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Written as an ffxivkinkmeme fill.
Warnings: Rape/noncon, forcible body alteration, forced feminization, unwilling arousal, misogyny, Gridania-typical xenophobia.
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The Carline Canopy is said to be the hub of Gridania for adventurers passing through, and Magnai can see why. With the airship landing on the lower level, the aetheryte plaza a short walk away, and the gorgeous Mother Miounne tending to her patrons, it’s a wonder Gridania is not *more* bustling.
Miounne — could she be the one? She’s gentle and kind, but firm as well, a quality necessary for the wife of the Oronirs’ khan. But then there’s the natural grace with which the Miqo’te serving girl delivers each patron’s refreshments, and the adoring smile she wears while doing so. Magnai is sure her eyes lingered on him when last she passed his table.
He’s jarred out of his thoughts by the thud of a mug on his table. A different server, an Elezen man, smiles down at him. “Your ale, sir.”
“I requested no ale.” Magnai’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“It’s on the house. Courtesy of Mother Miounne.”
Ah, so she noticed him. Does she return his interest, then? Is she tired of this life, longing for something new, something (to her Eorzean eye, at least) exotic? Magnai downs the ale, eyes watching Miounne as she bustles about behind her counter.
He sets the mug down and then, for a second, he sees two of her. He blinks down at his table, at the doubled image of his hand holding the mug by its handle. “Ugh...” He grabs his head.
“Are you quite all right, sir?” the serving man asks.
He’s been *poisoned*. He let his guard down. None on the Steppe would be so craven—
Magnai tries to stand, but has to brace himself on the table. “You—”
“Here, let me help you.” The man puts his arm around Magnai’s shoulders. When Magnai tries to shove him away he only tightens his grip and says, “Convulsions? Oh, and you’re burning up...”
Magnai’s body refuses to cooperate as the man leads him toward the Roost’s check-in desk. His voice comes out a croak, sounding unlike himself and unable to form words. He cannot contradict the man as he says that Magnai is unwell and needs rest, but don’t worry, “I shall see him safely to his room.”
With each step Magnai feels worse, weaker. He stumbles over his feet and leans on the Elezen for balance. His breeches come loose as he walks, tripping him until he winds up stepping out of them entirely. At the same time, his robe feels so much larger on him. “Whass habbening?” he slurs out. Even his voice feels wrong somehow.
The room he’s led to is not the one which he had checked into earlier, but one more lived-in. Tubes and beakers and other alchemical apparati clutter up a table.
The man shoves him and he goes stumbling into the bed. It’s so much larger than the one in his room. Or— no, wait— Magnai gets a good look at his hands as he pushes himself up. They’re small. Dainty. “What the—” He freezes at the sound of his feminine voice.
The Elezen man laughs. “There we go. How do you feel, now the potion’s run its course?”
Magnai glowers up at the man. “What have you done to me?! Reverse this wretched enchantment at once!”
“Oh, but I can’t,” the man replies with a shrug. “The only cure is more of the same, and I just so happen to have used up the last dose on your sorry arse.”
When Magnai goes to push himself to his feet, the man is on him, shoving him down on his back. The Au Ra flails and thrashes, his tail whipping about wildly under himself, but he’s so much smaller, his muscles weaker. Had he only some manner of weapon...
“I saw the way you looked at Mother Miounne and Naoh,” the man sneers. “Not to mention every other girl who walked into the Canopy. The last thing Gridania needs is whoresons like you waltzing in and defiling our women.”
“Defiling?!” Magnai spits. “My Nhaama will be revered above all! The only defiler here is you!” Indeed, he can feel the bulge in the man’s trousers pressing against his leg. He tries once more to push the man away, but the man easily grabs both of Magnai’s wrists in one hand and pins them above his head.
“I’ve never had one of you scalekin before. Seen adventurers of your type traipsing around like they own the place and always wondered...” With his free hand he pushes open Magnai’s oversized robe to reveal a svelte, petite body. “Oh, you’re *precious*...”
“You address the Sun!” Magnai spits. “Cease this desecration and unhand me!”
Instead, the man runs his hand along Magnai’s torso. He lingers to cup one of his breasts — too small to grace the earthly form of the Sun, Magnai’s cheeks burning at that realization — and pinches and teases the nipple there until Magnai loses his composure and gasps.
“Good girl,” the man croons. He continues his assault on Magnai’s teat, lowering his mouth to the other so he can lick and suck on it.
“Stop this!” Magnai’s voice comes out breathy. Not commanding in the least. “I will not tolerate such insolence!”
“You’re tolerating it just fine, I’d say.” Indeed, Magnai’s nipples are nice and hard. The man’s hand trails down his stomach to rest between his legs. “You’ve made plenty of slick for me to use.”
“Plenty of *what*?” Magnai presses his thighs together to try and fend off his assaulter, only to find some manner of slippery fluid emanating from within his... his womanly parts. “What has your accursed potion done to me?!”
The man barks out a laugh. “*This* is unknown to you?” He holds his fingers up before Magnai’s face, glistening with his juices. When Magnai opens his mouth to complain, the man shoves those fingers past his lips, making him taste himself. “For all that lechery, are you a *virgin*?”
Magnai’s cheeks burn. He can’t help but suck on those fingers each time he swallows. The taste of his own loins makes something deep inside his body quiver with something almost like fear (not that the Sun knows the feeling). No, perhaps... anticipation? (Is this how womenfolk feel at the mercy of a man like Magnai? Why, then, would any rebuke his advances?)
“Good girl,” the Elezen teases him once more. “Let’s see how well that tight little cunt of yours takes me.”
Panic rises in Magnai’s chest. His teeth snap at the fingers in his mouth, but they retreat nimbly, evading harm. “Do not dare!” Magnai demands, his squeaky voice shaking.
“Oh, I daresay you’ll enjoy yourself,” the man purrs. He opens his trousers and frees his bulging erection. From this angle Magnai cannot see it, but from its weight on his thigh, he can guess at its size. Magnai is — was — well-endowed by Auri standards, but this Elezen *dwarfs* him.
“You can’t!” Magnai exclaims. “It won’t fit!”
The man releases his wrists so he can use both hands to pin his hips down. Magnai tries to hit and punch the Elezen, but his blows have no force behind them. Dainty and nimble though women may be, Magnai knows they are not *weak* and nor is *he*. It must be some effect of the potion on his body.
Certainly the arousal growing within his gut has nothing to do with it.
The cock slams into him and the wind is knocked out of him. He can’t even scream.
“Nice and tight for me,” the vile Elezen breathes. “And so warm... No wonder you called yourself the Sun...”
Magnai gasps for breath. His head spins and oh, even though he knows it’s all wrong, it feels so *good*. He lets out a breathless whimper with each thrust of the cock within him.
“Yes, give in. Know your place, my little Sun.” His rapist’s hands move up his torso to squeeze his breasts some more. The fight has gone out of Magnai — no, no, he’s just biding his time — he’s observing, learning how the female body reacts so he can know how best to please his Nhaama — not that he would *ever* treat her this way, even if it does feel—
His back arches up off the bed and he lets out a shameless cry. His womanhood clamps down on the other man’s cock. “Yes, yes!” Magnai cries despite himself.
“That’s more like it!” his rapist crows.
It’s the last thing he ever says. An arrow pierces his skull from behind. As he collapses, tumbling off the bed, exposing Magnai’s fragile and nude form, the khan sees Cirina and Sadu in the doorway.
“So this is what’s become of you?!” Sadu demands, incredulous. There’s something in her eyes Magnai has never seen there before.
“It can’t be,” Cirina murmurs, horrified. “*This* is Magnai Khan?”
Magnai sits up and pulls his too-large robe closed around himself. “What are you doing here?!”
Sadu drops the object she’s holding, which Magnai realizes belatedly is the Scale of the Father. “We found your garish axe leaning against a wall in the tavern.”
“We thought it unlike you to leave it unattended, so we asked if any had seen you leave,” Cirina adds more gently. “Are you— I mean, is there aught we can...”
“I have no need of your pity,” Magnai grumbles. He looks away, his cheeks burning. “...but I would not turn down some clothing more... suited for this form.”
Cirina nods and bows with her hand on her chest, then turns and leaves him alone with his least favorite person in existence.
Well, second-least, if he were to count the recently deceased.
Sadu, to her credit, does not look at him. “I’ve no doubt *he* shall be reborn as some crawling worm for generations to come.” She then focuses her attention on the rapist’s potionmaking apparati. “I hear tell there is a master of alchemy in the nation of Ul’dah. Mayhap he, too, has come to Gridania for the Starlight celebration.”
“What does it matter to you?”
“Gender means little to me,” she replies, “but I imagine you must desire a return to your proper form. Even if you *were* just singing the praises of the female body—”
“Hold your tongue!”
Magnai means the outburst to be imperious. Instead it comes out shaky. Fragile. Sadu’s eyes widen at his tone and she does, for once in her life, fall silent.
Finally, after a long moment, she says, “...I shall seek out any who know of the Ul’dahn alchemist.”
With that she walks out of the room, leaving Magnai alone.