Disorientation🌶️
Sudarolis, 2010
I stared at the orientation pamphlet in mild horror. The cartoon of a winking, cum-dripping nymph hugging an armful of lycan spawn smiled up at me. But what caught my attention was the caption: “Congratulations on your awakening!” The second thing it said, in much smaller font, was: “We help every nymph realize her full potential!”
Our full potential.
Being breeders for the Sudarolin government.
Not that I had any say. Not that any of us did.
I just seemed to be the only one with an issue with it.
Most nymphs in my rearing cohort had their first consensual gangbang the second they awakened. Once we turned eighteen, my age out group rolled through their awakenings one right after another—sometimes ten a day. It was a miracle that the caretakers at the rearing facility could even walk down the halls without getting jumped.
The only exception: me.
It didn’t dawn on me just how abnormal I was until I stood on campus at Nymph University, the breeding college all nymphs went to.
Mandatory enrollment.
They’d bussed us all over that morning.
Around me, hundreds of nymphs chattered and laughed, their voices rising in excited waves. I tugged at my sleeves, pulling them down over my pale lilac hands, wishing I could disappear into my baggy hoodie.
I’d scrounged the hoodie from the employee lost and found at the facility. The clothes they provided us were… well, basically lingerie. But that’s what the other nymphs preferred. Once their pheromones kicked in, getting my “sisters” to keep their clothes on was the real trick.
I shuffled forward in the line. The courtyard outside the main admin building was a living, throbbing organism. My peers glowed with the vibrant greens and warm browns typical of wood nymphs. However, my skin held an unusual pale lilac hue, almost pearlescent in certain angles. My hair cascaded down my back in long waves of deeper lilac with streaks of pale blue that seemed to shift as I moved.
The rarity of my coloring wasn’t lost on me—I’d counted maybe six others with unusual tones in my entire age out group. Only one other with lilac hues.
And the only one unawakened.
The difference showed in everything.
The registration hall buzzed with an energy that made my skin crawl. Nymphs pressed close together in line, touching each other’s arms and shoulders with casual intimacy that seemed as natural to them as breathing. I kept my arms wrapped around myself, creating a small bubble of space that others seemed to unconsciously respect—or perhaps they simply sensed my difference and kept their distance.
“Did you see the satyr breeding pamphlet?” a nymph with teal hair squealed somewhere ahead of me. “The males are gorgeous. I’m definitely declaring that as my major.”
“I’m going goblin,” another nymph announced proudly, her green-tinted skin glowing with excitement. She wore a mesh crop top that left her breasts visible beneath the transparent material. “Something about their voracious little appetites…Ooh! It just gets to me.”
My stomach turned. I knew what we had been taught about our purpose in society. We were told that the breeding programs were essential. Yet none of us had ever met a nymph who’d been in one. No nymph ever returned from a breeding facility. And they took us from our mothers.
“What about you?” The teal-haired nymph turned to her companion, a striking individual with fiery orange hair.
“Lycan,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “It’s the knots…”
They dissolved into giggles. At the front of the lines, other nymphs stood at the tables, each declaring their chosen breeding major with the enthusiasm of someone picking a favorite color rather than selecting the species they’d spend the rest of their lives reproducing with.
The line shuffled forward a little more. I could see the registration tables now, staffed by second-year students who were only a year older than us.
“Next!” A nymph with rich brown skin and deep green hair waved me forward.
I approached the table, my oversized clothes feeling even more conspicuous as I stood before her sleek bodycon dress. She looked me up and down, one eyebrow rising slightly before she schooled her expression into professional neutrality.
“Name?” she asked, her fingers poised over a clipboard.
“Sasi Everbloom.”
She trailed her finger down the clipboard before addressing another nymph behind her. A few seconds later a welcome packet was produced. “Everbloom, Sasi” printed neatly at the top.
The second year glanced up at me again. “Major?”
I hesitated. Around me in other lines, nymphs announced their choices with confidence: “Satyr!” “Minotaur!” “Orc!” Each declaration met with approving nods from the registration staff.
“I... I haven’t decided yet,” I finally managed.
The student’s expression shifted—not quite disapproval, but something close to it. She tapped the welcome packet in front of her, then grabbed the clipboard again.
“Let me check your lineage chart,” she murmured. Her thumb flipping through the pages on the clipboard until she landed on mine. “Oh. Well, that’s... that’s quite a line.”
My heart sank. I knew what was coming before she said it.
“You come from a long line of goblin breeders,” she announced, loud enough that several nymphs nearby turned to look. “And Sudarolis always needs more goblin breeders.”
“I’m still not sure, can I think about it?” I asked.
The student shrugged and reached beneath the table, pulling out a glossy pamphlet. The cover showed three nymphs with glowing smiles, each holding armfuls of green-skinned goblin babies. Bold text across the top proclaimed: “Goblin Breeding: A Noble Calling.”
“You have four weeks to declare,” she said, handing me the pamphlet along with the welcome packet. “But with your lineage, goblin breeding is strongly recommended.”
I took the materials with numb fingers, staring down at the smiling faces on the pamphlet. Almost as disturbing as the orientation pamphlet already crumpled in my hand.
“Your schedule is in the welcome packet,” the student continued, already looking past me to the next nymph in line. “You’ve got three required courses: Satyr Breeding 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays at nine, Goblin Breeding 101—
“I don’t think I want goblin breeding… or satyrs for that matter,” I interrupted.
The second-year nymph looked annoyed, struggling to keep her smile in place. “Again. Required courses. Every nymph takes them… So, as I was saying, Goblin Breeding on Tuesdays and Thursdays at nine and History of Nymphology on Mondays and Wednesday at eleven. Electives can be added once you declare your major. Next!”
I stumbled away from the table, clutching my welcome packet to my chest. The folder felt heavy in my arms, weighted with expectations I hadn’t asked for and a future I couldn’t quite envision. My fingers crumpled the edge of the goblin breeding pamphlet as I shoved it into the packet. Then I pulled out my schedule and stared at it.
The main campus stretched before me like an unwelcome revelation, all stone pathways and old brick buildings that might have looked scholarly if not for the posters plastered on every available surface. I clutched my schedule tighter against the envelope and started walking, determined to locate my classrooms before Monday arrived.
The first poster I passed showed a nymph pressed against a muscular minotaur, her head thrown back in what looked like adoration. Bold text beneath proclaimed: “Minotaur Breeding: Size Does Matter.” I averted my eyes and kept walking, only to encounter another poster three feet away—this one featuring a nymph on her knees before a satyr, the image leaving absolutely nothing to imagination. I hurried past without reading it.
They were everywhere. Each poster framed breeding as noble, essential, a calling that every nymph should embrace with enthusiasm. The propaganda felt suffocating, closing in from all sides as I walked deeper into campus.
I found the Sciences Building easily enough—a three-story brick structure with ivy crawling up its eastern wall. According to my schedule, both Goblin Breeding 101 and Satyr Breeding 101 were housed here. I pulled open the heavy door and stepped into a hallway that smelled faintly of chalk and cleaner.
Goblin Breeding 101: Room 118.
I found it on the first floor, a large classroom with windows overlooking a courtyard. The door stood open, and I could hear voices inside—deep, rumbling laughter mixed with higher-pitched giggles. I approached cautiously, peering around the doorframe.
A looming lecture hall, with tiered seating rising toward the back greeted me. But what caught my attention was the massive desk at the front, and the even more massive orc sitting on it. He had to be at least seven feet tall, with green skin, tribal tattoos, and tusks jutting from his lower jaw. He wore dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt that strained across his muscular chest. His eyes gleamed with predatory intelligence as he addressed the cluster of first-year nymphs gathered around him.
I glanced down at the schedule.
Goblin Breeding 101… G. Bloodfist.
That had to be the professor.
“So you’re all goblin majors?” he rumbled, his voice carrying that distinctive orcish rasp. “Good. We need enthusiastic breeders. The goblin population has tripled since we implemented the program.”
The nymphs around him nodded eagerly, pressing closer. One nymph leaned against the desk, her hand resting dangerously close to the professor’s thigh.
“They didn’t tell us the professor was an orc,” she asked, her voice breathy.
“Well, I assure you, I’m well-qualified.” Gorak chuckled. “Probably over-qualified.”
The nymphs gasped and giggled.
“Professor,” another nymph with brown hair started, “Could we... could you show me what goblin breeding looks like? I want to be prepared.”
My stomach dropped. Surely he wouldn’t—
“A demonstration?” Gorak’s grin widened. He looked the nymph up and down, his eyes lingering on her exposed curves. “I suppose I could arrange something. Come to my office, we’ll discuss the... practical aspects of the curriculum.”
He slid off the desk and stood, towering over the gathered nymphs. The brown-haired one practically bounced with excitement as she followed him toward a door at the back of the classroom—presumably his office. The other nymphs watched them go with expressions of open envy.
“Lucky,” one muttered. “I bet she gets extra credit.”
I backed away from the doorway, my heart pounding. That was a professor. A professor leading a first-year student into his office for a “demonstration” on the very first day of orientation, before classes had even started.
And the other students thought she was lucky.
I needed to find my other classroom. Needed to move, to focus on something else.
Satyr Breeding 101: Room 204.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor, my legs feeling shaky. The hallway here was quieter, with fewer students milling about. I found Room 204 midway down the corridor, its door closed.
“Looking for something?”
I spun around and collided with a solid chest. Strong hands caught my shoulders, and I found myself staring up at a lycan. He was tall—though not as massive as the orc—with dark hair that fell just past his shoulders and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through me. He wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms. Something about him radiated power barely restrained.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, stepping back. His hands fell away from my shoulders, but his eyes remained fixed on me. “I was just... finding my classrooms.”
“Ah, a first-year.” His smile showed fangs. “Are you a lycan breeding major? You’re standing right outside my classroom.”
“Your—?” I glanced at the door behind me, then back at him. “You teach Satyr Breeding?”
“No, love. Lycan breeding. Room 205.” He pointed to the door directly across the hall. “Professor Draven Blackwood. And you are?”
“Sasi Everbloom.”
“Pretty name.” He took a step closer, and I caught a scent like pine and something wild, untamed. “So, Miss Everbloom, are you interested in lycan breeding? I promise my demonstrations are very thorough.”
The way he said “thorough” made my skin prickle. I shook my head quickly. “No, I... I haven’t declared a major yet.”
His smile widened. “Haven’t decided? Well, you should definitely consider lycans. We produce strong offspring, and the process is quite... enjoyable. For both parties.”
He reached out as if to touch my arm, and I instinctively stepped back. His hand froze mid-air, and his expression shifted—the predatory gleam fading into something more assessing. His nostrils flared slightly, as if scenting the air.
“Wait.” His smile disappeared entirely. “Are you not awakened?”
Heat flooded my face. I wanted to lie, to claim I was just shy or modest, but something in his piercing gaze demanded truth. I shook my head.
“Ah. I see.”
The change in his demeanor was immediate. He stepped back, putting distance between us, his expression closing off into something polite but distant. The predatory interest vanished completely, replaced by something that looked almost like discomfort.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice suddenly formal. “I didn’t realize. You should... you should probably stick to your scheduled classes until your awakening. If you’ll excuse me.”
He moved past me down the hallway, his stride quick and purposeful, as though he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I watched him go, feeling a confusing mixture of relief and shame.
Unawakened. The word might as well have been a disease, the way he’d recoiled from me.
I clutched my welcome packet tighter and headed back down the stairs, my campus tour feeling suddenly pointless. I’d seen enough.
The dormitory building rose four stories high, red brick with white-framed windows that looked out over the quad. I found my room on the second floor—Room 224—and pushed open the door to find a space barely large enough for two twin beds, two desks, and a shared closet. One bed had already been claimed, the covers rumpled and duffel bag spilling clothes onto the floor.
The unclaimed bed sat beneath a window overlooking a garden courtyard. I dropped my welcome packet onto the thin mattress and surveyed what would be my home for the next two years. Plain white walls, industrial carpet in a dull gray, fluorescent lighting that cast everything in a harsh glow. The facility had been sterile too, but at least it had felt safe.
“Oh good, you’re here! I was wondering who I would be rooming with!”
I turned to find a nymph bursting through the doorway, her arms full of make-up. I recognized her immediately—Haera Rowanbark, from the rearing facility. We’d shared meal times and common areas but had never been particularly close. Her skin was a pale pink, and her hair fell in waves of slightly darker pink. She’d always been friendly, but where I’d been quiet and withdrawn, Haera had been the one organizing games and social activities among our cohort.
They’d probably roomed us together because we both had unusual coloring.
She dropped the make-up on her bed and threw her arms around me in a tight hug. I stiffened, unused to such casual contact, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Can you believe it?” she squealed, pulling back to look at me. “We’re finally here! Finally free! No more wake-up calls at dawn, no more assigned meal times, no more supervisors watching our every move. And look! I found make-up in the student supply store. Actual make-up!”
“Yeah,” I managed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “It’s... different.”
“Different? It’s amazing!” Haera spun around, her arms outstretched. “We can do whatever we want, Sasi. Stay up all night, skip breakfast, go into the village—” She cut herself off, studying my face. “You don’t seem too enthused?”
“Oh, I am,” I lied, moving to sit on my own bed. The welcome packet crinkled beneath me, and I shifted to pull it out from under my legs. “I’m just a little tired. It’s a lot of changes all at once.”
“Oh, of course!” Haera’s enthusiasm returned in full force. “Well, you should rest up! This is our time to live it up, Sasi. I’m heading into Luxuria tonight with some of my closest sisters. I can’t wait to explore the village. Do some shopping!” She threw her hands in the air.
Luxuria. The village surrounding Nymph U. A place where awakened nymphs could meet their daily needs with male tourists. They’d made it sound like a fun social venue.
“I might check it out tomorrow,” I said carefully.
“I can’t wait! The second years say it’s like... like everything we’ve been missing our whole lives.” Haera’s eyes practically glowed with excitement. “A cafe and restaurants and shops. An actual night club! And plenty of tourists from every species you can imagine. And they’re all so... willing.”
She said “willing” with a breathy quality that made my stomach twist. I clutched my hoodie, glancing over at the envelope.
“Plus,” Haera continued, digging through the make-up, “the government gives us stipends! Did you get yours yet? Check your student account—they load credits every week for food, clothes, entertainment, whatever we want. Also, if you want to use any of this, go right ahead. Though we’re not really the same shade.” She popped the top off of a bright red lipstick and applied it in the mirror.
Haera stared at herself a moment, before straightening. She started pulling off her clothes without warning. I averted my eyes, but she laughed at my reaction. “Sasi, you’re going to have to get used to nudity here. Once you awaken, you’ll understand—clothes feel so restrictive.”
I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of a zipper, and decided this might be a good time to go through my packet. I dumped the contents on my mattress, sorting through the papers. My eyes fell on the goblin breeding pamphlet again.
Haera cleared her throat, and I hazarded a glance. She had changed into a bodycon dress that clung to every curve, with cutouts along the sides. She turned in front of the small mirror mounted on our closet door, adjusting the neckline.
“Perfect,” she declared. “Okay, I’m heading out to dinner in Luxuria. You sure you don’t want to come? You don’t have to... participate. You could just see what it’s like.”
The thought of walking into Luxuria unawakened, of being surrounded by hyper flirty nymphs and male tourists made me want to hide in my room for the next two years. “I’m okay. I want to read through the orientation stuff.”
“Suit yourself.” Haera grabbed a small purse and headed for the door. “But seriously, if you decide you want to go, let me know. I can show you around. I’ve memorized the map. There’s one in your packet.”
She left in a swirl of perfume and excitement, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stared at the contents spread across the bed. Course schedule, campus map, student handbook, meal plan information, and that pesky goblin pamphlet.
My fingers trembled as I opened it. The first page showed a diagram of a breeding facility—long rows of stalls, each one containing a nymph on all fours. “State-of-the-Art Facilities Ensure Breeder Comfort and Maximum Production,” the caption read.
I flipped to the next page. More pictures of smiling nymphs, these ones visibly pregnant, surrounded by small green goblin children. My eyes traveled down the page to a section in bold text: “Produce over 250 offspring in your breeding career!”
My stomach lurched. I snapped the pamphlet shut and threw it across the room, watching it hit the wall and flutter to the floor.
Goblin breeding definitely wasn’t for me.
