unsurprised expression and slightly proud smile (pride because of your easy to understand explanation, most likely).

"So... what about now, then?" Kili asks, still holding your hand by your side, "What do you need?"

"To rest. Only for a little while until my water replenishes."

---

It's going to take around a day for your aura to heal and your strength to return, but, unfortunately, you don't have the luxury to just lay back and relax like you want.

You all had to stay on the move, so the dwarfs took turns carrying you on their backs.

At first you denied any and all requests for piggy back rides, embarrassed by the mere thought of being hauled around all day while you wait for your aura to heal, but it goes that way regardless.

First it's Fili and Kili, then Dori (the strongest *according to the book*), Dwalin, and, finally, Thorin.

Thorin carried you for around an hour or so, and each step he took was careful. He wanted to make your ride as comfortable as possible, and he was succeeding for the most part (you're as comfortable as someone on a piggyback ride can be).

"How are you feeling?" You ask at some point, adjusting your gentle grip around his shoulders as you do.

"I should be the one asking you that question." He replies without missing a beat, turning his head to the left slightly to catch a glimpse of you.

You don't say anything right away, looking at him with a small frown before countering, "Okay, but I asked your first."

"Truthfully, it shames me to say that I feel very good at the moment. My strength has returned tenfold, and I feel as if I've just recovered from a long rest."

"It shames you?" You ask softly, leaning your head against his carefully, "Don't let it. I chose to do that knowing fully well what I was getting myself into."

Thorin sighs heavily and shifts his grip on your legs, "I do not wish to treat you as a child. I respect your choice, but I must implore that you do not waste your life on me. It simply isn't worth it. You're too precious."

You feel your face heat up and you find that you become slightly embarrassed. "Thank you Thorin, but I think that a king is slightly more important then a commoner from another world."

"No... a king is only as strong as his people, friends, and allies. And I happen to value you as all three."

You don't argue or disagree this time and instead just nod your head once, "Then I'll say thank you again."

The rest of your conversations with Thorin are much more light hearted and wholesome, and you find that this piggyback riding isn't as bad as you initially though it would be.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “The Pack.”

Apparently, I have been informed that I have been doing too much angst lately, and the crowd demands that I give the crew a rest. Fluff has been requested and fluff is what I shall give you. This is based on an few ideas I have been given, so I hope this is what you were looking for. 

It was warm.

She lay half asleep in the darkness with the familiar sound of mechanical humming that dominated her life these days. Familiar and unchanging scents filled the air painting a unique landscape known only to her. 

Despite there being no sun, her body told her when it was time to wake up, and she lifted her head, stepping onto the cold metal floor and stretching dangerously, yawning wide. The air was thick with one of her favorite smells, locked up here for hours.

She padded over to the other bed gearing up with a spring to jump onto the bed.

The covers were squishy and awkward to walk across, but the made it up to the head of the bed, where the source of her favorite scent was still lying asleep on his back, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest.

She stuck her snout into his face and began licking his cheek.

His sturred groaning before cracking open his single eye.

She did her best to lick it.

He made a snorting sound pushing against her with his hands. He grumbled at her, “Mumble mumble, Waffles, mumble mumble good girl!” She continued to lick at his face running her pink tongue over any patch of exposed skin she could fine until her pack alpha was desperately trying to cover his face.

“Waffles! Mumble mumble lay down!”

She did flopping down beside him and resting her head on his stomach. He rubbed her ears, and she closed her eyes happily, his warm heavy hand resting on her head. The smell of him filled her nose making her tail beat softly against the blankets.

He stroked a hand down her back and she sighed deeply.

“Sleep.” He ordered 

She was pretty sure it was well past when they usually woke up, but he was the boss, so she closed her eyes, her head still resting on his stomach feeling the calming movement of his breath, and listening to the calm beating of his heart. Waffles knew what her job was, and as a German Shepherd, she lived to work.

Her job?

Keeping this human happy and calm..

It had been a while since she had actually had to work hard for it, but she wasn’t unhappy about that. In fact, she saw it as a testament to her good work that this human was mostly calm and happy.

She napped there on his chest for a little while before another, familiar scent reached her nose. She lifted her head and sniffed a little. The smell was, not like something she had experienced for most of her life. It was a smell familiar to the rumbly metal box they spent most of their time in. It was a smell she recognized from strange places that sometimes looked like home but sure didn’t smell like it.

This smell was…. Hard to describe.

It was metallic, just a bit, kind of floral, but not really, and often tinged with a hint of something….toxic, but not really. The smell made her think of the color yellow, while simultaneously thinking of the smell of blood. Her tail thudded against the bed as the door slowly slid open.

The source of the smell walked across the intervening space turning its head down to make eye contact with her.

Waffles liked this smell too.

It was a smell that commonly lingered on Adam these days.

She liked this strange creature for a multitude of reasons, she made Adam happy, she was willing to sneak food to waffles, and best part: waffles rolled onto her back paws up in the air as the alien used all four hands, two to give her a belly rub and the other two to rub hands through the scruff about her neck.

She grumbled happily.

Above her Adam had sat up and was looking at her, she could see it based on the whites of his eyes.

“Spoiled dog.” He grumbled, turning his head to look up at Sunny.

Waffles sneezed and rolled back onto her stomach looking up at the two of them. The scents on the air had changed a bit. ONe of them was familiar, a sort of smell than both humans and dogs get when humans pet dogs, or hold babies, but there were some other scents too.

Waffles rested her head on her paws.

She was pretty sure that Sunny wasn’t a human based on smell, so her human’s interest was rather strange, but then again, she had once known a chihuahua infatuated with a great dane, so she supposed it wasnt THAT weird.

She listened to them talk to each other, closing her eyes again and allowing their voices to lull her back into sleep. She liked listening to them talk, it was nice. She liked being close.

Adam eventually moved, forcing her off the bed and back onto the floor where she lay by the door.

She could hear the sound of running water in the other room, and the caustic tang of chemicals.

She wasn’t the biggest fan of them, they washed away his natural smell and covered it up with smells that were wrong, but she could forgive him for that, it was ok.

When he came back out smelling of chemicals and dressed in new clothes, she dropped into step at his heels as he walked out the door. Sunny was waiting for them and together they walked up the hallway. SHe lifted her head as they talked smelling the smells and listening to the distant clatter of engines and voices.

Adam did not go up today, so that must mean today was a relaxing day, not as much movement as usual. She liked days like that because they usually involved popcorn or pancakes. Speaking of pancakes, she could smell them now wafting up from two floors down.

She wagged her tail and moved on ahead of Adam turnin to look over her shoulder at him.

He showed his teeth at her, in a good way, “I think she can smell the pancakes.”

Her tail began to wag furiously.

“Maybe you should have named her pancake.”

“Maybe I should have.”

Waffles didn’t know what ninety percent of that meant, all she heard was pancakes, and that gave her even more o a reason to hurry into the box that took them down to the pancake room.

Smells wafted into her face as the door opened, and she hurried inside. There were so many good smells, so many familiar people and faces and voices her tail wagged happily from side to side and she pranced around Adam’s feet looking up at him with an expectant expression.

When he finally hurried up and got food, and they sat down, he was joined by a group of others.

She recognized the smells of the different humans.

Ramirez 

Dr. Katie.

Maverick.

She sat under the table and rested her head on Ramirez’s knee. He was a sucker, and she could usually get something out of him. He looked down at her, to where her head was resting on his knee, and he saw the muscles in his face move upwards. The eyes were very important in humans. She watched his brows move up, and he looked over to where Adam was sitting, “I’m assuming she’s not working?”

Adam shook his head, “No, go ahead.”

He reached his hands down and began rubbing the side of her face and ears. Her tail beat against Adam’s legs. Granted this wasn’t a pancake, but it was almost as good.

Ramirez glanced over at Adam and then quickly look down at her.

Ah, there it was.

She opened her mouth wide, catching the pancake in her mouth before retreating under the table to eat it.

Overhead she heard Adam talking, “I saw that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are such a sucker.”

Sigh, “I know.

Waffles would move back to Ramirez in a minute, but for now, she moved over to where Dr. Katie was sitting. Dr katie looked down at patted her head, “Good morning pretty girl.” Waffle’s tail thumped.

Maverick reached over to stroke her ears as well, “Best girl.”

She locked Maverick’s hand

Then she returned to Ramirez sitting on his feet and looking up at him with a pleading expression.

She was interrupted a moment later as another smell moved into the room. It was a sort of burning smell, almost like charred plastic with a hint of charcoal. She recognized that smell and poked her head out from under the table to watch the strange floating human move towards them.

Conn had scared her at first, but they understood each other quite well now.

Conn greeted her with images and feelings. Inside her head she remembered the scent of warm grass, and the sun on her back. She sighed softly at the memory and wagged her tail as he approached.

She crawled out from under the table and walked over to the strange human greeting him with a nose touch to his cold-hard skin. He reached down and patted her head with his overly long fingers, like being petted by a block of wood in the shape of a hand.

She received the image of Ramirez giving her another pancake if she tried again, and with pleasure she returned to him.

The strange floating human was never wrong about that sort of thing.

And accurately, not minutes later she was handed another one.

The new ship was full of smells, and she was happy to go around greeting them all day.

Everyone wanted to pet her, and she was happy to let them.

She went to see the marines first. They were rolling around on the ground trying to choak each other. The play fighting looked fun and she ran over to join in, barking and waiting her tail.

They broke apart making that revving noise humans tended to make when happy. She liked happy human noises and rolled onto her back so they could pet her.

Eventually she had at least six people petting her at once, and she was happy.

After saying hi to the marines, they went to go see the fluffy creatures that smelled like dear. To be honest, they sort of smelled like something she could eat, though she never would. She had smelled a Kangaroo once, and that seemed about accurate.

They looked a little bit like it too, though they never allowed her to get close enough to get a better look. She Could smell the fear on them which was a surprisingly similar smell to human fear. There were a few humans on the ship that were afraid of her too, or if not afraid nervous.

The new human, the one that smelled like chemicals and graphite, who spent a lot of time with Adam was one of those people. Waffles didn’t really like her much either if she was honest. She always smelled nervous and that made waffles nervous, Nervous and high strung people made her want to help them, but Simon didn’t like her getting too close,

It was sort of sad, she was pretty sure she could help.

After that, they went to go see the other things like Sunny. She liked being petted by them the most because each of them had four hands. She didn’t like when they fought each other though, because that didn’t look like play fighting. Adam had to put her away sometimes when he played with them because she didn’t like it when he got hit.

She could forgive the big creatures though, they were nice and gave her lots of belly rubs.

She wasn’t so sure about the new creature that spent time with Maverick. It smelled wrong, like a bug. And at home she at bugs out of the air like flies and wasps, but this bug was huge, taller than maverick, and it had wings like a butterfly. It was so different from the other creatures, that she had trouble smelling what it’s smells meant. She thought it was nervous around her, but not too nervous.

She had even allowed it to pet her once. It was strange, but she had decided it was no threat.

And then of course they went to the place that smelled very very heavily of chemicals. She had been in these places a lot. And they met one of her other favorite aliens. Adam had been very worried about her the first time she met this creature, though he shouldn’t have, he smelled like a flying cabbage, and waffles didn’t like cabbage.

The floating cabbage, Krill, floated over to them.

He looked down at her and she sniffed at him.

He was a vet, but mostly for humans, but also sometimes for her.

Waffles tentatively stepped forward and nosed the floating cabbage. Instead of backing away like he usually might, he pitted her with his thin stick arms.

“You better not be feeding her breakfast today after Ramirez slipped her pancakes. We want her to live as long as possible.”

“Yeah don’t worry, I am keeping track.”

“Good.” he patted her again and let them go.

They ran into another vet down a ways, though this one just liked to talk a lot. He had dark skin for a human and smelled pleasantly musky like damp forest bark. He reached down and rubbed her ears, “Always good to see a fellow therapy professional.” She wagged her tail.

She liked his voice, it was very deep and calming.

“Dr Adric.” Adam said.

He stood back up and the two humans looked at each other, “Haven't seen her wearing a vest in a few months now.”

Adam shrugged, “haven't needed her to work in a few months. I’ve been feeling really good, and if I have a bad day, she will be around.

Dr. Adric nodded and they were let go.

She was led back down the hall and into the popcorn room. She called it that because that's where the humans sat in the dark and watched the box with pictures on it. They liked to eat popcorn when they did that.

“What are you making us watch tonight?” Sunny said as Waffles sniffed under a pool table.

“That is for me to know and for you to find out.”

He sat down and waffles moved around the room sniffing at everything.

It was when she smelled the smell of something small and furry that she turned around glancing over to where the very strange creatures were waiting her. They were very small, smaller than her and very fluffy. They had very large eyes, and she hadn’t met them yet.

But she had smelled them.

She took a tentative step forward sniffing at them. They didn’t run away like she would expect of something that small, but eyed her. She took another step forward, her tail up and interested. They hopped forward close enough for her to smell. They smelled fluffy and sweet, but…. weird .

They moved closer, right at her feet now, and she stood surrounded by a small pack of the fluffies. They had tiny ears and little noses, kind of like puppies. She sniffed at the top of one’s head and licked it with her long pink tongue. Its hair rasped against her mouth.

I jumped back, but she followed it.

The others crowded at her feet.

She stood there confused for a moment and then lay down slowly with a grunt. Immediately one of them climbed onto her back like puppies or kittens might. She beat her tail against the ground, looking down at the one between her paws.

She licked it again, and when it didn’t move, she adjusted her paws and began to clean it, running her tongue up its brightly colored fur.

Two of them were on her back now, one of them resting against her side, and another one between her paws.

She was busy cleaning it when Adam walked over, a look on his face that he sometimes gave her, eyes wide and smiling. 

“What is going on here.”

“We have tamed your predator and are now integrating it into our clan.”

“I see…. She likes you.”

Her tial moved back and forth.

She liked the small fuzzies. Other humans began slowly to trickle in and Adam was busy with the other deciding what to see on the picture box. She was resting her chin against her paws face pressed up against one of the little fuzzy balls. The humans took their seats, and Ramirez vaulted over the couch to land on the floor where a stack of pillows had already been set up.

Adam turned around and frowned, “Marine what do you think you are doing in my spot.”

Ramirez nestled down further in the pillows, “What do you mean your spot, I don’t see your name on it.”

“I always sit there.”

“Well there is a first time for everything.”

He walked over and crossed his arms over his chest in a dominant pose to his inferior pack member, “You will move from my spot.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“I am not going to be ousted from my spot.” 

The marine just grinned, “Ok.”

“I swear marine I am not afraid to spoon you.”

The marine just grinned at him, “Would you like to be big spoon, or little spoon.”

“Bitch, I have a licence to cuddle and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“My evil plan comes together.”

Waffles watched from her distance. She wasn’t sure if this was dominance or just a social pack thing, but whatever threat Adam had made, he seemed more than willing to make good on.

“I hope you're comfortable, Ramirez.”

“Very comfortable, thank you for asking. You’re nice and warm.”

It wasn’t long after that Sunny showed up, stopping to stand over the two humans with her head cocked.

“Sorry Sunny, you cannot stop our love.” Ramirez announced 

She shook her head and stepped over them, “I wouldn't dream of it, just dont be startled when you learn about the marvin the martian tattoo on his left hip.”

Rmirez turned to look at Adam with a raised eyebrow.

Adam Pointed at him aggressively, “Do NOT read too much into that. Everyone has seen my tattoo. Do you want to see it, because I can show it to you!”

Ramirez laughed and then made a big show of resting his head back on Adam’s shoulder.

“Are you trying to get me to move by making this awkward, because you definitely can’t”

“Nope, just making myself comfortable.”

Waffles didn’t know what was happening, but got to her feet, two of the Celzex still on her back and made herself comfortable by lying down between the humans two pairs of legs. 

Adam and Ramirez both laughed.

More humans walked onto the ship.

The human named Jackie grinned, “Cuddle puddle?”

Ramirez motioned hre over, “Come join  us.”

“Sweet!” 

IT wasn’t long before waffles found herself lying amidst a pile of humans and at least two Drev on the floor.

Sunny had slid down on Adam’s other side, two of the Celzex were still on her back, and the other one had come to rest between her paws again. Jackie was to the other side of Ramirez Narobie was at their feet her head resting on Cannon’s chest, while McCaster was on his other side.

Maverick sat on the couch shaking her head at them, but with her teeth bared in a good way.

Simon sat awkwardly at the back of the room eyes wide.

A few of the new smelling humans walked in. A few of them just stared in shock and confusion. One of them in uncomfortable disgust, but one of the new humans shrugged and walked over.

“Is this like, just for old Harbinger crew members or is it open for anyone.”

The humans reached their hands up looking like a strange alien creature with many arms, “Come, Join us.”

The pile grew increasingly larger, until they lay as a carpet of humans, aliens and one dog.

Waffles thumped her tail against the ground. It was good to have the whole pack together.

It just felt right.

[roselightfairy]

On the topic of hurt/comfort fics, do we have any Gimli/Legolas hurt comfort fics where Legolas is the one that needs comforting? Like dealing with his sea-longing and needing snuggles or he's pushing himself too hard and Gimli needs to remind him to sleep/take care of himself because even the tireless have limits, or Legolas crying over anything in general and Gimli coming to the rescue?

All right, so there are a lot more of these out there than the Gimli ones. We as a fandom do love our Legolas whump, and it was tough to cut down this list – but I tried to go for more the emotional side of h/c, which is a favorite of mine for the two of them. (Gimli physically injured; Legolas in emotional distress – that’s where it’s at!) A physical h/c fic or two did slip in, though, so I divided these into three main sections: one that deals with sea-longing, one that deals with war-related trauma, and one “other” category. As a reminder, this is not a catch-all list – again, Legolas might well be the whole fandom’s favorite whumpee – but these are some of the ones that first popped up in my mind at your request.

Sea-longing:

and yet the sea calls (series) by Laura JV (jacquez)

Summaries: [Gimli/Legolas] loves, and yet the sea calls.

…

This is a set of lovely vignettes (two stories, one from Legolas’s perspective and one from Gimli’s) about learning to live and love with the sea-longing between them, and to find comfort in one another as best they can. These stories make me feel so very many feelings and are constant rereads when I want to feel the bittersweet (but mostly sweet!) that is their love.

A Beloved Ballast, an Untethered Soul by katajainen

Summary: Gimli has spent long months on the new gates of Minas Tirith, all the while waiting for Legolas to return to him from the North.

But when he does, it's clear the year has not been altogether kind to his husband.

…

This is one of my favorites of a lot of things – a wonderful, gentle reunion in Minas Tirith after their separation after the war, Legolas worn from sea-longing and finally finding home in his husband’s arm, warm comfort and some very romantic smut. Please read it; you will not regret it.

Everything That Mattered Is Dust by SerStolas

Summary: A decade ago, the One Ring was destroyed. A decade ago, Gimli and Legolas traveled together first to the Glittering Caves and then to Fangorn. A decade ago, both of them failed to admit their deeper emotions for each other. Now they meet again in Minas Tirith during renovations on the city. But not all is well with Legolas.

Inspired by Through the Ghost by Shinedown.

…

This is another lovely story with a similar theme to the previous – but without the established relationship, so we get a very sweet love confession instead. Very gentle and loving and satisfying; this gets me right in the hurt/comfort feelings. <3

Where You Go, I Will Go by UnnamedElement

Summary: Lady Galadriel's message was a riddle too twisted for a Wood-elf and a Dwarf to initially unwind... This is a story of a friendship fraught with mutual ignorance: the concessions a dwarf makes to an elf, and the choices that elf makes for their peculiar friendship. It is how Legolas and Gimli pass through the threat of death to find, together, a better truth. (March 2016 Teitho)

…

Look, I don’t know if this is hurt/comfort as such, but it certainly comforts ME to read. This is a lovely little exploration of the sea-longing and how it changes Legolas and Gimli’s friendship – and in fact brings them closer together. It’s gen, nominally, but it’s so tender you won’t miss the romance (and I feel comfortable saying that because of multiple conversations with @unnamedelement on the subject!).

The Language of Power by Thewriternumber19238478356

Summary: It's the night before the march on the Black Gate. But sea-longing won't let Legolas sleep. Gimli offers him a secret dwarven practice that might just be the solution…

…

This is an underappreciated and really wonderful story, but contains some non-sexual BDSM, so be warned for that. It’s extremely tender and plays with the notion of power in dominance/submission with respect and love for the practice and the characters. It’s archive-locked, so you’ll need an account to read it, but I really do have such love for this story and I highly recommend it.

War-related:

A Night Beclouded by katajainen

Summary: Night falls after the fighting is done on the Pelennor Fields. For those left alive, it should be an hour for respite, for catching one's breath.

But there is the kind of darkness that seeps under one's skin, the kind not born of mere absence of sunlight, and this is not a time to be alone.

…

This is such quiet, atmospheric tenderness – comforting someone after a nightmare is such a wonderful trope, and @katajainen does it with all her usual sensitivity and care. A bit of pre-relationship sweetness and warm comfort – and honestly, it was a struggle to keep it to two fics by katajainen on this list; please go read all her stories!

Shared Spaces by mssileas

Summary: I know you think I'm a little different But I'm still somebody's son.

The night before marching on the Black Gate, neither of them can sleep.

…

Okay, so I adore this fic. I have a soft spot for any fics that focus on how Legolas must feel about Sauron and the origin of orcs, and this is a wonderful fic that deals with those ideas, as well as pre-battle anxiety, and Legolas and Gimli taking comfort in one another. Lots of lovely hand-touching and some very sweet kissing, too. <3

A time and times and half a time by Honesty

Summary: AU. Legolas, imprisoned by Saruman, discovers *exactly* how Orcs were made .... While Gimli keeps a vigil he will never forget.

…

Similar themes as the last one, though taken WAY over the edge past hurt/comfort and into serious hurt territory. Be careful with this one, because there’s a lot of pain for Legolas – warning for physical and psychological torture - but the love between him and Gimli is so powerful and all-consuming, it carries the story and provides the much-needed comfort at the end, though you’ll probably still be aching.

Comfort after Endurance by spinel

Summary: The battle of Helm's Deep takes its toll on Legolas. A stolen moment between the end of the battle at Helm's Deep and riding to Isengard.

…

Pre-relationship sweetness, comfort after battle. This one skirts the lines of physical and emotional hurt/comfort, combining the two with the soothing effect of touch and closeness after great trials. Lots of tender handling of one another – no explicit relationship content, but definitely little hints of more to come here and there. ;)

Other:

inkstains by apricae

Summary: Legolas isn't much good at reading, and an attempt at a learning his letters with Gimli turns into a revelation.

(Or: The one in which Legolas is dyslexic and sad, Gimli is a very good husband, and Dwarves are a lot better than Elves at handling disabilities.)

…

I am very big on neurodivergent Legolas in all its forms, and I love this dyslexic-Legolas headcanon a lot. Emotional distress and childhood trauma – but luckily, Legolas has a very kind, loving dwarf husband to talk him down and help him through.

Tainted Meat by lynndyre

Summary: On the road between Helm's Deep and Isengard, mistakes are made with supplies.

For the BloodyValentine prompt: someone feeds orc food to an elf, making them really sick.

…

This is one of my favorite underappreciated fics out there – I find that it really gets the way Legolas and Gimli are portrayed once they start meeting up with armies and other men: they are a bubble of two, responsible for one another’s comfort and supporting one another without question. In this fic, Legolas (and half the Rohirrim) are struck with food poisoning, and while the men deal with the aftermath, Legolas is so very much Gimli’s charge, and it’s so tender and lovely and wonderful. Gen, nominally, but it gets the particular something between them in canon that I so love. (It also fits with a line Gimli says in Two Towers about refusing to touch any orc supplies!)

 Teeth Like Knives by Evandar

Summary: Gimli wasn't expecting to have to stitch Legolas back together after their first attempt at lovemaking, but now that the initial shock has worn off, he can't say that he's surprised.

…

This is part of a larger series that involves half-orc Legolas, and all of it has some very wonderful emotional hurt/comfort. But this is my favorite of the series because of how good and gentle and wonderful Gimli is with Legolas’s existential crises and hurting himself on accident. Please do mind the tags, since this subject matter may not be for everyone, but I adore the sensitivity with which these topics are handled and reread this for comfort. <3

…

As always, if you enjoy any of these fics, please let the author know with a comment if you have capacity! Also, I encourage you to reblog this list so that we can spread the good word. :)

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Chapter 13

Wooo! It has been a while dearies. Let's see, my baby sister's husband, so my brother in law got diagnosed with Lupis which at this point is a relief that it's not his cancer coming back so there's that. My parents rushed down to AZ to be with my dying grandparents and are trying to let them pass from the comfort of their home without having to go into a nursing home, hospice called us and said 'you should come down and say goodbye while they still know who you are' so we all rushed down to do just that and I just came back from a week down there doing that which was emotionally draining and devastating. My other sister's dog tore a ligament and needs a 5k surgery to fix it. This particular sister has no kids and her dogs are her kids, which is perfectly reasonable and valid. And my Chron's Disease is flaring and trying to kill me for the...I've lost count of how many times it's tried to kill me for the 25 years I've had it, (I'm 35, just to put that into perspective) and I have an emergency colonoscopy on the 6th that I need to prepare for.

So sorry for the delay on updating this story, I've been meaning to update this for A VERY LONG TIME and mentally I knew exactly how I wanted to write it, I just had no time, energy, drive or opportunity to write UNTIL TODAY. So you are getting this hot off the presses and I want to pick up and GO GO GO before my life completely falls apart.

Again so many thanks to @kriskukko for letting me use her still gorgeous, still amazing, still epic REGENCY ERA ORC ART. Just...still in love with it.

Thanks to @punkhorse96 for all your amazing feedback. Now, we get into THE DANGER ZONE. Much plot, so sex, big TORN. Enjoy. *evilly cackles*

Blood For Gold

Chapter 13

Your family completely monopolated your time the moment they came and wouldn’t let you out of their sight and you couldn’t get a moment’s peace or solace, except when it came time for the masquerade ball at the Midnight Peacock, then everyone seemed to disappear and leave you alone to change and you couldn’t hardly wait for tonight, Axal told you that The Red Velvet Rope was hosting this particular masquerade ball so all of the brothel’s workers would be there along with almost all the other moura individuals in all of London would be there tonight.

It was going to be your first time going and you had brought out your new masquerade dress that you had made in your “widowhood” because while you recovered from your mourkatilli addiction, and healed from the other trauma and abuse, you needed a project to keep you occupied.

It was a special one, it was reversible with a twist. It was really four outfits in one. A skirt with two different layers, and each layer was reversible and a top that was sewn and embroidered in such a way that it was four tops in one, each one to also coincide with one of the layers of the skirt. So if you wore it “normally” and “inside out” and “right side in” on each layer, you would have four unique outfits and you had embroidered all four layers in two of the styles of tops, when not being worn on the outside would roll up and give you something of a push up bra, so that it would appear in such a way that it would look like one scene one way and in the reverse, a completely different one but still in the same shapes in an elevated double embroidered piece. It was some of your best work to date. And you had a fabric mask pinned into each skirt so that the masks you wore changed with it, and you wore your hair in such a way that it could change, from up, to half up and half down to fully down and in a variety of ways and Axal had told you that Ramsey had confided in him that the place had “changing” rooms where you could change your outfit as needed, in case you needed to change yourself throughout the night. So you left the Palace of Windsor in one of your more “flashy” and luxurious facets, complete with a cape that was also reversible with your family.

Once at the place you immediately left your family and “changed” into the most simple and understated of the four, a black embroidered top and simple black skirt with no embroidery, it was simple yet elegant and began looking for Demsey Draft, because you needed to warn him about the other mouras that had come as well break off any connection with him so that you couldn’t be implicated later because the last thing you wanted was for Duke Demsey Voyambi to know that you had ever set foot in a whorehouse. You wanted him to feel and know that if the attraction you had to him was returned by him, that you would be loyal to him and he would have your complete fidelity and you would leave Mr. Demsey Draft where you found him, in your hopefully long forgotton past. A woman was allowed to go a little wild in her mourning right?

Meanwhile Demsey had done the same, only he didn’t have any reversible outfits, instead he went straight to the “coat room” and “rented” a change of clothes, he had to find Audra Draft and break things off with her, and solely pursue Sultana Audravienne.

And like clock work, only moments after going around the place, looking for Mr. Draft, when you found your prize, coming out of the changing room, dressed how you thought he’d be, simple, rather plain but dignified.

“Mr. Demsey Draft?” You asked once you found him.

“Miss Audra Draft,” He smiled in relief that he found her, or rather, that she had found him although why she insisted on calling his last name of Draft, maybe she was trying to give him a pseudonym to protect his real identity as you were thinking the exact same thing, although tonight would be the last time you would ever answer to such a name as your moura marks lit up like fireworks again, practically glowing and pulsing through your clothes and on your skin as Demsey flushed with desire because that was going to be one of the many things he was going to miss about Miss Draft.

“Might we have a word?” You asked, even though your heart was screaming for one last release with him before you cut things off with him completely.

“Yes, by all means.” He agreed as you took his hand and led him away to a private booth in the little restaurant side of the place as most had gathered in the dance hall and were already beginning to dance the night away.

“Before anything else, I must tell you that after tonight I must break all contact with you, you see, I’m going to be pursuing a very wonderful woman, and I can not do so with any prior attachments or engagements, she is the kind of woman who deserves whole hearted and whole souled devotion.” He began as your heart was relieved and happy for him but broke at the news as your moura marks stopped pulsing and flashing, instead, simply faded to a rose gold then stopped which broke Demsey’s heart to see as he recalled how the Sultana's marks flashed rose gold when she was upset or sad. It still must have been a universal moura thing, he supposed.

“Well isn’t that a coincidence, I came to find you to tell you something similar. I also found someone, a wonderful man actually, who I wish to pursue whole heartedly and without reserve.” You replied.

“So...The Red Velvet Rope is no longer…” Demsey began.

“Part of my life? No. Never, you?” You asked.

“Same, I will never set foot into it again.” He professed.

“Probably for the best. So, I know you wish to probably keep certain things private, and I don’t expect you to tell me who it is that has captured your attentions and affections, and whoever she is, I can only hope and pray that she is worthy of them.” You offered, feeling much more than a pang in your heart, much more than you were expecting anyway, the whole day you had prepared yourself for this moment, rehearsing what it was that you wanted to say to him. He was, after all, just a manwhore in a whorehouse, you shouldn’t have any real emotional connection with him and it should be easy to walk away, but now that it was happening, your heart, soul and body screamed for the reverse. It felt like it had been too long since you got to hold him in your arms, kiss his sweet mouth and marvel at the way his body seemed to always meld and mold to yours and bring you the sweetest of releases.

“Thank you, and likewise.” Demsey graciously offered.

“Out of curiosity, you don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to, but the woman you are going to be pursuing, is she an orc like you?” You asked curiously.

“No, she’s actually, um,” Demsey began before he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“She’s moura.” Demsey confessed.

“Oh, well in that case...I know...or rather, I have heard.” You rephrased, not wanting to tell on yourself too much as Demsey smiled sadly at you as you cast your gaze away from him guiltily as you felt tears prick your eyes as a strange panic seemed to grip your chest.

“I have heard that there are many mouras here, and new ones have come into England fairly recently. Please beware, there are some mouras who are not “typical” and perfectly lovely and good people and others who are actually true to the typical type cast. Surely you have heard the saying that “a moura’s beauty is always outmatched by their greed for wealth and power.” There are some who prove that saying false, and some who prove it true. Please beware of the latter and make sure that the woman who has caught your eye is the former, for only ruination follows the latter’s footsteps.” You tried to gently warn him, fearful he had seen Benny and fallen in love with her like any other orc male had.

“I will, and if you will do me the same honor. Would you tell me what kind of man has caught your attentions and affections?” Demsey asked, even though part of him didn’t want to know and part of him was wishing it was a proper moura, so she would be with her own kind who would understand and sympathize with her and treat her the way she deserved, which was an invaluable treasure, whether she was "tainted" or not.

“He’s an orc. Although I do not know if he leans more towards the old orcish ways and culture or if he will hold true to the English ones although I guess there are some things that are similar in both cultures. I am at a loss as to how to pursue him and what will reach him and prove that myself and my own intentions are true, and how to prove to him that I’m one of the atypical moura’s unless he has already judged me to be typical then I am at a loss for I know at least one member of his family already has but I’m hoping he does not share their views. Because first impressions are usually the most firmly set and hardest to prove otherwise, no matter the word or deed.” You confessed and Demsey felt his rage begin to flare, the moura before him was clearly not the power hungry type. Anyone with half a wit could discern that about her, much less see it with their own eyes.

“Is he….is he a commoner or is he gentry?” Demsey asked, feeling actual panic whirling in his chest, he knew his brother had gone to The Red Velvet Rope and if Sierge had found her, he could be charming and could talk his way into any woman’s knickers if he really tried but Sierge would no sooner bed her before he shamed her for doing so. Sierge was his brother but Sierge was also a rake and downright dangerous to any woman’s honor.

“He is in the gentry. That’s why it gives me pause, so far he has been a dream, a perfect gentleman and he comes from a good family and noble business. There is nothing about him that gives me hesitation except that I do not know if he shares the attraction. He may just be very polite and friendly and I’m reading too far into his gestures or he may already share his opposing family’s views of what a moura can typically be. But...he’s worth pursuing if he does share the attraction, I was hoping I would find him tonight and I could feel him out for it, if not, there are others that are pursuing me. And...I don��t know how much longer I can hold out, or if...if I should just forget all of it and be better off alone.” You confessed as your own panic settled in that you would never see the man across from you in this tiny little booth, barely big enough for two, ever again. It was like you were magnetically drawn to him and you were helpless to fight against it in his company.

“But in any case, I will miss you, and I will remember our brief moments together with fondness.” You offered as you fought the tears in your eyes as your gold moura marks faded to a dull brass color, Demsey had never seen anything like it before, it gave him the most worry, since he had almost become accustomed to reading the Sultana’s marks like her facial expressions.

“You are too good.” Was all Demsey could say, his own heart breaking that he was going to lose, forever, the one other woman he felt any real connection to.

“So are you. Whoever she is, if she ever gets to bed you, she’s in for a treat.” You tried to tease with a grin but the bittersweetness in your eyes cut him to the core.

“Goodbye Mr. Draft, may life treat you well and may the woman who captured your attention be worthy and return it and show you the same loyalty and respect you will surely show her.” You offered as you did your best to get out of the small booth to get away before you cried your eyes out right there at the table as you damned yourself for being unduly attached to a manwhore in a whorehouse rather than Duke Demsey Voyambi who you were sure was probably a much better man but still, your heart already ached at Demsey Draft’s absence.

He seemed to take your cue and got out of the booth as well as you curtsied in place as he bowed respectfully before you turned on your heel and tried to get away.

But you had barely taken two steps before Demsey quickly took three steps to catch your arm in his hand which caused you to stop and turn and turn right into his other hand that framed your face and brought it to his own as he gave the hottest, most soul scorching kiss of your life and you’d be lying through your teeth if you tried to say that you protested. Your body betrayed you as you kissed him back and glued yourself to him as your marks revived and started to pulse and flash again.

“One last time?” Desmey pleaded when you broke for air.

“One last time.” You readily agreed before you grabbed his hand again, saw along a far wall a room with the words “pairs dressing room” above the doorway and quickly ran with Demsey following you, his hand tightly grasping yours, weaving through the crowd and pushed a five pound note into the abbess’s hand and took the last available “pair’s changing booth” which was really just sex booth with a bench in it as you pushed Demsey to sit down as you readily straddled his lap as he undid his pants as you hiked up your skirts and stripped out of your Dorierran panties and seated yourself onto him and began to ride him in earnest as he partially undressed you, undoing your top and tossing it aside, still marveling at your moura moura marks as they pulsed and glittered even in the low light as your eyes practically glowed gold as well in the lower light of the darkened closet since there was only a lone candle burning in the corner as his hands went under your skirts and grabbed good handfuls of your arse and helped move your pelvis over himself so that your ground down deliciously before reattaching his mouth to yours and kissed you for all he was worth, pouring every ounce of his heart and soul into it before leaving hot, lisentious kisses on your neck and chest, capturing those oh so precious pulse points as you undid his collar so you could feast on his own neck and chest and once it was revealed you bit down his neck as he growled dangerously and hissed in pleasure and moaned when you soothed your mark with your tongue before inflicting a second, a third, and fourth and losing count after that as your mouth then moved to his collar bone and his very sensitive nipples, which he did appreciate your attention to as he did the same to you, because for this brief moment, you were his, for the last time, he was going to leave evidence that you were his, for this all too brief, but glorious moment, that nothing else mattered but your pleasure and once you shuddered and keened as your legs shook from the first orgasm as your moura marks lit up the room and glowed like soft sunshine as the orgasm seemed to flood your senses, he was picking you up and pinning you against the wall and driving up into you almost mercilessly but you loved every bit of it as you clung to him.

“Please Demsey, my dearest, darling Demsey, please, cum in me, fill me.” You pleaded desperately into his ear as you were near tears from how amazing and spectacular this was.

“Not yet.” Demsey cooed in your ear.

“Demsey please.” You begged as you felt another orgasm approaching and he still would not stop and that one nearly made you black out from pure ecstacy as the room lit up even brighter because that orgasm was bigger and more intense than the last and then he set your practically limp body down on the bench and went to his knees and replaced his cock with his mouth onto your already overly sensitive sex and ate you out like it was his first real meal after months of fasting as he settled your legs over his shoulders as the light that continued to pulse and glitter on your moura marks on your thighs and legs and lower belly provided all the light he needed as you laid back onto the bench as your pelvis rested in his hands as he moved you how he wanted you and you were powerless to stop him as a third orgasm bloomed in your body and lit up the room like a fire had started inside it as you did your best to hold onto your very soul so that it would not leave your body completely as you cried out in almost painfully blissful ecstasy as your hands gripped the edge of the bench pitifully, your knuckles going white, not caring in the least who could hear you and that’s when he finally relented and had you sit in his lap on the floor, with your bare chests touching and caressing the other and there was so much love and tenderness in his desperation to fuck you senseless as he held you fast to him and drove up into you and upon the fourth orgasm, the biggest and brightest of them all, did he finally relent and fill you so full it overflowed and you spent the longest moment just clinging to each other, neither of you wanting to let go of the other as you both basked in the ever so intense afterglow as the light from your moura marks slowly faded to nothing as once was desperation, was replaced with tenderness, softness and sweetness was you ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the waves and subtle curls in his thick, luscious locks as your fingertips scratched ever so deliciously on his scalp as he scratched your back in turn, savoring every precious second of having you in his arms, trying to commit every detail to memory, not wanting anything to go missing when he would want to recall this later. Whether it would torture him or bring him fondness or joy, only time would tell.

Soon though, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“You two alive in there?” Came the abbess’ call.

“Yes, we’re almost done. Just a moment please.” You answered back as you reached around him and adjusted your mask back into place since it had become slightly askew so that he would not discover your true identity as he seemed to do the same before you reluctantly untangled from each other and helped get each other get redressed and recomposed.

“Goodbye Mr. Draft, it was always a pleasure.” You offered as you took his hands and kissed his knuckles tenderly before you left the small room and quickly weaved your way through the crowd to the other end of the Midnight Peacock to get changed into another side of your outfit, this time, one of the lighter, more luxurious ones as you took a vial of perfume that was in your necklace and put some around your neck and chest to cover up any “evidence” of Mr. Draft’s presence on your body even though you had taken a moment to savor the scent of it one last time as Demsey seemed to do the same, changing out of his “rented” second outfit and back into his original one that he came in wearing and didn’t care to notice how the outfit seemed to be given to another orc who had come in, this one, more bluish in color who quickly changed into it to enjoy the party himself once Demsey had traded it in for his old clothes at the counter.

“Is there a bar here?” He asked the person overseeing the single dressing rooms once he came out redressed in his original outfit.

“Yes, it’s right through there, you can’t miss it.” She answered as he followed her direction to find a young lady, dressed is discrete luxury already sitting at the bar, drinking absinthe.

“Sultana Audravienne?” Demsey took a chance and asked which perked you up as you turned to see him.

“Duke Voyambi, I thought you would be dancing.” You offered, even though, your legs were still jelly from Mr. Draft’s endeavors.

“Usually, yes, but um, tonight, I’m not...I’m not really inclined to dance.” Demsey confessed because he was worn out but also he just let the greatest lover of his life so far slip through his fingers and he was in no mood to dance.

“I’ll be honest, neither am I, would you like to join me?” You offered.

“Yes, I’d love to.” He readily agreed.

“Well it seems since we both seemed to guess who the other is, there is little point of these then is there?” You asked as you pointed to the second mask you had pinned into the top you were currently sporting.

“No there isn’t.” Demsey readily agreed as both of you took off the masks and set them neatly on the bar as he got up onto the barstool next to you as you had already taken your hair down, letting your thick braid lay down your back.

“Absinthe?” He guessed, looking at the glass you were drinking from and recognizing the green liquid that filled it.

“Yes,” You readily confirmed.

“May I have one?” He asked the bartender who nodded and poured him a small glass of it, letting it pour over a cube of sugar and offered it up to him.

“Is this your first time drinking it?” You asked him.

“Is that obvious?” He asked as he took a few tentative sips.

“Absithe is the only “dangerous” drink they have here.” You answered.

“What would you prefer to be drinking right now then?” Demsey asked.

“Cyanide.” You answered without hesitation before he practically choked on his drink.

“Cyanide?” He repeated as he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

“Mouras are immune to poison, remember? Cyanide is to me what wine or whiskey is to you.” You explained.

“But absinthe is still just a little poisonous right?” He asked.

“So is tobacco, but yet that doesn’t stop anyone from smoking it.” You shrugged as you looked out over the already cloudy room, filled with smoke from other patrons practically smoking up like chimney’s.

“Touche.” He had to chuckle.

“Do you like tobacco?” He asked.

“No, although hashish is popular back in the stables, if the sultanate states were still open, alcohol is illegal but hashish which is like tobacco but not quite since it comes from a different plant- is perfectly fine. But both can be hard on your lungs and mouras can be very sensitive to both, but here in England, it just depends on what’s fashionable at the time.” You reasoned as Demsey seemed to nod along with that sentiment as he took a longer sip of his drink.

“True.” Demsey agreed.

“So how are you liking it now?” You asked as you nodded to the drink.

“It’s growing on me.” He admitted.

“Yeah it does. Anything sweet usually does.” You grinned before you heard a cheering boom behind which inclined you to turn around to see what was going on to see Ramsey and Axal flamenco dancing with each other, their feet stomping very fast and rhythmically on the wood floors as Axal was wearing his matador masquerade outfit, it’s bright pink color and bejeweled state catching everyone’s eye but not to be outdone by Ramsey’s equally impressive baby blue one as well as Yalin and especially was cheering her son on while your mother and other members of your family were around cheering Axal on as well as you just shook your head, two peacocks flaunting their feathers at each other as Demsey looked on and just shook his head as well, having already exerted his own herculean amount of energy and spent it on Ms. Draft, wherever she would find herself now, although a quick scan of the crowd, he couldn't see anyone that looked even remotely like her. But he was with who he really should be spending his time with and now that he was with her, it was a different kind of comfort and happiness, but it was sadly tainted by guilt and strangely disappointment that didn’t make a bit of sense. Wasn’t this exactly what he was hoping for? To be with Audra, the real, authentic Audra, somewhat privately and all to himself? Then why, when he looked at her, he kept seeing glimpses of Miss Draft and why was he wishing that he was actually sharing this drink with her? What had happened in that room to change his mind? This morning he had been so sure that Sultana Audravienne was the one for him but something in Miss Draft had him hesitating and it didn’t make any sense at all.

But the way you were looking at Axal and Ramsey, caught his attention, you were...disappointed, or disinterested and clearly unimpressed as you just shook your head and turned back around and finished off your absinthe and got a menu as Demsey asked for one as well before you went ahead and shared yours with him.

“So what sounds good?” You asked him as you looked it over, already picking a few things out in your mind.

“Uh the lamb kebabs sound most appetizing.” Demsey answered before you grinned. It was a Medetteranian dish and right up your alley.

“The lamb kebabs it is then, the portions should be good size too, let’s share.” You suggested.

“Absolutely, I’ll defer to you, order whatever sounds best to you.” Demsey offered which got you to beam happily before the bartender came back and got your order as you went ahead and ordered everything that sounded good to share with Demsey and before you knew it you had taken up a good portion of the bar and had begun sharing a surprisingly good and wonderful meal together.

But what surprised you was how Demsey was correctly eating each dish.

“What?” Demsey asked as you paused in eating to watch him eat.

“It’s just, you’re the first Englishman who has known the right way to eat this. Most have no idea you’re supposed to use the bread instead of a knife and fork.” You explained as you copied his movements, using the bread to dip into the different sauces, scoop up the rice and the bits of grilled meats before bringing it to your mouth.

“Uh, well…” Demsey stuttered as he flushed with some embarrassment, because it had been Miss Audra Draft who introduced him to these dishes and had shown him the proper way to eat them. But he couldn’t tell you that, for fear you would think less of him for visiting a whorehouse, because the thought of you thinking less of him was worth than anything else he could imagine at the moment.

“Uh, there’s some orc dishes that are similar in how they’re eaten, it just...seemed natural and the right way to eat it?” He supplied, hoping you couldn’t see right through him.

“Some things just make sense I suppose.” You shrugged, having thought you’d have to explain everything but instead both of you had just dived right in.

“They do.” Demsey nodded as he quickly tried to stuff his mouth so he wouldn’t say anything else.

“So um, you obviously know much more about this cuisine, what can you tell me about it?” He asked after he swallowed.

“Well since you asked…” You grinned happily before you went through it again as Demsey was struck by how similar Miss Draft and you were, so similar in voice and mannerisms and gestures. It was almost like he was sitting next to her again as his heart almost strangely ached for her. But that was not fair to you. You were not her and she was not you. But the dishes themselves must be common knowledge among all mouras, he supposed.

But you couldn’t help but notice that while Demsey was still watching you and listening the best he could, the look in his eye and in his expression, it was like he was missing someone and you began to fear that there was perhaps another in his life, someone he had known before you ever met him. Someone his sisters did not know and maybe before Kate Whitesale. But one who clearly knew the Sultanate Quarter or Hanging Garden Quarter rather, of the stables because that’s where these dishes came from. What if the only reason he liked you, was that you were the legitimate copy of what he really desired? There were so many more mouras here in England than you realized and more than a few were a striking resemblence to you and most of whom, were actually commoners. What if you were the gentrified version of what he really wanted?

That would make sense. What if he came here, looking for her and couldn’t find her and instead settled for your company?

“Are you alright?” You asked.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine, just...I think the smoke is getting to me in this room too.” He tried to excuse, damning himself for not being completely present with you.

“Can I get a bottle of spiced rum please?” You ordered from the barkeep as you started dumping and piling everything on the largest platter as Demsey took your cue and followed your actions until everything was on the large platter before he paid the tab at the bar before he put the lid over the large platter as you grabbed the bottle of rum and followed you through the place where you found a staircase and climbed up it as Demsey followed you before you found what you were looking for, a balcony on the roof of part of the first floor. And on the balcony is where you found Calla and Tzane already sitting at one of the tables and eating something similar.

“Audra!” Calla called you over as you happily went over and pulled out two chairs before Demsey sat the platter down onto the table.

“I thought you two would be dancing.” Tzane noted as he sat next to Calla, the two of them practically sitting thigh to thigh and as close as could be without actually sitting in the other's lap.

“Not in the mood to dance tonight.” You confessed as you sat down as you noticed that Calla and Tzane had also foregone their masks that were on the table as well as you sat yours down as well as Demsey's since his hands had been full carrying the platter.

“But always in the mood to eat.” Demsey grinned happily as he took the lid off the large platter.

“Oooh, that smells really good.” Tzane praised.

“The Hanging Garden Quarter has some of the best food in all of Dorierra,” Calla grinned.

“Well I think this is too much for the two of us, if you want some, have some,” you readily invited as Tzane and Calla didn’t need to be told twice before they got their plates and loaded them up before they dug in themselves before Calla walked Tzane on how to “properly” eat it as the four of you fell into very easy and wonderful conversation before Calla noticed movement in the balcony of the second floor and her eyes went wide as she grabbed Tzane’s hand under the table and squeezed it hard which got him to look over to her before he followed her line of sight to see Ramsey and Axal making out on the edge of the balcony on the second story as he started to choke on his food.

“You ok?” You asked as Tzane punched Demsey in the leg under the table and subtly pointed in the direction he wanted Demsey to look before Demsey gave the direction a curious look just in time to see Ramsey finish kissing Axal before he went down to his knees and undid Axal’s pants and started to suck him off right there on the balcony and choked on his own food as well before you reached over and pat his back.

“You ok there Demsey?” You asked, concern clearly written on your face and in your voice before you head Axal groan a moan which caused you to turn your head just as Axal seemed to notice who was around and moved so that Ramsey was between himself and the balcony that looked down over the first balcony so that Ramsey was hidden from the view from below.

“Hey Axal,” You waived happily, pretending to be oblivious as Demsey, Tzane and Calla looked in horror at each other.

“Hey Audra.” Axal waived.

“Getting your cock sucked by the son of Pharoh?” You asked in Arabic since you knew Axal well enough to know that pleasured look on his face and didn’t want the rest of the table to know that you knew what was really going on.

“Yes.” He confirmed.

“Well enjoy the night air, it’s a nice night tonight, keep everyone out of my hair, I’m with who I want to spend the evening with.” You called back in Marinai as Calla tried to recapture her composure.

“Will do!” Axal called back with two thumbs up.

“Uh...what...what did you say to him?” Demsey asked you as he tried to keep composed himself as Tzane was trying to gulp down the rest of the wine he had gotten for himself and Calla, down from the bottle.

“I asked if he was enjoying the night air, and when he said yes, I told him to keep enjoying it since it’s beautiful weather we’re having tonight.” You answered sweetly, continuing to act oblivious.

“Yeah, he’s enjoying it alright.” Tzane coughed into his fist as Demsey glared at his little brother as Calla just flushed as she drank down her glass of wine as well.

“Aren’t we all?” You asked with a scheming grin.

“Well, yeah, maybe not as much as he is though.” Tzane answered as he kept his gaze down at his plate before he tried to fill his mouth with food to keep himself from saying anything else as Demsey glared dangerously at Tzane before Benny and Sierge came out to the balcony as Benny was taking her hair down from its original style as the two still had that giddy, love drunk look with each other as it was clear that a tryst had just transpired between the two.

“Oh hey guys.” Sierge greeted cheerfully, as he came over before you scooted closer to Demsey who also scooted closer to Tzane so that Benny and Sierge would have room at the table.

“Oh good, you guys already ordered food, we worked up quite the appetite on the dancefloor.” Sierge said as he grabbed unused plates from the next table over and gave one to Benny before he helped himself the spread on the table.

“Among other places.” Benny cooed with a playful wink to Sierge who ducked his head and grinned bashfully as you simply smiled knowingly as you gave Benny a meaningful look and she gave a subtle nod that had you nodding along with her.

“Good.” You simply noted as you happily dug into your own food.

It wasn’t until the bluish orc came out, still wearing the rented suit that Demsey had been wearing earlier with Audra’s essences on it- came onto the balcony too with another lady with him before Sierge sniffed the air, turning his head and sniffing the air deeply in his direction.

“What does your bloodhound nose smell now? Does he have better food or what?” Benny teased Sierge.

“Uh, no, uh, I’ll tell you later.” He told her with a meaningful look as she looked intrigued as he sniffed that scent again before he turned back to the table and began sniffing again before his nose seemed to land on you before he quickly turned his head to stare at the platter of food as his eyes went wide for a moment before he seemed to try to be recomposed.

“Yeah, this food smells the best.” He tried to play off casually but he still gave you a weary look as he looked at Demsey who was staring at him in confusion as Sierge pointedly looked at Demsey, then at you then at the bluish orc then back to Demsey pointedly as Demsey just looked at him in complete confusion but sadly, your parents found you and pulled you back inside because they had requested the Hanging Garden Official Dance Anthem and felt you should dance too just as Ocearian found Axal only moments after Axal had cum down Ramsey’s throat and had gotten redressed and adjusted as you let your mother take your hand and lead you away as Calla and Bennie followed as Sierge grabbed Demsey’s arm to keep him from following along too.

“What?” Demsey asked.

“Audra, the Sultana, she has a lover, he’s that blue orc over there.” Sierge accused.

“What?!” Demsey balked.

“My nose doesn’t lie, I can smell her all over him.” Sierge insisted as Demsey looked from his brother to the orc in question.

“Find out for sure.” Demsey said before he left and quickly tried to catch up to you to see you already on the dance floor, surrounded by family as you all danced the danced in synchronized steps.

“Good evening sir, can I talk with you for a moment?” Sierge asked the gentleman.

“Uh, in case you couldn’t tell I’m kind of busy right now?” The guy answered.

“I’ll give you five pounds for five minutes of your time.” Sierge offered.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” The guy immediately told his companion before he got up and followed Sierge a short distance away.

“What?” He demanded.

“First, what’s your name?” Sierge asked.

“Robert Wainsright.” He answered.

“And your orc name?” Sierge prodded.

“What does it matter?” He protested.

“Ok fine, who have you been with tonight?” Sierge asked.

“Her! That’s the only one I’ve been around all night! Why does that matter?” Robert demanded.

“Because the scent on your clothes says otherwise, now tell me again, have you been intimate with anyone tonight?” Sierge demanded.

“What are you the fucking coppers? What business of yours is it who I’ve been with?” Robert protested.

“Because the smell on your clothes implicates you.” Sierge growled dangerously.

“Implicates me in what? A fucking murder?” Robert demanded angrily.

“You know what, fine, if you say you haven’t been with anyone other than the lady at the table, then I have no choice but to take your word for it, who is she by the way?” Sierge asked as he took out his wallet and began going through his bank notes to find the right one.

“She’s one of the workers for The Red Velvet Rope, she works in the kitchens.” Robert answered as he took the bill from Sierge’s hand.

“Thank you, that’s all I needed to know.” Sierge grinned triumphantly before he left and went back inside to see Demsey watching appreciatively as you danced with your family, with a bright happy smile on your face which brought a fond one to his own hands.

“And?” Demsey pressed Sierge.

“The guy’s name was Robert Wainswright and he claims the only one he was with was the lady he was eating with.” Sierge reported.

“Ok, well maybe your nose is wrong for once.” Demsey nodded and went back to watching you dance and enjoying yourself as Sierge fought with himself whether he should tell his brother or not but now was not the time or place and when the dance ended you ended up pulling Demsey to the floor to dance with you as Demsey, despite previously having no stomach for it, was suddenly all too happy to try to dance along to these strange dances with practically hypnotizing music but the best and yet the worst part was, to see your moura marks on your skin flow, pulse and flash like fireworks was both amazing yet, plagued him with guilt that he, once again, was forced to recall Audra Draft’s marks and how they would do the same thing. He needed to get over her. Maybe it would have been better if he had not seen her tonight and not been drawn in by that vixin's siren's call. Because then he would have focused completely on you. You deserved his undivided attention and affection and having you compete with any other would be a crime against the gods.

But he did feel kind of smug that if Ramsey got any closer to you, he had his own ace up his sleeve, to know that Ramsey was actually having intimate relations with your brother no less, you had told Demsey yourself that you were the jealous type and would not share your partner with anyone, much less a family member and when and if you ever found that out, you would immediately rid yourself of Ramsey for good, all he needed to protect himself from now on was his own implications with Miss Draft and he was as good as gold and as long as you never found that out, he was sure to win your affections honestly and wholeheartedly. Miss Draft had just been a bad mistake, made...thrice, but only thrice and no more.

Demsey didn’t care if he looked ridiculous, he was dancing with you, almost holding you on the dance floor and being so close to you, to have you smiling up at him like he was the only man in the world you had eyes for had his heart soaring and his pride beaming and his possessiveness over you almost insatiable. In this moment, yet again, he was overcome by his gut telling him that you, were the only woman in the world for him and that Miss Draft would from now on, only live in his past, never again in his future.

[saphirered]

Drowned Sorrows (Vagrant pt2.)

Caleb settles at the table in your shared room, ink and paper ready to go to work and you grab your stuff making way to leave when Caleb stops you, stepping in your path to the door, arms crossed and eyes burning into you. You try to step around him but he just moves with you until you give up. Apparently He’s adamant on talking.

“What the hell do you want?” You roll your eyes at his childish means from preventing you from leaving the room.

“This has gone on long enough.” Caleb states.

“What has?” You play dumb and Caleb gives you a disapproving look akin to a teacher scolding a student and you could just wring the life out of him for for it. Gods, can he just leave you be?

“You know exactly what.”

“Please, by all means, enlighten me, oh grand master Widogast.” You mock and now it’s Caleb’s turn to roll his eyes. Do you have to be so annoying? Why can’t you just act like an adult?

“If you insist. Why do you run out of the room whenever I study? Why do you feel the need to cringe and cower whenever I do anything even remotely magic related?” Caleb asks as you shake your head biting your tongue. This man… This man has some guts to call you out like he has but you suppose maybe this whole thing between the two of you wouldn’t have been as much of an issue if the two of you could just talk about your issues instead of bottling it up until you burst in moments like these, usually ending in some kind of shouting match followed by the silent treatment until Nott makes you ‘kiss and make up’ like she’s your mom.

“It’s none of your business, Caleb. Now let me out.” You once again try to push past him but he doesn’t let you. “Try me, Widogast or I’ll-“ You threaten but are cut off.

“Do what? You won’t use your magic beyond rudimentary practices. What could you possibly do?” Caleb pushes. You know he’s pushing your buttons, your anger only another means to get answers for himself and you hate yourself for falling for his calculated move but you still do.

“You don’t want to find out, Widogast. It didn’t end well for the last people.” There it is. That’s what he’d been waiting for. Those words alone, that threat is not an empty one. You wouldn’t harm him, not permanently at least but there’s a truth to your words and Caleb knows his calculated move to piss you off is paying off. He’ll have to tread carefully if he wants more answers and not actually provoke your wrath.

Shit. Shit shit shit. ‘It didn’t end well for the last people’. Shit. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips at all. Ever. Stupid Caleb fucking Widogast. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You can’t deal with this right now and try to push him out of the way but Caleb hardly budges. You half contemplate leaving through the window just to make a point but you’d rather not draw that kind of attention to yourself.

“Veiled threats and half truths. Those are a coward’s words who doesn’t intend to make true on their promises.” Oh you’re this far away from kicking his ass.

“Well it takes one to know one.” You hiss. “You might want to think twice. We still share a room and I will not hesitate to smother you with a pillow while you sleep. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” You feel a tingling in your fingertips, frustration running through your face with just a tiny hint of fear. You ball your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms. Last thing you need is to lose control right now but Caleb doesn’t have to know that.

Caleb steps out of the way, allowing you to pass. He stares you down until you close the door behind you, sharing one last glare before you’re off doing whatever you can to not be in any proximity of that room.

————

Hours later Nott has fallen asleep at the foot of Jester’s bed, the tiefling herself curled up comfortably. Beau’s sprawled out across her own bed limbs dangling off each side as she snores. You’d fallen asleep sitting against Beau’s bed until her hand slapped you in the face rudely pulling you from your not so comfortable sleeping position. You get up and stretch your limbs, cracking your back. Hopefully Caleb will have gone to sleep himself and you’ll be able to make it to your own bed without dealing with the wizard at this late, or rather early hour.

Exiting the girls’ room you see Fjord slumped against the wall near to his room, giggles and moans coming from the room he shares with Mollymauk. This time he had the sense to bring a pillow but Fjord still looked about as comfortable as anyone could be sleeping against the wall of one of the most expensive places in all of Zadash. You contemplated waking him and telling him to take your bed instead but you don’t doubt you’ll lose your comfy bed forever if you switched roommates. Don’t want to set any precedents because in all honesty, rather him than you having to deal with the lavender tiefling living his life to the fullest. Still, you take your cloak, throwing it over the half-orc gently as you move on to your room.

You don’t see any candle light bleeding through the narrow slit beneath the door so you count yourself lucky as you quietly open the door and slide in, tiptoeing over to your bed, putting your things down and beginning to get ready to sleep. You pull the silk covers back and lay down, making yourself comfortable and close your eyes. You can still smell the scent of that fine parchment and ink. You can almost hear the phantom scribbling of a pen over that paper, dipping into the ink vial every so often to replenish. It’s pure torture. The sound needs to stop. The smell needs to go and despite you trying to use some prestidigitation to get rid of the smell, changing it to those overly fragrant flowers at the shop you passed by a few days ago, the smell is still stuck in your nostrils, the sound still trapped in your ears, the damage already done.

You turn over onto your back, pulling the pillow from beneath you and pulling it over your head, releasing a frustrated but soft muffled scream more akin to a sigh into the plush feathers. The darkness behind your eyelids doesn’t help as you feel a vision of a room creep in, one etched into your memory just as that scent and sound are. Accompanied by feelings of pain and fear, desperation and helplessness, is the feeling of being completely and utterly trapped. No matter your tossing and turning, it all remains and the walls close in, sleep couldn’t be further out of your reach. That is until the lights turn on. A gentle orange glow fills the room and you’re pulled away from your memories and back into the room you share with Caleb.

“Would you stop your tossing and turning, please.” Caleb asks groggy, the sound of moving fabrics and endless sighs having awoken him from his own sleep. Caleb turns over to see you sitting, elbows on your bent knees and head in your hands as you try to stabilise your breathing, counting under your breath like its a life line. You may not exactly be friends and quarrel more often than not, that doesn’t mean he can’t be worried for you. Something’s clearly wrong and it doesn’t take an expert to see that.

“Are you alright?” He asks carefully turning to a half seated position to get a better view of you.

“Just go back to sleep, Caleb.” You grumble not moving from your position. No quip back, no witty remark, not even actual annoyance or a half threat to let Jester draw dicks in his precious books. The position you’re in, the traits you’re displaying are also familiar to him. He’s found himself in a similar situation many times and while you may have said it before as an offence, it’s true no less; takes one to know one. You’re reliving trauma, or at least coming back from reliving a traumatic memory of some kind. Triggered by what exactly?

“I’ll go back to sleep when I’m sure I won’t be awoken again every ten minutes.” In other words; talk.

“Piss off.” You spit raising from your bed, reaching for your bag. Instead you find an orange tabby raising it’s back and hissing at you, by the command of his master no doubt. You have half the mind to pick the cat up by the scruff and toss him at the wizard but right now you just want out.

“You can’t keep running away from your problems forever.” The words hit hard. Caleb’s right but why does it sound like a statement not solely directed at you? You know exactly why. You might not exactly have had any bonding moments with Caleb and he’s been shifty about his past but you know the words of someone who tries to deny that same truth themself.

“It seems to work just perfectly for you. Hypocrite.” It sounded like a curse. Hypocrite. Caleb had known for a long time but having it thrown so bluntly at his face, it hurt. He doesn’t lash out in anger or hit back with an equally venomous retort but instead just stares at you with pity. He really does pity you. He may not know the story but he knows that pain and no one should have to endure that. Still it’s your choice to keep it to yourself. It’s your choice to keep it all bottled up and locked away. No matter what he says, or does for that matter, he can’t change your mind, or even help you despite your differences, if you don’t allow anyone in, regardless of your like, or dislike in his case, for the person. He can’t help someone who won’t help themselves. And that’s exactly what makes him the biggest hypocrite here. His pain is his punishment.

“Where are you going?” Caleb asks as you push Frumpkin aside just enough to reach for your coin pouch, the cat hissing and clawing at your hands until he falls silent again. You open the door looking back one last time.

“To find a rooftop with a good view and drown my sorrows.” You close the door behind you and do exactly that. A bottle or two of good booze acquired and a nice rooftop found. The view would have been nice weren’t it cloudy. Halfway through your first bottle the gods decided to shit in your dish by the sound of rolling thunder and rain pouring down from the skies by the buckets, drenching you to the bone in a matter of seconds. You debated going back inside but you’re stubborn and stayed on that rooftop watching the water spill over the drains until you were shaking from the cold. Maybe suffering from hypothermia isn��t worth making a statement.

[torajisbizarreadventure]

MEGA SPOILERS POST FOR NEKO MIX VOL 13 PART 2

You’ve read the title, you probably knew how everything works around here, let’s roll.

I couldn’t find chapter 3 so feel free to suffer through the cliffhanger with me

Final warning : complain about being spoiled after clicking the “Keep reading” button and I will pour milk into your sock cabinet

This is the second chapter

.

.

.

.

.

.

Hacchi and Toraji snuck into the upper part of the castle, thinking of the legend that there is a miracle medicine that turns half-orcs into humans. Toraji asked Hacchi whether he wanted to become a human. Hacchi said that if he could, he wanted to become a dog and stay with her for the rest of his life after finding his missing owner, Michiru. After entering the treasure house, there were big boxes full of different keyholes, making Toraji excited to unlock them. It turned out that the keys were shrunk along with his body. But he still wanted to try opening it anyway, so he emptied the small key into the huge keyhole. As a result, the treasure chest was actually opened like this. They were surprised to find that it was not medicine, but similar to Rio’s toy car. 

(Apparently Jose asked Pai’yan to go to the puppet making country to repair Rio’s toy car, this was actually plot relevant oops)

When Ginji was worried about Toraji, he heard the noise of "Rio” and Pai’yan outside. Standing in the rain, "Rio” expressed his dislike and fear of the rain, and asked his father not to treat him like this.

“Dad, you can’t do this! Save me, dad!”

"If you get caught in the rain...what will happen, Rio?”

Pai’yan questioned “Rio” expressionlessly about his weird behavior. “Rio”, who was extremely frightened, shouted his father for help, while Pai’yan froze there, thinking that "Rio” was also a puppet. Although the chaos in the rain attracted everyone's attention, no one dared to intervene.

Pai’yan thought that his wife and Toraji would soon find abnormalities, but he could not figure it out, and he was angry that he was fooled. (nahh son you are just dumb)

“Mom has a deep sense of protection in her heart, so...I don't care that she tried to test me. But, dad, you just suspect me and don't have any evidence. This is because you don’t know anything about me!”

Pai’yan, who was questioned angrily by "Rio”, remembered his son's diary that he had read when he got home.

He remembered the sentence that broke his heart : "I don’t have a dad”.

Pai’yan shed tears and when he saw "Rio” who was about to fall, he ran over and hugged him, took him back to the house, rushed to light a fire to keep “Rio” from melting.

After this chaos, Pam’dom and Pa’san actually understands that "Rio” is just a clay puppet filled with Rio’s own memories and feelings. They looked at Pai’yan and said nothing.

Toraji and Hacchi in the castle have opened six boxes with their keys, and the results are all toy cars. There was only one key left, but finally a different item was found this time. It was the candy that the old lady gave them. The instructions in the box also show that it is a shrinking medicine. There is only one pack of medicine in the box, and there is no medicine to turn back to normal. Although there are still many treasure chests, Toraji ran out of keys so they had to leave. Toraji was originally disappointed but Hacchi comforted him, saying that every box that Toraji opened always had things that are meaningful. Toraji agreed. These toy cars should also have their meanings, but they still don't know what they are.

Toraji and Hacchi brought some shrinking medicine back, and Ginji talked about the conflict between Pai’yan and “Rio” while they were taking a bath. After hearing that Leo is also a puppet, Toraji felt a little relieved, but Pai’yan would be sad.

“Rio” stared at his missing finger, then told Toraji that although he remembered everything from the day he adopted Toraji till now, he didn’t feel like himself anymore. Ginji was watching him worriedly, but he didn't know how to comfort him.

At this time, Pai’yan, Pam’dom and Pa’san were secretly observing the situation in the puppet-making country. Pai’yan and Pam’dom walked together. Pai’yan explained that even though the “Rio” that he held in his arms was a fake, he still felt pity for the child and still saved him to make up for his past negligence of his family. The latter did not agree with Pai’yan, he asked Pai’yan to act rationally and calmly, reminding him that "Rio” is a fake doll, and that the dolls that imitated the appearance of the warriors before would attack humans.  "Rio” didn't know when he would start going on a rampage, he speculated that it might be the Hex Mouse controlling the doll.

On the other hand, Pa’san met the king’s adopted daughter Kasmin in the garden. He asked the child why she was out so late. The princess smiled and said that there was no problem, but Pa’san responded solemnly and said that when children smiled and said that they were very happy, they were usually lying about their happiness.

Kasmin smiled and grabbed Pa’san and asked if he could be his kid, while shaking the tambourine in her hand. She said that she didn’t really like the king and she would like to go elsewhere.

While investigating, Pai’yan and Pam’dom heard the drums and saw that the people had started to behave a little strangely. It was obviously raining, but the doll residents ran out one by one, arranging themselves into a long line.

As a result, before they could react, Pai’yan and Pam’dom were captured by the people (my man just can’t rest easy when travelling with pai’yan smh). They were trapped in a metal ball, the only hole was blocked by the doll residents with a long bamboo pipe, then the ball was pushed to the edge, and water was poured in from it. The dolls scattered and left.

Toraji who stayed at home also heard the sound of drums. He remembered that the dolls in the museum also turned started moving after this sound appeared. Ginji felt that this was not good, so he along with Toraji ran out to find Pai’yan. When "Rio” heard them, he also thought of his father and went with the 2 cats.

Pai’yan and Pam’dom couldn't destroy it from the inside, so they pushed the conveniently-hidden hamster reporter out of the bamboo pipe and asked it to find rescuers. Hacchi also took everyone to the 2 heroes with his keen sense of smell. Toraji and Hacchi went into the ball to find out the situation. They couldn't ask for help from the local outsiders, and they couldn't destroy the ball from the inside, so they could only find a way to get them out of the organ from the outside. However, Ginji wanted to unplug the bamboo pipe for irrigation outside the ball, but his strength was not strong enough to move the bamboo pipe. There is only one way to prevent the 2 heroes from drowning or suffocating in the ball, which is to stop the external water flow.

Ginji discovered that the water connected by the bamboo pipe came from the continuous flow of water between the rocks above, so he began to move the stones desperately, trying to block the water flow in the middle. The earl wanted to cut the bamboo pipe but couldn’t cut it. Pai’yan and Pam’dom were soaked in the water and began to lose temperature. Toraji put his mini body against the bamboo pipe, trying to block the water flow. Ginji continued to work hard to move the stones to block the water.

"Rio” ran to Ginji and said that he would also help, and began to move rocks together to stop the splashing water. "Rio” was thinking about the memories he had with his dad, the relationship, conflict, and reconciliation after the reunion. He desperately tried to block the water flow. Ginji next to him saw everything in his eyes.

The water finally stopped entering the organ ball, but but the 2 heroes were still trapped in the cold water. In order to avoid freezing to death in it, they took the shrinking medicine that Toraji found in the castle treasure house and escaped from the bamboo pipe. Toraji happily reported the news of Bai Yang's successful rescue to Ginji who was sitting on a high place. Ginji turned around and solemnly asked Bai Yang to come up to him.

"Rio...” Ginji pointed to the mud and clothes in front of the pile of rocks.

“Rio hated water, but he tried to pile up the rocks here, and finally blocked the water flow with his body... he knew he would melt...”

Pai’yan stared at the mud and cried, and both Ginji and Toraji cried together. He then felt boundless anger towards the Magic Mouse and the Hex Mouse for tampering with his life.

While everything was happening Pam’dom froze to death because everyone forgot to pull him out  jk

[dungeonmalcontent]

Flopsy And Fatherhood

I have been thinking a lot about one of my characters lately. If you don't want to hear about Flopsy, the bugbear bounty hunter and his journey of learning about fatherhood, scroll past this.

Flopsy was one of my first character concepts to see actual game play. Like most good characters, at least the kind that you get attached to, he was a joke character. I was testing the limits of what you could do at low level without weapons. I wanted to play a brute that could punch around corners, and it was gonna be silly. I based his appearance after a few different animated characters with long arms and floppy ears; namely Fiskerton from The Secret Saturdays and Antylamon from the Digimon franchise (don't judge me). He was supposed to be this awkwardly scary and fluffy monster that looked like he could be both cuddled and capable of snapping a few necks on a whim. And as a bonus, after the first session, his voice became modeled after Ron Perlman (granted I'm bad at voices) because he just kept becoming more of a character as he went.

He started out exactly as intended, except the DM and another player threw in a twist. My backstory wasn't really fleshed out yet, and I was asked if I was okay with Flopsy being the adopted sibling of the other players character. I have no clue if that was something the DM did on purpose for story reasons, but it has literally changed everything.

The shared backstory that I developed with the other player led to Flopsy and Thokka (the other PC) being the adopted children of a zealot monk. After slaughtering both of our villages he had attempted to Pygmalion some of the children young enough not to realize what had happened. After mostly failing the tests of our adopted father and suffering abuse for being monstrous creatures only fit for fighting, Flopsy burned the hut with the monk in it. Other zealous monks from the order noticed, gave chase to the two monster children, and the two were separated in the chaos. Thokka, a tiefling half-orc, ended up in the care of a monastery of drunken monks that couldn't care less what she looked like, and Flopsy ended up in the woods for a few years. And then a crime ridden city for a few years. And then he joined a bounty hunting guild. After a few bounties he found himself inexplicably in the same place as his sister, and that's where the campaign began.

It isn't a very complicated backstory, but it created an opportunity that our DM definitely took advantage of after a few sessions. Our game started as a job to find out what happened to a professor at a local college, and when it turned out that she had been killed by a night hag the job was basically finished. The hag escaped, but had to leave her ritual unfinished, and admittedly, Flopsy had tried to seduce the hag while it had been disguised. We all got the impression that the hag would be the BBEG for the campaign.

This is leading somewhere, I promise.

After a few other jobs, our party wound up in a small town that had been the center of some crop rot and pestilence that had spread to the surrounding area. The cause of the problem was a warlock who had used his granddaughter as a focus for demons and demonic magic to seep into the world. In the parties attempt to stop the demon's influence, we got into a fight we were quickly starting to lose. We had the demon in front of us, a collapsed little girl off to the side, and countless shadow imps all around us. Flopsy was about to go down and he was becoming increasingly less useful in the fight, so he had two plans on what he was going to do when his hit points went into the red. Plan B) Use an unknown planar artifact on himself, killing himself to potentially drag the demon and its influence back to the hells. But that is a last resort, because plan A) kill the girl and attempt to sever the demons connection to the prime material plane, seemed much easier to try first.

And when Flopsy was about to go down, he tried plan A.

And it failed.

When Flopsy realized what he'd done, and that he couldn't undo it, he was a mess. He went down to 0 hit points a few times while the cleric tried to keep him on his feet best as he could. And when the demon managed to get away with a sliver of health left, Flopsy didn't give the party the option to think of a new plan and he set the building they were all in on fire. They made it out a window with the girl's body, and the demon presumably died.

The town's problems were solved, after some other fussing, and the girl was revived through the use of gentle repose and revivify. Flopsy learned that the girl, Kara, had been abused by her grandfather and when the party realized the town did not want anything to do with her anymore, Flopsy was the first to propose the party adopt her. Or at the very least, find her a new home in a different town.

Something important to know about Flopsy, is that he is primarily driven by money. He was raised heartless, and after all he had gone through he only cared about the resources he needed to survive. That meant gold. And he was good at hunting down criminals for money. So long as he could keep himself safe, nothing else mattered.

So when Flopsy killed Kara, something changed. He realized that he was essentially killing a younger version of himself in order to spare an older version. He had further broken a battered little girl just to try and save himself. It was so many levels of realization. He had become his father, the abusive monk that only cared about survival and cleansing the world of "evil." And for the first time since he had killed that monk, he felt the urge to protect something other than himself... and it felt more powerful than the urge to protect himself. I mark this as the moment that his alignment changed from true neutral, to neutral good. Though it took some time for him to realize that.

And so when Flopsy actually realized that he had no idea what he was doing as a parent figure, he actually took the time to try and figure out what Kara needed to learn to survive. He tried to teach her to fight, to reason. The cleric taught her how to handle some of the latent magic she was left with. Thokka showed her how to have fun and enjoy life. And things were good for a few sessions. It was a strange experience to have a ward (basically) in a d&d game, I imagine it was close to how the critical role cast felt about Kiri (the similar spelling is incidental, I promise). But it allowed for a great deal of character growth and family development. It was great for Flopsy, because he had something to reign him in and prevent him from fighting in his normal reckless ride or die fashion... or that might drive him to fight even harder than he normally would.

This wouldn't be such a big deal or worth the amount of time I'm putting into this, if it weren't for this last part. The DM, intelligent woman that she is, pulled a sneaky on the party. While the party was out fighting another demon, the hag abducted Kara. And that sent Flopsy off. I had never anticipated this fictional, silly looking, angry fur ball to become so real and motivated. It felt very personal. This hag that Flopsy had flirted off an on with through her nightmare haunting ability, had become a real evil threat. This little girl that he had grown to care for and consider at least to be another little sister that he could actually help and save, was taken from him. And to make matters worse, the hag intended to experiment on her; the same thing that had been done to Flopsy.

I don't know where it will go from there. This game in particular moves pretty slowly, which isn't a bad thing. I feel like I get to savor all the parts of it. If nothing else, I'm very excited to see what this sort of situation will drive Flopsy to do. Will he swear an oath of vengeance and take some levels in paladin? Because an unarmed barbarian paladin would be amazing for smiting and hunting down a hag. Or will he end up becoming a more skilled hunter and protector against the unknown? He does already have some ranger skills and it would be an interesting multi-class if nothing else. Maybe he just learns to hone his rage even more to overpower what he knows will be an inevitable fight with the hag.

What I do know is that Flopsy has become something very real and important to me as a player. That joke about how the most silly starting campaigns turn into the most serious is accurate in this instance. I would fight to get this poor fuzzy orphan the life he needs, and that probably includes him building a family. It's one of life's greatest joys. It's also been a surreal experience for me personally, as I have become a father at roughly the same pace as Flopsy. I know the sort of anguish and rage that would stem from anything happening to my child.

I want to just keep talking about Flopsy and fatherhood now... but there isn't much to say. It's wonderful.