Vaguely famous quest on /tg/ by Echo Garrote. I stopped reading it about 20 threads in because the way it handled romance was ham-handed, but Ssen, the protagonist, is the adopted Lamia daughter of a paladin faced by the stereotypical 'killed monster parents, found scared child' scenario.
Read? No. Am familiar with? Yes. The reference was most definitely intentional.
I needed a snake-like last name, didn't feel like cranking one out of a name generator, and the shoutout seemed appropriate considering the titanic number of similar nods in the source material.
This is a valid concern, and unwanted sexual contact an extreme issue for a lot of people. I happen to be one of them. Thus I can safely reassure you that Honey's advances will never succeed on anyone not enthusiastically consenting to them. The exact details are somewhat spoilery, but if you still have concerns:
One of Honey's main character arcs (along with figuring out some quirks of her biology) is going to be teaching her that not everyone is interested in sex, and those that are aren't always interested right this second. No does mean no, even if you're sure they'll enjoy it once you get your sticky pseudopods inside their trousers. She will continue to be sexually aggressive until she learns this, but such scenes will be played for humor, with her being hosed off before she gets anywhere and then being sent to the timeout bucket (or some other similarly humorous punishment).
She's a genuinely good person who just wants everyone around her to be happy. Unfortunately, the only context Honey has for 'happy' is the flowers she eats, and when it comes to pollination consent generally boils down to 'Yes please, and bring your friends!' She may be a wanna-be rapist, but this is only because she has no concept of what rape is. As she is now, she genuinely can't imagine anyone not wanting to immediately have sex with her or anyone else, and the fact that everyone keeps rejecting her advances will be a source of serious emotional stress until you teach her why what she is doing is a bad thing.
"Is there a reason they can't all come in at once?" you ask as another blast of thunder rattles the windows. "They've waited long enough."
"It's your house, I suppose, and that would keep me from having to go out there more than once," Jones admitted. "Alright, we'll do it your way. Just remember, the program will only reimburse you for structural damage. Furnishing is on you."
She levers herself out of your chair and walks back to the door, leaving your towel draped over the back of the chair. With a heavy sigh, the agent braces herself before opening the door and walking back out into the rippling curtains of heavy rainfall with the air of a man walking into a firing squad.
The door slams closed behind her, and you take the opportunity to get some emergency cleaning done. You aren't a slob by any means, but you weren't expecting company tonight, much less four permanent guests. A hasty sweep of the living room removes the wet towel you loaned Jones as well as the blankets from your impromptu nest and several other bits of incidental detritus, and when the sounds of commotion come from outside you're ready and waiting with a set of warm, fluffy towels.
The door is thrown open without a knock this time, and a small black...thing literally launches itself through the opening to land against the far wall and quiver, sending drops of water flying everywhere.
"Damn it's wet out there!" says a youthful voice, and now that it isn't moving you can clearly see that the 'thing' is a minuscule arachne, his human half looking no older than eight years old. His lower half was covered in spiky hair that was damp with rain, and his black shirt and dark hair were similarly soaked. Rapidly spinning in his perch three feet up your wall, a dark eye on the side of his head (he had an eye on the side of his head!) makes contact with yours and he instantly turns to face you. "Hey, are those towels?"
He leaps off the wall to land directly on top of you, shoving you back a step with the sudden weight. His hands, wickedly clawed despite their small size, close on the top towel of the pile and he shoves off again, using a web line he must have attached to the wall during his original leap to return to his original position and start toweling off. The force of his second jump knocks you to the floor, though you manage to keep a hold of the rest of your towels and avoid the growing number of puddles.
"Sorry lady," the arachne says, watching you with one of his side eyes while he begins drying one of his many legs. "I forget you two-legs are a bit tippy sometimes."
"Here," says a brisk voice, and a female hand is extended down to you. You glance up and find yourself staring directly into a set of piercing golden eyes. Even in the dim light of the entryway, they seem to glisten somehow, shifting and moving in some sort of pattern that...
The eyes close, releasing you from their spell, and a pair of thick glasses is pushed up over them, lessening their paralytic fascination somewhat. Able to move and think again, you register that the figure standing in front of you is a tall woman dressed entirely in yellow raincoat. Her exact height was difficult to guess, as where her legs should have been was a long snake tail that was curled behind her in a series of loose curves. It was an extremely dark green, almost black, with a set of vertical yellow stripes that ran from the tip of her tail to her waist, where the raincoat obscured them. Her head was almost completely covered by the hood of the coat, with only her face showing.
She frowns, wiggling her still-outstretched hand, and you realized you may have been staring. You grab her extended limb, but before either of you can do anything else, something moves beneath her hood and a snake head peaks out, its forked tongue tasting the air experimentally. She notices your gaze and yanks you to your feet so abruptly you worry she might have dislocated your arm before grabbing one of your towels and sliding off to one corner to dry herself without another word. You're pretty sure you saw her stuffing the inquisitive snake back into her hood as she went, but there's no time to wonder about that as someone new hails you from the door.
"Comin' through!" announces a deep male voice in a southern accent, and you turn to watch the largest man you've ever seen start trying to force his way through your front door.
Your eyes are level with the bottom of his torso, giving you a great view of the huge horse-like body that comprised his lower half. Much of it is obscured by a tan kilt-like garment that goes down to his knees, but you can still tell it is bay in color, with white feathering around his huge hooves. Even by horse standards he is large, and his human-half seems sized to match. You're not one to go to the gym, but you stopped by a few times in college, and even the hardcore fitness freaks there would have had to hide in shame confronted with this slab of muscle. Each arm held a huge suitcase you would have needed both hands to lift, and a whole host of smaller luggage was strapped to his back and flanks.
Your front door wasn't small by any stretch of the imagination, but it certainly hadn't been built with pack animals in mind. This huge centaur would have found it a tight squeeze most days, but encumbered as he was the fit seemed impossible. He was gamely trying it though, and had apparently managed to wedge himself halfway through the door before getting stuck.
"Maybe if you-" you start to suggest, before he gives a mighty heave and shoves his way inside with brute force. The doorways resistance suddenly ended, he shoots into the crowded entryway like a cork fired from a bottle, his hooves sliding helplessly on the slick tile. Unable to stop himself, he slides helplessly across the room. A chorus of angry hisses erupts from the woman in the raincoat as he narrowly avoids stomping on her serpentine coils that were taking up much of the floor, and the arachne is forced to jump for his life as the centaur crashes heavily into the wall where he had been standing. The sudden relocation knocks a picture from the wall, shattering the frame in a chime of broken glass, and as the centaur rights himself you can see the crater his impact left in the drywall.
"Watch it, meat head!" the arachne snaps, and the huge man nods sheepishly, surveying the damage.
"Sorry, y'all. Didn't realize it'd be so crowded in here," he says, an apologetic smile on his broad face. He had a short mustache and beard, and his hair was likewise cut short. He wore a t-shirt tight enough that it looked almost painted on, and you could see every one of his muscles ripple as he turned to face you. As your eyes moved over the rock-hard pectoral muscles and abs you could probably grate cheese on, a small part of you reflects that this is probably what one of your highschool friends would have called a 'panty melting man-hunk'. Having finished giving his body the obligatory academic observation, you move on to reading the whimsical phrase written on his shirt: 'Do you even pull, bro?'
"Evenin', miss," he states politely, nodding as his gaze finally falls on you. "Sorry 'bout the wall, I'll take a look at it tomorrow mornin'."
"No need. I've got it," you respond easily. You anticipated something like this happening, and stocked up on spackle earlier in the week. You hold up your second-to-last towel for him.
"Why thank you kindly, miss." He takes the towel from you gratefully and begins drying himself in a show that would probably have had some of the girls in your doctoral program shoving dollar bills into his kilt, if wide eyes and luminescent blush of the lamia beside him is any indicator. You turn instead to face the open door just as Agent Jones rolls through the door, pushing a large tank filled with some pink fluid on a dolly cart.
"Slime coming through!" she says, and both the centaur and lamia try to shift out of the way at the same time. Unfortunately, the warm air of your house appeared to have coated the snake-woman's glasses in fog, and instead of sliding past Agent Jones as she likely intended she collided with her, knocking the container off the dolly.
"Got it!" the centaur called, reaching for the falling container but tripping over one of the many bags he still carried. His lunge sent it tumbling to crash into pieces at your feet, pink goo spilling everywhere.
The 'goo' almost immediately began to twist and writhe, reshaping into the form of an elegant woman with long tendrils for hair and some of the most titanic bosoms you'd ever seen. They actively seemed to defy gravity, and you wondered how they maintained their shape considering their large size. Possibly it (she, considering the obviously female shape) had a very high level of surface tension, or maybe they were held up by the same sort of fluid muscular action that allowed her to retain her humanoid form without a rigid support structure?
"Hello," bubbled the slime in a smooth voice, her tone pregnant with...something. You didn't bother trying to place it though, more concerned with how she was able to talk at all. There weren't any air pockets inside her body that you could see, so the obvious option of forcing air past a vibrating membrane was likely out.
You shelve it as a problem for later and open your mouth to return her greeting, only to have her face press against yours in an extremely wet kiss. Well, that was certainly unexpected. Some cultures did consider kissing an appropriate greeting, but you're pretty sure they didn't use this much tongue. She tasted sweet, like honey, and while you didn't want to be rude the entire situation was extremely awkward, so you move to shove her off...only you find you can't.
Instead of pushing her away, your arms actually slip inside her and she warmly envelops you, her touch sticky and wet as she moves to press herself fully against you. Her torso dissolves as it touches you, splaying outward to begin crawling its way along your body. Her arms wrap around you in a fluid motion and begin sliding toward the collar of your shirt and waist of your pants, and you realize with mild alarm that her creeping advance is getting dangerously close to some very private portions of your anatomy. It would seem your fears were quite justified.
Before you can think of a way to remove the creature, preferably before it attempted to reach third-base with you in front of all your guests, a blast of warm water splashed you in the shoulder and began working its way down your body, literally hosing the pink slime away. The warm, pressurized water apparently diluted her in a rather uncomfortable fashion because she immediately recoiled from the stream, pulling herself off you to huddle sulkily in a corner.
"God bless the good folks at Super Soaker," Agent Jones declared, handing you the squirt gun she had used to blast the slime off you. "If you don't have some of these already, I'd get a few. You'll need them."
You nod at her, thinking of small arsenal of dart and water guns you kept in a closet in the basement. Your friends had all called that addition to your game collection childish, but looks like it might not have been such a bad idea after all.
"Alright, I'm off," she states, pulling the dolly back in front of herself and pointedly ignoring the mess in your entryway. "The rest of their stuff will be dropped off Monday, so I'll leave you all to get acquainted. You've got my number in the paperwork they sent you earlier, I'm available 24-7 but don't call unless something is on fire."
As Jones closes the door behind her, you glance around and realize everyone is staring at you. While you can guess why the slime is currently eyeing you (and how did those eyes work, anyway? it certainly hadn't had them inside the tank), the expressions of the others are somewhat harder to read. The lamia is blushing again, and the centaur took one look at you and turned his face away, his hooves stamping awkwardly. Realization dawns when the arachne above you finally speaks.
"Hot," he declares with a sage nod, and you glance down to realize your thin white blouse has been completely soaked through. You remember belatedly that you discarded your bra an hour ago when you decided to curl up in the living room and sigh, covering your breasts with an arm. This was going to be a long night.
"Alright then. Don't worry about the mess, I'll clean it up in a minute," you said with a wave at the destruction all around. "Your rooms are all upstairs and marked, so go ahead and get moved in. I'm going to wash off-" you flex your fingers at the sticky residue the slime left behind her "-get changed, and I'll meet you in..."
[ ] The Kitchen. A late night snack will be a great way to make a good first impression.
[ ] The Living Room. It's large enough for everyone to be comfortable and maybe you can show off the piano a bit.
[ ] The Sun Room. No sun now, but the view of the storm will be great and it has just as much space as the living room.
[ ] The Basement. No real furnishings they can use down there, but let's see what they think of your Wall of Games.
Funny. We voted to play an asexual character, and yet the very first vote was about screwing things.
[X] The Sun Room. No sun now, but the view of the storm will be great and it has just as much space as the living room.
It also has fewer things to accidentally break than the living room.
Funny. We voted to play an asexual character, and yet the very first vote was about screwing things.
[X] The Sun Room. No sun now, but the view of the storm will be great and it has just as much space as the living room.
It also has fewer things to accidentally break than the living room.