#I would have got the body keeps the score and the companion to surviving to thriving but I'm Not Ready

[companionwolf]

my book order gets here today!

[iyumeu]

but a wolf in sheep's clothing

...is more than a warning ♡

a more lighthearted companion of my yandere obey me fic spirit guardian featuring: a more violent, assertive (aggressive) MC premise: MC gets hurt by bullies. their demons get upset. MC realizes that they have the power of friendship and also incredible violence on their side. this is the origin story of lucifer's migraine. cw: uh not much, there's just a mild fight scene and also MC might have killed someone? probably not though.

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From the very beginning you had known that you were being bullied.

It was definitely nothing you couldn't handle. Acidic rumors, ruined belongings, isolation... Things that you thought you left behind in high school. You should've known that hell was just another version of high school, except it went on for eternity.

Everything came to a head, however, when some of the demons tried to bring you to a shady place and you refused. You knew what a tertiary location was, and you wanted no part in it!

The demons weren't happy with that and almost broke your arm but you managed to wiggle your way out and run off before any further damage could be done. Unfortunately, the blue-black imprints of their grip remained starkly visible on your hand, causing a large commotion to happen over dinner.

Mammon had been the first one to notice the bruise on your arm and immediately flew into a panic, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you vigorously. You held back your urge to wrap your arms around him tight enough to break his spine. He held your best interests at heart.

Once Mammon was content with the amount of shaking he had done to you, Belphegor was next, pulling your arm over to him and tracing a finger over the bruised skin. Beelzebub was sitting next to him, leaning over to catch a better glimpse of it. It was like none of them had ever seen a bruise before.

There was a sudden, loud crash and your head shot up to see Leviathan on his feet, bristling in anger in his demon form as his tail whipped around behind him. His chair was overturned, the source of the noise. Beside him, Satan was in his demon form as well, the cutlery in his hand bent and distorted from the strength of his grip.

"Who hurt you?"

Asmodeus was still seated with a smile on his face, but his eyes were glowing slightly, gaze fixed upon you as he asked his question.

"It was just some demon," you replied flippantly. "I don't know why but they seem to have it out for me."

"You mean that this isn't a one-off?" Lucifer asked. You shrugged.

"It's the first time things have gotten physical, if that helps," you offer. Lucifer closed his eyes with a sigh. Oh no, you knew that sigh. The I'm-not-angry-I'm-just-disappointed sigh.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asked.

"Well, I told the teacher. They just told me to deal with it on my own." A low growl sounded throughout the room. You quickly continued before a fight broke out or something. "I also didn't want to be a bother, you know? It didn't affect me at all, honest. Most of the time, I just thought they were really funny."

"Did you..." Satan took a deep breath and the smile on his face stabilized. "Did you never think about getting revenge?"

"Oh. I was allowed to get revenge?"

Seven pairs of eyes turn to you.

"Yes?"

"Huh. I thought that I needed to be tolerant and shit because I was a representative of the human world. Okay. Good to know. Anyway, it won't happen again, I can assure you that."

Uncaring of the tension surrounding you, you went back to your food, knowing that if you appeared calm enough, your demonic housemates would follow suit. And sure enough, on your third forkful of demon's hair pasta, they all calmed down and continued their meal. Little did they know, it was the beginning of the end.

But not for you! ♡

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Mammon was sticking awfully close to you today, as was Beelzebub. They flanked either side of you like a pair of underworld bodyguards, rarely allowing you a moment to yourself. No matter where you went, one of the demons brothers would be either with you or in the general vicinity. Even Leviathan had gone to school, and it wasn't even mandatory for him!

You felt loved and protected and also incredibly frustrated. However, all good (?) things eventually came to an end and your demonic housemates could not look out for you forever.

It was lunch and, despite their best efforts, all of the demon brothers had been called away for one thing or another, leaving you alone to poke at your devil chili salsa potato wedges in the lunch hall. You waited for a bit and, as expected, the trio of demon schoolyard bullies appeared in front of you.

"Looks like your demon bodyguards are nowhere to be found," the lead demon mockingly. "And here you are, all alone and vulnerable."

You stabbed one of the potatoes and brought it to your mouth. It wasn't as good as Mammon's cooking but it was still better than Solomon's.

Frustrated at your lack of a response, the demon standing to the left of the lead one kicked your table, almost sending your metal food tray skittering off the edge. You quickly catch the glass of juice that did fall off the edge, fortunately without any spillage.

"Human, are you even listening?!" they snarled.

"Yeah I am," you replied. "I just didn't know what to say?"

One of the other demons grabbed at your arm and pulled you up to a standing position. It was the same arm that contained the bruises from yesterday and the rough treatment made you wince. They gave a snort of derision in response.

"Not so proud now, huh?" they sneered. You searched your memory for the words you used to say when you found yourself in such situations.

"Are you trying to harm me?" you asked, loudly. The cafeteria of demons glanced at you but otherwise turned a blind eye, as they always did. It didn't matter though, all you needed was for them to have heard your question, and the bullies' answer.

"I'm not trying," the demon said. "I am hurting you. And I will until you—"

With your free hand, you grabbed the glass on the table and smashed it against the demon's face. The glass shattered on impact and the demon reeled, letting go of your arm in the process. You wasted no time in picking up your chair and swinging it against the demon with full force and they flew into the, thankfully, empty tables beside yours.

"You— Get the human!" the lead demons snarled. You picked up your lunch tray and harshly brought it down onto the head of the demon charging at you. It impacted the demon's skull with a loud 'clunk' and the demon started to scream and claw their face. It appeared that some of the chili extract had gotten into their eyes. Oops.

You couldn't waste any time, though. The last demons, the lead demon, was fuming and making their way towards you. Lightning quick, you leapt onto the table and aimed a kick at their head. To your utmost surprise, the kick scored and the demon fell onto the ground. You jumped off the table and landed right onto the demon, making them shout in pain. Huh. The teacher wasn't joking when they said that that even you could deal with demons like this.

Still, you had to make a Statement. You had to reforge your Status in Demon High School as someone not to be messed with so as to deter any further bullying attempts.

So, you grabbed the demon below you by the collar and dragged them to the window. You hurled it open and then shoved more than half of the demon's body out of the window so that you were the only thing keeping them from a nasty drop.

"Wanted to bully the human, huh?" you asked. Your voice held no malice or anger. "Well, you should have killed me instead. Anyway, I hope you won't be bullying me, or any other human, ever again?"

The demon was whimpering, casting nervous glances at the ground below. Huh. You had a perfect quote for this, didn't you? You couldn't believe that an entire edgy teenager phase spent memorizing quotes you thought were cool would ever pay off like this.

"Perhaps you should worry less about gravity, who has already made up its mind about killing you, and more about me, who's still mulling it over."

The demon started to shake.

"I won't do it again!" they shrieked. "Please, let me off!"

You were going to pull them back in — you weren't going to kill them, that was illegal — when a loud shout startled you.

"MC?!"

You whirled around to see your demonic housemates standing around the entrance of the cafeteria, all staring at you with varying degrees of shock. With reflexes honed from years of getting into trouble due to fights, both of your hands shot up to either side of your head.

"It was self-defense, I swear!" you blurted out. Behind you, there was a scream that gradually got softer. Ah. Well. They were a demon and there was, like, a pond below. They would survive.

Probably.

[valdomarx]

Beastly Appetites

Five times Jaskier seduced the monster (and one time he seduced the monster hunter)

Octoberfest day 6: Geraskier Hallows: 5+1 + Monsterfucking

Geralt is loath to admit it but there are times when having Jaskier as a travelling companion provides... unexpected benefits.

They’ve been sent to subdue a greater vampire, one he knows to be intelligent, powerful, and almost impossible to kill. They’ve got her contained, but she’s smiling like she’s the one playing with them.

“Alright,” Geralt says, hands in the air. Their best bet is to make a deal with her. “What do you want?”

She smirks at Jaskier, all sharp teeth and cold, dead eyes, and shrieks, “I vant to suck your blood!”

Jaskier... Jaskier titters. The tips of his ears go a lovely blush colour. “Madame! How very forward of you.�� He takes a step closer. “I normally expect dinner first, but for a lady as alluring as you I’m sure I can make an exception.”

She strokes a clawed finger under his chin and he giggles. Her head tilts and her fangs retract. She seems utterly delighted with her new toy. “You may go,” she says, waving a dismissive hand at Geralt.

“I won’t leave Jaskier!”

Jaskier turns and gives him the fuck off for a minute, will you, I’m trying to score here eyebrows.

“Oh. Umm.” He fidgets awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He glances back at Jaskier. “I’ll be right outside. If you. Uhh. Need anything.”

-

“Oh, Mister Wolf, what big eyes you have.” Jaskier advances on the snapping, snarling werewolf, because apparently survival instincts aren’t his strong suit.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hisses. “Get back here.” Only a fool would confront a werewolf during a full moon.

“And what big teeth you have.” Jaskier is apparently the world’s biggest fool, however, and keeps going, reaching one hand out to the beast.

“And what a big...” Jaskier glances down, and his eyes widen and the scent of arousal spikes the air. “And what a very big endowment you have.”

“Jaskier! Do not taunt the werewolf in rut, trust me on this.”

“Pssh. It’s fine. He’s a friendly one, aren’t you?” Jaskier holds out his hand and the werewolf licks it. “Oh yes.” He glances down again at the wolf’s terrifyingly large member and his pulse spikes loud enough for Geralt to hear it. “We’re going to be very good friends, I can tell already.”

-

“She’s a sex demon, Jaskier.”

“I know. You should have seen the thing she did with her-”

“No. I mean literally, she is a succubus, feeding on energy from sexual encounters.”

Jaskier shrugs, nonplussed. “And?”

Geralt blinks. “And doesn’t it bother you that she‘s siphoning off a bit of your life force every time you... you know.”

“All sex is an exchange, Geralt. For money or status, for love or for power. And anyway,” he grins wickedly, “I’ve got plenty of life force to spare.”

-

Dopplers aren’t evil, but they are tricky. Geralt finally has this one cornered, and he needs to persuade them to leave.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

The doppler hisses at him. “Then leave me the fuck alone! I’m just want to have a bit of fun in the big city before I have to return to hiding in the goddamn countryside.”

“So you’re looking for entertainment?” Jaskier steps forward. “A good time? A wild night out?”

The doppler nods. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, fortunately for you, wild nights are my specialty.”

The doppler raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? Think you can keep up?” Their skin ripples, shifting between different bodies, different genders, different ages.

“Oh!” Jaskier clasps his hands together in delight. “This is going to be fun!”

-

"You’re sounding very judgemental right now, Geralt.”

“It’s a fucking leshen, Jaskier! It’s an ancient forest relic, a spirit of great power from before the dawn of man. It’s not a pretty girl at a tavern!”

“Actually his name is Borowy, and he’s very tender.”

“It’s not even humanoid! It has a deer skull for a head and tree branches for arms! How were you even planning to...”

“Oh, I have some ideas.”

“For the love of the gods, do not give me details.”

-

"Could you please, just for once, not fuck the monster we’re supposed to be hunting?” he snaps. It comes out rather more forcefully than he intended.

Jaskier sets his hands on his hips. “I think my alternative methods of monster pacification have been remarkably effective so far. I don’t see what you’re so persnickety about.”

Geralt crosses his arms and glares. It’s annoying to admit, but he’s actually not wrong. It has been effective, as their fattened coin purse shows. It’s just that-

“Oh ho, I see the problem.” Jaskier smirks triumphantly. “You’re jealous.”

Geralt staggers back. He thought he’d been so subtle. He thought he’d kept his feelings buried where Jaskier would never see them. He thought he’d gotten away with it.

“I...” His palms are sweaty. “I didn’t want you to know. I would never act on it. I’d never make you feel uncomfortable in that way.”

Jaskier’s brow creases. “What are you talking about? Just because you’re jealous of my monster hunting skills, that doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable.”

OH. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Maybe he can walk that back. Maybe...

“Hang on a second.” Jaskier rounds at him, astonished. “Did you mean... Are you jealous because...”

Jaskier steps close. Very close. He smells goddamn intoxicating.

“Why Geralt,” he sets a hand on Geralt’s chest, smiling like he’s been handed the most beautiful gift. “You should have just said.”

[fanfiction-inc]

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis. 

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased. 

He needed a reality check. 

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.” 

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?” 

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?” 

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?” 

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.” 

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.” 

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win. 

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.” 

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money. 

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!” 

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready. 

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.” 

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?” 

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John  Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?” 

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?” 

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked. 

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate. 

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through. 

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two. 

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up. 

1st: (First initial). (Last name) 

1st: H. Zemo 

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before. 

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.” 

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round. 

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?” 

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone. 

“Oui.” 

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name). 

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you. 

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything. 

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth. 

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress. 

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego. 

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind. 

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce​

[jerakeenc]

may recs (12: hobbit, x-men, mandalorian, good omens, mcu)

Don't mind me. I'm fandom hopping like crazy.

Ghivashel by mdseiran

Hobbit | Bilbo/Thorin | Mature | 44,240 words

The last thing Bilbo expects when he stays up late one night is company. The strange dwarf and his companion crash into his life and prove unexpected saviours. But the dwarf seems to think he will be joining them on their travels, and Bilbo has no such intentions.

Fascinating AU. Smaug claims young!Thorin as his treasure.

Previous Engagements by Lunarflare14

Hobbit | Bilbo/Thorin | Teen | 26,750 words

But as Spring approaches a caravan from the Blue mountains brings something everyone had nearly forgotten: the dwarf woman Thorin promised his hand to many years ago. 

Which is fine. It's all fine. It wasn't like Bilbo was falling in love with the king or anything. 

That would be tragic.

Super precious.

Impulse Decisions by listerinezero

X-Men | Erik/Charles | Explicit | 40,760 words

Erik wakes up in Las Vegas with a hell of a hangover, a telepath in his bed, and a ring on his finger. Now what?

This is a very nice rom-com.

Into the Fray by miss_aphelion

X-Men | Erik/Charles | Explicit | 31,770 words

Every year, two alphas are chosen from each district for a fight to death, and every year, a single omega is chosen to join them in the arena as the prize. 

Erik Lehnsherr's name has been drawn to compete as an alpha tribute and he is set solely on survival, but he hadn't exactly counted on Charles, the mysterious omega tribute that isn't playing by any of the rules. Hunger Games AU.

Very very nice. I didn't think i'd be interested in a Hunger Games fusion; this story proved me wrong.

No Longer in Silence by Black_Betty

X-Men | Erik/Charles | Explicit | 26,250 words

It has been eight years since Charles has seen Erik. Eight years since they parted under unkind circumstances and Erik went off to sea. The boy he once knew is Captain Lehnsherr now and they are as known to one another as strangers, and yet--Charles finds that eight years has done nothing to diminish the feelings he had when he was 16 and in love.

It's unfortunate then that Erik doesn't feel the same way.

Great Persuasion AU. No magical lack of homophobia in this AU which is a shame, but the ending is still satisfying.

Spectral Bodies in Orbit by Orockthro

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Teen | 27,690 words

Luke wants the New Republic to back and fund his plans for the new Jedi Order, Bo-Katan wants Mandalore to rise to its previous glory, Leia wants a system of governance that is functional, and Din wants a nap.

Super charming!

Broken Threads by Sadie1902

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Teen | 78,900 words

The battle is over, the rebels have won. But Luke Skywalker is still reeling from his ordeal in the Emperor's throne room, both physically and emotionally. Wracked with pain and fatigue, he tries to recuperate on Endor with a few days of much-needed rest. But before he even has a chance to relax, he's captured by an enterprising bounty hunter in Mandalorian armor. 

Din Djarin can't believe his luck. It's the score of his life, the bounty they all said was impossible. The payout will set his Tribe up well... so long as they don't know exactly who he made a deal with. But the job turns out to be more than Din bargained for when his bounty collapses from mysterious injuries, and he must face the truth of the horrors the Empire has wrought. 

Now, on the run from half the galaxy, it's a race against time as Din helps Luke find a cure for the disease that's slowly breaking the hero apart. There's only one problem... they need a Jedi. And Luke is the last of his kind. 

Or is he?

Really good! Nice adventure, an AU backstory with hurt!Luke and protective!Din and a very slow-moving well-earned romance.

dearly departed by attheborder

Good Omens | Aziraphale/Crowley | Teen | 29,770 words

Finally, Aziraphale spoke. “You mean to say— you got us married?”

“Just as a precaution, I never really thought I’d end up discorporated again, it’d been ages, you just don’t get stampedes or assassinations like you used to —”

“You got us married, and you didn’t tell me?”

Delightful writing! This is as cute as it gets between a demon and an angel.

What the Deep Heart Means by unpossible

MCU | Clint/Coulson | Explicit | 54,580 words

Clint doesn’t want to go out. Doesn’t want to make conversation, doesn’t even want to eat. But he can’t show any of that, not if he doesn’t want to be rendered inactive by the psychs. Being useful is all he has left.

What he does want, mostly, is to be taken out back like Old Yeller. But that isn’t an option. He doesn’t get the easy way out.

Absolutely delicious angst. Clint pretends to keep it together after Coulson's death. Then Coulson comes back and he kind of... shatters.

Wasn't Born A Beauty Queen (But I'm Okay With That) by thatdamneddame 

MCU | Clint/Coulson | Teen | 38,580 words

Philippa Coulson became Fury’s One Good Eye by being smart and relentlessly competent and notoriously difficult to faze.

This is a thing of beauty. Female Coulson. 38K words of mutual pining.

Words May Fail (The Body Remains) by ladyflowdi

MCU | Clint/Coulson | Explicit | 56,500 words

There's a beginning to every love story, Clint knows. Theirs just has more bullets and crazy people.

Great story of their whole relationship. Made me cry more than once. I wished more from the epilogue but not everyone has my love of 10K epilogues, so I'm used to not getting what I want in that respect.

Package Deal by Ralkana

MCU | Clint/Coulson | Teen | 12,300 words

Clint's new neighbor Phil is gorgeous, Phil's little girl Ella is adorable, and Clint finds himself completely drawn in by the combination.

I thought this was gonna be one of those fics in a bad way, but it turned out to be one of those fics in a cute way.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #38: Cú Chulainn (Caster)

That’s right, the good boy with the good boys is back once again for another DnD build. CasCú’s a Wildfire Druid, which replaces his wildshape ability with the ability to summon a flaming elemental to crush his enemies (convenient, huh?). 

As always, there’s a spreadsheet for the build, or you can check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut!

Race and Background

You’re the son of the sun, meaning you’re still an Aasimar. We’re changing things up a bit this time, though! Thanks to your dedication to being a guide in this spearless form, you’re not a fallen Aasimar, but a Protector Aasimar instead!. This gives you +1 to Wisdom and +2 to Charisma, 60′ of Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, Healing Hands that can heal your level in HP per long rest, and the Light cantrip.

Your background is a trickier question. You could have the same background as your other selves, but you seem to know a lot more than you’re letting on. That and your self-imposed ‘druid’ shtick should be just enough to push you into the Hermit background, giving you proficiency in Medicine and (It should be religion, but let’s swap it out for Arcana. Nobody will notice).

Stats

Your goal is to guide others, so your Wisdom and Intelligence are pretty high. You’re no Emiya, but you also don’t try to sit people down for a lecture in the middle of Fuyuki, so you’ve got that going for you. Next is your Dexterity, you may not have a spear but you do have your training. Following that is your Constitution; you’ve been trained by one of the most brutal masters out there, so even as a caster you’re pretty tough. After that is Charisma, you’re still pretty rough when it comes to dealing with other people outside of mentoring them. Finally, dump Strength. We don’t need it, nor do we want it.

Class Levels

1. As stated in the opening, you’re a Druid, and first level druids learn Druidic and how to cast Spells. Druidic is a secret written language that only you and other druids know and requires a perception check for others to even find, let alone decipher. You prepare spells from the druid spell list, and use your wisdom to cast them. Because they’re swapped out so easily, I won’t be covering individual spells here.

As a druid, you also get proficiency in Intelligence and Wisdom saving throws, as well as in two skills from the druid list, here Nature and Survival.

On top of their spells, druids get two cantrips, so grab Guidance because that’s what you do (and it won’t be useful past level one anyway) and Shillelagh because sometimes you’ll have to deal with people who refuse to learn. Shillelagh has the additional bonus of being almost as difficult to sound out as your own name.

2. At second level you gain Wild Shape, a.k.a. the reason druid won’t be showing up that often in these builds. At this level, you can use your action to transform into a beast with CR 1/4 or lower, as long as it doesn’t have a flying or swimming speed. A beast shape lasts for half your druid level in hours, and you can use it twice per short rest. In beast mode, you have the beast’s physical stats, your mental stats, and combine your proficiencies, using whichever is higher. You can’t cast spells, but you can use actions of spells you’ve already cast. Technically, we never see Cu turn into a bear in FGO, but we never see him say he can’t, so technically we’re still canon compliant.

You also join the wildfire circle this level, letting you Summon Wildfire Spirit. With this feature, you can burn a wild shape charge to instead create your Wicker Man, sort of. The wildfire spirit you can summon is technically small and can fly, but it’s nothing a little creativity won’t solve. You summon the spirit somewhere within 30′ of you, and every creature within 10′ of where it comes in must make a dex save vs your spell DC or take 2d6 fire damage. The spirit is friendly, but you have to use your bonus action each turn to give it orders. The spirit sticks around for an hour, until reduced to 0 hp, or until you summon another spirit.

You can also use your Wild Shape uses to summon a Wild Companion, giving you a free casting of Find Familiar. It’s not quite a wolf, but it’s something.

You also also get Circle spells, like Burning Hands and Cure Wounds. Good for you.

3. Third level druids get second level spells, including your circle spells Flaming Sphere and Scorching Ray. A little extra fire power (ha ha, funny pun) never hurt anyone-except who you want it to.

Also, your solar ancestry kicks in and you become a Radiant Soul. You can spend your action to transform in a different way for one minute, making your eyes glow and giving yourself spectral wings. You gain a flying speed of 30′, and can deal radiant damage equal to your level to something you’re already hitting once per turn. You can use this feature once per long rest.

4. You get a Wild Shape Improvement, letting you transform into beasts of CR 1/2 that can swim. You also get an Ability Score Improvement, which we’re spending on the Elemental Adept feat, because spoilers, we’re going to be using a lot of fire. Now you ignore resistance to fire, and you count 1s rolled on fire damage as 2s. Unfortunately, I don’t think this applies to Wicker Man, as they’re their own person.

Speaking of fire damage, you get another cantrip at this level, so grab Produce Flame to produce some flames.

5. Fifth level druids get third level spells, including your circle spells Revivify and Plant Growth. The latter gives you more stuff to set on fire, and the former will help out any teammates who wander too close to your firing range.

6. You now have an Enhanced Bond with your Wicker Man. While your wildfire spirit is active, you can add 1d8 to your fire or healing spells. This bonus only affects the damage or healing of one creature. You can also cast spells with a range longer than self from your wildfire spirit. This means your spirit can now cast Hold Person, which is the closest we’re getting to a proper rendition of your NP in this build.

7. You can now prepare fourth level spells! Your new circle spells are Aura of Life and Fire Shield. The latter is a good multipurpose “don’t hit me” spell, and the former is nice if your teammates refuse to stop dying in front of you.

8. Your Wild Shape improves once more, and you can now transform into any beast of CR 1 or lower. You’re pretty smart when it comes to using rune magic, so use your next ASI to become a Ritual Caster. When you get this feat, you learn two first level rituals from the wizard spell list, and you can learn even more by coming across other spells that have been written down. The spells you copy have to be half your level, rounded down.

9. You learn 5th level spells, including Flame Strike to marry your fire damage and radiant damage halves and Mass Cure Wounds to try and keep your various lancer forms from shindeiru-ing.

10. At tenth level, you get another cantrip. Druidcraft lets you see the future, and unlike most clairvoyance spells has no chance of being wrong. Forcing your DM to stick with a decision can be very powerful in the right circumstances. As a wildfire druid, you also learn to create Cauterizing Flames. When a small or larger creature dies near the Wicker Man, a spectral flame pops out of their corpse for a minute. You can use your reaction when a creature enters the same space as the flame to either heal them or deal fire damage. In either case, it’s 2d10+ your wisdom modifier. You can react this way a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency bonus.

11. You get 6th level spells, and unfortunately you no longer get any circle spells. I would suggest looking at Sunbeam for more radiant damage or Find the Path to enhance your role as a guide to others.

12. Use your next ASI to finally improve your ability score, specifically boosting Wisdom.

13. You get 7th level spells, and I’d suggest Fire Storm, for the obvious connection it has with your build.

14. Your last wildfire bonus is your Blazing Revival. If your spirit is nearby when you drop to 0 HP, your spirit can take the hit instead, healing you to half your hit points. You can use this once per long rest. Dying is for the other yous.

15. You gain the ability to prepare 8th level spells, including Sunburst.

16. Max out your Wisdom with this next ASI.

17. You can now prepare and cast any spell in the cleric spell list, including 9th level spells, including Foresight in case you want to be right in literally every way.

18. You now have a Timeless Body, which ages one year for every 10 that pass. You also get the Beast Spells feature, letting you cast spells from your wild shape, so long as they don’t have material components.

19. Put your last ASI into Constitution for better concentration and a little more survivability.

20. You become an Archdruid, giving you unlimited wild shape uses. You can also cast any spells in your wild shape, so long as it doesn’t include materials that cost money.

Pros: High level druids are already difficult to kill thanks to their wild shapes. You take it to a whole new level by cheating death with your Blazing Endurance, then immediately healing yourself back up with your Flames of Life. Your wildfire spirit is also very useful for casting spells at range. Picking up Ritual Caster also gives the build a lot of utility that doesn’t require your wild shape or spell slots to be useful.

Cons: Your wicker man doesn’t really hold up at higher levels. It will always have a low AC, and 1d6+6 fire damage per turn doesn’t mean much at level 20. Combined with your own reliance on fire damage, you may find yourself in situations where you can’t really use a major part of your build.

Looking on the positive side, this is just another chance for you to step back and help other members of the party be their best, which is the most in-character thing you can do.

Next time: We’re going swallow hunting.

[godboundrpgfans]

Guts in Godbound

  Guts, the Black Swordsman.

  One of the most badass characters in fiction.

  Not just for his sheer, unadulterated power and being everything a 90s Anti-Hero is expected to be, but also for being everything that a 90s Anti-Hero isn’t expected to be.

  Guts is a much more complex character than first glances would have you believe, and I don’t think I could do his character justice by talking about it here.

  Thankfully, that’s not why I’m here.

  I’m here because I was bored and got the bright idea to use the Godbound Character Creation System to create Guts.

  Why? Cause why the fuck not?

  Now before we start, I’m going to be doing two version of this character creation.

  The first will follow the standard character creation for a Godbound. You roll up/pick attributes, pick three Words, etc. For this, I will be creating Guts when he was still in the Band of the Hawk, right before he left. Since you could kind of consider that his “peak” before the Eclipse.

  The second version will be the same, except I won’t be using the 6 Point limit that the game gives you at the start. Instead, I will just give Guts any and all Gifts/Artifacts and otherwise that I believe he should have at this point in the Berserk Manga.

  With that out of the way, let’s begin!

  Standard Creation:

  Attribute Scores:

  8, 16, 13, 10, 12, 18

  I’ll wait until after I choose Words since those will have an affect on the Scores.

  Facts:

  Grew up in a Mercenary Band

The Raiding Captain for the Band of the Hawks

Has formed a deep friendship with all of the major members

  Since this is Guts before the Eclipse, I feel these would be the best Facts to use as his Origin, Past Profession, and Relationship.

  Armor: Medium (AC 5; -4 Save Penalty)

Weapon: Greatsword (1d10; Heavy)

Goals: Find his own Dream so he can stand next to Griffith.

  I’ll put the penalty towards Evasion (Guts was never known to be very dodgy).

  Divine Powers/Words:

  Sword (He’s been using a Greatsword since he was about 5 years old. It’d make sense he’s really fucking good with them)

  Endurance (Guts is fucking durable. Seriously, even before he became the Black Swordsman he was surviving shit that would kill normal people. See his fight with Zodd or Wyald for examples)

  Luck (I was going to put Might here, but as strong as Guts is, during his time as Raider Captain in the Band of the Hawk, he didn’t do anything that really showed off physical strength. Most of the crazy shit he did (such as break through a cast iron door) was with his Sword. So, instead I’m choosing Luck as, let’s face it, Guts has been exceedingly lucky during most of his fights. While it hasn’t exactly made his life sunshine and rainbows, it’s allowed him to survive fight after fight when paired with his unending willpower)

  Now to set up the Attribute Scores:

  Str: 18 (+3): Check: 3

Dex: 13 (+1): Check: 8

Con: 18 (+3): Check 3

Int: 8 (-1): Check: 13

Wis: 12 (+0): Check: 9

Char: 10 (+0): Check: 11

  And here’s our final scores. I set Strength and Constitution the highest for obvious reason (go watch any montage of Guts and you’ll understand). Dexterity is the way it is cause, while Guts is fast, he’s not exactly someone I could see dodging all over the place like a ninja. He’s a much bigger and easier to hit target than someone like, say, Griffith. Wisdom and Charisma are the way they are cause Guts is perceptive, just not too perceptive. On top of that, while he himself is very gruff and not much of a smooth talker, he does seem to attract the opposite sex to him a lot….even the same sex to an extent. And Intelligence is the lowest stat cause….well obvious reasons. Guts is not book smart in the slightest. He knows a lot about surviving on his own or in the wilderness, but he won’t be solving any advanced math problems.

Gifts:

Defy the Iron (While not necessarily negating the damage, Guts is able to ignore most attacks and keep moving even when they should be fatal)

Nine Lives (The dude seems to always luck out on events that would kill him. Look at his fight against Gambino or Bazuso)

Unerring Blade (Do I even need to explain why he gets this one?)

Cutting the Crimson Road (I was actually having trouble deciding between this or Shattering Hand. In the end I chose this one, since one of his most defining moments is when he fought 100 soldiers and won).

Body of Iron Will (Just to give him an AC of 3 and represent how his body is tough as shit).

  With that, here’s what the final Character Sheet Looks like for Guts:

  Name: Guts

  Facts:

Grew up in a Mercenary Band

The Raiding Captain for the Band of the Hawks

Has formed a deep friendship with all of the major members

  Attributes:

  Str: 18 (+3): Check: 3

Dex: 13 (+1): Check: 8

Con: 18 (+3): Check 3

Int: 8 (-1): Check: 13

Wis: 12 (+0): Check: 9

Char: 10 (+0): Check: 11

  Words:

Sword

Endurance

Luck

  Gifts:

Defy the Iron

Nine Lives

Unerring Blade

Cutting the Crimson Road

Body of Iron Will

  Weapons: Greatsword (1d10; Heavy; Atk Bonus: +1; Attribute Bonus: Str)

  Armor: Medium (AC 5; -4 Penalty to a Save)

  AC: 3

  HP: 11

  Saves:

Hardiness (Con): 12

Evasion (Dex): 18 (Base 14)

Spirit: (Wis): 15

  And here we are, Guts before he became the Black Swordsman as a Godbound. Now then, on to what I would give him if I had full freedom and didn’t have to worry about point limits.

  Free Version:

  I’m keeping the same Attribute Scores, but the Facts will be different:

  Facts:

  Grew up in a Mercenary Band

The Raiding Captain for the Band of the Hawks

Has formed a deep friendship with all of the major members

Is marked by the Brand of Sacrifice

Has given up his Revenge against Griffith to protect/help Casca, the woman he loves

Has killed over 1,000 Demons

Wields the Dragonslayer

Wears the Berserker Armor

Is haunted by his Beast of Darkness

His companions keep him grounded

He lost his arm and eye, now he has a mechanical arm.

  These are all of the obvious Facts that would be included after the current part of the manga.

  Following that, I would add in these Words:

  Might (By this point, and with the help of his mechanical arm, he has shown that his physical strength is just as strong as an Apostle’s)

  Peak Human (Guts has gone well beyond the realm of a normal mortal by this point. He has proven that, despite not having any real, inherent magical powers, he is able to go toe-to-toe with Apostles, Sea Gods, Demons, Constructs, and just about any supernatural creature that steps in his path. By now, I’d say he’s right on the cusp of being Superhuman)

  Vengeance (Though he has given up on getting revenge against Griffith, it is still a defining characteristic for him, and something he draws strength from)

  Gifts:

  Fear No Steel (At this point, normal weapons are like tickles to Guts.)

Fist of Black Iron (He literally has a fist of black iron)

Loosening God’s Teeth (He can cut an Apostle in half with one swing of his sword)

Contempt of Distance (Guts seems to be able to move to wherever the hell he wants when he needs to kill something)

Thirsting Razor (There are normally too many enemies in front of Guts for him to even worry about hitting Mobs)

All Natural (Guts’ abilities don’t really appear very magical, and that’s because most of them aren’t. Alot of them are from either pure sweat and hard work, determination, or his own equipment)

Mortal’s Luck (The dude never stays down)

Trained Aim (He always seems to hit whatever he aims at…it’s just that most things he aims at has enough armor or scaled hide to resist it)

Human Grit (And how. The dude is able to heal from fatal wounds faster than any other human in his world)

Indomitable Will (Do I really have to explain this one?)

Street Sweeper (Have you seen the size of his sword?)

Bloody Vengeance (Guts loves to use all or nothing attacks that immensely damage both him and his enemy)

Shattering Hand (Dragonslayer. That is all)

  Artifacts:

  Dragonslayer:

  A great sword that is like a hunk of raw iron. This blade has bathed in the blood of so many demons that it now rest on both the Mortal and Astral planes, turning it into a magical weapon that can harm both spiritual and physical creatures. Due to its massive size, it can also be used to block projectiles and smash through any type of armor.

Effort: 5

Hunk of Raw Iron (Greater Gift): As an Action, the wielder may Commit Effort from the artifact to launch an attack at every enemy within sight, doing a maximum of 1 damage even on a miss. Mobs are automatically hit for 1d10+15 rolled straight.

Too Thick, Too Rough (Lesser Gift): As an Action, Commit Effort from the artifact to immediately break any armor, weapon, or piece of equipment in range of the sword. Any magical substance is not destroyed, but damaged to the point where it is almost useless.

The Berserker Armor:

  An ancient, magical armor from the time of the first Emperor, the Berserker Armor is a black and spiked. It completely encases the wearer when it is equipped. It is considered heavy armor and can defend against most attacks, including magical ones. However, the armor’s true ability comes from its power to lock off the wielder’s nervous system, pushing their body to heights that a normal human could never reach. There is a downside to this, as the armor will remove the wielder’s sense of self and cause them to view everything as an enemy. On top of this, the armor does not heal the wearer, instead holding their body together and preventing them from dying to any injury. Once all living creatures have been defeated, all of the wearer’s damage will return full force and can kill them instantly if it is more than their HP can handle.

Effort 10

Unstoppable Rampage (Greater Gift): Commit Effort from the Artifact to immediately gain three bonus Attacks that can be used on this round only.

Jump Good (Lesser Gift): Commit Effort from the Artifact to instantly leap to any spot within double your movement speed. This does not count as an Action.

Beast of Darkness (Greater Gift): This Gift can activate whenever you kill an enemy as long as you wear the armor. At the end of a round, if you’ve killed an enemy, roll a Spirit Save. If you fail, this Gift activates. Commit Effort from the Artifact to remove all limits on your body and lose yourself to your inner beast. You lose the ability to make rational decision on the battlefield, and see even your friends as enemies. In return, all of your attacks now deal 1d12+10 Straight Damage, you gain two bonus Actions, you become immune to all mental, emotional, or psychological damage, your attacks shatter any substance even if it is magical in nature, and your attack bonus is now +10. Whenever you take damage, record it somewhere else. Once the battle is over, you must make a Spirit Save to regain control of yourself. If you fail, you must keep fighting everything around you, even if they are your allies, making a Spirit Save each round to regain yourself. If you pass, make a Hardiness Save. If you pass that Save, you only take half of the damage you took during battle rounded up. If you fail, you take the full damage straight.

So now, our final Guts sheet, looks like this:

  Name: Guts

  Facts:

Grew up in a Mercenary Band

The Raiding Captain for the Band of the Hawks

Has formed a deep friendship with all of the major members

Is marked by the Brand of Sacrifice

Has given up his Revenge for Casca the woman he loves

Has killed over 1,000 Demons

Wields the Dragonslayer

Wears the Berserker Armor

Is haunted by his Beast of Darkness

His companions keep him grounded

He lost his arm and eye, now he has a mechanical arm.

  Attributes:

  Str: 19 (+4): Check: 2

Dex: 18 (+3): Check: 3

Con: 18 (+3): Check 3

Int: 13 (+1): Check: 8

Wis: 13 (+1): Check: 8

Char: 13 (+1): Check: 8

  Words:

Sword

Endurance

Luck

Peak Human

Might

Vengeance

  Gifts:

Defy the Iron

Nine Lives

Unerring Blade

Cutting the Crimson Road

Body of Iron Will

Fear No Steel

Fist of Black Iron

Loosening God’s Teeth

Contempt of Distance

Thirsting Razor

All Natural

Mortal’s Luck

Trained Aim

Human Grit

Indomitable Will

Street Sweeper

Bloody Vengeance

Shattering Hand

  Weapons: Dragonslayer (1d10; Heavy; Atk Bonus: +1; Attribute Bonus: Str)

  Armor: Berserker Armor (AC 3; -4 Penalty to 2 Saves)

  AC: 3

  HP: 11

  Saves:

Hardiness (Con): 15 (Base 11)

Evasion (Dex): 16 (Base 12)

Spirit: (Wis): 14

  Artifacts:

  Dragonslayer:

  A great sword that is like a hunk of raw iron. This blade has bathed in the blood of so many demons that it now rest on both the Mortal and Astral planes, turning it into a magical weapon that can harm both spiritual and physical creatures. Due to its massive size, it can also be used to block projectiles and smash through any type of armor.

Effort: 5

Hunk of Raw Iron (Greater Gift): As an Action, the wielder may Commit Effort from the artifact to launch an attack at every enemy within sight, doing a maximum of 1 damage even on a miss. Mobs are automatically hit for 1d10+15 rolled straight.

Too Thick, Too Rough (Lesser Gift): As an Action, Commit Effort from the artifact to immediately break any armor, weapon, or piece of equipment in range of the sword. Any magical substance is not destroyed, but damaged to the point where it is almost useless.

The Berserker Armor:

  An ancient, magical armor from the time of the first Emperor, the Berserker Armor is a black, spiked armor that completely encases the wearer. It is considered heavy armor and can defend against most attacks, including magical ones. However, the armor’s true ability comes from its power to lock off the wielder’s nervous system, pushing their body to heights that a normal human could never reach. There is a downside to this, as the armor will remove the wielder’s sense of self and cause them to view everything as an enemy. On top of this, the armor does not heal the wearer, instead holding their body together and preventing them from dying to any injury. Once all living creatures have been defeated, all of the wearer’s damage will return full force and can kill them instantly if it is more than their HP can handle.

Effort 10

Unstoppable Rampage (Greater Gift): Commit Effort from the Artifact to immediately gain three bonus Attacks that can be used on this round only.

Jump Good (Lesser Gift): Commit Effort from the Artifact to instantly leap to any spot within double your movement speed. This does not count as an Action.

Beast of Darkness (Greater Gift): This Gift can activate whenever you kill an enemy as long as you wear the armor. At the end of a round, if you’ve killed an enemy, roll a Spirit Save. If you fail, this Gift activates. Commit Effort from the Artifact to remove all limits on your body and lose yourself to your inner beast. You lose the ability to make rational decision on the battlefield, and see even your friends as enemies. In return, all of your attacks now deal 1d12+10 Straight Damage, you gain two bonus Actions, you become immune to all mental, emotional, or psychological damage, your attacks shatter any substance even if it is magical in nature, and your attack bonus is now +10. Whenever you take damage, record it somewhere else. Once the battle is over, you must make a Spirit Save to regain control of yourself. If you fail, you must keep fighting everything around you, even if they are your allies, making a Spirit Save each round to regain yourself. If you pass, make a Hardiness Save. If you pass that Save, you only take half of the damage you took during battle rounded up. If you fail, you take the full damage straight.

  And there we go. I would’ve added another Gift to the Dragonslayer, but I couldn’t think of what to put there.

  So, there you go. How I would stat Guts as a Godbound.

  Feedback would be appreciated, and if you think there are things I could’ve added or done better, please let me know.

[walker-journal]

Moon’s Ebb (POTW, Adam, Orion, Nell, Connor)

Context: As the Hunter’s Moon is coming to an end, Nell, Orion, and Connor confront Adam. 

Location: Dark Score Lake (Glass), Sunrise

Content Warnings: Passing Descriptions of Gore (not detailed), Mental Instability (Hunter’s Moon)

Time had become meaningless to Adam long before the faint glimmer of light had appeared on the far horizon, softening the night to a livid bruise where black was not quite blue yet. 

The glass surface of Dark Score Lake was a mirror to the sky, a little flicker of the nascent sun discoloring its eastern shore.

The moon was still brilliant burning ivory in Adam’s veins. How long had he been killing? Hunting? Sprinting nonstop through the forest and urban alleys? Adam didn’t know, the surges of endorphins that’d swelled higher and higher with each kill had made him numb to any fatigue or pain. Everything was just manic anticipation, climax of evisceration, and hot spilt blood keeping the night’s chill off his skin. 

But as the sun’s tiny candle challenged the moon for supremacy, a hint of rational thought managed to push its way through the Hunter’s thirty six hour high. He remembered that his name was Adam and...maybe...he was forgetting something. 

But there were footsteps, smells, more heartbeats approaching. Adam rose from the dismembered mass of skinless flesh and exposed ribs that’d been a person before his knife had gone to work. He stepped over more once humanoid shapes of carnage, leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the lake’s glass.

It had only been a day and a half since they’d left one another by the very same lake, and as Nell’s tracking spell led her and company towards Adam, the scenery was much changed. There was a new ball of tension in her chest, uncertain what might come of this confrontation, but hoping that she, Rio, and Connor would get the hunter back with as little pain as possible. The bloody figure approaching from the horizon wasn’t one she’d ever expected to need be wary of, but at this point it would be foolish to approach without some sense of caution. She paused at the lake’s edge, having no desire to test her and her friends’ balancing abilities when it came to finding purchase on the slick surface of the glass. If things did get physical in the end, it’d make for terrible footing. Murmuring to Rio and Connor, she wondered if Adam could already hear their voices. “I think we should stick close. It’d be easier to pick us off if we fanned out or anything like that.” But at the same time this was meant to be a deescalation, and huddling together might appear as more of a risk. Unfortunately there wasn’t a handbook on talking down murder-infected, super-powered humans. Then she spoke to the reason why they were here in the first place. “Adam?” she began tentatively, trying her best not to appear as a threat or worth killing— as if she were speaking to some creature she’d stumbled upon in the extensive forest of White Crest. “Are you ready to go home?”

The night was giving way to dawn, distant streaks of purple leaking into the blackness of the sky. Even without the spell, they might have been able to find Adam with just the trail of blood and destruction. Bloody hell (literally), this was a mess. Connor hadn't known Adam that long, but he'd seen something in him the first time they'd met down by the river. All he'd wanted to do was help and end suffering. Now, he was causing it, a human wrecking ball who had become a force unto himself. "Imagine how bad it would've been if he actually had turned into a wolf," Connor murmured to his companions. 

He stuck close, like Nell had said, though he didn't really know why they'd needed Rio here, the lad was deceptively strong. Connor had practically got a semi watching him break that lock with his bare hands back when they'd first met. He stood up a little straighter when they finally caught up to Adam. Connor felt the need to project strength, not in a machismo sort of way, but in a please-don't-pick-me-off kind of way. The kind of body language that said I'm here for you, and please don't kill me. "You alright mate?" he asked. "Been on a bit of a bender, yeah? Come and sleep it off. I have some weed cookies in the car that’ll really take the edge off." 

Orion had kept his arms crossed the entire trip to the lake. Part of him wasn’t convinced he should even come along at all. But despite the anger and confusion, the idea of Adam getting hurt because of this still made Rio sick to his stomach. “Yeah well, wolf or not, Adam is still plenty dangerous on his own. So be careful.” He had no idea how much Connor knew about Adam, and despite maybe not deserving the luxury of privacy, Rio had no interest in outing Adam to anybody. The plan seemed simple enough. Keep Adam safe, keep Nell and Connor safe from Adam. Rio stayed back while Nell and Connor talked to Adam, opting instead to eye the man, covered in blood. His breath caught at the sight, but he tried to make sure that nothing gave his fear or anger away. “Be careful. He seems… off.”

Adam ran a gore-caked fingernails absently through hair matted with blood and stray sinews. However, the bloodshot eyes staring out from the Hunter’s scarlet-spattered face didn’t contain much sign of recognition. Even when Adam’s chapped lips smoothed in a languid smile, the soft expression didn’t march the monomaniacal intensity of his gaze. 

It seemed to take Adam a bit to realize that they were addressing him, as if he’d simply expected everyone to start ripping each other apart the way nature intended.  

“Home,” he questioned in the warm baritone whose tone was soft but unsteady on the edges of the syllables. “I uh,” Adam’s facial muscles flinched at some thunderous sound. “Your hearts are racing,” he claimed eagerly. “Fast so fucking fast...god you’re so alive …”

In a single motion Hunter made a standing jump whose high arc carried him forty feet forward, slamming down near the lake’s shore. Glass shattered outward in a fractal spiderweb from the impact point. 

“You’ve come to take my edge off Connor,” Adam repeated softly as more glass shard snapped during his advance on the group, fingers spinning a knife whose edge had been nicked over hours of sawing through bone and gristle. 

Nell nodded carefully as Adam seemed to question the concept of home, resisting the urge to draw a weapon of her own. No doubt that would only escalate things. Still she let her magic gather as Adam launched himself closed in a feat that would have been impressive had it not also proven that the hunter was far stronger than any of them could hope to be at the moment. “Yeah- home,” Nell repeated evenly, trying to lock onto Adam’s gaze and pull his focus. “You could see Terry- have some food. Have you eaten? It’d be nice. I could come too, if you wanted.”

Instinctively, Nell took a step between Adam and Connor, remembering how she hadn’t wanted the exorcist coming in the first place. Her eyes flickered to the way the twirling knife reflected the first light of the day before returning to Adam, knowing that any movement he’d make would probably be impossible to fully dodge at this point with how juiced up he was. A shield spell teetered on the edge of her lips. While she hoped she wouldn’t need it, it was ready to be uttered nonetheless. “What about the whole getting the moon in us?” she asked, latching onto one of the things the hunter had said earlier. “Maybe that’s what Connor was talking about. Rio might even want to, as well. All together, right? Find something to get us going.” If they could just outrun the last of the moon, maybe this would work.

If Connor hadn't been convinced that Adam wasn't quite your average human before this, well, now the jig was up. He did his best not to flinch. Shit, he did his best not to crap his pants and run the fuck away. Yeah, his heart was racing - good fucking observational skills, Adam - because he was terrified, and he tried really hard not to look it as Adam jumped what appeared to be about half the length of a football pitch. No wonder Nell was so intent on keeping Connor out of this. Now, he understood, but he wasn’t about to back down. 

"Yeah, take the edge off," Connor repeated, nodding. "We can have some drinks, get you a shower, you can sleep all this off." But somehow, he knew it wasn't quite that simple. He just wanted Adam to believe it could be, even if just for a moment. "Come on, my Jeep's parked not too far off. It's nice and warm." And hopefully not about to be stained with my blood. 

It hadn’t seriously crossed Orion’s mind that they might be in danger until now. Sure, Adam had been acting weird and Rio knew how dangerous Adam could be. But he wouldn’t hurt them right? Even if things were weird and Adam wasn’t in the right frame of mind. But looking at him now, Rio wasn’t sure if anything. This wasn’t Adam at all. Not the Adam that Rio had gotten to know. Nell and Connor wanted to talk it out with him. But it was hard to focus with the smell of blood overwhelming Rio’s senses. It was so strong that Rio was starting to get dizzy, but he tried to force himself to move ahead. Rio had no chance of fighting off Adam. But Rio had the best chance of surviving if things got physical. Both Nell and Connor were on the right track, talking softly at him, even asking to join on on the fun. Could Rio manage to play along without completely losing his cool, and maybe his dinner? “Adam... please listen to them. Can you put the knife down?”

Unnatural power burned in Adam’s veins like a fever, filling him with a savage vivacity even beyond his already superhuman abilities. But sweat trickled down Adam’s forehead, cutting thin lines through the blood covering his face as the hints of dawn spreading across Dark Score Lake’s mirrored surface started to erode the moon’s grip. “Terry uh...no like..I haven’t,” he mumbled while momentarily meeting Nell’s eyes, a flicker of humanity surfacing in a state of confusion. 

But his head snapped around at Connor and Orion’s words. The Hunter actually seemed about to assent their request to come with them and put the knife down before a tensing of muscles in his shoulders signaled that train of thought breaking apart. 

“Rio you need to let the moon in,” Adam insisted with manic intensity as he offered his gory knife to Orion handle-first. “Never be afraid again,” he asserted with what a lunatic shade of genuine compassion touching his voice. “Nobody’ll ever hurt you again,” Adam pressed, continuing to reach the knife’s handle unto Orion as if ushering him into some ancient rite.

“You’ll need to bleed one though…”

Adam moved with a speed impossible even for a Hunter, lunging forward to grab at Connor with a whiplash celerity, apparently intending the Exorcist as a sacrifice to induct Orion into the madness. 

Nell could only watch as Adam moved so quickly he nearly blurred, her brain taking an extra second to even realize that the hunter had grabbed for Connor in the first place. It wasn’t ideal, but if she squinted enough it might actually lead to a better situation. Adam was offering Rio his knife, and though she suspected the moon-addled hunter might have another weapon stashed elsewhere, if Rio took the knife— it’d be one weapon down, wouldn’t it? “Go ahead and start it Rio,” she said quickly, hoping he’d get the hint of accepting the weapon, a semi-peaceful way to at least momentarily disarm Adam. 

She glanced towards the sun another time, willing it to rise faster with an irony that wasn’t lost on her. After all, hadn’t it only been a day and a half ago she’d wanted it to slow as it set over the horizon? The three of them still needed to burn time, and try and stretch these moments as long as they could. This time she stepped towards Rio, standing alongside Connor as another selection to be carved. “Why don’t you do me, though? I’m used to sacrifices and stuff, you know?” It wasn’t the strongest argument, but perhaps she could finesse some way around actually getting sliced if Rio chose her, whether it was illusion magic or some other option she’d yet to think of. Or maybe he could stall between his two choices, buying them a few more moments of dawn.

“Wait, wait, this wasn’t what we agr--” Connor never got to finish his words before Adam moved with preternatural speed, grabbing him so firmly that he thought he was in a vice. He struggled to talk, to breathe with Adam’s grip so tight on him. “Adam, no, don’t--Rio, don’t do it!” He knew Rio wouldn’t actually do anything, but Adam he wasn’t so sure of. He could feel the heat of Adam’s body against his own. “This… isn’t exactly how I fantasised about you holding me, buddy,” he joked morbidly. Maybe he could break Adam with humor. God, he reeked. Like a butcher’s slaughterhouse. He looked at Nell and Rio, eyes searching their faces. They had to have some kind of plan, right? He instinctively fought against Adam. Plan or not, he wasn’t going to just let it happen. It was no use. Adam’s body might as well have been made of concrete with the amount of give it had. Once the sun was up, they were going to have to have a real fucking long conversation. If he made it that long. “Adam, please… just let me go. It’ll be okay.” 

Even by hunter standards, Adam was incredibly fast. When Adam had offered the knife towards Orion it hadn’t take any time for him to begin shaking his head to decline the offer. Stalling or not, Rio had no interest in holding onto the knife that had been used to kill people. But before Rio could even find words, Adam had already reached forward, grabbing onto Connor and locking him into place. Rio jumped at the sudden movement, covering his mouth with his palm to stop himself from screaming. This couldn’t be happening. “Fine! Okay? Fine.” Despite the cold biting at his face, Rio was sweating. A mixture of the sweat and tears that he knew would be coming stung at his eyes, but Rio didn’t dare wipe at them. Hearing Nell nudge him along, Rio held out a shaky hand and carefully wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade. All the anger that he had held for Adam on their way here had been replaced by fear. If Rio didn’t do something, Adam could grow tired soon. Connor was too important for Rio to hurt, but if he didn’t what would stop Adam from finishing the job for him? Nell’s suggestion broke through Rio’s panic. He had seen her in action before. He knew he could trust her. “Not him. Please. I care about him.” Rio tried to keep his voice leveled as he slowly swung his arm around and pointed the bloodied edge of the knife towards Nell, “I want her.” The words made Rio’s voice crack, but he kept his expression hardened. He just wanted this to be over. If they could just hold out for a bit longer. “Tell me what to do.”

Orange spread across the mirrored lake, refracting rays of mauve and gold dawn through the surrounding trees. Dark Score Lake’s glass filled with radiance as if morning had been poured into a bowl. The moon became wane and faint in the brightening livid sky. 

Adam was sweating in the manner of a fever breaking or an amphetamine high being finally being flushed from his system. At Orion’s request to kill Nell instead, Adam hesitated, looking at the Exorcist struggling in his submission hold for a moment as if truly comprehending who Connor was for the first time. “Yeah me neither,” he affirmed to Connor, unpinning the other young man’s arms, remaining his bicep from the crook of Connor’s neck, and freeing him from the hold. “I wish I hadn’t…”

Adam’s bloodstained features turned between Orion and Nell, dilated pupils deep pits seemed to drink in the morning shadows still cast by the overhanging trees. The unnatural power that’d been coursing through Adam for these past days and nights ebbed as those shadows grew shorter with the rising sun. That inexhaustible vitality gradually gave way to a weariness more appropriate to someone who had been running and fighting nonstop, the last faint traces of the Hunter Moon's power and sheer mania were perhaps the only things keeping him from collapsing. 

“Why are you crying,” he asked Rio hoarsely. “I don't want to either …,” Adam shook his head as if struggling to think over some painful sound, “Stop..stop it!” 

He seemed to regain focus, pointing from Orion to Nell. “You need to do it, because it’ll...” Adam bit his chapped bottom lip as that murderous clarity of purpose burned its way out of his veins. “We need to do it now! C’mon slash her just…get her life all over you!” 

Adam’s hoarse voice broke as he tried to shout at Orion, dilated eyes filled with both confused mania and tears. “C’mon! Do it!” 

“It’s okay, Rio,” Nell said reflexively, not wanting to cause any more distress than was already at hand. Sympathy twisted in her gut as she watched the struggle that was beginning to emerge in Adam’s voice, the dawn warming her face ever so slightly as the sun continued its determined ascent. Apparently it was just as eager to end this night as the little gathering on the side of the lake was. While the hunter’s words began to border on hysteria, Nell turned back in the direction of Adam, moving slowly with deliberate and careful motions. It seemed like he was cracking as more glimmers of the person she knew were shining through here and there. Maybe this was the time to try and wiggle through those slivers of light, and see if he could be pulled through them into the brisk, morning air.

“Adam—” she started gently, reaching forwards in an attempt to take his wrists in her hands, not unlike the way she had when they’d performed her supposed last magic together. “I don’t think you want to do this. Not really.” She tried to find his gaze with her own, even with his eyes as crazed as his were. “You don’t wanna do this. Connor doesn’t wanna do this. Rio doesn’t wanna. And me-” she paused with a shake of her head before continuing on. “I don’t wanna die, Adam. Not like this. We’re your friends. And you’re our friend.” It wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was the best Nell knew how to do in their current situation. “We can go to the house and get you cleaned up- and you need to rest and get food. I bet Taki would wanna see you.” Maybe trying to jog his memory of past recollections would bring him back. 

Connor gasped like he was experiencing oxygen for the first time as Adam let him go. He lay there for a few moments before being able to muster the energy to stand. It hadn't hurt, at least in the physical sense. Nell's protection spell had taken care of that. But God, it had shaken him. It was almost as if Connor hadn't believed Adam could do this until he was right there with a knife to his throat. 

"Not her either," he pleaded, standing upright, a little shakily. Something was changing in Adam, light returning to him as the streaks of orange leaked into the sky. "Not Nell! Dude! C'mon, Adam, look at her. You know she's right. We don't wanna die, okay? Nobody else has to die. I've seen death. It comes back to haunt me. Literally. Trust me, man. You don't wanna cause any more of it." Connor looked at Nell, Adam, Rio, desperation filling his gaze. He just had to keep him occupied a little longer, just had to keep delaying. He nodded at Nell's words. "Come home with us. Please." 

It was harder and harder for Orion to maintain his composure throughout this. Tensions were high between everyone. Connor’s fear, Nell’s pleading and Adam’s own conflict. Something was changing, a shift in Adam that was slowly becoming more and more apparent. He was growing desperate, as if time was actually running out. The frantic voice cut at Rio. He had never heard Adam sound like anything other than the calm and collected persona he put on. Even when he was injured or exhausted he had always tried to keep the image going. Now, in between these two moods Rio thought he may actually be the most dangerous he had ever been. 

“Listen to them. Please.” Rio joined in with Nell and Connor, begging the man to stop whatever he was doing. The knife became harder to hold the shakier his hands got. As much as he wanted to hold onto it just in case the worst would happen, the toll of the weapon became too heavy for Rio to keep hold of. The knife slipped from his hand and hit the grass below. “I can’t do this. You know I can’t do this,” Rio admitted, knowing full well that the real Adam knew Rio would never be able to do what he had been asking. He held up his hands in surrender and took a few steps forward, “Please don’t hurt them. If you have to do something… if you can’t fight this. Pick me. Don’t touch them. It’ll be over soon, okay? Just please keep fighting this.” 

“You have to!” Adam grabbed the knife from the ground and sprinted towards Orion in one seamless blur of motion, attempting to thrust the knife inches away from  the younger Hunter’s jugular. 

“Struggle! Fuck it! You need to struggle Oreo,” Adam yelled in hysterical mania, voice a harsh crack against the rustling awakening of birds and breezing branches of autumnal golds. “I’m going to kill you! You're going to die!” Adam kept pressing the dagger almost at Orion’s throat, seeming to threaten and beg the other Hunter at the same time. “We need,” he swallowed as the words came up fast. “This is all there is Oreo! Kill to live! Nothing else! Dammit, I will fucking open you up!” The knife pressed closer “C’mon let it in! “

“Please..,” Adam plead as morning burned away the night’s shadows

But even though Orion had told Adam to pick him and the next kill to restore the his rush of vitality and adrenaline was an inch away, Adam hesitated. The window of opportunity to renew himself with the moon’s power one last time shut. The sun rose over the trees and in its light Adam was just a mortal man again.  

“Oh god…”

Adam looked down at the knife in his bloodstained hands, caked to the nails with gore. Revelation came in a subtle softening of the Hunter’s imbrued features. Mania became confusion. Confusion calmed to clarity. Clarity deepened to opened-mouthed horror. Ay last horror became a cascade of despairing weariness, tears of sheer exhaustion finally coming after days and nights of carnage. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Adam rasped thickly, the charnel-house stench of murder clinging to his clothes as dawn washed away the touch moonlight.

[talltales]

                                    —HEY NOW, HEY NOW, DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER                                     HEY NOW, HEY NOW, WHEN THE WORLD COMES IN                                     THEY COME, THEY COME, TO BUILD A WALL BETWEEN US                                     WE KNOW THEY WON'T WIN                                                            anonymous request!!

NOTICE: violence (murder, mentions of cannibalism), heavy sexual content

               “i just painted my nails.”

blankly, she flicks away the blood trickling down her hand and turns it over to inspect the chipped pink polish peeling off with it. her trigger finger relaxes minutely, but her gun remains aimed at the deathly still men at her feet, staring sightlessly into the cloudless, red sky.

“i didn’t think you were that kind of girl.” the click of the clip being slatted into his own weapon accompanies his droll retort. she glances over her shoulder to find yugyeom leaning against the hood of their car, arms crossed loosely across his chest; dark eyes fixed upon the flow of blood across hot concrete.

before it reaches the tip of her shoes, she sidesteps and moves to rifle through the belongings peeking from their pockets. her gun is slipped into the old leather holster at her hip before she pulls a wallet from the closest man, “i was always that kind of girl. it isn’t my fault you never paid attention.”

she spares her companion a look and then turns back to the worn billfold, tossing the plethora of id cards contained into the summer wind, “looks like he was collecting trophies from his kills.”

“how barbaric.” yugyeom hums, impassive. his nose crinkles, however—offended by the emerging malodor of decay, “they reek. are you ready to go?”

“just a minute.”

the few bills contained within are deposited into her back pocket. discarded identification cards bearing the faces of strangers skitter across the road as she makes work of the other male’s wallet and, for good measure, plucks his half-empty carton of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

“got yours?” he slides off the hood of their old black mustang, slapping a palm against the hot metal before opening the driver side door, “because we need to start making some distance if they’ve got friends.”

“you’re a broken record, you know?”

“i’ll stop repeating myself when you start listening.”

the cool flow of a/c when she gets in is a welcome sensation. there are, after all, few luxuries left in a world that has gone to hell and dragged every survivor with it.

her thumb hovers over the radio dial out of habit, turning it on to catch nothing but muted static.

the radio broadcast had stopped four months ago.

where an endless stream of music and advertisements had once been, there was only white noise; broken only by the occasional snare laid by opportunistic hunters. assuming that there was prey left. at least the ones who would believe the theatric cries for help, transmitting on repeat in the early morning hours.

without the loose guide of societal standards, humanity turned on itself. cannibalized the weak. she hits the off button and releases a heavy breath; sinks into her seat as yugyeom starts the engine. what an ugly place to be—

to be left behind in.

“what is it?” his attention is on the road, intent as he navigates smoothly past the still-warm bodies and the last remnants of their victims, innocent things blowing away in the desert wind, “you’re thinking too much.“

“i know. i’m just wondering how many of those fuckers can possibly be hiding out here. how many people they’ve killed, and for what?” her teeth sink into her lower lip, biting down until the dull ache draws her mind back—to the scent of leather and gunpowder and the droll, knowing look yugyeom gives her, “for useless pieces of plastic? money that can only be spent in camps where they’ll be shot on sight?”

one instinct had survived the dissolution of the world, after all. people knew a wanted man when they saw one.

“you know why.” he hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “i shouldn’t have to remind you.”

“humor me.”

the conversation is an old one, repeated for the sake of soothing what remains of her conscience. stubborn as it is, it comes to life in moments like these; when the adrenaline fades away and she is left with blood caked under her nails and the smell of copper clinging to her skin.

“they kill for the thrill of it.” for her sake, yugyeom answers. the words flow easily, as if he’sreciting a memorized poem; an old story told a time too many. “they enjoy it.”

“i enjoy it.” she confesses, not for the first time. she stretches as the seat allows, arching her back as her fingertips brush the roof; the telltale click of her spine realigning itself brings a fleeting sense of relief. she speaks to the spotted, hazy glass of the sunroof, “i enjoy hunting them and putting them down.”

the blood-red sky is cloudless; speckled only with the brightest starlight breaking through the atmosphere.

“so do i,” he says, and the matter is settled.

again.

—

“so wound up,” she breathes, grazing the curve of his jaw with slow, wet kisses; deft fingers threading through his hair, “i wanted to help,” rolling her hips in a hard grind, she almost chuckles at the way he twitches inside her; the way every muscle in his body seems to tense simultaneously as she darts her tongue out to taste the sweat beading above his collarbone, “but i guess i’m not—should i stop?”

her head spins, body seared by the window beneath her palm and the pressure of the steering wheel digging into the dip of her spine. but it is the ebb and flow of his rhythm that renders her breathless; makes her feel like she’s suffocating the most exquisite way.

she muffles her cries against his throat and centers her attention on the wild skipping of his pulse under her tongue.

yugyeom’s jaw tightens and the next sound that escapes is half-protest, half-groan. she feels the weight of him, pressing into her hips from contrasting directions; his thumbs scoring marks against her skin—his hips canting up to meet hers, languid and deep.

she catches his words after a delayed moment in which her mind stutters to a stop when he brushes a spot inside her that makes her see stars.

“don’t you fucking dare.” it’s quiet, so very quiet, but something in her relishes at the loss of his composure, the rare curse emerging in a growl that tightens the coil inside her. in pursuit of more, she forces herself to stop with him buried as deep as their bodies allow; clenches around him until she can see something in him snap.

it makes it all that much sweeter when he comes apart.

he is, in these moments, the only beautiful sight left in this wretched world.

—

she wears his bruises like trophies, sometimes, lounging in the backseat with her legs folded beneath her and a brush running through her hair.

he watches through the rear-view mirror, as he always does, when she shifts—clad only in a pair of practical briefs and bra. the impression of his hands frame her hips and she takes pleasure in watching his eyes wander before he realizes what he’s doing. because kim yugyeom is always composed, always in control.

except when he isn’t.

and their dalliances are less about attraction than they are about release. she swears on that.

there is a softness to his touch when he isn’t paying attention—in the midnight hours, when their only light is the blue-tinge of headlights cutting through the dark; in the moments before he cuts the engine and his hand slides from the gear-shift to grip hers. “we’re keeping this quick,” he mutters, in a way that is more order than she cares for.

she’s out of the car before he can say anything else, “if they don’t drag it out.”

her sidearm is grasped firmly with her finger hovering over the trigger, her only guide the faint flickering of a campfire in the distance—

the stench of unwashed bodies and smoke.

every step is muffled beneath the howling of the wind and the hush of sand swirling over the earth. hunting is a natural instinct, but stealth is an acquired skill. it is her contribution in their little arrangement, because as graceful as yugyeom is he is impossible to miss.

he follows behind her, well-worn boots crushing the few sprigs of grass that have survived the onslaught of an unforgiving sun. even at this hour, the edge of it lingers on the horizon; an angry crimson-gold.

“you should’ve heard her scream,” comes the distant echoes of laughter from the makeshift camp ahead, beyond the shadow cast by the tents circling the site. they are lit from within by the fire on the other side, revealing silhouettes of figures perched upon folding chairs and the prone half-body beside the fire, “i’d have kept her alive just to hear it again, but a man’s gotta have his dinner.”

it’s an old sight, but it turns her stomach just the same.

her finger itches over the trigger, and she doesn’t have to look back to feel the intent radiating from the man behind her.

two, she holds up the signal and raises her gun while sidestepping into the gap beneath the twin tents. it takes effort to ignore the scavenged woman lying in the dirt; the silver and gold ring on her left hand gleaming in the firelight. someone’s wife.

instead she steels her voice and, assured that yugyeom has his gun trained on the other man, disengages the safety. “on the ground,” it comes out with a hiss; air flowing between teeth gritted so hard she feels it in her jaw.

the sight of the duo scrambling to find her in the darkness is only mildly satisfying. no, the true pleasure only comes when yugyeom fires a warning shot that grazes his target’s cheek, and abject fear takes hold.

“who’s there?” her target. his face is buried in the dirt; amorphous cooked meat beside his head. it takes effort to hold her fire until her boot slams into his spine and the barrel of her gun finds its way into his hair; digs into his scalp.

“you don’t need to concern yourself with that. i’ve got a question for you.”

on the other side of the fire, yugyeom does much the same—nose wrinkling as the man beneath him squirms under his knee; whines incoherently about the gash in his cheek.

“what do you want?”

“you got any buddies out here?” she asks, watching his eyes flicker about wildly, as if searching for an escape. or reinforcements, as the case may be. she secretly hopes for the latter.

“it’s just us,” the man whispers, and she pulls the trigger.

an answering shot rings through the night, and she looks up to see yugyeom wiping blood from his forehead before he walks to the parked pickup truck nearby. he preforms a perfunctory search, pulling a marked map from the glove compartment and a few bills that disappear into the pockets of his jeans.

“quick enough for you?” she questions before she can stop herself, trailing after him with a contemplative look at the container sitting next to the rear tire.

he nods, placid as ever, though she can see the spark of something in his eyes—the promise of another night spent chasing a different sort of satisfaction.

this is, after all, empty work on the best of days.

“the map—“

“for later. to find any stragglers.” she watches as he glances back at the campsite; stares at the blood splattered everywhere. it’s the clenching of his jaw that makes her act upon the persistent urge to act—to reach for the gas container and unscrew the cap.

without a word, she tips it and watches the crystalline liquid soak the ground at her feet. she doesn’t stop until the canister is empty and the site is soaked in the smell of gasoline; each body drenched with it.

he doesn’t stop her.

the only move he makes is toward her, to stand at her side as she fishes a matchbook from her back pocket and strikes it; the flame dances at her fingertip for a moment before she drops it—watches the campfire swell within minutes to a blaze that lights the night sky in shades of gold.

the heat is searing—makes her feel as if she’s burning alive, but for the first time she feels satisfaction with this ugly thing they do.

purification by fire.

only the slide of his fingertips over the back of her hand draws her back; the hesitant way that he laces their fingers together and tugs her back toward the car waiting in the distance. she squeezes, and feels the heaviness in her chest lighten when he returns the gesture.

it has practical purpose; less about affection than it is about comfort.

she swears on that.

“where to next?” for lack of anything better to say, she inquires into the open air, taking her first breath of fresh air.

yugyeom seems to hesitate, and she watches from the corner of her eye as he turns the question over in his mind before he speaks. always thoughtful, always choosing his words carefully.

“i think we’re overdue for a trip home.”

[mcfanely]

The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon

As their routine becomes intrinsic to their day, and honestly more enjoyable as time seemed to go on, the pressing matter of the mech and the broken processing unit couldn’t be put off indefinitely. Much to Cole’s chagrin. 

Chapter 06 - Out of Sight, 2571 words

Cole let out a heaving breath from where he was laid on the floor, his hair was stuck to the sweat beading on his forehead as he paused, forcing some oxygen back into his body. He eventually got up, and easily settled back into a fighting stance. His legs a shoulder width apart and his arms raised in front of him, fists clenched. 

Zane mirrored the position meticulously. 

This was the morning routine. 

Just because they were stranded in a foreign realm didn't mean they were going to let their skills and training be wasted because they weren't actively using them. 

That, and any form of inactivity, Cole could swear he could hear the phantom words of Sensei Wu when he'd realised that they'd taken being lazy to a whole other level after the defeat of the Oni. 

He shuddered lightly at the memory, at all the booby traps that had been set around the monastery. All the times they'd been caught out, and called out about going soft. 

He wasn't going to go soft now, and the best thing about fighting against Zane, they each knew the others limits. 

They knew when the other was holding back, and being in a cave, just the two of them, they could fight and train to their heart's content without someone else encroaching on their training area or having to rotate and spar with someone else. 

They could just fight, and if they felt like it, agree that other than severe and possibly major physical trauma; they wouldn't hold back. 

Cole hadn't held back when he'd struck Zane hard enough to send him flying clear to the other end of the cavern. 

Zane didn't hold back when he'd used his shoulder to barge Cole into a wall and will the ice there to grab onto his clothing; weave into his hair until all he could do was stand there like a frozen popsicle, feeling every inch that the ice encroached further. 

This time it was hand to hand combat, strictly no powers; Cole had cracked the floor where he'd flipped Zane, and Zane had probably successfully given him a black eye. So they were even, and frankly enjoying themselves. 

No restrictions. No interruptions. 

Zane was the first to move forwards, and Cole made the mistake assuming he was going to aim high. His posture lent towards it, arms up and covering the face and his shoulder level. Only, Zane dropped at the last second and swept Cole's feet out from under him.

He was down in a second, but recovered even faster. Cole hooked a foot behind Zane's knee and pulled. Zane dropped forwards, but Cole kept up his momentum. He wrapped his legs around Zane's, locking them into place as they scuffled and rolled on the ground for some form of purchase. Zane was going for it, he was twisting in the hold, striking his elbow backwards into where Cole's chest was in an effort to get his strength to wain and relent. 

Cole winced with every contact, but carried on. He flipped Zane over on the ground until his back was pressed against Cole's chest. One arm threaded around the front of Zane's neck, and the other acted as a way to lock it in place. Then the struggling and brawl came to an end when Cole tightened the choke-hold and straightened out his body. 

Zane wasn't going to be going anywhere. His legs were immobile, his back had limited movement because Cole was forcing him to keep his body straight with the arm over his neck. 

There was a moment where neither of them moved, Zane's hands were wrapped around Cole's wrist. After a couple seconds, he released the hold and Zane promptly rolled off to the side, rubbing his neck lightly. 

Cole sat up, a hand coming up to rest against his lightly bruised ribs, but that wasn't important at the time. "Are you okay, I didn't hurt you too bad, right?" He questioned. He liked to think he knew his own strength. 

Zane eventually dropped his hand and sat back, shaking his head with a smile. "I am perfectly fine, nothing severe. How's your side?"

Cole laughed, "Okay. Little bruised but at least I won." And that was the whole point, technically. Or it wasn't, no one was really keeping score. 

"What's that, the first time in three days?" 

"Shut it, tin can, let me revel in my victory."

He definitely heard the quiet exasperated sigh that came from Zane as he collected himself up off the floor. He didn't miss the eye roll either. 

"Sore loser?" he joked as Zane held out a hand to help him up off the floor. The offer was accepted easily and eventually Cole was up and dusting himself off.

"Just sore." 

Cole grinned, "Because you lost."

Zane waved a hand, as if to say that it’s all water under the bridge before he retrieved their makeshift bucket, fashioned from a domed piece of metal that had fallen off the mech. It held water collected from a nearby river, still very cold, but after a fight, very refreshing. 

"Thanks," Cole said as he took some water into his hands and wiped his face clean of any grime. Training was probably the best part of the day, and the least stressful. 

It was their form of relaxation, a way to zone out from the actual pressing problem of trying to survive day to day. 

"What are your plans for today?" Zane questioned after a second, spurring on the conversation. 

Even though day to day, the routine stayed the same. More or less. 

"Head out, the storm from last night has dropped a bit - I mean, it's still snowing but we need to stock up on food for a couple days, just in case it starts up again. I'll go to that lake we scouted, spend today fishing."

Cole pushed himself up off the ground. Better head off sooner rather than later, more time fishing would ideally translate to a higher turn around of fish. That was the idea, anyway. He brushed himself off. 

Zane had made his way over to the computer screen, connecting one of the jumper cables back to the battery so it powered up.

"What're you going to do? Tinker with the mech again?" He asked, walking over to his companion with a slight smile, "You could always take a break from it, have a quiet day. What can be done today can be done tomorrow."

"You should never put off tomorrow, what can be done today." 

Cole sighed and rolled his eyes, "Quoting Sensei Wu, really?" 

"I was only observing the fact that the advice you gave me was not accurate to what we've previously been told." 

"And I was saying, there's no harm in taking a break." He gestured over to the mech loosely, then brought his hand up to brush some hair out of his face. It was starting to get unruly. "I'll go and catch some food, maybe scout the area a little more, you can take a break here. Your job today can be keeping an eye on the mech."

"You know I'm not a fan of sitting around."

Cole held up his hands in a mock show of surrender, "I know that. You've just been doing stuff constantly--" 

"As have you--

"-- Over the past couple weeks,"

"Twenty-five days," 

"I'm just saying," He shrugged, "no harm in a day off."

Zane seemed to think on the advice for a second, though when his eyes flicked quickly between the mech and the green cable they'd trailed from the motherboard down to the ground the day prior, Cole was ready to shut the idea down. 

He knew what Zane was going to say, "We," Cole gestured between the two of them when his brother's attention moved back over to him, "Will sort out the damage to the processing unit later on, when I'm back."

"A system diagnostic to discern the problem would barely take more than two minutes. If at all that." 

As if the whole process was as simple as that. 

They'd sat down and spoken about what could be done with the problem when they'd first figured it out. It had been awesome, a big relief to even know a possible cause for the mech's inactivity. 

Then Zane had given the details about what would be done next, how he'd have to connect himself to the mech to get a better idea of what was wrong. 

And what could go wrong with the process itself. 

On the mech's behalf, an irreparable system failure. 

But for Zane… 

"Cole, we can't keep putting this off, we need to do it at some point." He reasoned, placing one hand onto Cole's shoulder to keep his attention, though his eyes were trailing elsewhere around the room. 

They could talk about it later, do it later. 

Anything not to see his friend at risk. 

"If we can get the mech working, we can scout more of our surroundings, move over the snow and ice both quicker and much more safely. We can leave it running and get warm." Zane sighed, eyeing Cole's gi. The one dotted with rips and holes and was probably in no way keeping the biting winds at bay, yet he was still the one volunteering to go outside. 

He was going to head out the cave soon too, and here Cole was giving a small speech about safety and how he didn't want Zane risking himself when that was exactly what he was doing. 

Unless, he had a way to protect himself, keep himself safe, an extra line of defence. 

Zane cleared his throat, then said, "You should take the staff with you." 

Cole paused and raised an eyebrow as if he hadn't taken in what had been said, though in reality he had, he just wasn't so sure, "I should what?"

"Take the staff. If you're so insistent on risking freezing to death, you should take something that can prevent that."

He stared. 

Then he moved his attention to the staff. 

Then back to Zane, who had promptly busied himself with the screen and the wiring in the back of it. 

"I'm not insistent--" Cole sighed and moved over to his brother, to properly get his attention away from his not so subtle attempt at avoiding the coming conversation. "Neither of us have used the staff since we moved the mech in here," He gestured over to where the staff was situated, on the exact wall it had been propped against when Zane had put it down previously. Cole intended for it to stay there. 

Sure, the rush of power it gave was truly an… Experience. It was like a tidal wave, a huge oncoming force that seemed to crash over the wielder and drowned out all sense of anything but the sheer force and power it wrought with it. 

Sometimes Cole laid awake in the dead of twilight just staring up at the cavern ceiling, long past when Zane had turned in for the night. He found his mind wandering, getting lost in thought, and for some reason it always ended up on the same subject. 

If he picked up the staff, if he used it, then it could make their current situation a whole lot easier. He could use it to hunt more effectively, get different foods other than the fish he managed to catch on a daily basis. He'd seen rabbits hopping about, birds in trees, and whilst they were fair game; the energy expenditure in comparison to sitting down and waiting for a fish to bite his line wasn't worth it. 

Energy conservation in a cold environment was key, there was no sense in wearing himself out going for trickier prey animals just for some sense of variety to a meal. 

But the staff… Cole wouldn't have to worry about contending with the elements. He wouldn't have to stress out over getting tired, or not catching much food, some extra power could help with that. 

The staff… 

The scroll. 

"Cole?" came a questioning voice, and his attention quickly flicked to Zane's face crowding his own. 

If Zane hadn't been standing right in front of him, Cole would have been staring directly at the staff. 

How long had he zoned out? 

"I'm not going to take the staff." He concluded after a moment, running one hand through his hair. He'd been out multiple times already to fish, the track there and back was already etched fairly solidly into his brain and it wasn't as if it was a mile off. Barely five minutes, nothing really. 

Cole didn't miss the slightly relieved look that passed over Zane's face. He'd probably settled on his recommendation being a bad idea. "We should figure out a way to cover the thing, you know, when I get back later." He mumbled. 

Zane nodded slowly, "Out of sight out of mind."

Had he been thinking about the staff too? Or was Cole on his own with that? 

Cole clapped his hands and cleared his throat, startling them both back into their initial route of conversation. 

"We'll run the diagnostic when I get back. We can have something to eat, clear our heads, then run the diagnostic."

He could see Zane pondering over that idea at that very moment, and Cole knew what his rebuttal would be, it was fairly simple to predict. 

So he beat him to it, "If it takes two minutes, then we can do it when I'm here. I don't want you doing this on your own, just trust me on this. I want you to be safe."

Zane let out a slight laugh, "Says the person who always braves the snow to go fishing. What if I want you to be safe too? It's a miracle that you haven't gotten hypothermia, or even a cold over the past few days." 

"Hey, it's not just been me going out, you've been doing it too. And I don't like watching you walk out of this cavern anymore than you like watching me, but we gotta eat. Or, like, I do." He waved the point away with a flick of his hand, "You risk your life as much as I risk mine, and we agreed that we can't just leave this place unguarded. Just because we haven't seen anyone around doesn't mean this place is empty."

"How observant of you."

Cole's eyes widened and he scoffed, "Wow. The sarcasm." He put a hand to his chest and winced in mock pain, "That hurt. I'm hurt."

"Go fishing, Cole." 

"And now you're sending me away."

There was an audible and exasperated sigh. 

That just made Cole grin more. He walked over to the entrance of the cave and retrieved his fishing rod, a simple stick with a stripped and useless fried wire they'd found during their preliminary check of the mech. Though it did its job, it caught fish which was it's main and only purpose. 

He was about to step out into the light flurry of snow, though he gave a quick glance back. Zane was still tinkering lightly with the computer screen, for whatever purpose, though as if sensing someone looking at him, he looked up and caught the Earth ninja's eye. 

They shared a small smile, and a nod before Cole went on his way. 

-

From the beginning

Ch 05 > Ch 06 > Ch 07

AO3

[bluesunsdusk]

Evfra ranks the Milky Way species

under a read more for length

Krogan: Kesh is one. Large, versatile, upfront, blunt, have been through hell and come out fighting. They are a species of survivors. They know a lot about other Milky Way species in regards to how they treat each other. That is valuable information. Apparently, they used to give birth to many children before this was stripped from them by the turians and salarians. Good warriors, they never give up. Their clan system makes those on New Tuchanka effectively a large family with communal child rearing. I have concerns for how to manage their growing population in generations to come, but it should be manageable. They can be difficult to deal with and very dominant. They also scare the children. 8/10

Asari: Blue, seem nice, have a positive disposition towards aliens and are quickest to attempt to understand another species. Intelligent, pretty. Sometimes, they fall face-first into what Liam called the “uncanny valley,” however. They can be duplicitous and the species most likely to talk down to and dismiss more short-lived species. While understandable, it is also annoying. 6/10

Salarians: They are very intelligent and also short-lived. They created the genophage to use against the korgans and put the responsibility on the Turians when it's brought up, because the Turians deployed it. The Salarians, however, are notorious manipulators and should have known what Turians are like when it comes to war. There would have known that would happen and simply don’t wish to admit their responsibility in the fate of the krogans. They also look like unexalted kett. Tann is one... 4/10

Turians: Kandros is one. They have many good soldiers, are generally disciplined, and look less uncanny due to their entirely different appearance. Their noses are...interesting. Many claim they are less duplicitous than asari and salarians. Not good salesmen. Their voices are interesting as well. Their martial knowledge and prowess could prove beneficial. Unfortunately, their appearance also makes some look exalted at first glance. The first few of them spotted by the Resistance had been mistaken for a new breed of kett. They are horrid with emotions, they are clearly a predator species, they scare children perhaps more than krogans do, they deployed the genophage against the krogans and many still believe that was a good thing. 6/10

Humans: Ryder is one, which could be both good and bad. Jaal does speak well of Liam and Cora. Humans are, as the Krogans, headstrong and versatile. They are as capable of several of the traits noted in other species as those species, though taken to less extremes. Humans seem to have an ability to bond and empathize with the oddest of things, such as inanimate objects. That is, in a small way, comforting to know. 6/10

With more on the way, the list will expand and change, but there can be a judgement made based on the limited data provided.

Elcor: They sound like they will be confusing due to their severe lack in emotional expression through anything other than pheromones. They speak very slow and droning and may have difficulty adjusting to our people. Having something other than bipeds in Helius as intelligent species would be an interesting change in scenery, at least. They look a lot less uncanny than the humans, asari, and salarians due to not looking like angara in almost any way. That helps. 7/10

Vorcha: They aren’t something I’d like to see waking up... or at all. They look terrifying. Some traits make them look like someone sharpened a kett and bound human skin over it. Their leg structure being similar to angara doesn’t help in the slightest. Why are they growing so many spines? What purpose does that serve other than gutting something? They look somehow sharper than the turians. From the other species, it can be gathered that they are not very intelligent and that they are always found fighting. At least, the chances of them successfully lying to anyone are low. Them coming to Heleus is unlikely. 2/10... Maybe 3/10

Keepers: Word is that they will not be coming to Heleus because they are intrinsically bound to the Citadel, an ancient space station, since before the asari arrived on the scene. 10/10

Batarians: Batarians... aesthetically... The four eyes are off putting on a face like theirs, and their noses are very odd, as are their mouths. Their teeth do not make for a very approachable appearance. Batarians are said to be harsh and overly blunt. They also have a society built on slavery. If they intend to take that with them, I will have to beat that idea out of their heads as soon as possible. If I can’t, the rest of my people will. There will be no slavery in Heleus, whether I can help it or not. 2/10

Yahg: I’ll be honest, they look like an architect tried to mate with an eiroch and the union bore fruit. It seems a salarian got lost in there as well. They killed the people who tried to contact them on behalf of the Council because their body language was off. And some people thought angara were too volatile... Glad they won’t be coming here. 10/10 unless they were coming here. Then, they’d get a 3/10

Varren: Not intelligent, but they remind me a little of adhi, only smaller. A lot more manageable as companion animals. Adhi need to imprint from infancy. Not nearly as smart as adhi. however. They seem very soft. 10/10 Then again, their ability to breed rapidly and survive in almost any environment could make them a highly invasive species... Hm. 6/10

Volus: Small rotund suit-wearing species that breathes methane. They won’t be able to take many worlds the angara would be interested in, unless they usurp control of a vault, somehow. The chances of them succeeding at such a thing is unlikely. They’ve been in “Citadel space” longer than humans and serve crucial role, yet they are not welcomed into their highest leadership ranks. Volus are apparently good merchants. Trade is different in our culture. I wonder how they’ll adapt. No strong feelings looking at them, one way or another. 5/10

Quarians: Another suit-bound species. It’s surprising the Nexus had none in their ranks, hearing how experienced this species as a whole is with living in a flotilla. Such expertise would have been invaluable. Quarians are said to have a mutualistic relationship with the native flora and bug life of their homeworld, making their immune systems incredibly weak... Simply thinking about it makes me uncomfortable. How often they would get sick. That they chose to go to another galaxy with contaminants that they have zero resistances against is brave, considering. They lost their homeworld in building the Geth after the synthetic species became self aware and drove them off. I know how hard losing one’s home is. I feel for them, even if their aggressors were of their own making. 7/10

Geth: The AI created by the quarians and the reason they lived on a flotilla. There is not much on them as a species other than their light speed communication and how advanced they seem to be. I can’t say I have enough data to form an opinion on them. 5/10 --// Though, it’s 7/10 when taking @ssvdromio into account. ))

Drell: Drell are a reptilian species adapted for life on arid planets. They would love Elaaden. The hanar have taken them as a subservient species and the drell seem to be honored by this. Stars know why... What is interesting about them is how they process and store memory. A result of the scarcity on the planet that caused the hanar to take them in. I wonder how different it is from our memory. Apparently, they secrete a venom from their skin as well. 7/10

Hanar: The hanar are a...what Ryder called a jellyfish-like species. They are pink and aquatic and float with the use of biotics. Their communication is through bioluminescence. They are largely reliant on the drell and keep them in a form of indentured servitude as repayment for taking them onto their homeworld, despite the fact that drell are ill-suited to the climate. Furthermore, the majority are zealous in their belief of the enkindlers. I have reason to believe the ones coming to Heleus will not be as bad. However, If they do try to spread that nonsense to my people, we’ll have a problem. 4/10

Protheans: They are extinct, which is unfortunate. There has been speculation of what the specie looks like, most of them not pleasant on the eyes. Why do tentacles come from the face in one of the speculations? Horrifying. The Hanar renditions are a lot more palatable. All is known in that they connect through beacons that project information and memories to the user. It sounds familiar, in a way. 6/10

All of them lose a 1 off their score for assuming there will be space for all of them in the long term and seemingly not considering that another galaxy would be as inhabited as their own or simply not caring about the complications.

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

chapter three. mdzs scum villain au. read on ao3 + end notes.  credit to @lee-luca, esp as another bit of the comic is mentioned here.  previous | first | next 

One hour, thirty minutes and two hundred rules into his punishment, Jingyi is as bored as he’s ever been in this life. To top it all off, the System isn’t responding to any of his pleas for company, only responding with oops ): something went wrong when he tries to ping it. Back home, this is about when he would have given up on homework and started scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, but there’s not much he can do without his phone.

Ugh, he’d kill for one of these crappy McDonalds games. Even a Kinder toy would make him happy right now. Instead, he doodles on his torn-up first drafts, on which the ink made blots from his clumsy first attempts to imitate the original text’s elegant calligraphy.

He silently adds bic pens to the ever-increasing list of modern appliances he misses.

When badly-drawn stickmen get boring as well, he starts to think about the original Lan Jingyi in his life. Maybe that’s how it works, after all. Mom sure would love someone who’d actually go to bed early when she tells him to. On the other hand, once he got over the initial shock of modern Jingyi’s life, he’d probably find it pretty dull. High school isn’t about to compare to flying swords and cultivation, that’s for sure.  

Opposite him, Sizhui is bent over his own stack of scrolls, poring over rows and rows of tiny characters and absent-mindedly running his fingers along the lines. From the way he hums to himself when he thinks Jingyi is too busy copying to care, he guesses they’re music sheets of some kind. Unlike Jingyi, he looks like he’s actually engrossed in what he’s doing.

Too bad. Jingyi’s reached that point of boredom at which he needs to talk to someone or else he’ll implode. ( Still, he promises himself he’ll stop if Sizhui shows even a hint of genuine annoyance. )

“Hey, Lan Sizhui ⎯ can I call you just Sizhui? Um, sorry I got you stuck here.”

To his relief, the other doesn’t look irritated, just surprised. “Sizhui is fine,” he ventures after a few seconds. A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good. I was afraid you were still mad me, you’ve been so awkward all day...”

Wait, what? Who’s angry at you? Someone who kicks kittens for fun, probably.

Oh right, me. Maybe he’s the one whose brain needs a reboot. How does he explain that it’s not him who’s mad? Hell, he doesn’t even know what the original is supposed to be mad about. For some reason, it feels weird to ask, just because it seems important enough that admitting he forgot would be insulting.

“Anyway,” Sizhui continues after coughing into his sleeve, “it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve got to go over these before tomorrow’s lesson anyway, I might as well do it here.”

“Inquiry?” Jingyi ventures, maybe-maybe-not because it’s the only title he clearly remembers from the ones canon mentioned.

“Oh, no. Asking very specific questions is still a bit out of my reach, but Fa...Hanguang-jun wrote down a list of phrases for me, so we’re going to try them tomorrow.” His face softens at the mention of Lan Wangji. If this was a fic, this would be when Jingyi keels over and presses his face into a pillow for a little while.   

The chat devolves into musical cultivation. Jingyi muddles his way through it the best he can, feeling like he’s bullshitting an essay out loud, but Sizhui doesn’t seem to find his vague answers all that off-putting. He still pointedly glances down at the stack of unfinished notes on the table from time to time, but since Jingyi’s calligraphy has been getting worse and worse the less attention he pays to it, maybe it’s for the better.   

When dinner time rolls around, they eat their bowls sitting on the steps leading up to the Library Pavilion, after Sizhui rightfully points out Lan Qiren would have their skins if they spilled even a drop of sauce on the sect’s precious texts. Gradually, Jingyi feels himself relax.

“So, are we chill?” he asks between two mouthfuls of rice.

Sizhui just stares at him.

Right. No slang. “...I mean, we’re doing good, right? We’re friends?”

Something complicated passes over Sizhui’s expression. It’s too fleeting for him to catch more than a glimpse of it, especially as it’s overridden by his usual calm smile before Jingyi can shove another rice ball into his mouth, but he could swear the other winced.

Well, ouch. It must show on his face, because Sizhui suddenly looks alarmed and adds : “Yes, yes, we are!” Another smile. This time, Jingyi can definitely see the strain. “We’re friends. You don’t have to doubt that.”

“Oh. Great!” Jingyi resists the urge to reach out and gently punch his shoulder. Who knows how it’d be perceived. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, if I’ve got to keep copying rules, so...I wanted to make sure.”

【OOC behavior detected : contradiction of backstory despite hints : -20 points. Current balance : 65 points. 】

Shut up! I want him to like me!

“We’re friends,” Sizhui repeats one last time, like he’s trying to convince himself. Then he reaches for Jingyi’s shoulder and gives his robes a tug. “We should get back in there. Two more hours before curfew, you can still get a few lines in. I won’t distract you.”

“Ugh.”

Jingyi makes a face. Sizhui laughs, and the tension from earlier dissolves. “Come on. The more you get done, the faster it’ll be over.”

-

It turns out they’re both severely underestimating the number of rules Jingyi can break without realizing, and therefore the amount of time they’ll be spending here.

Despite these setbacks, over the course of the next handful of weeks, Jingyi adapts to his new life the best he can. He finds out, with much relief, that even though he can’t access the original’s knowledge and memories, training since childhood pays off even after a body swap. He doesn’t have to think too hard about sparring, just keep a firm grip on his sword, and his muscles can apparently do the rest with minimal effort on his part.

It only works with the actual fighting, though. After going to bed feeling sore all over for a week straight, Jingyi gives up and gives the cold springs a shot. It freezes his limbs off, but the ache gets better after that. It even gets him about a dozen points, which he adds to the rest, gained through menial tasks across the Cloud Recesses and some well-timed mischief.

He also likes to think he gets some progress done with step one of his grand plan to survive this novel. There’s no undoing years of being a pain in everyone’s ass in a matter of weeks, but Jingyi still gives it his best shot - peppered with tasteful cursing at the System when it deducts points for actually following the rules or, you know, not being a dick to everyone he talks to. As a result, he goes from mostly being avoided by the other disciples to tolerated, even if no one but Sizhui goes out of their way to talk to him or invite him to join in on...whatever fun they have.

Jingyi doubts he’s missing out on much, at least where the Lans are concerned. But rumor has it some of the guest disciples snuck out into Caiyi to try some of the local wine, and he’s jealous of that, which is kind of irrational. He doesn’t even like the taste of wine that much, and besides, that may be too much of an infraction for a raised Lan, however prone to rule-breaking said Lan is supposed to be.

( He really can’t afford to slip up again. When he dared chop a solid forty centimeters off his hair after struggling to run a comb through it for the fifth time that week, the System’s alarm blared so loud he almost had an out of body experience. He’d felt the hundred points shaved off his score, though, even if he’d managed to negotiate half of them back. That was the spiritual equivalent of having a car zoom past right as you were about to cross the street, and Jingyi’s in no hurry to do it again...but with that said, it feels great not to have to deal with a bird’s nest every time he wakes up. )

-

Of course, he can’t just get comfortable with his new daily routine. Something has to happen. This time, said something takes the shape of a summon from Teacher Lan. Jingyi drags his feet over from the Library Pavilion and away from his sixth copy of Gusu Lan rules. His wrist is still complaining every time he bends it a little too far. Fuck corpse powder, it’s carpal tunnel that’s going to do him in.

Speaking of copies, maybe he shouldn’t slump this much. He’s fairly sure there’s a rule for that somewhere in the two thousand and nineties.

Given the circumstances, Jingyi fully expects another lecture from Lan Qiren the moment he sets foot in the communal hall, but quickly readjusts his expectations when he spots the small crowd of disciples gathered around their teacher. Most of them are familiar faces by now, except for the girls, who for some reason live in a completely different part of the Cloud Recesses. Still, he recognizes Lan Fan, the shimei who looks like she could bite your head off but actually gave him some pretty helpful tips on sword stances the other day, Tao Ming, the boy who’d seemed vaguely suspicious of him that first day, and of course, Sizhui in the forefront.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him as he hastily joins the rest of the group. “Late again, Lan Jingyi.”

“Sorry, Teacher. This disciple was busy copying rules when he heard.”

A few of his companions snort, the noise quickly disguised as a sudden and collective bout of coughing. Jingyi can’t blame them ; if he’d heard the same words everyday for weeks on end, he’d be laughing too. Lan Qiren gives a long-suffering sigh, but whatever he’s about to tell them must take precedence, because Jingyi gets away with what might otherwise have been considered cheek.

“Madam Mo of Mo Village has sent us a request for assistance.” Given their teacher’s expression, he might as well said that she’d beaten down their door in the middle of the night and let a donkey loose in the courtyard. “From the servants’ description, it shouldn’t be anything more than a few walking corpses. Nothing a group of juniors cannot handle.”

Yeah, right. Despite knowing he’s supposed to let canon run its course, Jingyi still feels a twinge of apprehension. Why, you ask? He can answer that in two points.

Things Jingyi knows : mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Things Jingyi doesn’t know : how to kill zombies with swords.

In theory, he did spend the last few weeks training, and he didn’t slack off either, thank you very much. Doesn’t mean he’s ever gone up against a corpse before. He’s a coward, okay? Horror movie night was hell, back in his own world. He’s in no hurry to experience it in real (?) life.

“Lan Sizhui will lead the group,” Lan Qiren continues. “I expect all of you to keep your behaviors appropriate and not bring shame onto our sect.” To no one’s surprise, Jingyi thinks, and throws the interested party a small smile. To his surprise, Sizhui blushes and looks down at his boots, looking both embarrassed and pleased. It’s an unfairly cute look on him, but again, most of his looks are.  

Right on cue, the System wheezes to life like it just crawled out of a computer from the nineties.【Beginning stage checkpoint mission assigned. Destination : Mo Village. Mission : ensure the protagonist, Wei Wuxian, makes it to Mount Dafan to meet love interest Lan Wangji. Please click to accept.】

Jingyi mentally slams the Accept button.

Ding!  【Mission successfully accepted. Please read the file carefully for mission details and make appropriate preparations. We wish you success. 】

OOC function, here he comes!

[squiishiichaos]

How about buff kairi giving both sora and riku( the two being dorks who keep dancing around each other) love advice since she's with olette?

(So, I’mma assume this takes place in the part of Buff!Kairi AU I have yet to write.  In fact, I’mma write a scene that’s supposed to take place later in that AU, because I fucking love the image in my head.

Anyway, for anyone who doesn’t know what Buff!Kairi is, there’s a whole AU I wrote one chapter of and no one cares, so, fuck it.  Let’s begin this shit.)

____

She could admit–kind of–that at first, watching someone as put together and valiant as Riku get flustered over a fucking selfie had been…cute?  Unexpected?  Kairi wasn’t sure what the correct word was, but it didn’t matter anymore. 

By now, watching that blush stand stark against the pale contrast of his skin made her want nothing more than to feed her companion to the Heartless.  

Fucking Sora.  He’s distracting him again.  You’d think after all the bullshit and endless fights that the Brunet might one day grow up enough to stop sending risque selfies to Riku while they were in the middle of a make-or-break fight, but no, of fucking course not.  Because Sora was just as desperate for Riku to confess as Riku looked for breath right now. 

This is ri-goddamn-diculous.   I’m ending it.

Stomping her way across the battlefield, knocking heartless aside with a sweeping strike of her Lone Survivor greatsword, she hardly stopped to entertain the big body that attempted to barrel her over.  Simply held her sword out to the side as a pike for it to impale itself on before casually chucking it over her head and into another pack of shadows clumsily drawing toward her.   

On the same note that one might think Riku’d eventually get up the courage to confess after collecting an entire folder of flustered Sora pics, it’d be nice if the goddamn heartless got a clue, too.  They’d been whittling this pack down for the past few minutes now, and she was starting to get bored.   Where was Olette to keep her on her toes with messages not meant to be seen when she was in the thick of it?  Why couldn’t it be her phone that was chiming off?

Oh, well.   You’ve got a job to do, Kai.  Time to fuck some shit up.  And by some shit, she meant Riku.

Just so we’re clear. 

Batting another few heartless into non-existence, she finally tapered her gait to stand beside Riku and get a good look at what exactly was driving him mad in the middle of the field, and–in fairness–she could admit that if Olette was ever stupid enough to send her something so mindlessly provocative over a fucking phone, no amount of love would keep her from committing murder.  At that point, it would be justified. 

Much like Sora’s many other photos–the ones she’d glimpsed, anyway–he had snapped it likely right after a fight.    The remnants of a brawl lingered in the red flush dusted across sun-kissed cheeks, off-setting the blue sky in his eyes.   A glassy exhaustion had them closed half-way, lending a more sultry feel than the dirt and ichor stains on what she could see of his clothes suggested.    Speaking of clothes, his undershirt dipped an inch lower than normal, exposing more of his defined pecks for Riku’s private viewing; the collar of his jacket hanging off his arms and exposing the smooth skin of unmarked shoulders.   

With his head tilted back and gaze focused down at the lowered camera, his mouth was parted with just a slight peak of tongue at the edge of his lips, like he had been caught at the end of licking his lips.   His expression might have been meant to seem breathless, but considering who his intended party was, Kairi had no doubt that he had meant to look as fuckable as possible while playing it off as an accident post massacre. 

Below that disaster of a picture, the words, I’m so hot, Riku… just added icing on the cake.   

How much more obvious could he be?

“This…Kairi, how do I respond to this?!   I’m…I don’t…” Riku swallowed thickly and she had to act quick to slice down the Big Body that almost rolled him into a pancake.  It might have been a more productive conversation if she hadn’t.  “Like, who even does this?!”

“Your boyfriend.”

“He is not my–”

“He’s about to be.”   Sheathing Lone Survivor, Kairi punted the shadow that came racing toward them and quickly stole Riku’s phone from his hand in the ensuing chaos.   

Whipping him around by the lapels of his jacket, she elbowed another Heartless off her shoulder and kicked yet another one back to the abyss.  Keeping her guard high, she pulled out Lone Survivor and stabbed her into the ground to her immediate left before dragging Riku into her personal space.   When he attempted to draw back and resume his place on the field, she took the opportunity to grab at the ruffled locks of his hair and further mar them in a clenched fist.   

A hiss parted through his lips as she pulled the strands askew and quickly disheveled the rest of it.   Satisfied with that presentation, she grabbed at his wrist, and with a wrench of her arm, spun him around on his heel.   He yelped in protest, dismissed as she kicked his leg out to knock another Shadow back to its death.    

Grabbing at his other arm, she ran her nails up his skin just hard enough to leave behind red lines on his pale skin.   At the edge of his biceps, she grabbed the sleeves of his jacket and gave a hearty tug until they revealed the broad plains of his shoulders.   She made sure to rake her nails down the skin there, too, as she tore off the cloth and threw it atop another heartless zooming toward them, steering it back toward its encroaching allies. 

Once more manhandling him, he finally regained enough composure to tear his arm away just as her fingers caught at the fabric of his white undershirt and yanked it out from his pants in one foul swoop.   He clambered back with a sound not unlike a bewildered banshee.  “What are you doing?” 

Huh.  She didn’t know his voice could go that high.  Hell.  “Helping you.”

“H-helping me?!  Helping me how?!”

“Trust me, Riku.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to trust you–” he paused with another undignified shriek as she swung Lone Survivor in a sweeping slice just above where his head had been– “when you’re literally undressing me in the middle of a battle?!”

“Tell me, Riku.  You think that picture from Sora was an accident?”

“I mean, he is–”

“No, Riku.  The answer is no.” 

“But…” He trailed off, standing there idle while his brain tried to catch up and she was left to finish off the leftovers.   At least finally–finally–it appeared the scores of Heartless were finally depleting.  Finally.   

Too bad her patience was, too.   “Look.  He is playing you right now, and you’re too fucking dense to win this game on your own.  Either let me help you or lose.  It’s your call.” 

“Playing me how?”

“Holy Kingdom Hearts, how the fuck have you survived this long?”

“Hey!”  His offense fell on deaf ears.  

“I am so done with both your shits.  Come here.” 

“Kairi, I don’t–” Before he could finish his thought, she had already grabbed him by the arm and swung him around with a pivot.   Throwing him to the ground, he landed in exactly the type of stance she was hoping for. 

With his torso supported on his elbows, that startled green gaze looked at her from atop a blush that stood a prominent red against the pale white of his skin and hair.  It continued down his neck, disappearing beneath the rumpled fabric of his shirt, but was already gone where defined abs peaked out from beneath the drawn up edge of his askew undershirt. 

In the fall, his pants had slipped just the tiniest bit down his hips, allowing a sneak peak at sharp hip bones before vanishing beneath dark fabric.   With one knee slightly bent and the other stretched out, the material was pulled just tight enough to hug his legs and show what years of intense training could do to a man.  

Looking a bit scandalized and more than a little startled, she snapped a quick shot of his gaping mouth and flustered expression, then opened up his messages and attached it to a new thread.    

A shot like this really only needed two words. 

You’re welcome.

And.

Sent. 

“You can thank me later, Riku,” she said as she dropped his phone back in his lap and collected Lone Survivor back into her hand.  “We still have a few more rooms to clear before he recovers from shock and begs you to come home.”

“Wh…what did you do?”

“I won you the game.  Like I said–thank me later.”  

It wasn’t until two hours–and several dead armies–later that Kairi finally received a message from Olette.   

Unlike her normally wordy texts, this one was nothing more than a crying face holding up two thumbs up.   Not a second later, it was followed up by a picture of Sora–mouth covered by his hand and eyes wide, blush evident even with an obstruction in the way–gaping at the phone in his hand.  

You’re my fucking hero, Kai!

Better be.

>///

No, you’re not.  Not yet.

All social media was quiet for the rest of the night.   

[chilly-territory]

Uchouten Kazoku 2, chapter 1 (part 2 out of 3)

This part has more info on the Nidaime than the anime mentioned (which is basically my reason for taking up this novel lol)

The Eccentric Family: The Nidaime's Homecoming (Uchouten Kazoku: Nidaime no Kichou) by Morimi Tomihiko

Chapter 1 (part 2/3, pages 29-52)

〇

"Oh? It's rare to see an elephant in Nyoigadake."

The English gentleman descended to stand on the slope of Daimonji, putting a hand to his silk hat as he looked up at me.

When I shortened my body, returning to the form of a good-for-nothing college student, "As I thought, it was a tanuki's shapeshifting, huh. Quite splendid," he murmured and clapped soundlessly in a pretentious manner.

This Western-styled tengu was a chalk-white handsome man with an air of a foreigner, an old-fashioned returnee just back to Japan, conspicuous in the most extravagant way possible. A glossy silk hat, a black three-piece suit fitting his body to a nicety, a dress shirt so white it looked like plaster, a black bow tie and a cane held in slender leather-gloved hands were all parts of that. Tengu were creatures whose age was unidentifiable to begin with, but in human years he looked to be around his late thirties. One tremendously good-looking tengu, in short.

Picking up the travel suitcase, he called out to the Kurama tengu, who until then were only grunting inarticulately.

"Hello, my good sirs. What might you be playing at in these parts?"

The Kurama tengu got up and were now staring at the gentleman with dumb expressions.

Suddenly, Reizanbou tore off his sunglasses and exclaimed in astonishment, "If it isn't Yakushibou the Nidaime [*1]! Why have you come back now?" "Because I've seen everything that I needed to see. Is chief Kurama doing well? Once I've settled in, I plan to go greet him. By the way..." the Nidaime said smoothly, looking around in puzzlement, "I'm sure I had sent my other luggage here, as well, but..." "Aah, that," Reizanbou intoned coldly. "They were in the way, so we tossed them out." "...And why would you do such a thing? It's not like this mountain belongs to you."

Reizanbou winked to his companions, and the Kurama tengu spread out, encircling the Nidaime. The air of arrogance filled the space.

"You fell behind the times, Nidaime. We've taken over Nyoigadake."

For all intents and purposes, the situation seemed to have finally come down to a tengu fight, and I felt positively thrilled, my hair vibrating. For you see, these days tengu fights happened exceedingly rarely, and clashes like the battle between Akadama-sensei and the Kurama tengu in Mt.Atagoyama, the great tug of war between the tengu of Shiga and the tengu of Kyoto at the island of Chikubushima and the Ibukiyama Flyer Shootdown operation were stuff of legends anymore you only heard about in anecdotes. For tanuki, if you were lucky enough to witness a historic tengu battle, you would have enough bragging material for drinking parties for the rest of your life.

The Nidaime, however, remained utterly indifferent, as if the Kurama tengu's provocation fell on completely deaf ears.

"Oh, that's what's happened. Duly noted." "Don't you have anything else to say?" Reizanbou asked in a tone of complete let-down. "What a disgustingly heartless fellow. We kicked your father off this mountain, you know." "If that's the case, Nyoigadake rightfully belongs to you good sirs," the Nidaime said, making a disinterested face. "Or what, are you ashamed of your actions?" "Why would we be ashamed?!" "Then show more pride. After all, you gentlemen are almighty tengu, and if you get too caught up in the heat of a turf war, no one can complain... Speaking of which, where is my father?" "Behind the Demachi shopping arcade. Dependent on tanuki in a crummy little apartment." "Then I'll finish him myself. Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

The Nidaime gave a slight polite bow to the Kurama tengu and smoothly took off into the sky with grace and elegance, as if riding an invisible elevator.

The Kurama, dumbstruck, watched him depart.

Only when his form was no longer visible did they open their mouths to start a heated discussion and exchange commentary. Stamping their feet noisily on the scattered hanafuda cards of steel, they were saying in a chorus, "He's just as smartass as ever." "Who would've thought he'd come back now?" "Should we let the head family know?" "Does Atagoyama know?" They no longer spared any thought to the impertinent little tanuki who called them small timers, it seemed.

Taking advantage of the fact, I changed back into my tanuki form and broke into a run, heading toward the foot of the mountain.

As I dashed through the forest, my little brother who'd been hiding, jumped out of some bush at me. "Nii-chan, you're alive!" he exclaimed in delight. After a while spent rejoicing over the fact that we both were unharmed, I shapeshifted into my worthless college student form, while my brother into a little boy, and the two of us went down the slop in front of the gate to Ginkakuji temple that was crowded with tourists, then proceeded farther, running along a drainage canal under sakura trees that were already bloomless.

There was no time to worry about tsuchinoko or the tengu stone anymore. What had to take precedence was Akadama-sensei's safety.

I heard loud and clear with my own ears that the Nidaime said he would finish sensei himself, and when you took into account this tengu strife between the father and the son that had survived more than a hundred years, it was quite probable that he would visit sensei's place to settle the score in a violent and gory way. Still, Akadama-sensei was our honored mentor who provided guidance to us for generations, us four brothers, our father, his father and countless other furballs had studied under him. Even if as a tengu, sensei was no different from not being one at all anymore, I couldn't simply sit and watch as someone put an end to his tengu life without mounting some resistance.

As we were running along Imadegawa-doori street, I ordered my little brother to go back to the Tadasu forest.

"Go tell our big brother that the Nidaime's returned. We also need to let Yasaka-san know." "What are you going to do, nii-chan?" "I'm going to Demachiyanagi. The Nidaime resents sensei, so he's sure to come there to exact revenge. Before he does, I'll get sensei to escape somewhere."

And so, my little brother sped toward the Tadasu forest with the urgent message, while my destination was the apartment building Masugata just behind the Demachi shopping district.

〇

A certain retired tengu by the name of Iwayasan Kinkoubou-san ran a used camera store in the Nihonbashi neighborhood, and I'd been to his place frequently. Kinkoubou was one of Akadama-sensei's few friends, and it was he who told me some details regarding the Nidaime.

The Nidaime's birthplace was the city of Kiyou, that is, presently the city of Nagasaki.

When the Nidaime set foot on the Kyoto soil after being kidnapped from Nagasaki by Akadama-sensei, the time was the Meiji era, in the period of it where the multiple riots associated with the Meiji Restoration had already turned into a thing of the past.

"My son," was how Akadama-sensei introduced the Nidaime to Kinkoubou.

Kinkoubou remembered vividly what the Nidaime looked like when he first stepped in Kyoto. Although a beautiful boy with plump cheeks showing leftover childishness, he had a razor-sharp gaze and it was transparent to see that he was hiding some seriously hot temper. From just one look, it was clear that Akadama-sensei's blood flowed in his veins.

Japan’s booming development of the Meiji era had seemingly nothing to do with the boy receiving tengu education from Akadama-sensei. During Japan's westernization when the Biwako canal was finished, the municipal tram system developed and new buildings constructed, the boy spent all his time in the recesses of Nyoigadake undergoing tough training. But by no means did it mean the young Nidaime was satisfied with his circumstances. Evidently, the reason why he'd accepted his situation and worked hard at his tengu training was because in his heart he had decided to distinguish himself as quickly as possible and overthrow his detested father.

Time flowed by, marking the coming of a new century and a new Taishou era.

The Nidaime turned into a dazzling young man, and there was no keeping him secluded in Nyoigadake anymore. Together with the chief of Kurama, Kuramayama Soujoubou, with whom the Nidaime had become friends, he would sneak into high schools, pose as a student and go to party in the night town, taking tanuki along. Akadama-sensei frowned at the Nidaime's conduct; the Nidaime, for his part, kept steadily gaining strength as a tengu, competing with Akadama-sensei head-on. It was a precarious situation where both, the father and the son alike, eagerly searched for a chance to let loose and allow their tempers explode.

And that was where a certain woman came into play.

A western-style hotel with a clock tower appeared at Karasuma-doori street rather suddenly. She was the sheltered daughter of the owner of that '20th century hotel', a nouveau riche who built his fortune on war.

The Nidaime fell in ardent love at first sight, but Akadama-sensei meddled, saying that he needed to punish his negligent pupil who had lost his way. At the time, Akadama-sensei was still overflowing with vitality as a tengu, and the wicked deed of making passes at his son's first love was no big deal to him, it seemed.

That struggle over love, unfolding on the stage that was the brilliantly shining hotel, got more and more complicated until the Nidaime's patience that was being stretched thin ever since his being a young boy was finally overtaxed, his temper exploding in flames.

The father and the son clashed in what was a huge fight shaking all the 36 peaks of the Higashiyama mountains and lasting 3 days and 3 nights.

As the two battled without sleep or rest, riddled with wounds and reduced to savages, they ended up crawling up the main roof of the Minamiza theater [*2] that was still under reconstruction at the time. As bluish-white lightning tore through the dark skies and a downpour shrouded the city, they mustered the last of their strength and clashed. Seeing them stick their fingers in the opponent's nostrils, pull each other's hair and unintelligibly grunt was like watching a children's squabble instead of tengu's death struggle. Still, as per the saying, experience proved the best teacher in the end, and Akadama-sensei, going wild like a lion, kicked the Nidaime down from Minamiza's roof and to Shijou-doori street below, letting loose a triumphant roar. Under the beating rain, the defeated Nidaime escaped through the dark city and disappeared.

Since then, a hundred years had passed.

Nyoigadake Yakushibou the Nidaime, having set foot on his native land after returning from the British Empire, entered a luxury lodging, Kyoto Hotel Okura in Kawaramachi-oike, with appropriate grandeur and dignity.

While the Nidaime, having deposited his luggage in a comfortable guest room of the hotel, was carefully dressing, intending to visit his father and settle the score, Akadama-sensei, holed up in his cheap apartment behind the Demachi shopping arcade, hugged a daruma doll with one eye filled in [*3] close and prayed for Benten's return to Japan, chanting "BentenBentenBenten" all the while.

Why were these father and son as different as night and day?

It was a cruel story, just the tengu way.

〇

Luckily, when I burst into Akadama-sensei's apartment, the Nidaime wasn't there yet.

Through the openings in the curtain that more resembled an old rag, the spring sun streamed, illuminating the four and a half tatami mat room buried in junk. Akadama-sensei in yellowish underwear snored loudly on his permanently laid-out futon; in contrast to the overall pitiful sight that he presented, sensei's sleeping face was the height of happiness. He was probably dreaming of Benten's bottom. "Please wake up!" Even when I shook him, sensei just turned over, greedily clinging to his backside dream and even looking like he was diving ever deeper into its sweetness.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake. He just won't wake up."

Around the futon, all kinds of personal belongings were scattered such as tengu tobacco, the Fuujin-Raijin folding fan, a concise picture postcard from Benten and sensei's favorite towel, among others. I gathered them, wrapped them in a cloth, lifted sensei's body and deposited it on my own back. He probably wouldn't be happy to have been carried to the tanuki forest while asleep, but I had no time to wait for him to wake up comfortably on his own.

When I opened the door to the apartment and was about to leave, I saw the silhouette of an English gentleman behind the fence surrounding the building who was clearly out of place in the Demachiyanagi neighborhood.

"Uhyaa! It’s the Nidaime! He sure wastes no time."

With no other choice, I went back into the room.

The image of Akadama-sensei the Nidaime had in his head was that from a century ago, and there was no way he could've accurately predicted what sensei looked like in the present after his downfall. In which case, if I shapeshifted into sensei, I just might be able to deceive the Nidaime's eyes somehow. You never knew if maybe greeting the Nidaime warmly and giving him a hug as the fake Akadama-sensei would actually be enough to start thawing the ice of his hundred year old grudge. Oh, right, almost forgot.

I threw the junk out of the closet and shoved Akadama-sensei, who was still hugging the daruma doll, into it together with his futon. Just as I shut the sliding screen closed, the Nidaime knocked on the door.

"Is Nyoigadake Yakushibou in?"

I shapeshifted into Akadama-sensei and sat down in the center of the small room cross-legged.

"Come in," I said loudly.

After a few moments, the Nidaime opened the door and stepped inside, peering into the four and a half tatami mat room from where the small kitchen was. He was pressing a snow white handkerchief over his nose and mouth. It was no wonder: smoke from the tengu tobacco, the stench of Akadama port wine left on the bottom of several bottles mixed with that of food in bento boxes that had gone bad, yellow-smeared cotton swabs thrown carelessly after their duty of cleaning ears had been done, underwear stripped and left to lie around, Akadama-sensei's own old man body odor and the leftover smell and hair from the tanuki who visited quite often... This room, that was the height of disorder along with its stink, apparently completely overwhelmed the Nidaime as he stood at the threshold in mute amazement.

Using my best shapeshifting techniques, I managed to recreate the dignity typical of tengu.

"So good of you to come back, son! What happened in the past was all my fault. Will you forgive me?"

From the mouth of Nyoigadake Yakushibou, a tengu who carried his wicked ways to the extremes and spat on all creation, one after another fell accommodationist lines, and it was so blatantly contrived that I felt ashamed for myself.

When I opened my arms wide, the Nidaime approached cautiously, got down to one knee after carefully wiping the filth from the spot on the tatami where his knee would go and gingerly returned the embrace while paying scrupulous attention as not to get his jacket dirty in the process. With this, the books on the strife of a hundred years between the father and the son could be closed, it seemed.

Except, all of a sudden, the Nidaime whispered into my ear, "I see you've acquired quite the tanuki reek to you, father." "That'd be because the tanuki come here all the time. I'm rather sick of them myself." "You say that, but it is rather apparent that you're quite fond of tanuki." "Fool! What are you talking about?" "Why else would you grow a tail like a tanuki?"

The Nidaime then gave my lower back a slap, seizing the tail that popped out from that impact in a tight grip.

In the blink of an eye my transformation was unraveled, and I found myself hanging upside down, bitterly regretting my shallow and ill-conceived idea to fool a tengu by shapeshifting into a tengu. What could be a more humiliating and painful experience? Tanuki don't do upside down. And now, dangling precariously in the air with up and down switched, I mumbled barely coherently, begging the Nidaime for forgiveness, "I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!"

"Could it be that you're the tanuki who was in Nyoigadake earlier?" The Nidaime brought the bridge of his flawless nose closer to me, still holding me upside down. "If that's the case, then you must have inferred the circumstances and beat me to the punch, huh."

Having subdued his anger, the Nidaime put me back down on the tatami flooring.

Rubbing my aching butt, I looked up at him.

"Please forgive my foolish prank. I am the third son of Shimogamo Souichirou, Yasaburou. I would like to congratulate you on your safe return from abroad from the bottom of my heart, sir." "No need for such ceremonious greetings. Incidentally, where is my real father?" "Well, sir, that I know not myself. I wonder where could he possibly have gone?" "Hm-hmph," the Nidaime snorted under his breath and took a look around the small room, eyes taking notice of the sliding door to the closet that I had slid shut in a hurry just minutes earlier. Behind it, he was sure to find a drooling Akadama-sensei, hugging the daruma doll and dreaming of Benten's backside. I was on pins and needles, fearing that the Nidaime would see right through it any moment now, but he made no attempt to investigate the closet, just muttered, "Tanuki are such admirable little creatures," in an indescribable tone that could be one of admiration or one of exasperation.

"Tanuki are indeed admirable," I said. "If there is anything you need, simply say the word. I'm sure there must be some inconveniences after being gone for so long. And there is still the need to find your furniture and household belongings." "Yes, indeed. It appears those Kurama fools tossed them from Nyoigadake." "If you would, sir, may I suggest leaving this matter in the hands of this Yasaburou?"

Those household possessions flung from Daimonji by the Kurama tengu must have been picked up and hoarded by the tanuki dwelling in Kyoto. But if the Nidaime claimed ownership over them even at this late a date, it was not impossible to get his collection, that had been sucked into the tanuki's lairs, back.

When I informed him of that, "I would be very grateful," he replied, produced a gold coin from his pocket and tried to get me to take it. "I cannot allow you to work for free." "But tengu are made to drive tanuki to work hard. Tengu are greater than tanuki, after all." "I do not like being indebted to others, Yasaburou-kun," the Nidaime then said. "Besides, I'm not a tengu."

〇

The Nidaime's return to the country sent significant ripples through the tanuki world.

To the furballs with short lifespans, witnessing the arrival of a brand new tengu was a rarity that may or may not happen only once in a lifetime. So the ever curious tanuki, wanting to get a look at that new tengu, stalked Hotel Okura in Kawaramachi-oike. Among the stalkers were even elderly furballs with not much longer left to live who were supposed to stay in the seclusion of Tanukidani-Fudou temple. Before long, an irresponsible rumor went into circulation that stealing a look at the new tengu was sure to extend one's lifespan.

With the tanuki world clamoring on and on, I got summoned by the head of tanuki society, Yasaka Heitarou, and went to pay him a visit in Gion together with my eldest brother.

As we walked from the east end of Shijouoohashi bridge, heading to Yasaka temple, I kept grumbling under my breath how annoying all this was.

From my experience, nothing good was in store for you when you were summoned by the Nise-emon: it was either to lecture you to the accompaniment of a Hawaiian melody or to task you with some troublesome job.

As far as my brother explained it to me, at a meeting held the day before with him and Yasaka Heitarou presiding, the discussion on how to better deal with the Nidaime produced no real conclusion, except for a half-backed one along the lines of 'Let's ask Yasaburou's opinion, for starters' to evade the issue.

"You're the only who had any opportunity to hold a real conversation with the Nidaime," my brother stated. "Besides, you also excel at handling Akadama-sensei. That is, your name and tengu basically go hand in hand, you see." "I'm no tengu expert." "Stop complaining and make yourself useful to the tanuki world once in a while."

A big tanuki named Yasaka Heitarou was not only the head of the Yasaka clan that held the territory stretching from Maruyama Park to Gion, but also the Nise-emon governing all the tanuki of Kyoto. His office was located in a back alley of Gion-Nawate that was lined with tiny snack pubs and bars, in the building of a closed down proctology clinic. That clinic took care of Kyoto tanuki's behinds for many years, and I, too, was a patient there at one time when a mushroom grew out on my butt back when I was little.

The waiting room of the defunct clinic was crowded with tanuki who came to appeal to the Nise-emon, and me and my brother patiently waited for our turn, seated on an old leather-covered couch. At long last, we were escorted to the Hawaiian-styled examining room where Yasaka Heitarou, sprawling in a rattan chair and plucking at the strings of an ukulele, greeted us.

"Hi there, sorry for the trouble. Welcome to Fake Hawaii."

On the walls of the examining room a very Hawaiian blue sea and indigo sky were painted, in the corners there were planted a few fake palm trees, and the space on the walls was crammed with an assortment of Hawaii-related articles such as hula girl dolls, wreaths and aloha shirts. Hawaii had become Yasaka Heitarou's yearned-for paradise ever since he had gone on a recreation trip there in his youth, and he wanted nothing more than to push the position of the Nise-emon on my brother as soon as possible and escape to his southern land of dreams. It was his dearest wish to spend his time playing with coconuts on the Hawaiian beach after retiring.

"Nothing like thriving business, isn't it," said I.

"It's not profitable, but this flood of customers never stops. It's so aggravating, really."

Since as the head of the tanuki world, the Nise-emon was expected to bring the tanuki of Kyoto together, whenever there was a quarrel, he had to step in and arbitrate; during any big tanuki assembly he was to take charge, and it was also his duty to show the way to little tanuki who searched for the correct way to live as a tanuki. Sometimes, he even had to give advice on love affairs. That said, tanuki were creatures liable to easily overlook the bigger issue and lose themselves in pointless arguments over some minor stuff. Thus, the problems that visitors wanted Yasaka Heitarou to settle for them rarely required quick wit and mental gymnastics bordering on acrobatics, Oooka-style [*4], to solve. For that reason, when a complicated problem related to tengu fell in his lap, Yasaka Heitarou found himself at a loss.

Offering me and my brother chairs, Yasaka Heitarou produced a Mango Frappuccino from the fridge. The ukulele sang in staccato. The atmosphere of a southern island steadily filled the room.

"Well then, Yasaburou. I'm going to ask this because I regard you as an authority on the tengu world..."

Hearing such flattering words did make me feel better.

"The Nidaime... is he the real deal?"

If Yasaka Heitarou was asking whether or not the Nidaime was a genuine tengu or a legitimate heir of Akadama-sensei's, then it was probably for the sake of observing what was considered manners such as sending formal greetings from the tanuki world and holding an official welcome ceremony. After all, the Nidaime had set foot on his native land for the first time in a hundred years, that had to be celebrated with lavish. However, considering the big fight that, as everyone knew, had occurred that same century ago, there was tremendous strife between Akadama-sensei and the Nidaime. Not only had sensei not acknowledged the Nidaime in any shape or form, there were even suspicions that he thought of making Benten his successor. While there was nothing technically wrong with extending courtesy to the Nidaime on behalf of the tanuki world, it was out of question to incur Akadama-sensei and Benten's anger and irrational crackdown on tanuki right after, which was where the problem lay.

I was asked to relay the full particulars of my encounter with the Nidaime.

"As far as I can tell, he is a tengu through and through, no question about it. It is strange that the person in question insists he's not one though... Maybe it's because he somewhat lacks self-awareness as a tengu." "That spells trouble in dealing with him." "Things between the father and the son look as bad as ever, too, and when Benten-sama eventually returns, there will be a world of trouble, no doubt. If we recklessly get involved in this, fur on our butts is sure to catch fire." "Stop enjoying this, Yasaburou," my brother chided. "Well, it's fine," Heitarou remarked. "...So, what do you think, Yaichirou-kun?"

My brother folded his arms and frowned.

"I think my brother is an idiot. That said, I believe his judgement is correct."

Yasaka Heitarou seemed to be in thought as he plucked at his ukulele.

The reason why Yasaka Heitarou succeeded our father, the previous Nise-emon, after he had fallen into the Friday Fellows Club's pot, was because they were childhood friends. While tanuki society ran about in confusion, playing a desperate push-and-shove game of Oshikura Manju [*5] after losing their head, Heitarou, upset and dillydallying, was mercilessly pushed out of the circle as the fall guy. At the time, Ebisugawa Souun still lacked dignity to seize the Nise-emon position, and many tanuki were of the opinion that they'd be better off leaving it to almost anyone, even Heitarou, than Ebisugawa. Ever since, while not having produced achievements worthy of special mention to his name, neither had Yasaka Heitarou made many big blunders, the fact of his continuous service, decent if lacking passion, to the tanuki world in such an uncharacteristic role was quite admirable in and of itself.

"In the end, we're just tanuki. Haste makes waste." Before long, Yasaka Heitarou ended his musical performance and slapped his knees. "As a sly old tanuki that I'm supposed to be, I say we wait and see. We'll decide which side to wag our tails once the stance of the tengu world on the matter has been made clear. For the time being, look out for any movements in the tengu world."

〇

What I requested of Yasaka Heitarou was to spread the word as far as possible that the tengu stones that the tanuki had picked up and deep-pocketed belonged to the Nidaime, and appeal for their return.

I asked Kiyomizu Chiijitarou from the antique store on Teramachi-doori street to provide a corner for the tengu stone collection retrieval and inspected the articles that the tanuki had been bringing there. It was as heart-breaking as taking the knife to the flesh for the tanuki to have to part with the tengu stones they had painstakingly collected, and many of them made a dramatic scene in front of the secondhand store. Among them even were those who loathed and cursed me for going and sticking my nose where it didn't belong.

The assortment of articles that the Nidaime had brought back from England was astoundingly diverse.

A writing desk, western canes numbering ten-something, a few dozens of men's leather shoes, a wooden wardrobe, plenty of suitcases, a collection of distance glasses, devices for experiments such as magnifying glasses and microscopes, lots of indoor slippers, silverware and candlestands, a violin, a chessboard, a mysterious bundle of keys, 3 overcoats, lamps, a bathtub, Persian carpets, tweet caps, hundreds of Western books, scraps of newspaper articles... And that was only part of it. The chaise that my little brother and I had found at the foot of Nyoigadake was turned in, as well.

Thus, for about a week, I was being kept so busy that there was no time to even think about tsuchinoko.

Tsuchinoko represented the dream, but tengu were reality. During that period, the Nidaime lived at the hotel in Kawaramachi-oike. Those good looks of his and natural majestic air typical of tengu held the hotel staff captivated, and they treated him like a regular patron of many years. His appearance and mannerisms of an old-fashioned English gentleman fit nicely into the hotel's big solemn lobby and tea room, his honor and dignity as a tengu just returned home displayed amply. A walk about an hour long that he would take at 5 in the afternoon was his everyday routine, his path always the same, and it mattered not if it rained. In the crowd of Shinkyougako street the Nidaime's form was extremely conspicuous, unfailingly turning heads of every passerby. Upon returning to the hotel, he would always check the time at the front door, and his motions, from opening his pocket watch to the angle he tilted his chin at to confirm the dial was so unchanging it was like a picture on a stamp. The Napoléon gold coins that seemed to appear from the pockets of his coat one after another in an endless stream hinted at the Nidaime's outrageous financial assets, but unlike some, he didn't squander that wealth on extravagant night amusements, seemingly having a truly calm and peaceful lifestyle.

Everyday in the evening, I went to deliver the items that had been collected from the tanuki that day at about the time when, by my estimations, the Nidaime would be back after his walk.

"Hello, Yasaburou-kun. Much obliged to you today again."

With each my repeated visit, the hotel room was steadily being reworked into an orderly pseudo-Europe. The tengu in an impecably spotless white dress shirt recently back from abroad who welcomed me in looked quite comfortable surrounded by his favorite furniture. He repeatedly tried to push gold coins into my pocket, but having my pride as a tanuki, I turned him down every time one way or another.

"I don't like being indebted to people," the Nidaime would say. "Well, sir, I'm a tanuki." "Allow me to rephrase then. I don't like being indebted to tanuki." "To be honest, I'm planning on asking for a much bigger favor eventually, such that gold coins will not measure up adequately enough. I'm being kept so busy I cannot even go out to search for tsuchinoko." "And there you have it. I have a feeling I'll be tricked if I'm not careful." "Having enough leeway to allow yourself to be tricked is a wonderful thing." "Well said. Is that a pearl of tanuki wisdom?"

The Nidaime showed a wry smile, and I was off the hook for the time being while still staying true to my adamant refusal to accept gold coins.

Incidentally, there was something about his recovered collection that weighted on the Nidaime's mind, a thing called an air gun, of German make. Crafted by a German engineer in the 19th century, it was a mechanism equipped with a powerful pump that compressed the air to launch a lead bullet. Having passed though several hands on its way from the continent to the British Empire, the gun remained a prized possession of a certain aristocrat for many years before being auctioned off which was when the Nidaime bought it; from the photo of it, it looked as beautiful as any brass instrument. When I heard the words 'air gun', I imagined a toy that launched soft and fuzzy shells like hairballs, but "It's nothing that adorable," the Nidaime chuckled. With that gun rumored to have been used to assassinate a minister of a certain country, if they happened to be shot from it, a creature like tanuki would be Heaven-bound in no time, apparently.

"I assume you, my furball friends, don't like guns, do you?" "No, we most certainly don't. That said, I've never had a chance to see one upclose myself." "If you could find it with all due haste, I would be grateful. There is sure to be trouble if it were to be misused."

As a matter of fact, while I was frequenting the Nidaime in this fashion, Akadama-sensei still lived knowing nothing about the Nidaime's return to the country. Finding a tanuki who would want to be on the receiving end of a rage explosion over making such a report was impossible, and seeing as sensei stayed holed up in his apartment the whole time, he simply had no chances to hear the news in the first place.

When I dropped by at one time with a multi-compartment bento box in hand, I found sensei in the middle of his four and a half tatami mat room, seated at a low tea table as if clinging to it and writing another love letter to Benten he kept on sending.

Sensei is always the last to know, how pitiful, how lamentable.

Just when my thoughts trailed hazily along those lines, sensei suddenly sent a glare my way.

"Yasaburou." "What is it, sir?" "Are you hiding something from me?" "Bringing that up this late in the game, sir?" panicking, I spoke up jovially. "I do have a lot of secrets, I’ll have you know."

Sensei snorted, putting finishing touches to his love letter. "...Oh well, no matter. Your secrets must be silly trifling things either way."

〇

Akadama-sensei, left out of the loop about the Nidaime's homecoming, learned about everything when May had already reached its second half and it had been 2 weeks since the Nidaime's return.

The only ones who could tell sensei, nigh-permanently cooped up in his apartment, the truth were his few old tengu friends. When I heard the rumor that Iwayasan Kinkoubou was seen passing though the Demachi shopping district with a 1 sho bottle decorated with a mizuhiki cord [*6], I thought, 'The time has finally come'.

Apprehensively, I decided to drop by sensei's apartment, but by the time I did it had already been vacated.

Following that, Akadama-sensei had disappeared from Kyoto, and hasty tanuki made a fuss, jumping to a conclusion that he went into hiding fearing retaliation from the Nidaime. However, those of us who had actually studied under sensei, starting with me, objected, insistent that with him, of all people, such a thing was just impossible.

It was true that our former mentor had lost the ability to fly through the sky freely years too early, and for someone who became a good-for-nothing old geezer who was like a thorough collection of all the nasty and wicked traits tengu possessed despite his total inability to do anything tengu-like, he shamelessly remained a selfish leecher and an overbearing tanuki-bullying braggart, yet there was also no denying that his tengu pride was the only thing he had in such abundance that it could start dripping from his nose at any moment. That is, he was the kind of person who would rather die a ridiculous death by crashing into freeze-dried tofu than give the likes of tanuki a cause to point fingers and run their mouths about him running away in fear of the Nidaime.

'Mark our words, sensei will be back, without fail,' asserted the Akadama tanuki pupils.

And not even a few days later a tanuki came out and claimed that he saw sensei moving about the Kumogahata region.

The parts of Kumogahata, located to the north of Kyoto, that slipped deep into the Kitayamasugi cedar forest after you went north and upstream the Kamogawa river and left the urban area, were the turf of Iwayasan Kinkoubou since very long ago. To us, removing himself from the world below full of earthly affairs and tanuki hair and going into seclusion in a lofty place like that looked like proof of just how serious Akadama-sensei was being. There could be no doubt that our great teacher went to train his body and discipline his mind that had grown rusty and dull from his many years of reclusive life, fully intending to confront the Nidaime now that he had been back.

"That's Akadama-sensei for you. Even corrupt, he's still Nyoigadake Yakushibou."

After this news, in the tanuki world sensei's stocks seemed to have gone up somewhat.

T/N:

[*1] Nidaime (ニ代目) lit. the Second: make no mistake it's not a name, just a counter that serves as a convenient way to identify him, so everyone calls him that (similarly to the use of words like sensei, danna, kaichou, etc). His full tengu name would be Nyoigadake Yakushibou the Second. [*2] Minamiza theater (南座): one of the most famous and earliest kabuki theaters (wiki); its current building was built in 1929 which we could take as the year when the conflict between Akadama and the Nidaime took place. [*3] Daruma (達磨): I'm sure every anime or manga fan knows what a daruma is (wiki just in case), so here I'll just mention that when new, both its eyes are unfilled, and you fill in the left eye when you found a wish or an ambition you want to make reality and the right one after you've achieved it. [*4] Oooka judgement  (大岡裁き): originates from the decisions made by a legendary judge of the 17th century Oooka Tadasuke who is famous for making his decisions with exceptional wisdom, fair-mindedness and kindness (wiki) [*5] Oshikura Manju (押し競饅頭): a children's game where participants stand back-to back in a circle and try to push one of them out of it (wiki) [*6] 1 sho bottle ( 一升瓶 ): sho is a traditional Japanese unit for measuring volume equal to 1.8 liters; Mizuhiki (水引) is a decorative cord out of twisted rice paper (wiki)

[hydrospanners]

Ask meme for Nirea! 2, 4, 5, and 9!!

Thank you for asking!! You are a goddess! I moved #9 up above #5 because I completely lost control and direction with that one and it turned into some kind of weird pseudo-fic and the only apology you’re going to get from me is the cut I put it under because it got so unnecessarily fucking long. Here is the link to the meme!!! I can’t promise all of my answers won’t be so excessive but ask anyway!!

2. Would they be a class specific character? (ie. Imperial Agent only. Republic character only)Nah, fam. Rea could wiggle her way into every class’ story. Whether you keep her or not would depend on your choices/alignment though.

4. Where would you recruit them from? Alderaan. She hates it there and I love to fuck with her.

9. What would they say if you clicked on them? “Hey, did you see that Cathar earlier? With that ass? Damn.”“Wanna see a trick?”“Bet you can’t do this.”“I don’t know whose idea weather was, but they deserve to be punched. A lot.”“I hear ya.”“We should get another droid.”“I just want one day where no one tries to kill me. Is that so much to ask?”“How far do you think I can bend this before it breaks?”“Hey look at this. Think it’s edible?”“Got time for some pazaak? We can play Nar Shaddaa rules.”“Are we there yet?”“Hey, do you smell that? Smells like--Oh. Shit. I think that’s me.”“See that thing over there? I bet you twenty credits I can lift it.”“Don’t mind me. Just admiring the view.”“Spot me a few creds? I’m good for it, I swear.”“You’d be so bored without me.”“Yeah, yeah. I’m with you.”“We have a saying on Corellia: Fuck off, I’m busy.”“Ugh, I’m bored. This is boring.”“Don’t look at me. This is your show.”“It wasn’t me!”“Alright you get first guess this time, chief. Is it mud or is it blood? Right there on my leg.”“Don’t worry, chief. I can’t resist me either.”

5. What would their recruitment mission be? It’s an ordinary sort of day in your extraordinary level 30 life. You’re just doing your thing, fighting crime, doing crime, rescuing random people and murdering somewhat less random people. You’re headed to Alderaan for your own reasons.

That’s when you get a call from whoever it is that’s always calling you with problems that only you can solve. From whoever usually preaches to you about duty, who gives you orders or threatens your life or just offers you good old-fashioned credits in exchange for your services, like any sensible person would. There’s a problem, they tell you. (There’s always a problem.) It’s a mission gone sideways, a crashed ship with a not entirely inconsequential Jedi on board who may or may not have gone rogue. Information is scarce, danger is guaranteed, and the problem is on Alderaan where the political situation is too unstable for any big, bold moves.

You take the job. It’s already on your way, and besides, you see potential in it. Potential good, potential credits, potential prestige. The potential to quiet your insatiable bloodlust, however temporarily. Whatever it is you’re looking for.

The Republic bosses want answers. What happened to the ship? To the mission? To the Jedi? They want you to bring her back into the fold if you can. They don’t say what to do if you can’t, but you can guess. The Imperial bosses want an edge. They want whatever was on that ship, but mostly they want the Jedi. She’s a thorn in the Imperial side and if they can’t make use of her, if she hasn’t fallen like rumor suggests, they want her out of the way.

Maybe you ask what the ship’s mission was, what the Jedi was even doing there. Maybe you know better than to ask questions. Regardless, the only information you get is a name.

Nirea Velaran.

A human woman, physically formidable for her species and notoriously unpredictable. She’s good with words and better with lightsabers and ‘dangerous’ is the only thing anyone will say about her for sure. That, and she’s Corellian.

It’s not the profile you’re used to for Jedi. Maybe that peaks your curiosity. Maybe it worries you. Maybe a job is a job and you don’t give a fuck about the details.

On Alderaan you follow the columns of smoke to a small lake nestled between snow-capped peaks, an oasis that might have been peaceful before a small frigate blew a crater into the mountain. The ship is split down the middle, its innards scattered across the ice. You don’t see any bodies, but your scanners detect something alive and moving in the wreckage.

You find a scavver in the remains of the ship’s engine room, greasy and poorly-clothed, elbow deep in the ship’s hyperdrive. The only weapon you can see is a shock stick that’s seen better days, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room.

She’s unconcerned by you and your armed companions. Asks if you’re in the market for an Aratech repulsion compensator. They’re hard to find, she promises, because Aratech pulled out of the hyperdrive manufacturing business almost as soon as they got into it. They make good speeders and, in her opinion, they ought to stick with that. She promises to give you a good price on account of her not having to haul it down the mountain if you buy it up here. She also tells you how the Jedi wasn’t interested on account of not having a ship anymore.

Maybe you notice the knowing gleam in her blue eyes, maybe you don’t. Either way, this scavver has information you want. You negotiate. With charm, with reason, with threats. It doesn’t matter how. You get what you want in the end, just like you always do.

The scavver takes you to the ship’s bridge, where she says she met the Jedi earlier. You find a Republic Senator’s corpse on the floor, two distinct lightsaber wounds in their chest, but none of the carbon scoring you’d expect from a fight. You get what you can from the ship’s damaged computers, but it doesn’t amount to much more than navcharts, a manifest, and escape pod launch records. When you turn to ask the scavver where the Jedi was headed, you find that she is gone and the path out of the bridge is sealed behind you.

You make a new path, of course. You always do.

The scavver’s trail predictably takes you back to your ship. The good news is that it’s still there. The bad news is your protocol droid is disassembled with apparent care, lying in a neat pile at the top of the boarding ramp. The word sorry is scrawled across its forehead in very poor handwriting using what you suspect to be lipstick. From the loving way the droid was taken apart, you guess the message isn’t for you.

There is no apology scrawled on the floor where one of your speeders used to be.

You follow your speeder--a simple task with all of your skills and your crew and your resources--to a valley below the crashsite, where the plains of pristine snow are pocked with scorched-black escape pods. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of them, their hatches all hanging open. A path of brown mud and green grass marks the slow march of their inhabitants out of the valley.

There is another ship at the other end of the path. A freighter, small enough you aren’t sure it can even carry the hundreds of people slowly shuffling aboard. They are aliens, all of them, and clad in identical grey jumpsuits. You catch the gleam of metal around some of their wrists and ankles.

The scavver watches you from the ground beside the boarding ramp. Maybe you already guessed and maybe you didn’t, but you see now that she’s not what she seemed. The shabby cloaks and scarves have been thrown off, leaving her in a Jedi-brown combat suit she wears like a second skin, a lightsaber at each hip, standing tall and sure. The Force swirls around her in a storm of certainty and power and even if you can’t feel that sort of thing, there’s something about the way she holds herself that tells you it’s there all the same.

This is your objective. This is Nirea Velaran.

She tosses you a careless grin as the freighter’s aftermarket guns spin round to face you. You could perhaps kill her before they get you, but you wouldn’t survive to enjoy the rewards of a job well done. She tells you this doesn’t have to be stupid and you don’t have much choice but to talk. To let her explain.

What she tells you is an indictment of the Republic’s system of law, a story of a prison that’s little more than a slave mill for aliens, of Senators that blithely profit from the gaps deliberately written in their own laws. A story of the Jedi Master who knew about it and did nothing, who sent her to prop up something broken, who cared more about law than justice. It’s the story of a Jedi Knight who murdered a Senator in cold blood and will die before apologizing for it.

She’s cavalier about what she’s done, but passionate about her reasons for doing it. Whatever the price of this liberation turns out to be, she’s clearly prepared to pay it. Clearly prepared to ensure its success no matter what it does to her.

The boarding ramp begins to rise as the last of the prisoners scrambles aboard. You don’t know if she planned for the ship to leave without her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The guns remain fixed on your position.

You consider your options as your target considers you. Her attention slices through you like a laser, hot and sharp and precise. Looking for something specific, you think, and you can’t tell from her inscrutable expression whether she found it.

When she’s seen what she needs to, she offers you some flattery and a gratuitous wink. Maybe you appreciate it; maybe you don’t. She asks for a ride off this shit planet. Promises to put your droid back together and put a little life into your drab little ship. Mentions how it’s generally better to have someone with a talent for destruction and mayhem working for you than than against you. And maybe she hints that she’s got talents beyond wanton chaos. Maybe she offers to show you what they are.

Accepting her offer will have consequences. This Jedi is the sort of person who wears trouble like a signature fragrance. You are familiar enough with trouble by now to know you can’t stand that close to its storm without being swept up yourself. But maybe you can make that storm work for you. Maybe it’s your kind of storm.

Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe you have enough trouble of your own. Maybe you aren’t interested in the kind of trouble a willful, bleeding-heart Jedi carries with her.

She watches you with a look that’s shameless and hungry and not entirely trustworthy. There’s a kind of calculation to the fire behind her eyes and a tension in her body that tells you time is short. You ask yourself: is Nirea Velaran a risk worth taking?

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (6/?)

In which Asajj is subjected to yet another unpleasant conversation.

Zombie Savage AU | 2.1k | canon divergent after Son of Dathomir | also on AO3

Death Watch must be utterly indifferent by now to their leader’s antics, or resigned to them a least. Maul’s breakdown is effortlessly ignored. Everybody must have overheard the conversation. They must have witnessed their apparent commander choke a visitor and then huddle on the floor, mindless and gibbering and terrified of a Sith Lord who isn’t here, but it looks like the Mandos are adept at pretending they haven’t, and the helmets definitely help. There are no accident gawkers, or at least none to be noticed. Instead, quickly, the busy pace inside the cargo hold picks up again.

The Mandos return to their tasks, ignoring Asajj’s presence and occasionally veering off their straight paths to keep a wide circle around Maul clear and empty. At least most of them do: there’s a protective honor guard next to him, still.

The purple-armored soldier is one of them, of course. The other—as short as Maul, but easily twice as wide—wears beskar painted yellow and adorned with spikes.

“Update all rescue teams. Comm Gar. You heard Lord Maul: our brother is not dead. He is in the hands of the enemy. Command meeting, sixteen hours sharp,” the purple Mando shouts, and immediately, the hold empties.

Then, the helmet’s visor turns in Asajj’s direction, and back to Maul. Squatting down next to him, though far enough that his arms can’t reach—that won’t help at all when he loses it again, Asajj thinks—the purple Mando says something in a language Asajj doesn’t understand, and Maul replies in kind, incredibly slowly, stumbling over a syllable or two and with a pronunciation completely unlike the practiced tones of his counterpart, but obviously determined. Asajj’s name comes up, once or twice.

Maul never before seemed the type to openly, intentionally display his shortcomings, not to enemies and especially not to his allies. The breakdown was unavoidable, perhaps—Asajj would rage at the deaths of her family too, if she had a little less self-control—but he’s regained use of his faculties now. This is a deliberate choice.

Only one reason why he’d be speaking, or trying to speak, Mando’a now: this is something they don’t want me to know. It puts up Asajj’s hackles, a kind of vulnerability in ignorance that might well be another motivation, if, after meeting him today, she still was to credit him with the intelligence needed to play these kinds of mind-games. Maybe this is a shade of what he used to be like. It’s easy to forget, seeing him, but he was raised a Sith. He is like her; not like Savage Opress plucked from the fields and magicked, but trained, like Asajj herself and like her former Master Darth Tyranus. She should not keep underestimating this nightbrother.

Regardless: they’ve reached a truce. An alliance, if not in so many words. Maul hasn’t even questioned her properly yet, but at least he knows he knows nothing. He cannot get what he wants without her aid. Whatever these machinations… for the moment, she is as safe as anyone could be, in his company.

Maul heaves himself up onto his knees. His feet, just as unsteadily. He doesn’t favor her with another glance when he leaves, and then Asajj is alone with his guard.

“Follow me, Asajj Ventress,” the purple Mando says. “To your room.”

“You have me at a disadvantage. Your name?”

A beat. Then, the soldier removes her helmet and joggles her chin-length dark hair, not completely unlike a wet finkwolf. “Rook Kast. This is Jagrub.” Pointing over her shoulder with her thumb, Rook Kast, life-long fanatic criminal and the Face of the Terror of Mandalore according to at least five people Asajj has met, indicates the massive gamorrean sow behind her. Jagrub’s also taken off her spiked helmet.

“You brought your bodyguard?” Asajj smirks, which then occurs to her was a tad unwise, perhaps, even if it makes her feel better, but: truce. Maul needs her. A guard detail is as befitting the woman’s obvious status anyway, really. Terror of Mandalore indeed, and in the short time since her arrival, Asajj has seen Kast’s closeness to Maul. Second in command, maybe, or even more. Caretaker. The power behind the throne. It’s not like a feral nightbrother has much experience in leading an army.

Still. A bodyguard. It would be flattering, if it wasn’t so insulting. Another forceblind won’t make even the ghost of a difference to her chances of survival, should Asajj choose to leave.

Kast’s face is effortlessly still. “She’s not here to protect me.”

Whatever.

Politeness is a scarce resource on Mandalore, evidently: Kast and Jagrub take off without another word, straight through a crowd of Mandos that respectfully divides at their approach, expecting Asajj to follow them. It’s left to the guest to attempt small talk. “I wouldn’t have expected anyone to order you to show a visitor around, Rook Kast.” Forward, again, but it’s not like she even attempts to hide her authority, and Asajj is curious. “It’s usually less of a general’s duty. I’m sure you have a busy schedule.”

“I volunteered,” Kast says, and then she smiles at Asajj so widely the light glints off her teeth. It does not reach her eyes.

It shuts off conversation until they reach Asajj’s designated quarters, visually indistinguishable from any of the other rooms she’s glanced at through oddly luxurious stained-glass windows or open doors. A quartet of bunk-beds, and a table. Asajj inspects the door-handle—there is a code-lock, too, but neither of her companions offer to set it and Asajj doesn’t ask—and then she strides in. Kast and Jagrub follow. The door slides shut.

“What did you want to talk to me about in private?” Asajj asks eventually, after a few seconds, when she has tired of being stared at. No response. Apparently, Maul’s found the one cache of people in the galaxy who share his awful habits.

Time for a gambit. Testing the fault line. The limits of Maul’s authority. Surreptitiously, Asajj touches her ‘sabers. It’s not like there is any real risk here—Asajj might piss off Kast, but general or not, the woman’s still only a forceblind soldier. If Asajj is wrong about Kast’s purposes, then this conversation will definitely find its way to Maul’s ears, but even that is only a minor concern. Maul hates her, anyway. He’s tried to wring her neck for long enough to prove it. He won’t breach their truce, though, not if he wants to see his brother again. The brother who is in Sidious’ hands now, apparently. He’ll need all the help he can get, and he’ll prioritize Savage’s recovery. Here goes nothing.

“Something you don’t want Maul to hear, perhaps?”

“Of a sort.”

“It is fairly obvious that he’s not particularly stable—”

“I am curious,” Kast interrupts. “I am Mandalorian, Asajj Ventress. My old enemies, too, are Mandalorian, and they possess honor. I have never before met someone who so utterly devalues family.”

Asajj snarls. She doesn’t care what this this smug soldier thinks of her, this Death Watch terrorist fighting for the restoration of barbaric total and constant war—many of Asajj’s sources in the attempt to track Opress were recent refugees from Sundari’s old regime—and moreover: Kast allied herself with Maul. With the man who drew Mother Talzin into his conflict with Sidious. With the man that got her killed. The man who destroyed the entirety of her clan and the only people Asajj hadn’t yet lost. The man who took her Sisters.

And now she dares lecture Asajj about family?

“Fuck off. You know nothing about me. You know nothing of what I have lost.”

“Interesting.” Kast’s face blanks, and then, obviously deliberately, she grins. By the second, it’s more obvious why she didn’t hesitate for a second to take off her helmet: with her studied off-kilter body language, it’s like she’s wearing another mask below. “True, perhaps. I don’t particularly care either way.”

“Then what—”

“However—I do know of you, Asajj Ventress. As soon as I heard your name, I remembered you.” Kast shrugs, settling her shoulders, and then without warning she changes tack: “Has anybody ever… begged you to kill them?”

Asajj shifts, moving her back surreptitiously closer to the wall and her arms akimbo: her hands, once more, above her lightsabers. She won’t be caught unawares again. For all the tone of that question is closer to idle conversation than Kast’s previous terse statements, for all her face is still wearing a smile, for all the turn in conversation that’s brought them here is opaque, since anyone this readily turning a simple objection into a standoff should not survive to become a general… this is a death threat.

The bodyguard takes in Asajj’s readiness for battle, even if Kast doesn’t. Takes in their meagre chances of survival against a trained force user, too. She puts a placatory hand on her superior’s shoulder.

Kast doesn’t shrug it off. She leans into the touch eagerly, fingering Jagrub’s massive shoulder-spikes with a trembling hand and intense concentration, and then she adds, “It’s an interesting experience. Not particularly pleasant. I have killed scores of enemies, and yet… I would not even have made the Duchess or her pacifists beg, I think. Now that I know, anyway. Didn’t really know what I was getting into. I don’t know what I expected, when I decided to find out what kind of person my new Mand’alor was after we retook Sundari.”

“Maul wouldn’t beg for death.” He’s miserable, and Asajj has watched him howl vengeance at Kenobi deep in the throes of madness, but he wouldn’t ask to die. That’s not like him. She doesn’t know him that well—and does not particularly want to learn more—but this, she knows.

“Lord Maul wouldn’t,” Kast readily agrees. “But then he’s the last person I’d pick for plying with alcohol until he’s too drunk to stay tight-lipped, too. A lost cause from the start. No chance of getting anything out of the poor paranoid bastard. He doesn’t even drink. He says he likes water.”

The worms inside Asajj’s ribcage writhe again. She kind of knows where this is going.

“Fortunately, he had a brother. As you know. Has, and we’ll find him. Much more approachable, and so I invited him along to our victory party. Well, Gar and Kaat did. He was terrified of me. Very flattering, until I figured out why anyway. Nothing like the rest of you arrogant force-users, so I was already predisposed to liking him, and when he asked us for a favor, I foolishly said yes.”

So: Savage Opress wants to die. That’s not even news. He’s been shouting it in her mind for weeks now, and if the sleepwalking cuts on her arm are anything to go by, he’s got in a respectable try already.

His conversation with Kast must have been weeks before he was abducted by Sidious, though. It must be about more than the torture, then.

It…

“I’d have said yes anyway, even with hindsight. He was easy to pity. He wouldn’t stop crying after a few beers, when he told me—you already know what he told me, Asajj Ventress. You forced him, after all.”

“I—” Asajj starts, but whatever she might have replied is simply steamrollered. This is not a conversation, after all. This is a death threat.

“He gave me options. Weaknesses in his fighting style he’d noticed or learned from Maul. General weaknesses of force-users, too. He gave me a long list of body parts to blast and tried to give me his lightsaber, too, so I would have an easy time of killing him, if—when, he said, when he was used again to hurt his little brother.”

Jagrub runs a claw through Kast’s hair in a slow swirl, messily sticking it up, and she calms again.

“I know what you did, Nightsister. I promised Savage I would protect Maul, and I will. I gave my word. Mandalore gave hers, too, when she embraced her new-found sons, and we keep our promises. You said you’d let Feral live and you betrayed him, but when you break your next oath—” Kast cocks her fingers as a blaster and aims. Fires. She blows smoke off it— “when you touch him again or anyone at all, I swear on my home: one single twitch, and it will be my pleasure to deal the consequences.”

“We all look forward to the dissolution of this alliance,” Jagrub rumbles. “For now, you are useful. Do not attempt to escape.”

They leave the door open.