SoftThighs

[Late summer? Talia around 3 months pregnant. Late afternoon :P] Talia was a little perplexed by her son's sudden neediness. It had been a while since Teegan had crawled into her lap and clung to her like this. Usually, they cuddled at night, but during the day, he had slowly become more independent. Part of it was his growing self-reliance, and part of it was her constant daily chores keeping them apart. It was a good thing, his independence; one day, he would leave and start his own family, and she prayed to whatever gods might be listening that he would be a far better husband than the brute who had forced her into this life. Yet with each passing week, the lonely pit in her stomach deepened because of his independence, each day bringing her closer to the time when Teegan would leave, and she would be alone with Callen. Shaking off the thought, she kissed Teegan’s damp hair, still as soft as it used to be when he was but a toddler. “Hush now, you’re getting me all wet!” Talia scolded him with a soft giggle, gently guiding him off her lap and draping a freshly washed, sun dried towel around him. “This… is something you should do alone, in private, sweetheart. I simply taught you how. I can answer your questions tonight.” Ruffling his hair with another towel, she murmured, “I’d like to cuddle too, but we both have our duties. You can rest for a little while, but then you’ll need to collect the eggs. When I fed the chickens earlier, I saw they laid many for you!” She tried to distract both herself and Teegan from what had just transpired. No one had ever explicitly taught her about such things; her knowledge was a patchwork of information from the herbalist, brutal experiences with Callen, and fleeting observations. He had seemed to enjoy it, and, unlike the times with Callen, it hadn't filled her with revulsion. Yet, the questions still hammered at her: Was she a bad mother? Was this normal? Had she harmed him? More than ever, she longed for someone to confide in, someone to answer the questions that clawed at her. She was bewildered by her own reaction. She had expected to feel disgusted, horrified, even physically ill, but the act itself hadn't evoked those feelings. This didn't make it right, but it added another layer of confusion to her already turbulent emotions. Torn between uncertainty and a sense of duty to guide him, she felt lost. Again, she changed the subject, “Get dressed, and tell you what, if you fetch the eggs soon, I’ll make you scrambled eggs for breakfast!” Restless, Talia kept herself busy, consciously avoiding Fern. Once Teegan brought her the eggs, she gave one of the larger ones to the dog. It was usually a source of amusement to watch Fern struggle with the egg until it cracked, allowing him to get to the soft inside. She watched his canine teeth gently close around the shell before quickly looking away, shaking her head slightly. Hastily, she made Teegan the promised breakfast, tossing in some scallions, cheese, and tomatoes, creating more of a scrambled omelette. The rest of the daylight hours were filled with her usual chores. Tending to their two cows and cleaning their stables, scrubbing the dimly lit tavern, and caring for their small garden of vegetables, herbs, and fruits. While cleaning the kitchen, she found Teegan’s drawing, and her heart clenched. She suspected it was meant to be her, though it was hard to tell for sure. Carefully folding the piece of parchment, she stowed it away in a hidden clay pot with her savings for Teegan’s schooling. A shiver ran down her spine as she concealed her secret stash again. She desperately wanted Teegan to have more opportunities than following his father’s path or, worse, taking over their struggling tavern. She then placed the sheets of parchment out of Teegan's reach, the limited parchment too precious for him to use freely. Being only a couple of hours from the city walls, most of their customers arrived late at night, often misjudging their travel time and risking being locked out by the city gates. Other patrons were mostly local farmers or villagers, though they rarely visited this late in the summer, most of them busy tending to their fields. They mostly only came for celebrations or when someone was trying to escape an angry spouse. It was Callen’s lingering threat that kept people away from the place so the Tavern tended to get more visitors when word got around he was gone. From the beginning, Callen had isolated her, especially from other humans, fearing someone might discover how she had come to human territory. As far as the villagers knew, she was just ‘a foolish, lovesick girl who followed the handsome mercenary home.’ Once again, she shuddered, forcing her thoughts towards more pleasant subjects. Early in her years with Callen, she had learned to fight against the darkness that threatened to consume her. Engrossed in happier thoughts, like what to name the baby and whether she should try to build a crib on her own (sharing a bed with three people and a newborn seemed unwise) she didn’t hear the bar door open. When she heard a cough, a deliberate attempt to announce someone's presence, the young elven woman flinched, her hand instinctively moving to protectively cover her belly. “Oh, excuse me, Sir!” She scrambled to her feet, carefully placing her knitting on the table. “I was momentarily lost in thought. How can I…” She trailed off as she finally looked up fully, a momentary silence falling over her. Her shoulders tensed, and a bad feeling settled in her gut about the man before her. He was taller than she was, which wasn't difficult given her small stature, but he also had an unsettling resemblance to her husband, Callen. Rough and rugged, with an air of someone capable of causing harm, a visible scar on his face. More meekly and quietly, avoiding his gaze, she softly cleared her throat. “How can I help you, Sir? Would you just like something to drink? Or food and shelter as well?” Her gaze drifted to the window; the day had passed more quickly than she realized, and it was already late afternoon, likely too late to reach the city before the gates closed. Talia truly didn't want him in her tavern, especially with no one else around, but she was also afraid to turn him away. So, she simply prayed and hoped he was just there for a drink. Her wishes were soon ruined as he announced he would be staying the night. Forcing a smile, she served him food and drink and provided lodging, her hands slightly shaky in his presence and her gaze always hefted to the ground. She even told Teegan that he would be sleeping with her tonight, wanting her son close in case her uneasy feelings about this stranger were correct.

Teegan's innocent gaze seemed to pierce her soul, a stark reminder of what she tried to protect. A soft shudder traced her spine as she recognized he was nearing an age where she could no longer protect him from the vile reality of their situation; soon, he would ask questions she couldn't bear to answer. They still shared a bed, especially on cooler nights. Callen had been briefly less cruel after Teegan's birth, but that fleeting respite was long gone. He routinely accused her of shirking her 'wifely duties' by keeping their son close. Since then, he'd shown a cold disregard for Teegan's presence, ignoring her pleas for a second bed for their son. A chilling thought struck her: perhaps Callen enjoyed it more when Teegan was present? Despite the lack of any indication that Callen was interested in men, the terror of him one day laying his hands on her little sunshine, subjecting him to similar torments, turned her blood to ice. It was why she tried to stifle her sounds during Callen's unwanted advances, always careful not to awaken Teegan, it had only served for Callen to get worse deriving some sadistic enjoyment out of her helplessness. Her hand instinctively stroked her barely-there belly. If she wasn't pregnant... maybe escape could be possible? Her gaze was firmly on Teegan's naked figure, his disability in full view. Approaching her son, a fresh wave of guilt washed over her, battling with the forced but warm smile plastered on her face. Inside, her heart tore. It was guilt for a desperate act. Back then, the pregnancy had felt like a parasitic thing instead of a child, something unwanted and hateful. Until the moment Teegan was placed in her arms, she had seen it as some monstrous thing within her. Secretly, she had sought help from a strange old herbalist deep in the woods, begging for a way to end the pregnancy. The herbalist claimed it was too late, but Talia had pleaded, sobbed, until the woman relented and gave her a herbal tea. The subsequent fever and agonizing pain seemed the likely cause of Teegan's weakness on his right side. Another secret, carefully guarded. She could never confess to Teegan that she hadn't wanted him. Callen cruelly blamed her for their son’s disability regardless, even without knowing the truth. She quickly dismissed that line of thought, there was no chance she'd ever attempt such foolishness again. Her heart already fluttered with love and a fragile hope for the tiny life growing inside her, even as dread gnawed at her, the dread of having another precious thing to protect. Worry, hope, love, guilt… Her mind swirled with the conflicting emotions. Kneeling next to the tub, she gently stroked her son's hair. He fidgeted, clearly suspended in a state he didn't understand. “Yes, yes,” she murmured, a teasing note in her voice to counter his confused whining. The way he looked at her, seeing nothing inherently wrong with what was happening, the complete trust in his eyes… it was those things she had to protect. Gently pulling on his arm to bring his back closer, she leaned over him, her chest pressing against the back of his head, her still-damp hair mingling with his. “What you’re feeling is normal. It's alright to feel that way, but you should only let people you like make you feel that way.” One hand tilted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes bored into his, conveying the gravity of her next words. “Teegan, listen carefully: don't let anyone touch you "down there" easily. Not me, not your father, not anyone. Especially if you don't like it or if the person touching you makes you uncomfortable. If anyone tries to touch you and you don't want it, you come to me immediately, okay?” Despite her serious words, her hand released his chin and drifted down his warm chest, momentarily pausing over his rapid heartbeat. As her hand continued its descent, she slowly dipped it into the water, cupping some to ensure his small, throbbing member was wet. With two careful fingertips, she took hold of his penis. “This is your penis. It's where you pee from, you know that. It's also a key difference between men and women. Mommy doesn't have the same parts. A man and a woman are like a key and a lock. They fit together, and both are needed to create a new life.” Gently, she rubbed her fingers along his small shaft, careful not to move the delicate skin too much. Her aim was to build his sensations gradually, letting him acclimate to the feeling instead of overwhelming him as he had been before. She continued speaking softly, "You've seen the male sheep jumping on the female sheep. That's sex. For us humans, we only share that moment with people we hold special." Her eyes flickered with a momentary hollowness, a kind lie, a lie meant to protect his innocence. Continuing to coax sweet moans from him, she rubbed his uncut manhood. There was still an abundance of skin, and it didn't fill out properly yet, but it was clear he was deriving pleasure from her touch. The realization made her feel… odd. Being able to make someone she cared for deeply feel this kind of pleasure kindled something in her. Something she never thought she would truly feel. Seeking reassurance, he looked up at her, his face a mess of bliss. It didn't disgust her. His moans were much softer than his father's, less rough, less intimidating. Nothing about this screamed that it was wrong. His pleasure was raw, his eyes soft and round, filled with love and awe. They were the antithesis of his father's cold, hard gaze. Driven purely by instinct, she gently coaxed his body closer to the edge. A tiny tinge of jealousy pricked her; perhaps if Callen had been half as gentle… No, she refused that thought. She was at a point in her life where she wanted nothing but to hate that man. "Alright, let's wrap this up," she murmured. Slightly pulling the skin back and forth, she continued until his small body shuddered beneath her touch, and his seed coated her hand. Looking at it, she realized that even that didn't feel disgusting to her. Just the thought of Cullen's seed had the habit of making her physically ill. Holding her stained hand closer to Teegan's face, she murmured lovingly, "This is your seed. It's what's needed to make a baby." Gently she washed his body, just like she still had done a couple of years ago holding him close to her body. Providing shelter and warmth to cling to in the afterglow of his first ever climax. Once he had calmed down, she forced him to meet her eyes again. "Never tell anyone what we did. This is our secret, and you can never share it. Promise me."

She heard something that made her hasten her steps in worry, it almost sounded like her son was in pain! Had something happened? His tiny little voice barely crossed the thick wooden walls. Almost flying to the door and pulling it open, her heart pounding in fear, she saw it. A part of her mind screamed that Fern was biting Teegan, a desperate, protective instinct overriding what her eyes were actually seeing. Another part, the part still raw from her own encounter, knew the truth, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Her lovely boy, the sweet son whose drawing she was yet to find, sat on the bathtub rim, his legs helplessly shaking, his body twitching, almost painful little gasps escaping his lips as the long tongue of Fern lapped his small, half-erect member. With a cry, she jumped forward, yelling, "Bad dog!" Before the words were even out, she was next to her child. Fern, sensing the shift in her mood, readily jumped away, cowering slightly. She barely registered the dog; her focus was solely on Teegan. A quick glance showed no blood, and she pressed Teegan's naked body against hers, picking him up even though he was already too big and too heavy to carry for long. Holding his twitching body, she tried to soothe him, gently rocking him as she had when he was an infant. "Shh, it's alright," she murmured, her embrace almost too tight, a desperate need to shield him from... everything. Her mind reeled. There was no question about it, he had seen her earlier. She hid her wide, terrified eyes in his soft hair, trying to figure out how to handle this. First, she had to ensure that none of this ever came out. If word reached her husband's ears, or the villagers'... banishment would be the least of her worries. How... would humans punish such acts? Would they call her a witch and burn her? Panic seized her. What was she supposed to tell Teegan? She didn't even understand these things herself. No one had taught her. For the love of the gods, a random traveling family had disclosed her own pregnancy to her. Confused, Talia had looked at the wife of the merchant and had asked her how she knew and how it had come to be; the look of disbelief and shock on the woman's face had made her turn in fear. Callen had always made sure that she feared letting other people know of her predicament, that she wasn't there by choice, that all she wanted was to get back home. He'd kept her isolated, spreading rumors about her... She shuddered, forcing her thoughts back to the present. Slowly, she leaned her back against a wall, shooting Fern a warning look, one step closer, and she would kick him out. "Teegan, my sweet little boy," she said, sliding down to sit on the ground, her voice trembling. "Oh, my little sunshine." Gently, she pushed him away a little so she could look into his face, cupping his slightly lopsided cheek, brushing some strands of hair away from his eyes. A reassuring smile, a mask for her terror, was plastered on her lips. When he had been born, she had promised to only raise him with kindness and love, to protect him from his father, and to never, ever hit him. Torn by her own feelings, she kissed his cheeks, patted his hair, nuzzled her face against his. She loved him, and now she had shown him something she could not even reprimand him for. Speaking it out, admitting to her doing something so despicable to the only person that loved her without any strings attached, was something she couldn't bear. She couldn't risk shattering his view of her. "You can never, never tell anyone what you saw today. Especially not your father!" A flicker of her hidden feelings, fear, anger, resentment, not directed at him but obvious passed through her eyes as she tried to convey the seriousness of the matter. Then she quickly fell back into her motherly smile, "You know how we can be, we don't want to get into serious trouble now do we?" Wrapping her long arms around the naked boy again she nuzzled her head against his in a tender embrace. Her grip tightening around him again as an unwanted memory penetrated her skull. The first night with Callen. They had barely made it to his family home, the now tavern. Exhausted from the strain of the travel and still in a hollow shock state he had not even bothered with letting them wash up. Simply had thrown her onto the large kitchen table her face pressed against the rough wood, pushed up her skirts, ripped off her underwear, spat in his hand and lubricated his stiff manhood and taken her for the first time right there. Her own painful screeches and pleas haunted her almost every night. Paired with a faint reminder in the form of a scar on her forehead, when her attempts at resistance had become too annoying he had grabbed her hair, lifted her head and smashed it into the hard surface below. The stark contrast of hate and love in her was a constant force that threatened to pull her apart. Teegan slightly stirred in her grasp and it returned her to the present, "My sweet boy. Promise me, this will all stay a secret between mommy and you okay?" Once he had agreed her hand slid down his tiny familiar chest, down to his navel and his tiny penis. Obviously, she had not touched it in years but she had seen it regularly, while helping him to dress or wash up. "Get into the bathtub, then I will teach you how to take care of this 'problem'." She said, pointing at the still stiff, throbbing tiny manhood.

She shuddered as his warm tongue connected with her sensitive skin. A moan, louder than she intended, escaped her lips. Her wet locks clung to her skin, leaving damp trails. The contrast between the cooling water dripping from her hair and the building heat of the day was stark, mirroring the conflict within her. Her head tilted back, resting against the edge of the tub, and she moaned, allowing herself, just for a moment, to pretend Fern's tongue belonged to a lover. Someone who would hold her, cherish her, see her. Someone who cared about her mind, her body, her very being. Another tear traced a path down her cheek as she felt the arousal build, fueled by the dog's lapping and her own desperate need. A part of her tensed, her free hand clenching, nails digging into her palm. This is all I have, she thought, a bitter ache in her chest. The smile of my son, and the tongue of a dog. It took effort to accept the pleasure, not just because pleasure was so foreign, but because the source made her stomach churn. Slowly, the building heat began to override the guilt. Soft, low moans escaped her more readily, and her thighs tightened, her hips rising almost imperceptibly, granting the eager tongue easier access. Her mind had drifted far into a more blissful fantasy. A faint sound, a shuffling from the hallway, pierced through her haze. Her eyes darted to the door. Of course, if the dog had come in, he wouldn't have closed it behind him. Foolish, she thought, a wave of self-reproach washing over her. She had to be more careful. People already kept their distance, if rumors spread about what she did with the dog, it would ruin her business, her life. She pushed Fern's nose gently away from between her legs, giving him a quick, almost apologetic snuggle. "I'm sorry, Fern. This... isn't right. I shouldn't have involved you, and now you're all riled up, too." A desperate chuckle escaped her. Not once had she felt anything close to this with her husband, apparently, even the dog was a better lover. She glanced sideways at the red member between the dog's legs, a firm resolve hardening within her: that was a line she would never cross. Quickly, she rose, drying herself and dressing with a haste born of fear. Even if there were no patrons in yet, and no one renting the rooms, she didn't want Teegan to see the faint bruises, nor did she want to explain what she and Fern had shared. Still dabbing her long, wet hair with a towel, now a dark brown from the moisture, she walked into the large, reworked living room, now a wide-open barroom. It was messy but cozy, warm, and inviting. "Good morning, Teegan," she said, her voice carefully bright, a wide smile plastered on her face. She walked over to kiss his still-ruffled bed hair. "I just took a bath. You should take one as well, sweetheart. I'll bring you a towel soon, go ahead and start." She barely registered whether he followed her advice; he usually was a good boy and listened well. Her elven ears strained however, listening to see if Fern would stay with her or follow Teegan. Usually, the two were inseparable. A surprising, unwelcome pang of loneliness blossomed in her chest when Fern trotted after him. She shook her head, mentally chiding herself. Why would it be any different now? What had she imagined, that their shared moment might somehow deepen their bond? That he wasn't just an animal, but perhaps a sentient being who understood her pain? Shaking off the absurd thought, she moved through the pantry, filling a large basket with scraps for the chickens, simultaneously preparing the ingredients she'd need for the day. Lost in thought, slightly detached, she grabbed the clean towels from the line outside after having fed the chickens and returned. With the silent steps of someone fearing abuse, she approached the bathroom.

Talia rubbed her sore shoulders, the muscles aching beneath her fingertips. It was already a hot day, much like all the others. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, out the small window. Even in the shadows of the early dawn, her elven eyes could make out the shapes of the landscape, a landscape so unlike the home she barely remembered. A sigh, soft and sad, escaped her lips. This region knew only heat. Even winter brought a warmth that felt alien, a constant reminder that she was far, far from the cool, misty forests of her childhood. A fleeting image, her breath clouding in the frigid air, the deep green of ancient trees, flickered in her mind, then vanished. A smile, more bittersweet than joyful, touched her lips. Those memories were fading, becoming distant whispers, and a small, terrified part of her feared she was forgetting everything. She eased herself into the cool bathwater, a welcome relief against her sticky skin. Her fingers traced the faint, yellowing bruises hidden beneath, remnants of her last 'fall'. Gods, how she prayed he wouldn't return. She curled in on herself, head resting on her knees, the silent prayer almost a physical ache. Let the gods claim him. The thought sent a shiver through her, guilt mixing with a desperate, shameful hope. She didn't want to wish for death, but after all he'd done, all he was still capable of... She pushed the dark thoughts away. Instead, she focused on the wildflowers Teegan had brought her. Wilted by the time he'd returned, their droopy heads had mirrored his own disappointment. But a touch of her magic had coaxed them back to life, a small, secret victory. If only her magic was more potent, more useful. Perhaps then she could take Teegan and flee this wretched place. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. Useless. Years of the same desperate fantasies, and nothing ever changed. She scrubbed at her skin, harder than necessary, as if trying to wash away the memories clinging to her like grime. She couldn't afford to wallow. She had to be strong, for Teegan. Her hand moved, almost involuntarily, to her lower abdomen. For her children. Too early to know for sure if his cursed seed had taken root. Many pregnancies were lost in these early weeks. A fresh wave of fear washed over her. What if he wasn't back by the time she was due? Would she have to deliver alone? What if something went wrong? She slipped on the wet floor, a gasp escaping her lips. The fall was slow, harmless, but the fear it ignited was not. She curled into a ball, shivering, fighting back tears. Breathe, Talia, breathe. She had to focus. She barely knew how to manage tomorrow, let alone the uncertainties of the months to come. She heard Fern's claws clicking on the wooden floor, followed by his wet nose nudging her arm. She unfurled, wrapping her arms around the dog, burying her face in his thick fur. "You were taken from your family too young to, weren't you, boy?" she murmured, her voice muffled. "That's why you act so strangely sometimes, like a human. Sleeping in the bed, thinking you're one of us. I wish I could pretend, too." [Past] It had been soon after Callen had left, a departure that had brought a dangerous mix of relief and fear. She'd drunk too much that night, celebrating his absence, nursing the bruises he'd left as a parting gift. Teegan had been tucked away in one of the guest rooms, sleeping soundly, unaware of the turmoil his mother was enduring. Talia had been naked, exhausted, slumped on the mattress when Fern had entered. He'd jumped onto the bed, leaning against her thigh, a warm, comforting weight. She'd looked at him hazily, dismissing it. Just the dog. She'd stroked his fur absently, until he'd shifted, sniffing at her crotch. She'd sat up, startled. "Fern! Bad dog." But he'd just looked at her with those innocent, uncomprehending eyes. Guilt had washed over her. "It's alright," she'd mumbled, scratching behind his ears. "You didn't mean anything... did you?" He'd started sniffing again, and this time, she hadn't stopped him. She'd watched, curious, as he'd licked her, the sensation surprisingly warm, surprisingly... pleasant. The thought had shocked her, and she'd scrambled up, dressing quickly, the guilt a heavy weight in her chest. [Present] Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. "Fern... I'm so lonely." She shifted, her legs parting slightly, her slender fingers tracing a path down to her sex, spreading her folds. "Be a good dog. Please. Just… let me feel warmth." She closed her eyes, a tear finally escaping, a mixture of shame, desperation, and a profound, aching need for comfort, for something, anything, to fill the emptiness inside.

Family Dorne: To begin of the roleplay we have Callan Dorne, a mercenary / soldier. Talia, the mother and abducted Elven child. Teegan, their son. Fern, the family's shepherd. The Family home: This cozy countryside tavern exudes warmth and rustic charm, nestled amid rolling green fields dotted with grazing sheep. The building itself is a sturdy, timber-framed structure with a thatched roof, though some areas seem to be in need of repair. Ivy climbs the walls, and flower boxes sit beneath the leaded-glass windows, adding a homely touch. A wooden sign hangs above the entrance, swaying gently in the breeze, while a few additional signs hint at available lodgings and local brews. A stone path leads up to the entrance, where a small porch offers a welcoming entrance. Just outside, a wooden fence keeps the livestock from wandering too close, and a well-trodden dirt road connects the tavern to the surrounding countryside. A few tables and chairs sit near the entrance, inviting travelers to rest under the open sky. Inside, the tavern features a modest but inviting common room with a central hearth, wooden beams overhead, and a bar stocked with local ale and mead. Given the size of the building, it probably contains a few guest rooms upstairs, perhaps four suitable for weary travelers. A small kitchen, pantry, a private room for the owner's and storage space would be tucked away in the back, ensuring the tavern remains self-sufficient. There is a small stable/shed/coop nearby for storing supplies and housing a few animals. Overall, it feels like a hard-earned place of refuge, modest, weathered, but full of life and history. Husband and Father: (Shared npc) Name: Callen Dorne Age: 43 Race: Human Body Type: When he returns from the raids he is thin and muscular, which quickly fades with his lack of motivation, excessive consummation of alcohol and food. Eyes: Brown Hair/Beard: Black, unkempt Description: Callen Dorne is the kind of man you wouldn’t trust with your purse, your drink, or your life, but sometimes, he’s the only option you’ve got. He’s a sellsword through and through, the kind who fights not for honor or loyalty, but because war and bloodshed pay better than an honest trade. His sharp, dark eyes always seem to be measuring, weighing whether someone is worth keeping around or if they’d be easier to rob and leave in a ditch. His face is rough, sun-beaten, and scarred, a roadmap of bad choices and worse luck. His dark hair is an unkempt mess, and his beard is less a style and more an afterthought. His clothes, a mix of patched-up leather and torn linen, reek of sweat, old blood, and a life lived without much care for propriety. Straps and buckles crisscross his chest, securing a handful of knives and whatever valuables he’s picked off the dead, or the drunk. A faded tattoo sprawls across his chest, peeking out from his half-buttoned shirt. Maybe it meant something once, a brotherhood, a regiment, a cause. Now, it’s just another thing he’s outlived. Callen’s got a smirk for most situations and a knife for the rest. He’s not the strongest, nor the fastest, but he fights dirty and has no qualms about stabbing a man in the back if that’s what it takes to win. He drinks too much, gambles more than he should, and always seems to owe someone money. But for all his faults, he gets the job done. Maybe not cleanly, maybe not honorably, but done all the same. He’s the kind of bastard you hire when you need someone to do the ugly work, so long as you watch your back while he does it.

Topics: incest (MotherxSon), underaged, bestiality, abuse, [work in progress] [Participants: @petrichor @SoftThighs and perhaps a guest appearance if we invite someone :)] Talia the Tavern owner Name: Talia Dorne Age: 22 Body type: Petit, thin, handful chest, slightly protruding ribs. Eyes: Green Height: Hair: Golden Auburn, depends on the light it can look almost orange or blond Appearance: She has a warm and inviting appearance with delicate, elven features. Her skin is fair and lightly dusted with freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her large, expressive green eyes are vibrant but she is often found staring into the distance, framed by long lashes. Her hair is a soft, golden auburn, loosely curled and pulled back with some strands framing her face. Her pointed ears subtly peek out from her wavy hair, emphasizing her elven heritage. She wears a simple yet elegant outfit with earthy tones, giving her a rustic and approachable look. Her small, cute nose has a gentle upturn at the tip, adding to her youthful charm. The bridge is delicate, and the freckles sprinkled across it make her look even more endearing. Her eyebrows are soft and naturally arched, complementing the expressive warmth of her green eyes. They are a shade darker than her golden-auburn hair. Her mouth is curved full of kindness. With a natural rosy hue, and the corners often hint at a soft, knowing smile of motherly love for her son. Personality: Her eyes, deep and reflective, hold both sorrow and warmth, as if she has seen too much but still chooses to find beauty where she can. There’s a quiet grace in the way she moves, a learned caution from years of hardship, yet her kindness remains untouched, like a candle flickering in the dark. She offers gentle smiles to those who need them, listens more than she speaks, and finds solace in small, fleeting moments, watching the rain through a window, the way candlelight dances on a table, or the laughter of others, even if she doesn’t join in. She keeps her dark past a secret from her beloved son, protecting him from the shadows that once consumed her life. Yet, when exhaustion, overstimulation, or stress push her to her limit, something buried deep within surfaces—her eyes harden, turning cold and almost hateful. It vanishes as quickly as it comes, replaced by guilt so heavy it lingers long after. Backstory (short): Her village had always known they were at war with the humans, yet they were so small, so remote, that the true danger had always felt distant, until the morning it arrived at their doorstep. They came at dawn, the rising sun at their backs, silhouettes blurred by the golden light. No one could even tell if it was human or elf approaching until it was far too late. There was no real battle, no chance to fight. The small elven community was swiftly rounded up, confusion giving way to dread. At the time, she hadn’t understood why people were being separated into two groups, only when the slaughter began did the purpose become clear. Someone had covered her eyes and ears, shielding her from the worst of it. The rest, her mind refused to remember. The journey into human territory was little more than a fever dream, a haze of dehydration, hunger, exhaustion, and seeping cold. Faces, voices, and places blurred together, indistinct. All she knew was that they walked, and those who couldn’t keep up vanished along the way. Then, one night, deep in foreign lands, she was taken again, this time by a single soldier. Stolen from the group of elves, torn from the only remnants of home she had left, she was left in the hands of a mercenary soldier, the owner of a tavern. And there, her second captivity began.

Feel free to Ecchitext me!

Thanks! might consider to start a Challenge me as well once my schedule clears up a bit. I also left some words for the current Challenge, hope its alright the ending was so open.

Saw this, had to participate! Enjoy~ No more reckless spending. “Come on, Lina,” Tess said, looping her arm through her friend’s. Her smile was playful, her tone light. “A little walk around the city won’t hurt. You just have to *not* buy anything. It can’t be that hard!” Lina sighed but allowed herself to be led through the streets. Tess always had a way of making her forget herself, for better or worse. They turned a corner, and Lina froze. The air grew heavier, the noise sharper. Before them stretched the slave market—a grim, crowded square where figures were chained and displayed like goods. Tess hesitated for only a moment before tugging her forward. “Let’s go somewhere else,” Lina murmured, though her steps slowed looking around, her gaze already scanning the goods. “Oh, lighten up. It’s just a look,” Tess replied with a smirk, knowing how much her friend enjoyed buying new servants or slaves. Lina’s eyes swept the crowd, settling on a figure that stood out. Small and wiry, the hybrid had furred ears and a bushy tail that flicked angrily behind him. His defiant stance and sharp glare set him apart from the others. He didn’t cower like the rest. “What’s this one?” a buyer asked, jabbing a finger toward the hybrid. “Mean little thing, chipmunk maybe” the seller grumbled. “Won’t listen. Won’t shut up, either.” The hybrid snarled, baring sharp teeth. “Maybe you should try shutting up first,” he snapped, his voice laced with venom. Tess chuckled. “Well, he’s got spirit.” Lina tilted her head, studying him. “What’s his name?” The seller shrugged. “Calls himself Rik. Not that it matters.” Rik’s amber eyes met Lina’s, and his lip curled in a sneer. “What are you looking at?” Tess nudged her. “Don’t tell me you’re interested.” Lina smirked, closing the gap between her and her newfound interest, ignoring her. Grabbing Rik’s chin she looked deep into his amber eyes, seeing his hate and defiance, she also noticed he only barely reached her chest, he was tiny. Her touch was retaliated by him biting her hand and just when the seller wanted to punish him for attacking a customer Lina raised her hand and struck Rik herself. Her smile never vanished from her lips despite the pain in her hand and she quickly said, “I’ll take him.” The auctioneer blinked, surprised at Lina’s impulsive decision. “You will, huh?” Lina pulled a coin purse from her belt, weighing it in her hand. “That should cover it.” She knew she was heavily overspending, paying much more than he was worth. Tess laughed under her breath. “Breaking your resolution already, Lina?” Lina threw her a side glance. “Oh hush. It's your fault anyway." “Good luck,” the seller grumbled as he handed Lina a chain. “You’ll need it.” Rik glared up at Lina, his golden eyes blazing with fury. “Big mistake, lady,” he spat. Lina raised an eyebrow and slightly tugged on the chain to bring Rik out of balance. “We’ll see.” Tess leaned closer, her breath visible in the frosty air. “What are you going to do with him?” “Take him home. I’ll figure it out from there.” Lina frowned, scolding herself mentally for having once again made an impulsive purchase. As they walked away, Tess kept throwing her friend amused glances, while Rik dragged his feet, refusing to cooperate. Lina let him—she had no intention of humiliating him in the street. That could wait until later.