#here the focus is on the dungeon setting

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[svere-online]

So I have a new dnd character I’m playing…

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[mithrun-house-of-kerensil]

Lately, I've been thinking about Mithrun and the ways he is dehumanized in canon.

Before I get started, we know that elven society is incredibly afraid of death and illness. This is obvious in how they look down on the short lived races and see them as weak and childlike. We also know that Mithrun himself had ableist views toward his brother and these values did not leave him once he, himself, became disabled. He is a product of the society that raised him, but I also think how Mithrun is currently being treated contributes to his view of himself.

Mithrun has had three different caretaking groups over the years. The first are the ones his brother hired for him. From what we can see, they did the job, but we can understand that they did not know what to do with him. No one had ever recovered from having their desires eaten so the focus was less on rehabilitation and more on keeping him alive.

Later we see Milsiril take an interest in him because of his desire to return to the dungeon. Since she did not bother to visit him for decades after finding him, we can assume that there is an ulterior motive here. Timeline-wise, this was when the majority of the canaries had just been wiped out. They needed more men, and Mithrun is set up to be the perfect single-focused soldier.

Honestly, we can assume that Milsiril doesn't really care about him or see him as a person. Mithrun is just a new project for her to play with. We can see this in how she's focused on superficial level concerns like the fact that he doesn't look nice and wanting him to be overly grateful toward her. She also talks about him like he's not in the room and can't hear her. This is a dehumanizing trait shared by many characters when talking about Mithrun.

When he finally does recover enough to return to the canaries, the military does not make any effort to accommodate his needs. We know the canaries are understaffed and the ethics are already bad, but they really did not even try to care about Mithrun's safety at all.

Entrusting a criminal with his care was questionable at best, especially when Cithis immediately took the opportunity to abuse her power over him and no one stopped her.

While acknowledging the light-hearted nature of the manga, it's uncomfortable that Mithrun was treated like a child and an animal by Cithis for her amusement. Regardless of her 'learning to respect him' later, the point is that Mithrun was taken advantage of and degraded because she believed he couldn't say no. No one bothered to do anything about this until Pattadol yelled at her.

Truly his treatment is summarized well by Milsiril here. Mithrun is extremely vulnerable to being abused by those taking care of him because he won't advocate for himself. He has one desire so he won't fight for himself in any other way.

It is obvious that Mithrun was not treated well by his caretakers and this has resulted in him identifying his needs through a disconnected and frankly, infantilizing lens.

I understand that it may have been a translator's decision, but I always thought it was interesting that Mithrun says that he's "not sleepy" which is a childish term. Otherwise, he speaks like everyone else, if not rather posh.

This, followed by the fact that he is responsive to Kabru treating him like a literal infant to get him to eat, paints a clear picture of the fact that Mithrun is not unfamiliar with being treated like this. He responds to it because he's used to it and has no desire to argue with being treated this way. When we consider the fact that the chapter started with Milsiril treating an older child Kabru in the same way, it is likely that she also did the same thing to Mithrun when he was under her care.

In these panels, we see that Mithrun does not believe that he can sleep without magical assistance, even though it is immediately refuted when Kabru takes the time to bundle him up and help him relax. Not only does he fully believe he can't sleep without external assistance, but he states directly that there is no point in him getting comfortable.

As Kabru observes, Mithrun's inability to recognize his needs applies to needs such as hunger and exhaustion, but it obviously also applies to emotional needs. Kabru just wanting to feed him something delicious and not wanting him to give up on life is the most consideration someone has given Mithrun in years.

The relationship they form over the course of a single week is enough to shape Mithrun's behaviour completely. Mithrun ignores Cithis's demand in favour of asking Kabru's opinion. It is Kabru's hand Mithrun takes to pull him out of his defeated state. It is Kabru Mithrun confessed his true desire to.

Do you realize how depressing that is? All it took was the new perspectives from Kabru and Senshi to make him consider the fact that he should keep living despite no longer needing to fulfill his duty. Being treated well could have helped Mithrun much sooner and this shift in the way he sees himself contributes to his recovery going forward.

TLDR: Mithrun has no desire to be respected, but why does that make people feel comfortable acting like he doesn't deserve it? Someone not caring about being treated well doesn't give you permission to treat them poorly. This feels like a playschool-level consent lesson: just because he's not saying no to a humiliating or degrading act doesn't mean it's a yes and therefore okay to do. Acknowledging this is the bare minimum of treating him as a person.

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[lightfeltmemories]

dungeon meshi | delicious in dungeon; reactions to reader having a crush on them / having a crush on reader

dungeon meshi various x gender neutral reader

note: hey everyone, please be mindful that this is the very first time writing for these characters, i have watched every available episode but i am still reading the manga (though i do have a general idea about the setting and the characters backstories and personalities) so if any characters are ooc to you my apologies, don't be harsh im new here lol. sorry some of them are shorter than others i kind of ran out of ideas when it came to certain characters :p let me know in the comments or reblogs or more preferably in my ask box if you want me to do any other character.

characters: laois, falin, chilchuck, marcille, senshi, namari, shuro, izutsumi (i'm adding her here because feels weird leaving her out when i've added former members of the party, also this is purely sfw so nothing weird will be aimed towards her.)

trigger warnings: nothing out of the ordinary but just read the manga or watch the anime before reading this.

if you like this and my other fanfics, please be considerate to reblog my work, it not only helps reach a broader audience but it also motivates me to make more content like this!

laois touden

reader's crush: when laois finds out that you have a crush on him, his reaction is.. well, how do we put it this way? is he flattered? yes and no, he doesn't see himself as ugly but also doesn't look at himself as the most handsome guy in the world, but someone straight up having a crush on him is kind of new, he doesn't really care much for relationships at the very moment but has thought about settling down with someone he likes, will it be you?

laois' crush: when it comes to having a crush, he tries to be his normal self around you, but sometimes can't help but be a little nervous especially when the two of you are alone, sooner or later he comes to the conclusion of realizing the he indeed, likes you, but confessing is the hard part, he's never thought much about rejection, it is a normal part of life after all, but when it comes to you? it's an entirely different ball game.

falin touden

reader's crush: falin already has someone chasing after her; shuro, theres a 50/50 chance of her reaction to reader's crush being the same as shuro's, but could there be a different reaction this time?

falin's reaction: surprisingly less shy than her brother, when she comes to this conclusion she'll build up the right time to actually confess, not wanting to rush things, just watch out for shuro i guess.

chilchuck tims

reader's crush: chilchuck learning about reader's crush is a bit sad, though he's no stranger to romance as he not only had a wife but also three whole kids, he's not really good with emotions so he's kind of scared you'll leave him just like his wife did, so, if reader confesses, there's gonna be a high chance that you'll be rejected, just give it some time.

chilchuck's crush: this weird feeling in his chest whenever he see's you will confuse him at first.. there's no way he has a crush on you?? after his wife leaving him he didn't really have any interest in romance, he might as well just focus on his work at the moment, one of these days he'll bring up the courage to confess, just not right now.

marcille donato

reader's crush: she can't really decide on whether she'll return the feelings or not, definitely flattered is what i'll say.

marcille's crush: she's similar to falin, she'll build up a better relationship with you for the right time to confess, she tries to make it seem as if she's not into you but it's quite obvious to the other party members.

senshi of izganda

reader's crush: out of everyone, he'll definitely be the most flattered, someone having a crush on him wasn't something he put much thought into, not to mention romance kind of isn't his thing, nor does he think he have the time for a significant other.

senshi's crush: i don't think this is the very first time he's ever had feelings for someone, but it's definitely a special feeling, he's not nervous of confessing his feelings at all actually, and he's not that sensitive to rejection.

namari

reader's crush: namari wouldn't really know how to react, honestly, she's never given the idea of someone having a crush on her much thought, she won't care much about rejecting the reader, at least she's honest.

namari's crush: her crush will be a bit hard to spot but when it comes to you, there will be a notable soft spot, she treats you like everyone else and isn't afraid to scold you if you do something wrong.

shuro | toshiro nakamoto

reader's crush: in an au where he still has feelings for falin, he immediately rejects you, telling you boldly that his heart is for falin and falin alone, but lets go to an au where he either loses interest in her or doesn't like her at all; definitely flattered, someone liking him (back) isn't unheard of but it is... nice?

shuro's crush: just look at what he does with falin, he will propose to you at some point, of course when time goes by and he starts to fall for you harder and harder, until he just can't contain it anymore.

izutsumi

reader's crush: very, very strange, someone having a crush on her is.. almost unheard of, or she doesn't pay much attention, anywho, she doesn't know... how to react? she knows what to do if she doesn't return the feelings but... someone liking her is just weird lmao.

izutsumi's crush: she won't make it obvious.... or try to at least, she accepts affection from you much more than she does from the others and sticks by your side more.

[dragonsholygrail]

*cue me draped over a dining chair talking on a telephone while twirling the cord*

“RING RING ITS GARGOYLE HOURS BABY! I WANT A BIG OL’ STORY WITH A DND NERD GARGOYLE AND BANSHEE READER WHO NEEDS HIM CARNALLY AND IS VERY VOCAL!!”

*hangs up before you can respond*

-☎️

*proceeds to call you back over and over again but hang up just as you answer and then giggle like a schoolgirl*

WC: 1.8k

You had it bad. You were absolutely down bad and wrecked for the Gargoyle bartender you had met long ago at your usual bar. In fact, he was the only one you ever really bothered to talk there.

Not many people went looking to pick a Banshee up at a bar. I guess screaming in ecstasy was easily confused with screaming for their impending death. Was death not hot as fuck? You had no idea at this point.

But the Gargoyle bartender was the only one who ever really caught your eye anyway. It didn’t help that not only was he stunningly gorgeous, but he had an amazing personality too. He was a total nerd under all those chiseled stone muscles and frequently acted as the Dungeon Master in your groups DnD campaigns.

You frequently found yourself drifting off in thought, subtly staring at him during game nights or during nights like this. Thats what you were doing even now, stuck in your head thinking about him as you order drink after drink. You didn’t even realize how late it had gone and how much you had to drink.

Until you went to stand up and the world immediately spun. You wobbled, letting out a loud ‘woah’ into the almost empty bar. Luckily Gargoyle bartender was right there to help steady you. A husky chuckle falling past his lips.

“Let me drive you home. I don’t trust anyone else with you right now,” he said into your ear.

Your pussy gushes with arousal, clenching around nothing at his words alone. They send a thrill up your spine and your drink-infused mind leans into him a little too much. But he doesn’t hesitate to firmly hold onto your wide waist to keep you stable against him.

The ride back to your place is silent. Yet comfortable. You two have done a lot together. Battling monsters and going on all sorts of adventures. Through a game, true, but they last hours and go on for months. You trust him.

He helps you up to your apartment due to the fact that the moment he let you go outside of his car you nearly stumbled into the concrete. Walking into your apartment he moves around the space with ease. Having spent more than a handful of game nights here.

Setting you down on your couch he moves to get you some water to help flush the alcohol from your mind. He sits with you, the two of you talking and laughing for hours. Suddenly you’re back to where you were at the bar. Downing drinks and staring the beautiful Gargoyle. Only this time you don’t have to be subtle about it.

By the look in his eyes you could see he was waiting for something. It wasn’t until all the fog had cleared in your mind, your eyes had dried up, and you seemed to get your focus back that you knew what he was waiting for. As if a chain had finally broken, Gargoyle bartender swoops down and captures your lips in a heated kiss.

You inhale sharply, leaning into him immediately. Not believing this was happening. This was really happening. It was all that ran through your mind as the two of you stumbled into your bedroom, throwing your clothes off along the way.

Rolling onto the bed you sprawl out, spreading your thighs wide for him. The moonlight casting a brilliant glow on your glistening folds. The gargoyle growls at your enticing form. His hand curls around his hard aching cock, pumping himself slowly as he watches you clench around nothing.

“Touch yourself,” he snarls. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent imagining what you look like touching yourself.”

Your eyes widen and there’s nothing that could’ve stopped you in that moment from sliding your hand down your body. You moan softly as you dip your fingers into your folds, spreading them and showing him all of you. He growls again and you shiver in anticipation, your need for him unbearable.

He slowly works his cock to the sight of you teasing and exploring your cunt as if it’s the first time you’ve ever touched yourself. It has his every nerve on edge. All while your body is shaking, your fingers dripping into your soaked pussy and imagining it’s his thick cock. But god, you know your fingers can’t even compare.

You don’t know how long the two of you go on. Edging yourselves, slowly bringing your bodies to the edge of release. Merely from the sight of watching each other use your hands to bring you to release. You rock into your fingers, body shaking, the tension in the air only making you want his cock that much more.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says through panting breaths. Your head snaps up to meet his eye and you cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through you. “Not like this. I want every moment of our first time together burned into your memory.”

“I’m not gonna forget this,” you moan, fucking your fingers even harder.

He laughs, the loud deep and raspy. His hand picks up to match with your pace and he moans, throwing his head back. Only then does he see the rising sun. His eyes widen in alarm.

“F-fuck!”

What you thought was a noise of pleasure has your body going over the edge. Your hips jerk into your hand and you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes through you. Your eyes closing in ecstasy. Gargoyle bartender watches you come undone. He grunts, about to cum himself when suddenly he can’t move.

A second later his body turns to stone, the sunlight pours through the windows and illuminates his strong features. As you come down from your release your eyes flutter open and you immediately gasp to see your Gargoyle a frozen statue standing at the end of your bed.

You knew gargoyles turned to statues in the sun. Your game nights were always exactly that. At night. He worked the night shift at the bar. But you had no idea his stone state looked like this. You didn’t exactly know what to do. You assume there is nothing you can do until the sun sets.

But in the meantime… he’s stuck exactly where he is. Frozen on the edge of a climax. You also know that gargoyles can see feel, hear, and see everything around them while in their stone state.

Oh, you could have fun with this.

You spend the entire day relentlessly torturing him. After you come up with your plan, you head off to take a shower. Not bothering to hide your plush form from his frozen eyes with a towel as you leave your room naked and come back naked.

Given that it was the weekend and you had nowhere to be, you didn’t see the point in wearing clothes at all.

Sometimes during the way you’d watch by, brush your hands along his skin. Every inch you thought might be sensitive. Even his frozen hard cock. But you only bother with lingering touches that were sure to drive him mad.

The day passes by quickly as you come up with way after way of teasing the Gargoyle.

Eventually you come up with the bright idea to put on some spicy entertainment on the tv. That way you can not only tease him with yourself, but with those in the videos as well. Your selection has more than the desired affect as you begin to squirm on your bed, moaning softly. Your hands going back to where they were this morning.

You get lost in the moment, so focused on your own pleasure that you forget everything else. The gargoyle at the end of your bed for one thing. But especially the setting sun.

The first thing the Gargoyle can smell is your arousal. The last thing he had smelt before turning to stone welcomes him back as he returns to flesh. It perfumes the air and riddles his mind with blinding lust. His hand flies off his cock, not wanting to waste his seed on touching himself. Not when you’ve been so naughty all day.

You hear a low growl pierce the air and you freeze. The people on the television long forgotten. You barely have time to look to the end of your bed as he’s pouncing on top of you. All you see is a blur and the next thing you feel is his thick leaking tip making a mess of your folds.

“Was it worth it?” He snarls, meeting your wide eyes. You know you’re in some serious danger but you prepare yourself to get the best fuck of your life.

“Yes,” you don’t hesitate to say.

“No fucking remorse?”

With another growl he slams his cock inside you. Both of you release fierce screams into the air. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. It’s only fair after what you’ve been doing to him all day and you welcome it. Writhing and moaning on his cock. Desperately trying to buck up into his furious thrusts.

Gargoyle swears he sees red as he pounds his cock inside you. The sound of your joining echoing off the walls and overpowering the video still running on the tv.

His claws sink into your curvy hips and you arch into him, wanting everything he’ll give you. He brings you down on his massive length even harder, wanting to tease you as much as you’ve been teasing him all day.

And he just does that with the skillful way his dick glides along your wet gummy walls. Keeping you right on the edge just as you had done to him. He leans over you, surrounding you completely and you happily let yourself be consumed.

With this new angle he shifts his hips, grinding his pelvis roughly against your clit. The unique texture of his stone-like skin has your body buzzing and tingly. You let go almost immediately and he makes you cum so hard you can’t hold in your banshee scream as you clench down hard around his length.

The Gargoyle grunts as you squeeze his cock, milking it for all its worth. You’re so perfect, so tight around him. He can’t possibly hold back for another second. He throws his head back, letting out a roar that rivals your scream as he cums deep inside you.

Spurt after spurt it seems never ending. An entire day worth of being pent up spills inside of you. Your body trembles with the aftershocks as you feel him fill you up, keeping your body stuffed full of him.

You sigh in relief, a sense of contentment coursing through you. You had been waiting all day for this too. And it was even better than you imagined. But as you look up at the Gargoyle, catching his heated predatory gaze, you know the night is long from over.

And he doesn’t plan on stopping until the sun comes up.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

And I'm back with Part 3 of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support for this story! It makes me so happy to see people get excited by my silly (and occasionally delusional) au ideas!

NOTE: You can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

EDIT: And you can find part 4 here!

And without further ado, onto the new stuff!

It was rather drafty in the lesser furnished cells of the dungeons. Merlin knew this well, as he had spent many nights during his first couple of years in Camelot trying and failing to get any sleep on the cold stone floors of those cells, kept awake by the freezing chill that would sweep through the dungeons at any given moment.

Merlin also knew that Arthur had never been kept in one of those cells, even on the rare occasions that Uther had him locked up for going against his orders. Whenever Arthur had to be put in the dungeons, he had been put in the fully furnished cells, meant for prisoners who were members of noble families.

Even when they were held in the same dungeon, the nobles and the peasants were subjected to wildly different experiences.

With that in mind, Merlin stopped by Arthur's chambers (or... were they his chambers now? Merlin certainly didn't want to think about that.) to grab Arthur's favorite blanket off of his bed. It was a luxuriously soft blanket, dyed a rich Pendragon red. That blanket was fit for a king and a pain for a manservant to wash, but Merlin had always taken good care of the blanket, knowing how much Arthur liked it.

Merlin folded up the thick blanket with meticulous care, ignoring both his own trembling hands, rendered unsteady by the volatile emotions welling up in him, and Gwaine's presence behind him, silent for once. Despite Gwaine's undying loyalty and penchant for mischief landing Merlin in an even worse situation than before, he seemed to understand the solemnity of Merlin's actions and the profound sense of grief over the life he had lived once before that had been so suddenly torn away from him.

The motions of carefully folding up the blanket filled Merlin with both comforting familiarity and near-crippling sorrow. Would he ever do this again, ever provide support and comfort for Arthur again? As much as Merlin wished to stay optimistic, even if his plan to reinstate Arthur as the rightful king of Camelot succeeded, the darkest corners of his mind hissed that Arthur would never tolerate his presence again, let alone trust him, after usurping him and, in Arthur's eyes, proving everything Uther had ever said about sorcerers to be true.

Merlin's heart plummeted, nearly stopping him in his track towards the dungeon entirely, at the mere thought of what Arthur must think of him now: a treacherous, conniving sorcerer who had manipulated Arthur into becoming his friend only to betray him. Merlin blinked, banishing his tears before they could roll down his face and fall onto the blanket in his arms, and forced his feet to keep moving steadily forward. No matter what Arthur thought of him now, how deeply Merlin has unintentionally wounded his friend, or how catastrophically Merlin's world felt like it was crumbling down around him, he needed to set things right.

Merlin clung desperately to that conviction, the thrumming need to set things right again, as everything else in him wanted to curl up in a dark corner and never move again. After an eternity and yet all too soon, Merlin descended past the gates of the dungeon, where he forbade Gwaine from following him any further, down the noble cell blocks, which were filled with sleeping, but thankfully uninjured knights, and finally through the dark, damp, empty, and cold peasant cells.

He couldn't see Arthur at first, but his magic sensed that he was here. Like always, it jumped, tugging on Merlin to act, whenever Arthur was nearby, causing Merlin to pause his step in order to focus on whatever his magic was attempting to do. This time, it tugged his attention towards the unlit torches lining the walls of the cell block. Light them, his magic seemed to beg of him, our king is cold!

Merlin's immediate reaction was to stop his magic, to push it down so that no one would notice, and, after a deep breath, he did just that. As Merlin stood still, holding Arthur's blanket in his arms and cherishing what would likely be the last few seconds that he could ignore what had happened over the last day and pretend that everything was normal, he heard the voice that he'd been both yearning and dreading to hear for the past day coming from the cell at the very end of the dungeon.

"If you're waiting to sneak up on me, you'll have to try harder than that. I can hear that neither magic nor a crown have made you any more stealthy, Merlin."

Merlin flinched backwards, expecting but yet somehow still unprepared for how much vitriol and bitterness Arthur hissed out his name with. He had heard Arthur yell out his name in variety of tones over the years, ranging from annoyed to bemused to downright furious, but he had never heard his name pass from Arthur's lips like this, spat out from his mouth like it was poisonous and vile. It caused so much hurt to well up in Merlin's chest that he felt it like a bruising punch, causing him to wince in pain, still hiding where Arthur could not see him.

As Merlin stood silently, only a few steps away from Arthur's cell and facing Arthur's well-deserved fury, and tried to desperately blink away the tears gathering in his eyes, his magic abruptly tugged his attention towards the torches again, more insistent this time. Letting out a stuttering breath, Merlin obliged with his magic's request this time, and the torches lining the walls burst into bright, golden flames in an instant, filling the cells with a merry warmth that felt entirely out of place.

Merlin heard a sharp gasp coming from Arthur's cells as soon as the torches lit up by themselves and winced. Right, Arthur was fresh off of Merlin's betrayal, so he was probably pretty jumpy, especially around magic.

Merlin's guilt rose alongside his frustration. Everything he does with his magic, he does it for Arthur, and yet every single damned time it backfires on him and somehow hurt Arthur! A spell meant to heal his father kills the king instead. A battle waged to ensure his continued reign steals his sovereignty instead. And lit torches meant to provide him with warmth and comfort scares him instead!

But before even more guilt could build up inside of him, Merlin heard Arthur's voice once more.

"I won't be scared by a coward of a sorcerer who would steal everything from the man he claimed to serve! Or is the great Emrys too important to even face the fool he tricked into believing that he was his friend?"

Before Merlin's mind could even process Arthur's words, his feet were already carrying him to the end of the hallway, right to the front of Arthur's cell. He needed to prove Arthur wrong here, their years of friendship weren't a lie or a trick, Arthur needed to believe that! Too much of Merlin's life, his very soul, was woven into his bond with Arthur, he couldn't let Arthur have any doubt that their bond was even real!

As he finally arrived at the door to the cell that held Arthur, Merlin's heart stuttered again, this time with grief. Based on the ferocity in his voice, Merlin had expected to see Arthur pressed up against the bars, ready to battle his perceived opponent. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Arthur, sitting alone on the dirty stone floor, his face wearing the same dejected and defeated look it had just days earlier, after Morgana had taken the citadel and Arthur doubted his own ability to rule his people. The only difference was that the lost look in Arthur's eyes from before was gone, replaced by a scornful glare that had Merlin feeling like he was the scum of the earth.

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to apologize, plead for forgiveness, whatever it took to just stop Arthur from looking at him like that, like Merlin was his enemy, but no words could form in his mouth, as too many emotions were welling up in his chest that it closed off his throat entirely. Merlin drew in a deep, fortifying breath, purposefully avoiding eye contact with a still-glaring Arthur the entire time. Once he felt like he had his feelings even marginally under some tenuous control, he finally met Arthur's gaze and held out the blanket like a pathetic peace offering.

"I brought you your blanket. I know it gets cold down here."

Merlin was rather proud that his voice only wavered slightly, not giving an indication of how disastrously close he was to breaking down into tears in the middle of the dungeons. Arthur merely stared at him for a moment, bewilderment appearing on his face for a few seconds before it was quickly wiped away by angry sneer.

"I don't accept gifts from the likes of you, sorcerer! It's probably cursed or enchanted to kill me so that you can finally get me out of your way for good!"

"No!"

The blanket fell to the floor as Merlin grasped the bars of the cell with both hands and pulled himself as close as he could to Arthur, who had flinched back at Merlin's outburst. His magic flared again, wanting to break down this barrier between them so that he could get closer to Arthur, but he denied its request, knowing that such an action would only agitate Arthur even more.

"Arthur, please, I never meant for any of this to happen! You must believe me! I only wanted to for Camelot to be safe from Morgana and for you to retake the throne! I only want to secure your reign, not end it!"

That, it seemed, finally got a reaction out of Arthur, but it wasn't the one Merlin was hoping for. Arthur finally stood up from the floor and stormed over to the cell door, getting close to Merlin, but just out of reach.

"And why on earth should I trust a word you say?! You've done nothing but lie to me for years, even when I gave you my complete trust! I thought you were my closest friend, the one person in my life who would never betray me, but as it turns out, I never even knew your real name, much less where your true loyalties lie!"

Merlin's face fell at Arthur's accusations, knowing that he was, in some ways, completely right in them. Still, he met Arthur's accusing glare with as much honesty as he could. After all that his own actions had taken from Arthur, he owed him the truth at the very least. Merlin spoke again, trying to muster up a calm, soothing tone despite his strong emotions.

"I know that you don't have much reason to trust what I say now, but I will do all that I can take make this right. I was born with magic, yes, but I was born this way for a purpose, and that purpose is you, Arthur. I am Emrys, destined to be the guardian of the Once and Future King, who will rule over the greatest kingdom history has ever known and bring peace the likes of which has never been seen throughout the land."

Merlin could see the moment of realization on Arthur's face as he put together who exactly the Once and Future King was, his eyes going wide with shock. Despite the situation, Merlin has just a bit of a smile on his face as he reminisced on fond memories.

"When I first met you, I just couldn't understand how such a prattish clotpole could ever be a king of legend, but the longer I stayed by your side, the more I could see the king that you were destined to become. A great man, a great leader, who will always stand up to protect his people, even if it means putting himself in danger."

Merlin's speech trailed off as he smiled gently at Arthur, trying desperately to give him reason to believe Merlin, to believe in the prophecy that tied them together, and, above all, to believe in himself.

To Merlin's surprise, he could see Arthur confusion melting into... something. It looked like something along the lines of hope or awe, which gave Merlin hope in return. But just as quickly as it was there, Arthur's expression shifted again to a frustrated anger.

"Even if what you're saying isn't some trick, your little bedtime story is wrong anyways! I can't be the Once and Future King if I'm not even a king in the first place!"

Merlin sighed deeply, knowing that they'd get to this point eventually. He had a plan, but would Arthur ever agree to it?

"I've tried! I tried to simply order the council to make you king again, but they won't do it! Geoffrey stopped me with some old laws that Bruta wrote! He said that I can't abdicate the throne to you because you're no longer legally a nobleman."

Arthur eyes widened frantically at the mention of Bruta's laws, his breathing picking up with panic. He backed up from the bars of the cell and began pacing around.

"Bruta's code, damn it, I forgot that they applied in these situations! Wait..."

His eyes snapped back to Merlin, looking red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. His voice, which was so full of fire mere seconds ago, now sounded hollow. Merlin's hope wilted upon seeing Arthur like this, and his magic flared again, still wanting to destroy the barrier between them.

"This means that the Pendragon house is no longer recognized, doesn't it?"

Merlin could only nod, unsure of what he could do to comfort Arthur. At Merlin's confirmation, Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to collect himself from the inner turmoil that he was surely experiencing.

"Everything... I've lost everything."

Merlin gave Arthur what he hoped was his most comforting smile, but it didn't do much for Arthur's hopeless disposition. After a small sigh, Merlin spoke again in a soft, comforting voice.

"Arthur, all is not lost. I have a way to make you king again! We just have to make you a noble again, and then I can abdicate the throne to you! And luckily for both of us, there's an easy way to make a peasant a nobleman quickly! And you should know, you wrote it into the laws yourself!"

Arthur blinked at him, not comprehending what Merlin had said for a couple seconds, before a sliver of hope showed on his face. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone again, once more replaced by anger and betrayal. Arthur quickly stormed over to the cell door, this time reaching the door itself and wrapping his hands around the bars so that he could yell in Merlin's face.

"I knew it! This was a trick!"

"What are you talking about? How would me knighting you and then giving you back your throne be a trick?!"

"You would have me swear on oath of fealty to you, which would legally, and for all I know magically, put me under your command! This was all just another plot to control me, wasn't it?!"

"Oh come on, you wouldn't have to mean it when you take the oath! You'd just have to say the words and then let me abdicate!"

"So now sacred oaths of loyalty are nothing but empty words to you?!"

"Gods, you really can't make anything easy for the both of us, can you, you prat! I'm just trying to give you your crown back!"

"You would have me disrespect the sacred oaths of knighthood! I would never swear an oath of fealty to you! It is a sacred bond of trust, which is apparently something that you know nothing about, Emrys!"

Merlin flinched back, still unused to Arthur saying the name given to him by the druids, much less hissed out in anger. Merlin backed away from the cell door and took a deep breath, trying to find some solution to this mess.

"So, I take it that you would not accept a knighthood from me?"

"Never."

Merlin sighed again, his eyes drifting around the dungeons as he tried to think of a different way to make Arthur a nobleman. Eventually, his eyes drifted back towards Arthur, who was still holding onto the bars of the cell door. As Merlin looked at Arthur, pondering any solution that he could possibly come up with, a metallic flash caught Merlin's eye, drawing it to Arthur's left hand.

There, the torchlight was reflecting off of Ygraine's ring, the one that Arthur rarely ever took off. Merlin was glad that Arthur still had it with him after everything that had just happened to provide some comfort, but it still didn't present Merlin with any solutions...

Wait.

Oh no.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Arthur again.

"Arthur, do you know of any, any other ways to elevate a peasant to the status of a noble?"

"I'm afraid not. Me granting knighthoods to peasants was the first legal opportunity for peasants to elevate their stations. There is no other way."

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to hold back his frustration. He wouldn't have to resort to that, surely?

"And you've really thought this through, Arthur? If you don't accept a knighthood, I don't think that there's any other way that I can legally make you a noble again, much less the king. Are you really prepared to go the rest of your life as a peasant with no title, no lands, no riches, nothing?"

Merlin could see that his words gave Arthur pause, forcing him to at least reconsider Merlin's offer. Merlin internally pleaded with Arthur to please don't be an idiot, just take the offer!

Finally, Arthur seemed to have reached his decision, as he glared at Merlin once again with conviction.

"I might be forced to live out my days as a peasant, but at least I'll be a peasant with my honor and integrity intact."

Merlin was, at this point, sorely tempted to bash his head into the stone wall behind him. Why, why did this clotpole have to make his life so difficult?!

Merlin gave a heavy sigh as he nodded, accepting Arthur's decision. Arthur looked rather smug about Merlin conceding to him, which he wouldn't be feeling if he knew exactly what Merlin had in mind as his contingency plan.

"Very well then. You've made it clear that you won't willingly take this one opportunity for me to give you your throne back. But make no mistake, you are the Once and Future King. This is your destiny, and I will see that it comes to pass, no matter what I have to do. I know that it might be unfair, but I only ask that you forgive me for what I do next. Please remember, everything I do, I do for you and the kingdom that you're destined to build."

Arthur's expression had gone from smug to confused to concerned very quickly, but Merlin didn't acknowledge the slight fear that had appeared on Arthur's face. Instead, he carefully pushed Arthur's blanket, which had been lying at the foot of the cell door, through the bars, ensuring that Arthur could grab it.

After that, Merlin turned on his heel and walked out of the now silent dungeons, his footsteps sounding authoritative and ominous as they echoed off of the stone walls.

Despite his measured footsteps, Merlin's mind was moving at sprinter's pace, trying to plan out everything that would need to be done in the coming days. The first thing that he definitely needed to do was let the steward know that he needed to plan a wedding on short notice.

After all, it wasn't uncommon for conquerors to marry their war prizes.

I hope you all enjoyed this continuation! Were you right in your guess as to what Merlin had in mind at the end of part 2? Please let me know if you'd like another part of this story!

I'll try to tag everyone who asked for a part 3 here. Thank you all for your support!

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet

And, as always, than you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[bonus-links]

DIRECTORS COMMENTARY PLEASE I LOVE HEARING YOUR THOUGHTS AND PROCESS <3!!!!!!!!

YEAHHH lots to say for this update

there's a scene I didn't so much as cut from the beginning of this update as significantly shorten: Wolf, Loft, Wake, and Slate are changing into their lighter outfits. Loft says the same line as having the party, Wake begs them for this one day with his Gran Gran, and they all agree they can wait. I've been trying to get better about like, not putting a ton of work into unnecessary connecting scenes, which is why I cut it down. Wake sounding more cavalier also works better for the overall chapter. But i was sad to leave this joke out lol:

may I present to you, Slate's picture gallery! he was mostly on task documenting flora and fauna but he gets a little sidetracked sometimes

I love the idea that he's just, like, kind of terrible at photography. he documents stuff for Zelda and it's always weirdly cropped and kind of out of focus, but she appreciates it anyway.

Slate is also picking flowers for the party! so he is still helping out on that front lol

idk if i've mentioned this before, but beetle does still have pincers! they're just. idk what the right word is. retractable maybe? yeah. like the ancient weapon blades

the filling of the half moon pies is pineapple :-) i was. so worried about it looking like an egg HAHA.

I thought way too hard about how they were going to cook these pies. I was originally going to draw a clay oven or some other setup, but ultimately I thought the Zelda tradition of only having pots over fires to cook was a funnier nod lol. So, they're frying the pies

believe it or not, I wrote this scene before reading dungeon meshi HAHA but it certainly served as good reference for how to set up shots for it

Aryll did in fact eavesdrop on Wake telling Tetra The Situation

That's Champion's little sister in the memory! I like the headcanon that her name was also Aryll.

Champion and his sister are making meat pies instead of pineapple ones.

One again, made a bunch of layout mistakes I ended up having to fix, except this time I didn't catch them until I had already gotten to rendering :-( if you're a patron, you probably saw these versions in the WIP:

problems here: Wolf is walking the wrong away. I was sad we'd be losing his expression but alas. And for the panels with Champion's sister, the angle is too low to be an actual POV shot. I could've left it and said he's just sitting or something probably but it was really bothering me lol so I redrew everything. and then recolored all of it. woof.

as a general rule, if he has scars, that's Slate. No scars is The Other Guy

I understand the complaint about this in BOTW, but I actually kind of like that weird moment that occurs after you finish a memory cutscene, and it just abruptly goes back to Link looking blank-faced like nothing happened. It implies this kind of....distance from the memories that I find interesting. Slate has complicated feelings abt the memories of Champion's life he gets, but like. there's pies to make

shout out to peony she's a real one

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (20/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, sexual tension, soft dirty talk, targcest stuff, the angst, manipulation, nightmares ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

There was darkness all around her.

It wasn't the darkness of night, the kind when the sun had long since set behind the horizon – then she could at least recognise the shapes around her.

Now, however, she could see nothing but a black void – she tried to focus, wondering where she was and how to escape from the place she was in. After a moment, she realised that although her sense of sight was completely helpless, she could hear something in the distance.

At first she thought it was the rustling of leaves, but then the sound became louder and the hum of the water around her almost deafened her. A cry of surprise and terror stuck in her throat when she suddenly felt some cold, wet hand grab her arm.

When she opened her eyes, it was already dawn – the rising sun outside the window was obscured by heavy grey clouds. Her heart pounded hard for a long moment more before she realised it was just another nightmare.

The arm that embraced her was warm and familiar, her husband's calm, quiet breath enveloped her neck with every movement of his chest. She knew he was already awake because his thumb was stroking her wrist – she closed her eyes, focusing only on that.

On his closeness, his tender touch, his presence.

She wasn't sure if what she had experienced with him that night had really happened – it seemed unreal to her – but on the other hand, the burning discomfort between her thighs told her that it was true.

They were closer than ever, and that made her even more afraid.

Her lord-husband was not thrilled with her idea of speaking with the Witch of Harrenhal. She knew, however, that this woman certainly had the answers to many of her questions – she just had to convince her that she was not her enemy.

Criston Cole led her into the dungeons, which reeked of dampness and rodent excrement – she swallowed hard, trying not to show on her face the discomfort she felt as she heard the moans of the people behind the iron bars, their pleas for her to have mercy on them.

They finally stopped under one of the cells – the light of day fell on the figure of a woman sitting on the ground, with her wrists tied and her mouth stuffed with some dirty cloth. It was a pitiful sight – her gaze was tired and bored, her pupils bright green, her raven-black long hair flowed gently down her shoulders.

She nodded to Criston Cole to open the lock and stepped inside.

"Leave us alone, Ser Criston." She said calmly.

There was an expression full of discomfort on his face, surely because her husband had given him completely opposite orders.

"Our Prince has commanded that I am not to leave your side and to see to it that no harm comes to you." He replied matter-of-factly.

"No harm will come to me. Leave." She said a little cooler.

She crouched down in front of her as Ser Criston closed the door behind her and walked away with a loud clatter of his armour. Once they were alone, she removed the material from her mouth with a gentle, slow motion – she reached back to the short dagger she had strapped to her belt and used it to cut the ropes that tied her hands.

The woman massaged her wrists, where she could see the long blue marks, her mouth dry with thirst. She handed her the cup of fresh water she'd been ordered to bring with her, and she drank slowly of its entire contents, looking her straight in the eye.

"I know what you want." The witch finally said, setting the steel cup down on the ground without even waiting for her to let her speak. "I know what you're trying to prevent."

She swallowed hard, looking down the corridor from the corner of her eye, hoping Criston Cole was standing far enough away not to hear what they were discussing.

"What's your name?" She asked finally.

The woman sighed heavily and leaned back, resting her head against the cold stone wall.

"Alys. Alys Rivers."

A bastard.

"We were greeted in the fortress by blue holly. Is that your creative invention?" She asked softly, sitting down opposite her on the hay.

Alys grinned, watching her figure from top to bottom with her gaze.

"You're smarter than him. Your father didn't even notice." She hummed with some kind of mockery, from which an unpleasant, cold shiver ran through her.

"You wanted him to daydream? Did you succeed?" She asked further.

The woman smiled broadly hearing her questions.

"He saw, heard and experienced some things. Peaceful sleep didn't find him day or night." She concluded.

They were silent for a moment, her gaze full of self-satisfaction.

"You said you know why I am here. So you also understand what I want." She said, looking at her hopefully.

I want him to survive.

Alys was silent for a long moment, looking at her with a kind of boredom, as if disappointed by her attitude.

"In a way, I pity you." She muttered at last, making her feel a strange, disturbing sting in her heart.

"Why?"

The woman sighed with a smirk of amusement and looked to the side, as if she were musing.

"If you weren't here, he would have taken me the very first night. Your husband. He would have cuddled up to my bare breasts. He would have sucked the milk from my nipples. He would have left his legacy, his son in my womb." She said lightly with a quiet click of her tongue, stroking her lower abdomen as if she could see it in her imagination.

The shame, pain, disgust and grief she felt deep inside her was indescribable – a previously unknown feeling squeezed her throat, her eyes filled with burning tears of rage that she refused to let flow.

Some part of her knew she was telling the truth.

He was incapable of being alone, incapable of facing the reality around him on his own.

He needed a mother, a mistress, a whore, a servant, a witch, any warm body with soft breasts that he could snuggle into and hide.

You are his favourite toy, but you are not irreplaceable, she remembered Gwayne's words.

She lowered her gaze, knowing that Alys had told her this to hurt her, to gain a mental advantage over her, to destroy what was between them and watch with satisfaction as the lives of the people who had imprisoned her burned.

If you weren't here, he would have taken me the very first night.

If I had not been here, she thought, it would have meant that I had refused to come with him to Harrehnal – I would have failed his trust, his hope, our pledge that whatever happened, we would remain by each other's side, like brother and sister.

She realised after a moment that Alys was trying to manipulate her: to make her imagine things that she knew would cause her pain.

She came to the conclusion that if it had been her husband speaking with her, she would have done the same thing: she would have planted doubts in him.

She would convince him that his wife would sooner or later give herself to his mother's brother and betray him anyway, and that he could have her, right here, right now.

Drop by drop, she would let the poison into his mind and heart.

She had to be wiser than she was, to believe what was real, not the visions she wanted her to imagine inside her head.

"I took this cloth out of your mouth because I was hoping we could have a conversation like two mature people. I can shove it back down your throat and let you die here. My husband, who might otherwise be cuddling his face to your chest right now, from my current observations doesn't care much about you or your fate. As you yourself rightly noticed, I am here."

Alys looked at her for a long time in silence, as if wondering what to make of her words.

"You don't resemble him at all. Your father. But the resemblance to your mother is not in you either. As if you were not their child." She replied finally.

For some reason what she said pleased her.

"I am my brother's sister. My husband's wife. A dragon rider. But I am afraid that, like you, I am no one's daughter. The names Rivers and Targaryen mean as much to me, though I'm sure if my lord-husband heard my words, he would burst with rage." She replied, turning her head towards the small window from behind which the sun shone.

Alys laughed at her words.

"You are what he wants you to be. He created you anew." The witch stated without thinking, and she, for some reason, smiled.

"Yes. Although violently, he gave my life meaning. Had it not been for him, I would never have tamed my dragon. I would not have experienced the deep and mysterious feeling that fills my whole heart." She confessed finally.

The woman sighed heavily, twisting in her seat, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Men fail us all the time, and yet we still put our hope in them."

She nodded at her words.

"I'll ask again. Blue holly. Was that your gift to my father or to us?" She continued, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.

Alys looked at her, a smile on her lips that only pretended to be cheerful.

"For all of you. As I said, Daemon didn't even notice them. His fiery temper did not allow him to connect what hung over his head with the nightmares and visions that haunted him day and night. They haunt you too. What do you see?" She asked, changing her tone of voice, looking at her in a way from which an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.

She was silent for a long moment, wondering if she should tell her.

"I see my husband drowning. He grasps my hand, but I am unable to pull him out of the water." She whispered.

The Witch of Harrenhal looked at her with piercing gaze, wrinkling her brows, as if something in her words intrigued her, and then her eyes looked lower, at the height of her stomach.

"It is he who sends you these visions. Not me." She said softly.

Her hand involuntarily clamped down on the leather material at the height of her lower abdomen, her heart beginning to pound like mad in her chest.

"Who?" She mumbled.

"Your son. He sees things. And you see them with him."

She lowered her gaze, looking at her stomach, stroking it with her hand, as if trying to reassure herself and the being deep inside her at the same time.

Had Helaena seen him because she was already with child at the time?

"What was my father dreaming about?" She muttered, looking at her uncertainly.

Alys grinned broadly, but her eyes remained blank and wide.

Dangerous.

"About you. About his wives. About his brother. Remorse is consuming him from the inside." She replied with amusement.

"What does he want?" She whispered, breathing with increasing difficulty.

"Forgiveness. He knows he doesn't deserve it, and that is why he will never be able to change."

She thought for a long moment about what she had said, involuntarily stroking her abdomen.

He knows he doesn't deserve it, and that is why he will never be able to change.

"Can I save him? My husband?" She asked finally, lifting her gaze to her.

Alys snorted.

"You can try. The question is, is it worth it? If they were both gone, you'd be free at last."

Alys couldn't or wouldn't tell her anything else, and she knew that torture in her case wouldn't do any good. She ordered food to be served to her, and then that her mouth would be stuffed and her hands would be tied again, knowing that she could not be trusted.

As she climbed the steps to the top of the fortress, she felt that her legs were shaking all over, her breath deep and uneven – Criston Cole froze at the sight of her and swallowed hard, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lady. Something happened?" He asked, but she only shook her head, having the feeling that the corridor she was walking down was spinning around her.

As she stepped into her husband's chamber, she saw his silhouette standing by the window – he turned immediately upon hearing her footsteps, as if he had been waiting for her not for hours, but for days.

"And?" He asked.

"The herbs hung all over the fortress are her doing. They were already waiting here for my father and drove him to a state close to madness." She said, watching him carefully.

He was pale and his mouth had taken on the shape of a thin line, as if he wanted to say something – he nodded and looked out of the window again, his hands clenched into fists.

Only after a moment did she see that in one of them he held something that looked like a crumpled piece of parchment.

Was it a message from King's Landing?

"What's it?" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound hard in her chest.

She saw that he hesitated – he simultaneously wanted and didn't want to tell her, so he remained silent, as always finding this state safer.

As long as nothing was said, nothing was a foregone conclusion either.

"Aemond."

She wasn't sure she'd ever called him by his name outside of bed before – then, when she'd felt him deep inside her, it had been a moan of delight, a proof of her affection and devotion, of pure desire.

Now, however, it was an expression of who he was to her – she was not addressing him as husband, cousin, lover, prince, but as a man – a man who was dear to her.

He looked at her in a way she hadn't seen before – he was tense, the tip of his thumb scratching the cuticles around his fingernails in a subconscious, nervous reflex.

"Tell me."

His lip twitched, and then a single word left his throat.

"Daemon."

She swallowed hard, feeling an unpleasant clench in her stomach, a cold drop of sweat trickling down her back. Her husband tossed carelessly the piece of parchment he held in his hand onto the table, looking at it as if he had seen something disgusting.

"He challenged me."

"Us."

He looked at her grimly, as if her remark irritated him.

"This is my battle and my victory to achieve." He said dispassionately.

"This is my father and my revenge. Which makes it our cause to solve. Isn't it?" She asked coolly, feeling her hands involuntarily clench into fists.

They looked at each other for a moment in a silence full of tension, fighting with something that was happening deep inside them.

"He wants me to face him like a man. Alone." He said finally.

She was only able to snort at his words, the wide smile on her face proving that she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Of course he wants you to come alone. He knows your nature, your pride, and he's counting you won't take me with you out of fear of his judgement. Me, your biggest negotiating card in a confrontation with him that could make him hesitate, make him lose confidence, make him make a mistake. This could be a battle of two dragons against one, and you think of your image in the eyes of others as one of those vain, conceited lords you so despise?" She asked, feeling that she was speaking louder and louder with every word – the expression on his face told her that he was enraged with the way she spoke to him, his posture erect and tense, his hands clenched.

Her words frustrated him, but he listened, so she continued on even when he turned away and began pacing around the room, clearly not knowing himself what he thought about it.

"You told me yourself that Helaena ordered you to keep me close. You abducted me from Runestone to turn me into a weapon against Daemon, and now, when the opportunity to face him comes, your pride is more important to you?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together as if her words made him uncomfortable.

"I didn't know at the time." He said regretfully, running his hand over his face in a gesture of helplessness, as if he himself did not believe he had said it.

"You didn't know what?" She asked dryly, completely without strength.

"I didn't plan…this." He muttered, pointing at her with his hand as if trying to show her what he meant.

And suddenly she understood.

He hadn't planned for what they had become to each other, the closeness that had brought them together, the bond that was out of his control.

"This is what keeps me here, fighting for your cause." She said with pain.

"If he says he regrets everything. That he will be the kind of father to you that you have always wanted him to be. How can I be sure you won't flee with him?" He asked.

She stared at him dully, slowly understanding how deep his suspicion ran, how fragile and volatile his trust in her was despite the fact that she had never given him reason to doubt her.

"Do you think it would have made a difference? That a few of his empty words would make me abandon someone who gave me a reason to live? That I would run away with a stranger for whom my person has so far represented no value?" She asked in a breaking voice, feeling a growing panic rising inside her.

"We crave the love of our parents no matter how much they hurt us. That's just the way we are." He said lowly, as if he were stating some known, universal truth.

"Speak for yourself." She hissed coldly, exasperated and embittered. "If your trust in me is dependent on your mood, it means that our marriage is a mere fiction without foundation, and I remain your slave. You may command me as your prisoner to remain in Harrenhal for fear of my desertion, but do not count on me continuing to warm your bed."

Her feet carried her to the door herself – it seemed to her that her words and behaviour had shocked him so much that he was unable to get anything out, much less stop her.

Never before had she so clearly and firmly shown him her displeasure and disobedience.

After all she had done for him, all she had sacrificed for him, how could he still look at her as if she were his enemy, someone who could stab him in the back?

On the one hand, she understood his fears, that surely his outspoken tongue and what he said were expressions of his terror and uncertainty, of how he feared that the person he had allowed to get close to him could decide the fate of his war.

On the other hand, her every breath and deed was proof of her bravery and devotion, her fidelity, and he, seeing this, allowed himself to be blinded by a childish conviction that if he did not risk her betrayal, he would not be disappointed if it actually happened.

Her husband didn't go after her – she knew he was furious and, according to himself, was showing his power and dominance to her by doing so. She didn't care too much about that, instead thinking about how she could defeat her father.

Lying on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of the wooden construction with her hand placed on her stomach, she found that the child growing in her womb, of which her cousin was not yet aware, might have been her advantage, if her father had any conscience.

On the other hand, Daemon himself had killed Aegon's innocent son, she reminded herself and sighed heavily, closing her eyes.

She knew that her presence could have made a difference.

She felt it.

But how?

Convinced that her cousin was still offended by her outburst, she wasn't particularly surprised that he hadn't come to her chamber during the night – she guessed that they would spend that time apart, and decided it would do them both good.

She shuddered when she heard a loud knock at her door – she thought at first that it was him, but after a moment she opened her eyes, half-sunk in sleep, reminding herself that, after all, if he had wanted to, he would have simply come inside.

"My Lady! My Lady, open the door! The matter is urgent." She heard Criston Cole's voice.

She rose quickly and ran to the door, opening it hurriedly – Ser Criston was pale, his gaze panicked.

"Our Prince set off for Vhagar's lair in full armour. Alone. Did he mention to you that he would be patrolling the skies tonight?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Wait here. I'll go after him immediately."

Ser Criston and she, dressed in her leather riding attire, armed with bow and arrows, ran arm in arm down the worn stone steps of grim Harrenhal, conversing in between.

"Daemon? Gods, what drove him to such madness to try to face him alone?"

"You know him best, so you should be able to guess. His fucking pride. Like any man, he's a fool." She hissed with rage on the verge of crying, feeling that she only half understood what was happening around her.

"I will move after you. I will gather our army." He said, and she laughed out loud, seeing that, like her, he was not thinking logically.

"To be burned alive? This is a battle of dragons, not men. Pray that Rhaenyra does not attack you in our absence, for you will be completely defenceless." She said in a trembling voice, pulling on her leather gloves.

As soon as they left the gate of the fortress, she immediately jumped on her mare, Ser Criston's voice echoing behind her.

"May the Seven protect you!"

Even since she had met him, she knew that she was a better rider than her cousin – looking at his technique from the side, she knew that the horse was only an indirect form of travel for him, as he obviously considered his dragoness to be the highest and most important one. It was for this reason that he lacked the lightness and confidence in the delicate movements of the body that formed the bond between mount and its rider.

That's why she galloped between the hills faster than she had ever done in her life, breathing heavily, hoping to catch up with him.

After a moment, she noticed Vhagar's large silhouette lying on the ground, and then his – he was most likely preparing for the exertion of climbing onto her back in heavy armour. He stopped in mid-motion when he heard her horse and turned towards them, surprised.

She had never seen him in an armour before – apart from the helmet that lay beside his feet, his body was protected by polished steel gleaming in the moonlight. All of his snow-white hair was tied up with a black ribbon at the back of his head, and there was no eye patch on his face.

When she jumped down from her mare he simply stared at her, as if he didn't believe that she had followed him – he only made a move when she rushed at him and swung, intending to slap him across the face with all her strength – he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, her body slammed into his.

"You fucking bastard! How dare you leave me behind!" She hissed in a breaking, childish voice, trying to free herself from his grasp.

His lips clung to hers in a sudden, aggressive act, as if he wanted to devour her – she moaned with rage and squealed as his arms locked her in an iron grip, as their heavy breaths mingled in the moist, sticky chaos of their tongues and teeth.

They took their faces in each other's hands – the steel of his armour was unpleasantly cold, but she didn't mind – her fingers sank into his soft hair with his loud grunt of pleasure, the tip of his slick tongue ran over her palate.

"My armour got unpleasantly tight. Right here." He gasped out in a trembling voice, rubbing the part of his armour against her lower abdomen, behind which his manhood hid.

She ran her hands over his cheeks, shaking her head, unable to sympathise with him now for such a trivial reason as lust.

"Take me with you." She mumbled, looking straight into his eyes – one alive, filled with passionate affection and pain, the other empty, dead, shining with an unnatural, sinister glow.

"I want you to live, even if I'm gone. Daemon, if he succeeds in defeating me, will not kill you. You will tell him that I forced you to marry me." He said softly, as if he was telling her a secret he had kept deep inside himself for a long time.

Her thumb ran over his sharply outlined jaw, making him close his eye, trying to focus on how pleasant and gentle her touch was.

"You promised me something then, under a starry sky, like the one spreading over our heads now. You said: tame a dragon, and your place will always be by my side. It was not to be my punishment, but my reward. So reward me, for my devotion, courage and faithfulness. Let me spend the night with you.’" She whispered.

He opened his eyelid and stared at her for a moment with his lips slightly parted, breathing hard, as if he couldn't believe what she was saying – she had the feeling that his healthy eye had glazed over from emotion, his hands wandering along her neck, to her cheeks and hair.

He kissed her again and that was his answer – she knew it and she could feel it in his sigh of relief, in his realisation that if he was heading for death, he would not face it alone.

They embraced like a pair of lovers, letting their lips, swollen with desire, to join again and again in a sweet, wet caress – the quiet clicks of their saliva and their ragged, loud breaths made her feel the sticky arousal between her thighs.

His hands were everywhere – on her ass, her waist, her back, her breasts and she knew that he regretted wearing his armour at the moment.

If it weren't for it, he would have fucked her here and now.

But he couldn't do it and they both knew it, so when he pulled away from her, he just pressed his forehead against hers, panting hard.

"– hāedar (little sister) –" He whispered.

For some reason, this word meant more to her than any declaration of love.

She smiled, and he pressed his lips together, as if something about the sight caused him pain – she wiped a tear from his eyelid with her thumb before it could run down his cheek, and he snuggled his face into her palm.

"– lēkia (big brother) –" She hummed sweetly, placing a warm, tender kiss on his cheek, from which he sighed softly.

"– promise not to leave my side –" He mumbled in a trembling voice, as if ashamed that he was afraid to die.

She nodded, pressing her nose into the smooth skin of his clean-shaven face.

"– I promise –"

[bratbby333]

literally just any smutty choso fic pls ☹️☝️

careful what you wish for, my sweet anon...i got a bit carried away

┊˚ ｡*ੈ ☁️‧₊˚ ❝ your majesty ❞ ˚ ｡˚ -choso kamo

⋆˖⁺‧₊♰ nsfw mdni ♰₊‧⁺˖⋆

cw: concubine!choso/dom!reader, infidelity, blasphemy, oral (f!receiving) wc: 2.3k edited by the loveliest: @remlionheart ༉‧₊˚. dumped my religious trauma into this one, i apologize

Upon the sacred grounds of your kingdom, there are only two rules to live by; No sex and no masturbation, for these sins grant you a one-way ticket into the fiery infernos of hell. This rule applies to everyone but you, of course. You are the queen, after all. You run your domain with unyielding power. You are a hard and fast ruler, feared by all who inhabit your realm.

You are serviced by your concubine, Choso, his timid, submissive disposition suiting you perfectly. You allow Choso to indulge in sexual pleasure that other inhabitants of your land are denied, while also relieving your own frustrations. You are his only exception.

You attend many assemblies throughout the day, some boring and some enthralling. A few banishments here, a couple executions there. You walk the grounds of your domain, taking in the fresh air, reveling in the way the setting sun kisses your skin. Your back is tense, and the expectations that the throne places upon you rest heavily on your shoulders. You need release. You need Choso. You send a nearby servant to fetch him, requesting he be bathed and brought to your room. He’s most likely doing his evening chores; he’s a diligent worker. Driven. Strong. Attractive. There’s no question as to why you chose him to pleasure you.

Strolling the marble walls of your castle, pondering the pros and cons of trade with a neighboring stronghold, your focus is interrupted by the lewd sounds of low grunts and wet flesh. You pause in front of the servant quarters, noticing the door is closed as you press your ear against it. The hair on the back of your neck stands upright, your suspicions confirmed while you listen in. No, this will not do. It is forbidden to partake in such activities and to do so within your kingdom's walls? Punishment is eminent. Your hand will strike down upon the offenders, mercy cast to the wayside. 

You push open the wooden doors, your enraged stare falling upon your concubine, Choso, ramming himself deep into one of your handmaids. His strong, muscular back positioned towards you, her cries of pleasure overtaking the sound of you opening the heavy spruce door. Fury courses through your body, but you can’t help but marvel at the sight before you. His broad, toned back tensing with every thrust, the sweet symphony of moans dancing through the still air. You grit your teeth, fists clenching on either side of your body, your heavy gown and tight corset making it far more difficult to breathe when coupled with your lungs constricting in a fit of jealousy. A knot forms in your stomach as you watch Choso toss his head back in pure bliss, his hips stilling as he unloads into her. Betrayal drives a stake through your heart as you watch your sweet concubine find pleasure elsewhere. 

Your voice broke through their post-coital bliss with ease. 

“Guards!” you shout, and not a second later, three armored men are at your side. The two of them jump at the sudden intrusion of your voice, Choso breaking away from his secret whore as his shameful stares meet your wounded eyes. The hurt doesn’t stay on your face for long though, blind rage soon replacing it.

“Seize her, leave the man to me,” you direct with the wave of your gloved hand. Within an instant, the guards pull the woman from the bed, dragging her down the hall before turning the corner, heading toward the dungeon. Her desperate pleas and anguished apologies echo through the castle walls. You pay her no mind as your attention falls onto Choso. 

“Your majesty, I-” he begins, but is abruptly interrupted by your palm suspending in front of you, your daring eyes begging for him to disobey your signal for silence. He knows better than to push his luck in this moment, the fact that he isn’t being dragged away with the woman brings a wave of hopefulness in regards to your leniency with his punishment. But his naive ideations of your forgiveness are all in vain as you bring your hand back down to your side before speaking again. 

“To my chambers.”

He stays frozen, his fear-stricken body glued to the floor by your overpowering demeanor, and your waning patience snaps at his continued insubordination.

“Now, Choso. I will not ask again,” you demand, eyes never faltering. He bows his head complicitly before reaching for his undergarments. 

“Don’t bother redressing,” you add, a tinge of seduction filtering its way through your harsh tone. His head snaps to meet yours, rouge painting his pale skin. He knows better than to object, especially now that you've caught him breaking the kingdom's holiest rule. Walking through the castle completely nude is the easiest punishment to digest. Heat prickles through his skin at the thought of what was in store for him and he prays that he makes it out alive. He inhales deeply through his nose before taking small, timid steps toward you. You glower at him as he gets closer, turning on your heels to exit as he dutifully shadows you down the hall. 

He kneels in front of your bed out of instinct, placing his palms against his thighs. You call for your servants to remove your dressings. He doesn’t have the gall to watch as you are derobed. He shifts anxiously as you perch yourself at the edge of the bed in your master suit, looking up at you with prayerful eyes, taking in your body as you sit fully naked before him. He swallows the lump that constricts his throat. You stare down at him, and he's glad he's already seated, because the burning blue embers flickering behind your irises make him feel faint. You are the most ethereal deity in his eyes, his unwavering devotion makes him want to shower you in worship and graciously accept the punishments you dole out. Punishments he unfortunately deserves. You choose him out of everyone in your kingdom and he’s grateful that you allow him to indulge in sexual pleasure, but what does he decide to do with his new found freedom? Guilt gnaws at his flesh; how could he betray you? What possessed him to shatter the pact the two of you shared? Lust overtook his body in his moment of weakness, succumbing to his carnal urges, and now he must repent.

“Disappointed is an understatement, Choso. How dare you desecrate these holy walls with your sins. You petulant man,” you growl. His shoulders drop toward the floor, shrinking into himself at your words, head bowed in submission. Your hand finds the back of his neck, grabbing roughly at his tousled locks, a fistful of his hair between your fingers as you bring his head up to face you. Your other hand squeezes either side of his jaw, forcing his lips to part. You suck in your cheeks and spit. 

“Swallow it,” you command. He obeys. You slap him roughly before grabbing him by his throat. 

“You defy me within my own domain. This is grounds for beheading. I know you understand the terms of living within my kingdom.” You lecture, your sharp words lashing against his fully exposed body. Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you hold the same power as if you were sat upon your throne, commandeering all who are present. His pleading glances dart around your face, but his body can’t help but enjoy this. You run your eyes over him, his abs tensing and his cock pulsating, his angry red tip oozing like he didn’t just relieve himself in that whore only a few minutes prior. 

“Look at you…pathetic. Just came and now you’re ready to cum again.” You laugh at his disheveled state. You meet his eyes once again, bringing your head down to his, extending your tongue to a point and licking along his mouth. He whimpers, lurching forward in hopes to thread his lips with yours. You slap him again, pulling your head back but keeping your faces close. You click your tongue against your teeth at his desperation. You release his head from your clutches with a slight shove, returning to your upright position along the edge of the bed. 

“So, tell me, Choso. With your infidelity in mind, am I not enough for you?” you ask simply, crossing one leg over the other. He’s confused by your question, his mouth hanging open in hopes that your statement is rhetorical. If he says no, it’s his head on the chopping block. If he says yes, you will laugh in his face as you question the sanctity of his loyalty to you. Rightfully so, as you had caught him in the act of betrayal. Your eyes bore into him, head cocked to the side. 

“Speak,” you snap. He shudders at the gravitational pull of your energy. 

“You are everything to me, your Majesty…everything and more. I-I will forever be at your service. I repent. I give my body to you, and only you. P-please…make me holy again.” He hopes he chose the right words to spare his life. And lucky for him, he did. In truth, you didn’t want to lose him as your concubine just as much as he didn’t want to lose his life. You smile down at him, your hands reaching out to cup either side of his face, leaning back down so your faces are level.

“Are you willing to show me how sorry you are?" you ask, softer now, eyes low as you lean yourself back on your elbows. He groans at the sight of your exposed cunt and nods back furiously, leaning forward obediently to rest his cheek on your bare thigh, the smell of your sweetness overtaking him. 

“Look at me when I address you, Choso, and use your words.” Your voice returns to its original harshness, using two fingers to bring his head back up to look at you.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Let me show you how sorry I am. I’ll do anything for you.” he whimpers out, trying his best to maintain eye contact with you. 

"Then make me cum, my sweet little concubine.” His expression brightens ever so slightly, gazing admirably into your eyes. This punishment isn’t so bad, he loves the way you taste.

"Can I touch you? P-please, My Queen...just want to pleasure you," he begs, his overwhelming arousal coupled with his fear of upsetting you again cause him to stutter. His eyes dart back and forth between yours, his eyebrows furrowed. His cheeks are blisteringly warm and he’s practically vibrating against your touch in anticipation. You're pleased with his desperation, nodding with approval, your lips curling into a mischievous grin.

His warm, wet mouth latches onto your pussy almost immediately, his tongue thrashing against your slit and lips sucking greedily on your throbbing bud. He hums in content, the taste of you coating his tongue deliciously, his body yearning for more as he devours you. You arch your back, thrusting your hips toward his mouth.

"S-so eager to please," you breathe out, words laced with the intention of mockery, your fingers interlocking in his dark, mussed hair. You groan at the sight of his lustful eyes staring back up at you through his disheveled bangs. 

"That’s it. Show me how much I mean to you…earn your forgiveness." Your words ring through his ears, spurring him on. Moans cascade from your plump, parted lips. He whines at your noises, the delicious sounds you make only for him. Clinging to the sweet melodies of your gospel, his pace picks up, sucking aggressively, hungrily, as if he needs to drink you up completely to survive. 

His thick fingers tease your hole before plunging inside, the pads of his digits curling perfectly to massage your sweet spot. Your head falls back, back flush against your silk sheets, grinding even deeper into his mouth. 

"My little slut…so thirsty for my cum, aren’t you," you gasp out, the tightness in your tummy intensifying. 

He hums greedily, continuing to pump into you, suckling harshly on your sensitive clit. He removes his mouth from your center before quickly replacing his tongue with the fingers of his free hand, rubbing quick, firm circles into your clit. 

"Please give me your cum...need to taste your sweetness. P-please, Your Majesty," he pleads, dipping his head back to your dripping cunt, lapping and sucking at you with fervor, the pace of his fingers relentlessly pumping into you. His deep voice sends ripples of arousal through your pelvis. His desperate words hang in the air, his frantic fingering and famished mouth against your core sending you over the edge. Your hips rut, thighs shaking as you cry out for him as you spray your release across his face. His rhythm continues while he works you through your blinding orgasm, groaning into you, tasting the hallowed juices he so hopelessly craved. 

His fingers slow, his lips detaching from your throbbing clit with a satisfying pop. He beams with pride, panting as he drinks in the heavenly glow emanating off your body, his lips swollen and his face wet from your release, your body aching as the waves of your orgasm finally simmer down. 

"My good boy...so precious," you praise, sitting up, your hands cupping his cheeks, his eyes lighting up. Your chest heaves as you work to regain your breath. He nuzzles his face against your thigh, his hands massaging your calves, sighing contently as you stroke his head, tucking strands of his hair behind his ear. 

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine,” he whispers into your skin. 

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

author notes: wooo weee this was fun to write. had been dying to do a dom!reader, i hope yall liked it ♡ willing to do a part two of this!!

my requests are open! send a message here ♛ drop an emoji with your ask and ill add you to my anon club xx

thank yall so very much for supporting my work...i hit 100 followers today AND it's my birthday so i feel so grateful rn

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[ms-snape]

Ok but perhaps you can please write something about severus having a to take his chubby little one year old daughter to work with him because mom was tired that day? Like just fluff

Title: Hope Eleanor Snape

Warning: Pure fluff

Words Count: 2800+

Masterlist

---

Severus Snape had never imagined himself the type of man to carry a baby through the halls of Hogwarts. Certainly not on a weekday morning, with a class full of inattentive students awaiting his arrival in the dungeons. But here he was, doing just that, the weight of his one-year-old daughter settled comfortably on his hip as her small hand tangled in the collar of his robes.

Hope Eleanor Snape was everything Severus never thought he deserved—soft where he was sharp, light where he was dark. Her chubby cheeks, flushed from a restless night, were pink against the stark black of his robes, and her eyes, a deep, intense black like his own, gazed up at him with an innocent curiosity.

It had been one of those mornings. Y/n, his wife, had been up with Hope for most of the night, soothing the little girl who had stubbornly refused sleep. When the morning sun peeked through the window, Y/n had barely stirred, her exhaustion evident in the deep circles beneath her eyes. Severus had kissed her forehead gently and told her to rest, knowing full well he would have to bring Hope with him to class.

As he strode through the corridors, Hope seemed fascinated by everything around her. The echo of his boots on the stone floors, the soft flutters of a tapestry as they passed, even the flickering of torchlight caught her attention. She babbled, her tiny voice filling the silence of the usually foreboding dungeons, and Severus found himself listening, a faint smile playing on his lips despite himself.

The doors to his classroom loomed ahead, and Severus sighed quietly, preparing himself for what he knew would be an unusual lesson. He adjusted Hope in his arms as she tried to reach for a lock of his hair, her small fingers grasping at the air with determination.

"Let’s see how you handle this, little one," Severus murmured under his breath. He could already predict the scene that awaited him: distracted students, whispers, stares. Not that he cared for their opinions, of course. His concern was that Hope, with her boundless curiosity and penchant for grabbing things she shouldn’t, might cause a disruption he’d struggle to manage.

Pushing open the door with a sharp flick of his wrist, Severus entered the classroom.

It took precisely three seconds for the room to descend into absolute silence. The students, who had been murmuring among themselves as they set up their cauldrons and ingredients, froze in unison, their eyes wide and disbelieving as they took in the sight before them.

There stood their typically dour, imposing Potions Master, dressed in his usual billowing black robes, holding a small, chubby child who was currently sucking on two of her fingers and blinking curiously at the room.

Severus didn’t need to speak to command their attention; the sheer absurdity of the moment had done that for him.

Hope, oblivious to the stunned looks from the students, wriggled slightly in his arms, tugging insistently at his robes as if trying to gain his attention. She was used to being the center of attention, after all—especially from her mother, who doted on her endlessly. And even though Hope loved his daughter with a fierce, protective intensity, he wasn’t as effusive with his affections as Y/n was. It was just his nature, but Hope didn’t seem to mind.

The baby let out a soft coo, her voice high-pitched and cheerful, and Severus felt the eyes of the entire classroom zero in on her. He could practically hear their hearts melting. He sighed.

"As you can see," Severus said in his usual low, silken tone, "My daughter will be joining us today. Your focus, however, will remain on your potions. I will not tolerate any distractions." He let his gaze sweep across the room, daring anyone to challenge him.

But it was a hopeless demand.

The students’ attention was already fixed on Hope, and there was little he could do to break the spell she seemed to cast. Several girls in the front row were exchanging looks of utter adoration, their eyes wide as they took in Hope round cheeks, the way her tiny fists grasped at her father’s robes, her dark curls tousled in an adorably messy way.

"She’s so cute," someone whispered, followed by a chorus of murmurs.

Severus raised an eyebrow, his lips tightening, though he couldn’t bring himself to truly reprimand them. Eleanor was, in fact, a spitting image of her mother, save for the eyes. Those deep, fathomless black eyes that mirrored his own made her seem more serious than any baby had a right to be. But her chubby face, her sweet, infectious smile—those were all Y/n. It was as if the world had taken Y/n’s softness and poured it into Eleanor, creating this little bundle of joy who had quickly become the center of Severus’s universe, even if he was reluctant to admit it openly.

He walked to his desk, settling Hope into a conjured playpen near his chair. She babbled happily as she was placed among her toys—plush creatures that Severus had charmed to move on their own, a small wooden wand Y/n had given her to wave around harmlessly, and her favorite—a stuffed dragon with large, flapping wings.

"Now," Severus said, his voice sharp as ever, "today’s lesson is on the brewing of Draught of Peace. You will follow the instructions precisely, or you will face the consequences."

But even as he spoke, he could feel the collective attention of the students drifting back to Hope. It was impossible not to be captivated by her. She sat happily in her playpen, one pudgy hand holding the dragon’s tail while her other hand reached for her mouth, gnawing on her fingers as she gurgled contentedly.

Severus began to pace the classroom, his usual routine of observing students’ progress, though today his sharp remarks were fewer. He found himself glancing over at Hope more often than he would have liked, just to ensure she was content. She, in turn, occasionally caught his eye and gave him a bright, gummy smile, causing an unexpected warmth to flood his chest.

She really did look so much like Y/n.

As the students measured out their ingredients and stirred their cauldrons, Severus heard more than a few muffled giggles from the back of the room. He turned just in time to see Hope standing up in her playpen, holding onto the side for support as she bounced on her chubby little legs. She was clearly proud of herself, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Sit down, Miss Snape," he murmured, almost to himself, and with a wave of his hand, the playpen gently lowered her back onto her bottom. Hope blinked, momentarily confused, before resuming her exploration of the toys.

The class went on, but the students were hopelessly distracted. Severus caught Hermione Granger looking over at Hope at least three times, her hands hovering uncertainly over her cauldron. Even Draco Malfoy, usually so focused on his potion work, had his attention split between stirring his potion and watching Hope as she waved her little wand in the air, making nonsensical motions.

Finally, one student—a Slytherin girl with wide eyes and a nervous smile—raised her hand hesitantly. Severus nodded toward her.

"Professor, uhm, sir, is she always this—um—energetic?" the girl asked, glancing at Hope as she attempted to chew on the stuffed dragon’s wing.

Severus arched an eyebrow, casting a glance at his daughter, who was now gnawing intently on the plush toy, her face scrunched in concentration. She paused only to look up at her father and giggle softly, a sweet, bubbly sound that filled the room.

"She is… persistent," Severus said at last, his voice a touch softer than usual. It was the truth. Hope, much like her mother, had an unyielding spirit. Once she set her mind to something—whether it was staying awake through the night or trying to stand in her playpen—she did it with all the determination a one-year-old could muster.

The students exchanged looks, their smiles widening. Severus knew he had lost their attention completely by this point. And yet, as he glanced at his daughter, now thoroughly entertained by her toys, he found he didn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would.

The lesson continued, albeit with more focus on Hope than on the potions. Severus moved between the desks, making the necessary corrections to students’ work, though his mind was never far from the playpen by his desk. Every now and then, Hope would let out a delighted squeal, drawing the eyes of every student in the room.

By the end of the lesson, as the students began packing up their materials, Severus returned to his desk. Hope was beginning to tire, her little head bobbing slightly as she fought off sleep. Her dark lashes fluttered as she rubbed at her eyes with a chubby fist, and Severus could see that she was losing the battle.

He bent down, lifting her from the playpen and cradling her against his chest. Hope sighed softly, her thumb finding its way into her mouth as she nestled into the warmth of his robes.

The classroom had fallen silent again, the students watching with wide eyes as their stern, no-nonsense professor gently rocked his daughter in his arms. It was a sight none of them would forget—a rare glimpse of a different side of Severus Snape, one they hadn’t known existed.

"Class dismissed," Severus said quietly, his voice softer than usual. The students filed out, casting one last look at the sleeping baby in his arms before leaving the dungeon.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Severus looked down at Hope. She was fast asleep now, her small hand clutching the front of his robes, her breathing slow and even. He stroked her hair gently, his heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.

"You’re too much like your mother," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And that’s a good thing."

For a moment, standing there in the quiet of the empty classroom, Severus allowed himself to smile. It was a small, fleeting smile, but it was real. And in that moment, with his daughter safe and warm in his arms, the world seemed just a little bit brighter.

With a practiced hand, Severus gathered the lesson plans and potion ingredients, all the while cradling Hope effortlessly in his other arm. It was a strange sensation—this constant awareness of her weight against him, the softness of her small form in his embrace. He hadn’t planned on being a father, hadn’t imagined this life for himself, yet here he was, completely captivated by the little girl who had somehow become the center of his universe.

Gently, he draped his black cloak over her, tucking it around her tiny body to shield her from the chill of the dungeon air. The familiar sweep of his robes trailed behind him as he strode out of the classroom, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. The journey back to his quarters was a quiet one, with only the soft rustling of Hope’s breathing to break the silence.

As Severus neared the entrance to their private quarters, he murmured the password under his breath, and the door swung open with a soft creak. The warmth of the room hit him immediately, a sharp contrast to the cool dungeons. The hearth in the corner flickered with a soft, golden glow, and the scent of herbs—Y/n’s doing, no doubt—permeated the space, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

Y/n was curled up in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, a book in her lap, though she looked as if she’d only just woken up from a long-needed nap. Her hair was tousled, and she wore a loose sweater that made her look even softer and more serene than usual. As the door closed behind him, she looked up, her eyes immediately softening as she saw Severus standing there with Hope in his arms.

A small smile spread across her face, the kind of smile that made his heart stumble in his chest, though he’d never admit it. "There you are," she said quietly, her voice still tinged with the remnants of sleep. "How did it go?"

Severus crossed the room, moving toward the fireplace as Hope stirred slightly, her little head nuzzling further into his robes. He adjusted his hold on her, cradling her with the kind of tenderness that still surprised him, even now. He lowered himself into the chair opposite Y/n, careful not to jostle Hope too much.

“It was… interesting,” Severus replied, his tone dry, though the corners of his lips quirked ever so slightly.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Interesting, hmm? Do tell.”

Severus leaned back in the chair, one hand still resting protectively on Hope’s back as she dozed. “It seems our daughter has a talent for distracting an entire classroom full of students,” he said, his voice laced with a rare trace of amusement. “No matter how much I tried to focus them on their potions, they were more interested in her antics.”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “Well, can you blame them? She’s impossible to ignore.” She set her book aside and rose from her chair, moving over to sit on the armrest of Severus’s chair. She gently brushed a lock of dark hair away from Hope’s forehead, her fingers soft and tender as they moved over her daughter's sleeping face. “She’s always been a bit of a scene-stealer.”

Severus glanced down at Hope, watching the steady rise and fall of her tiny chest. He couldn’t argue with that. Hope had a way of drawing attention without even trying, her innocence and joy a sharp contrast to the darker, more complicated world around her.

"She’s just like you,” Severus said quietly, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that he rarely allowed to surface. “She has your light."

Y/n tilted her head, her gaze softening even more as she looked at him. "And she has your strength," she murmured. "Those eyes of hers—they’re yours, Sev. And that determination? That’s all you."

For a long moment, they sat there in the quiet warmth of the room, the fire crackling softly in the background, casting a golden glow over the scene. Y/n’s hand rested on Severus’s shoulder, her touch grounding him, while Hope’s small form was tucked safely against his chest, her warmth seeping into his very bones.

Severus’s gaze drifted to Y/n, taking in the gentle curve of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she looked at him. He had never imagined himself in this kind of life—never imagined that he could feel this kind of peace, this kind of contentment. But somehow, against all odds, it had found him. She had found him.

After a moment, Y/n stood and moved back to her chair, but her eyes lingered on the scene in front of her—Severus Snape, the man who had once been so distant and untouchable, cradling their daughter with all the tenderness in the world. The sight filled her with a quiet sense of joy, one that she had never quite expected, but was grateful for every day.

“So,” she said softly, settling back into her chair, “do you think you’ll bring her to class again?”

Severus raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in something that resembled a smirk. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I’d prefer not to lose control of my classroom every time she decides to babble at them.”

Y/n chuckled, the sound light and musical. “I’m sure they were all enchanted by her. You know she has that effect on people.”

Severus hummed in agreement, his fingers absently tracing small circles on Hope’s back as she shifted slightly in his arms, her tiny hand clutching at his robe. “She certainly does,” he admitted quietly.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling softly and casting flickering shadows across the room. Hope remained blissfully unaware of the world around her, tucked securely in her father’s embrace, her tiny breaths filling the space with a sense of peace.

Y/n’s gaze softened as she watched them, her heart swelling with love for the two people who had become her entire world. She reached over, her fingers brushing against Severus’s hand. “You’re a good father, you know,” she whispered, her voice filled with quiet sincerity.

Severus didn’t respond immediately, his eyes focused on the sleeping form of his daughter. But after a moment, he squeezed Y/n’s hand gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he replied, “Only because of you.”

And in that moment, as the fire crackled softly in the hearth and the world outside seemed so far away, Severus Snape allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he was deserving of the happiness he had found. Because here, in this quiet corner of Hogwarts, with his wife beside him and his daughter safe in his arms, he had everything he had ever wanted but never thought he could have.

[level2janitor]

Introduction to the OSR

what's an OSR? it's a game that's kinda like old-school D&D. or is old-school D&D. or is compatible with old-school D&D. an OSR game generally has some or all of the following principles:

low character power with highly lethal combat. in old-school D&D a 1st-level fighter has d8 hit points and a longsword does d8 damage, and you die at 0HP. this is not to ensure characters die all the time but to emphasize the next bullet point:

emphasis on creative problem solving. most situations cannot be solved by straightforward use of your abilities (such as charging into every situation with swords drawn, if a fighter), so the game tests lateral, outside-the-box thinking.

emphasis on diegetic progression. spells are found, not obtained automatically on level-up. you get XP by finding gold more than killing monsters. most of your cool abilities come from magic items. making alliances & hiring followers is encouraged.

focus on managing inventory, resources, risk, and time. the players are constantly faced with meaningful decisions; this is the heart of the game.

very sandbox-oriented. the focus on creative problem solving means the game must be accommodating to players taking a course of action the GM didn't plan for. use lots of random tables to generate emergent story. some elements of new simulationism.

high tactical transparency, i.e., the optimal course of action is rarely system-specific, and ideally very possible for a new player to intuit.

usually semi-compatible with old D&D, but not always. usually rules-lite, but not always.

what does the OSR mostly NOT do?

focus on character builds. these change the focus too much to be on the rules than the fiction, can create situations where stuff everyone should be able to do is an ability locked to one class, and impede tactical transparency.

resolve everything with a die roll. combat uses dice to be scary, unpredictable and most importantly not your default course of action. everything else should bring up dice rarely - dice are your plan B when your plan A fails. the best plans need no dice.

use linear storytelling or put players into a writer/GM role. linear storytelling gets in the way of the decision-making so core to the playstyle; letting players write details into the setting is mutually exclusive with them discovering it.

rules for everything. 400 pages of crunch is worse at simulating a believable world than the GM and players' shared understanding. OSR games rely constantly on GM ruling.

mostly still applies to all the above. making your system a "pure" OSR game comes second to doing what's best for your game.

System recommendations

old D&D or a retroclone

old-school D&D - or old school essentials or basic fantasy or swords & wizardry, which are old D&D's mechanics repackaged with quality-of-life tweaks (and the upside of not giving WOTC your money) - are usually the go-to when recommending someone's first OSR game. they're actually not my first pick, though!

PROS:

very complete, with more robust rules than a lot of the lighter games on this list.

100% compatibility: most OSR adventures are statted for old school essentials. converting them to other OSR systems is usually simple, but not 1-for-1.

easier to find games for. anyone interested in the OSR space knows what old school essentials is.

CONS:

jank. these games largely still have weird saves, level limits for non-humans, some still have descending AC, etc etc. it's not that bad but it is there

i hate thief skills. lots of essential dungeoneering actions are locked to the thief class as abilities, with abysmally low success chances. this is stuff i prefer being handled without a roll. thieves in this system suck and make everyone else worse at dungeon crawling by existing.

there's just lots of really cool shit in other systems i'm about to go into that you just don't get here

Knave 1e and its various hacks

this is a 7-page super-lightweight system that boils everything down to just the essentials.

rolling a character takes like 5 minutes. roll stats, roll gear, roll traits, go. done. it's great.

characters are defined entirely by stats and gear, no classes. wanna be a fighter, have high strength and carry a big sword and armor. wanna be a wizard, have high intelligence and fill your inventory with spells. item slots are elegant and pretty limited.

initiative is instant: roll d6. 1-3, monsters go first. 4-6, PCs go first. swingy, but god it is so smooth and shaves like the most boring 5 minutes off of every combat

monsters are so very elegant. old D&D gives monsters a "hit dice" rating to determine their HP, e.g. a 3HD monster rolls 3d8 for hit points. knave takes this number (HD) and uses it for attack rolls and saves (aside from exceptionally bad/good saves), so a knave statblock looks something like this.

spells are all one or two sentences long & extremely easy to remember.

7 pages is so light. i have the system basically memorized.

DOWNSIDES: there's no dungeon crawling rules (standard for meatier OSR games & something i consider essential) and no real bestiary, though the second point isn't a huge deal cause they're so easy to make. it also kinda assumes you already know how to run OSR games, so there's very little real advice or guidance.

KNAVE HACKS

knave 1e is in creative commons & comes with an editable word doc for you to publish with modifications, so there's a ton of variants (there was a spreadsheet of them somewhere, but i can't find it).

Grave is a favorite - i'm two years into a grave campaign and it's fantastic. it's a dark-souls-y version of knave with some really elegant innovations.

you have a set number of deaths before you for-reals die, as every character plays an undead as is dark souls tradition. makes it good for OSR beginners! being able to tell when you're close to your final death is really good - it lets you emotionally prepare for losing your character & raises the stakes more the more you die. (though honestly you should probably cut the number of extra deaths in half, it's super generous)

XP and gold are combined into one resource, souls. legendary creatures drop big souls you can make into magic items. this has ended up being the coolest thing in my current campaign. my players love finding powerful souls to make into magic items it's so fun

uses preset packages of stats/gear instead of knave's rolled ones, filling the role of more traditional character classes. has the wonderful side effect of not making you get stuck with low stats cause you rolled bad one time.

you have stamina equal to your empty item slots. you spend stamina on spells if you're a caster, or free maneuvers (on top of your attack at no action cost) if you're not. it's super elegant.

there's 3 classes of spells: wizardry for intelligence, holy magic for wisdom, and witch stuff for charisma. nice and intuitive.

there's a page of 50 magic items each a couple sentences long. this PDF is worth it just for the magic items.

DOWNSIDE: see the downsides for knave 1e. all still apply.

i enjoyed grave so much i made a variant of it with the dark souls bits removed (and some dungeon crawl rules added!) to use for my standard fantasy campaigns.

Knave 2e

sadly knave 2e is not purchasable yet (i backed it on kickstarter so i have access, though). but when it comes out i highly recommend it.

much larger and denser than knave 1e. it finally has dungeon crawling rules, it has GM and player guidance, everything is refined and the layout is so so nice and readable.

combat is a bit more interesting than 1e. you can break your weapon against an enemy to deal max damage. you get a free maneuver on high attack rolls.

there's rules for stuff like alchemy, warfare, building a base. it all kicks ass.

there are so many goddamn tables. i rifle through it anytime i need inspiration.

DOWNSIDES: some of the new rules are a little untested & wonky. introducing randomness into how often your rations spoil or your lights go out can cause issues.

Mausritter

you play tiny little mice! in a world full of big dangerous things that want to eat mice. cat = dragon. you get it. what more could you want

the mouse thing is just super intuitive. you get the dynamic between you and the big scary lethal world. fantastic OSR game to introduce kids

nice and robust ruleset; nothing feels missing

tons of super nice GM stuff! faction rules, tools for rolling up hexcrawls and dungeons, plenty of tables

super clean readable layout. font isn't too small to avoid being intimidating. guidance is really nice and clear.

combat is autohit. super fast & lethal.

100% free

look mausritter is just. good. i wanna run it so bad someday

Worlds Without Number

sort of a middle ground between OSR stuff and 5e. paid version here free version here

lots of classes, at least in the paid version. the free version comes with just the warrior, expert and mage. there's feats and more of a focus on builds than most OSR games. if you like more mechanical build variety than a typical OSR game, this is a great game for you!

extremely good multiclassing. y'know how in most games if you just mash together two classes you think are cool you'll end up with a total mess? not here! every combo is viable and works fine! easily the best multiclassing of any game i've touched

an absurd amount of GM stuff and tables. easily more than any of the other stuff i've praised for also having them. but personally i haven't dug into them as much, so i can't really comment on them

skills the way modern D&D has them. you roll dice and try to beat a target number. i don't tend to like rolled skills, but most people do, so if that's your thing WWN has them

DOWNSIDES

the layout is terrible. everything is a huge wall of text with very little use of bold text or bullet points to draw attention to the important bits. the table of contents has like 15 things in it for a 400-page book! i couldn't find any of the paid-version-exclusive classes for like a month after i bought it! looking up rules is a nightmare.

the way the default setting handles "evil races" is like an exaggerated parody of all the problematic aspects of how D&D handles it. like, it wants so bad for you to have an excuse to genocide sentient free-willed people. but at least the default setting is easy to chuck in the trash

Dungeon Crawl Classics

the goal of this system is to take all of the crazy gonzo moments people remember playing old-school D&D in their childhood and turn all of that up to 11 while cutting the stuff that doesn't add to that. i think a lot of its innovations have ended up kind of standard in newer OSR stuff (like fighters getting maneuvers with their attacks), but it still has more to offer.

the funnel: you start the game with four randomly rolled dipshit peasants that you then throw into a meatgrinder to get horribly killed. you pick one of the survivors to be your 1st-level character.

maneuvers: fighters roll an extra die with each attack that gets bigger as you level. if it's a 3 or higher, you get to do a cool thing on top of your attack. pretty standard for OSR games, but this game popularized it!

crit tables: fighters also get more crits and nastier crits as they level. every crit, you roll on the crit table. maybe you chop off a dude's arm. maybe you just knock them over. maybe you shatter their shield. it's very cool

spell tables: i don't really like roll-to-cast mechanics, generally. but DCC goes so all-in on roll-to-cast that it still looks fun as hell to watch. you cast a fireball and maybe it goes how you want. or maybe you explode, or you nuke everything in a half-mile radius, or from now on you permanently ignite flammable materials you touch, or whatever. casters just have to put up with turning into a weird mutated mess across a campaign

there's no dungeon crawl rules, no encumbrance - this game is all about the big over-the-top wacky shit, and is not really interested in the more down-to-earth number crunching. it's more in the you-die-hilariously-all-the-time area of OSR than the you-avoid-death-through-clever-play area. not really my thing but the system knows exactly what it wants to be and i respect it

iron halberd

this one is mine! as the author i'm not qualified to tell you what isn't good about my system, so just assume it's worse than i make it sound, but here's a bunch of the selling points

semi-random character creation where you flip back and forth between rolling dice and getting your own input. roll stats, pick ancestry. pick starting gear kit, roll different dice based on which kit you picked. etc etc. stats are random but all equally viable (no rolling incredibly low or high stats). every time i run this game the character creation is a hit. seriously go roll up a character it'll sell you on the whole thing

you start out a lot stronger than a standard OSR character but grow way more slowly. i don't like 4th-level characters being 4 times as strong as 1st-level ones; HP never gets that high. emphasis is more on diegetic progression instead.

way too many subsystems for alchemy, crafting, strongholds, warfare, renown, rituals, likes 9 pages of magic items, a whole subsystem for becoming a cleric mid-campaign. i couldn't help myself i love this shit

in my current campaign we had a player permanently sacrifice some max HP to become a necromancer after deliberating on whether that's a good idea for like thirty seconds, which instantly made me think my necromancy system is a success

also free

Adventure recommendations

(in rough order of size)

Moonhill Garden (by Emiel Boven): look at this. look at it! this is like the best template for a little dungeon in an OSR game. all of the little factions are tied together. this would be a great oneshot to introduce people to an OSR system with.

A gathering of blades (by Ben Milton): a system-neutral, one-page sandbox. i ran this for an iron halberd game and it went super well. lasted like 7 sessions. highly recommend.

The Waking of Willowby Hall (by Ben Milton): a single dungeon with a million things going on. it's super chaotic with half a dozen different factions crashing into each other and a big angry goose. highly recommend, especially for kids

The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford (by Chance Dudinack): small sandbox with a fun fairytale vibe and a very fleshed-out little town. and a big nasty dragon.

Evils of Illmire (by Zack Wolf): this is a very dense, entire campaign's worth of hexcrawl in a very compact package for like $5. it doesn't do anything particularly new, but the value-for-money is absurd and it's a really good template for how to do a sandbox if you're used to 5e adventures

Ask me anything!

if anything here is unclear or intrigues you, send me asks! i love helping people get into OSR games. i'll link frequently asked questions here if i get any.

[mawofthemagnetar]

The door to Doc’s lab squeaked open, and Etho shuffled in lazily. The man himself was standing at a lab bench, fiddling with something- on the bench beside him, a machine the size of a filing cabinet was whirring away noisily. Etho paid it no mind.

“Got the last of ‘em for ya.” He said, holding up a jar of blue slime and giving it a shake, “The last artifake.”

“Perfect,” Doc rumbled, peering in at something through a microscope.

“So, uh, do we have an answer? About the Iskallium eye?”

“Hmm? Yeah, we do. That’s definitely Iskall’s eye. Same materials, same composition, same power supply- matches all the diagrams he gave me when asked. Only difference is, all the artifakes are beat to hell. I don’t know what could possibly have caused these dents, man. Does Tango-?”

“Tango is saying the same thing Tango said yesterday, which is, quote, “they came with the dungeon!” Etho rolled his eyes, leaning up against a workbench that was cluttered with his hard-won artifakes, “So, ah, any luck? I’m risking my life in there for this, you know that, right?”

“You’ll respawn,” Doc muttered, holding a hand out and waggling his fingers. Etho dropped the jar of speedy slime into Doc’s metal palm with a clank, and Doc moved whatever he was examining off the microscope and set about preparing another slide.

“So,” Doc said, “There is a commonality, across all items.”

“Oh?” Etho echoed, hopping up on a bench and shoving a well-loved pickaxe out of the way, “And what’s that?”

“A dusty...residue...thing. Tastes and smells like spent gunpowder, like a rocket that’s just been fired,” Doc said, dropping a slipcover on top of the slide, “It’s fine, particulate residue.” Doc shrugged, and slid the sample of slime onto his microscope, peering in for a closer look.

“And it’s...EVERY artifake, you said?”

“And every artifact, I’ll bet. Keralis’ slippers were a goldmine- just choked with the stuff. Seriously. I put them into a bag and shook them and a ton of that dust came out.” Doc twiddled the focus knobs, and sighed.

“There's more of it. Man, and it's even, like, mixed into the slime! I’m gonna have to ask Jevin for a sample when he’s around next so I can compare.” Doc nodded, and Etho smiled behind his mask.

“Soooo... that’s it, then? The mystery of where the heck Tango got all these artifacts from is...magic dust, I guess?”

The machine dinged, like an egg timer, and printed something out on a long strip of paper. Doc extracted it, and started to read over his results.

And as his eyes scanned down the page, he went very, very still.

“Doc? What’s happening?”

“Etho. Composition of this dust...it’s rock.” Doc said slowly.

“...Rock dust? And?”

“Roughed edges. This rock has never seen water.”

“...Which means...?”

“This rock hasn’t been oxidized. Predominantly...reduced. No clay, no mica...which means...”

“Doc!” Etho sighed, “What are you trying to say, here?”

“Every single one of these artifakes is covered in moon dust.” Doc said flatly.

Etho swallowed.

“Wherever the dungeon is getting these artifacts-” Doc started, hands trembling.

“-Is someplace we didn’t get lucky last season.” Etho finished, "Ah. O...kay."

Both men stared at the jar of slime in silence.

“...Cool. Well, anyway, have fun with your crisis. I’ve got three more frozen shards left!” Etho said cheerfully, and he skipped out the door.

[anonymous-dentist]

A Very Long qRoier Theory

Okay so here's what I actually think, and TRUST THE PROCESS OKAY:

I think that Roier really was kidnapped by the Federation, but I don't think that he was taken because he was looking for Cellbit strictly because the Feds themselves are actually more or less actively searching for the missing islanders and hoping for their return so they can continue the murder investigation. Despite the terrible things going on, the Feds legitimately want all their islanders/lab rats back on the island so they can continue with whatever experiment they're holding. Every time Cucurucho has held a meeting recently, it's asked about the status of the missing islanders, so it really wouldn't make sense for it or the Feds as a whole to punish their one single lead in the case when every actual Federation agent assigned to the case has either come up with nothing or disappeared entirely.

Nah, I think Roier was taken because he was vulnerable and because the Feds figured nobody would've missed him. They know that he isn't really super close with anybody on the island but Cellbit, and they know that he's been actively pushing people away for a while now- basically since Bobby's death, and moreso since his return from Purgatory.

Looking at the QSMP channel's streams, particularly Elena's, we know that the Feds seem to be a pharmaceutical company. They, simply speaking, make drugs. Look at the "happy pills" that Elena helped create, this is what the Feds do.

Roier mentioned that he was drugged. He never said that they stopped drugging him. I think he's still being drugged and that he isn't a rat- not a literal one, anyway.

I think that Roier is still under the effects of the drugs he's being given because he is currently a test subject. He's a lab rat.... at the moment, anyway.

More on that later.

Do I have any evidence for this? Not really, but also some things just didn't add up cinematically. Like, okay, go back and watch everything from after when Roier 'wakes up' in the dungeon:

Everything's got this weird otherworldly fuzziness and glow to it. It's almost dreamlike in a way. Only the focus of the world is, well, in focus. The rest is blurred like a bad 3D movie:

There are all these weird cuts and jumps, too, like 11:16 when we suddenly cut to black for a few moments as Roier goes down the hallway, or 12:13 when we smash cut to the rat and 12:16 when we cut to Cucurucho. It's super sudden and jarring and it sets up a real nice feeling of unease (shoutout to ccRoier, this is SPECTACULAR)

And the music, okay, the background music is exactly the kind of shit you'd hear in a 'Dreamcore Music Video' on YouTube. It's super Backrooms, super weird esoteric vibes, and that's very on purpose.

None of this is real, and "Doied" is the final proof because like. He isn't real lol, if he's real then so is Roger, and the only times either of them front are when Roier's goofing around or when he's extremely homicidal (we saw Roger pretty recently, actually, back in October when he said that Cellbit killing everyone might be a good thing, actually.) Doied isn't like Abueloier or Melissa, he's one of Roier's 'alters', and he's a bit of a freak lol

I think about everyone can agree that this whole 'Ratoier' thing is a hallucination, but then we have to think, huh, what the hell does any of this mean?

First, we gotta follow the whole 'Roier is Currently Super Drugged' thing, because he is. He literally is. If he's not, well, laugh at me when the next tape comes out.

Roier is drugged by the Feds right now probably to test a new drug, possibly a drug meant to- just like the Happy Pills- make people happy again. In this case, however, I think that the pills may actually have something to do with memories, particularly the same memory retrieval stuff the Resistance did to Bagi. Because, well.

I want to go back to the rat, and I want to go back to Doied, because this stream actually implied a LOT about qRoier's character.

The thing about Doied is that he's the manifestation of Roier's "Um, actually!" Nerd Emoji self. He's a nerd. He's a loser with glasses and a nasty attitude.

Doied, in the dream, is a scientist. Doied, in the dream, performed horrible, inhumane experiments for the Federation. He put Roier's brain into a rat's, a lab rat's.

Once a long, long time ago in August, Roier quietly came to the realization that maybe he has a past history with the Federation and that's why Osito Bimbo has always been so weird about him- it basically had a crush on him for the first week or so of the island, and it still seems to, and he is still the only one outside of Foolish the Federation Employee to be addressed directly by his train ticket number: 0037. He brought up the possibility of being a Federation worker in the past to Cellbit, who brushed it off and said that he wouldn't care because he's a worker, too, technically, but what if it isn't a possibility?

We've always wondered how Federation workers end up the way they do. Why are they all the exact same type of bear? Why does only Cucurucho get to have a face and a voice? Why do they all have human minds and emotions? Why are they all dedicated to the Federation?

Easy. Because maybe they were people before, just like how Bagi and several other islanders think they are. But maybe someone put their brains inside of an animal's body- or, at least, inside of a worker's body, God only knows if they were actual polar bears at some point. Somebody had to help come up with that technology, and maybe it's the guy who managed to build an entire computer and radio-satellite setup over the span of about a week in his goddamn backyard without anybody knowing about it.

Roier has always had some weird connection with the Federation. He's the only civilian islander to ever be addressed by his ticket number, and later we find out that Foolish's ticket number- 0039- is his Federation Employee ID Number- W0039. He was Osito Bimbo's favorite for the first week on the island to the point of Osito just giving him whatever he wanted. He and Jaiden were paired up for the Egg Event (something that was intentional, btw, admin confirmed), and it's later revealed that Jaiden has a past with the Federation regarding the SMILE Units (aka Osito Bimbo and Cucurucho and the new guys.) The "Gods" (aka the admins) will happily follow him around and revive him when he's alone and strike him with lightning when asked and give him dirt and whatever. He managed to get someone onto the island from off of the island, Abueloier, and Abueloier was saved from the brink of death by the Federation in the Federation's hospital. His literal pet dog is a Federation employee. He got to name Jorgito the IV Drip.

Doied put someone's brain into the body of a rat, and Doied is Roier's nerd self.

I think that Roier may, in fact, have a past history with the Federation, and that it isn't because his grandfather worked/works for them. Maybe Roier did, just like he suspected months ago, and maybe he did some really bad things. But they were excused at the time because the people being converted into workers were bad people who made mistakes. Roier made the mistake of breaking the rules trying to connect with Cellbit, and so he got turned into a rat. There's been a functional prison on the island for long enough for it to be partially abandoned (see: Tazercraft Prison Stream.) Walter Bob was held there, possibly because he was part of the Resistance, or possibly because he wasn't done cooking yet.

Roier has always been a man of justice. When people do bad things, they get punished, and then things can go back to normal. He ruined Quackity's life. He wanted Slime to be properly punished for killing Tilin and he threatened to murder him when he tried threatening the kids. He built an entire torture dungeon in his basement for the explicit purpose of torturing Spreen to the point of death repeatedly and possibly for the rest of Spreen's miserable life. Cucurucho took Bobby away, and Roier said that the Federation would regret putting and keeping him on the island. Pozolito the Capybara blew Cellbit up, and Roier has literally tried killing every Capybara he's seen since. The Federation screwed with his family and with himself, and Roier is more than happy to join Cellbit in massacring the entire Federation.

He's a man of justice, but not of morals. He's a ruthless killer when it comes down to it, and he only shows regret when it comes to his husband's deaths during Purgatory. He doesn't fight unless he has to, but he's been thinking about killing everyone on the island since the first week of the server when he was betrayed. But, when it comes down to it, he doesn't actually want to hurt anyone he cares about. It's why Purgatory fucked him up so much.

His moral alignment actually matches up pretty well with several other Federation workers'- particularly workers like Elena and Fred who are nice but are willing to do terrible things in the name of their cause. The difference here is that Roier has had the same privilege that workers like Walter Bob and Ron got: he got a chance to socialize.

He doesn't have memories from before the island, but he remembers enough about his childhood to be a little suspicious.

But what if these drug-induced hallucinations are actually hints to Roier's backstory? What if it wasn't Doied running all these terrible experiments for the Federation, but it was Roier? Just a guy acting under the belief that he was making the world a better place, punishing criminals (aka rule breakers) while helping the Federation's cause: finding true happiness and spreading it to the world.

The Eye said that everybody in Purgatory was a sinner, and maybe Roier's sin was some mad scientist bullshit.

The dream today, Tape 1, had Roier being punished. Maybe it's because that's what he did as a scientist to new employees, or maybe it's because of his own guilt over everything he's done; remember, the reason he stopped smiling in Purgatory wasn't because he was killing his friends (because he's thought about killing his friends for a VERY long time), but it was because he killed Cellbit, and then it was because he left Cellbit behind to die. That's why the dream specified Cellbit's lost signal and not, say, Jaiden's, and it's why all the cool cinematic landscape shots focused on either Roier himself or Cellbit.

If my prediction is correct, Tape 2 would have Roger instead of Doied. So we'll see what happens then, I guess. Roger, who represents Roier's anger and his various homicidal tendencies.

Fit said that everybody was on the island for a reason, and Roier has been cooking for a long time now. Maybe qRoier is just like qJaiden: a former Federation associate.

TLDR; qRoier is currently hallucinating due to him being a Federation lab rat. His drug-induced dreams may be implying that Roier has a past within the Federation as a scientist completing the same experiments that "Doied" did in the dream to Roier.

But that's just a theory, a Game Theory. Thank you for reading.