u/thatdarnpunkkyle

Imaginary Friends.

You're probably familiar with that term but what are we really? For some children we are just that - figments of their imagination. For others, well...we are something far more.

I'm going to have to handwave a lot of this since the story spans eons beyond human understanding. At some point in history fae and daemons waged war with the realm of man as a battleground. After several battles, the worlds of fae were cut off from humankind and only a few gates were open for passage. Then came the Sundering and it got easier for fae and daemon to pass between realms. That's the just of it.

Oh so what are we? Well, we are those fae and daemons that got caught between the realms when those barriers went up. We could not go home nor could we tread fully alongside humans. What we could do, however, were appear to those children that had some fae or daemon blood.

So that brings us more or less to today. I'm one of these Tweeners (cool name, huh?) and have connected with too many humans to count over my time here. Most of the time they forget about me and go on, living a happy life. But you...you were different.

See you forgot about me for a while and had a life. School, college, a first job - all those things. And then one day, after a bad date, you apparently remembered me and just like that I was yanked back to your world. Into an apartment that is strange to me but home to you.

Which explains why I'm waiting when you get home at some ungodly hour and wave...or I think I'm waving - it's hard to remember exactly what shape I took with you.

"Hey... remember me?"

A modern fantasy take on imaginary friends. Looking to craft a story where I reemerge in your adult life...for reasons. What do I look like? What's my name? Let's figure this out! My prompts are open if one catches your eye.

They were called the Nal'yot. Translated into the common tongue they were the People of Twilight. Their history was tied to the spirits of transition and night. Many called them demon worshippers and while that wasn't entirely false, it did not paint the full picture.

The Nak'yot were joyous and free. Their rituals focused on unending change, on growth and decay, festivity and sadness. It was easier for the pious of other faiths to label them heathens or godless, or worse. But it did not phase the People of Twilight. They cavorted and sang and drank and fucked. They went on with their lives.

They did this because they believed. They believed they were protected. An ancient pact between the spirits of change and the Founders of Nak ensured there would always be spirits to protect the people. They created the Chel'Qo; the Queen Mother. A woman from the Nak'yot who was freely given to the spirits to serve as their ambassador to the world of flesh.

The Chel'Qo was more than an honorific and an ambassador. They were a mother through and through. It was their duty to ensure the ranks of the spirits never depleted and a Chel'Qo could birth many generations of demon and spirits over their tenure before passing entirely into the Realm of Stars.

The latest revel was the largest in almost a century. The Chel'Qo was ready to shed their physical bonds. The demon clurtbhad chosen a successor and it was time to elevate her to Chel'Qo...

Your character ascends to a role where she is responsible for birthing the next generation of demons. We can start at the celebration or after she has assumed her new position. Happy to jump right in or do some world building first. If another prompt catches your eye let me know.

Everyone deserves a break. The world is constantly moving. Things change so fast it can be hard to keep up. In today's hustle economy, a moment spent doing anything besides moving forward is money wasted. Heck, even planning a vacation and be a job unto itself. Thankfully there are still deals to be had and secret escapes to be made.

You've heard of one such hidden gem through word of mouth. A quiet seaside town with all the trappings of a tourist destination but with a fraction of the people. Calming waves, pristine sand. Calming breezes and boardwalk strolls. Coffee shops without a mobile order system.

Almost perfect.

The spot even comes with a recommended host. A middle aged man who keeps a tidy plot of land with a few rental homes. He's affable, friendly, and willing to go the extra mile to make your stay enjoyable. But while most of what you hear stops there, one or two rumors continue on.

He's absolutely, monstrously hung, almost to the point of absurdity. The friendly manager can be so much more if you ask the right questions and give a few hints. It doesn't take much to turn a relaxing weekend getaway into a hedonistic retreat. The way your friends changed their tone when they spoke of him made it clear he was impossible to forget.

So with that in mind, when are you making your reservation?

A humorous and porn logical take on a weekend getaway. How much is he packing? Open to playing him as gifted with an inhuman cock as well. Let me know what you're in the mood for and we can craft a little adventure.

You needed the weapon, even if you couldn't wield it yourself yet. After what happened to the farmsteads a few hamlets over, arming yourself became of the utmost importance. More and more often the hordes from beyond the mountains were making incursions into the kingdom and officials from court had encouraged the locals to take up arms for themselves. The reality was the royal family had called the entire army back to the fortified walls surrounding the capital, leaving locals to defend themselves. But that news had not made its way to you yet.

What had was tales from the conquests. Travelers seeking shelter and respite, intense details of gangs of pig men, goblins, and others slaying the men before taking advantage of their wives and daughters. They had no sense besides lust. It was said that their eyes were red with blood mist, shadowed creatures mounted on fell steeds commanding the ransacking gangs. The first wave was made up entirely of these thralls, barely sentient slavering beings. Beyond them were the dark legions, clad in armor and actually skilled in the ways of combat. And then the warlocks and shades directing their forces.

How much of this was true and how much fear-made conjecture was still unclear. What was, though, was that you were the last defender of the family farm. Male relatives were conscripted into the regional guard weeks ago and had left you in charge. That was when you went to the blacksmith and were given the weapon in your hands now. Gripped even tighter as you started to hear the approaching footsteps and screeches from beyond the fences.

Yes, I had the quote about 30-50 feral hogs stuck in my head and decided to write this prompt. That being said I am happy to adjust the horde to your liking if you have a preferred invader. If this interests you please let me know what weapon you picked up from the smith and we can craft a story.

Aeryn huffed.

Or rather, we would have huffed if he was in his elf form. Instead it just came out as a low roar. The druid had gone through the skinchange ritual and discovered his anima to be that of a large bear. This earned him some level of notoriety as there had not been a bear druid in his clade for generations. The elders spoke of his destiny, of the great things that were laid out on the many paths of time before him.

But none of them mentioned this.

"Aeryn, do you think that once we finish our quest they'll throw us a party?"

The woman riding his animal form had called out, prattling on about their grand quest. And that is why Aeryn huffed. Also of his clan, his companion was also destined for greatness. The elders had tasked them with traveling out of the clade and the wood in order to protect their home. Like many prophecies, this one was not exactly clear, but that did not matter as it was *their destiny*.

The druid managed to tilt his head to the side, catching sight of the beauty who rode him. She was every bit as fierce as he, even if her talents took a different form. Aeryn did not expect to get along with her, nor did he expect her to insist on using him as a steed.

Or a mount.

They had been traveling for weeks now but it was after the first few days that she beckoned him into her bedroll. It was out of need, she said, and Aeryn did not dispute. A few days later when she called there was a devious glint in her eye and she asked for the bear.

Neither of them slept that night, they lost the next day to recovering in slumber. Aeryn didn't mind that...but her chatter filled the woods more than birdsong.

That did not stop the bird from arriving. Black as night, a messenger from the elders. The note told them to not delay or else danger would certainly come, although it made no mention of their other activity. How the elders knew shook Aeryn, but he quickly push that thought into the recesses of his mind.

"Aeryn, how much further do we have to go until camp?"

There was something different in that utterance though. He recognized the tone shift, the slight whisper as his companion's legs squeezed his sides. He knew that in a few hours under the light of the goddess' moon he and his companion would be joined again in another way.

Aeryn huffed. Not in annoyance but in acknowledgement, meeting her need with his own.

They were on a quest to save their home, but that didn't mean they couldn't have fun along the way.

A little twist on an adventuring duo idea. A druid who can change into a bear is partnered with a powerful woman who enjoys both of his forms. I envision this as a longer term play where they have to accomplish their task all while keeping their more carnal actions hidden from the prying eyes of the elders. I wrote the heroine as an elf but that is not set in stone. I see her as powerful and confident, and fully embracing her more lustful side. Happy to hash things out before we begin and fine tune. If another prompt catches your eye, let me know.

Everyone deserves a break. The world is constantly moving. Things change so fast it can be hard to keep up. In today's hustle economy, a moment spent doing anything besides moving forward is money wasted. Heck, even planning a vacation and be a job unto itself. Thankfully there are still deals to be had and secret escapes to be made.

You've heard of one such hidden gem through word of mouth. A quiet seaside town with all the trappings of a tourist destination but with a fraction of the people. Calming waves, pristine sand. Calming breezes and boardwalk strolls. Coffee shops without a mobile order system.

Almost perfect.

The spot even comes with a recommended host. A middle aged man who keeps a tidy plot of land with a few rental homes. He's affable, friendly, and willing to go the extra mile to make your stay enjoyable. But while most of what you hear stops there, one or two rumors continue on.

He's absolutely, monstrously hung, almost to the point of absurdity. The friendly manager can be so much more if you ask the right questions and give a few hints. It doesn't take much to turn a relaxing weekend getaway into a hedonistic retreat. The way your friends changed their tone when they spoke of him made it clear he was impossible to forget.

So with that in mind, when are you making your reservation?

A humorous and porn logical take on a weekend getaway. How much is he packing? Open to playing him as gifted with an inhuman cock as well. Let me know what you're in the mood for and we can craft a little adventure.

Groaning lowly and rolling to the side of the bed, I checked the clock. It was the third straight night of being awoken from my much needed slumber at some unholy hour of the night...or morning. Time didn't much matter to me but as a being of eldritch power I valued my sleep.

Well, not sleep since I didn't really need any. But why can't an ancient agent of chaos have some quiet time?

I guess I should explain. Back in the times before time (see, I told you time didn't matter much) I was a god, or close to it. When the realms of man and fae were mixed I commanded a dread army that waged war against the forces of order. And here on this very beach, I was ready to claim victory the final battle and crown myself lord of this pathetic realm.

I didn't count on the other side to rally, and I definitely did not see the betrayal of my kind. I guess that they didn't take kindly to me lording over them with tales of conquest, especially since it was on their backs that I built my reputation. Ungrateful devils.

Where was I? Oh yes. So defeated, I welcomed the end. I was ready for the sword to come down on my neck but instead I was sentenced to a fate worse than death. I was confined here, to this plot of land, for an eternity. I would retain a modicum of my magick - a far cry from what I had at my disposal - but I would be barred from returning to my home.

I would have preferred a swift death to this empty existence.

Or rather I did until people arrived. Apparently humans enjoyed living on the shoreline where one bad storm would ruin everything they built. Initially I used my magick to bring tempests and give me the peace of solitude. But humanity was persistent and eventually I gave up. I became something of a local legend - the Demon of the Shore. When the 20th century hit they even put a pastiche of my face on a t-shirt for tourists. It was endearing.

Until Spring Break. That damned hedonistic ritual ruined my peace. Every year for a month revelers would descend on the town and disrupt the quiet I had cultivated. And it did not matter how many wards I threw up - the sound would always wake me from my sweet oblivion.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Once the internet became accessible people started researching my legend. The Demon of the Shore became a subject of occult interest and some enterprising mystics started to piece together my history. And not the tale crafted over years by drunks in bars and dalliances left satisfied.

My real history.

That's when everything got weird. Now on top of the normal drunken populace, I was subject to witches of all sort coming to my prison in an attempt to draw in my power.

I want them here. I want the empowered to free me from my shackles and let me return home. To supplicate themselves and become my new cult.

But did they have to be so loud about it?

Sun, sand, and summoning beings of eldritch power. Looking for a modern fantasy play that's a bit more light in tone. As always, all prompts are open.

Artificial Intelligence was a bust.

Once believed to be the solution to human combat, the machines failed. Spectacularly. It turns out that being force-fed a steady diet of all human knowledge left the computers irreparably broken. Some spent the wars trying to have sex with tanks while any others simply tore out their processing units. Billions upon billions of dollars sunk into the equivalent of the darkest corners of mechanical PornHub. Multiple governments stumbled out of the era barely holding their homelands together.

After the disaster that was automated warfare, one incredibly wealthy capitalist had a modest proposal. He believed that beasts, not robots, that could win the wars of the future. Obsessed with mythology this self-styled visionary believed that centaurs, minotaurs, and all manner of hybrids would revolutionize battle. The way he saw it, these creatures once dominated the minds of mankind and with the advent of modern science could do so again. With proper genetic engineering (and enough government money) this army could be a reality in the next five years.

How? This same visionary developed a test to check for genetic compatibility. Yes it would require some very specific sacrifice, but mating humans with certain beasts would yield impressive results. It was just that the population of humans with the correct compatibility was incredibly rare...

Or so he said. As it turns out that what he was selling wasn't entirely true. Instead the test that had been devised would measure physiological changes in the female body as a result of the copulation and the results of those would be used to develop the gene therapy to breed the next race of soldiers.

The investor had other reasons as well. As it turned out he owned one of the websites that featured videos of the end of the mechanical battles and the views had started to taper. All of these sessions had to be recorded for the posterity of research, so there was no reason - or so he saw- he couldn't add another link to the homepage.

Very few people were aware of these truths. All they knew was that the next war was coming and that the country needed an army. Thankfully there were more than enough volunteers (and conscripts) to enter phase one of the research.

A man with too much money convinces the government to breed women with animals to build an army. We can also take this in a fantasy direction where the billionaire is an agent of Hell on Earth. If you made it this far I would love to know why you volunteered and your proposed compatibility. If another prompt catches your eye please let me know.

"I'm telling you, you have to book his one on one classes. He works out knots I never knew I had."

Maxine was off on a tangent again. At a far too late brunch with friends, she was at least one drink in and was pontificating. The half-elf was always chasing the latest fad and trend to keep fit. Yoga, Pilates, CrossFit - she did them all. Maxine didn't admit it openly, but this was brunch and her guard was down. Maxine wanted to meet people - beings different than the elves that had cloistered her in her youth - a cared more about that than the workout itself. Her latest obsession were personal sessions. She had been going for a few months now and she certainly seemed more relaxed.

The conversation turned to other matters. The witch told of her latest familiar, the half-fae about her journeys. Slowly the rest of the group peeled off and Maxine was a few more drinks in. When it was just the two she smirked and whispered again.

"You gotta try it...works out knots I never knew I had and ties me in new ones."

The look on her face said everything. It wasn't really a shock - cliches are that for a reason. Maxine admitting her predilections so openly, however, combined with the glint in her eye told a much more lurid tale.

It took a few days to work up the courage. A run here, and gym session there. None of which really scratched the itch that had been lingering since brunch. A new routine - one carefully crafted - seemed to be in order. And that's how you found yourself outside the studio in workout gear. Not the fanciest there was, but it would get the job done. On Maxine's recommendation and ecnouragement you had booked a session, trying to get yourself out of a funk. The doors opened and you couldn't believe your eyes.

"You must be Maxine's friend. I've been waiting."

Turns out your new trainer is a monster.

But what kind? Is he a burly orc bent on weight training? A werewolf built for speed? Or maybe a tentacle demon that serves as a series of resistance cables. Happy to craft something light hearted and smutty.

How did I end up here?

I knew the answer but I pushed it from my mind. Instead I wandered the docks of the Razor Coast looking for the vessel that bore the same name as my instructions from The Cloister. It was rare that spellcasters of those hallowed halls ended up this far South. The Razor Coast was a destination rarer still, but the person who had sent for me apparently had several favors stored away with various archmages.

Just my luck.

The Cloister was one of, if not the best, school for the study of magic in the known world. Built on a gateway to the realms of fae, the students there could learn a great many things both awesome and terrible. Our charge was to use our knowledge to protect this realm and the heroes therein.

So why was I being sent to the Razor Coast - a den of criminals and rogues - to serve a pirate lord? Why had this fate befallen me?

I was so lost in my frustration that I nearly tripped over a sleeping gnoll and tumbled into a scantily dressed sea elf who quoted me a price in silver. As alluring as that sounded I dusted myself off and appologized the large angry looking beast of a being before muttering a small charm of protection and getting away from the commotion.

Another look at the piece of paper. I was to serve at the leisure of the captain and crew of the *Argent Tempest.* According to rumors muttered as I left, the captain had engendered themselves to The Cloister by liberating relics of immense power that could cause harm in the wrong hands. I was assigned to aid the crew,quoting from the document "all their needs", in their collection of additional artifacts and safekeep them until such time they could be returned to the vault.

There were rumors abound. That this pirate went through Cloister Mages like a drunkard through wine. That they put them in needless peril. That the young mages sent on these missions came back sapped of vitality. These were rumors my mentor assured me was not true. She smiled warmly and promised that on the ship, as long as I took care of the captain, I would be well cared for. The headmaster simply sneered - a look I remember from when he caught me with his niece.

Sighing, I came to the proper slip and looked up at my new home. An impressive ship, clearly built for speed. The ornate carvings seemed remarkably intact despite scuff marks in the hull. I noted the well worn shield runes.

I made my way on deck and was struck by the number of women on board. Women from every race of the Southern Seas. A loud voice bellowed out.

"Ah, my new mage. Welcome aboard the Argent Tempest. Take him to my quarters"

I turned and saw the source of my greeting. The captain, my captain, was a woman. A broad grin on her face as her eyes drank in every inch of my being before two guards took me below deck. And suddenly I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety.

The only thing certain now was that this next adventure would certainly be interesting...

Looking for some sin filled adventures on the high seas of fantasy. Are we questing for treasure or privateers raiding vessels? And will our hero get the booty?

Happy to jump in or work things out beforehand. If another prompt catches your eye please let me know. Looking forward to hearing from you.

Alz'zethar was none too pleased with his new lot in unlife.

Not too long ago, the resplendent daemon had been a noble in one of the realms of Hell. A warrior, specially bred for battle against forces both hellish and divine, he had earned acclaim over several wars as a true agent of entropy known as a Tempest Hound. His body was tall, lean and muscular. His fur was the color of storm clouds and sparks of lightning would routinely zip across the contours of his flesh. His head was angular, almost jackal like, and his eyes swirled like the eponymous part of a hurricane. He was loyal to his mistress, the regent of his realm, and served her in several different ways.

"Alz! Alz! Come here, it's time to hunt!"

That all changed when some novice witch from the mortal realms bound him as her familiar. He was ripped from the comfort of his kingdom and thrust into servitude. His new mistress, perplexed as Alz'zethar, thought the spell was bringing an actual monstrous canine into her service. She had even built a shed for him in her garden as a hovel. Alz'zethar seethed at the tiny domicile he had tried to sleep in the first night.

Over the ensuing days the witch started to recognize her error and his true station, but relished in treating him like a pet. His new mistress was preparing for something, either a grand spell or an epic quest, and her need for a protector and companionship had brought her to summon the daemon who ended being Alz'zethar. It was clear that whatever was approaching had made her nervous, cautious, and lonely.

"Good boy. Look at that hare. We'll feast tonight!"

How embarrassing.

Alz'zethar served his mistress as was the bond in their contract, but he still sought his release. Although after dinner when the witch shed her robe to reveal her nude form underneath, welcoming him to her bed for the night, the demon hound noted that things could be much worse.

A witch summons a hell hound for companionship (and more) but ends up with a jackal headed warrior of hell in her servitude. But she isn't convinced he isn't an actual hound. Hilarity - and smut - ensues. If another prompt catches your eye please let me know.

Everyone deserves a break. The world is constantly moving. Things change so fast it can be hard to keep up. In today's hustle economy, a moment spent doing anything besides moving forward is money wasted. Heck, even planning a vacation and be a job unto itself. Thankfully there are still deals to be had and secret escapes to be made.

You've heard of one such hidden gem through word of mouth. A quiet seaside town with all the trappings of a tourist destination but with a fraction of the people. Calming waves, pristine sand. Calming breezes and boardwalk strolls. Coffee shops without a mobile order system.

Almost perfect.

The spot even comes with a recommended host. A middle aged man who keeps a tidy plot of land with a few rental homes. He's affable, friendly, and willing to go the extra mile to make your stay enjoyable. But while most of what you hear stops there, one or two rumors continue on.

He's absolutely, monstrously hung, almost to the point of absurdity. The friendly manager can be so much more if you ask the right questions and give a few hints. It doesn't take much to turn a relaxing weekend getaway into a hedonistic retreat. The way your friends changed their tone when they spoke of him made it clear he was impossible to forget.

So with that in mind, when are you making your reservation?

A humorous and porn logical take on a weekend getaway. How much is he packing? Open to playing him as gifted with an inhuman cock as well. Let me know what you're in the mood for and we can craft a little adventure.

Artificial Intelligence was a bust.

Once believed to be the solution to human combat, the machines failed. Spectacularly. It turns out that being force-fed a steady diet of all human knowledge left the computers irreparably broken. Some spent the wars trying to have sex with tanks while any others simply tore out their processing units. Billions upon billions of dollars sunk into the equivalent of the darkest corners of mechanical PornHub. Multiple governments stumbled out of the era barely holding their homelands together.

After the disaster that was automated warfare, one incredibly wealthy capitalist had a modest proposal. He believed that beasts, not robots, that could win the wars of the future. Obsessed with mythology this self-styled visionary believed that centaurs, minotaurs, and all manner of hybrids would revolutionize battle. The way he saw it, these creatures once dominated the minds of mankind and with the advent of modern science could do so again. With proper genetic engineering (and enough government money) this army could be a reality in the next five years.

How? This same visionary developed a test to check for genetic compatibility. Yes it would require some very specific sacrifice, but mating humans with certain beasts would yield impressive results. It was just that the population of humans with the correct compatibility was incredibly rare...

Or so he said. As it turns out that what he was selling wasn't entirely true. Instead the test that had been devised would measure physiological changes in the female body as a result of the copulation and the results of those would be used to develop the gene therapy to breed the next race of soldiers.

The investor had other reasons as well. As it turned out he owned one of the websites that featured videos of the end of the mechanical battles and the views had started to taper. All of these sessions had to be recorded for the posterity of research, so there was no reason - or so he saw- he couldn't add another link to the homepage.

Very few people were aware of these truths. All they knew was that the next war was coming and that the country needed an army. Thankfully there were more than enough volunteers (and conscripts) to enter phase one of the research.

A man with too much money convinces the government to breed women with animals to build an army. We can also take this in a fantasy direction where the billionaire is an agent of Hell on Earth. If you made it this far I would love to know why you volunteered and your proposed compatibility. If another prompt catches your eye please let me know.

Drez sighed as the witch to which he was bound trudged deeper into the cavern, seeking a respite from their travels. He sneered at the woman, but knew that once they came to a rest, he'd get some relief. That was their bargain, after all.

Drez was not a familiar most practitioners of the darker arts dared summon. In the Nethers he was a minor lord, ruling over the Lust Pits. There damned souls worked to toil away their sins under his factions eager and watchful eyes. Despite there being a way to escape from the pits, none of the hedonistic souls could focus long enough to find the exit. Instead, they were trapped in an endless cycle of desire, never reaching an end.

And Drez loved his station. There was ample opportunity to sample the more pliant souls while they worked to end their torment.

Which is why when Drez was bound to this new witch, he feared there must have been a mistake. Pulled into the realm of flesh he was warped to resemble an imp. Gone was his lean muscular frame and in its place was a two foot tall body, complete with satyr's hooves. Curled horns and a barbed tail, he looked every bit a devil. But that manhood was still his pride. That length remained impressive and he had to coil around his leg lest it drag in the mud.

But Drez had a plan. In this realm he promised his witch untold powers, provided she complied with his urges. Not that she seemed to mind in the slightest - she was as lusty for him as she was for power. And Drez would use that to open the path to his home and find a way back to his kingdom.

But for now the fire was started and the witch was in repose. Beckoning him forward as she opened herself to him.

Maybe the realm of man isn't all that bad...

Inspired by a play that I started with someone but then fell off, it's me your lecherous familiar! Looking to play in either a traditional or modern fantasy setting where I keep promising you power, but it comes with a rather smutty price. Happy to flesh out the world and incorporate other ideas as well. Other prompts are open as well if one catches your eye.

Artificial Intelligence was a bust.

Once believed to be the solution to human combat, the machines failed. Spectacularly. It turns out that being force-fed a steady diet of all human knowledge left the computers irreparably broken. Some spent the wars trying to have sex with tanks while any others simply tore out their processing units. Billions upon billions of dollars sunk into the equivalent of the darkest corners of mechanical PornHub. Multiple governments stumbled out of the era barely holding their homelands together.

After the disaster that was automated warfare, one incredibly wealthy capitalist had a modest proposal. He believed that beasts, not robots, that could win the wars of the future. Obsessed with mythology this self-styled visionary believed that centaurs, minotaurs, and all manner of hybrids would revolutionize battle. The way he saw it, these creatures once dominated the minds of mankind and with the advent of modern science could do so again. With proper genetic engineering (and enough government money) this army could be a reality in the next five years.

How? This same visionary developed a test to check for genetic compatibility. Yes it would require some very specific sacrifice, but mating humans with certain beasts would yield impressive results. It was just that the population of humans with the correct compatibility was incredibly rare...

Or so he said. As it turns out that what he was selling wasn't entirely true. Instead the test that had been devised would measure physiological changes in the female body as a result of the copulation and the results of those would be used to develop the gene therapy to breed the next race of soldiers.

The investor had other reasons as well. As it turned out he owned one of the websites that featured videos of the end of the mechanical battles and the views had started to taper. All of these sessions had to be recorded for the posterity of research, so there was no reason - or so he saw- he couldn't add another link to the homepage.

Very few people were aware of these truths. All they knew was that the next war was coming and that the country needed an army. Thankfully there were more than enough volunteers (and conscripts) to enter phase one of the research.

A man with too much money convinces the government to breed women with animals to build an army. We can also take this in a fantasy direction where the billionaire is an agent of Hell on Earth. If you made it this far I would love to know why you volunteered and your proposed compatibility. If another prompt catches your eye please let me know.

You needed the weapon, even if you couldn't wield it yourself yet. After what happened to the farmsteads a few hamlets over, arming yourself became of the utmost importance. More and more often the hordes from beyond the mountains were making incursions into the kingdom and officials from court had encouraged the locals to take up arms for themselves. The reality was the royal family had called the entire army back to the fortified walls surrounding the capital, leaving locals to defend themselves. But that news had not made its way to you yet.

What had was tales from the conquests. Travelers seeking shelter and respite, intense details of gangs of pig men, goblins, and others slaying the men before taking advantage of their wives and daughters. They had no sense besides lust. It was said that their eyes were red with blood mist, shadowed creatures mounted on fell steeds commanding the ransacking gangs. The first wave was made up entirely of these thralls, barely sentient slavering beings. Beyond them were the dark legions, clad in armor and actually skilled in the ways of combat. And then the warlocks and shades directing their forces.

How much of this was true and how much fear-made conjecture was still unclear. What was, though, was that you were the last defender of the family farm. Male relatives were conscripted into the regional guard weeks ago and had left you in charge. That was when you went to the blacksmith and were given the weapon in your hands now. Gripped even tighter as you started to hear the approaching footsteps and screeches from beyond the fences.

Yes, I had the quote about 30-50 feral hogs stuck in my head and decided to write this prompt. That being said I am happy to adjust the horde to your liking if you have a preferred invader. If this interests you please let me know what weapon you picked up from the smith and we can craft a story.

"I'm telling you, you have to book his one on one classes. He works out knots I never knew I had."

Maxine was off on a tangent again. At a far too late brunch with friends, she was at least one drink in and was pontificating. The half-elf was always chasing the latest fad and trend to keep fit. Yoga, Pilates, CrossFit - she did them all. Maxine didn't admit it openly, but this was brunch and her guard was down. Maxine wanted to meet people - beings different than the elves that had cloistered her in her youth - a cared more about that than the workout itself. Her latest obsession were personal sessions. She had been going for a few months now and she certainly seemed more relaxed.

The conversation turned to other matters. The witch told of her latest familiar, the half-fae about her journeys. Slowly the rest of the group peeled off and Maxine was a few more drinks in. When it was just the two she smirked and whispered again.

"You gotta try it...works out knots I never knew I had and ties me in new ones."

The look on her face said everything. It wasn't really a shock - cliches are that for a reason. Maxine admitting her predilections so openly, however, combined with the glint in her eye told a much more lurid tale.

It took a few days to work up the courage. A run here, and gym session there. None of which really scratched the itch that had been lingering since brunch. A new routine - one carefully crafted - seemed to be in order. And that's how you found yourself outside the studio in workout gear. Not the fanciest there was, but it would get the job done. On Maxine's recommendation and ecnouragement you had booked a session, trying to get yourself out of a funk. The doors opened and you couldn't believe your eyes.

"You must be Maxine's friend. I've been waiting."

Turns out your new trainer is a monster.

But what kind? Is he a burly orc bent on weight training? A werewolf built for speed? Or maybe a tentacle demon that serves as a series of resistance cables. Happy to craft something light hearted and smutty.

Artificial Intelligence was a bust.

Once believed to be the solution to human combat, the machines failed. Spectacularly. It turns out that being force-fed a steady diet of all human knowledge left the computers irreparably broken. Some spent the wars trying to have sex with tanks while any others simply tore out their processing units. Billions upon billions of dollars sunk into the equivalent of the darkest corners of mechanical PornHub. Multiple governments stumbled out of the era barely holding their homelands together.

After the disaster that was automated warfare, one incredibly wealthy capitalist had a modest proposal. He believed that beasts, not robots, that could win the wars of the future. Obsessed with mythology this self-styled visionary believed that centaurs, minotaurs, and all manner of hybrids would revolutionize battle. The way he saw it, these creatures once dominated the minds of mankind and with the advent of modern science could do so again. With proper genetic engineering (and enough government money) this army could be a reality in the next five years.

How? This same visionary developed a test to check for genetic compatibility. Yes it would require some very specific sacrifice, but mating humans with certain beasts would yield impressive results. It was just that the population of humans with the correct compatibility was incredibly rare...

Or so he said. As it turns out that what he was selling wasn't entirely true. Instead the test that had been devised would measure physiological changes in the female body as a result of the copulation and the results of those would be used to develop the gene therapy to breed the next race of soldiers.

The investor had other reasons as well. As it turned out he owned one of the websites that featured videos of the end of the mechanical battles and the views had started to taper. All of these sessions had to be recorded for the posterity of research, so there was no reason - or so he saw- he couldn't add another link to the homepage.

Very few people were aware of these truths. All they knew was that the next war was coming and that the country needed an army. Thankfully there were more than enough volunteers (and conscripts) to enter phase one of the research.

A man with too much money convinces the government to breed women with animals to build an army. We can also take this in a fantasy direction where the billionaire is an agent of Hell on Earth. If you made it this far I would love to know why you volunteered and your proposed compatibility. If another prompt catches your eye please let me know.

You needed the weapon, even if you couldn't wield it yourself yet. After what happened to the farmsteads a few hamlets over, arming yourself became of the utmost importance. More and more often the hordes from beyond the mountains were making incursions into the kingdom and officials from court had encouraged the locals to take up arms for themselves. The reality was the royal family had called the entire army back to the fortified walls surrounding the capital, leaving locals to defend themselves. But that news had not made its way to you yet.

What had was tales from the conquests. Travelers seeking shelter and respite, intense details of gangs of pig men, goblins, and others slaying the men before taking advantage of their wives and daughters. They had no sense besides lust. It was said that their eyes were red with blood mist, shadowed creatures mounted on fell steeds commanding the ransacking gangs. The first wave was made up entirely of these thralls, barely sentient slavering beings. Beyond them were the dark legions, clad in armor and actually skilled in the ways of combat. And then the warlocks and shades directing their forces.

How much of this was true and how much fear-made conjecture was still unclear. What was, though, was that you were the last defender of the family farm. Male relatives were conscripted into the regional guard weeks ago and had left you in charge. That was when you went to the blacksmith and were given the weapon in your hands now. Gripped even tighter as you started to hear the approaching footsteps and screeches from beyond the fences.

Yes, I had the quote about 30-50 feral hogs stuck in my head and decided to write this prompt. That being said I am happy to adjust the horde to your liking if you have a preferred invader. If this interests you please let me know what weapon you picked up from the smith and we can craft a story.

Drez sighed as the witch to which he was bound trudged deeper into the cavern, seeking a respite from their travels. He sneered at the woman, but knew that once they came to a rest, he'd get some relief. That was their bargain, after all.

Drez was not a familiar most practitioners of the darker arts dared summon. In the Nethers he was a minor lord, ruling over the Lust Pits. There damned souls worked to toil away their sins under his factions eager and watchful eyes. Despite there being a way to escape from the pits, none of the hedonistic souls could focus long enough to find the exit. Instead, they were trapped in an endless cycle of desire, never reaching an end.

And Drez loved his station. There was ample opportunity to sample the more pliant souls while they worked to end their torment.

Which is why when Drez was bound to this new witch, he feared there must have been a mistake. Pulled into the realm of flesh he was warped to resemble an imp. Gone was his lean muscular frame and in its place was a two foot tall body, complete with satyr's hooves. Curled horns and a barbed tail, he looked every bit a devil. But that manhood was still his pride. That length remained impressive and he had to coil around his leg lest it drag in the mud.

But Drez had a plan. In this realm he promised his witch untold powers, provided she complied with his urges. Not that she seemed to mind in the slightest - she was as lusty for him as she was for power. And Drez would use that to open the path to his home and find a way back to his kingdom.

But for now the fire was started and the witch was in repose. Beckoning him forward as she opened herself to him.

Maybe the realm of man isn't all that bad...

Inspired by a play that I started with someone but then fell off, it's me your lecherous familiar! Looking to play in either a traditional or modern fantasy setting where I keep promising you power, but it comes with a rather smutty price. Happy to flesh out the world and incorporate other ideas as well. Other prompts are open as well if one catches your eye.