#mxm fantasy

[bottomhyunjinbuffet]

Dessert of the Day

╰┈➤ Pairings: Bottom! hyunjin x Top SKZ

╰┈➤ WC: 1.5k

╰┈➤ Warnings: MDNI, Freeuse! Hyunjin, top bang chan top changbin, top felix, top jeongin, top seungmin, top han, top lee know, aftercare mentioned and done, no plot, mainly smut

╰┈➤ Summary: after a long day that never seemed to end, hyunjin offered to help his group in anyway they wanted to use him and they took him on that matter and made sure he was taken care of at the end of it.

“You did say we could have a free use, after today? Of course we're gonna use it.” bang chan groaned out, holding hyunjin's blonde hair tight in his hands while he was throat fucking the poor shaking male. Who was holding onto the man's thighs and letting out muffled gagging sounds, his eyes constantly rolling back in his head while letting out muffled moans at the feeling of his ass being smacked. “I'd never thought it was going to end, seriously trying to ask me out at a fan sign? Can't even get one normal day without getting pissed off.” “Guys, come on we have the poor man shaking already and you two just started! Leave some for the rest of us.” Felix pouted, pushing back some of his hair from his eyes while his cock stood up outside of his pants, not wanting to touch it because he was excited for tonight, being left alone in the dorm room knowing everyone would get a turn.

Chan and changbin let out deep, gruntled growls before staying still, both releasing at once while feeling the bottom male trembling under them. Changbin rubbing hyunjin's already red bum before slowly pulling out with a sigh of relief, like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders before hearing the sounds of hyunjin panting, seeing that Chan had also pulled out but didn't let go of his hair. Chan leaning down and wiping some of his cum off of hyunjin's swollen lips. His eyes looking at the older male with nothing more than want and never ending need. His tongue sticking out like a dog wanting some wanter, his back was arched in a way that showed he was craving for more, wanting to be used anyway that would help his group. “Someone better be recording this for later, definitely gonna need this when he passes out.” Lee know huffed, seeing that Seuingmin already had his phone recording while Felix happily walked over, turning hyunjin on his back just to crawl over him and trap the panting male under him, Hyunjin's legs instinctively wrapping his legs up to Felix's shoulders while his hands were free, his mouth staying wide while he was panting.

“Sorry hyun, I know I'm usually the gentle one, but tonight I need to fucking pound something.” Felix pushed himself in and began quickly moving his hips, watching hyunjin arch his back while he continued to let out loud moans and pleads. His drool mixing with Changbin's cum while his back kept moving up from the hardwood cold floor under him. His head titled to the side while Felix left large purple marks on his neck and collarbone, leaving almost no room for anyone else to leave marks. “Yes, yes yes! Please don't apologize- fucking gods! Just do it!” He cried out, hearing his skin slapping while his eyes rolled back into his head once again with his tongue sticking out. He knew Felix loved holding him close when they were having times like this, getting the best angle and results while a phone was getting all of this on camera for everyone to enjoy in their own private time.

Feeling yet another release, hyunjin let out a mewl, letting his head move side to side as if he were trying to stay awake with all the help he could get. Feeling Felix slowly pull out and feeling content while looking at those who have yet to get their turn. Seungmin, I.N., han, and lee know all waiting their turns to enjoy themselves. Slowly rolling over, feeling the mixed juices slowly leak out from him while he moved his legs opened more with his mouth staying opened. He still had four more to take, he could do it. He's done it before and he can do it again. He looked up at seungmin, who was slowly panning the camera around just to get everything. Seungmin would go last just so he could get both holes in each shot so he could then send it to the group chat on their separate phones for them to look back and remember how it ended. Seeing hyunjin all tired and shaking afterwards knowing he was going to be taken care of no matter how late it was.

I.N. walked in front of him, tapping the tip on hyunjin's open mouth, watching him take it in and quickly bobbing his head back and forth, holding onto I.n.’s thighs as tight as his shaking hands could while feeling someone rub his back slowly, tracing his middle back and he knew it was Han. Han always loved messing with his back knowing he would squirm even when being in a spot like this and there was little to nothing he could or would want to do to stop it either. It was already driving him crazy while leaning into I.n.’s touch, looking up while the youngest member already had a handful of hair in his hands while slowly moving his hips to hit the back of Hyunjin's throat. His voice was going away feeling two dicks inside him once again both going at different paces just to throw him off once again. It was never enough and he could still take more if he truly wanted to, knowing Lee know would go harder than chan would on his ass. And that is saying a lot when it comes to the two of them.

Even with droopy eyes, he swallowed each drop he could, letting out a pop and a whine when I.n. slowly pulled out, slowly letting go of his hair with a smile on his face before arching his back, feeling himself release once again combined with Han's own release. His mind was blank and he could barely tell what was happening around him before just being picked up once again. Even being lumped against Lee know's chest, his chest rising and falling, his head leaning to the side while trying to keep his eyes wide opened. His arms and legs being numbed but his legs were shaking. He knew Lee Know liked to make him. HIs back against him, his arms behind held back behind him with his weak and tired knees keeping him up while pounding into him. Being able to look over to see Hyunjin sticking his tongue out while looking at seungmin’s camera, his way of begging him to come closer. Even while himself bouncing, he could still take it, and take it well. His mouth latching onto Seungmin’s dick, looking up at the phone into the camrea, despite his lower movements he would swirl his tongue while teasing him but taking everything he possibly could.

His muffled moans getting quicker and higher, his eyes rolling back while he could hear Lee know whispering in his ear, saying words he knew would get Hyunjin closer and would get picked up. “Look at you, taking everyone’s dicks like they were made for you. You were made for these weren't you? Even after everything here you are, taking it all in like nothing else matters. You love putting on shows for us to watch later now don't you hyun?” Seugmin having to hold his head still while lee know bucked his hips up one more time, the two of them releasing once again while hyunjin's body trembled even more. His legs squirming around while seungmin pulled his head back for everyone to hear the broken cry coming from him. Coughing even while his head laid on Lee know's shoulder who was also smirking the entire time. “You sure you want your last turn seuingmin? He would pass out before he could eat.” “Felix should have the straw coming, I can go slow.” He started, watching Hyunjin's eyes flutter back opened before he got on his hands and knees to crawl on the sticky floor, slowly turning on his back with his legs opened. His legs were down, meaning he was done and ready to be cleaned off and eat. Not anything else.

So seungmin stopped the recording and set it to the chat, tossing his phone on the couch while kneeling over. “Alright who ran the bath?” “Han ran the bath with the bubbles and will help you bathe him, Felix should get the smoothie ready since he won't be able to chew and I.N. should have the large bed made with his pj's out so we can hold him to bed while Chan-hyung and Changbin are ready to help lift him up. Let me call Changbin.” Lee know got up, fixing his pants like everyone else before calling out to changbin outside the door, of course they had to take care of their golden boy, after all he did great for all of them today.

[darkrpfinders]

I’m Evan: 24 and Australian (GMT+11).

MDNI / 18+ only: have your age on your blog or I won’t reach out. I prefer 3-5 paragraph replies, in 3rd person POV. Discord only. This will be angst and smut heavy but I still want a plot going on too.

I’m looking to write a king that is known for his ruthless cruelty. The borders are surrounded by body strewn battle fields and he will wipe entire towns off the map for the rumour of rebellion. He revels in the suffering of his people and endorses the worst of his enablers. He cherishes loyalty, but will betray them without any hesitation. He is narcissistic, power hungry, and an irredeemable villain.

This is where your character comes in. Are they the hero coming to stop him? One of his concubines? An old childhood friend? An arranged marriage from a fearful country? Regardless they end up under his thumb and unable to escape his ruthless clutches as he moulds them into the perfect “queen” he’s been searching to rule beside him.

I’d prefer female characters or feminine/softer men, and trans/nb characters are welcome too! Fantasy races like elves and tieflings are loved as well as spellcasters. Just please keep in mind that the end goal is your character submitting: though how is completely up to you (eg. fear, money, power, lust, trying to pull the strings from the background, or a stockholm syndrome love).

If you’re interested please be alright with the following content: non/dub-con, violence / gore, sado-masochism, power imbalances, blackmail, manipulation, emotional and physical abuse, and public sex. Potentially more too! Just no 🍪 - everything else is ok with discussion!

If interested please like this post or message me! Thank you! 🖤⚔️🥀

.

[wyrmst]

Out in the Cold (Part Eight)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 6233

Content Warnings: Discussion of Abuse, Discussion of Depression/Mental Health, Drinking (Mild)

I’m really excited about what these next few parts are building up to. Hopefully it will all be worth it for our leads in the end? Who knows!

Now that the fire has dwindled out, you drearily start redressing. 

You let out a feeble sigh. You’d usually be waking up to get your job assignment right now; Torg always would get up before you to put together a breakfast, since he's an early riser anyway, and you’ve never been good at mornings. If you focus, you can almost trick your brain into conjuring the scent of cured meat and runny eggs cooking.

On the bright side, all of your articles of clothing have completely dried while you slept.

As you groggily pull on your second boot, you hear a twig snapping in the distance.

Your head snaps up, eyes drawn to the tree line for signs of movement.

Now that the snow has slowed to a lazy dusting, you can fairly easily make out a familiar green form. Urguk is in a half-crouch stance in the distance, frozen in place where he was creeping forward through the trees. You can’t tell from this distance, but knowing him, he’s internally panicking over the unintentional noise he just made.

His eyes go wide when he realizes that you’re making eye contact with him. You’re frozen in place yourself, staring back, unblinking. 

Finally, after a few shared excruciating moments of stunned silence, staring at each other in shock; he snaps out of it, breaking the spell. He takes off in a sprint back into the snow-covered woods in the opposite direction, clearly more concerned with speed now, rather than discretion.

Oh no. 

If he's out here scouting ahead it means that the rest of the hunting party isn’t very far behind -  you have to go, now.

You clamber to get your pack back together, triple checking that you’ve put the fibula in there securely. Then you scurry off into the woods, running as fast as you can sustain. 

You’re almost to the meeting point. You just have to make it there before the orcs catch up.

Then, this can all be over. You can finally go back to your old life…

LAST AUTUMN

You knew this was going to happen eventually.

He must finally be tired of you…

Torg hasn’t spoken more than two sentences to you in one sitting for the last week. When he does, it is clipped and terse. He’s not spoiling you with physical affection the way he usually does, either. 

He’s spent longer than usual at work, brushing you off when you ask about it. When he is home in the evenings, he’s pouring over a thick tome at the table and making notes in Orcish script in a small notebook- usually when he reads at night, he does it lying in bed before sleep, with you curled up against him.

He hasn't been snapping at you or anything of the sort, but you can feel the undercurrent of agitation, even from across the room. You can tell chronic grumpiness when you see it.

There wasn’t anything you did to warrant this behavior, you don’t think- or at least you can’t remember doing anything, besides your typical mistakes. But come to think of it, maybe he’s just finally had it with you constantly making mistakes. Maybe it’s not so cute anymore…

He sits, freshly dressed after showering, pulling his boots on with a thousand yard stare… glare may be more accurate. 

He's dressed far more finely than usual today, in his best cold weather tunic - the one with the gold thread embellishments on the sleeves and hem. He's also put in the set of carved bone earrings you've only seen him wear to festivals, and his hair is partially braided up.

You roll out of bed and let out an exasperated sigh.

He doesn't respond.

The tension is killing you.

“Torg.” You square yourself in front of him, firmly placing your hands on his shoulders. The muscles are so tense there, they feel like solid stone. “Talk to me. Please.”

He looks up at you as if he’s actually seeing you for the first time in a week. You feel a tiny bit of relief in the small, fond smile that forms around his tusks, but it's short lived.

"Sorry." He grumbles, running his hand through his hair in irritation. "Trade meeting today. It's been stressful planning for it. It always is."

You knead your fingers into his tightly knit trapezii, causing a guttural noise to rumble out from deep in his chest. His brow unfurrows just a bit.

"Oh. Well, I don't have any other plans today. I could come and help y-"

"No. You can't." He says firmly, gently squeezing your fingers after pulling them off his shoulder. He stands and retrieves his cloak from the hook, working to fasten it with the fibula. 

“Why?”

"I just- I need this to go through without a hitch."

You can read the subtext loud and clear. 

And if you come, you'll fuck something up for sure.

"...Fine." You say, tight lipped and arms crossed. Your ears flatten against your head in displeasure. You sit back down on the bed, watching in silence as Torg finishes securing his cloak and tries to explain his reasoning.

"This location is so remote, all of our trade partners are vital. We rely on them for anything we can’t make ourselves. This group only comes through twice a year and- I can't risk insulting them or causing some kind of… incident… It would cost us a lot. You understand that, right?”

You don’t answer.  

When he's finished, he approaches you, then leans in for a goodbye kiss. Feeling petulant about the whole thing, you quickly turn your head, avoiding his affections completely.

"Don't be like that." Torg says in a frustrated tone, more begging you to cooperate than anything. 

"I'll be however I like!" You snap forgetting yourself and finally letting the frustration of his recent behavior get to you. "You're sure being however you like lately."

He rises back up and lets out an irritated sigh, pinching his glabella with two thick fingertips.

"...I can't deal with this right now. I'll be back later."

He leaves the house without waiting for your response, shutting the door with barely controlled force, just short of a slam. The frame still rattles in protest from his strength.

You flop face down against the bed and let out a loud, vicious string of curses, into your pillow, the sound muffled by the thick bedding. You carry on until your anger and hurt is spent, then you lay there limply for a while longer still.

Now would've been a perfect time to snatch the fibula and make a run for it, if he hadn’t worn it today.

Especially if you’re about to get thrown away, once again…

Eventually, you get up and listlessly dress for the day. As you're idling in the living area wondering which of your friends to go bother, you catch sight of something that piques your interest on the table.

Normally books in Torg’s house are completely written in Orcish glyphs, not unlike nearly all of the other writings in the rest of the settlement. But the cover of this one has multiple versions of the title across the front.

Universal-Elvish Dictionary (Orcish Script Edition), the Elvish subscript- which you are fluent in- reads.

“Oh.” You mutter, picking up the thick, well used book. The notebook with Torg’s stark handwriting still sits beside it. You tilt your head to read it, finding through skimming his translations that it's a ledger of supplies and their quantities, likely a trade order. “He must’ve forgotten this…”

You immediately feel the urge to be helpful and bring this to him to avoid the stressful complication that forgetting it will surely cause him. 

But why do you even care about his big, stupid feelings? 

As if he's not going to be upset when he finds out you've been planning to rob him this whole time… 

Clearly he only thinks of you as nothing more than a fuckable nuisance anyway...

But you can’t keep those thoughts in your head for long. Even if you’re mad at him at the moment, you don’t want things to be harder for him when they don’t have to be. He’s obviously been struggling lately, even if he’s trying to hide it from you.

You let out a sigh and scoop up both the book and the ledger into your pack, then throw on your own cloak and head out into the windy, early autumn morning.

It's not hard to figure out where Torg went, as a few familiar orcs repairing some wooden fencing were happy to point you in the right direction. Luckily for you, there is a vague path to follow through the woods, so you don't have to worry about getting lost.

After a bit of a walk through a heavily wooded path, you exit the treeline to see an elven caravan setting up camp in the expansive alpine clearing against the swath of rusty oranges and deep golds.

Torg sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the throng of shorter snow elves, all looking waifish and delicate in comparison to his hulking build.

The look on his face- stressed is an understatement. He looks like he's going to be physically ill at any moment, despite his best attempts to keep his composure. 

The elven woman conversing with him- or attempting to converse with him, is more accurate- doesn't look much better; her facial expression is polite, but you know masked social discomfort when you see it.

Even more of note, the elven woman standing next to him has what appears to be an occupied baby sling tied across her body.

Torg acting suspicious lately. A woman with a young child. A meeting he very clearly expressed you could not, under any circumstances, come to…

This certainly looks bad for him. And would be much more suspect if you doubted for a moment that he had no interest in women.

Torg's expression morphs to one of subdued horror when he looks up, color draining from his face as his attention is drawn by the crinkling of dry leaves and pine needles under your boots as you approach.

"Hello, can I be of assistance?" You smoothly say to the elf, who seems to be the chieftain based on the pop of colored ribbon woven into her hair and her intricate facial tattoos. 

"Oh, you must be new, yes? Thank the stars that he finally found a translator. How fortuitous!" The wariness in the woman's face softens into a mix of relief and glee. "I am Eirlia. I'm the leader of this tribe."

"Yes, I've only been here a few seasons." You bow and give her your name in return. "Pleased to meet you."

You glance at Torg; complete shock. Might as well have dropped his jaw on the floor, if he didn’t have too much pride for that.

Good. Serves you right. You gloat inwardly. To his credit, though, he doesn't try to intervene.

You wordlessly dig into your pack and pull out the dictionary and notebook, and transfer them into his hands.

"So, do you stop here regularly?"

"Yes, but this stop is a bit of a special case. We only speak the old tongue, so we typically trade only with other elves or groups that speak it. But we rest here whenever the route brings us through." Eirlia comfortingly pats the bundle hanging from her as she speaks.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, how did you end up trading with a group of orcs if that's the case?"

"We are safe resting here. Nothing thinks to disturb us with a settlement of orcs nearby, not even large predators, let alone bandits. The least we can do in exchange for that protection is offer trade. The difficulty in communication is ultimately immaterial." She smiles at Torg, who offers a stilted smile in return, despite him clearly not understanding a word she's saying. "Jotnar are safe, per their cultural obligation to be good hosts. Torg is clearly one - his horns just happen to be in his mouth."

You have to restrain your laughter at the sentiment.

"Oh, it's really commendable that you've not let the language barrier stop you, then."

"I think we both know how complicated elvish grammar is." She chuckles. "That's not to say I'm not thoroughly relieved you're here."

"Speaking of, let's get started, shall we? I don't want to take up too much precious daylight with my prying."

You look at Torg, who is now looking over the ledger in his hands.

The actual communication goes quite smoothly, thanks to Torg's detailed planning and Eirlia’s impressive memory of what the settlement usually buys from them. 

And you certainly can't discount your own ability in the language either, of course, even if you're a bit rusty. 

Once all the preparations are made, Torg and a few of the stronger looking elves load the crates of goods into the cart. You try to help where you can, but heavy lifting isn't your forte, so you mostly end up hanging back and getting more acquainted with Eirlia. You also get acquainted with her young child, who is seemingly old enough to peek their head out to watch the people loudly moving around freight. You speak the child in elvish as well, though they pretty much immediately return to sleep. It’s good to know that you’ve still got your trademark charm.

"Anything else you want to say?" You ask Torg when the cart is full and you’re ready to depart.

"Invite them to dinner while they're staying here, please."

"Torg would like to invite your people to evening mealtime, for as long as you're staying." You convey to her, and find yourself smiling fondly without even thinking about it. "I can personally vouch that the food is much, much better than common knowledge would have you believe."

"That sounds lovely! I'll bring whomever is interested along." She grins at Torg before turning back to you. "It's so nice to be able to speak almost directly! This will make this stop so much easier from here on- you are here permanently?"

"I hope so!" You laugh, purposefully avoiding answering the question directly.

Mercifully, the awkward silence as you ride next to Torg on the way back isn't as oppressive. It at least feels different than the silence you have been experiencing the last week- this definitely seems to be more of Torg silently chiding himself than anything else occupying his mind.

You're nearly back to the settlement when he finally clears his throat to speak.

"Thank you." He grumbles, fists clenching the oxen's reins like he thinks they'll take off at a gallop at any moment. "And I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." You sigh and rest your head on his bicep. You're tired of being mad, anyway. "I probably didn't have to snap like I did."

"I'd have snapped at me too. …You think I would've learned after the last time you proved me wrong."

"...You haven't been yourself. I'm worried." You say after considering your words in the silence for a few more minutes. "I just wish I could be of more help."

Torg doesn't say anything, but you feel the weight of his gloved hand come to rest on your opposite shoulder.

You've nearly nodded off leaning into the comforting warmth of his body when the cart comes to a rickety stop. After helping you safely descend despite you reassuring him he doesn't need to, he finally speaks again. 

"There is something you can do that would be a huge help while I make sure these goods get to where they need to go." He says as he pulls a small, tightly wrapped bundle from underneath his cloak. "Take this to the Shaman for me, please. They'll know what it’s for. Bring what they mix up back to me as soon as it's finished."

"Oh. Alright?" You say with a tilt of your head, but take the package regardless.

"Good. Just don't get lost." He teases with an amused smile much more befitting his usual one.

You make a playfully overblown indignant huff, then head on your way.

Contrary to popular belief, you've been here long enough that you know your way to most places you need to go by heart now. So, you easily navigate to Shaman’s home- it is attached to the infirmary, after all, so this was one of the first places you memorized the location of, out of necessity from your various early mishaps, as embarrassing as it is.

"Hello," You call out in your most charismatic voice as you enter the deserted-looking hut. "Anybody home?"

Shaman’s home, despite being spacious, seems to be packed to the brim with various types of magical ingredients and tools- colorful glass jars that catch the light from the windows, assorted raw minerals and living plants on every shelf, a corner with faded stretched vellum, spools of thread and a loom, a potion mixing station sporting curly glass tubes and peaks, and as many cut herbs drying on a rack above you that it can reasonably hold. A steadily bubbling cauldron sits on the hearth. A mossy, herbaceous, earthy scent hangs over everything like a veil.

But of most note to you is the numerous spirit motes hanging about in the air and all over the surfaces of the workspace.

"Ah! What is it you need?” Shaman pops their head out of the back room, and seeing you there, moves with a surprising quickness for their middle age.

“Torg wanted me to bring you this.” You produce the wrapped sachet, a pungent herbal, yet clean scent emanating from it as you hand it over. "I assume you know what they're for? He said you did, at least."

“Mhmm. Good, very good!” They nod, seeming to recognize the leaves on sight. “This won’t take long at all- it’ll be a waste of time to go and come back. Why don’t you sit, and we’ll have a chat while you wait? I imagine he’ll want this right away.”

“Ah, sure. That sounds nice.” You take a seat at the stool by the counter, watching as Shaman pulls out a mortar and pestle. They do take the time to offer you a steaming mug of tea before getting to work, which you happily accept. “He did say to bring it back as soon as it’s done.”

"Yes. Can't imagine going without is making things easier for him."

Shaman gathers a few other ingredients to their workspace from their stores- a small flask of a clear oil, a handful of shriveled mushroom caps, and several dried herbs, none of which you recognize, save for the dried chamomile flowers.

“So, he has some sort of…" You are still not quite sure how to phrase your question. "Ailment?”

“Mmmhm. I’m sure you’ve noticed that he has not been himself lately. It’s because we had run out of our store of weeping sage, which are the main component of his medicine. We had to wait for Eirlia’s group to arrive to restock. It was cutting it close already, and they were later than usual, given the rains we’ve been having.” Shaman shows you one a few of the dried silver-blue flower clusters in their palm before tossing them into the pestle with some of the others. “If only I had a live plant, this wouldn't be an issue… But he’ll be as good as new, once he gets this back in his system.”

"I'm relieved, if a bit surprised. He must be good at hiding whatever this illness is- he seems as hale and hearty as ever."

"Yes, well…These sorts of ailments are easy to hide, not being on the surface." 

“I see. So it’s not a physical condition, then.” You find yourself watching a loose mote, your fingers instinctually stalking it across the countertop like prey.

"No. Every scar is a ghost of the injury that caused it, even ones that are not directly on the body. And the old wound that pierced Torg’s heart has caused a lasting shadow on his mind.” They say, nodding their head subtly in time with their hands grinding the leaves under the pestle. “The medicine helps. But medicine can’t fix everything itself. Sometimes, healing comes in other forms.”

There’s some truth to that, you think. You too know that emotional wounds scar just as much as physical ones.

The ground powder in the mortar has turned a deep, beautiful indigo, much darker than the color of the flowers and leaves themselves.

“It’s good that he has somebody now.” Shaman continues, and grins at you with their ornamented tusks, crow’s feet folding at the corners of their eyes. “Not that he doesn’t have the whole tribe. But that’s different. It’s been good for him to have someone that’s his, I think. That is healing, too.”

“You think so?” You’re flattered, but you can’t help but feel a little guilty, knowing your plans.

“I know so. Last week or so notwithstanding, I have never seen the man so vibrant and full of life since I've known him, hah!” That’s saying a lot, since Shaman is perhaps the closest friend that Torg has, at least one of equal standing, seeing as they spend so much time working in proximity. “Coming from an Old Ways tribe myself- it can wreak havoc on the mind, even long after you’ve left that way of life behind.”

That also hits close to home, closer than you’d like to keep thinking about.

“Oh, uh. Should you be telling me about his… past trauma- and medical information? Isn’t that… I don’t know… Private, perhaps…?”

Shaman cackles, nearly spilling the mound of powdered dried leaves as they dump it into a waiting concoction already bubbling away. A plume of blue-green steam billows from the top momentarily, matching the glow of their irises and fingertips.

“You joined his household didn't you? What’s left to keep private between the two of you?”

They have a point- and it makes you feel like a villain.

You quickly hatch an idea to assuage some of your guilt.

"Say, I actually just came from the trade meeting with the elves- maybe before they move on, I could ask them to bring a live plant next time? Would you be able to keep it alive here?"

"Hahah, oh I'm sure that he was over the moon with that. I know I would be!" They dump a few more ingredients onto the mixture, one by one. "I would be more than able to care for the plant, certainly. That would be a very kind act, and make things much easier."

The conversation thankfully shifts to less pointed topics while they finish mixing the potion, but you can’t help but continue to mentally overanalyze the last week’s events.

Torg’s been having such a tough time already and… perhaps you have been a bit tough on him, yourself. Too tough- tougher than you needed to be…

By the time Shaman has finished the mix and packaged it for easy travel, the guilt is starting to eat at you and you’re more than ready to actually return Torg’s apology.

It’s getting close to dinnertime, so you hurriedly make your way back to the middle of the settlement where you suspect Torg will be.

When he turns to greet you, you press yourself against him in a tight hug, your arms wrapping around his solid trunk of a torso. 

“I’m sorry.” You say with a sigh into the front of his tunic. Delighted goosebumps rise on your forearms at the heavy feel of his palm lovingly rubbing your back. “I haven’t been very considerate lately, have I?”

When you release him, you produce the packaged vials from your pouch and place it directly into his hands. He nods, immediately removes one of the vials of dark blue liquid, and downs it in one go.

“It’s okay.” He smiles- this one almost reaches his eyes. “Neither have I."

And then, he just… drops the subject. There's no drawn out guilting or demands for repentance. Just quiet acceptance that you've both kind of been jerks lately, but that you don't need to keep being jerks.

You feel lighter once dinner rolls around- more able to do your newfound translator role with better humor and a more relaxed air.

All in all, around a dozen brave elves, in addition to Eirlia and her spouse, take up the dinner offer- which is honestly more than you expected.

They seem to enjoy the food and the company, even if just for the sake of novelty. Eirlia seems thrilled; perhaps even moreso about the strengthening of bonds with their trade partners through cultural exchange than the dinner itself.

The orcs in the tribe start off being the more trepidatious of the group of elves at first, to your surprise; acting with caution to not offend or more likely, not to accidentally break any of your willowy guests.

Eirlia is effortlessly charming and entertaining. Despite the indirect nature of communication, she has great stories, even recited second-hand. It’s not a surprise that she and Torg have developed a good rapport, even with the lack of a shared language.

Even the baby doesn’t fuss, and barely even seems to wake up at all during the meal- comfortable enough in their sling and clearly used to being exposed to the sounds of joyful gatherings.

And if you thought you were bad at handling the consumption of rotgut, the elves that tagged along with her are absolutely abysmal at it. What followed was a humorous display of far too intoxicated elves either falling asleep or trying to flirt with orcs that had no clue what they were saying. 

It was a surprisingly boisterous meal, shared with good company.

Hours later, after Torg had sent a couple of hunters to help Eirlia escort the still intoxicated elves safely back to their camp, you and Torg finally returned home.

You immediately strip out of your cloak and boots, fully spent from the events of the day. You can’t imagine Torg isn’t feeling similarly drained.

You still need to write correspondence to your guildmaster that you’ve been putting off. Perhaps Torg will fall asleep soon, and you can take care of that…

Before you can get much farther on that train of thought, you’re distracted by Torg speaking up.

"I got you something." Torg says, entering the house behind you with a bottle in hand.

You know what it is as soon as you see the swooping curves of the script on the label. 

"For me? How'd you get this?" You laugh incredulously and take the bottle when he offers it, then feel foolish, remembering the literal elven trading caravan that is a short walk away, out in the woods. "I didn't see it in the ledger."

"While you were distracted. Managed to get the point across with just the dictionary. I don't think it's to anyone else's taste, so you have an entire crate to yourself in the tavern cellar. It should last until they come back, as long as you don't develop too much of a habit..."

You hurry into the kitchen with an excited wiggle and… of course he doesn't have glass stemware, so you grab two of the wooden mugs and return.

Torg has unmade himself and all but collapsed in the big armchair, so you clamber into his lap, making yourself comfortable. Seeing you wanting for hands, he takes the mugs from you with a pinch of his fingers and places them on the nearby table, stealing a kiss as he leans in. Then he watches in unconcealed amusement, head leaning in his hand, as you take your dagger from your belt and begin to crudely open the elegant, fancily designed bottle.

"Look, I may have lived in a noble house for a while but I know how to make do." You giggle, unable to keep the stupid grin from your face, and finally dig the cork out with your blade. 

The wine glugs smoothly into one mug after the other, and you hand the first mug of dark sanguineous liquid to Torg before taking the second one for yourself and setting the bottle down on the table.

“Thank you.” You purr, pressing a kiss to his bearded jaw from your angle below his face before you take a long sip of wine.

Thank the Spirits- Actual wine- Something you can drink that doesn’t immediately burn your nose and throat. It’s nowhere near as bad as some of the gutter wine you’ve drank in the past either, but actually a pretty decent variety.

“Mmn.” Torg affirms and takes a deep breath before tasting the liquid in his own cup.

“How’s it taste?”

“Like juice.” He concludes. “Old juice.”

“It is old juice.” You can’t help but laugh.

You watch in silent horror as Torg knocks back the entire thing at once and sets the empty mug back on the table with a dull wooden rattle. You think about stopping him- but it’s too late now, and you know that isn’t anywhere near enough alcohol to actually get a man of his size drunk in the first place. So, you just keep laughing instead.

“And it’s meant to be sipped.” You wheeze, wiping a tear from your eye.

“Ah, well.” He shifts into a deeper groove in the chair, a low rumble of a sigh coming out of his chest to match the content smile on his face. His broad palm makes for a pleasant, comforting weight on the small of your back. “Too bad, then.”

You speak happily about the events of the day, and the accumulated stress begins to melt away. You’ve soon sprawled out over his lap, head laying on his chest and legs hanging over the arm of the chair, as you slowly enjoy your gifted wine.

Then, you remember an errant thought from earlier, and a devious smile spreads across your lips, ready to tease.

“So, when were you going to tell me you had an elven love child?” You try to keep your tone as genuine as possible.

Torg gives you a look of confusion, followed swiftly by a look of dead-eyed reproach. Your smile simply grows in response.

“No.” He grumbles out a laugh. “Not taking that bait.”

“But-” You try to continue your plot to pester your lover, but he is being just as obstinate in his desire to not feed your mischief. 

“Nope. Don’t even start. You know I like men.”

“I mean, you don’t have to necessarily like the process to successfully make a child-”

“I don’t want children. And that child isn’t even blue.”

“Don’t want children? But then who will run the tribe when you’re too old and grey?” You say, faux scandalized, and slump into him dramatically. “It will be anarchy.”

“I hope by time the anarchy sets in, I will be long since retired.” He laughs. “Like I said before, I’m elected, so I don’t need an heir.”  

“But what about… I dunno-” You swirl the wine remaining in your mug, running out of steam for this particular strain of teasing. “You legacy? Or whatever…”

“We can keep trying to make an heir all you’d like.” Torg leans down and growls into your ear, tightening his grip on you. The tip of your ear flicks in response, and he nips it gently. “But, the only baby I want in our house is you.”

You can’t help but let out a giddy string of flustered giggles, your reign of torment effectively shut down. 

When you regain your breath, another thought from earlier has resurfaced.

“That does remind me, Shaman said something interesting earlier, when I picked up your medicine.”

“Yeah?” Torg tenses slightly underneath you at the mention of it. “What’d they say?”

“They said I was good for you.” You say smugly, taking a long sip.

“Ah, they’re not wrong.” Torg laughs and kisses the top of your head, one hand holding the back of your neck. You can feel the points of his tusks gently press against your skin. “I guess they told you all about… why. They do love to talk.”

“They told me a bit, mostly some euphemisms about not all scars being visible. But I think I’d rather hear about your scars from you.”

“Mmm.” Torg furrows his brows. “Not sure where to start.”

“Was it the exile?” You gently touch his chest through the fabric of his tunic, trying to provide some sense of comfort. “Even if your family is awful, it still feels bad to leave it behind. I know that well enough.”

“It got worse after the exile, sure. But I’ve always been this way. For as long as I can remember, at least. My father hated it.” He laughs bitterly. “And to be honest, he hated me. Hated that I was weak. It was a thorn in his side that the supposed future chief of our tribe wasn’t even able to drag himself out of bed some days. A peak example of strong Orcish blood bested by what? Sadness?”

He pauses, eyes somewhere else for a brief moment. He rubs circles on your hip in thought. You stay silent save for a supportive hum, wanting to give him the space to confide in you.

“But being sad doesn’t even begin to describe it. It wasn’t sadness. The sadness didn’t help- But it was emptiness- Is emptiness. And when the emptiness was too much, I was angry. …Part of me still is. Even with the medicine. I have his temper. It was only a matter of time until it all blew up.”

“Let me guess- something bad happened and your father was there to make it worse?”

“Yes. I had lost a friend and I… was not in a good way. Heartbroken. And that made everything so much worse. And the worse my mental state was, the harder he pushed me. I could deal with him being a blowhard before that. Just ignored him. But I felt like I was weak and- so I guess, felt like I deserved it in some way. Weak is the worst thing you can be as an orc- at least in the Old Ways.” You squeeze your fingertips against his skin sharply, as if to refute the statement without speaking, and he continues. “Usually my mother was good about keeping him in check, but… she was on a hunting trip when it all happened.” 

“So, she wasn’t there to intervene.” You conclude on your own.

“No. And he was ruthless. Tormenting me, picking at the wound, wouldn’t let up. And that’s when I finally snapped and fought him, like I told you before. Right in the middle of camp.”

“I hate this man.” You hiss, the slight intoxication from the wine has made you much feistier than normal. “If I ever see him, I’m going to bite him.”

That draws a welcome, deep laugh out of your lover, and he squeezes the hand on your waist in affection. But the joy quickly evaporates from his voice.

“What then?”

“I left with everything I had with me at the time, which wasn’t much. The supplies in my pack and what I was wearing. I’m lucky I was wearing my mother’s cloak pin that day- I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to her, and it’s the only thing I have to remember her by.”

You feel the sting of guilt in your chest. As if you couldn’t feel any more like a villain about this.

But, that doesn’t make any sense... Why would a simple family heirloom be fetching such a high buying price…?

“That’s awful.” Your ears flatten back against your head, and you try to change the subject, being eaten alive from the inside out by guilt. The item you’re planning to steal is so rich in sentiment to him- the last tie to a beloved family member- and you’re still going to take it from him when you abandon him. An added insult to the already festering injury. “I’m glad you don’t take after him, then.”

“In a lot of ways, I am just like him. Like I said, I have his temper. And when I’m angry I want to tear the whole word down around me.”

“Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong.” You say, cupping his jaw in your hand lovingly with your free hand. “I’ve never met the guy, but the way you’ve described him… Ugh. No way. I may not know the bastard, but you’re nothing like him.”

Torg grunts softly, and you can tell just from the tone of the noise he doesn’t quite believe your words.

“I mean it! You are patient and kind and surprisingly gentle.” You say and stretch up to press an emphatic, wine-soaked peck onto his face as you recount each trait. “Empty or not, temper or not- it doesn’t matter. You’re a good man, Torg.”

He softly strokes his fingers through your hair. A genuine smile finds its way to his face, adoration clear in his expression, and his whole countenance seems a bit lighter. 

You can’t help but recall what Shaman said earlier about healing coming in different forms.

“...Thank you, kitten. That means a lot, coming from you.”

>> ✨ MASTERLIST

[scifrey]

ART THREAD

I have had the very great pleasure of commissioning some beautiful art to celebrate the release of my new novel Nine-Tenths. I'm going to share them all in this thread (and hopefully add to it if I'm lucky enough to be graced with more) so you can appreciate the talent of these incredible artists.

by Christopher Winkelaar

Nine-Tenths is set in a world where all the nobility in Europe are homo draconis - shape-shifting dragons who have the ability to take human form. Every culture in the world have dragons living among the humans, but the European and Asian nations are the only ones where dragons were historically elevated to the roles of monarchs, nobles, and emperors.

In a world where the American Colonies rejected British rule, this meant they were also rejecting draconic protection--and so while they won their Independence in 1793, they were soundly trounced in the War of 1812, losing all of New England, including New York State, to the British. They were absorbed into the Canadas, except for New York City, which was reclaimed by the Dutch and re-renamed New Amsterdam.

The Canadian colonies expanded west, as they historically did in our world, through a series of broken treaties with the Indigenous peoples of the continent, and the reprehensible colonialist practices which put the settlers in power today. It also means they were able to expand further south, without the Americans to bump up against.

This also meant that the Americans were unable to expand as far south and west as in our world, coming up against Indigenous dragon-protected lands, such as the Oniagara, or Aztec and Incan empires, which grew further north after Spanish contact, and flourished.

Unlike in the current version of Canada, the land was legislatively divided into much smaller provinces than currently exist, each overseen by a hereditary draconic Lieutenant Governor, who report to the draconic Governor of the Canadas, who in turn reports to the House of Lords in England (also dragons). Each province is divided into Duchies, Earldoms, and Marquessates, presided over by a noble dragon family.

As dragons are long-lived, the current Queen of England is Elizabeth (the first one). As she has not yet passed, the Kingdom of Scotland as yet remains separate from England. Ireland too is independent, the Irish dragons having beaten back the English ones. However, Wales remains a satellite colony of England, as the betrayal which brought about it's subjugation and the trickery around the hereditary title "Prince of Wales" still occurred. (This an important plot point).

by @seancefemme

This is the first piece of art I commissioned for the novel, and you'll note it's now become the cover art!

Meet the heroes of our tale: barista and disaster bi Colin Levesque, stuck in the middle of his quarter-life crisis and crushing on his cafe regular, Welsh dragon Dav, the Marquis of Niagara (though of course, Colin doesn't know he's the Marquis, and thinks Dav is just some minor noble with nothing better to do all day than hang out and read).

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin works at Beanevolence, an indie cafe in downtown St. Catharine's, in the province of Upper Canada (Southern Ontario in our world). It's owned by his bestie Hadi, and he was only supposed to be a barista until he'd graduated. But now he has his Sustainable Tourism degree, and no clue what to do next. He feels completely stuck. Luckily he has Dav to distract him.

Except that one day Dav distracts him too well, which results in a kitchen fire. As an apology for the inferno, and to help the cafe get back on it's feet while the repairs are under way, Dav volunteers as the new bean roaster, creating incredible and (and ultimately social-media viral) coffee roasts with his fire-breath.

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin and Dav start a flirtation at work.

Which leads to...

by @teejaystumbles

Luxurious dates and late-night smoochies.

by @pinkpiggy93

Which also goes a little bit viral. See, it turns out that the Marquis of Niagara usually keeps a low profile, and his sudden romance with a human has the gossip rags and tabloids all in a tizzy.

But more than that, it puts Dav under the scrutiny of Francis Simcoe. He's the Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, a dragon with a hate-on for Dav, and the perfect ammunition to ruin his happiness.

Because, you see, it's against dragonic rules for dragons to be seen to be laboring in service of humans... and Dav's new gig at Beanevolence is about to--forgive the pun--land him in hot water.

➡️ Read Nine-Tenths Here ⬅️

[findroleplay]

🚬 — mdni. hello there! 21+f here looking for mxm roleplays. i'm really in the mood to create a story revolving around the mentor/protegee dynamic (but make it worse). you know the song this charming man by the smiths? sort of that vibe.

in general, i'd like to write an older character who takes yours in under the guise of kindness and benevolence when, in reality, there's something he's angling for. whether it's using your character for some hidden goal, sick pleasure, heck, maybe even vengeance? we'll sort it out later. the point is their relationship is built on deceit and lies and your character is too smitten by mine to realize it (at least, for a good while).

i'm a big sucker for fantasy so i would love it if we could fit this in that genre (a newly crowned & young king being 'helped' by the late monarch's advisor? an apprentice studying under a seasoned mage? commoner gets 'adopted' into a noble's household as his heir?). i'm of course open to more brainstorming and darker themes such as incest (no immediate family, though). if you prefer modern plots, we could easily fit this into a mafia/crime thing in there too.

to make things clearer, i'm not looking for 🍪 (i would prefer if your character is 20+). our characters will certainly have an age gap, though. regarding personality, i'm open to anything as long as you bring me a muse that's complex and whose bedroom role isn't their main trait. i would love to add nsfw to this, but it's a big turn-off if it feels boxed in! let's get creative, guys.

despite this humongous ad, i'm actually a very chill person and i enjoy writing anywhere from 3 to 8 paragraphs. replies can come daily or every two to three days; it depends on my schedule and mood. i also love to bond over our threads ooc, making playlists and whatnot! if this sounds nice to you, interact and i'll contact you!

-

[pvnk80]

Chapters: 7/15 Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Undercover as a Couple, Sexual Tension, Spies & Secret Agents, Romantic Angst, Drama, Jealous Louis de Pointe du Lac, Jealous Lestat de Lioncourt, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Lestat de Lioncourt, Undercover Missions, There Was Only One Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Sci-Fi Gothic Tale, Sci Fi AU, Futuristic, Steampunk, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Summary:

In the year 2045, vampires and humans coexist under a fragile truce, maintained by a shadowy organization called Kairos. Louis de Pointe du Lac, secret agent and reluctant vampire, is assigned to a delicate mission in the Swiss Alps - a conference that could determine the balance between the light and the darkness.

The mission takes an unexpected turn when Louis learns his partner is none other than the flamboyant and notorious Lestat de Lioncourt, a vampire whose reputation for chaos precedes him. To maintain their cover, they must pose as a married couple, sharing close quarters and pretending to be in love - all while navigating treacherous alliances and the looming threat of a secretive enemy known as The Congregation.

[virulences]

rp rules!!

hello guys im luc!! ive been roleplaying for a little over six years and id like to think im at least a little bit good at it. those r my rules and if you're interested in writing something together you can always dm me after reading this post !!

૮꒰ྀི⊃´ ꒳ `⊂ྀི꒱ა

- ONLY 18+ !! i'm 20 and i'd prefer writing with someone who is legal.

- oc x oc & cc x cc only! i ONLY do mxm or fxf! trans & nb characters r always welcome.

- my style is lit to novella, i also tend to match my partner, and my request is that you can go at least up to four paragraphs at minimum. sometimes we don't know what to write back, i get that so no prob in getting shorter replies as long as its quality over quantity! third person only.

- i rp over discord only!!

- im okay with nsfw, as long as its not what the rp is all about! my preferred ratio would be around 20% smut and 80% story. i also dont have a problem if what we write doesn't include it at all! im not picky : )

- if you're bored of what we're writing, not into it for whatever reason, etc etc just tell me and we'll figure it all out!

- my trigger is only sa for now.

those r p much it! nth frappant

i do prefer fandomless ocs but if u have anything in mind reach out and lets brainstorm together!!

also i love to talk ooc, abt our day, share ideas, headcanons, etc etc so dont hesitate! i love talking to people ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[fckingsnickers]

Hey all! I’m still desperately searching for some Gallavich rps 😭 I miss them so much and I neeeed my Gallavich fix 🥲 I play as Mickey, so I’m looking for someone to play as Ian. I am literally open to every type of plot you can think of. Canon, historical, sci-fi, supernatural, omegaverse, literally anything!

I would also potentially be open to a oc x cc rp with me playing Mickey against someone’s male oc, as long as the world building was still similar to the show Shameless.

My only limit or boundary I guess is that in nsfw I can only play as the bottom. I’ve tried playing a top and it’s just not for me 😭 but aside from that I’m super flexible and open to anything!

I’m pretty active and I usually respond multiple times a day, and my reply length can vary depending on the point in the story. I also mirror my partner’s length usually.

If you’re interested in plotting with me, send me a message and we can chat! Also, I only rp on discord 💜

[micksfrootloops]

Hello! This is a post looking for long term rp partners!

I’m 25 and I’m looking for someone (18+) to start some fandom rps with me, specifically based around the ship Gallavich (Ian and Mickey) from Shameless.

I would like to play as Mickey so I’m looking for someone to play as Ian. I’m happy to do either au or canon plots, although I do have a soft spot for AU’s or canon divergence plots. I am super open to all plot types from canon to fantasy to historical to sci-fi. Literally anything! I specifically enjoy writing stories based in the omegaverse, fantasy/supernatural plots (vampires and werewolves etc), family centred stories (specifically mpreg) mafia/criminal underworld settings, and darker plots, but I’m really open to anything and everything. I have no triggers.

Also nsfw scenes are totally okay, but I would prefer to play as the bottom character (I know, sorry!)

I am pretty active, and will respond multiple times a day (if I can’t I will let you know) and I usually write 1-3 paragraphs, although they can be much longer depending on my mood and the point of the story we’re at. I don’t really have the mental energy to keep up with novella style length responses, but I can try and adjust writing length if needed.

I tend to get super excited and engaged in plots, so I’d like to find partners that are maybe similar! I also love to chat ooc all about Gallavich and such.

If you’re interested in writing with me message me or like this post! 🥹💜

Oh also, I only rp on discord! And please only interact with this if you’re interested in rping 💗

[bottomhyunjinbuffet]

Dessert of the week

╰┈➤summary: Hyunjin enjoys sneaking off to a place of quiet but he bumps into a knight that turns out to be his new personal knight and ends up driving him crazy so he fucks the prince

╰┈➤pairings: Prince Hyunjin x Knight Seungmin

╰┈➤Genre: Fantasy AU, Smut

╰┈➤Trope info: Seungmin always wanted ot be a knight to protect those close to him gets assigned to the prince and shows him who runs the

╰┈➤WC: 1.5k

╰┈➤ networks: @neverendingdreams-net

╰┈➤Warnings: 18+ MDNI

╰┈➤Credits: @anitalenia - banners

If you were to ask Seungmin what had he envisioned for his life in the future, it would instantly be a knight to help protect his growing home. A place where children can freely roam the streets without too much a fear, where you can come and enjoy yourself without worry and know your home and words will mean something to those in power, wanting nothing more then to make sure you were safe and their mission was more than complete. He wanted to help the farmers be able to grow their land and expand it so more things could grow; he wanted to help the prince get to places safely while exploring other regions and seeing what they could use to make their home a better place even. Everything he wanted, it would be for the place he wanted to call home more than anything and prove he could do more than what his mind or others used to tell him. But what was he doing instead?

Burying his fingers deep inside of the prince, watching him nearly fall off the end of the bed with his tongue hanging out, his silk pants were on the floor of his separate bedroom, where he could be as loud as he wanted to since no one else was allowed here without permission. The prince had his hand gripping onto the bed so he didn't fall, but his hair was falling in front of him, some was sticking to his sweaty face, but some was bouncing with each harsh movement that was made behind him, his shirt was barely even off. One arm being free while the other one was stuck on, but it didn't matter to him. He was in a place of bliss, tongue sticking out, eyes looking up at the roof while he let out high noises of pleasure with his body enjoying everything he was being given. But in such a state, he wanted more. He wanted to be reminded how little power he had, nothing was in his control, he wanted to feel powerless and shaking like nothing else mattered.

“S-S-seungmin!” Cried out the prince, trying to press his hips back against the long, veiny fingers that seemed to twist and hit the very spot he wanted to never stop. His eyes being screwed shut while his noises only continued. But with one action, seungmin pulling his hair back to show that he was looming over him, his fingers being able to hit everything more often while his face seemed to look innocent, but his eyes were telling a different story. HIs mouth being curled into a smile as he looked down, head tilting to the side just to watch how fast the prince whimpered more under him. His arms shaking and struggling to support his body weight anymore but he knew he could do this. It was just draining him slowly but he could make it work.

“Yes, your highness? I would love to help you, but it seems like you're struggling to get your words out, oh no.” He couldn't help but chuckle, enjoying the rare sight no one else would ever get to see and knew he could simply enjoy the sight in front of him and hear things no one else would ever hear. It helped him feel more in control and in power, being able to play the prince like he was an instrument and he was pressing the right keys to get the right sounds he wanted and nothing more. “Want under…please want under!” trying to lean up higher, reaching up to kiss but also just to get closer, his lips almost getting closer to kissing the one person he wanted to and feel something. But Seungmin was just out of reach, so close yet to just give him a kiss. It was something else, but it was something he wanted. His hair bouncing more and slightly brushing out of the way, but he wanted to squirm, to cry and wanted to see stars he couldn't see even in the dark and open midnight sky.

“You want under? But you are under?” Seungmin loved being a tease, slowing down his fingers as a test, but the loud of cry coming from the prince was loud and broken. Like a gasp for air, a last attempt to get something before he just fell back onto the bed under him. His hips still up and shaking while his lower body was squirming and gripping the sheets tighter, his knuckles turning white till he felt empty. Body fully giving out while he let out a broken cry, trying to stay still despite being so close and wanting nothing more than just to release and let himself see stars he could never see up close or even feel as of now. But seungmin was admiring from behind, seeing how much the prince's body was trembling, his hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead while some were allowing the sweat to drop,his hips staying up while his legs were squirming just a little. Slowly moving his bare hand up to the sides before slowly turning him on his back, making seungmin twitch at the sight in front of him.

Hyunjin's bare chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes looking more dazed with each breath he took, his hands trying to go to his hair, his legs being left opened to show that he was twitching, pre-cum dripping onto his stomach while his eyes locked with seungmin's. Hyunjin wanting to say something but was cut off by a very heated kiss. Seungmin trapping him underneath, his arms moving to make Hyunjin's shaking legs wrap around his waist. Hyunjin instantly trying to lock his legs in place while his tongue was being devoured, leaving him to be a mess under the younger male with nothing else to stop him. When the two had finally pulled away, Hyunjin letting out more pants and was about to let out more pleads before he finally something thick inside. Letting out a cry of pleasure yes while his back was arched before his arms were pulled up, him looking up at Seungmin with wide, fucked out eyes. His tongue sticking out, but his head being forced to stay looking at Seungmin, not allowed to look anywhere else and there being nothing anyone could do.

“The only places your eyes are going to be looking is me, and my dick pounding you. Look away from either, and I'll pull out just to go back in and watch you tremble, understand?” At first, his thrust were slow, but they were hitting the spot that made Hyunjin let out a whimpered moan, but his eyes and face screamed yes. Quickly nodding his head while trying to get the words out of his mouth, because he knew he loved, the power being switched and if he didn't give the right answer, he would be punished instead. “Yes sir, ‘mm be a goodboy please.” Seungmin making sure he wasn’t squeezing too tight on his neck, he moved quicker. Watching hyunjin shake while he was trying to keep his gaze in the two places he was allowed to look. HIs eyes looking into seungmin's eyes before looking down and feeling himself get tighter at the sight. Drooling at the sight, his hair bouncing quicker while his eyes stayed glued at the sight. His thighs were turning red from the movements, but he was loving it. Looking back to seungmin while his arms were now latching onto his broad shoulders before scratching down his back.

Wanting to let out more cries without thinking and soon he was going dumb. Letting out whatever words he could barely muster out without sounding like a stuttering and moaning mess while trying to keep his eyes opened. Wanting to close them or at least roll his eyes back with his tongue sticking out more. And he was failing because Sengmin the angles to use which were best to abuse his prostate, making sure each thrust was driving Hyunjin insane and wanting to give out even more because he was having to fight his body just to prove that he could take orders when he was in a spot like this. But he could tell seungmin was getting there. His head was looking down while Hyunjin seemed to look down at his arms, watching seungmin tense up while his thrust became more erratic, losing the steady pace and just getting messy before staying still. His groans being drowned out by the loud cries and pleasure coming from hyunjin, his body squirming around while his free arm fell to the side, his other arm trying to keep him afloat while hies legs were trying to get tighter but his body froze, giving out and relying on seungmin and what to do.

Seungmin slowly let him go while slowly seeing him down on the bed, letting him slowly collect his thoughts again while trying to breathe slowly, feeling himself fall asleep because he knew seungmin would take care of him in this state, and that is why he always falls asleep with a smile on his face despite everything that happened. “Mm..Love you minnie…”

[wyrmst]

Out in the Cold (Part Seven)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3909

Content Warnings: Sick Reader, Discussion of Abuse

I think we could all use some fluff after this week. Conveniently, that’s exactly where this chapter was already going!

You’ve made it through the night without freezing solid, somehow.

Warm thoughts alone just aren’t cutting it anymore.

You want your lovingly crafted winter cloak. You want the nest of furs piled high on your slept-in bed.

Most of all, you want your lover.

But as you remind yourself, sullenly tracing over the details carved into the face of metal fibula in your fingers in thought, all of those things have been forsaken now.

…And you can't help but feel like you've made a horrible mistake. 

But it's too late to turn back. He wouldn't take you back now… 

Would he…? 

No, you force yourself to stop thinking about it. No use in giving yourself false hope.

What's done is done. 

The last paltry flame of your campfire burns out. Looks like it's time to move, even if light is just barely breaking the horizon.

You sneeze, feeling pitiful; chilled to your very core. 

LAST SUMMER

The weather is perfect for outside work today. It’s sunny, but mild, with an occasional gust of breeze. The last of summer is still holding out, but the autumn crisp is starting to creep in at the edges.

Because you are still essentially a floater when it comes to work assignments, you’ve been doing some of the care tasks of the communal flock of alpigs for the last week, since the normal shepherd is on bedrest. Which, while not ideal for them, is great for you, because you absolutely love these cute little guys. They’re dangerously smart, with sturdy, rotund bodies, and wooly fur covers their bodies and hangs down in a curtain over their eyes, only their wide snouts and a set of tusks each poke out from each of their heavy fringes.

They seem to like you as well, but you have a sneaking suspicion it's because they can use their body mass to bully extra food from you when you’re feeding them, since you're so much smaller than their usual keepers.

You sneeze dramatically into the elbow of your tunic, blinded by the summer sunlight.

Maybe you’re allergic to something flowering right now?

You thought at first you might have an allergy to alpig dander, but Torg informed you their fur is naturally hypo-allergenic, so they most likely aren’t the culprit. 

He also told you to go to Shaman and he’d take over your tasks for today. But he’s just being his usual worrywart self- The last thing you want to do is visibly start slacking so soon after moving into the Chieftain’s household. It's a bad look, and you've put in enough work becoming the settlement's beloved oddity that you don't want to lose it now.

And you don’t even feel bad- so why make a big deal out of a sneeze or two?

You’ve finished milking, now you set about feeding them. They only almost knock you over once, even!

But, you still have to muck out the pen… then give them some love and brush out their coats. It's apparently almost time for the last shear of the summer, so you want to make sure to do a good job of maintaining their fuzz. Today is tusk cleaning day, too… better pick up the pace if you want to finish before sundown.

You head over to grab the pitchfork, but you don't even make it inside the building.

Suddenly, you feel rather dizzy, the colors of the pen around you smearing into a beige soupy mess. You manage to catch yourself and sit on a bale of hay instead of falling over, but just barely.

Just need to… sit down for a minute…

You collapse back against the bales of hay, suddenly completely overcome with fatigue.

Why am I… so tired? We didn't even do anything very strenuous last night…

You think to yourself in a lightheaded haze, absentmindedly petting the fluffy back of the alpig that’s hopped up on the bale and made itself comfortable at your side.

Too bright…

You squint, raising a gloved hand to shield your curiously over-sensitive eyes from the caustic brightness of midday sun.

And when’d it… get so hot…?

Your world goes black after that, your next blurred memories consisting of being lifted from your straw nest and carried somewhere with a softer light and more varied swirling colors.

Your whole body aches, every muscle fiber crying out in complaint like you’ve just pulled a full day of physical activity, despite you being at rest. Your head throbs dully, your throat is raw and scratchy and your eyes are just so hot - burning in their sockets like two smoldering coals.

And it’s not just your eyes- You’re burning up all over. Even though you’ve been stripped down to smallclothes and covered in minimal bedding, you're still soaking them through with clammy sweat.

Strangely, the ceiling you’re looking up at looks nothing like where you’d expect to wake up, and instead the vaulted ceiling of a noble’s home.

You’re back in your childhood bedroom at the jarl’s castle, somehow. You’re overcome with instant, deep seated dread.

Someone is sitting at your bedside, but you can’t make out any of their features from the distorted shape.

“Mother?” You question piteously, unable to think straight through the heat of your fever.

The dark blur of color at your bedside speaks to you, but their voice is warped to your ears, the words indistinguishable, sound both a low rumble and a high pitched ringing.

You choke out a sob, gripping their forearm. You know words are coming out of your mouth, that you’re arguing desperately over something that feels so important at the moment, but they might as well be a foreign language to your own ears.

You’re barely sure what is real and not, memories of your past bleeding into your current senses. Time melts together like the blurs of color in your vision and the distorted ringing in your ears. Eventually you give up on communicating and fall back into fitful sleep, but you have no clue how long it takes.

The next time you open your eyes and manage to keep them open for longer than a few moments, you see the correct wooden beams on the ceiling of Torg’s - and you suppose yours as well, now- bedroom.

“H-Huh-?” You sit up, the damp rag slipping down from your forehead from the sudden movement. You slump back again immediately, reigned in by the sense of exhaustion hitting you in return.

Torg reaches out, collecting the rag to douse it again. He’s pulled up his behemoth of a well-worn armchair to your bedside.

“Torg?” You rasp his name through your hoarse, pained throat, more of a greeting than a question, comforted by the mere sight of him.

“I’m here.” He smiles, but looks tired; his hair messily gathered up and his shirt heavily crinkled. The beginning of faintly purple bags are starting to form under his eyes, the kind he gets when he’s been working too hard with too little sleep.

He pours you a glass of water from the nearby pitcher. You drain it immediately, then half of a second one before your throat is damp enough to speak again.

“...What happened?” The last thing you clearly remember was dozing off in the alpig pen. You know time has passed since then; judging from the evening vermillion visible out of the window, you’ve lost at least most of the day.

“Tusk flu. But don’t worry, Shaman said you’ll be fine."

"I don’t feel fine." You croak weakly, then pout when Torg chuckles at your plight. “Everything hurts.”

“I told you to go get checked out.” His grizzled voice gently chides you with a weary sigh. Even getting scolded, the sound of his voice is music to your ears. Torg reaches out, feeling for your temperature on your cheek and forehead with his hand. “The fact that you have the strength to complain now means you’re already doing better, anyway.”

“Mmmh.” Your eyes flutter closed at the welcome feel of his comparatively cool skin on yours. You don’t have it in you to plead your case- mostly because you know he’s right.

“Good. Much cooler than before.” You can hear the relief in his voice as he judges your temperature. He smiles down at you warmly, and pulls one of the fur blankets back up over you, now that you’re slightly colder. “Your fever must’ve finally broken.”

“Hmmm… Before?”

“Yeah. You’ve been in and out since yesterday morning.”

“That long?!” You wheeze, turning your head and feebly covering your mouth as if it would help at this point. No wonder he looks tired, if he’s been caring for you for that long. ”But won’t you get sick too?”

“I won’t. I already had it as a child.” He leans in and gives you a quick peck on the lips as if to prove his point. “Apparently it's only this bad when you get it for the first time as an adult- at least according to Shaman. And I doubt you had been exposed to it, wherever you came from."

“The alpigs-” You say forlornly, remembering your failed task. 

“Relax.” He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s all taken care of already.”

A sigh escapes your tired lungs as his hand gently strokes through your hair and comes to rub at one of your soft ears. You sink down into the blanket, eyes closed in pleasure, and smoosh your face into the touch. You have to forcefully keep yourself from purring.

“This reminds me of when you first came here.” He laughs fondly. “Should I get used to finding you passed out?”

“Mmm…” You pout and whine, but still enjoy the feeling of his affection too much to swat his hand away in indignance. “Give me some credit! It’s only happened twice…”

“And twice is much more than never.” The deep rumble of laughter that comes from Torg’s chest almost makes the teasing worth it. …Almost. “When I came to make sure you went to Shaman’s and found you laid out on that hale bale instead, I thought you were just taking a catnap in the sun.”

“I would never do that.” You lie, blissfully.

“Hah, right… I’m glad you’re back to yourself.” Torg says quietly, his eyebrows beginning to furrow in a deep, furtive slant. “...You were saying some strange things while you were burning up.”

“Mmn-?” One eye finally pops open, staring up at him quizzically. 

Cold fear grips you.

Oh no. 

Did you blow your cover while you were out of your mind?

“You called me ‘Mother’, for one thing.”

“Oh, pfft-” You snort, breaking into laughter. Then you take his large hand and press a kiss to the back of it. “Don’t worry. You don’t look very motherly, I promise. Especially not like mine.”

“Heh. I feel like one after the last day or so.” His amused smile falls a bit at the seriousness of his next words. “Most of what you said was nonsense, but some of it was… Well…”

"Scandalous?” You try to laugh it off with a cock of your eyebrow. “Or just embarrassing?”

“...Concerning. Like you were being made to do something you didn't want to do."

“Oh. Well, my life up until I came here has mostly been doing things I didn’t particularly want to do.” You shrug, nonchalant.

"I don't want to pry into what those things were, if you don't want to tell me. Though, I admit I am curious." He scruffs his beard with his hand in thought.

"It's… Nothing all that interesting." You fiddle with the edge of the blanket. “Nothing worth talking about, really. Nothing good.”

"Right." He says, noting your discomfort and seeming to back off of the idea. "I just want you to know that you can tell me anything."

You have to admit, that is a tempting prospect.

You could tell him. You could just… tell him everything. You’ve essentially been given an invitation on a silver platter.

You have to wonder what would happen if you did. You assume you would be kicked out- or worse. But… maybe you wouldn’t? Maybe he could help you get out the mess you’ve made for yourself…

Then, you snap back to your senses.

…No, that’s nonsense, you decide. Nothing could ever be that easy. Not for you.

The fever must’ve gotten to you for a moment.

You have to stop yourself from laughing incredulously. It's a lovely sentiment, but you have a feeling it just doesn't extend to deceiving him with the intent to steal from him for all this time.

But you should tell him something… Otherwise the fact he doesn't know something will keep nagging at him. You know him well enough by now that you know that to be the case.

"Oh, you know how it is... Classic sob story, really." You say flippantly with a wave of your hand. "My mother never really wanted me and it showed."

You decide on information that is not inherently false, but won't have any bearing on keeping up your deception.

"Ah. What makes you think that?"

"Well, the general disinterest for my wellbeing from a young age was probably the biggest sign. After my father left, she lucked into getting remarried to the jarl of our village, somehow... It became pretty clear that I was only a nuisance to her after that. Getting in the way of the life she deserved, I suppose. Because after that, he always came first."

"Hmm." He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. "He was no better than her, I take it?"

"No. He was a slimy weasel of a man. Heartless and miserly. He had to control everything down to the smallest detail.... Enjoyed tormenting people below him. He's the reason I ran away when I did."

"Ran away?"

"I left home when I was 14." 

That was more than a decade ago now. Time flies when you're struggling to stay alive every single day… 

"That's so young." Torg can't hide the look of deep concern on his face, no doubt thinking of any of the tween-aged orclings around the settlement he's responsible for having to endure the same strife.

"Being on the street seemed like the better option."

"I’m sorry. It must've been unbearable, then."

"It was a culmination of a lot of things, really. The day before I left, he caught me in the pantry sneaking food after I was sent to my room without dinner, and he cornered me and wouldn't let me by until I guessed what he wanted as 'toll’- You know, because I’m a troll. He thought he was so funny. I may have been young but even by then I knew that wasn’t going to lead to anything good. I was lucky a servant showed up when they did and he had to pretend to be normal."

"Your mother did nothing?" It's subtle, but you see Torg's jaw clench in rhythm like it does when he tries to keep his temper in check.

"I knew she wouldn't listen, but I told her anyway. She told me I was making things up for attention- that I was ruining things for her like I always do, and if I hated her husband and his hospitality so much, that I could leave. So, I left and never looked back. I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t wanted." You shrug, putting a mirthless smile on and deciding to hand-wave the rest of the details between then and now, so as to not rouse  suspicion. “As you can imagine, it was a lot of doing unpleasant things after that, to not starve. Not many lucrative jobs for underage runaways.”

Living in the settlement has been the most security you’ve ever had, especially in terms of reliable access to regular meals. A hot, communal evening meal every night is something that you could have only dreamed about, before. That’s not even to mention the quality of the food… You’ve definitely added a couple pounds since you’ve been here, just from never having to skip a meal, as was a norm for you before now - even after joining a thieves’ guild.

"You shouldn’t have had to endure any of that." Torg gives you another soft stroke on the cheek, his hand trailing down your neck to squeeze your shoulder for emphasis. "I'll make sure nothing like it happens to you again."

You hum in approval, your heartbeat picking up in your chest from the intimacy and the fondness of the statement. For being such a large, gruff and intimidating man, he sure is tender with you.

“Are you hungry? ” Torg seems to remember something, getting to his feet. “Dinner should be ready soon, but if you’re feeling peckish, there should be more than enough in here to tide you over.”

Torg moves a brightly colored basket to the nightstand within your reach. It’s stuffed dangerously to the brim with seasonal fruit, jars of preserves and honey, and other treats. There’s a piece of thick paper stuck into the middle of it.

You take the card, and unsurprisingly, can’t read the text, because you still haven’t picked up Orcish script. There’s a large phrase at the top, with the rest of the paper filled with several smaller pieces of script scrawled in different handwritings. There is also a large, crudely drawn cat smack dab in the middle.

“You’re quite popular around here, you know. Looks like you’ve been fully adopted.” You can hear the approval in his voice. “The knuckleheads dropped it off this morning when they came to check on you, but you were still out of it at the time.” 

“...Cute…” You can’t keep the silly grin from your face, looking at the wonky face on the cat.

“The big part says ‘Get well soon’.” Torg points to the text with a large index finger, chuckling at your look of intense focus.

“I know, I figured that out, context clues…” You mutter, ears laying flat black and flicking in annoyance. The sight just makes him chuckle harder.

Torg returns to the stove, but you keep looking at the card, pouring over all the signatures even if you can’t actually read them.

Emotion pricks at the back of your eyes, and your throat tightens the longer you look at the paper. For just a moment, you had forgotten you’ll have to actually leave eventually, when you take your quarry back to the guild.

But no one at the guild has ever given a fraction of concern as the orcs here have. There was no care given when you were sick or injured, just considered dead weight. Even if you could call some of your ties with your fellow thieves friendly, it’s laughable to think any of them would do anything for you that didn’t have some sort of mutual benefit for them. There were certainly never any gift baskets or ‘get well soon’ cards.

The thought of leaving now fills you with a horrible, crushing sense of loss.

Your body wants to cry, but you’re not about to let it, and struggle to force the feeling down and keep it buried. 

You weren’t supposed to get attached. And here you are, having done exactly that. You’ve been a fool, and now leaving is going to be that much more painful… 

No one to blame but yourself, you suppose…

Finally, you select a beautifully colored honey-pear from the basket, hoping that eating something will make it easier to quell your emotions.

You chew in maudlin silence, trying to think as little as possible, until his voice finally breaks the silence again.

"You know… I left home on less than amicable terms too.” Torg says from the kitchen area.

He keeps his back to you as he works, and his posture is the smallest bit tense, like he has to goad himself to even speak about this matter in the first place. You study his broad back muscles moving underneath his light linen shirt.

"Ah. Are you a runaway too?" You speak through pauses of nibbling on the piece of fruit. It’s juicy and perfectly ripe, the viscous nectar soothing your irritated throat.

"No, I was exiled from my birth tribe." He sighs, shaking his head in scorn. “Though, I was of age already, so it wasn’t quite as hard for me to get by on my own as it sounds like it was for you."

“You- exiled?!” You nearly spew chunks of fruit across the bed in your hoarse outburst. “But you’re so… orderly!”

“Everyone has a breaking point.” He says grimly.

“True enough… What happened?”

“Fistfight with my father.” Torg says in the most matter of fact manner possible as he stirs whatever he’s cooking.

“Did you win?” Maybe not the most emotionally intelligent of follow up questions, but it’s the first one to pop into your head.

“Hah- I knocked him flat. Broke his nose in front of the whole tribe.” There is a hint of pyrrhic pride in his voice, even with his back to you. “I may be an orc, but I take after my mother in a lot of ways. I was already bigger than him at that age, and tired of his bullshit. He didn’t expect me to finally stand up for myself.”

“Oh, he sounds lovely.”

“Nicest man I’ve ever met.” Torg quips mirthlessly. “An absolute joy to be around.”

“This all sounds like a personal matter, though? That’s exile-able?”

“My father also happened to be Chieftain... He lost a lot of respect for it, I’m sure. Losing a test of might, then throwing out the winner because you’re bitter? And his own son at that? Dishonorable.”

“Oh wow.” You chuckle and cover your mouth with your hand, and can’t help but feel a strange surge of fondness for him. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you- That’s just so unlike you! I don’t think of you as a violent person at all...”

“Good.” He returns from the kitchen with a full tray and a grin. “I prefer it that way. ...Here.”

He hands you one of the steaming bowls off of the tray, keeping the other for himself as he takes a seat next to you.

“Hmm?” You reach out to take it, the rising steam already making your face feel better. “What is it?”

“Summer Root Stew.” His voice barely hides his amusement. “Though, it might not be seasoned how you like…”

You groan. You’ll never live it down.

Your comically overblown grimace quickly is replaced with a melancholic smile as you eat in comfortable silence.

“Something on your mind?” Torg asks after a while of you zoning out and picking at your stew.

You shouldn’t verbalize what you’re thinking about, but you can’t help it. He can see right through you when you lie about something like this, anyway.

“I’ve… never really had a place where I felt like I could stay. I always had to leave, for some reason or another. Usually not by choice...” You sniffle thoughtfully, fiddling with your spoon, hoping in some way to cushion the blow of what’s bound to happen someday soon. “I suppose part of me feels like it’s only a matter of time until I’ll have to leave here too...”

“You can stay here.” He says your name for effect, firm but gentle. 

And you wish so badly that you could believe him.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST

[avaseofpeonies]

A Drink Before Battle ~ Intro

Genres: Fantasy, Romance, LGBTQ+, BL, Yaoi, Drama

Age rating: 18+ (violence, strong language, sexual content)

Status: Main story complete (70,000 words/ 47 chapters), One extra chapter (more coming someday)

Availability: Free to read on Scribblehub, Wattpad, AO3, Inkitt

Story Tag: #adbb avp

Summary:

General Sevei is of the firm opinion that Nobles are shady and Alchemists even shadier. Noble Alchemists are the absolute worst. He is not looking forward to partnering with one to guard the border. Upon their introduction, though, it would seem they have already met... under very intimate circumstances.

Oh...,****

Set in the same world as Salvage, but we're going back in time for some Medieval sword and sorcery!

This wholesome, happy-endings-all-around, smutty queer fantasy romance features an M/M main couple along with a host of supporting characters bringing some trans rep, some pan rep, some sex worker positivity, and even a straight ally who tries his darndest, bless his little puppy heart.

Plenty of fluff, plenty of sexy times, a few funny bits, and our gang do all make it through the Horrors - but there is a war on, so there's also plenty of angst and a bit of bloody violence along the way.

More details below!

MC: General Zarayan Sevei, 31, brown hair, brown eyes, regular guy

ML: General Yeresym Urskatha, 28, platinum blonde, green eyes, Alchemist (magic user)

Couple Dynamics: Enthusiastic MC x reluctant ML, normal x paranormal, sunshine x grumpy, outgoing x reserved (dog/cat), experienced x inexperienced, vers couple

POV: MC only, 3rd person past

Setting: Fantasy World, Medieval, Military camp

Magic system ~ Qi-type innate spiritual energy (called Ethereal Energy in story). Can be wielded physically, harnessed to fuel technologies, or (more rarely) combined with ritual practices for more esoteric applications.

Themes: individual vs. self, individual vs. society, LGBTQ+ themes, identity, self image, love, sexuality, friendship, loyalty, courage, cooperation, guilt, mental health, empowerment, sex worker positivity, social class/privilege, change vs. tradition, violence, war, prejudice

Tropes: western fantasy influenced by xianxia danmei, enemies (antagonists) to lovers, secret identities, mistaken assumptions, forced proximity, workplace romance, brothel scenes, outdoor bathing, magical sex, opposites attract, side couples, (almost) everyone is queer, found family, band of misfits, fluff, comedic undertone, humor as a coping mechanism, danger/rescue, hurt/comfort, traumatic past, toxic family, angst w/HE, avenging dead loved ones, damsel in distress, magic battles, overpowered villain, aristocracy/nobility, handsome prince

Vibes/Mood: plot with smut, varies from fluffy and comedic to sexy to dark and angsty, but with a happy ending

Content Warnings: Genre typical violence, explicit sexual content, homophobic society, internalized homophobia, internalized transphobia (supporting character), war veteran ptsd, slavery (supporting character – no mistreatment of this character is depicted and sentiments are anti-slavery).

[findroleplay]

Hey! 18+ F here, looking for someone to rp with!

I‘ve been dying to rp again lately and I’m so down to create a new world and new oc‘s!

I‘ve been in the rp community for quite some time and have quite a lot of experience as well. I tend to write 3-5 paragraphs, depending on the tempo of plot and how inspired I am :)

So, let’s get to the most important part. I‘m a sucker for fantasy and mxm plots. A/b/o? Great! Vampires? Even better!! Anything kinda dark and serious catches my eye pretty quickly!

I do not care if I were to play the top or the bottom, as long as it doesn’t get boring I’m down for anything! I‘m also a pretty active person, so I reply pretty quickly, if you don’t, that’s okay!! Every two to three days is also fine for me, if it takes longer, please let me know :)

Like this post if you are down or interested in anything written above, and we can get started!!

-

[scifrey]

We've officially hit the halfway mark of NINE-TENTHS!

It's still serializing on Wattpad, and if you've been waiting for a good chunk of it to post before sitting down to enjoy the book, now is the time.

Read the Book Here.

As a reminder, it's totally free (you just have to sign up for an account), and two chapters drop per week (Weds & Sat)

About the Book

Twenty-four is one year too young for a quarter-life crisis, but hey, Colin's always been an overachiever. He's got a degree in Sustainable Tourism, which he's wasting as a barista, an annoying anxiety disorder, and no freaking idea what to do with his life. The only thing going his way is the cute coffee shop regular, a homo draconis named Dav (who, in his humanshape, is a total hottie.)

Still, it'd be easier if Dav didn't have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire when he's startled. Like the café kitchen.

When Dav breaks draconic taboo and volunteers as a replacement bean-roaster to apologize for the inferno meet-ugly, sparks really fly. Everything's finally happening for Colin, until he learns that hooking up with Dav means that under dragon law, Colin is absorbed into Dav's hoard.

Possession may be nine-tenths of the law, but becoming his boyfriend's property does not make this whole identity crisis thing easier. Especially now that Colin must navigate politics, paparazzi, and legal questions about his personhood. Colin's still angling for his Happily Ever After, but the growing scrutiny on his relationship with Dav threatens their budding romance. And if he's not careful, Colin's fight for agency may just destroy symbiotic human/dragon relationships worldwide.

*

A sassy, queer, alternate universe romance from Publishers Weekly's Best Books of 2011 author J.M. Frey, Nine-Tenths meets in the middle between "Red, White & Royal Blue" and the "Temeraire" series.

[lucifersbonemarrow]

Discord writers call!

After a lengthy break from writing, I'm trying to get back into things!

If you're the type to enjoy writing dark fantasy, cult themes and mafia / organised crime aesthetics, drop me a message or like the post and I'll reach out to you!

I'm primarily on my phone so I'm short concise replies that keep the story moving for now. Around 1 easy para max.

I don't use - nor will I use - faceclaims. This seems like a big deal for many but my OC's are fictional and no RL person works for me. I'll be as descriptive as I can be when writing them though.

All I ask is that you are 21+ , I don't write with anyone under that as I like to do darker themes and NSFW storylines.

I like to double up or create a mumu rather than one thread to keep OC's even be it MxM, FxF & MxF. The sky is the limit.

I don't particularly have any rules. Don't make things weird and it should be cool, y'know?

[misterpaxton]

𝐼𝑇'𝑆 𝐵𝐸𝐸𝑁 𝐴 𝐿𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐸…

𝑀𝑌 𝑃𝑅𝐸𝐶𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆 𝑀𝑈𝑆𝐸… 𝐼'𝑉𝐸 𝑀𝐼𝑆𝑆𝐸𝐷 𝑌𝑂𝑈 🗡

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒: 𝑀𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑃𝐴𝑋𝑇𝑂𝑁 / 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 𝟐𝟓+ / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒: 𝐇𝐄/𝐇𝐈𝐌

« 𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 » 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 / 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐌𝐒

¶ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒—𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌 (-𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃-). 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 ☠ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄-𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐍… 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈'𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄-𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐏, 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇…

➸ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒:

-𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆-

𝟏. 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓—𝐁𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘, 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝟐. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄-𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋—𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

𝟑. 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒, 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄-𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐍

𝟒. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋

𝟓. 𝐈'𝐌 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒, 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌-𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋. 𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐒—𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐂𝐈-𝐅𝐈 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋—𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋

𝟏𝟖+ 𝑲/𝑰/𝑵/𝑲/𝑺 ➤ 𝑎 / 𝑏 / 𝑜 , 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑦, 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑔𝑒-𝑔𝑎𝑝𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑙, 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑔𝑒, 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑦, 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 “𝑢𝑟𝑔���” 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑠ℎ, 𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑏𝑑𝑠𝑚, 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑠, 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙, 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎𝑠𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑥𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 + 𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔, 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑚 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑐𝑢𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑐𝑘 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑦 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡 / 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒 / 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑠𝑒𝑥 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛, 𝑑𝑢𝑏𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠-𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 ( 𝑑𝑢𝑏-𝑐𝑜𝑛 ) + 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑛-𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑠𝑚 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑙, 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑠𝑚 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑒𝑥ℎ𝑖𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑚, 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒-𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒-𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑡-𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑔𝑎𝑔𝑠, 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑔, 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑤𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑠, 𝑟𝑢𝑡𝑠, ℎ𝑦𝑝𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑠𝑚, 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙, 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑡 ( 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 ), 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦, 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑, ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 + 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒, 𝑘𝑛𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑔𝑢𝑛 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑠, 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ( 𝑚𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙, 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜, 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑑 ), 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 ( 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑠, 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑖𝑑𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠.𝑒𝑡𝑐.𝑒𝑡𝑐 ), 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙, 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 ( 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑠 ), 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑛, 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑦𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦, 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑦𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑐𝑠 ( 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑥 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑒, 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑥 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟.𝑒𝑡𝑐 ), 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑠, 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑒𝑥 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑚, 𝑠𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑠𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑝𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑛𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎, 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡, 𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑜, 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡𝑜𝑦𝑠, 𝑡𝑜𝑦 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠, 𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑜, 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟, 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑡𝑜𝑦 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑙 + 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑣𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑚, 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑠, 𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦, 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝐗 𝑳/𝑰/𝑴/𝑰/𝑻/𝑺 ➤ 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑠, 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒

➤ 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐆 -𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐃-