#gently the kobold

[digestabold]

Hard, Soft, and Nap for the vore ask

I really like tummy noises, from active digestion to just whatever ambient sounds they make, how about you?

Hard: Do you like hard vore If so why? If not why?

It's a sometimes food for sure. I really have to be in the mood for something that brutal, but... when I am? It can be a little insatiable... a great desire to be torn apart and treated like the slab of meat I am >/w/<

Soft: Do you like soft vore? If so why? If not why?

Soft is my go-to mode, even with digestion! I think this comes mostly from being very pain averse in this vessel, so even if I'm getting gurgled for good, I prefer it to be an ecstatic experience, the melting feeling like a fuzzy blanket~

Nap time: Have you ever slept to stomach noises before? If so when was the last time? If not why?

I have not! Noises alone don't tend to do *too* much for me... closest is when my gf would mush my head against her grumbling gut and tease me about being next 🥴

[maxdowtart]

Drew the nerd

[lem-75]

Kobold stress toy for dragons

Gently squeeze the kobold and it will yip

[kaioshin]

I do wholeheartedly believe Laios Touden is a sick sick freak.

He's got a decent chance of defeating the dungeon lord but I definitely think this guy has like a hidden room in his spacious melini apartment that he slips into quietly each night and it is just filled with tiny little doll replicas of all the monsters he’s ever read about in his little guide and he puppets them around and mimicks their noises and shit. and sometimes he’ll send Kuro pictures of his little kobold dolls with a cube of meat or something and forget to sign the letter and pair it with like “There will always be a place for you in our party.” and then the following day Kuro will find him at the guild hall and go, “I can smell you on this,” and Laios will play it completely straight and sincere but there is this calculating almost eager look in his eyes that unsettles Kuro. and the next time Laios is in the dungeon having a little soiree with all his monsters, his beloved beloved monsters, maybe an orc will accidentally get lost on his way to one of the dungeon's randomly generated bathrooms and find that little guidebook and see all those drawings and his throat will hitch with horror. And before he can alert his clan to grab their weapons a dark silhouette will appear in the doorway and Laios looks sort of resigned when he says, “I promise I won't actually eat you” and the orc will try and pretend that it's cool, it's eat-or-be-eaten anyway but they both know better. and Laios will go (the look in his eyes back again) “We both know Marcille would kill me if she knew, right?” and he’ll grin very suddenly and the orc will laugh along very nervously and leave the room and eat some brioche Senshi made and when the evening is over he will rush over to his secret route to the fifth floor and frantically scramble through the tentacles but over the cobbles on the beautiful beautiful stairs there is the sound of footsteps. and tears are running down the orc's cheeks but he can’t say a word and Laios, emerging from the shadows in a frog suit, will gently touch him on the shoulder and say, “I have a spare if you want it” and the orc will try to refuse but they both know it’s futile. and, halfway through the climb, Laios will smile and say, “I always wanted to taste orc sweat” and then perfectly jump after his sword that just started freaking out and flying for some reason, wiping off his rabbit-proof armor, while the orc accidentally triggers a trap Chilchuck wasn't there to disable, bursting into flames

[elliyoyo]

Algophilia (Astarion Ancunin/Reader)

I have no explanation. The vampire seduced me just like he seduced you, I am also horny. Here you go.

Desc: You get very aroused by biting and the concept of being bitten. Astarion reveals his vampirism, and you both see an opportunity.

Warnings: Smut, pwp, p in v, fingering, oral (m receiving), biting, blood mention.

Words: ~2k

There, in the dim firelight, you see him for what he really is: a vampire. A slave to sanguine hunter. And it stirs something within you in a way you haven't felt in a long time— since before the tadpoles, at the very least.

“So… when was the last time you killed someone? Days? Hours?” You try to keep control of your breathing, but the excitement is building and your resolve is weakening.

“I’ve never killed anyone!”

You give him a look of disbelief, crossing your arms with an eyebrow raised. A vampire? Having never killed anyone? In the time he’s likely been around?

“Well… not for food. I feed on animals— boar, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get… but it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight— I feel so weak.” His brow furrows and he glares off into the distance, said weakness beginning to get to him. If this is going where you think it’s going, this is going to be the best chance encounter you could hope for.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer— fight better… please…”

Bingo.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Astarion?”

“At best, I was sure you would say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs… No… I needed you to trust me— and you can trust me.”

“I do, and I do believe you. Out of everyone at camp, I know my back is covered the best when I’m traveling with you.” His serious look falters for a moment and you see him soften up a bit as he continues.

“Good… Good… Thank you. Do you think you could trust me just a bit further?” He tilts his head slightly before going on, “I only need a taste, I swear.”

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need— can’t be dying on everyone after coming this far.” Your words are much more contained than your thoughts, which are running wild and free, wandering off to the point where you honestly couldn’t care if he killed you. You knew he’d bring you back, especially if you were going to be the first humans he’s had the pleasure of tasting.

“Really?” His eyes light up, but also hold some suspicion as to why you haven’t reacted like he suspected everyone always would. “I… Okay, not a drop more.” He slowly comes in closer, nodding to himself, likely telling himself that this is finally it. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

He takes your hands and leads you to your bedroll, looming over you as you crawl up to your makeshift pillow. In a moment of quick thinking, you untie the top two laces of your nightshirt, giving him some more surface area to work with. You attempt to make eye contact, but Astarion is sizing your neck up and, no doubt, fantasizing about how delicious and sweet your blood will taste on his tongue.

“Go ahead, Astarion. I’m ready,” you gently declare, grabbing onto the ruffles of his own nightshirt.

“Ready? Just so you’re aware, this won’t turn you into a vampire, it’s just me feeding off of you…”

“No, I know, I just… Go ahead…”

And so he does, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of your neck with no further hesitation. It’s like a sharp, pin-pointed icy explosion at the entry site, and you can’t help but clench your thighs together and yelp at the sensation. The ice soon turns to fire and you feel like you have alchemist’s fire coursing through your veins, igniting every nerve.

“Astarion, this is ecstasy,” you moan, tightening your grip on his shirt and bringing your hips up to grind against his leg for any friction you could get. “You can bite down more, please, bite down more!”

And bite down more, he does. It’s like you can feel your heartbeat throughout your whole body, rhythmic, pulsating, alive. Astarion also seems to be out of sorts, focusing on the sweet nectar of life pouring from the puncture wounds he’s made. Focusing on how powerful and rejuvenated you make him feel, especially in comparison to the fodder at the mansion or the wildlife he’d caught as of late.

“Would it— ah— can I have… I want you, Astarion,” you push out through quick breaths. “While you’re… biting me… if you would…”

He pulls back long enough for his eyes to glaze over and blood to start dripping down his chin. He seems to blank for a moment, but in the blink of an eye, he’s back to his normal seductive self with a, “Want me? Want me how, darling, what exactly do you want? Use your words.”

“Anything. Anything, anything, anything, please.”

His hand slithers up your leg and stops at the front of your pants, rubbing gentle circles right where you need it. You groan in relief and buck up against him, getting greedy off the bat. He smirks up at you from the nape of your neck and digs back in, relishing in the raw, sexual energy you’re exuding.

“In, please, Astarion, in me,” you whine out, putting a hand over his to give yourself a greater pressure to grind on.

“Oh, the only thing I adore more than your blood is the sound of you begging— I have no choice but to give you what you want,” he coos, giving you what you asked for and then some. His fingers work a mile-a-minute, dipping underneath your pants and undergarments to coat them in your slick before slipping in. You can’t help but yelp at the intrusion, but seconds go by and yelping turns to groaning, then groaning turns into bitten back swears escaping your mouth. Still toying with you, his fangs slip right back into the marks he’d left before. Overwhelmed by the mix of pain and pleasure, you have an instantaneous full-body religious experience type of orgasm that you’d never felt before.

“Astarion, where in the Hells did you pick that up?”

In response, he clamps down even harder, effectively shutting you up and eliciting a wonderful tightening around his fingers. Obviously, not a topic to talk about right now, but you weren’t looking to talk anyway, so you had no problem with shutting up. However, he retracts once more, feeling that soon he won’t be able to stop himself before he drains you. Who honestly knows if you’re trying to play him, use him, like everyone else, or if you’re genuinely out of your mind horny for him— but he didn’t care regardless. He was missing the touch, the feel, the pseudo-passion, and he never got to be the one in control anyway. This chance was a lonesome, steaming apple pie innocently left on the windowsill, and he was not beyond stealing.

“Lift your hips up for me,” he commands, and in no time, he’s got you in nothing but your underwear. He takes a moment, not quite admiring, but just watching the light from the fire drench your skin and illuminate your figure. Eyes drifting from plump lips to bloodied, open neck— marked by him, by him— to bare chest to rock solid nipples down to the curvature of your hips to sweet, soft legs. He can’t see himself, but you were a sight to behold. Nothing like anyone who he’d previously manipulated for Cazador, you were somehow special.

“Do you… want me to do anything for you? I don’t want this to be all about me.”

No one in who knows how long has ever asked him if he’d wanted to get in on the pleasure. He wasn’t allowed, as Cazador’s both favorite and least favorite spawn. He was happy to exercise the new freedom and finally, consensually get a mind-blowing blowjob.

“I would adore a little topping off, if you would, sweetness.” He traces his thumb from your bottom lip down to your jaw, tipping your head up to give him the space to kiss the now-dried shower of coagulated blood. He laps up whatever he can then presses one last kiss to your collarbone before sitting back to pop his trousers open and pull the seam at the top of his underwear.

You push yourself up and off of your bedroll and and move your makeshift pillow to use as padding for your knees. Before you touch anything, you press a gentle kiss to his the top of his tip and smile up at him, making sure he didn’t look uncomfortable.

“Return the favor afterwards?” You look directly up at Astarion, locking your eyes with his as you wrap your fingers around his base and begin suckling on his head.

“I could…” His head falls back and his hand finds itself on the back of your head, not pushing you down, just playing with the loose strands. “But I could also come to you in the middle of the night— surprise you, spring myself upon you and devour you. Would you care if anyone heard? The precious leader being lapped at and controlled by the evil, scary vampire?” As he continues his fantasy, you begin taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth, the bloodlessness helping with suppressing any gagging. “I’d wait till dark. Let everyone fall asleep, sneak into your tent… Then I’d taste, no… Ravage you.”

You look up at him, locking eyes as you take him completely down, desperately trying to convince him that he could have all that and more right now. He tuts and finally puts pressure on the back of your head, relishing in the feeling of you gagging and choking around him. “Don’t you worry, I’d leave enough of you to come back— ah, shit— for more.”

While it doesn’t last terribly long, it’s enough for him to reach his finish, where he pulls fully back and paints your face in ropes of heat. He puts a hand on your cheek, smearing his cum across your cheek and grinning down at you, completely breathless. He simply wipes himself off with his shirt, but he takes his time, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to give you a more thorough clean.

“Now you have to come steal away to my tent some night, after that.” You laugh, putting yourself back together as he does the same. You take a peek around, and no one seems to have been disturbed, leaving you two a rare private moment. “I’d… really like that. If my blood helps, it would be useful to keep meeting up like this.”

“Oh, I feel wonderful now— I got fresh blood that squirmed on my fingers and finished me off, I’m practically a new man,” he lulls, already starting to stalk off to his tent. “Ta ta, get yourself all rested and recovered for tomorrow.” With that, he disappears, winking and smirking at you as he retreats.

You could barely process what just happened. The wounds on your neck barely feel real, even as you skim your fingertips over them. And you were in for more, apparently, so you barely slept, just imagined how Astarion was going to deliver tomorrow.

[cerys-scribbles]

Prompt Idea:

Tav/Durge twists their leg and can't walk. What do the companions do?

(karlach or halsin please)

Karlach

Karlach is used to battlefield injuries. She has little skill with healing, but she can put together a splint with only some rope and wood. Her forehead crinkles as she works, a tiny adorable line between her brows. 

“It’s fine,” you say. “It’s just a twisted ankle—I’ll be all right in the morning.”

Karlach snorts. “Soldier, with our luck, we’ll be attacked by kobolds at midnight.”

You open your mouth to protest… then shut it again. Because that is exactly what would happen to all of you. 

And you understand that the splint is her way of taking care of you. She’ll ensure you can’t injure yourself further and she’ll sleep nearby.

The heat coming off her infernal engine soothes the ache in your leg and helps lull you to sleep. She’ll guard you when you can’t guard yourself, no matter how much you protest. “Spent ten years all by myself,” she says, “and I’m not going to lose you.”

Halsin

Halsin has dealt with his fair share of injuries. He has treated countless sprains and broken bones. He kneels beside you after the battle, his brows drawn low as he gently pulls your boot free. You try not to wince, but a hiss of pain escapes you. “Apologies,” he says, and you can tell he means it. 

“Not your fault,” you say, your voice a little tight. “I’m all right.”

Once he can get a good look at your swollen ankle, he nods to himself. “Not too bad.”

“So I’ll keep the foot?” you say, smiling. 

He gives you a tolerant smile. By now, he’s grown used to your quips and jokes. It’s your way of dealing with all of the chaos you’ve been thrown into. 

He places his large hand over your injury and closes his eyes. His lips move, forming the shape of a healing spell. Cold spreads out from his fingertips, sinking into bone and sinew. For a moment, the cold-burn of it makes you grimace. But then the magic knits the injury back together, and the pain recedes. “You should rest it until the morning,” says Halsin. He begins unpacking your bedroll. “Magic can only do so much.” 

You catch his hand and squeeze. “Thank you,” you say. 

His green eyes meet yours. There’s a warmth in his face, a fierce protectiveness. “Of course.” 

[hemipenal-system]

kobold who sits between your legs and very gently worships you with their tongue

[kobold-wyx]

Quickly tap left and right on the directional pad to gently the kobold!

[probablybadrpgideas]

Most Popular Methods of Eating Breakfast Cereal

Human: pour cereal in bowl, add milk, eat with spoon 

Elf: dip spoon in milk bowl, top with desired amount of cereal, eat milk and cereal in the spoon, repeat

Dwarf: pour cereal in ale, wait until nice and soft, drink

Halfling: gently heat dry cereal on the stove, mix three parts milk with one part water, add a teaspoon of sugar, add salt and pepper to taste, add cereal to milk mixture, pick up bowl and slurp

Orc: crush cereal to dust, inhale

Goblin: pour cereal into bowl of vinegar, add fresh worms, eat with fork 

Tiefling: find a dark corner, eat cereal out of the box while contemplating tragic backstory

Gnome: pour cereal, milk, and coffee into the different compartments of a three-spouted cereal pitcher, take swigs from all three spouts simultaneously

Kobold: lick cereal off plate

Tabaxi: pour milk in bowl, drink with tongue, wait isn’t this supposed to be about cereal? uh, no data. 

Dragon: dragons do not eat breakfast cereal like lesser creatures do; they only buy it to collect the prizes

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

👉🏽👈🏽 spare any jjk faerie au headcanons you have cooked up for a desperate lass?

of course because man do i have some thoughts as a lover of faeries. i could probably go on about this for hours

gojou satoru | elf

a prince hailing from a seelie court

his very birth shook faerieland as foretold by the stars red, blue and purple stars that soared through the sky the night of his birth and his eyes are ones that can see mana and the shape of the soul among other things

presents himself as a revel-loving fool he simply enjoys games, but he is a lot more observant and calculating than he lets on

in his youth he often toted on and on about the stupidity of love, likening it to more of a curse and an ailment that turned the sane into fools so outside of the obligation of having heirs, he doesn't desire love in the slightest

until he meets falls in love at first sight with you, a banshee who saved his life when you coincidentally happened to be passing by after he found himself in a bloody situation

causes the entire court to go into an uproar when he immediately announces his intentions to make you his queen never mind the fact you haven't even accepted his proposal yet

his mother doesn't like you in the slightest. she gave birth to one whose very birth has shaken the earth and if her son is going to marry anyone it is going to be someone more fitting of that position

satoru ignores all that in favor of doing his best to woo you now that you're stuck living in his palace until a revel thrown in your honor passes

yes he knows this very much so makes him a hypocrite but he doesn't want anyone else

asks you all sorts of question about being a banshee. how your cries work, if there are different wails for different situations, how long you've been heralding death

at least you know the man is nothing if not passionate. it's hard resisting his charms as he asks you gently each time to marry him. you think you just might say yes when you feel the ghost of his lips against yours

getou suguru | phouka

if he isn't being an advisor to seelie prince satoru, suguru is a human-hating phouka who is, unfortunately, stuck living with one

unlike humans, the folk are creatures who keep their word so when you are able to best him in something for a favor he's inclined to keep his promise

and yes, he promises that he won't harm you or your loved ones after your deal has come to a close. yes, this includes things you personally consider harmful ranging from murder to physical attacks

for a human, you're quite clever in looking out for any loopholes. you apparently weren't lying when you said you were a faerie enthusiast

but that's the extent of suguru's praise when he learns why you were so adamant to find a faerie to help with your problems ー

apparently you took a botany elective thinking it would be an easy A only to now be just barely passing the class

yes, that's right. you want a member of the folk, a phouka, to be a glorified tutor until the end of the semester just to make sure you don't get a failing grade. apparently, suguru gave you far too much credit

still, you end up growing on him overtime with your sense of humor and you're way of looking at things. he hates to put it so simply but he supposes you aren't like other humans he has come across

(suguru later nearly destroys your textbook because he himself grows frustrated with your class. the human sciences are just as confusing to him as it is you. but your grade has technically improved since he began helping you so it's not entirely a loss is it?)

nanami kento | elf-kobold hybrid

an elf-kobold hybrid with horns that gently curve atop his head akin to an imperial demon

a record keeper often has work writing down events as they take place as well as organizing historical texts as he sees fit. it's a tiring and thankless job but it is something his family has been doing for generations and he sees no reason to break tradition now

the one saving grace he has are naps he enjoys taking between late afternoon and dusk, religiously, by a lake close to the palace

you're a swan maiden who calls the lake home and his quiet company. it's winter in the human realm and rather than fly south with your flock, you decided to spend the season in faerie and decided that particular lake would be home

you're a playful, impish thing who enjoys presenting nanami with riddles as he grows tired and you watch over him to keep him safe while he sleeps. a deal you've both made in favor of him bringing you delicious sweets from the palace

it's quite the favorable deal for you both

of course, inevitably you two get to talking and find yourselves having more and more in-depth conversations as the week goes by

what would nanami do if he decided to break family tradition?

where have you traveled in the human realm?

as a swan maiden, you seldom ever take off your cloak of feathers. there's no reason to ask, nanami knows the rules that swan maiden and selkies follow. should your cloak or coat be taken, you're forced to follow their will

as such, nanami never refers to your coat in the slightest. he never even asks about it

it's a great sign of trust among your kind to ever be vulnerable with your cloak. something nanami learns first hand when he wakes up one particular evening and finds that you have covered him with your cloak to make sure he stays warm

fushiguro toji | boggart

a lord in an unseelie court of faerie, who works in service to the high king as his sword

had a mortal wife who died centuries ago and together they had a half-human son

his son lives among humans presently and while they don't readily talk to one another, toji often has his men sent to the human realm to watch over his son and give him reports on his wellbeing

doesn't imagine himself ever loving someone he did his wife again until running across you a human who stumbled into the wrong mound

allows you to stay in his fief until it is otherwise safe for you to return home

you say you're a dancer so you dance for him and keep him entertained as a sort of thanks for not promptly killing you when you trespassed on his territory

the tension between you both is palpable to many. his staff who are forced to wait on your hand and foot as his guest and to the gentry you see at unseelie revels

the ones that gossip about how it isn't strange for toji to take human lovers

and yet despite that, no matter how close you get, toji keeps a distance between you both that. he fell in love with a human once, still remembers the sting of watching his beloved wife grow old and wither away in front of his very eyes

it's a pain he doesn't want to revisit ever again

okkotsu yuuta | human

unlike most stories of selkies and their evil human spouses, you're marriage with yuuta is quite the happy one in the seaside town you call home

yours was an accidental love story where he accidentally caught you in his net, only to release you

the next day, you brought piles of fresh fish and crabs and shrimp by his beachside home as thanks, much to his confusion as to where the catch came from

you usually followed his boat when he goes to fish and he learns how to recognize you, often laughing sheepishly when he saw you, warning you not to get too close so you don't end up in the net again

it isn't until a stormy night when yuuta fell overboard that you did anything drastic such as save his life, taking him to the shore and giving him cpr

you stayed with him all night until the storm passed keeping him warm

when yuuta woke up to seeing a beautiful, naked person by his side, he was understandably surprised. even more so when you transformed into a seal right in front of him. that was his introduction to the folk, to magic

now he's surrounded by you and your ocean-filled magic everyday in your little cottage by the sea

you come and go as you please, sometimes for weeks sometimes even for months at a time depending on the time of year

but you always come back and yuuta is happy to see you every time

[darkeunology]

♡ Touches ♡

Word Count: 1804

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talks of dying, combat

Summary: You and Astarion only ever touched each other when close to death, maybe sometimes you need to be touched to live too

Not Requested

Not Proof Read

I'm only on Act 2 of the game so this has no spoilers for midway Act 2 onwards

Never in your wildest dreams would you have ever been able to predict all that had happened to you in the last few days. From being on the Nautiloid ship and having a Mind Flayer tadpole forced into your eye - something that still makes you shiver in disgust anytime you think about it - to raiding the Goblin camp so the Tieflings finding refuge at the Emerald Grove can finally make their way out and helping every one of your companions with their memories and the help they need with other matters. As strange as these past few days have been, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world, you were having the adventure of your life with people you were getting closer with by the day. 

One person you were getting a little closer with than the others was Astarion, I mean how could you not. It had been a few nights since you were woken up by a strange feeling you had in your gut, the feeling of someone being too close next to you - opening your eyes to the sight of Asterion above your neck, fangs nearly biting you, 

“Shit.” He spoke sheepishly, backing away from you, hastily standing up as you did too. “No, no. It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” he almost pleaded, hoping to convince you as you raised your eyebrow at him, looking at him in disbelief. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just needed… Well… Blood.” 

The dim firelight illuminated Astarion where he stood, you scrutinised his features, something you hadn’t really had the time or need to do before. When you think about it now, you’re amazed it took so long to realise, the unnatural blood red eyes that would pierce you everytime he looked at you, the way his lips bared his teeth, two large fangs being prominent in his smile, he was a vampire. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” You started, shaking your head in shock, you recalled what had happened earlier that morning, the boar you’d found laying on the floor, you’d asked Astarion about it, him telling you that something had obviously bitten it and taken it’s blood, “We even found the boar you snacked on.” 

“It’s not what you think,” he rushed to say, “I’m not some monster.” he spoke more delicately now, as if the word ‘Monster’ was something he had carved on him. “I feed on animals. Boars, Deer, Kobolds - whatever i can get. I’m just too slow right now. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, not actually that hurt that he didn’t tell you. 

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No. I needed you to trust me.” He moved slightly closer to you, still keeping enough distance that you wouldn’t feel threatened, “And you can trust me.” he finished, his voice becoming more sultry as he spoke, almost trying to seduce you into letting him bite you. 

“I do. I believe you.” you spoke gently, trying to not wake any of your other companions up, frankly you were amazed they hadn’t woken up yet. 

Astarion looked relieved at your words,”Thank you. Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” He asked, his voice still seductive, “I only need a taste, I swear.” 

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.” you confirmed, not quite sure why you were actually going to let someone drink your blood. Maybe it was because his voice was doing something to you, maybe it was just because you needed Astarion to be at his best for any fights you were undoubtedly going to encounter tomorrow.  

He smirked at your answer, “Let’s get comfy then shall we?” He extended his hand towards your bedroll on the floor, signalling for you to lie back down, his body coming down on top of yours, his hand brushing some stray hair out of the way, brushing it behind your ear. Your eyes widened slightly as you felt his teeth sink into your skin, the pain burning initially before it sinks into a feeling of numbness, your bodies connecting through this moment together. It doesn’t take long until you're using your strength to push him away from you, deciding that he’d had enough. He kneels down next to you, his breath heavy, “Ah, that - that was amazing.” He smiled menacingly, standing up as he spoke, taking a few steps away from you again, “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel…Happy.” he smirked, his eyes travelling over your body.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.” you spoke, remembering the reason you even allowed him to bite you in the first place, hoping that this would’ve been worth it. 

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” Astarion smirked. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He turned his back to you, about to walk off but giving one last comment over his shoulder to you, “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.” He puts his focus back on the forest, stalking to it, much more confident as he goes to find more prey, leaving you to settle down back to bed and wonder what the hells just happened. 

Somehow the relationship between the two of you wasn’t fractured at all after this incident, in fact you’d somehow gotten stronger, allowing him to take a bit from you on certain nights, when you knew he was probably desperate for some strength and he took every moment of it, relishing in the taste of your blood that coated his lips, feeling the strength rejoin his body. 

However, there was something different between the two of you than what you had with almost everyone else in the camp. As time went on, Astarion became the person you weren’t necessarily as close to. As much as you were still friends and he would still throw you the odd flirty comment every so often - you had touched everyone else in the camp, you’d fixed Karlach’s heat issue so you could hug her now, doing so whenever she’d ask you to, knowing how much she’d missed being able to be touched. You’d danced with Wyll multiple times, him teaching you everything he knew. You’d had Gail teaching you how to do some magic. All three of them telling you plenty about their old lives. 

But you and Astarion, whilst he’d told you parts about Cazador, about his past. The two of you had only ever touched when it was necessary. When you’d be helping the other up after a particularly rough patch of combat or patching each other up at camp if any of the magic wielders were unable to heal you guys through a spell. You’d only ever touched each other when you were close to death, never touching for any other reason than necessity. 

Sleepless nights would often plague you through the Shadow-Cursed Lands, there was just something about this place that would not allow you to sleep most of the nights. During these nights, your thoughts would often stray to Astarion, and the things he had told you. You wanted nothing more than to be able to help him with everything he was going through, but you would also often wonder why you two were nowhere near as close as you were to everyone else. Maybe it was because of that night, when he was going to drink your blood without even telling you first - you often wondered how you would have woken up when it was far too late, with his fangs already piercing you, and you wonder if he would’ve actually stopped or if he would’ve drunk enough to kill you - or maybe it was just simply just because you had different feelings for Astarion than you did for Wyll for example. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what these feelings were, but you knew there was something different between you. 

Your feelings were confronted one night, after a bad fight had happened only a few hours before at the Last Light Inn, your life nearly being lost to it. Whilst you were used to nearly dying in these fights, this one for some reason hit you harder. Shadowheart had healed you almost fully when you got back to camp, but something still felt wrong as you laid down on your bedroll, tears coming to your eyes before you stubbornly blinked them away, not allowing yourself to cry when all your companions were nearby. 

“Stupid question, but are you okay?” Your eyes snapped open, Astarion standing above you, a sympathetic look on his face, he still hadn’t cleaned the blood off his face which reminded you that you hadn’t either, your face feeling stiff from the blood drying on it. 

Sitting up, you responded to him, “No.” A small sob escaped you as you spoke, causing your cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. “I didn’t want to cry in front of any of you.” you chuckled sadly, wiping your eyes. “I don’t know why this has hit me so hard. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve nearly died.” you were confused as to why you felt like this. 

“You’re scared.” Astarion spoke, sitting down in front of you, a bowl of water now in front of him, a rag in his hand, “May I?” He asked gently, signalling to the blood on your face, 

“Please,” you whispered, your eyes scanning his face as he concentrated on getting the blood off you, being just aggressive enough to get the dried blood off but not too aggressive to hurt you any further. 

“I get scared all the time. Everytime we come back to camp after a bad fight.” he spoke gently as he cleaned you up, “All of us do. That’s what makes us human…” he paused, smirking playfully, “Well, that’s what makes all of you human.” You chuckled lightly. “Come on, let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.” 

Astarion gently pushed you down so you were laying, he moved himself next to you. Your body tensed up for a second as you touched, his body tucking in tightly behind yours, the first time the two of you had properly touched each other. “Relax. I’m right here.” He whispered, laying a lingering kiss below your ear. You drifted away to the sound of Asterion’s breath in your ear, the comforting sound of someone being with you, holding you, keeping the monsters away for the night. 

It was strange to touch each other without one of them dying, but maybe touch was also something for the living.

[embersoftheorder]

DWC - August - Day 1 - Melee

Blue light blazed across the wet stones of the claustrophobic tunnel of Stormwind's sewer system. Light was a valued and rare commodity down in the depths of the city, but it was thanked and enjoyed by those who tread it's foul waters. Tonight's wanderers included the Inquisitor Cheryl Duun.

Her green tinged goggles glowing with soft translucence as they cut through the dark to light her hindered sight, as much as she wished the glowing blue axe in her hands would brighten the darkness more. Her armor was tightly pulled to her muscular body to keep from snagging on anything, a piecemeal of chain and plate to protect as much as offer her speed. Her boots, soles tight and thick to keep from slipping into the slow flowing muck below her, gripped to the stone floor as she swung the stone blade of her weapon into the body of another kobold.

Most would consider the kobolds an easy foe, if even that as above the ground they were considered more of a minor inconvenience to the small folk of Elwynn and beyond. But here, here they were something different. Sinister, strong, and cunning in their movements and plans. Wielding weapons far superior to the crude stone or stolen steel, these were forged with a knowledge that they should not have. It was unnerving to see at first, but now after so many months of this vicious dirty work it was dangerous.

Beside her Cheryl heard Ramses give the order to hit the wall, the soft hum of his charged up weapon roaring to life behind her. The inquisitor gave a nod, not knowing if he saw it but she focused hard into the Tre's energy and caused it to flare bright watching the rats raise their hands at the sudden flash. Her own vision dazed from her bang, but she knew what to do as she flattened against the slimy stone wall.

There was a whine, a burst, and then the cheap smell of ozone as the arcane cannon went off. There was no fire or heat, but there was force and it was enough to hammer into the clump of foe rats ahead of the small band of catchers. They didn't even scream as they were blown back and smashed into the walls, the bodies gently folding and thumping down into the murky depths below them.

"Tides," murmured the woman as she blinked a few times behind the frame of her goggles. Her hand reaching up to pull them down and around her neck as he looked back to Ramses. The draenei smiling as he stood up and shouldered the cannon, even though he needed to duck a bit to keep his horns from scrapping the top.

"I think I got them," Ramses added with a hint of humor as he smiled with his softly glowing blue eyes.

Cheryl let out her own laugh as she tried to blink her vision clearer, not daring to touch her face down here again as she had when she first started. "I think so too. Come on, we got tunnel 17-C to go."

"Always, commander."

"Just Cheryl, Ramses."

"Very good, Just Cheryl," the draenei replied back, a wide smile on his face at his own joke.

Cheryl Duun rolled her eyes with her own smile before fishing her goggles back up before they pressed on into the under dark.

@daily-writing-challenge

[oneclawbinthegrave]

Bathtime for your kobold.

Carry it gently to the bathroom - it's so bruised and aching from how you've been treating it. Turn on the water, make sure it's nice and warm. Add in some bubble bath, freshly smelling - it'll help take some of the scent of death off of it. Light some candles and lower the lights. Let's make this a relaxing place.

Place it into the tub. It's sure to be aching, trembling, but you have a gentle touch today. Grabbing a washcloth and soaping it up, rubbing over its scales so tenderly. It'll chrrl, yip, and be happy. Get all that grime and blood off of it. Pretty clean kobold.

Hold its snout softly. Look into its eyes. See how they glisten with life. Smile. It smiles back.

Hold its head firmly. Start pushing. It might resist at first, but it knows what will happen. It smiles back.

Hold it under the water. Watch your work. See it writhe and struggle, holding its breath as the bath bubbles. It smiles back.

Keep holding it there. Even as it becomes desperate. Even as instinct tries to save it. Even as it kicks and splashes for salvation. It's bathtime. No getting out until its thoroughly clean. Feel free to finger its slit. Let it enjoy its bath. It smiles back.

Soon it won't have a choice. It'll gasp. It'll moan. It'll whine. And soon the water will fill its lungs. It won't be long after that. It'll feel so heavy. It'll know it will be clean. It will be happy. It smiles back.

Wait until the bubbles stop.

Smile.

Take your kobold out and wrap in a towel. Its lifeless body is so pretty now, isn't it? Clean from head to toe, within and without.

Do with it what you want. There's other kobolds.

[purpletyrant]

They move in a hobbling line, coarse hoods drawn up to their horns. Even in the shade, they all look identical. Their movements perfectly mirror one another, and only by their shadows can she be certain that they are not one person. Orchidee watches them bob in a slow procession to the dark hutch, with its windows all obscured by thick growths of vine. Eubora follows the direction of her stare. “The Eunomiads,” he says - as if this answers everything. “The reason you’re permitted to be here. Don’t stare. It’s rude.” Orchidee blinks. “Are they sisters?” Eubora gives her a withering look. “You’ve not retained your studies.” It’s true that in the weeks before their departure, Eubora lectured Orchidee persistently on the history and politics of the village they’d call home for the next year. The trade language spoken in that region, their traditions and etiquette, and yes, the leadership responsible for the settlement’s isolation – all of it was taught to her in hours of insufferable study. He did not even permit her respite on the final journey. At some point, the brown and green blur of trees out the carriage window became far more interesting than Eubora’s voice. The Eunomiads vanish into their home, and Orchidee stares at the door after it shuts. Eubora lifts the silver handle of his cane and gently nudges her gaze in a different direction.

Kobolds have five sexes – and the fifth is exceptionally rare. Initially hatched from normal eggs of the other sexes, this sex is self-reproducing and will result in a lineage of clones. Kobold legend holds this sex as infallible, and as a result they are the ruling class of any settlement with a kobold majority. It’s expected that successive generations will take over other settlements or found their own partnering communities, but the leaders of Cybele’s village have hunkered down into a codependent pod of miserly and suspicious old women. As a trio, they are known as “The Eunomiads.” In recent years, the Eunomiads have expelled non-kobolds from the community and shut it off from its neighbors. The result is a village that is failing to subsist. With death and hunger on their doorstep, Cybele’s sister Gwydion is one daring member who has successfully fled. Why are the Eunomiads doing this? One of them is experiencing prophetic dreams of the forest’s destruction, a “White Death” that will sweep over them if they do not fortify themselves. Eubora and Orchidee are brought in to keep the village from collapsing, with its former allies arranging diplomatically for the unicorns to be accepted. Because Cybele’s family has already been deemed “tainted” by outside influence due to Gwydion’s escape, they are tasked with taking in and caring for the guests from Lafossa.

^^^ pasted all that shit from deerword lore doc 👍 i wrote the prose off the dome, so its not part of anything longer. i wanted these three to embody the three witches trope... two of their poses are actually referenced from artwork of baba yaga, lol

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #8

Ren Faire 👑 / Plugged In 🔌

“I don’t know about this one,” says Falin as Marcille laces the corset for her. “It’s making me itch. I think it’s pressing my feathers in too hard.”

Marcille pauses. Outside the rough curtain of the dressing stall, the festival roars on jovially — cheers from the jousting matches, drunken off-key singing, clouds of happy chatter and laughter among friends — but it all dulls with Falin back in front of her. “Should I stop?”

Falin casts a glance toward where the shop owner is waiting outside the stall. “I don’t want to offend her.”

“It’s fine not to like it,” says Marcille, trailing her fingers through the soft white flocking at the nape of Falin’s neck before she begins to unlace the corset. “We’ll find something else. Maybe someone who makes clothes for kobolds? They might understand what materials will be more comfortable for you. Or we could find a blouse and a loose vest or something, so you’d have plenty of layers to wear, but nothing would be snug around you.”

Falin nods. “I like that better.” 

Marcille carefully folds the corset, then wraps her arms around Falin’s soft, abundant waist and pulls her in close. “All right,” she says against her cheek. “Just give me a minute here.”

Falin rubs against her like a cat, then rests her chin on Marcille’s shoulder and makes a soft sound. Marcille’s eyes flutter closed.

The shop owner hollers, “I’ve only got one dressing room!”

“Oh, come on!” yelps Marcille.

She lets Falin go and shuffles out behind her, and she mutters while Falin graciously thanks the shop owner for letting her try on the corset.

“Oh, shhh,” says Falin, taking Marcille by the arm and steering her away. “She has to do business too. We can’t take up her only dressing stall and then not buy anything.”

Marcille huffs. “I’d slip her a coin just to let me stay in there with you for another ten minutes!”

Falin laughs, and the sound melts any residual or even performative outrage from Marcille. She’s so lovely, and she looks so healthy and hale, so much more like she did at school. Her face is round, her cheeks pink and bright, and she’s eating normally again.

Well … she’s eating … more than normally. They’ve had Falin looked at by every doctor they’ve met even incidentally — Marcille’s personal favorite is the woman wearing a nursing cap they passed from the opposite side of the street, to whom Laios called, “Madam Nurse, will you please take a look at my sister?”, to which the nurse flashed him a thumbs-up and called back, “She looks great!” No one can seem to find anything wrong with her except that her metabolism appears to have shifted, which, given the ordeal her body has been through, isn’t exactly a shock. A few doctors have even said that they’ve seen it happen to adventurers after spending a long time in the dungeons; after so much physical exertion and relatively little food, some people’s bodies hang onto every spare calorie they can take in to prepare for such harsh conditions again in the future.

Falin is definitely one of those people. No matter what she eats now, it stays with her. Her hips have grown wide and plush, her belly overflowing her trousers in a soft, heavy curve. Each night, Marcille settles into their shared bedroll with one hand resting on the round swell of Falin’s side or gently stroking the silky softness of her plump upper arms. Her adventuring clothes don’t fit her all that well anymore, and although she’s been able to cobble together a scant collection of cast-off pieces from Laios, Namari, and the ogre girl from Shuro’s new party, none of them sit quite right, or the material itches, or they’re wrong in some other way. The trousers she’s wearing now are a few inches too long and too wide to stay cuffed, while her dragon leather jerkin has to be worn open since it won’t lace over her generous bosom. The shirt she’s wearing beneath is one of Laios’s old ones, and not only is it spattered in what Marcille suspects might be some kind of blood, but it’s also snug around her chest and arms, and she can tell by the way Falin keeps plucking and pulling at it that it’s making her uncomfortable. So today, Marcille is making it her mission to trawl through the festival’s many vendors until they can find some clothes Falin actually feels good in.

They lost the boys and Izutsumi long ago, and by “lost” Marcille means that Falin grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a display of insects preserved in amber, and by the time they turned back to the crowd, the rest of their party was long gone. Marcille’s sure they’re all off somewhere eating the giant roasted cockatrice legs she’s seen people carrying. A festival like this is probably paradise for someone like Laios. Every other booth is hawking some sort of obscene edible item.

That said, she also promised Falin a giant roasted cockatrice leg before the day is over. What was she supposed to do, ignore Falin’s big eyes and hopeful looks?

They meander along the cobblestone street, and Falin tugs her aside again when she notices a stall selling not only cotton chemises but light breeches to wear beneath. She rubs the fabric between her fingers and makes an appreciative noise, then takes Marcille’s hand and makes her feel it too. The cotton is soft and breathable, and she watches Falin sift through the selections, holding them up against her body to see if they’ll fit.

“Do you know your measurements, dearie?” asks the stall owner, an elderly ogre, and Falin ducks her head.

“I used to, but my body’s very different now.”

“No matter,” says the stall owner, pulling a tape from behind her till. “I can take them fresh, if you like.”

Falin meets Marcille’s eyes. Marcille gives her an encouraging little nod. 

“All right,” says Falin, shrugging off her jerkin and handing it to Marcille. The stall owner has her step behind a thin curtain and then pushes a quill and scrap of paper into Marcille’s hands as well. 

“Mark these down for me, lovie, or I’ll forget as soon as I’ve said it aloud.”

Marcille drapes the jerkin over her arm and grasps the quill probably too tightly. Through the curtain she can see Falin’s shape raising her arms for the stall owner to wrap the tape around her bust, then her waist, then the widest part of her belly and her hips — forty-eight, forty-six, fifty-two. Around her hips, down her inseam, then back up for the circumference of her neck and arms — fifty-four, thirty, twenty, eighteen. Marcille writes them all down, the bigger numbers making her feel a little weak: Falin’s waist is over a foot and a half larger around than her own.

The shop owner bustles out to take a few pieces off the rack, and Marcille listens to the small sounds of Falin’s exertion as she tries them on. From the sound of it, she’s pleased so far, and after a minute or so she steps out to show off. 

The chemise and breeches are simple, but already Falin looks so much more comfortable. The light fabric — not white, but a soft wheat color that’s just a few shades off from her hair — skims over her curves and allows her plenty of room to move and gesture. She spins in a circle for Marcille, and with her eyes closed and her pale hair framing her face, she could be some minor deity representing gentleness, or contentedness, or abundance.

“You look great,” says Marcille fondly. “How do they feel?”

“I like them,” says Falin, swishing the hem of the chemise around her plush thighs. “The breeches keep the feathers on my legs from rubbing together when I move, and the fabric doesn’t itch.” She nods to the stall owner, who’s hanging just behind her. “And she said she has them in other colors in my size, too. I might get a couple.”

“Of course,” says Marcille, taking her hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You should have things you like.”

Falin buys the set in the wheat color, in a warm lavender that’s as soft and lovely as she feels in Marcille’s arms, and in a deep indigo that Marcille could just swoon over, it makes her look so luminous. She changes into the lavender set before they leave the stall, bundling her old clothes in the rough-hewn bag the stall owner packs her other purchases in. Then the elderly ogre gives them a tip about another vendor who specializes in “leather goods for ample figures” and they’re off.

Arm in arm, they make their way through the cluster of booths and tents, and Marcille points out the back of a head that can only be Senshi’s several yards away, haggling over some kind of meat she can’t identify and will probably have to contend with eating later. Falin veers off course for a gnome selling scarves made from silk produced by hand-reared silkworms, though Marcille suspects she’s more taken by the silkworm terrarium than the scarves. While she talks animatedly with the gnome vendor, Marcille slips back to the amber insect stall and hands over enough coins for a long chain bearing a pendant of an iridescent green beetle. 

She tucks the necklace into her robe and weaves back to Falin, who’s combing through silk samples and asking questions about texture, grade, and worm diet, and taps her on the shoulder. “Hi,” she says, and Falin gives her a beatific smile, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. 

“Hi! Look at these little guys!”

Silkworms do nothing for Marcille, but she appreciates that they fascinate Falin. “They’re very busy,” she observes, and Falin beams. 

“I can’t decide between these two,” she says, holding up a silk scarf dyed in purples and golds and another in shades of blue, green, and pink. Both feature botanical patterns, flowers and vines and berries, and — ah. Yes. Both patterns also contain bugs.

“They’re hand-spun and hand-painted,” says the gnome. “All-vegetable dyes, set with magic so they won’t run whether you wash ’em in salt water or fresh.”

“I’ll take both,” says Falin after barely a moment of deliberation. “Is there any chance I could take a worm as well?”

The gnome turns her down, but it doesn’t seem to dampen Falin’s spirits. She knots the purple and gold scarf around her hair and ties the other around the strap of Marcille’s pack. 

“Okay,” she says, lacing her fingers through Marcille’s and swinging their hands as they walk. “Let’s look at the leatherwork stall, and then we should probably try to find Laios and the others.”

“Probably,” Marcille agrees. “But I think there’s another important stop we need to make.”

“What’s that?”

Marcille grins. “Melonpan.”

They each get a bun filled with ice cream, and as they eat them together in the shade of a cherry tree, Falin rests her head on Marcille’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for looking out for me,” she says, licking a drip from her bun. “And not in the way that you look out for all of us while we adventure. I mean — I know Laios cares for me, of course, and I know the others do too. But I don’t think it would have occurred to any of them that I might want some things that fit me properly if I didn’t say so directly. And you thought of that. You noticed. And that really means a lot to me. I know I’m not particularly fashionable and maybe the others just don’t think I care very much about what I’m wearing, and — I don’t, I guess, but it’s nice to have clothes that feel good. That feel like me. Especially for my — my new body.”

She ducks her head, cheeks pink, and Marcille wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer. 

“Of course. Of course, Falin. I love you, and I want you to be comfortable and happy. You deserve it, your body has been through so much! I’m really glad that you’ve found some things you like. And I think I found something else you might like, too.”

She hands Falin her melonpan for safekeeping and pulls the necklace from her pocket, maneuvering it carefully over Falin’s hair and around her neck. “There.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” exclaims Falin, holding up the pendant to inspect it. “Look at the coloration! This is a fig-eater beetle, you can tell by the iridescent shell. They’re actually native to this area!” She turns and kisses Marcille, her mouth sweet and warm as the sun through the cherry blossoms. “Thank you! I’ll never take it off. And I’m going to put a spell on it so I won’t lose it as we travel.”

Marcille grins as Falin, glowing, finishes her melonpan and sighs happily, one hand resting on the mound of her belly. She covers Falin’s hand with her own and squeezes gently. 

“I love watching you eat,” she says with a smile. “You always look so happy.”

Falin jiggles her belly gently. “It’s really nice not to have to worry when we’re going to eat again. I forgot how much easier things are when you get to eat more than once every day.”

“I forgot how nice you look when you get to eat more than once every day,” Marcille teases. “You’d have melonpan every day if it were up to me.”

Falin wrinkles her nose in a little smile. “Good thing the clothes I bought run a little big.”

“Come on,” says Marcille, getting to her feet and helping Falin up. “We should get you a nice belt or bodice or something. Or a jerkin that actually fits.”

That, too, Falin opts to buy a bit oversized. She tries on two adjustable vests, one in her size and one that fits her well on its smallest set of hooks. “I think the bigger one might be better,” she tells a vaguely faint Marcille, weighing the two in her hands. “That way my body has more room to change, and it’ll still be comfortable.”

She buys a belt as well on the same principle, and Marcille stretches it between her arms, marveling at the size. It’s not just that Falin is so much rounder than she is, although that’s part of it too — it’s that she came so close to losing Falin entirely that she can’t help but see it as a miracle that she gets to have even more Falin than she started with. 

“You look beautiful,” says Marcille as they head back to their rendezvous point, having helped Falin into her vest and getting to drink in the whole picture of her. “More like yourself than you have since we entered the dungeon.”

Falin’s smile is sweet and earnest. “Thank you. I feel that way, too.”

The rest of the party is already waiting at the little picnic area where they’d agreed to meet up if they got separated. Senshi, loaded down with bags, is shelling peas into a small wooden bowl Marcille noticed on display at another stall; Chilchuck is busy fiddling with what looks like a new set of lockpicks, if their brand-new shine is anything to go by. Laios is slumped in the grass against the picnic table, legs spread out in front of him, his own round belly cradled in his hands. Izutsumi is perched above him on the table itself, tearing into —

“Are you eating a cockatrice leg up there?” asks Laios wearily, eyes closed. He shifts his weight incrementally and winces, pressing a hand to his gut.

“Yes, and you’re not getting any!” snaps Izutsumi, curling around the meat protectively. “You had yours!”

Laios hiccups miserably. “Don’t remind me,” he groans. Chilchuck snorts from the rock he’s perched on.

“Are you all right, Laios?” asks Falin, stepping toward her brother. 

“Oh, he’s fine,” says Senshi, the words punctuated by the patter of peas hitting the wooden bowl. “He just overdid it on the roasted cockatrice legs.”

“Eating two is overdoing it,” mutters Chilchuck. “Eating six is insanity.” Marcille pulls a face.

“Oh!” says Falin, brightening. “You also promised me a cockatrice leg!”Well, Marcille’s not about to go back on that.

[pineconelizard]

kobold in attack position: grrr!!! yip dragon: no thanks, maybe later (picks up and gently lays in bed) kobold now in face down defense position: zzzzzzz