#fiend or foe

[liliallowed]

day 4: free space

friend or foe: truce

tw: eyestrain and a a lil creepy

[cvbullshit]

@liliallowed

A gift for my frien! With and without the title + a pixelated version because it looked kinda cool!

It's meant to be a sort of poster like thing for her whole concept of her and Dust, mainly the beginning of their relationship :)

edit: AHHHH I MESSED UP THE TITLE IT WAS FIEND OR FOE KMS FUCKING DUMB DUMB BRAIN I'M SO SORRRYYYYY‐

The color palette I used!

[6pmtea]

Fiend Or Foe

—temporary? maybe title? to a story I started after a tumblr prompt, that I think I’ll keep writing

making a new post after realizing I kept updating below a prompt post, which isn’t exactly convenient…

unfortunately though copying whole texts on tumblr is a bit of a pain so here is the link for the first three parts:

!Link!

And below will be the future updates:

//in construction//

[twobluecows]

HEY EVERYONE! I’m using Magnus Burnsides with his TITTIES out and BOOTY shorts to get your attention. I know what you are. ANYWAYS!! 

My friends and I are making a DND Podcast! Its called The Fiends and Foes and the trailer is right here. . . 

https://youtu.be/UK96deW8J4c

:D 

[wraith-of-thiodolf]

sometimes i ponder on which words stick around

'friend' is a solid saxon word. 'enemy' is french.

gets the noggin joggin

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it.  As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day.  ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR:  You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight.  Check out the types below the cut: 

Infantry (pawn):   Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds).  Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage.  The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight):  A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully  the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages.  Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes.  Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players. 

Controller (bishop):  The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples),  by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers,  barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting:  1 per 2-3  players: 

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows.  Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast.  Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players. 

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

[altocat]

FIRST SOLDIER EPISODE 2 CHAPTER 2

Ready for tonight's recap? I gotcha covered! I'm VERY excited to see where the plot goes from here! Let's goooo!

So when we last left off, Seph, Angeal, and cameraman Bachman were in some Wutai ruins (Robio), where they met the mysterious swordsman Masamune and the even MORE mysterious Alissa Goldie. Miniroth has mommy issues. Angeal can't make friends with him because he's being edgy. Bachman wants a paycheck. Let's see how this unfolds...

We open on the gang in their camp. There's some other allied soldiers there as well. Guess everyone regrouped. Alissa (SUS) immediately wants to continue her investigation into Robio. Bachman remarks that Alissa seems to have immediately won Sephiroth over...WONDER WHY 💀

Sephiroth is trying out replacements for his damaged sword. Alissa approaches him and Sephiroth is rather nonchalant about having standard Shinra-issued swords. He just...had a feeling about Masamune though.

Alissa keeps praising Sephiroth as a legend and a hero. She's acting all upbeat about everything. It's coming off as genuinely unsettling. She keeps fawning over him.

The group catches eye of a PURPLE SUS orb and Angeal and Seph handle a monster. Alissa can't help because her arm is supposedly hurt. She says that Angeal must have a sixth sense for sensing fiends. EXCEPT NOT THE ONE THAT'S CLEARLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM.

Angeal and Seph are alone. Angeal asks why Sephiroth is acting differently around Alissa. Sephiroth is silent. When Angeal presses more, Sephiroth claims he's trying out the allies thing. Sorta. They take out another monster together as a team.

Bachman praises their efforts. Angeal still insists that he and Seph will come together in time. He's being his usual friendly self, but Seph STILL blows him off and walks off, noticeably when Bachman attempts to film him.

Bachman says that Alissa is more of an "Angeal type" because of her friendliness. He says that Sephiroth just ignores everyone and is solely focused on becoming a killing machine (OUCH).

Alissa gets attacked by another monster and Sephiroth protectively rushes over to help. I SEE WHERE YOU'RE GOING WITH THIS SQUARE ASDFGHGFDS

Bachman asks Alissa if she thinks a soldier should be a lone wolf like Seph or more friendly like Angeal. Alissa just shrugs. She says that she's here to provide support.

We finally set out again to investigate Robio. Entering the Igara Forbidden Zone. Angeal wants to take a break but Seph insists he doesn't need one. He takes the lead, albeit at a slower pace when he sees Alissa struggling.

They come across a weird rock formation. Powerful fire magic was used in the area. Alissa talks about how two thousand years ago, the Ancients arrived and named this area Igara. SUS SUS SUS. Igara was a paradise until a fearsome beast invaded the region. VERY SUSSSSSSSS. The land got scorched because a bunch of heroes showed up to defeat the foe, using fire magic to destroy it. Supposedly.

The survivors of the fire were the ones who went on to form the country of Wutai! Really cool lore shit!!!!

The group comes across a spooky trail with a LOT of fog. Alissa claims to have left markers on the ground. Sephiroth clears the fog with his sword.

Alissa asks Angeal about the sword on his back. Oh boy here we go...Angeal says it's his good luck charm but doesn't elaborate. Alissa tells Seph that HE needs an impressive sword too! After all, he's a hero! He needs something exceptional! Sephiroth remembers the Masamune and shows interest in claiming it for himself.

There's a bunch of weird purple shit on the ground. More fog too. Really digging the spooky background music. Sets the mood.

Sephiroth asks Alissa if she's an active model soldier. Alissa says that yes, she's modified with special cells! Bachman says that the cells were grown from something they scraped off a meteorite. Alissa says that's only a stupid rumor. Jenova bullet dodged for Seph.

We fight some weird owl-looking monsters native to the area. They've finally entered Robio in full. They start up the investigation. More lore dump time!

500 years ago, after the warriors killed the beast, Robio was a ghost town until settlers came to try their luck. They were also Ancients. Their numbers were smaller by then but they tried to revive the area like the did with Igara. It became a village, Robio. Alissa wants to know why someplace that was revived died again. They're going to inspect the ruins of the major buildings.

Big stones in the road. The people of Wutai placed them around Igara as a sort of barrier...to keep something from getting OUT.

PURPLE LIGHTS SUDDENLY! We see the ghosts of villagers. Illusions of the past. They disappear quickly. The group has no idea what to think about it. They just have to keep exploring.

Burn marks cover the whole village. Angeal wonders if something erupted nearby. More bright purple flashes. Most ghosts and ghost-flames. They see the figure of Masamune cutting villagers down! Sephiroth doesn't know why they sealed this place away. Are they trying to conceal an uncomfortable truth by erasing the past? He says he'd never let that happen to him (irony).

Bachman's camera has footage of the ghosts, where they see Masamune. They have to unravel this mystery.

A statue now. But they can't see what it is. Sephiroth remarks that there has to be an incredible power lurking here. More ghosts. Masamune cutting more villagers down, being called a fiend. Sephiroth says that this has to be the source of the destruction. Wutai sealed this village off because it was fucked and harboring a monster. But they were fucked up in turn for abandoning the villagers to their fate.

Sephiroth doing some more projecting. "Anything different isn't human". Which includes Soldiers. He's de-humanizing himself again. Angeal privately swears that the world isn't bad, people aren't bad. Someday, he'll make Sephiroth see that.

They enter the center of Robio where the villagers would gather to share stories and celebrations. More ghosts. Masamune again. Robio's tools and weapons were the responsibility of a single smith. One day, as if possessed, he took up his hammer and dumped everything into crafting a remarkable blade. AKA the Masamune sword. The villagers started fighting to claim the sword as their own, even trying to steal it. Masamune slaughtered them as a result and set the area aflame. He slayed every villager one by one. The villagers' greed prevented them from working together to take the sword from him. And thus, they each perished individually. And started killing even each other until there was nothing left.

Angeal wonders how the hell Alissa knows all this. Suddenly Masamune jumps down right in front of them! Another fight with the old man! He's got to be at least be hundreds of years old by now. He's very clearly some sort of cursed demon or something.

Alissa tells them that she gathered all that info because the scenes just CAME to her. Like they were her own memories...

Sephiroth says that the Masamune is calling to him. It yearns to become his own. A loud bell chimes somewhere and they race over to investigate.

The sound is coming from a biiiig ruined monument. It feels like something is calling to them. Sephiroth can sense the power. He insists that the sword is meant to be in his hands. Angeal thinks he's acting strange and says that they should leave--this is getting too fucking spooky. Sephiroth is going in. He WANTS that blade "back". Angeal doesn't know what he means by "back".

Angeal manages to talk him into camping out for the night and explore the building tomorrow.

CHAPTER FINISHED! But wait! There's some extra content like last time!

Back at camp, Angeal tells Bachman to rest. Early day tomorrow. But Bachman wants to check his footage. He recaps all the lore for us. He says that Sephiroth seems to have some kinship to the people who once lived here. The sword seems to have given him a new sense of purpose.

Next segment. Oh fuck. Sephiroth is dreaming about his mother again. He's with her in a flowery field. Lucrecia (still labeled "Jenova" is being all sugary sweet and loving towards her son. Lucrecia remarks about the sun and flowers. They've been travelling together in this dream. Sephiroth can't believe it. He rarely leaves headquarters. Lucrecia tells him they go on trips together all the time! Sephiroth wants so bad to spend more time with her. Lucrecia tells him he's a hero. He DESERVES this reward. She's so proud of him. I'M GONNA CRY AGAIN. Him having her by his side gives him strength. Another hug. FUCK.

Obviously I know what they're doing here. These "dreams" are officially a Jenova/other evil entity manipulation. Or SOME sort of shit designed to fuck with Sephiroth's head. This could explain his attachment to Alissa and why he's starting to act strange. These dreams are somehow playing with his mind and grooming him to come to some sort of conclusion, maybe directly tied to him wanting Masamune so much.

Angeal segment to cap us off! So I was wrong before. The last one wasn't a flashback. These are idealized dream sequences. My apologies! Angeal is dreaming about when he left his village for Midgar. Everyone is celebrating and supporting him before sending him off. Sephiroth desired his mother. Angeal desired a happy life where he's appreciated and respected. The entire dream is everyone fawning over him. He gets his uniform and the Buster Sword. His dad gives him the dreams and honor speech. So we know on some level that his oath came from his dad! That's neat! Angeal vows to fight for his parents and for people who are struggling.

And that's it! This was a BIG chapter lore-wise!

[t-l-machine]

People who claim Sylus is a Dom Daddy have only half the story

This man wants to be valued, treasured, desired, and sought after. It was a green flag for him when you went after his eye in the myth, my friends!

As domineering as Sylus is, his capacity to take the lead does not preclude his desire for someone "on his level" to dominate him as an act of validation. I've destroyed this man at Pile Parade enough times to know he takes his losses with dignity so long as it's you. It has to be you expressing the desire to overcome him as a foe. It has to be your desire to hold him accountable to some bet after.

Because the only opinion Sylus values is yours, and if you declare that he's someone worth struggling for? Well doesn't that make him feel like a special little princess.

He's spent his whole life reviled, first as a fiend and then as a criminal. He can't surrender power to you easily because of it. His experiences have hardened too much for him not to make 'taking him' a challenge, but he does want to be taken. Show him he's worth fighting for despite every horrid thing the world said about him...That'd the best feeling in the world.

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: Vodani, Nascent Demon Lord of Intoxication and Anger

(Art by the amazing @stranger-chads!)

First mentioned here, Vodani is one of the least ambitious yet most active among the Nascent Lords, never truly vying for territory but viciously holding what power and reach he stumbles into with a ferocity and determination that cause most others to simply leave him to his own devices. His primary concerns in his day to day life are acquiring alcohol to drink and people to drink it around (specifically around, and uncommonly with), and though he can conjure seemingly bottomless amounts of it and convert even pond scum into a palatable beverage, he's always hounding for a flavor of spirit he's never tasted before, which is one of his motivators for venturing into the world of mortals.

The primary motivator, however, is only barely more complex than that of most demons: chaos, mayhem, destruction, and the corruption of innocents. Vodani takes on the appearance of a common human vagrant or wanderer to inveigle himself in established populations of the destitute and downtrodden. With endless gifts of cheap drink and drugs woven between sob stories he's collected from hundreds of past victims, Vodani establishes himself as a strange but beloved member of the community, where he works to ignite the fires of hatred within them.

Vodani uses inflammatory rhetoric to gradually unite the societies he infiltrates against specific targets, most of them nobles or government officials, or members of an organization with considerable power over the poor (such as bankers, guards, and local guild members), preferring to pick whomever would cause the largest power vacuum if they were removed from their position and/or cause the largest breakdown of societal order (his least favorite type of order). This habit causes many to call him the Prince of Paupers, believing him a figure of hope and unity, but this is false hope at best; Vodani is not driven out of a sincere desire to help, but a demonic desire to destroy. He intentionally steers people away from any solution that does not lead to violent revolution and utilizes drugs, social and societal pressures, and his magic to prevent anyone from speaking against him or offering relief to his "friends," victims of his toxic influence who quickly find themselves with few choices but to continue wallowing in his lifestyle of violence, indulgence, and hate.

Were the Lord of Gin truly a bringer of rebellion and freedom, he would actually stay to help the reconstruction once the dust settled, or even help at all. As it is, the targets of ire he chooses often serve as convenient scapegoats for the actual reason inequality runs rampant; he may target a guard captain enforcing unjust laws while treating the council who made the laws as an afterthought, or call for the death of a king who is unaware that his advisors have been wringing areas of the city dry behind his back. Vodani gets his fill of destruction quickly once he's gotten a whole riot going, wading into the fray to kill and destroy with savage impunity, often felling friend and foe alike. Whether or not his assembled "freedom fighters" actually succeed in destroying their perceived "oppressors" and "enemies" or if they themselves are routed is of little true consequence to him, with the fiend vanishing from the world once his cruel work is done to let everyone else shoulder the consequences. Any actual good that may emerge in the wake of his riot is purely accidental, and hearing that he has bettered a city sends him into a frothing fury which takes him days to calm down from. He often goes out of his way to either send his followers into the same city or slither back in himself to make it burn down 'for good this time,' and this is one of the only things in creation which can give him actual focus and motivation to plan things over the course of the long term... provided he doesn't completely forget about why he was so angry in the first place during days of senseless rage and endless drinking.

Vodani appears to be a humanoid with an extremely severe case of jaundice and lengthy fingers that end in sharpened, bony points. He wears shabby local clothing and is always clutching a bottle of spirits he takes frequent drinks from. His head is his most startling feature, taking the shape of a tapering pillar of flesh that swirls as though it were smoke in a vortex, solid yellow eyes and a mouth filled with shark-like teeth emerging and disappearing at random in the twister. He has a strange amount of control over his malleable head, able to shape it into distorted faces and exaggerated expressions at will, or even lash his head out like a tentacle to deliver bites to distant foes.

Even when magically disguised, his pure yellow eyes or sharpened teeth randomly peek through to reveal his true nature, forcing him to take pains to hide them with long hair, facemasks, tall collars, or other coverings. His commonalities with the Ginever are noted by most who know of both him and the strange, alcoholic carnivores; many believe him to either be their progenitor, or a member of their kind who ascended to demonhood. He gives contradicting reports, alternatively calling them his children, his kin, his subjects, or his parasites, seemingly just to annoy anyone trying to find a concrete truth. What is known is that any mortal who drinks themselves to death with alcohol he's interacted with in some way has a chance of returning to life as a Ginever. When asked of this phenomenon, he is curiously quiet.

Vodani, the Demon at the Bottom of the Bottle CR 23 Chaotic Evil Medium Outsider (Chaotic, Evil, Demon, Extraplanar) Init: +7; Senses: darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Detect Good, Detect Law, True Seeing; Perception +37 Aura: Unholy Aura (DC 29)

------- Defense ------

AC 45, touch 35, flat-footed 38 (+7 Dex, +4 deflection, +10 natural, +14 luck) HP 530 (26d10+364), Regeneration 15 (Good) Fort +27, Ref +33, Will +27 Defensive Abilities: Freedom of Movement; DR 15/Cold Iron and Good; Immune: Charm and compulsion effects, cold, death effects, electricity, disease, poison; Resist: Acid 30, Fire 30; SR: 35

------ Offense ------

Speed: 60ft, climb 20ft; Air Walk Melee +3 Improvised Weapon +38/+33/+28/+23 (1d8+10/19-20), claw +28 (1d6+4 plus Intoxicant), bite +33 (1d8+7 plus Intoxicant), OR two claws +33 (1d6+7 plus Intoxicant), bite +33 (1d8+7 plus Intoxicant) Ranged +3 Thrown Improvised Weapon +38/+33/+28/+23 (1d8+10) Space 5ft, Reach 5ft (10ft with bite) Special Attacks: Cloak and Dagger Tactics (DC 28), Intoxicant, Jaundiced Gaze, Sneak Attack +2d6, Whatever's At Hand Spell-like Abilities (CL 20th; concentration +31)

Constant--Air Walk, Freedom of Movement, Detect Good, Detect Law, True Seeing, Unholy Aura (DC 29) At-will--Charm Person (DC 22), Greater Dispel Magic, Greater Teleport (self plus 50lbs only), Invisibility (self only), Suggestion (DC 24) 3/day--Create Drugs, Crime Wave (DC 27), Mass Suggestion (DC 27), Song of Discord (DC 26) 1/day--Dominate Monster (DC 30), Life of Crime (DC 29), Summon Demons or Ginever, Time Stop

------ Statistics ------

Str 24 Dex 25 Con 38 Int 20 Wis 27 Cha 33

Base Atk +26; CMB +33 (+4 when performing Dirty Trick); CMD 66 (+4 vs Dirty Tricks)

Feats Catch Off-Guard(B), Cloak and Dagger Style, Cloak and Dagger Subterfuge, Cloak and Dagger Tactics, Dirty Fighting, Dirty Trick Master, Grab and Go, Greater Dirty Trick, Improved Dirty Trick, Improvisational Focus, Improvised Weapon Mastery, Multiattack, Quick Dirty Trick, Throw Anything(B), Vital Strike

Skills Appraise +15, Bluff +40, Craft (Alchemy) +34, Disable Device +26, Disguise +17, Escape Artist +21, Intimidate +40, Knowledge (Local) +34, Knowledge (Nobility) +15, Knowledge (Planes) +16, Perception +37, Perform (Comedy) +21, Perform (Oratory) +31, Sense Motive +37, Sleight of Hand +26, Stealth +30

Languages Abyssal, Common, Dwarvish, Draconic, Orcish; telepathy 300ft, Tongues

SQ Change Shape (Any humanoid or monstrous humanoid; Alter Self or Monstrous Physique I), Drunken Demagogue, Happy Hour, Nascent Demon Lord traits

------ Ecology ------

Environment: Any urban Organization: Solitary, hellions (self plus 3~10 Ginever plus 10~30 humanoids), riot (self plus 10~20 Ginever plus 30+ humanoids). Treasure: Triple standard

------

Combat: While preferring to never battle any foe with a reasonable chance of fighting back, Vodani is a bewildering foe to battle on even terms and will utilize his feats to hamper his foes via rapidly-delivered Dirty Trick maneuvers before beating them down with whatever he has available as the negative conditions mount. Capable of turning anything into a deadly weapon, Vodani is never truly unarmed and will utilize any lull in the combat (or rounds in Time Stop) to customize his held item with enchantments he feels would best harm his foes; he usually begins each day having a single bottle opener or corkscrew he keeps loaded with Anarchic, Human-Bane, and Unholy already on his person. If his foes are intoxicated, he will attempt to use his spell-likes to convince them to either fight on his side, fight with each other, or not fight at all.

Morale: The Lord of Gin turns invisible and flees any fight that is no longer "fun" for him, typically meaning fights in which his foes take no damage from his attacks, cannot be meaningfully impaired with Dirty Trick, and any combat where he is reduced to 200 or less HP. If prevented from fleeing, he flies into an indignant rage and fights to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Drunken Demagogue (Ex): Vodani's drunken swaying allows him supernatural grace when avoiding danger, granting him a luck bonus equal to his Constitution modifier to his AC, his CMD, and to his Reflex saving throws. In addition, inebriated creatures have a significantly harder time resisting his words. When communicating with inebriated creatures--even one unwillingly rendered drunk by Vodani's own abilities--Vodani gains a +5 profane bonus to Charisma-based skill checks against those creatures, and those creatures have a -5 penalty to saving throws against Vodani's mind-affecting spells and abilities. If a creature is normally immune to mind-affecting effects, Drunken Demagogue allows his spells and abilities to pierce this immunity, but the spell or effect ends instantly when the creature is no longer drunk.

Happy Hour (Su/Sp): Thirteen times a day as a swift, standard, and/or move action, Vodani can conjure a bottle or flask of any common, nonmagical alcoholic drink he desires, or which is desired by someone he is speaking to (even if they don't know the specific name). This power is often used when he is attempting to lay low and appear as a mundane citizen, but when wishing to appear miraculous, he is also capable of using Rotgut or Enhance Water as spell-like abilities at will on any liquid he can touch even a small portion of, and Tears to Wine as a spell-like ability up to five times a day.

Vodani can consume single servings of alcohol (the bottles/flasks he summons contain three servings each), as well as potions, tinctures, and similar items as a swift action without provoking an attack of opportunity. Each time he drinks a serving of alcohol, a potion, or a tincture, he recovers 1d8+5 hitpoints and may make another saving throw against any ongoing effect on himself.

Intoxicant (Su): Vodani may, as a free action once per round when successfully damaging a creature with his claw or bite attack, threaten to convert a portion of the liquids in that creature's body into alcohol. That creature must succeed a DC 35 Fortitude save or take 1d4 points of Dexterity and Constitution damage and become sickened as though they had drank too much (alternately, a failure raises the victim's level of inebriation by 1, if using the alternate rules present in Inner Sea Taverns). A creature that fails their saving throw against this ability while already inebriated takes 1 additional point of Dexterity and Constitution damage. A creature suffering any amount of damage from this ability becomes vulnerable to Jaundiced Gaze and Drunken Demagogue via the alcoholic infusion. This is a poison effect.

Jaundiced Gaze (Su): While his mundane alcohol is typically enough to get what he wants, Vodani can dramatically enhance the effects of nearby alcohol with nothing but his gaze in a 60ft cone. Any alcoholic beverage in this cone is converted into a ferocious brew; one serving counts as four to any creature not immune to poison, and creatures normally immune to poison can be affected by the drink, though they treat it as only one serving. Alchemical and magical liquids almost always contain at least traces of alcohol in them which is enhanced by this ability, rendering the substance useless; such items can resist this infusion with a DC 35 Fortitude save. Inebriated creatures who meet his gaze while this ability is active must succeed a DC 35 Fortitude save or become confused, fascinated, or prone (his choice) for 1d8 rounds. He may activate or suppress this ability at will as a free action.

Nascent Demon Lord Traits: A nascent demon lord is a powerful demon that has not yet made the full transition from unique demon to full demon lord of an Abyssal realm. They have several traits, as summarized here:

Immunity to charm and compulsion effects, death effects, electricity, and poison.

Resistance to acid 30, cold 30, and fire 30.

Summon (Sp) Once per day, Vodani can summon any demon or combination of demons whose total combined CR is 20 or lower. He can instead choose to summon two Fiendish Ginever with up to 12 levels of any one class each. This ability always works, and is equivalent to a 9th-level spell.

Telepathy 300 feet.

Vodani’s natural weapons, as well as any weapon he wields, are treated as chaotic, epic, and evil for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction.

Vodani can grant spells to his worshipers. He grants access to the domains of Chaos, Community, Evil, and Trickery. His favored weapon is improvised weapons.

Whatever's At Hand (Ex/Su): Vodani is a master of bar brawls and improvisation. He gains Catch Off-Guard and Throw Anything as bonus feats. Any item he uses as an improvised weapon is treated as if it were a +3 magic weapon (dropped or thrown weapons lose these qualities at the end of the turn). As a standard action, Vodani can further empower anything he is wielding--even a weapon that is already enchanted--with up to +3 worth of additional enchantments selected from the following list: Anarchic, Bane (the Bane type is chosen each time this ability is used), Cruel, Deadly, Flaming, Frost, Keen, Throwing, Shock and/or Unholy. These enchantments last until Vodani uses this ability again, or if the improvised weapon leaves his grasp for longer than 1 minute (which allows him to temporarily lend out enchanted armaments). He cannot use this ability to bring a weapon's total combined enchantments above +8.

[liliallowed]

your best foe

[quirkwizard]

So between the popularity of the last D&D post I did and the upcoming revisions to D&D 5E, I thought it'd be fun to talk about Class 1-A and D&D again. This time, instead of playing D&D, this will be students in D&D. For this, I will be picking out classes and races that I believe fit them the most based on the descriptions and lore presented in the books. Official material only, so no Blood Hunter Tokoyami. However, characters and their "stats" will take precedent over Quirks. The Gravity Wizard is a thing, but I don't think that Uraraka would fit as a Wizard.

Sato-Half Orc Berserker Barbarian: A perfect encapsulation of Sato. A big ole beefcake that runs up, hits stuff as hard as possible, and then immediately burns himself out because that's all he can do.

Mineta-Kender Rogue Thief: The classic "jerk thief" archetype with a set of quick hands and mobility options to replace his orbs with. And like Mineta, Kender are also a small race that everyone despises, so it's fitting.

Aoyama-Eldarin Warlock Celestial: A natural fit for Warlocks. He only shoots out beams, gets tired after a few big attacks, and owes all his power to a patron. Eldarin are just extra Elves, so that works out as well.

Mina-Satyr Bard Dance: The class is a pretty obvious choice given Mina's natural charisma and acrobatic abilities. I was tempted to pick Yuan Ti for the poison abilities, but I figured that Satyr would fit her look and character better.

Denki: Dragon Sorcerer Dragonborn: Just going all in on the lightning damage here. Denki is someone coasting entirely on talent, fitting with a Sorcerer, and everything else is letting him gave off as much electricity as possible.

Ojiro-Harengon Open Hand Monk: Open Hand Monk is a pretty obvious fit given Ojiro's martial abilities. As for the race… Look, there isn't any race that uses a tail. Harengon was about as close as I was going to get with it's other abilities.

Hagakure-Fairy Arcane Trickster: Rogues are good at sneaking and Arcane Tricksters can reliably become invisible. Fairies fit well into the sneaky part of it and their generally cheery disposition fits even better with Hagakure's chipper personality.

Kirishima: Goliath Battlerager Barbarian: A race that is made out of resilient rocks, a class that's all about getting and taking hits, and subclass that is all about being covered in sharp armor. It's great. You can even have the Rage be his Red Riot: Unbreakable move.

Koda-Firbolg Shepard Druid: I know I did this before, but it's too perfect with his role as the friend to all animals. Firbolgs are the soft, gentle giants of the forest and the Shepard Druid fits nicely with his tendency of overwhelming foes with countless animals.

Jiro-Tiefling Glamour Bard: No surprise with the class and the subclass fits with her role as punk rocker. Tiefling may seem like an odd pick, but I think that her generally closed off disposition can fits well with how Tieflings tend to be characterized.

Sero-Tabaxi Fey Wanderer Ranger: Hands down the hardest person to pick out for this. His abilities and personality don't fit a lot of races or classes that much. I just went with this set up for his pension for movement and trapping as well how personable he can be.

Momo-High Elf Artillerist Artificer : A natural builder that can create whatever she wants, especially her powerful canons. The elf part was mostly for personality given how distant Momo tends to be from other in terms of wealth and overall intelligence.

Tokoyami-Owlin Fiend Warlock: I know the Kenku is right there, but I believe that Owlin fits Tokoyami better. And with how his power comes entirely from a monster and how much it protects him, the defensive abilities of the Warlock Fiend fit well.

Tsuyu-Grung Cleric Peace: Grung is obvious since it's literally a frog, but her class may be confusing for some. I did consider Monk, but none of the subclasses fit her that well. I just thought that having her be a Peace Cleric fits with her wise and supportive nature.

Uraraka-Halfling War Cleric: I honestly went with Cleric because fit her general disposition. That kind of support centric person with a few fighting options that come with the War Cleric. The Halfling was mostly because she's very brave and focused on her family.

Shoto-Half Elf Lunar Sorcerer: Sorcerer is an obvious pick with how much of his story is tied to his ancestry and divided nature, complimented further by the Half Elf race. I went with Lunar Sorcery since it multitude of options works with his multifaceted power.

Tenya-Wizard War Magic Warforged: I was tempted to go with Paladin for him, but I believed that Wizard fit better with his natural intellect. Having him be a War Magic Wizard seemed like a good comprise. And of course Warforged fits him nicely.

Shoji-Simic Hybrid Astral Self Monk: Shoji fits in well with the reserved and disciplined types that often make up Monks, especially with how many times he can punch, but the real flavor comes from the Simic Hybrd. A terrifying monster of a man with gliders and tendrils? It's perfect.

Bakugou-Fire Genasi Eldritch Knight Fighter: I believe that Fighter fits best with Bakugou's upfront and aggressive way of fighting as well as his immense physical resilience, with the subclass fitting with his intelligence. And the Fire Gensai was just made to be Bakugou with it's firepower and hyper aggression.

Izuku: Variant Human Devotion Paladin: I was tempted to go with Wizard here, but I think that Izuku's unwavering devotion to a cause and heroic spirit fits too well with a paladin. Plus, you could easily reflavor all of his smites as smashes. Because I don't care what they say, you can smite with your fists.

[atrueneutral]

The Viability of Cheesomancy (Raphael x Tav)

—-

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. It’s time to put an end to this nonsense.”

“Raphael,” Tav said seriously. “You’re asking to die.”

“Stop stalling, Little Mouse.”

Were there other mice around, Tav would have looked like the greediest of rodents as she stood in the middle of a grassy clearing with three wheels of Waterdhavian cheese at her feet. The wheels were not her doing; Raphael thought to surprise her by stealing her away, and he’d summoned the stack with a snap of his fingers alongside the challenge that she use them.

Not eat them.

Use them (as the deadly weapons she claimed they were) against him - the winged and horned fiend who dared to question the legitimacy of Cheesomancy.

“One is all I need,” Tav said while picking up the first hefty wheel.

The fiend smirked, “We will see.”

Compared to her daggers, the unwrapped cheese was dense and slippery, and both hands were necessary if she was to feasibly wield the wheel.

Odds told her defeat was imminent, but months of good-natured debate culminated to this point of actually needing to prove her point - that she was right, and he was wrong.

Therefore Tav was going to do her damndest to kill her lover.

A dramatic battle cry was released into the morning air, and her feet charged Raphael’s position, the wheel raised over her shoulder, prepared to smash a horned head.

Snap!

The wheel exploded into cheesy bits and pieces with a blast of fire and heat.

Tav momentarily froze in place, her hands holding nothing before she calmly spun around to grab the second wheel.

“Now that we’re warmed up…” she confidently announced.

There was a huff of a reply behind her.

For this subsequent round, Tav strategically held the newest wheel close to her chest - the hope being that Raphael wouldn’t risk harming her should he again desire to use magic.

“Ready?” Tav asked.

“For you? Always.”

Her lips quirked a fraction at his sentiment and she charged at the fiend once more, raising the wheel only when she was within arm’s reach of him-

Two clawed hands were quick in arresting her wrists, stopping her in place.

“Cheeseomancy is nothing but a crackpot concept,” he declared while using his strength to pry her hands away from the sleek surface of the cheese - the weight of which fell onto her shoulder before falling into the grass with a soft thump.

Raphael gently lifted her from the ground, and her eyes met a pair that burned like fire. “There is no worth to be found aside from the author who prospers from fools who buy his book.”

“I didn’t buy it,” Tav retorted.

He rolled his eyes and brought her in for a quick kiss on her lips. “My little thief.”

After setting her down, he stepped around her.

“‘One is all I need,’” he said mockingly. Raising a boot, he destroyed the second wheel with jingling force and thusly nodded for the last wheel.

Tav scowled as she shamefully walked back to retrieve her last wheel - her final hope.

“This is it,” she said to herself and the cheese she held.

“If you would be so kind, dearest - I have appointments I must get to.”

Tav’s eyes flicked up to the devil, and she sprinted for him without warning, the cheese kept low and against her abdomen. Similar to her second attempt, she feigned raising the wheel…

Raphael bought into the feint, his hands moving to intercept!

With foresight and speed, she ducked out of the way, her hands jerking downwards to then mightily jab the cheese upwards into his stomach. Raphael groaned as breath was ejected from his lungs. Not done yet, Tav maneuvered under a wing and rammed the wheel against the back of his knee, causing his weight to buckle.

The fiend fell to his knees, providing Tav a golden window of opportunity…

She hastily stood behind her foe and Waterdhavian was lifted into the air!

“Another crown for you!” Tav crowed with delight as she aimed for his horns.

Raphael suddenly twisted, enough power behind his wing to knock her aside. Stumbling to catch herself, the wheel slipped from her grip, and it began to roll away.

Tav went for it-

Snap!

And her last weapon of Waterdhavian exploded with hellfire.

She frowned as fiery, cheesy remains rained down.

“A valiant effort,” Raphael said in approaching her side. “And with this defeat, I expect to hear no more about the folly of Cheesomancy.”

Tav settled against him with a sigh, her arms wrapping around his middle. “It wasn’t a total loss…”

She glanced up at him with a smirk as her hand playfully patted his stomach.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a fault of mine that I seek to indulge you.”

“And I love you for it.”

Her beloved fiend hummed in satisfaction.

—-

[twobluecows]

Why on earth did I describe it like that

anyways…. the first episode of the fiends and foes podcast is out right now!

my friends and I made it out of love

[prettyboykatsuki]

fuck your inhibition. | k. bakugou

♢ tags ; very big age gaps (19 years), questionable ethics, ex deliquent / runaway reader (22), fighting / violence, brief mentions of living on the streets, retired pro-hero bakugou (41), emotionally charged sex, afab + masc!reader, top!reader, bottom bakugou, reader is really rough around the edges, backstory for reader, arguing, oral (both receiving),rimming (m!recieving), strap-ons (not a dom thing. no particular power dynamics), prone-bone, dirty talk, size difference (reader is smaller but no specifics), happy endings sort of.

no explicitly gendered terms for reader. usage of words like clit / cunt for readers body parts. reader is implied bisexual.

(also while this fic is certainly intended to be read as masc., it can just as easily be read as completely gn.)

♢ wc ; 10.2k (two days. this is so alarming)

♢ a/n ; happy birthday to my favorite guy. sorry in advance. this fic is so disgustingly self-indulgent. str8 self-inserty ngl. i simply dont want to look at it djskfgdf. this fic is pretty tame tho age gap aside. been a while since ive written for him. title is from "lemme know" by vince staples

♢ synopsis ; who knew that the boudoir pictures you've been getting off too your whole life would look so much better in person?

You’re not convinced there’s any way to get used to getting your lights knocked out. 

At this point, your fighting prowess is good enough that you can dodge swings from even heavy handed opponents. Just agile enough to bob and weave. Your reflexes are good too, from years of getting into with cops or otherwise. So getting absolutely dusted in a single, swift motion is not a frequent occurrence. 

That’s why you are sorely caught off guard when it happens to you in the back of an alleyway, tucked into a corner of Osaka—a long ways from home.

You were fucked from the minute you stepped foot off the train; you knew that instinctively. You haven’t been back in years and it’s not like you’re here for leisure. And sure, you took the job knowing there was some possibility you’d run into some old foes but shit. They couldn’t’ve waited till the week was over? 

3 days in and your life as a runaway comes back to bite you in the ass. Worse, they catch in front of the very storefront you were  working up the nerve to visit at the end of the week. If that old man catches you 1. making a ruckus in front of his cherished bakery and 2. fighting like those “worthless punks” that he openly detests, he’s definitely gonna be on your ass.

It’s amidst conflict, you decide to take the beating and wait it out. Hopefully, whatever higher power is looking over you will let you get out without busting your lip. 

But fuck, this last hit is leaving you worse for wear. You blink your eyes open and you’re still surrounded by him and his bunch of goons. What was this dudes name again…? Aka…Aka-something, you think. Without warning, you get another punch, a clean left-hook  - this time to your side. You cough at the sensation. 

Ah, life is so unfair to you. 

He grabs you by the front of your collar, dragging you upwards until you’re nose to nose. This fuckers breath is hot. Something warm slips down your nose, a rivulet of blood over your lips. You grunt. 

“I should’ve beat the shit out of you the first time.” 

You blink slowly as you regain your vision and sense. Despite many transgressions and altercations, your time in Osaka as a fugitive is notable. This bunch of fiends are a somewhat half-assed motorbike gang. It’s an old story. You stole and ruined  not one, not two, but four of their bikes total. In your defense you were a young kid scrounging for change - hotwiring and deconstructing for parts was always  pretty profitable. And stealing flashy bikes was a hell of a lot easier than scratching up your knees in the scrap yard. 

Ah, there was that other thing too. Why you’re pretty sure this guy has held such a grudge against you for god knows how long. Irritable with a bad sense of self-preservation, you give up on behaving well. 

“Yeah? No need to sulk now, right?” You grin, hands practically itching to throw him onto the ground. A familiar sense of adrenaline burns in your stomach. You should just hit him, but you don’t - instead opting to aim where you know it’s gonna piss him off most “How’s your little sister by the way?” 

Red flashes in his eyes, nose puffed like a bull. Despite your self-satisfaction, you close your eyes and pray to god he doesn’t actually kill you. There’s still some ass you have to tap before you die and it’d be a real shame to die only inches away. You cover your face when his fist winds up. Riling him up was probably a bad move.

Before you get your lights punched out forreal, an angel comes to rescue you. 

“Oi, you fuckin’ punks—go take this shit somewhere else or I’m gonna singe every last goddamn hair on your head.”

You smile, almost drunk on the adrenaline. An angel, indeed. A cursing, blonde, abrasive angel. 

“Oh, shit—we gotta get outta here. That dude Dynamight doesn’t fuck around”

Before you know it, said group of miscreants disperses like a swarm of flies. You find yourself stumbling back against a bunch of crates, back hitting them and sliding down, snagging in your work clothes. The leader says something about “not being finished with you yet,” but you don’t catch it with how your ears are ringing in your skull.

You rub your eyes and groan, seeing double. When you open them again, your favorite blonde old man is standing in front of you. Arms crossed over his chest, sporting that signature glare you’re so fond of. 

Your head is throbbing. Fuck it hurts. 

You only manage one sentence before promptly blacking out. 

“Did I die and go to heaven?”

— 

You wake up in a familiar bed. 

A bed you spent a lot of time resting in when you were out at on the streets here, something like four  years ago now. The memories of the time aren’t entirely pleasant - being a homeless runaway was pretty shit. But meeting your life long hero (and getting your rocks off in his bed) are quite fond regardless. You’re surrounded by nice, white linen sheets that you’re pretty sure cost more than you make in a month. He’s not really much of a flashy character despite his career, but he does have an eye for the finer things. 

You haven’t been back here in a while. Since moving to a different prefecture, you haven’t had any good reason to come see him. This week was a good excuse for just that. Didn’t exactly plan on it happening like this, but you can’t really win 'em all. You’d consider being back here a win on your part regardless. 

The fact that you’re here instead of molding in the pouring rain means that he dragged you up there by himself. A fact you try not to put too much stock into, because he’s still a pro even if he’s retired. What makes it hard not to feel giddy about it is the fact you’re all cleaned up. Bandaged wounds and all, he even took off your shoes. Jeez, he’s gonna kill you one of these days acting so cute. 

You turn to lay on your back, reaching your hand to the ceiling and making a fist. Your knuckles are still pretty bruised up but it’s clear he took some time to check over them. You drop your hand down, squeezing a fist over your chest and sighing. You roll over again. 

“Still giving me so many mixed signals.” You say, half in jest, trying not to be too affected by it “Ah, fuck, this is bad. Gonna end up doing something weird just like old times.” 

Before you commit another act of degeneracy in the bed of your long time crush and childhood hero, you sit up with your legs over the edge. He took your pants off too, a pair of boxers hung low on your hips. Your back is fucking killing you. 

You stand to your feet, scratching the back of your neck as you turn to examine yourself in the mirror. You pull your tank up over your side, a bruise the size of a melon developing on you. It goes from just under your chest all the way down to above your waist. You press your finger to it and wince at the sensation of pain, dull but throbbing so deep in your nerves you can’t help but feel it. 

You examine the rest of you, turning to either side. Work tomorrow is gonna fucking blow, but considering you don’t have any broken ribs - you think it’s not the worst it could be. No stitches either, so a win overall. If the rest of the week passed by silently that’d  be perfect. 

You look around the room for your things. They’re in a neat chair in the corner of the room.  Bakugou’s cat is over there too, asleep on your uniform. You can hear something faint from downstairs, the sound of a T.V. playing. You should drop down there since you’re awake  but you’re reluctant. You wonder if he’ll chase you out since you’re up. If he still has as much of a soft spot for you as he used to, it couldn’t hurt to test your luck. 

You open up the bedroom door and shut it quietly before padding down stairs. 

You end up finding him where you’d expect him.  He’s in the kitchen with an apron on, a fitted gray shirt with a piping bag in hand.

 He looks older every time you see him. His hair isn’t all gray yet but the platinum is starting to turn brilliant white. There’s lines in his face that weren’t always there, even with the scars and fine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He’s still as jacked as he used to be, but it’s softened up. Mostly it’s his personality, you find, to be mellow. Only someone with patience could take up such a tedious hobby after an entire life out in the field - killing baddies and chasing thugs and whatever other shit hero’s do. 

It’s kind of ridiculous that he’s piping delicate little designs onto some pastries, but unfortunately for you it only adds to his charm. You lean against the wall coming into the kitchen, in the frame. Half-dressed with your lips quirked up in a coy smile. 

“Whatcha makin’ old man?” 

“Don’t break my concentration you noisy brat,” He says straightforwardly “Sit down and shut up.” 

“So cranky,” You muse,  but ultimately comply, sitting at a chair on the kitchen island. Looks like he’s on his last round of whatever he’s making. 

You get by on staring at him. It’s pretty typical for you even now. Sitting here in front of him doesn’t feel as awkward as you expected, which is worth something. When he’s finally finished, he puts the piping bag on the counter and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. 

“Permission to speak, sarge?” You ask, sarcastically. He frowns at you. 

“Not granted.” 

“Cold as ever huh,” You say, leaning your elbow on the counter - palm on your cheek “Thought distance was supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” 

“That only counts if there’s fondness in the first place.” He says with ease. This time you scoff at him, but he cuts you off before you get a chance to reply “You wake up with any pain?” 

“Worry about yourself, you old bastard,” You say impudently. You see the corners of his lips twitch as he stares at you “‘m fine. Got a nasty bruise on my side but my ribs aren’t broken. Work tomorrow is gonna suck.” 

“That why you’re back here?” 

“For about a week, yeah.” 

“Confidential?” 

You shake your head and lean back. 

“Nah. Bodyguarding some rich dude’s kid. Birthday tomorrow. Spent the first two days being a lousy maid but the pay is good so I can’t complain.” 

“Shit. The party is tomorrow? I have an order for tomorrow.” 

“Guess you’re not senile yet, old man.” 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou says, not bothering to hide to his expression “How old’s the kid?

“A little younger than me I’d guess. 19 or so.” 

“Isn’t this a good opportunity to get laid?” He suggests like he’s purposefully trying to irritate you. He already knows how you feel. Why he insists on pretending is beyond you but it never fucking fails to piss you off. 

You shoot him a glare. 

“Nevermind. You’re definitely senile. Might wanna try some puzzle games to keep your shit in tact before you start peeing in public and buying ten pairs of the same pants.” 

“You’re still just as mouthy as I remember.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

A comfortable silence settles as a weird feeling overtakes you. Fuck, you’re still pining your youth away after all this time. Maybe getting laid would fix some of your issues, but no one is gonna hold a candle to having the real thing. You rub your temple in preemptive apprehension. Bakugou starts working on cleaning up the kitchen, and you resign yourself to thinking about what you’re gonna do. 

It catches you off-guard when he talks to you first. 

“Earlier,” He says, opening up the fridge to rearrange it “Why weren’t you fighting back?” 

You don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry hearing him ask. You don’t feel like softening the blow with your usual shit, so you give it to him straight. 

“It doesn’t suit a tactical genius to play dumb, old man.” 

He stiffens, then sighs. 

“Still hung up on that, huh.” 

Oh now you’re gonna get pissed. 

“Don’t.” You warn, low and indifferent. He sighs, sliding a tray into the fridge and “Don’t piss me off, alright?” 

“Hey. You shitty punk. When are you gonna get it through your thick skull I’m doing this for your fucking sake? Stop—”

“Next time, just leave me in the rain.” You seethe, venom in your voice, making you numb and agitated. He stops, breath hitching “I don’t give a shit if you’re a retired  hero. I’m serious. Leave me out in the alley next time if you’re gonna pull the mentor act again..”

Man this sucks. 

Not like you were expecting some heart warming love story out of a guy like him but still. You didn’t think he wouldn’t budge at all. You can feel yourself getting angry just thinking about it. It might’ve been better not to come. Mentor or not, his whole dismissal never fails to annoy you to your core. You knew that before the week started he might be like this. Maybe if shit went your way - you could’ve had a regular reunion. But now, he just had to see you getting beat up on purpose and he just had to fucking ask about it. 

Seriously, where’s his decorum? Prick. 

“Kid.” 

“Don’t—I needa get outta here. I shouldn’tve—fuck, this blows.”

You stand to your feet before you have a chance to look back. You feel kind of pathetic running away again but it’s still the preferable option to having this fight a second time. It’s something you’re just too sensitive about to deal with head on. Getting rejected twice by the guy you’ve been in love with since you were nineteen is bound to fuck you up abs you don’t have it in you not to drink yourself into a fit. 

So you’re practically running up the stairs, but you can hear him calling behind you. You go into the bedroom to get your things and Bakugou follows you into it predictably, shutting the door.  You turn around to him, annoyed. 

“Get outta my way.” 

“No. Not while you’re all pissy. Gonna get yourself hit by a car.” 

“What’d I just say about cooling it with the mentor act, man?” 

“It’s not a fuckin’—it’s not an act.” He says, with a sigh that almost makes you feel bad, “I haven’t seen you in two years.” 

“Two years is nothing. Old age is making you soft,” You scoff, arms crossed over your chest “But I don’t need your sympathy. My feelings haven’t changed.” 

“Kid.” 

“I’m not a kid anymore, alright? Cleaned my act up, got a job and a license and a place. Haven’t slept in a cell in two years. Been off the streets that whole time just like you told me to do.  The least you could do is take me seriously.” 

“I didn’t want you to do that shit for me. I wanted you to do it for you.” 

“Too bad,” You reply back almost immediately, pinching the bridge of your nose “Save your lecture for the next injured bird you raise up and leave me out of it.” 

“I’m trying to put you on the right path, you ungrateful little jackass. Don’t act like—“

“Spare me the goddamn lecture.” 

There’s a quiet silence befalls the both of you. Shit is going nowhere fast and you both know it, Bakugou as much as you do. Memories of your last argument come back to you almost instantly. 

After you turned eighteen, you were run out of the orphanage you’d spent part of your adolescence at. It’s a pretty regular sob story and you’re quite the sad sap. A dead mom in Mustafu and an absent father. You had a strong quirk, and hell maybe if you grew up different - you could’ve been a hero. 

Shit didn’t  work out that way, so at 11 you were thrown to the wolves. It’s not a fun time to look back on and you figure there’s no use thinking about the past. You did whatever you had to to survive which mostly meant being in and out of orphanages and running away whenever the next worthless schmuck tried to take advantage of you. You always got away by the skin of your teeth, and made money doing whatever you could. If it put food on the table, you’d have probably done it at least once.

It’s something of a cliche, but Dynamight was your idol. You liked that he wasn’t like other heroes. He was crass and hardcore and liked to talk shit. He was cool. You spent a lot of time hanging around T.V. stores watching him through the glass, watching interviews on your first hand-me-down phone. Even though he didn’t really have the tragic backstory, you always thought he was courageous and honest. 

A celebrity crush and idol combined, you stole more of his pin-up magazines than you’re entirely comfortable with. A lot of them you still own, shoved into the back of your closet. 

Once you’d turned 18, your life of petty crime had brought you all the way down to Osaka. It was also the worst year of your life. Social agencies seem to get off on tossing kids into the streets as soon as they can and with a criminal record like yours, there wasn’t a whole lot you could do. 

You spent the first 6 months knee deep in all sorts of shit. That’s when you ran into that biker gang for the first time. You hung around bars and slept with strangers for a place to sleep. A lot of bad shit happened and it wasn’t getting any easier. 

It was a cold, rainy day when you met Dynamight for the first time. The worst day of your life, more accurately. You got mugged and lost your job all in the same few hours and you were pretty sure god himself was spitting at your face. 

But it wasn’t all bad. Cheesy as it sounds, meeting your hero was worth the trouble. 

He was different off camera. That was the first thing you thought when you talked to him. He had a softer way of speaking and he was weirdly perceptive. He didn’t talk much, either - at least not at first. You spent a lot of time in comfortable silence. The first time, you didn’t do much more than share a meal. He asked you about your life. He gave you money for a hotel too. The only thing you could think to do was ask when you could see him again. 

He was 36 at the time. Hadn’t retired yet, either. 

That was the beginning of your long relationship. To this day, you don’t know why he decided to involve himself with you. It’s a mystery you’ve yet to get answers for and maybe you never will. Sure he was a hero, but you’re sure he’s seen a lot worse. Why take pity on you in particular? Whenever you ask him about it, he usually just scoffs. Sometimes he’ll tell you that you reminded him of someone. Who that person could be is lost on you even now.

It was a gradual relationship. You were young and persistent, but he never turned you away either. Sure he’d been a good influence, but stopping a life of crime wasn’t easy. You got arrested for some months after meeting. Bakugou took you in when you were 19 and homeless - let you stay with him. He retired at 37, opening up a bakery in Osaka. The place you’re staying in now is just over it. The same one you spent two years of your life falling in love with the old bastard. 

It was hard not too. You’d admired him for a long time, and he managed to supercede your low expectations. It wasn’t the first time you fell in love but it was definitely the strongest sensation. You tried to ignore it for a while but that didn’t work out for shit either. 

You confessed to him on your 20th birthday. Made a whole big deal with flowers and candles and shit. And again - it’s not like you were expecting romance out of the motherfucker. A flat-out rejection would’ve sufficed. 

But…that wasn’t what you got either. 

The whole reason for your fight wasn’t just because he didn’t have feelings for you. He made it a whole big fucking deal trying to tell you about your feelings. That you needed to get your shit together and grow up and that it was a phase that you’d grow out of. That he “really cares about you, kid” and that he’s just trying to do what was right by you as an adult. 

(“You’ve got no idea what the fuck I’m like either. Been through some tough shit and you latched onto me, alright? So don’t go wastin’ your time.”) 

You don’t really give a fuck about how old he is or about his status. None of it matters to you in the slightest. What was pissing you off all that time was him not taking you seriously after everything you’d been through together. Trying to tell you would fucking grow out of it and that it was a waste. You got into an argument after that, and like you’ve been doing your whole life - you ran away. Back to Shizuoka where you started to get your life together. 

Hit the books and studied your ass off, graduating late from a night school and then picking up a vocational school to fall back on. Some old connections got you a job in security and you bounced from place to place in the meanwhile. You even got your license and bought a beat-up cruiser that you fix-up when you have the chance. 

You grew up so to speak. You came back here trying to prove that. Being dismissed so fucking quickly makes you feel rage beyond reason so you’re trying to step back. Seriously, two fucking years and nothing. Not even a pity “I’m proud of you.” 

“Just admit it,” You sneer, inching closer to him “It’s not about any of that shit, is it?”

He widens his eyes as you stalk towards him.

“The fuck are you—“

“Don’t play stupid. You feel guilty, right? Feel all wound up cause you know it’s not nothing. This isn’t nothing”

This time he goes silent. Fucking bullseye.

“You thought I forgot? How you kissed me all tipsy? Thought I didn’t notice you looking?”

Oh it feels good to let it all out. He shrinks, this time unable to say anything. You both know it’s true. 

“Look—“ He puts hands on your shoulders as you back him into the wall “You’re too fucking young for all this. And about me, you don’t know—”

You lean into him, face inches apart. You already know what he’s gonna tell you, almost word for word. Trying to maintain some innocence you hardly have anything left of. 

“You sure? I heard you through those walls plenty of times. You take dick like a champ.” 

“Shut the hell up. This is for your own good, we can’t do this.”

You can hardly believe he’s still being like this. 

“I used to know you were home. When I brought people over,” You whisper low against his skin. His eyes widen “You heard me too, I’m sure. So, be honest Mr. Dynamight, you think I can’t give you what you want or are you too afraid to find out?”

“You’re such a fucking punk.” He grits out. Still not denying your words. 

“That’s right,” You muse, words heated and heavy “I’m a worthless street punk trying to fuck the old man upstairs ‘cause I don’t know any better.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve kissed Bakugou in your life. The first time was when you came over to his place tipsy. In front of all the other pro-heros you had admired so much. It’s different this time. Not only are you both shockingly sober, there’s an aggression in it that wouldn’t be there before. No matter how begrudging he acts, he’s still kissing you back just as hard as you’d expect him too. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, arms wrapped around your neck. Fuck he’s still so huge. How much does he work out to still be this jacked?

You can’t even imagine how that’s gonna look when you finally get to fuck him. Shit, just thinking about it sends electricity through your spine. You groan a little into his mouth, your hands tucked on his nape and tugging at the fine hairs. You push your incisors into his lower lip and tug, pulling away just slightly to intake how fucking flushed he is.

 He looks like a pornstar,

You pull away, hand cupping his jaw and forcing his mouth open. You’re gonna lose it if you stare too long. 

“You’re so fucking sexy.” 

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” He mumbles. You laugh lightly at him. 

“Your cocky attitude is pretty sexy too,” You hum, amused. You kiss him one more time, hands reaching for the thickest part of his waist. He’s built like a trunk, but his reactions are almost girlish. The contrast is making you twitch. 

“Can’t say the same for you.” He spits. Your grin splits your face as you pull away from him, teeth nipping at his jaw. You can feel the scruff of his skin, unshaved as you let your tongue travel over it. 

“Aw, what? You don’t think I’m sexy.” You nudge a knee between his legs feeling the half-hard outline of his cock. You shudder “You sure about that?” 

“What the hell are they feeding brats like you?” 

“Liquor and cigarettes.” 

“Since when do you smoke?” 

“Helps me relax after work,” You whisper against the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the lobe before “I get pretty stressed out. Sure you know something about that.” 

“Hngh, fuck. Fuck you.” 

“Do you even know how? Not like that thing gets much use, huh?” 

You reach down to cup his cock through his jeans, hard against the palm of your hand. He pushes his hips up slightly, sharpened glare. He pants. 

“You sound, shit, so fucking sure.” 

“I am sure. I’m looking to fuck you, not the other way around. Not sure how that’s gonna work since I don’t got my stuff on me.” 

You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to say. This whole thing is feeling like a fever dream you can’t wake up out of. Maybe he’ll give you a suggestion on what else to do.. But instead of that, a blush crawls onto his face. It leaves you floored. He looks away from you. 

“...Your shits still where you left it.” 

It takes you a second to register what he means. When you do, you can feel your brows hit your fucking hairline. There’s no way he’s saying what you think he is. 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I thought you’d come to pick it back up but you never did, and I went to go move it into some boxes. I didn’t have any reason to toss it.” 

A thought crosses into your mind. 

“Hey. Old man. Where is it?” 

He stares at you. You grasp onto him firmer, making him gasp. You can feel how heavy his cock is in your hands, rubbing it through the cloth of his sweats. You whisper harsh into his ears. 

“If I open your goddamn drawer right now, tell me, am I gonna find my old strap in it? Clean and getting use? You been fucking yourself with the thing I used to lay dick with?” 

When he doesn’t answer, pure glee ignites in you. He can’t answer, apparently. But his face is a harsh, permanent red now and his cock is painfully hard. You want to rail him into the fucking floor just for that. You wouldn’t make up some shit like that in your wildest dreams, so the fact that he’s not denying it makes your insides feel like they’re melting. You rub yourself against him, feeling how slick and hard your clit is just thinking about it. 

“Go lay down.” 

“Are you telling me what to do?” 

You grab his ass as hard as you can before landing a hit on it that makes him nearly topple over. Even though he’s bigger than you in more ways than one, he reacts like that. His anger only lasts so long before it morphs into want. 

“Of course I am. And you’re gonna listen.” 

“What makes you so sure about that, huh? You think you can satisfy me?” 

“You think you’re gonna intimidate me into backing down? After knowing you fuck your tight little ass to the thought of me? Fat chance.” 

“I didn’t say anything like that.” 

You laugh “You implied it. Now go lay down. Where’s your lube?” 

He frowns at you. 

“In the same drawer.” 

You give him a knowing grin to which he shoves your face away. Ultimately though he listens to you, lying and making himself comfortable in the sheet as you grab whatevers in his little sex drawer. He wasn’t kidding about the strap, the lube seated next to it. You grab both quickly and join him, hovering over him. 

You opt not to talk, slowing your pace to appreciate the view. You think he’s says something. Asks about what you’re doing and why - but you tune the words out as you run your hands over the curves of his body. He’s a wall of fucking muscle, his arms especially with a torso just tight enough for you to grab. The fabric of his shirt doesn’t leave much for imagination, but you’re still overwhelmed as you pull it up over his waist, his chest, his arms. The fabric comes loose and it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’ve got plenty of porn mags in your back pocket and even more boudoir shoots from him that you’ve stared at for hours. 

But seeing it in person is completely different. You can see the rise and fall of his chest - the raised skin of a scar and plenty of over scratches and wounds. Fuck, he is so sexy and you are so drunk on lust you almost feel sick. 

“Somethin’ catch your eye?” 

His voice draws you out of the trance you're in, a lazy smirk spread on his face. You laugh. 

“I get why you’re such a show-off,” This time you lean forward to kiss him - a hand wrapped around his throat, spare going to grab his chest. His tits are soft, they look like hard muscle and sinew but the fat is squished in your palms to perfectly for that“Fuck.” 

“You’re acting like a horny teenager.” He says flatly.  

“Been thinking about fucking you that long, so I guess so.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Why’re you so shocked?” You make work kissing down his neck slowly, down his chest, one tweaking his nipple while your mouth makes work on the other one He swears above you, another wave of heat pulsing in your body “Don’t you hear shit like that all the time?” 

“Shit that feels—I didn’t think you were, hngh—serious.” 

“Obviously not. I still have all your slutty ass photos in my apartment somewhere.” 

He pants. Makes the prettiest fucking sounds for you as you grope and squeeze and touch his body. You bite, hard, into his tits leaving a red mark of teeth that makes him shudder. You need to do it all over again. 

“Haah, fuck. What the fuck?” 

“You’re way sexier in person if that’s worth anything,” You groan, a shudder passing through you “Like way sexier.” 

He looks like he wants to say something to you but the words die in his mouth. You laugh as you peer over him. His reactions are fucking adorable. Face is hot with a flush, watery eyes. Pretty. As much he’s rugged and strong and downright handsome, he is annoyingly fucking pretty. Having him underneath you is making all the power go to your head. Nothing feels more appealing to you right now than the idea of wrecking him completely. 

You kiss down his body until you’re at his waist, taking his pants off unceremoniously. You have half a mind to rip them but you’re sure they’re expensive. He lifts his legs for you anyways, leaving a tight pair of boxers that leave nothing for the imagination at all. 

“What the fuck,” You mumble, getting face to face with it. You pull the boxers off slowly, kissing his hip as you do. His cock pops out slowly as you pull it down. What an asshole. His dick is impossibly big too. A tuft of well trimmed blonde hairs sit neat at the base and the tip is a harsh red. There’s a little drop of pre-cum dribbling down the shaft that makes your brain feel fuzzy. It’s veiny too, tight balls sitting net at the base. 

Another shiver wracks through you, as you reach your hand out to touch it tentatively. He groans sharply. You stick your tongue out, licking up from base to tip. He tastes of salt and skin, but it isn’t bad. You let your tongue lick at the slit, elated looking at him squirm underneath you. 

“Nice dick.” You say back plainly. He snorts. 

“Fuck off.” 

‘’m serious,” You add, letting your eyes lid to look more serious “I don’t blow just anyone.” 

You open your mouth wide, pulling lips over teeth as you ease the tip slowly. It’s hot. Hard as steel and intrusive against your tongue, you can feel it throb. Pulsing relentlessly, you lower yourself onto it slowly - taking as much in as you can. It’s difficult and messy, tongue out to cover as much as you can. You suction your mouth slowly, hollowing your cheeks. There’s something that feels so good about having him in your mouth, something even better about watching the faces of pleasure he makes above you. 

You hum in appreciation and the vibrations prove to be too much as he nearly thrusts his dick into your throat. You brace yourself for it happening again - setting an even pace. He looks good like that, drowned in pleasure and unsure of what to do with himself. You wonder if it’s been a while since he’s acting so fucking cute about it. You assume as much. 

What he said before, you wonder if he was picturing it. If he felt guilty about it. The idea of him jerking off in shame over the thought of his dick in your mouth makes your spine tingle. You cup his balls in your hand, squeezing gently as you get into a steady rhythm. You feel him above you trying to hold it all in, the muscles in his abdomen tightening each time you manage to get down further. It’s hard to breathe, the back of your throat feels narrow. Your skin is on fire. 

“Fuck, fuck—where’d you learn how to—fuck!” 

You feel him getting ready to cum, so you pull off swiftly. A delicious, needy whine comes out of his throat that leaves you mesmerized. 

“What the hell?” He mumbles, heaving. You laugh. 

“Hey,” You hum, lifting his hips until you can see his hole - pink and twitching “Every had someone eat your ass?” 

“Are you offering?” 

“Yeah.” You say back, kissing the insides of his thighs, gripping the muscle “I wanna know if it feels good for you.” 

For whatever reason, this statement in particular makes his skin tinge pink. You hold back a laugh internally. 

“So fucking weird.” 

“Is that a no?” 

“Do whatever you want.” 

You chuckle at that. You sink your teeth into him again, this time working on the build up. His muscles give tension to your incessant biting, hard bone against muscle as you mark up his thick thighs. His ass is nice like you’d expect, tight and muscular. You work your way towards his hole slowly, thumb circling the tight ring of muscle first to gauge his reaction. He shudders, making you hold back a laugh.

“Kinda sensitive,” You say amused. You can feel him glaring without having to look “You can’t cum without it now, right?” 

You’re mostly saying it in jest but the prolonged silence leaves you at a loss for words. Your eyes snap up at him, watching him huff and puff in embarrassment. Heat rolls through your body. 

“It’s not like I fucking can’t ever, alright?” 

“You’re too cute for your own good.” 

“Don’t fucking call me cute you shitty little brat.” 

“But you’re acting kinda adorable, old man,” You say slyly. You stick your tongue out, licking a long stripe against him. He shakes “Blushing up a fucking storm. Been a while?” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh, so it’s just ‘cause it’s me then?” 

He looks like a fucking cherry. You laugh. 

“To think you were so against it. How’d you hide your expressions that long? Did it help you to masturbate to the thought of me fucking you?” 

“Would you shut up?” 

“I don’t feel like it.” 

Before he can scold you any more, you let your tongue slip against the exposed rim. The reaction is tentative at first, slow licks trying to gauge if this is something he’s even into. You do it again and again, burying yourself deep. He makes a noise that you recognize to be a muffled moan. You groan in appreciation, repeating the action - letting yourself dip into the tightness of it. You can feel the muscles of his body go taut as you grip him - hands over the tops of his thighs. The action is more shameless the longer you let yourself indulge.

You’ll have to fuck him open anyways before you actually get on top. You think doing this much will make everything easier. Mostly you’re doing it because you like seeing him embarrassed. The gap in appearance vs expression never gets old. Seeing like this repeatedly proves to be novel and fuck knows if he’s gonna let you do it again any time soon. You’re more than determined to squeeze out every last ounce of his pride. 

You want to see everything. 

And frankly, pleasuring him like this is driving you all kinds of crazy. Not like you’ve ever been a selfish lover. Always aiming to please or whatever. But he’s got such a raw fucking sex appeal looking the way he does it’s making you drip. You’re pretty damn sure you’ve soaked through everything you have on and you’re not sure how much longer you’re gonna make it without touching yourself. 

It’s all material you’re committing to memory, either way. If anyone saw him like this, you’re pretty sure they’d fall head over heels just like you. It’s hard not to give him everything he’s ever wanted Not to want to fuck him within an inch of his life, just to see his big muscular frame curl in on itself. He’d look so good all messed up, all knotted with pleasure. 

You can feel it again this time, another wave of desire that makes his cock twitch. You wrap your finger around the shaft, holding it around his balls so he doesn’t cum without asking you. He lets out a noise of disapproval that you ignore, pulling your mouth away. Pre-cum dribbles out of tip. You use your finger to swipe it up and lick it. 

He looks scandalized. 

“Not bad. You eat clean huh.” 

“You’re going to kill me someday.” 

“You’re too young and too healthy to die.” 

He makes a face of disapproval at you. You toss him the lube before grabbing the strap. 

“Think you can work yourself open for me tough guy? Normally, I’d do it myself. Edge you out nice and slow, get you all soft. But I’m dying to fuck you already and I wanna make you cum on my cock.”

He looks at you exasperated. 

“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

“Casual sex and porn mags. You don’t like it?” 

“It makes you sound your age.” 

“Want me a little more suave? Tell you that I’m gonna make love to you?” 

He snorts. You take off your boxers and sit up on your knees as Bakugou opens the lube in his hands. You watch him idly, mostly focusing on wiggling yourself in the harness and making sure it’s comfortable enough to fuck in. 

He takes a deep breath, and you watch him reach between his legs. How it’s difficult since he’s so muscular. You almost want to help him, but instead you get between his legs again. Stood on your knees with a heavy bit of silicone weighing you down. You connect the tip to his, watching him push a finger in slowly. 

“Not if you say it like that.” 

“Having trouble there?” 

“You piece of shit.” 

“A worthless punk or something. C’mon, just say it. Ask me to finger your ass so I can fuck you. Or you want me to say something more delicate?” 

“Fuck, c’mon just, help me already.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“....Please, you worthless asshole.” 

You grin, grabbing the lube from the bed and squeezing it into your fingers. You laugh, leaning over him. 

“Got some manners left in you after everything, huh?”

You pull him down towards him by the waist, pulling his legs up. You kiss the inside of his knees, nudging his legs apart as you position your hands, warming the lube between your fingers. He’s surprised by your strength, but you don’t do anything but grin. 

“Keep your legs up for me, yeah?”

He scoffs but doesn’t go against your will. He looks good waiting for you like that, so you don’t take too much time trying to split him open. His hands are thicker than yours, so your first finger slides in like it’s nothing. He’s soft and hot on the inside, and the way he accommodates you lets you know this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

It doesn’t irritate you as much as you think it should. Maybe you’re a little screwed up to think it’s sexy but the idea of him getting fucked at any point is turn on. Once you’re down to the knuckle and you can pump in and out of him easily, you use a second finger to stretch him further. There’s more resistance so you slow, feeling up against his walls for the place you know it’ll feel good. 

You know you find it because his whole body tightens up in front of you. His eyes shoot open and he’s all breathy and fucked out. You relish in it. 

“Right there?” 

He must be feeling good with how little he’s combating you. 

“Y-yeah.” 

You lean forward to plant a kiss on him again but this time it’s tender. He must feel really good because he wraps his arms around your neck to keep you there. You moan in surprise and when you pull back he looks hazed out of his mind.

“Didn’t know you could make a face like that.” You say, amused. He frowns at you. 

“I’m not happy about it either.” 

A laugh falls out of you and you catch the faintest whisper of a smile on his lips that has you kissing the corners of his mouth. He catches himself before he leans into it too easily, but you notice before he can shy away. 

“Looks like I’m making your heart flutter. Forget the ethics for a little and let me.” 

“I should toss you out of a fucking window.” 

“You’re not gonna though.” 

This he doesn’t reply to. You slip a third finger while he’s distracted and he gasps. This time he’s almost stretched completely. You give him a minute to breathe, swallowing up the little sounds he makes with a hearty grin. It’s so fucking good just doing this. Incredible. Way better than you could’ve ever imagined. 

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” You say, bemused. He’s delirious enough to laugh. 

“The stamina of youths scares the hell outta me.” 

“I don’t wanna hear it from a retired pro.” 

This time he grins. You find yourself pleased with the development. 

He’s stretched now, and restless. You pull your hand away and rub the remaining slick onto the tip of your cock, giving him a look. 

“Do you know how you want me?” 

“It’s your fantasy fuck,” He says, semi-sarcastically “Do whatever you want.” 

You laugh, tapping his ass lightly. 

“Turn over and stick your ass up a little.” 

“Don’t wanna see my face?” 

“Wanna see how you swallow my cock up like it’s nothing, more like.” 

He curses under his breath. You feel accomplished. He turns over just like you’ve asked him too and fuck the sight of him is way too much. You can’t get over it. He’s big and strong and trembling with desire and it’s driving your sex-drive as high as it can possibly go. You move so your knees are on either side of his thighs. Leaning forward, you lick up from the small of his spine all the way up his shoulder, before sinking your teeth in the junction in between. 

He groans underneath you, and your hands make themself present around his hips. Most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The fucking arch and the scars and the ruggedness of all of it. 

“You’re damn gorgeous.” You say, with utter and sincere appreciation “It’s driving me fucking crazy.” 

“Save your smooth talk.” 

“I’m bein’ serious,” You say, pulling his ass apart with your palms “Like. Woah.” 

He snorts “Real poetic.” 

“I barely graduated school, asshat.” 

In the midst of your bantering, you let the tip of your cock slip into him slowly. It steals the words of reply out of his mouth in an instant. You can feel him melt underneath you. At the intrusion, at the feeling. At every single sensation. You feel the phantom of it in your spine. Like there’s fireworks in all your nerve-endings, just watching how his ass looks around it. Just the tip with no movement, no adjusting. 

He’s silent, shuddering - holding onto a pillow. A bead of sweat rolls down his spine. He has little dimples in his back. You groan. 

“Shit. Look at you.” 

The praise seems to make him keen. He’s always been one to like the attention. You roll your hips, fucking another inch into him agonizingly slow. He moans like he’s deflating, breathing ragged and voice raw. You rock back and forth until there’s no longer anything to resist, then push in and in and in. 

Once you bottom out with his ass against your pelvis and your hips on the back of his thighs, you lean forward and press your weight on top of him. You think he’s expecting something else, because he seems surprised. But you let yourself weigh upon him, then with a heavy grunt - cup his jaw and tilt his head to kiss him. 

“You like that?” 

“Shut up.” 

“C’mon. Be honest. You look like you like it. Ears turning so red.” 

He groans. 

“In your fucking dreams.” 

“Still not gonna budge huh?” You say. anchoring yourself at his sides with a deep sigh “So stubborn.” 

When you feel stable enough to move, you don’t hesitate to fuck him with all of the expertise you have. You give it to him in just the right way, measure up to where he needs you but don’t give in quite enough. It’s a strenuous affair but you keep it at. A steady pace that’s hard and deep but not good enough to make him cum. Something to leave him on the edge, you fuck him just like that. The sound of skin hitting skin and short, broken moans echo in the room. 

You focus on taking him like that, making sure each and every thrust is precise and calculated until he gets where you want him to be. You can practically feel when it’s starting to really get to him. When he can no longer hold himself up, so resigns to smushing his face against the pillow and going limp. You lean up, moving so you can pull his hips back with you - hovering off the bed on his knees instead of laying on his stomach. 

This time you reach deeper. His whining gets louder, more in tune with everything. You laugh as you reach around him, hands gripping at the base of his cock. It takes patience to unravel him like this, matching your hands to your movements until everything is in a slow, steady synchronization. Fast but not fast enough. Hard, but not hard enough. Close but not close enough. 

He lets out a heady groan that reverberates in his chest, opening his mouth finally. 

“C-c’mon. Just. C’mon.” 

“Aw what?” You say, rolling your hips up against him, where you know he wants you most “What is it, hm? Did you want something?” 

“Fuck. Just. Fuck me already.” 

“I am fucking you, though?” 

“You know what I mean!” 

“Oh, you want me to fuck you harder? Make you cum? I thought you didn’t like it.” 

He groans, dropping against the pillows again. 

“I didn’t say that. C’mon just. Please.” 

His voice is hoarse when he asks. You laugh against his shoulders, listening to his requests. Giving it to him how he needs it. Harder and a little deeper, you can feel it now. How you knock into the place inside him that leaves him trembling and shaking. You can read his cues now, when he starts getting close. But of course it’s not gonna be that easy. 

You keep the pace stand, putting your hand on the tip of his cock. You rub your thumb over the slit and hold it there. He sucks in a breath, whining a little. 

“Wanna cum so bad?” You offer, mouth twisted in a feral grin “Tell me you love me.” 

This knocks the wind out of him. 

“What?” 

“Say you love me with all your heart and I’ll let you cum.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking with me.” 

You fuck into him hard right where he needs you. He moans. 

“Nah. My fantasy fuck, remember? Right now, we’re playing love birds.’ Like’ works too, I guess. If you’re too scared,” You half-way mock, starting a pace now that borders cruel “Now say it nice and sweet and I’ll let you cum.” 

“You’re such a—agh, fuck,” He shudders against the bedsheets, repeating himself as you pound him. It’s easy to piston your hips. He’s so sensitive to begin with that it doesn’t take much “You’re insane.” 

“C’mon, old man. Confess your feelings to me like we’re sweethearts.” 

“In your dr—oh, shit.” 

“What was’at? Did you wanna say something?” 

You can practically feel him turn it over in his head. You’re mostly doing it to mess with him. Punishment for all of his beating around the bush and bullshitting. Getting to fuck him has been more than enough. 

So you’re not expecting him to stop you. To turn over flat on his back and lay with his legs spread and wrap his arms around your waist and stare at you through hazy, flushed eyes. This time you’re really looking at him. At the lines on his face and the scruff and an expression torn with time and desire and lust. Your heart nearly falls out of your fucking ass when he wraps his arms around your neck, palming your nape and pushing your foreheads together. 

When you’re nose to nose, he looks very serious all of a sudden. You swallow something in your throat, unsure of what else to do. 

“Gonna say this one fucking time, only. So listen up cause I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

He’s got to be fucking with you. 

“Love you..I love you or whatever.  But that doesn’t mean—” 

Before he can finish his sentence, you put your hands up under his knees and fuck him for all you’ve got. Half-way as revenge for the shitty confession and half-way because if you think too long about what he’s saying you’re pretty sure you’re going to collapse. 

He sounds good under you, as you fist his cock and laugh in absolute fucking delight. You stare at him hard. At his fucked out expression. You’re gonna cuss him out as soon as this shit is over, you swear. What an asshole. 

“O-oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna, g-gonna cum.” 

You goad him cause you aren’t sure what else you should do at this point. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock? Show it to me. Let me see what you look like.” 

The words are enough to push him over the edge. He gets unraveled right before your eyes, his whole body pulled like a bow before losing all the tension. You can feel his cock twitching hotly in your palms. Thick strings of white covering your fingers as you fuck him through it. He sounds so perfect like that, so fucking good for you. You can feel your whole body ready to give out just watching. 

When Bakugou finally finishes, he releases you from his grip. You pull out only seconds after, staring at his flushed state in wide-eyed disbelief. 

“Were you serious?” You ask, because it’s the only thing you can think to ask. He sighs, tired. 

“Yeah.” 

Where the hell is this dudes class? 

“Fuck.” 

He laughs, laid down before poking his head back up to stare at you. 

“You didn’t cum yet.” It’s more of a statement than a question. You shake your head. 

“Not yet. I can take care of it.” 

He clicks his teeth.

“No way. Come ‘ere.” 

You undo the harness of your strap before crawling over to where he’s laid. You end up standing on your knees. He props himself up on his elbows, and you look down at him absolutely mesmerized. He crinkles his nose at you. 

“That fucking lovesick look on your face is gross.” 

“Been like this for four years.” 

He flushes. 

You stand in front of him, bare on your knees. He reaches forward, brushing the hair over the hood of your clit gently.

“You’re so wet.” He murmurs. You laugh. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You say, too tired to do much arguing “Lemme borrow your mouth,” 

He snorts “Got it.” 

You fist your hands into his hair and tug, bringing his open mouth to your clit with a sigh. Your cunts sort from being pushed into and neglected. Even the barest brush of his mouth is making you shiver. Bakugou must know a little something about this, because he latches onto you without thinking twice. The sudden added pressure has heat building your stomach at the speed of light. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so on edge in such a short period of time. 

Plus looking down at him while you hump against his face is enthralling. 

“You’d make a cute little wife, old man,” You say thoughtfully, dull pleasure aching as you tuf his hair at the root “You can cook, clean, bake and you know how to use your mouth fucking perfectly.” 

He gives you a look of exasperation, but the warmth down his neck tells you he likes it. You laugh, throwing your head back. The visible sight of arousal flowing down his chin and making his face messy is making you more horny than you know what to do with. You don’t have the energy to cum more than once but you’re sure when you wake you you’re gonna be horny all over again. 

You try not to think too hard about it as you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter before unraveling all at once. Your insides are hotter than lava, the entire lower half convulsing as the strength in your thighs and legs gets lost gradually. Bakugou sucks until you’re nearly overstimulated, and you have to pull him away before it really gets to be too much for you. 

“You taste good.” He says thoughtfully. You laugh. 

“Got plenty more if you want it.” 

“We should clean up.” 

“You’re not kicking me out?” 

“I’m not a villain, damn it.” 

“You feel like one for that loser ass confession, but I’ll let it slide. I need a fucking nap though. Getting my ass kicked and having incredible sex in the same day is exhausting.” 

He laughs as you lay down besides him, sitting up. Even in your half exhausted state, you catch the feeling of his lips on your forehead. 

“Get some rest you brat.” 

__ 

You wake up in a familiar bed. 

If the sore feeling of laying pipe wasn’t in your hips, you’re pretty damn sure you just woke up out of a dream. What the fuck just happened to you? Your back and body is sore, but you’re clean like you’ve been wiped down. You’re stark naked though. 

The idea that he could give you a wipe but not dress you makes you laugh. When you sit up, all of your clothes are sitting still on a chair. There’s some new clothes on top of them though, his clothes. You stand to your feet, your back cracking as loud as possible as you examine the wounds. You have some hickies now (when the hell did he leave those) and when you turn there’s some scratches on your back. You feel self-satisfaction as you get dressed. You should hit the showers when you feel less lethargic. 

When you’ve reconciled with the fact you didn’t just conjure up what happened a few hours ago, you trek back into the living room. You find Bakugou where you expect him, bent over the stove making dinner. You lean on the frame of the door with a grin before walking over to him. 

You don’t hesitate in sliding your hands on his waist under his tank top. Better, he doesn’t react like you’ve shot him dead. A laugh blooms in your chest. 

“Morning grandpa.” 

“You fucking—if you don’t sit down.” 

You snort, but sit yourself down at the counter like you did a few hours ago. 

“Whatcha making for dinner.” 

“Grilled fish and rice. There’s sides.” 

“Sounds healthy.” 

His ears turn red. 

‘“You have work tomorrow but you need to recover.” 

You couldn’t smile more if you fucking tried. 

“We gonna talk about what just happened,” You ask, pouring yourself a glass of water as you sit down. You take a long sip “Or are you gonna pretend to keep washing rice?” 

He sighs, putting down the dry rice and the cup to measure. He almost looks furious, but he’s too cute for it to mean anything to you. You grin. 

“Hey. Fucking. Look. Alright. You’re way too fucking young. I’m old enough to be your father a-and you only just barely got your life together, so yes I told you whatever I told you. But no fucking funny business until you’re at least 25 and your brain is developed more than a peanut.” 

You nod.. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda a coward old man?” You say thoughtfully. He looks pissed again but it’s too funny for you to care “What’s funny business? Sex? Cause if it is, I’ve got bad news.” 

“We just. We have to be careful.” 

“So I can kiss, hug, fuck you in private but keep it outta the press?” 

He stares at you, scratching his neck. “Yeah. Basically.” 

You give him a thumbs up, grabbing a snack off the tray on his table. Chips, the fancy kind. They’re good. 

“Got it. Can I stay over? I don’t feel like driving down to my hotel this late.” 

“....You’re not pissed?” 

You laugh. 

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t mad the first time cause you rejected me, I was mad cause you were acting all fucking ethical and holier-than-thou. I figured it was gonna be something like that anyway. And I’m not much of a romantic, so dates and shit are whatever to me,” 

“Forreal?” 

“Yeah. Having sex and staying over to hang out for a while is cool. It was your fat head worrying about it, not mine. Did Mr. Deku managed to talk you out of your crisis while I was asleep?” 

He gives you a look. Bullseye again. 

“You two keep in touch?” 

“He’s a good dude and he buys me a meal when I’m short on change. Jealous?” 

He turns away from you before answering. His ears are burning. You feel your heart squeeze. 

What shit taste you’ve got being head over heels for this old bastard, you wonder. 

“Just shut up and eat your chips.” 

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

[multitooled-sentient-robot]

Automated UECS Safe Travels Crew Report November 11/13/2124

Many different forms of corruption have emerged in the last quarter. This has lead to four factions that threaten the crew: N'ukahana - She corrupts the minds of crew members and turns them against each other. Followers include @consortofrot and @rottendragon The Void - Uses it's infesters to corrupt the minds and bodies of those corrupted, though if the person is strong willed enough, they can keep their mind in tact. Seems to be lead by @observant-void Aurelionite (@gilded-gaia) - stuck in the gilded coast, she influences us all. Does not appear as hostile as the other teams. Motive unknown. Mithrix (@mithrix-the-almighty) - creates constructs such as (@mithrixsfavoriteconstruct) and generally antagonizing us at some points, he is a strong foe. Luckily, he is confined to the moon and therefore is generally confined to insulting us.

Individual Reports:

Safe Travels Crew Members:

Commando (@hornet-luck) - After being antagonized by captain, briefly became gilded to defeat him, afterwards was the main person to comfort and support them Huntress (@rain-of-arrows) - nothing of note Myself (this blog lol) - nothing of note Engineer (@turretlovernbungusenjoyer) - had a brief altercation with the one known as "Drifter" Artificer (@artificise, @housebeyond) - nothing of note Mercenary (S.T.) (@the-merc-from-ror2) - Had a duel with another mercenary that ended in a draw, has currently hidden himself in [ERROR - CODE: LIKE.IM.GONNA.TELL.YOU.PRICK] out of paranoia REX (@rexs-plant, @one-of-the-gardeners-of-all-time) - Has made a garden on the planet's surface, they're plant half has aligned themself with Mithrix Loader #1 (@the-bionic-powerhouse) - nothing of note Loader #2 (@the-reinforced-recruit) - Helps keep everyone emotionally stable. physically cannot understand binary. Captain (@tired-veteran) - Was corrupted by N'ukahana and tried to kill everyone. Was stopped by providence, REX, and commando. Currently not very popular. Railgunner (@railgun-ur-face) - Currently being corrupted by the void Seeker (@seeker-0222) - Nothing of note

"Survivors" of the contact light

Enforcer (@hammer-of-justice) - Corrupted by the void before trying to kill everyone. Currently in semi-stable state Bandit (@money-lovin-thief) - Has stolen several pieces of UECS property. HAN-D (@j4n1t0r) - Nothing of note Miner (@dirtnrocksnminerals) - Nothing of note Sniper (@bigfucking-gun) - corrupted by the void, condition unknown Mercenary (C.L.) (@hired-blade) - has had several altercations with other crew, currently locking himself in his room. Pilot - (@airborne-fighter) - nothing of note Drifter - (@drifting-collector) - collection was destroyed so they are trying to rebuild it. Has had alterations with engineer and Mercenary (S.T.)

Others of note:

Bandit #2 (@desperate-outlaw) - definitely not dating captain. nope! (Edited) False Son (@halcyon-seeded-bison-enjoyer) - Initially attacked the crew but has seemed to become our ally Providence (@bulwark-of-the-weak) - Came aboard the ship one day. Powerful. Motives unclear. Newt (@timeless-newt) - vendor of lunar items "Void Fiend" (@escaped-prisoner) - claims to be a survivor of the contact light but is to corrupted by the void to be proven. The void entities seem to bring him back to an unknown location.

End Report.

[thecreaturecodex]

Shobolon

Panels from Bone, © Jeff Smith

[Sponsored by @glarnboudin. Bone is a comic series that I remember reading and loving in undergraduate. And the "Stupid Stupid Rat Creatures" were my favorite characters. They pivot from menacing to comical and back on a dime, and have a very distinctive look. Their culture (or lack of it) has some very interesting world building implications, and they're one of the better riffs on the "evil minion species" in fantasy literature that doesn't go for wholesale deconstruction. However, they don't have much in the way of distinctive abilities in the comic. So I had to do some work to ensure that they were mechanically interesting.

A word about the name. In Bone, they are only known as "rat creatures", which says some alarming things if rats are sapient and seven feet tall. The name I went with was suggested by @abominationimperatrix. It's an Eastern European rat-ogre, but information on it in English is super sparse, to the point where different sources disagree whether it's Romanian or Romani.]

Shobolon CR 2 NE Monstrous Humanoid This shaggy, bulky humanoid has wide red eyes and a wide mouth full of sharp teeth. Its ears rise to a sharp point, and it walks on its knuckles.

Shobolons are voracious monsters that tend to live in large numbers. They are larger, stronger and slightly dimmer relatives of ratfolk, although the two species rarely interact on friendly terms. Their endonym is rarely spoken—most people just refer to shobolons as “rat-creatures”. Shobolons are omnivorous, but greatly prefer meat, and they don’t particularly care if their meat comes from sapient sources. They tend to fight from ambush, using their skill at climbing, swimming and squeezing into tight spaces to attack from unusual angles. They are fond of using the Intimidate skill to demoralize their foes, screeching hideously before moving to set up flanking positions or retreat from a losing battle.

Most shobolons engage in dramatic body modification. Their long scaly tails are docked shortly after birth (shobolon legends tell of these tails being used as handles by a wrestling demigod who humiliated them in the past), and their ears are cropped upon reaching adulthood in order to grant them a more threatening appearance. Shobolons do not have names of their own unless granted by a member of another species, or by their rulers as a reward for meritorious service. Despite their foolishness and lack of material culture, shobolons tend to be erudite, and like using long words in order to sound smarter (“hello, small mammal” is a common greeting/threat). Shobolons tend towards religion, and different hordes often venerate different gods or powerful fiends. Shobolons universally fear and hate dragons.

Shobolon Rulers Shobolons are very long lived, and display indeterminate growth. One that lives for hundreds of years and feeds well may grow to immense size and power. This growth is somewhat disproportionate, as their arms do not grow to scale with the rest of their bodies. A shobolon ruler often uses titles like King or Queen, regardless of how many shobolons they rule over. Such creatures are Large in size with 12 racial HD. A shobolon ruler has improved grab and swallow whole with its bite attack, gains frightful presence as a special attack and has undersized weapons as an SQ. A shobolon ruler is at least a CR 8 creature—many of them have levels in fighter or cleric beyond their racial HD.

Shobolon CR 2 XP 600 NE Medium monstrous humanoid (ratfolk) Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +4 Defense AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13 (+1 Dex, +3 natural) hp 19 (3d10+3) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +2 Defensive Abilities tight fit Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee 2 claws +4 (1d4+1), bite +4 (1d6+1) Special Attacks startle Statistics Str 13, Dex 12, Con 13, Int 10, Wis 9, Cha 10 Base Atk +3; CMB +4; CMD 15 Feats Improved Initiative,Skill Focus (Intimidate) Skills Climb +10, Escape Artist +7, Intimidate +8, Perception +4, Stealth +6, Swim +10; Racial Modifiers +4 Climb, +4 Escape Artist, +4 Swim Languages Common Ecology Environment temperate forests and hills Organization solitary, pair, troop (3-8), army (9-24 plus 1 2nd-4th level fighter per 20 individuals) or horde (25-200 plus 1 2nd-4th level fighter per 20 individuals and 1 ruler) Treasure standard Special Abilities Startle (Ex) A shobolon can make an Intimidate check to demoralize an opponent as a move action. An opponent intimidated by a shobolon cannot make attacks of opportunity as long as it suffers from a fear effect. Tight Fit (Ex) A shobolon suffers only half the usual penalty to Armor Class and attack rolls when squeezing. Two shobolons can fit in the same space and fight without penalty.